#inc international heels red

[giggly-argent]

Late Lunch

lmao this Technically isn't finished but I gave up at the end so! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (loosely based it off tht one pic of Ori that I'll put below the cut ♡)

Word Count: 3184

The employee lounges in Aster's castle were just as decorated as the rest of the palace, with the spaces for the highest ranking officials being the most lavish. Massive windows overlook the well-manicured courtyard garden, bathing the room in soft, golden light. Rich tapestries line the walls, adorned with intricate designs and vibrant colors. The centerpiece of the room is a massive oak coffee table, surrounded by plush sofas and armchairs, perfect for weary officials after a hard day's work. This particular break room was reserved for the (mostly) admirable young captains of the West Wing, but two far less admirable freeloaders had found themselves lounging there instead.

Orion was sprawled out on one of the plush couches, his ruby eyes half-lidded as he watched his fellow nuisance Homare make his ninth or tenth dizzying lap around the room. The silent demon seemed to be in a daze, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black jeans and his head tilted up at the ceiling. As nice as it was to not have the younger menace causing a fuss, his atypical dawdling was starting to bother Ori.

“Dude, what're you on? You're looking like a fuckin’ zombie.” Orion snickers aloud, finally pulling Homare from his listless trance. He stops in his tracks and pulls his right hand from his pocket, cupping it to make a simple gesture down his chest: he was hungry.

The ever smug rockstar just waves towards the door, earning a blank stare from his restless friend. "Uh, you know the biggest food court in the kingdom is right out there," he snorts, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "And it's all you can eat, unless you're expecting me to pay for ya'!”

Internally, Homare's thoughts were racing. “This dumbass knows that's not what I mean, right? Or maybe I never told him... no he HAS to know already, it's obvious-” His face scrunches up in frustration as he tries to think of a way to convey his intentions.

"...Well, if money's really that tight, I don't mind covering this time, eheh..." Orion's playful smirk grew more tense as he switched his tone. While Homare was lost in thought, his piercing emerald stare was practically boring through Orion's head. Homare snapped from his trance again, shaking his head and slouching over in exaggerated defeat.

"I-N-C-U-B-U-S," his fingers spelled out, his antsy gaze now aimed at the floor to avoid eye contact. He idly rocks on his heels, almost as if he were embarrassed by his predicament. "I need to feed." He signs feebly, and Ori could hear a quiet, unintelligible grumble from under the man's cloth mask.

"Oooh wait, I get it!" Homare rolls his eyes as the lightbulb goes off above Orion's head.

"Shit, I got a roommate just like you. We help him out all the time- his dumbass always forgets to feed when we're out touring-" The star rambles on, tugging at the collar of his jacket and brushing his hair back to reveal a few telling hickeys around his neck and shoulders.

Homare's pale face goes beet red and he straightens up fast. Why did those marks look so… fresh? Before he could let his mind get carried away for a third time, the exasperated demon tried clear the air as fast as possible. “Not that way!" Now both of hands were out, and more irritable murmurs accompanied his dramatic signing.

Orion tilted his head and stood up from the couch, strolling right over to the blushing man. "Riiiiight... So how do you do it then?" With his hands on his hips, the taller demon's casually flirty look only twisted Homare's thoughts even more.

Homare blinks up at him, appearing starstruck for a moment before his lips curl into a faint smile under his mask. The oddball doesn't give a clear response yet. He quietly snickers to himself, only leaving Orion more curious than before.

"C'mon, spit it out~" Orion lets out a playful whine, nudging the incubus with his elbow. "You're killin' me here, dude!" Much to his annoyance, Homare just crosses his arms and gives a nonchalant shrug, playing more coy than usual.

"Hah, don't lie to me, you bra-HAHT!!" All at once, every last drop of smugness vanished Orion's voice once he felt something soft brush against the shell of his ear. He frantically scans the room, not noticing a faint purple glow from Homare's hands. Two glittering, enchanted purple feathers soon revealed themselves from behind Ori's wild mane before fluttering over his pointed ears.

"B-Broho, the fuck are you doing?!" The startled man sputters, snatching one of the plumes out of the air while clumsily stumbling back to dodge the other. "That... Doesn't work on me!”

"Not ticklish?" Orion didn't expect to shiver just from seeing the word signed out, and that hungry, almost predatory look on Homare's face wasn't doing him any favors either. Nevertheless, he tried to keep cool, hoping he could shake the troublemaker off before he learned too much.

"Neh-Nuh uh, it just, uh... It felt weird!" Foolishly, Orion thought he could laugh it off for the time being, until a gentle push to his chest pressed him back against the wall. That little weirdo really had him cornered… But that aura of yearning in his often unreadable eyes made the rockstar's heart pound in his chest.

"We'll do it your way, then." Homare briefly leaned back just to let Orion see him signing. He then slowly tugged at the other's jacket, but he barely had a chance to feel it before Ori eagerly ripped it off himself. His own hands wrapped around Homare's hips and yanked him closer, erasing the gap between the two.

"Aww! Look at you, tryna be all dominant-" Ori chuckles, his goofy, boyish charm still slipping through his seductive front. Homare only hummed and tilted his head, too close to sign a response. Instead, he did the next best thing.

Slender gloved hands trailed down Ori's arms, only stopping to graze the bare skin of his waist. Even through his hunger, Homare was still one step ahead of his target, distracting him with the unfamiliar, yet extremely welcomed advances all while he worked his other magic more subtly.

Ori's racing heart nearly leapt from his body when his wrists were grasped tight, and it didn't take long for him to spot the familiar purple magic forcing his arms up behind his head. Before he could protest, the taller punk's toned waist was stretched taut, leaving him vulnerable in front of the famished incubus. He knew he was seeing traces of a grin under that dark mask now…

“H-Hold on!" Ori's eyes widened when Homare turned away from him. He ignored the man’s preemptive begging, summoning a small portal to sift through his storage. "I was just jokin', babes! Doesn't matter who tops, I'm not that pick- what the fuck are those-"

When he spun back around, Homare was holding several wooden sticks in one hand, and he waved the portal shut with the other. The tools almost looked like ear picks, but the size and sturdiness of the plumes at the end let him know they weren't meant for an average grooming.

Homare didn't grace him with a spoken or signed answer, deciding to give him a more hands on introduction instead. Holding the other four tools in one hand, he traced the feathery tip of the last one over Orion's bare stomach. If the punk wasn't actually ticklish like he claimed to be, he might've noticed Homare was just signing his own name. Instead, his eyes were squeezed shut, fangs clamping down on his lip to hold his giggles in.

"Shihit-!" Ori pressed against the wall, trying not to squirm too much that would give away his ticklishness after all. The round plumes looked pillowy soft, but held just enough firmness to make him jolt and whimper with every stroke.

Homare, being a jerk as usual, stealthily conjured up a small magic hand by his captive's side: those purple fingers then briefly drilled near Ori's back where it met the wall. The punk nearly screamed in surprise and arched his back, giving Homare the opportunity to press the fluffy tool right into his navel and give it a spin.

"GAHAH-?! Oh fffuhuhck you!" It all happened so fast; Orion couldn't stop the quick bark of laughter that forced its way out. He tried to glare at the bratty incubus, but that stupidly cute, cocky look in his eye made Ori give up instantly- or maybe it was that twirling tool in his navel. "D-Don't look at me like thaHAHAT!!"

As if he hadn't had enough surprises, he felt another plume dancing along his skin. The spare magic hand kept the other three tools nearby, while Homare dragged two of them over Ori's waistline. More strained snickers slipped from the punk's lips, just feeding into Homare's urges even more.

How did these stupid things tickle so bad? Even Homare was surprised by how effective they were. His regular victims usually required a lot more effort to crack, but Orion, as tough as he pretended to be, seemed to crumble at the softest touches. With a longing sigh, Homare slowly started to drag the plumes upwards, drawing more panicked prattling from the bound man.

"Nnonohoho don't you fucking dahahare- Ahaha wahahAIIT!!" The incubus paused surprisigly enough, holding the tools right below Orion's underarms.

He'd noticed Ori reaching a new level of struggling once he got a liiiitle too close to his armpits- definitely a weak spot. As much as he would've loved to keep slowly teasing the punk over and over, gradually breaking him down with those soft, calculated strokes… He'd have to save that for a day when he didn't feel like he was withering away from hunger.

Orion felt a wave of relief wash over him when Homare stepped back, tossing the two sticks in the air, but that feeling was painfully short-lived. The hand holding the remaining tools split into three separate wisps of magic at the dull snap of Homare's fingers, and two similar wisps caught the others that he tossed. Now all five of the fluffy plumes were poised directly over Ori's bare body, just waiting on the cue to strike.

"Ahh..." Homare noticed his captive breaking a sweat, and clasped his hands together. That nervousness was so cute- it always made his meals more flavorful! On the other end, Orion managed to break his focus from the (non)threatening picks hovering around him, putting on a wide, antsy grin. "Homareeee… Are you trying to kill me?"

Homare shook his head at the pretty-boy's whining, which drew the next question from him. "Are... you mad at me?" Yet another nonverbal ‘no’, and the oblivious man took that as a sign to relax. "...So that means you'll let me go now, right?"

The third answer sent a shiver down Orion's spine. Maybe it was his anxiety over getting the living hell tickled out of him, but he could've sworn he heard Homare actually whisper "no" that time. Before he had the chance to throw out another distraction, all five plumes made their move.

The first began at his waist, drawing a large circle around his stomach that grew smaller with each loop, just threatening to dive right back into his navel. Two more flew up to his pointed ears to mimic the annoying feathers from earlier, but this time there was nothing he could do to slap them away.

The last two dove straight into Ori's taut underarms, dragging up and down in an erratic pattern to keep him on his toes. Some strokes were long and slow, dragging up his arms and down to his chest. The others were faster and never strayed too far from his pits.

Poor Orion was beside himself with laughter. He couldn't even try to hold back the shriek that ripped from his lips as soon as the tools touched down.

"NOHOHOHOHOO!! " The sudden ticklish onslaught broke his nerves immediately, and his initial fit of thrashing against his bonds melted into useless tugging and worming around. After just a few more seconds of reckless squirming, the sensitive punk slumped against the wall, tossing his head back and letting his cackling flow free.

"YOHOHOU'RE THE WOHOHOHOOORST!!" he whined at his captor, who was practically drinking up the panicked, helpless laughter. He couldn't hear Homare's amused giggle in response, but he could tell the sadistic brat was too pleased with himself seeing how the tickling just didn't seem to stop.

But Homare's mean streak didn't end there. Orion’s tickle-addled brain didn't process the sound of Homare snapping again, but he definitely felt the plumes moving faster than before.

The one at his stomach stopped circling around, dipping into his navel again and prodding around incessantly. At his underarms, the tools became more focused on drawing the loudest squeals from their pretty ticklish ‘toy’, twirling right over the smooth skin with a bit more pressure than before.

While he wasn't near the point of silent laughter (damned musical breath training), the pitifully sensitive rockstar couldn't get a single word out once the harsher tickling took over. His already uncontrollable giggling went up almost a full octave, and his body went rigid for a split second before slumping back down. He weakly shook his head, trying anything his instincts could work up to keep the fluffy tools away from his ears.

Homare gave it another minute or two, then slowed down the tickling with another soft sigh of delight. Now that he had the chance, Orion took this opportunity to finally spit out his defeat.

"AHA-ALRIGHT!! It tihihickles!!" Homare's ears perked up, and he couldn't help but giggle in awe. He had only sped up the tickling just to satiate his hunger faster, but Ori's whiny concession was an added bonus.

"Huh?" Just to be a dick, the incubus stepped closer and cupped his ear, snapping at Orion to get his attention. Ori's eyes were blurry with tears, but he could still see the eccentric demon taunting him.

"Oh fuck yohohou- WAITWAHAHIT!!" He only had a moment to regret his poor choice of words: it almost looked like Ori would break free with how hard he jerked under Homare’s fingertips. The incubus listlessly poked around his ribs, getting dangerously close to under joining those plumes at his underarms. "IT TICKLES, IT TIIHIHICKLES!!!”

After what felt like hours to the ticklish drama king, Homare pulled both his hands and all of the fluffy tools away, though they still hovered nearby in just case Ori was dumb enough to to spare any more sass.

Though it felt like he'd just started, Homare's energy had flooded back faster than he was used to. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but this quick, strong rejuvenation wasn't entirely foreign to him. He'd once had an encounter with a nymph queen whose mirthful squeals of laughter replenished his power almost too fast- Maybe Ori's own magic was on par with hers?

…No, not a chance. Now that it was on his mind, he could recall similar experiences nearly every time he (begrudgingly) had his precious, eager to please Inori help him feed as well, and he knew her magic was always on the weaker side. He tried to think of anything his best friend had in common with the punk in front of him or a powerful queen, but he just couldn't draw any parallels...

Ori was still pressed against the wall, breathlessly giggling long after the tickling had stopped. Once he blinked away his tears, he could see Homare having a stretch and getting lost in his own mind as usual. The sight of the tools lingering nearby kept him on edge, but he couldn't help but notice a stark change: the magic holding them seemed more vivid in color. "Huh..." Ori huffed softly, his teary eyes shifting from the tools to the seemingly energized troublemaker in front of him.

"What's up? You full already?" He piped up, startling Homare mid-stretch. The incubus furrowed his brows, noticing the familiar shit-eating grin that Orion had the nerve to bear. "Heheh, and here I was thinking you were starving! Can't believe you'd use me as a quick snack."

While Ori was just teasing the other man, he didn't know he was poking a sleeping… No, a freshly energized, very alert bear. Homare stared the punk down, his visible eye now just as vibrant as his magic. He didn't bother to snap this time, cutting out the theatrics in favor of dishing out his favorite punishment.

The bondage around Orion's arms suddenly shifted, and the taller demon dropped to his knees with a startled gasp. He thought his bonds were completely loosened, but the incubus had the rope catch his wrists on the way down, fully stretching his arms above his head. Taking full advantage of his captive's stunned state, Homare dropped down as well, seating himself straight onto Ori's lap.

“Hghn-!? What-???” Orion was already convinced he fit the bill of an ‘inexperienced, flustered idiot’ by now, but the moment he tried to save face one last time, he was immediately countered by Homare slowly tugging down his own mask. It felt like he could never get used to seeing the lower half of the younger demon's pretty face, but what really shook him was the impish, telltale smirk on his lips. Ori shivered, feeling Homare's gloved hands gingerly rubbing up and down his sides. It might've been relaxing if he didn't know what it was leading up to. "D-Damnit! Wait, can't you take a joke?? Ya’ don't really HAVE to keep going-"

"Yes, I do." A lovely, melodic, and oh-so unfamiliar whisper seemed to shatter any of Orion's objections- that, and the feeling of soft lips grazing his cheek afterward. Ori's mind went blank, save for one thought: the incubus known for being an unpredictable, dangerous threat was currently planting the most tender kisses along his jawline.

When it seemed like Homare's lips would finally meet Orion's, that teasing brat only gave him a quick peck instead of what he truly wanted. Homare leaned back and let out an airy laugh, one that Orion would've folded over without a drop of shame if he wasn't so riled up.

Homare didn't give him the chance to whine over it too much. Soon, the hands at Ori's waist dug in, squeezing at his hips without warning. Orion bucked and yelped, almost jerking himself up off the floor, but Homare kept him in his place, kneading that sweet spot with light, hellish precision.

"OH MY GOHOHOD I HATE YOU!!"

“I know…♡ " Homare kept his voice low, leaning in to carry on with the soft kisses, this time right along Ori's ear. The combined merciless squeezing and loving, tickly kissing was maddening. He so desperately wanted to break out of the ropes and give Homare a taste of his own medicine, but a part of him didn't seem to mind the position he was in…

[chernabogs]

Portent

Inc: Lilia, Malleus' Mother and Father, Baul Zigvolt

Warnings: None! Except some anxiety maybe LMAO

WC: 2k on the money baby

Summary: A Queen's shotgun wedding at a military camp is observed by her apprehensive friend/general (done for @briarvalleyarchives event!)

There’s electricity in the air. He feels it rippling through his body as he exhales slowly, the moisture from his breath hitting the mask and rubbing on his skin. He clenches his hands together, creaking the leather on his gloves as he shifts to adjust his shoulder armour for the third time in the span of mere minutes. 

“Lilia.” 

A calm, low voice speaks his name from the other side of the room. Lilia turns his head just enough to see a woman standing before a mirror that’s been hastily strapped to the side of the tent. Her dark hair is tied back in a tight braid and her expression, although sombre, shows a small hint of excitement to it. Lilia observes her carefully until she takes note of his staring. 

Her green eyes flash in amusement and her lips quirk into a sly grin that reflects this. “You look on edge. I dare say the others will begin to question whether this is a wedding or a training exercise.” 

“Perhaps both,” Lilia replies in a deadpanned tone as he looks back to the tent entrance. This certainly was one of the most original approaches to a wedding that the Valley had ever seen; often such events involved great elaborate ceremonies and days upon days of feasts. But war debilitates pleasure—a wedding that may have once been the grandest event the Valley had ever seen, with an audience at an international scale, was now nothing more than a brief ceremony by a bonfire with an audience of tired soldiers as its witnesses. 

“I understand you protest this, but we do not know how long this war will be going on for… and certain circumstances dictate a faster marriage.” The woman replies from behind him. Lilia closes his eyes briefly and exhales. She was a queen, but she was also still one of his closest friends; the mischief that he knew she shared with him never quite left, even as the tides of war rocked the Valley’s shores. “Lilia?”

He looks back again. She’s cleaned up nicely; her hair is undone and flowing down her back, she wears the most formal dress she managed to dig up from her clothing chest, and she’s currently jumping on one foot trying to fit a heel onto the other. Scale-mail still adorns her shoulders, however, and he doesn’t miss the flash of a dagger hilt on her hip. Despite the joys of the night, it seems they both haven’t forgotten the environment this is taking place in. 

Lilia snorts to stifle his laughter at the sight as his arms cross over his chest and he observes her, giving no indication of offering to help. “Are you channelling a rabbit, perhaps? Hopping around like you’re about to flee?” 

“Cheeky,” the woman hisses as she finally fits the heel on her foot. She huffs and flattens her hair a bit before reaching up to touch the horns on the top of her head. 

“They are still there.” Lilia chuckles, earning him another mockingly stern look from his companion. 

“Do I look decent, at least?” She asks as she approaches him, turning so he can tie the corset belts strings for her. He hums quietly as he works, his fingers still nimble despite the leather and metal that cover his hands. 

“You look as wonderful as one can considering the circumstances.” He pulls carefully, trying not to break a rib before tying a tight knot at the end. His companion huffs a breath and presses her hand against the belt before turning to look down at him. She then reaches out and nudges the edge of his mask. 

“You will take that off, yes? Gods know it will only make everyone more anxious.” 

He stares up at her, red eyes unblinking for a while, before reaching up to push back his hood and slide his mask off of his face. He sets it down on the table, glancing at the ears and sharp fangs that adorn it, before reaching up to tighten his ponytail. “Happy?” 

“Pleased,” is the reply he gets as his companion lightly nudges his shoulder. “You will be by my side, correct?” 

His eyebrow arches as he looks up at her. She may be Queen of Briar Valley, but he can’t help seeing the sly girl with dirty cheeks and a muddy dress that he knew throughout the better portion of his youth. Lilia’s nose scrunches up in displeasure. 

“Well I suppose I can take the time,” he hums, his tone teasing as he fights back a grin. The Queen scoffs loudly before sweeping into a mocking bow. 

“So kind, General Vanrouge. I will be sure to remember this.” Then she straightens back up, that familiar cheeky grin on her face. Her cheeks have a slight flush with the giddiness of what’s to come tonight, and despite Lilia’s apprehension, he feels himself warming up under the rays of her happiness as well. 

“Now come! It would be quite embarrassing to be late to my own wedding, no?” 

——————

The night is loud and rippling with excitement as they make their way through the military camp.  Drinks spill from goblets gripped in eager soldiers' hands as they cheer and sing. Someone—Lilia isn’t quite sure who, but he does intend to find out by tomorrow morning—has pulled out a Bohdran from somewhere and is playing a merry tune on it. The smokey scent of meat cooking on a fire fills the air and causes Lilia’s stomach to twist in a reminder that he hasn’t had anything to eat since yesterday. The Queen looks back at him with a grin as they move towards the fire itself. 

“I far prefer this over the ceremonial approach!” She laughs before looking back ahead. Lilia grimaces as he follows behind, not quite sharing her enthusiasm. His gaze frequently darts to the treeline and the darkened hills beyond. So attuned to the horizon is he that he fails to notice the presence coming up behind him until a hand harshly clamps on his shoulder, causing him to jolt in surprise. 

“Lilia.” A low, rumbling voice belonging to a man with electric green hair runs through Lilia and causes his grimace to turn to a scowl. 

“Baul,” he hums back, keeping pace to his fellow General as they continue to walk behind the Queen. “I am quite surprised you are here, and not lunging for the hog cooking over the fire.” 

Baul’s lips curl into a grin that shows his sharpened teeth as a chuckle escapes him. “Bold of you to assume I have not had my fair share of meat tonight. Besides, I saw how grim you looked, and figured it would be best to brighten your mood.”

“How like the sun you are.” Lilia replied sarcastically as he glanced back at the Queen. They are fast approaching the podium, and Lilia’s gaze is drawn to the figure that already stood there. He's tall, much like the Queen is, with dark hair and eyes that brim with affection as they watch the trio approach. 

“Ah, look how happy he is to see her,” Baul murmurs to Lilia with a grin. Lilia tries to maintain a straight face as he leans close to grumble back; 

“I trust my Queen, but I do find myself wondering about her personal preferences from time to time.” 

When the Queen sends a sharp look over her shoulder at him, Lilia knows he hasn’t been as quiet as he thought—so he gives her a pointed look back, and doubles down on what he said. Baul’s grip on his shoulder tightens as he yanks Lilia to the left side of the stage. Another soldier—a wiry Owl-Fae, with thick rimmed glasses and a nervous disposition—clears his throat. 

“Attention!” He calls, his voice drowning amongst the rabble of the crowd. He clears his throat again. “Attentio—”

“SILENCE.”

Baul’s voice booms like thunder across the entire camp, and within mere seconds all sound falls into dead-silence as hundreds of pairs of eyes shoot towards the podium. The Owl-Fae swallows and gives a wavering smile to the general. 

“Much appreciation, General Baul.” He squeaks efore looking back to the crowd. He draws out a woven cord from his bag which appears to be made of vines before holding it up for the crowd to see. 

“Our kind live long lives, but rare is it still to find one we wish to share that with,” he begins, unwinding the cord as he did. The Queen and her companion watch with interest before clasping their hands together. Lilia sees the eager smile on his friends lips, and swiftly turns his gaze away. “Perhaps this is why, when we feel in our hearts that we have found such a person, we wish to do all that we can to never let them go. We love so rarely, yet when we do, it is a love that many have claimed transcends time itself; it is the envy of those whose lives are too brief to know it themselves.” 

The Owl-Fae then smiles a little at the two as the soldiers hold their breaths, the hog still spitting and crackling over the fire, the sound of alcohol in cups still sloshing about. Lilia holds his breath and looks stoically at the dark hills on the horizon. 

“Do you still wish to enter this ceremony?” 

No, Lilia urges in his mind. There's an unsettling feeling in his gut, as though this moment is the quill dipping into the ink to craft a tragedy that would render him not General Vanrouge, not Lilia, but something that is a mere shell of them both. 

“Yes.” They both say in unison. His hand clenches again and the leather creaks. The Owl-Fae nods and begins to carefully tie the knot between their clasped hands. 

“As this knot is tied, so are your lives now bound. A cord of earth and magic carries within it the hopes of your family, your friends, yourselves, and the nations people you shall come to serve. As this knot is tied, so do I tie all desires, dreams, and love you two carry so that it may last for as long as your lives do.”

Lilia’s gaze darts back to the Owl-Fae as he says this. His body tenses as the words are distorted in his mind; they sound like a threat, although they are spoken amicably, and it’s only by Baul’s hand still on his shoulder that he’s held back from lunging for the Fae. He feels his friends grip tighten briefly before easing up again; a clear warning to control himself.

The Owl continues. “... may this knot remain tied for as long as love shall last. May this cord draw love, and never anger. May the vows you speak never grow bitter on your tongues. May it be granted that what is done before the Gods shall never be undone by man. Two entwined together, bound by love and fear, bound by sorrow and joy, by hardship and triumph, by anger and forgiveness; hold tight to one another through the good and the bad, and may the strength you share raise kings and nations in its stead.” 

There was a moment of pause, before an eruption of joy explodes across the camp. The music begins again as the Queen draws the now-presiding King into an embrace. Lilia’s body jolts with the sudden noise as Baul slaps his shoulder particularly hard. 

“Look at that! We have a King now, too!” He cackles. Lilia doesn't share the enthusiastic sentiment as his gaze is drawn to the couple, and to the cord that still binds them together. The vines used to make it are a deep green, but despite the darkness of night that they stand in, Lilia can see black rot creeping along the surface. His stomach turns again and fear ripples through him. 

It merely lasts a moment before a goblet of wine is shoved into his hand and he's dragged down into the crowd, into the rabble and the music brought on by joy that he can't bring himself to share. He looks back once more at the Queen and the King, and seeks to burn the image of them in his mind. 

A wedding is meant to be a ceremony of joy; why then, does Lilia feel he just stood witness to the beginnings of a funeral instead?

[basementcereal]

DEAD END JOB, EP 1

“One Hell Of A Romance”

When Grelle falls in love with infamous devil Lucifer, William and Ronald team up to find her a less demonic boyfriend.

( 20 minute made-for-totally-real-tv script ahead. Click “Keep Reading” with caution. Rated TV-14 by Your Local Network. Beta read by @spike-the-creature @littleredphantom and @nullb1rdbones. Copywrong 1988 Tumblr User Basementcereal, Inc. )

INT. BOARD ROOM - DAY

Disney channel style jingle. Shot of the top floor of a building so tall it is in the clouds. There’s a giant neon sign at the top that says “Reaper HQ” in red lettering.

WILLIAM

We are here to discuss a certain woman in the workplace.

WILLIAM 

Grelle has been single for going on 5 years right now, and that is starting to become a workplace hazard.

RONALD

Tell me about it.

Cut to RONALD with his hand stuck in the vending machine.

RONALD

AGH! I can’t- OWWW! Get it out!

GRELLE

At least something wants to hold your hand…

RONALD

grelle my arm

GRELLE

SHE CARES ABOUT YOU! IF ONLY SOMEONE WOULD DO THE SAME FOR ME…

RONALD

GRELLE MY ARM

Cut back to the office.

RONALD

I always hated that vending machine.

SASCHA

Oh, Grelle has been a menace ever since I got transferred here.

Cut to SASCHA in the halls trying to find the retrieval break room.

SASCHA 

Hey, uh, do you know where the retrieval division’s break room is?

GRELLE 

You know, I’D like a break from being single, but NOBODY WILL EVER LOVE ME!

Awkward pause.

SASCHA

Have you tried magazine ads?

GRELLE

OF COURSE I HAVE! But APPARENTLY I’m just too beautiful for mortal men. 

Cut back to the office.

SASCHA

Ja. She has been causing problems.

WILLIAM 

Well, we clearly have to do something about this, otherwise it is going to become a much worse problem than it already is.

Cut to WILLIAM’s imagination.

Grelle is chasing the other reapers around with her chainsaw. Everyone is running in terror. The building is on fire. Some guy is collapsed on the floor. Interns are jumping out the windows.

GRELLE

FINALLY, MY FLAME! WE CAN BE TOGETHER FOREVER! EEEAAAAHHH!

She does a little twirl as the entire building begins to collapse with her in it.

Cut back to the office.

WILLIAM shudders.

WILLIAM

We need to get that woman a boyfriend, and fast.

RONALD

Well, what do we DO?

WILLIAM

We are going to try and find the most beautiful reapers in our whole department to show her all her options.

(heel noises)

WILLIAM

Oh god. Everyone act natural.

GRELLE bursts into the room. 

GRELLE

What are you doing, having a meeting without me? What are you saying about me? Are you gossiping? OOOH, I wanna hear it! 

Cut to a close up of WILLIAM’s face. Cut again to a close up of GRELLE’s face smiling excitedly. Cut to WILLIAM’s face again.

WILLIAM

Yes, actually.

GRELLE

Well, I’m sure you heard that I got a boyfriend! And HE’S SO HANDSOME!

GRELLE twirls again. WILLIAM looks relieved, and then tries to put on his best schoolgirl voice.

WILLIAM

Well, who is he? What’s his name?

GRELLE 

LUCIFER! But I just call him Lulu~

Uncomfortable silence. All the reapers kinda just awkwardly look at each other.

WILLIAM

You.

WILLIAM 

You do know who Lucifer is, right?

GRELLE

Why would I not? He’s kind, and loving, and SO HOT.

WILLIAM

Well, maybe he’s hot because he’s. From hell. Because you’re dating THE DEVIL.

GRELLE

YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!

WILLIAM 

Does he have horns, fangs, and a tail?

GRELLE looks VERY embarrassed.

WILLIAM

What did I tell you? Demon-reaper relationships are HIGHLY PROHIBITED. Not only are the demons our enemies, but they are also. Just really gross. Why would you date one.

GRELLE

AT LEAST SOMEONE LOVES ME!

WILLIAM

Okay. Look. If I can find you someone even more. Ahem. “Hot” than The Devil, then will you break up with him and date your perfect match?

GRELLE 

I mean, I suppose. But if you can’t, I’m going on another date with him tomorrow!

WILLIAM

I’d fire you all if I could. Anyways. Ronald, you’re going to go find the… “HOTTEST”… reaper in the building. I’m going to show Grelle… (sigh) pretty boy magazines.

GRELLE

OHH, this is the best day of my life!

INT. SKULLBY CONVENIENCE - DAY

Wide shot of Skullby Convenience at the bottom of the building. Disney channel jingle.

GRELLE

Oh, Skullby Convenience, how I love you. If only you would return my affections, like NO ONE EVER HAD! At least, not before him… My Lulu…

WILLIAM

Oh my god.

WILLIAM

So, where do you even find those stupid magazines?

GRELLE

Oh, can’t I just do a little bit of shopping? We’re already out and about.

WILLIAM

NO. We do not have time to waste. We’re getting you that magazine, and we’re getting it as fast as we can. Skullby Convenience is laid out to have you waste as much money as they can and put your salary back into the budget.

Awkward silence.

WILLIAM

WERE YOU EVEN LISTENING?

GRELLE 

OOH! Look at the guy on the cover! He’s SO HANDSOME!

WILLIAM

It’s called “Maneater”? Sounds completely and utterly frivolous. It is perfect.

The magazine shows a picture of SEBASTIAN in bodyguard gear.

GRELLE

“Sebastian Michaelis, the hot bodyguard of famous child actor Ciel Phantomhive”? EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! I love his hair! And his face! And his-

WILLIAM

Grelle, please stop, we are in a public place.

GRELLE

UGH, fine. You never let me have ANY fun.

WILLIAM

I am letting you buy low brow perverted magazines and letting you write it off as a business expense. Do you think that isn’t fun?

More awkward silence.

WILLIAM

Let’s just get in that stupid line.

The two begin to line up.

CASHIER

That’ll be 99.99.

LINE REAPER

Hold on, let me just get out my pennies. I swore to my great aunt in 1923 that I would always use exact change.

LINE REAPER begins to rummage through her purse aggressively.

WILLIAM

I hate people like that. You can just use a hundred dollar bill like a functioning member of society. 

GRELLE

Or you can just steal it!

WILLIAM

GRELLE.

GRELLE Borrow it without asking.

WILLIAM

UGH. I hope for all of our sakes that Ronald is doing better than we are…

EXT. INTERN BREAK ROOM - DAY

RONALD

Ok, you’re decent looking, but not good enough for this. Pass.

RONALD

Yikes. Never. Pass.

RONALD

Did someone drop an anvil on your head when you were born or something? PASS.

RONALD UGH, no one who works here is hot enough for Grelle to date instead of that stupid demon guy. What’s his face? Loafer? What kind of parent names their kid Loafer?  

RONALD

And more importantly, why do I have to do this instead of, oh I don’t know, my job?

INTERN

Uh, boss man?

RONALD Intern, hi. Know if any of your male colleagues are really hot?

INTERN

Ok, that’s a weird question. 

RONALD I know, I know. But can you just answer it? The higher ups are being weird again and I’m trying not to get demoted.

INTERN Well, I do know a guy in retrieval. Cool outfit and the best hair I’ve ever seen. It’s so long, you’d think he’d been growing it out since BEFORE it was cool. Heard he came out of retirement because we’re short on staff.

Short comedic pause.

RONALD

Yeah, that’ll do it.

EXT. MANAGEMENT BREAK ROOM - DAY

GRELLE

Sebastian! Ohh, such a pretty name! And he’s a bodyguard, too! That’s like, the fifth hottest profession! EEEEE!

GRELLE

But can I truly find him and make him mine? Not until that brat he’s working for starts filming his next movie, I suppose.

WILLIAM

And when do you think that’s going to happen?

GRELLE Well, I could try tracking his soul’s activity! Ooh, that’ll be fun!

WILLIAM Grelle, you do realize you aren’t supposed to check other reapers’ lists? Did you even READ the manual?

GRELLE stares silently at WILLIAM.

WILLIAM

Well, you can borrow mine for now.

WILLIAM pulls out a comically large book that has “Employee Handbook” printed on the front. It comes with a little bookmark with skulls all over it.

GRELLE YOU READ THE EMPLOYEE HANDBOOK?

WILLIAM

YOU DIDN’T???

GRELLE

I JUST KINDA GUESSED THE RULES!

WILLIAM

YOU GUESSED THE RULES???

GRELLE YOU DIDN’T???

SASCHA walks in.

SASCHA

Uh. Is this the bathroom?

WILLIAM and GRELLE both turn to SASCHA and say something that is comedically censored by a giant beep.

SASCHA

I guess not.

WILLIAM and GRELLE resume their arguing. The scene fades out.

EXT. REAPER HQ - DAY

RONALD stands outside a dumpster, looking around.

RONALD

Okay. So I’ve been on every floor. ALLLL 1000 of them. If this man isn’t here, I’m going to lose my mind.

UNDERTAKER pops out of a dumpster.

UNDERTAKER

DID SOMEBODY SAY LOSE THEIR MIND? UEEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!

RONALD stares into the camera, then turns over to UNDERTAKER. And then he begins to realize.

Cut to flashback.

INTERN Well, I do know a guy in retrieval. Cool outfit and the best hair I’ve ever seen. It’s so long, you’d think he’d been growing it out since BEFORE it was cool. Heard he came out of retirement because we’re short on staff.

Short comedic pause.

RONALD

Yeah, that’ll do it.

“That’ll do it” echoes while the scene transitions back to the dumpster.

UNDERTAKER

Whatcha starin into space for?

RONALD

I need your help. And fast.

INT. HQ ELEVATOR

RONALD

And now, all I have to do is press the but-

UNDERTAKER

ELEVATORS! Haven’t ever used one of these!

RONALD

OK, either you’ve been using the stairs this ENTIRE TIME, which, how? Or you don’t actually work here. And anyways, where are your glasses? I can get you some on floor-

Before RONALD can finish speaking, UNDERTAKER has already pressed every single elevator button. For every floor. All 1000 of them.

RONALD

It’s days like these where I wish I would get demoted to a Skullby Convenience employee.

INT. MANAGEMENT BREAK ROOM - DAY

GRELLE and WILLIAM are sitting on the couch, going over the manual.

GRELLE

How much more is there? My eyes are starting to glaze over…

WILLIAM

What do you mean? We’re only on page 7! There’s 4020 more!

GRELLE chuckles.

WILLIAM

What in god’s name is so funny about 4020?

GRELLE keeps laughing.

GRELLE

I’m sorry, I just-

GRELLE laughs so hard that she starts falling over onto the couch, hitting WILLIAM in the face with her heels.

WILLIAM

Remember the deal. You finish reading the manual, so you can finally have a shred of sense, and in return you get to go to Funtom Productions and stalk that stupid bodyguard.

GRELLE

YES, OBVIOUSLY I REMEMBER THE DEAL! YOU JUST MADE IT WITH ME! WHY DID YOU SAY IT AGAIN?

WILLIAM

You know what, I don’t know. Perhaps there is some narrative reason. Exposition, perhaps.

GRELLE

That’s ridiculous. Nobody would ever write a story about us.

WILLIAM

You’re right, you’re right.

WILLIAM

Now onto page 8 we go.

GRELLE

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYy

INT. HQ ELEVATOR

RONALD and UNDERTAKER are stuck in the elevator. 

RONALD

WHY DID YOU HAVE TO PRESS EVERY BUTTON? I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT FLOOR WE’RE STUCK ON!

UNDERTAKER

HEEHEE! I JUST WANTED TO HAVE A LITTLE LAUGH A YOUR EXPENSE!

RONALD

Well, because of you, we’re BOTH stuck in this stupid thing.

UNDERTAKER

FINE. I’m SORRY for pressing all 1000 elevator buttons.

RONALD

No you’re not.

UNDERTAKER

EHEHE, you got me!

RONALD

Well, what now? Do we just wait until the repair reapers come?

UNDERTAKER

They have those?

RONALD

Yeah, a surprising amount of reapers just end up in maintenance. I can’t imagine having to be a janitor for all of eternity. I don’t LIKE field work, but at least I don’t have to clean all 1000 floors of this place.

UNDERTAKER looks at RONALD mischieviously.

RONALD

Speaking of 1000 floors, I CAN’T BELIEVE I HAD TO STOP ON 998 FLOORS BEFORE THE ELEVATOR BROKE DOWN! I COULD HAVE GOTTEN OUT! JUST TWO FLIGHTS OF STAIRS. COULDN’T HAVE BEEN THAT HARD! BUT NOOOOOO.

Comedic pause.

UNDERTAKER

99 bottles of souls on the wall, 99 bottles of souls,

RONALD

That’s not even how that works.

UNDERTAKER

Take one down, pass it around, 98 bottles of souls on the wall.

RONALD

(sigh) 98 bottles of souls on the wall, 98 bottles of souls, take one down, pass it around, 97 bottles of souls on the wall.

UNDERTAKER

97 bottles of souls on the wall, 97 bottles of souls, take one down, pass it around, 96 bottles of souls on the wall.

EXT. MANAGEMENT BREAK ROOM - SUNSET

MANY HOURS LATER

GRELLE

FINALLY! ALL 4020 PAGES! 

GRELLE twirls at the sight of freedom in front of her.

GRELLE

Now for your end of the deal, Will.

WILLIAM

(sigh) Fine. You can go find that stupid bodyguard. At least he isn’t a demon.

GRELLE

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

GRELLE runs off very quickly and excitedly, despite wearing heels higher than a stoner.

WILLIAM

Finally, I can go home…

EXT. FUNTOM PRODUCTIONS - NIGHT

GRELLE crouches with binoculars in one of the bushes outside Funtom Productions. She smiles evilly. 

GRELLE (thinking)

Now to wait for him to go outside.

SEBASTIAN goes outside.

SEBASTIAN

I must say, I swear I heard something…

GRELLE freezes.

SEBASTIAN

Must have been nothing.

GRELLE sighs in relief.

SEBASTIAN

Oh. It’s back.

SEBASTIAN

You know, I could swear I heard someONE who isn’t supposed to be here.

GRELLE (THINKING)

Run.

GRELLE dashes out of the bush and climbs onto the fence. SEBASTIAN grabs GRELLE’s shoe in an attempt to stop her, but her shoe just falls off.

GRELLE (THINKING)

I just got those…

GRELLE makes it over the fence, tumbling over the other side. Her other shoe falls off in the process.

GRELLE

I really should have worn runners… Who am I kidding, I don’t even own runners. At least I won’t get my socks muddy.

It starts comically pouring rain.

GRELLE

OH FOR FU-

INT. WILLIAM’S OFFICE- NIGHT

GRELLE shows up in the office, covered in mud, frizzy hair, and no shoes with the biggest frown on her face.

WILLIAM

I’m assuming that went well.

GRELLE

YEAH. WENT GREAT. OH JOY.

WILLIAM

To be fair, you did try and sneak into a celebrity’s house to try and flirt with his bodyguard. I don’t know what you were expecting there.

GRELLE

YOU TOLD ME HE WAS GOING TO FALL IN LOVE WITH ME INSTANTLY.

WILLIAM

I was being sarcastic.

 GRELLE

I- BEING SARCASTIC? YOU GOT MY HOPES UP FOR NO REASON! YOU MADE ME BELIEVE IN LOVE! SO I AM going on another date with LULU…

RONALD and UNDERTAKER come into the room.

RONALD

Grelle! I found you a boyfriend.

UNDERTAKER

Groovy.

GRELLE stares at UNDERTAKER in complete awe.

GRELLE

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! I LOVE HIS HAIR! AND HIS FACE! AND HIS-

WILLIAM

Grelle. We’re at work.

GRELLE

LUCIFER IS DUMPED. DONE. FOREVER. YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL!

UNDERTAKER

hee hee

GRELLE and UNDERTAKER act ridiculously around each other. WILLIAM and RONALD stare in fear.

RONALD

It’s like a match made in heaven.

WILLIAM

Or rather in hell.

RONALD

Purgatory?

WILLIAM

Purgatory.

INT. STAIRWELL - NIGHT

RONALD

I (huff) am not (huff) going in the elevator (huff) ever again (huff)

UNDERTAKER slides down the stairs on a pizza box like a little kid.

UNDERTAKER

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

RONALD

99 more flights of stairs to go down, 99 more flights of stairs.

RONALD

Take one down, pass it around, 98 more flights of stairs to go down.

RONALD collapses. Cut to black for everywhere but RONALD’s face. Disney channel jingle. Roll the credits.

[renaerys]

Prompt 50. But Berserk & Boomer😔👉👈💕

50. “I thought you left.”

We’re calling this one Unfortunately, She Impressed Him. This is a pair of characters I love with all my heart in any flavor of relationship and can’t wait to write more of in my ongoing multi-chapter fic Trinity House over on AO3.

This fic is part of a prompt challenge that is now closed to new requests, but you can read all the completed submissions here. Reminder that the challenge is to make everything SFW, so we’re getting creative here.

xxx

Boomer was halfway across the deserted lobby of Faust Keating Rogers, LLP when he realized he’d forgotten his keys at his desk. He groaned aloud because it was 8 p.m. and no one was around to hear him because they had all gone home to their families hours ago like normal people. Boomer didn’t have two to three kids and a house in the suburbs, though, and neither did his boss. The three hour lull reserved for dinner, baths, and bedtimes before the evening work-from-home grind offered him no alternative but to power through. He fully planned to grab take out on his way home and enjoy an episode of whatever was on HBOMax before getting back to the tedious work of reviewing the draft prospectus statement his boss had sent him to proof by tomorrow morning.

Except, his keys were forty floors up and he now had to risk running into her again when he’d managed to slip away so neatly. He’d even removed his tie on the elevator ride down, and now he rubbed his exposed neck, flushed with anxiety over what might happen if she saw him and asked him to stick around to finish the work here.

“Nice going, dumbass,” he lamented as he stepped onto the elevator and hit the button for the fortieth floor.

It wasn’t that Boomer disliked his job. In fact, he didn’t mind it at all. It was better than slinging drinks or waiting tables. He had health insurance, a steady paycheck, and a resumé that could proudly display the name of one of the most elite accounting firms in the country. He could pivot his career if he wanted to, as Brick would say. Boomer wasn’t thinking about his next job right now, though. Right now, he was thinking about this one and how his boss was a hard-ass and a workaholic even if she was brilliant, and how there was a one hundred percent chance she would detect him coming back to his desk (which was annoyingly set up right in front of her office so that he could answer her calls, manage her meetings, and deal with whoever passed close enough to her event horizon to get suckered into the latest heinous audit in need of staffing).

There were his traitorous keys sitting on the desk next to the framed picture of his brothers. He glared at them, as if they were a forgotten household item that had developed a supernatural grudge like in those old Japanese folktales he liked to read online. He half expected them to jingle and alert his boss to his presence, just to spite him.

They didn’t, and he slipped them into his pocket as quietly as could be. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and took a beat. It was quiet. Most of the offices were dark, save for a few poor souls in the large conference room stuck on the ongoing year-end audit for one of the firm’s most important clients: Unicorn, Inc. His boss’s office was also lit up behind her closed door, but she hadn’t called out to him like she would during the day when he got back from his lunch break hoping for a few minutes to catch up on emails in peace before she dumped more work on him.

This, of course, was odd. The small legion of assistants who had come before Boomer were notorious for their short-term employment working this specific desk. The work was demanding and so was the boss, but there was something else that set her apart from other senior associates in the International Tax Services division, something that seemed to intimidate away any support the higher ups sent her way. Denise a couple desks down had warned Boomer not to bring too many personal effects to the office; chances were he wasn’t going to last long. Boomer had smiled thinly and thanked Denise for her advice, and brought the picture of his brothers in the next morning because he had his pride and Brick told him it was healthy to indulge that once in a while. Brick would certainly know.

So here he was, uncertain. Anxiety over having to sit here for another two hours finishing work and having tepid Doordash delivered pulled him toward the elevator and escape, while that annoying, rare pride demanded he check on his boss and make sure she knew he was here to support her, lest she get the idea that he needed to be fired.

The longer he stood there, indecisive, the greater his curiosity grew. What was she doing in there? It was quiet, even when he strained his Super hearing. He could hear Dean Matheson pouring whiskey a few offices down (that guy had a drinking problem and everyone knew they only kept him around because he had the Unicorn, Inc. account), Adebayo Hansou on a conference call with Dubai that was escalating to profanity, Shelly Kim with her head down and typing away at an Excel spreadsheet like a pro. Their assistants were long gone for the night, but here was Boomer, loitering and indecisive and what is she doing in there not yelling at me when she definitely knows I’m here?

He couldn’t take it anymore. He knocked on the closed door—rap, rap, rap—and called out softly, “Berserk?”

A beat, then: “Come in.”

Finding his boss in upward facing dog while still in her pencil skirt was not a sight Boomer was prepared for. Berserk had her eyes closed as she stretched at a near ninety degree angle and listened to music on her Airpods. Boomer had never seen her with her heels off and her mane of red hair thrown together in a messy bun; it was so casual that it was almost obscene.

“You’re staring.”

Fuck, he was staring and now she was looking right at him down her nose, even though she was the one on the floor. He stood up straighter, unable to help himself when she took that tone that reminded him so much of Brick’s when he was about to criticize, but he didn’t avert his gaze. “Sorry.”

She breathed in deeply through her nose and hoisted herself up into downward dog position. “Why are you here?”

Forgot my keys seemed like a really lame excuse that she’d probably laugh at him for, but he also was not in the habit of making shit up on the spot if he hoped to make people believe him. “I forgot my keys.” He took them from his pocket to show her, as if she might not know what keys are, as a concept.

“Smart locks.” Berserk exhaled and slowly walked her hands back on the yoga mat until she reached her feet and began to swing slowly left and right.

Huh? he almost said like an idiot, until he caught himself. “Don’t think my landlord would approve of me installing that.” Also, those things were like $200 a pop, which was not worth the occasional inconvenience and shame of forgetting his keys and then catching his boss doing yoga in her office after hours.

Berserk made some noncommittal sound like whatever, peasant and slowly uncurled upward one vertebra at a time. Boomer realized he was back to staring again, literally lingering in her door watching her and trying to equate this subdued, casual version of Berserk with the terse, no-nonsense businesswoman he was used to dealing with on a daily basis.

When she finally achieved her full height, she popped her neck. The hair that was too short for her bun fell in around her narrow face in a stylish, athleisure sort of way. The top buttons on her blouse were undone. She wore a small, golden necklace he’d never noticed before because he wasn’t in the habit of checking out his boss. “I thought you left.”

The accusatory nature of her words were totally at odds with her flat tone, only the barest hint of curiosity dangling there at the end, like she expected him to respond.

Oh, she expected him to respond.

Boomer took another step into her office because he was full of poor judgment today. “I forgot my keys.”

At which point he showed her his keys again and also had a mild stroke, because what the fuck are you doing, mate?

Berserk smiled. “Yeah, I got that part.”

Was she laughing at him? He had never heard her laugh before, unless it was at Dean Matheson, that comb-over in denial who, in addition to being a high functioning alcoholic, also had a reputation for throwing associates under the bus when a client wasn’t happy.

Boomer smiled back, because that was what he did when people smiled at him, and ‘people’ now included Berserk, apparently.

“Well, since you’re here,” she said as she padded around to her desk.

Crap, there was the work he was afraid of soliciting from her by remaining in the building. He debated an excuse to give her: picking up dry cleaning? Plausible, but transparent. Meeting up with his brothers? No, she’d probably make him stay all night for the chance to ruin Brick’s plans.

“Thai or Mexican?”

Boomer stared dumbly. He was becoming quite good at that (10,000 hours and you can become an expert at anything, they say). “Huh?”

The yoga must have put Berserk in an exceedingly gracious mood, because she actually repeated her question without getting that look on her face like she was picturing him getting trampled by stampeding monsters. “Thai or Mexican? I don’t have a preference.”

Oh.

Oh.

Boomer’s stomach picked that time to snarl at him—8 p.m. and still no dinner, the fiend.

Berserk snorted in laughter and fanned herself with her phone. “Jesus. Mexican it is.”

Which was how Boomer found himself on the small sofa tucked in the corner of Berserk’s office, shoes off and belt loosened, with enough tacos, tamales, and rice and beans to feed a small family. He even had a beer from the mini fridge Berserk kept under her desk.

She hadn’t stayed late to work. Well, she had, but only because she didn’t have a reason to go home.

“I just hate getting home to a dark apartment sometimes,” she said in between bites of food. She had her legs tucked up under her on the sofa close enough to brush Boomer’s thigh if he reached to grab the salsa.

“I thought you lived with your sister?”

“Brute got her own place a few months ago. The arrangement was only temporary while she was in between jobs.”

It was weird knowing so little about a person whose whole family had been in Boomer’s inner orbit since childhood. As far as he knew, Berserk wasn’t close to any of her cousins, not even Blossom. Boomer himself had never been more eager to leave a room than when Brat walked into it. Only Butch, Brute, and Buttercup had ever found common ground among each other once the sworn rivalries and blood feuds of their youth gave way to teenage rebellion against their respective overlord fathers and then the slog of adulthood that was inescapable even for a bunch of Supers flying high on Chemical X.

The fact that Boomer had gotten this job surprised him more than anyone. After drifting from restaurant jobs to office temp placements over the last six years, he’d never thought he would dust off his economics degree and land a temp-to-permanent position that seemed way above his qualifications. And he never thought it would be working for a woman he’d most definitely electrocuted in battle at least a dozen times before puberty.

“What?”

Boomer blinked. He’d been staring again, Jesus Christ. “Sorry, I was just thinking… I didn't know that. I’ve been working here for five months and I don’t actually know much about you at all.”

“Hm.”

Her magenta eyes were wine-dark against the murky sky beyond the window forty stories up. Boomer did avert his gaze this time to reach for the salsa, but he didn’t use it.

“I don’t even know why you invited me to stay for dinner in the office if we’re not going to do any work.”

“Why did you stay?”

“For the free food.”

Berserk grinned—the third time she had smiled at him tonight (or ever). He needed to stop counting; he’d be disappointed when it stopped happening tomorrow.

“Don’t get used to it. Much as I appreciate the company now and again, there’s no need for both of us to be stuck here while Matheson’s breathing down the associates’ necks. Can’t have him poaching you out from under me.”

“Well, I don’t work for him; I work for you.”

“It’s sweet how you don’t understand office politics.” She ate a lone slice of avocado with a fork. “He landed Unicorn back when they were early stage, and back when he was still putting in the work to earn his reputation. But since they IPO’d three years ago and make up twenty percent of our revenue now, he’s just another big name coasting by on associate work. You know he regularly schedules client calls and just doesn’t bother to show up? He forgets half the time, and the other half he’s busy playing golf or buying a yacht or whatever the fuck rich, white Boomers do.”

“Well, as a Boomer myself, I can say I’ve spent exactly zero hours buying yachts.”

She chuckled. Fourth time. “Oh, really.”

“Never even thought of yachts. As far as I’m concerned, they’re not even real.”

“Thanks for your expert opinion.”

“Any time.” Boomer turned his body to face her and draped his arm over the back of the sofa. With only the soft light from the floor lamp in the corner, he imagined himself adrift in the darkness, the sky scraper lights nearby stars. It was a lonely thought, one made romantic in the knowledge that she was here too, and he wasn’t actually alone.

“Matheson almost did poach you, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Boomer couldn’t recall exchanging more than a few words with the man.

“When we were filling support positions. Someone recognized you from the news a few years back, when the Cyclops Monster attacked the marina district and you and your brothers took it out. Matheson got it in his head that you’d be able to work at Super speed and help lower his billables.”

“Wow. Maybe you should’ve let him. What do you think the net savings would be in yacht units of measurement?”

Berserk rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again. “I claimed you before he could get the paperwork in.”

Boomer hyper-focused on that word: claimed. He also pointedly ignored it entirely, much in the same way he ignored the new count of five smiles tonight. “Showed him your bending powers, did you?”

Berserk’s Corona bottle turned frosty under her hand in a totally unnecessary, big dick energy display of said powers, and she took another sip. “No. Sharon from HR likes me. And I promised her I wouldn’t fire you after three months like your predecessors.”

Flattered was not how Boomer would describe the feeling of being claimed by Berserk and eluding Matheson’s vampiric clutches. But he was a bit tickled all the same. This was the woman Butch had once described as essentially Brick, if he were constipated all the time.

And then he realized what she was doing. “Hey, you’re sharing things about yourself.”

She clinked her bottle to his, and Boomer shivered at the frosty chill she transferred on contact. “Aw, you figured it out all by yourself.”

“Ha ha.”

She didn’t quite smile, but she did look kind of serene then, content even, as she lay back against the arm of the sofa and yawned. Her gold necklace—just a simple disk with an engraving Boomer could not make out—reflected the lamp light when she moved. It rested just beneath her collarbone, which had suddenly become the single-most interesting part of Berserk, and oh no, was he interested—

“You’re staring again.”

Son of a bitch.

“Sorry,” he said automatically. “I didn’t mean to.”

Hard no. He was not allowed to be any percent attracted to Berserk. First, she was his boss, and there was a cliché here that, while subverted on the gender role spectrum, was still very risky for both of them. Second, she was Berserk, a fellow Super, cousin to his best friend Bubbles and a shrewd, stiletto bitch in Brick’s estimation, which sounded bad. Not that she was bad, or even evil, unless you counted helping rich corporations accurately report their taxes while taking advantage of the many egregious loopholes in the Internal Revenue Code. Which, okay, point taken, but he also worked here and anyway, people should not be deemed good or evil so much as their choices ought to be—

“Are you thinking about fucking me?”

You shrewd, stiletto bitch!

She was smiling again, and Boomer pathetically logged that as the sixth time, although he wasn’t sure he should count it given the overt malice behind it.

Unfortunately, Boomer was, as had been previously established, very bad at making shit up on the fly. So he miserably said, “Yeah.”

“Hm.”

She sipped her beer slowly, and of course he watched. If it was out in the open, as fleeting a bout of insanity as it may have been, at least he could wallow in it without worrying about appearances.

It was the yoga. That fucking upward facing dog, Jesus Christ.

It was more than that too. Over the last few months, he had worked closely with her, watched her navigate the cutthroat halls full of piranhas like Matheson and other account managers, getting herself work on the best clients while managing her juniors with efficiency and professionalism. She was excellent and sharp, and she demanded excellency and sharpness in kind. After years of going it alone or temping for bosses who didn’t care enough even to learn his name, much less provide him with guidance and mentorship, it was an unspeakable relief to work under someone who knew how to rally the troops. Someone who knew how to lead, how to motivate, and how to reward loyalty with loyalty in return. It didn’t hurt that she looked amazing in her daily stilettos, either.

Unfortunately, she impressed him.

“I have some work to get done tonight.” Berserk stood up and smoothed her skirt.

Boomer scrambled to his feet. “Of course! Um.” He began closing food containers and repackaging them in the bags they’d come in, because he was panicking. “I’ll get rid of the trash. Do you want the leftovers in the fridge?”

“You take them. Otherwise my office will smell like a burrito for a week.”

“Okay.” Numbly, Boomer finished packing everything up, while Berserk made her way back to her desk and logged into her computer to check her emails.

Boomer lingered at the door. “I’ll have the prospectus back to you later tonight.”

“Thanks.”

Wow, way to go, stud.

He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him.

“Boomer?”

“Yeah?”

“Friday is good.”

He stared back at her in expert mode. “Huh?”

Berserk poked her head around the side of her large, external monitor. She was smiling again. Lucky number seven. “For fucking.”

“Okay,” Boomer said.

Okay?!

She pulled back behind her monitor. “I was going to get a cat, but you’ll do much better.”

Because she didn’t like going home to a dark, empty apartment alone. With no one to fuck.

“That was a joke.”

“Yeah, I got that,” he croaked.

Friday is for fucking, he thought, which was delightful alliteration and also completely insane and one hundred percent something he was getting more on board with by the nanosecond.

“See you tomorrow,” she said.

Boomer clutched the leftover Mexican food in his fist. “Okay. Goodnight.”

It took him the time to fly home and put the food away in his small fridge to realize that he had a sort-of date with Berserk lined up for two days from now.

He Y-posed at the window and whooped, “Hell yes!!”

Loud pounding in the floor followed by old Mrs. Cruikshank’s muffled Keep it down! couldn’t bring down his mood.

Boomer leaped onto his threadbare, living room sofa with his work laptop and took to the prospectus with alacrity. He’d send over superior work product and make Berserk’s job just that much easier tomorrow morning.

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House (which has a lot more Berserk and Boomer content, btw!) and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

[simsroyallegacy]

Elissa and Sawyer’s Wedding: Who Was On the Guest List?

Yesterday news broke of a private ceremony held for Her Royal Highness Princess Elissa of Rivenia and Sawyer Quinn, eldest son of the Duke of Andale. While Wilhelm Palace had tried to make sure that no press had been alerted, local Glimmerbrook paps had been able to snap shots of some of the guests arriving!

First up, we have the maid of honor, Eve Quinn, dressed in a lovely, emerald green off-the-shoulder gown that showed off her perfect figure. Her golden locks were swept up into a high ponytail and she kept her jewelry simple with small gold and jade earrings and a teardrop diamond necklace. 

The young actress reportedly flew in from the set of her next project in Sulani, rumored to be her first television role. She was recently even spotted staying with her Uncle River and Aunt Amina...the rumors of the family feud ending must certainly be believed now!

Shockingly, despite the still rocky relationship between Amina and Sawyer Quinn, the best man’s wife Amina and family showed up to attend; in tow were her two eldest children Kaleo and Masina.

(Above: Amina looked stunning in her mint green Channel dress paired with a lovely black fascinator. For her accessories she wore a pair of antique drop earrings belonging to her mother and her wedding ring.)

The mother of three has been working diligently alongside her older brothers for the family business back in Sulani, Braxton Inc., rarely seen outside of her native country nowadays. She was recently featured in OhSim! Sulani magazine as one of the top ten most wealthy businesswomen in Sulani, with a net-worth of almost five-hundred million simoleons! 

(Above: Masina Quinn wore a pale pink, one-shoulder dress which featured a geometric cut-out along with nude pumps and a white fascinator.)

Despite being a part of one of the wealthiest families in Sulani, Amina’s children live a very down to earth lifestyle. The family lives in a modest, beachfront bungalow with three bedrooms instead of one of the many mega-mansions owned by not only the Braxton family but the Quinn family as well and although all of the children attend an exclusive private school for security reasons, they spend plenty of time amongst the general populace in their free time.

(Above: River was photographed arriving after his family as Best Man for his older brother; Kaleo looked relaxed in his more casual suit, reportedly a re-wear from his recent high school graduation!)

Both River and Amina encourage their children to partake in various conservation cleanups run by local charities as well as take an interest in giving back to the less fortunate in their city. Their oldest, Kaleo, was known to frequent a local food drive which offers free traditional Sulanian cuisine to Oa’hu’s homeless population while his younger sister, Masina, volunteers at a pro-bono child minding center throughout her summer breaks. The entire family often is spotted participating in local beach clean-ups during their weekends.

(Above: “Not f–––ing likely,” Mr. Hampton had shouted to a brave reporter who had asked about Nicky’s pending proposal.)

Also in attendance that day were Crown Prince Nicholas of Lunaria and his best friend Elliott Hampton, both of whom we were able to catch sharing a laugh over rumors of Prince Nicky popping the question to someone special sometime soon. Both HRH and Elliott looked suave in their suits –– Nicky in black and Elliott in blue –– as they walked into Dover Chapel as each other’s “dates”.

It was refreshing to see Their Majesties King Dante and Queen Ashli of Windsor in attendance as well, that afternoon. TM have left most of their foreign visits to their eldest son, Crown Prince Kellan, in a rumored attempt to separate him from his high school sweetheart, Julianna Byrd, an unpopular match in Windsor.

King Dante adorably matched his wife with his blue, pinstriped suit while also showing off a few more gray hairs (possibly from the stress his three sons have been putting him through!). Both were cheerful, though, as they entered the chapel with their oldest daughter, Princess Karissa, in tow.

Not much is known about Princess KiKi nowadays, only that HRH is high achieving in her academic studies and may or may not be dating a foreign royal. The young Princess has recently been photographed most often in Bordeaux where her prestigious boarding school, Sainte Marie International Academy, is located. 

(Above: Queen Ashli looked regal in a slim-cut, royal blue, sleeveless dress and matching strappy heels. She accessorized with her trusty Channel pearl encrusted choker, a pair of pearl and sapphire earrings, and her favorite diamond brooch from the Royal Vault.)

(Above: Princess KiKi was a vision in red! She wore her chocolate colored locks in their natural waves, pinned back with a matching red “hatband”. From HRH’s designer dress, custom slingback heels, and to her ruby and gold enamel locket, KiKi’s just like her mom –– an expert when it comes to style!)

(Above: A radiant Duchess of Andale was all smiles yesterday in her lilac dress and pillbox hat. She debuted a beautiful seven-strand pearl necklace that featured a whopping 20-carat diamond as the centerpiece –– a wedding anniversary gift from her husband this year!)

The Duke and Duchess of Andale were also in attendance for the wedding, along with their youngest son, Prince Adrian. The family was all smiles as they entered the chapel while sharing a lively conversation. 

The Duke has been busy as of late, helping represent his brother, King Arden, by touring across Lunaria with the Duchess at his side. His busy schedule has apparently been an attempt to keep focus off of the Crown Prince and all of the drama that follows him, although it hasn’t seemed to work all that well if we’re being honest. But, hey, we’re glad to see Rhys and Claire doing so well!

(Above, left: Prince Adrian is set to finish his final year at Hartfordshire Academy this spring; it’s predicted that he’ll choose to go to UBrite next fall. Right: the Duke of Andale spotted one of our photographers and gave a jovial wave, but didn’t stop to answer any questions.)

(Above: Princess Diana dressed in a cheery yellow floral dress for the occasion with a matching hat and ribbon heels. She accessorized with tiny diamond earrings and her grandmother’s diamond bow brooch.)

From our very own Rivenian Royals we caught when Crown Princess Diana arrived with her new husband Stefon, the Duke of Ariste, by her side. The two were wed early last year and still have that newlywed glow about them, although rumors have been circulating that it’s really a pregnancy glow for the Crown Princess! If it’s true, no wonder TRHs were smiling so much!

(Above: While looking a bit gloomy, Elizabeth still dressed to impress in her all-blue ensemble! With her dark hair pulled back in a sleek bun she showed off some new pearl earrings and their matching necklace!)

With the exact opposite countenance, Princess Elizabeth arrived soon after her older sister, bringing an almost tangible cloud of doom and gloom with her. The second in line to Rivenia’s throne has spent most of her time in neighboring Lunaria, diligently working on running the Montgomery Gallery of Classical Arts and seemingly pining for (or dating?) Crown Prince Nicholas. Although, with his previous reaction to our questions about whether or not he’d be proposing...perhaps we already know the reason for the long face she’d shown at her aunt’s wedding.

(Above: Queen Kirana wore her signature two stranded pearl necklace for the occasion along with gold hoop earrings with delicate pearl drops. Her flowy, off-the-shoulder dress was from a local Rivenian designer and has since sold out of stock.)

The final guests we were able to catch sight of had been none other than Their Majesties the King and Queen of Rivenia themselves! King Grayson was reportedly “unusually excited” to see his younger half sister get married that afternoon.

“He thought she [Elissa] would never settle down to find any happiness,” an insider had shared. “He thought she would work herself to an early grave, cut herself off from the world  and her family.”

It looks like HM has no more need to worry! His younger sister had never looked so blissfully happy than on her wedding day!

[readsomescribbledybop]

For some reason, I can’t reblog the prompt I used for this!

Please check out @dailyau for their writing prompts! For some reason, I couldn’t reblog the prompt I used for this au but it was the 'You're the stranger who's using my car's window as mirror to check how you look without noticing I'm sitting right in there, so I go ahead and open the window to tell you how pretty you are' AU. I technically didn’t follow instructions either. Darn. Anyways. I really liked this one and in the original post I composed I started off by CRACKING MY BONES. Here, I’ll just copy and paste it. 

Ohhohohohohohohohohoho..... what have we here? *cracks fingers, back, and neck and then the knees too for good measure*

Yuuri allowed himself an extra few minutes to sit in his car and warm up his hands before stepping into the bitter wind. Winter was so intense this year that he could feel the inside of his bones, and he was certain the marrow there was frozen. He technically had the time. No one else came to work as early as him, not even Victor, and he was the CEO.

Yuuri just liked to make sure that he had the itinerary ready for Victor when he arrived, the to-do list sorted, memos organized, etcetera. That way, when Victor walked in, he could give his boss a quick synopsis of the day ahead, a smooth start to yet another productive day at Nikiforov Inc. He shivered and thought about how his first order of business would be to immediately send Minami out to grab coffees. He felt bad for subjecting the plucky intern to these conditions, but he’d let him take the company car.

He huffed into his palms and jumped when a shadow passed the outside of his car. Yuuri squinted through the frosted glass at someone in a dark trench coat, shoulders hunched against the wind. It was barely five in the morning and even the janitors came in at six... he leaned closer and watched as the wind pushed the person back, their platinum hair flying up in a lovely flurry. 

Victor?! It was actually him, and now that Yuuri was looking properly, it couldn’t have been anyone but him, with the unmistakable attention to detail in his coat’s tailoring, the scarf that was clearly designer even through the dark mist of the early morning, and that shock of beautiful, silver hair. It was even cute swept up in a tuft, Yuuri thought. What brings you here so early, Mr. Nikiforov? He laughed quietly to himself as he watched Victor hesitate, his shoulders sagging dramatically before turning around as if looking for something. He seemed to have found it when his eyes landed on Yuuri’s car. Yuuri watched half with interest and half with mild dread because he really didn’t want to get out of his car just yet. It was still far too cold.

But Victor wasn’t looking at him. Yuuri frowned as Victor stopped right outside his passenger window. He expected Victor to say something, but instead, his boss leaned down to check his reflection in Yuuri’s mirror. He barely held down a snort. Victor frowned at his reflection as he tried to smooth down his wind swept tuft with gloved fingers. He fussed with it and pouted before turning to face the window, it seemed for a larger reflection. Yuuri pursed his lips on a smile-- Victor was looking right at him. Couldn’t he see Yuuri? Victor straightened out his shiny bangs, a perfect flirty curtain over his left eye, and then stood up straighter to look at himself, turned left and right as if to check all of his angles for imperfections that he definitely didn’t have. He tilted his chin up, showing off his cheekbones, the frame of an immaculate picture. He licked his pink lips and Yuuri bit his own, watched as Victor procured a tube of chap stick from his pocket to apply it. He took a step back, tilted his head at the window, and Yuuri nodded at him, giving his silent approval of the finished look.

But Victor still wasn’t satisfied as he huffed and  marched impatiently back to the window. Yuuri lifted an eyebrow at Victor who slapped his hands on his cheeks in despair at his reflection. Yuuri chuckled and rolled the window down. Victor’s blue eyes flew open in shock.

“Good morning, Mr. Nikiforov,” Yuuri greeted him warmly.

“Ah! Yuuri! I-- I didn’t know-- your car,” he stammered, actually looking flustered, something entirely new to Yuuri who was used to seeing smooth Victor. Confident Victor. The Victor that made business deals like it was a childhood hobby. It was endearing to see. Yuuri beamed at him. Victor cleared his throat and tried to collect himself as he straightened his scarf around his collar. “Sorry about that...”

“Not at all,” Yuuri said and tried not to be too obvious about looking at Victor’s winter reddened cheeks. “You look lovely this morning,” he added softly.

“Ah, well,” Victor mumbled awkwardly though he smiled a little as he rocked on his heels.

“Would you like to get in and warm up before going up to the office, sir?”

“Um, well, if that’s alright with you,” Victor said and Yuuri unlocked the door for Victor. Victor stepped in the car and shut the door behind him, bringing in a warm, soft smell with him that sent an electric trickle up Yuuri’s back. It was somehow clean and woody at the same time, Like a hint of cedar on linen... Victor looked at the gold watch on his wrist. “Do you really always come in this early, Yuuri?”

“There’s always plenty of work waiting for me.”

“You work too hard.”

“Forgive me if I don’t take the man who built an empire from the ground up too seriously, sir.”

“I had help,” Victor smirked.

“That you did,” he pulled a pair of gloves out of his coat pocket and put them on. “Pardon the intrusion but, may I ask what brings you to the office so early? Is there something I can help you with?”

“Ah,” Victor sighed. From the corner of his eye, Yuuri watched the white ribbon of breath curl in the air in front of Victor. He seemed to be thinking something over as he stuck his tongue in his cheek and drummed his thighs with his fingers. “I guess there’s no getting around it now,” Victor said with a gentle smile and he reached into his coat to pull out a small velvet box. “I wanted to surprise you somehow, leave it on your desk before the rest of the staff arrived, but... you never fail to surprise me, Yuuri.”

“Surprise?”

“I usually pride myself in being excellent at surprises,” he admitted with a wolfish grin, “but I had to think about a surprise that would be right for Yuuri Katsuki, the world’s most wonderful executive assistant. A man of class, poise, efficiency, beauty--”

“Mr. Nikiforov...”

“Professionalism, right,” he waved his hand dismissively before finishing “a man who carries the weight of a company on his shoulders.”

“But, you’re the CEO.”

“As far as I’m concerned we’re the CEO,” he corrected sternly. And Yuuri threw his head back and laughed at how ridiculous Victor was being. “I thought about showering you with roses, hiring a harpist, or renting a horse drawn carriage, but nothing seemed to be a fit for you.”

“You know me much better than I gave you credit for,” Yuuri said, his neck growing hot at the idea of a Cinderella style carriage arriving in front of the office in front of all the employees.

“Of course, I do! None of those things were good enough for my Yuuri.” He handed the box to Yuuri who took it. “Nothing is good enough for you, to be completely honest. But anyways... happy birthday, Yuuri.”

“Oh!” Now, Yuuri thought he must’ve been the one to be red in the face because his skin was on fire, and his heart jumped in his chest with delight. “I-- thank you, Vic-- I-- Mr. Nikiforov, I really appreciate this,” he exclaimed, feeling both elated and embarrassed.

“If you like it now, just wait until you open it,” Victor joked and Yuuri chuckled, feeling silly for getting worked up over a box. He gently lifted the lid to find a pair of matching gold cuff links with his initials embossed in the smooth surface.

“They’re perfect,” Yuuri said. “This is... this is really thoughtful, Mr. Nikiforov.”

Victor sighed, content as he stretched back against his seat. “I’m giving you the day off.”

“That is inadvisable.”

“You deserve it, Yuuri. I’ll handle the paperwork when I go in.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

“I changed my mind. Take the whole week to enjoy yourself. You can use the company card to buy yourself something nice.”

“I’m not going home, Victor,” Yuuri shook his head at his boss who was being insufferably silly. Victor’s lips curled up.

“Got you to say my name,” he taunted. Yuuri rolled his eyes and smirked in spite of himself.

“Can you believe that our partners actually find you intimidating?”

“It’s a mystery to me. I have a very sunny disposition.” Yuuri hummed and gingerly removed a cuff link from its foam. He attached them both to his sleeves and admired them in the new morning light. It was pale and pink like strawberry lemonade, a hue that made the frosted Earth blush. “You made it perfect,” Victor murmured and Yuuri grinned.

“I love them, Victor. This means a lot to me. Shall we?” Yuuri asked Victor who nodded and they both got out of the car to start the day.

They walked in comfortable silence to the doors. When Yuuri stopped to open them, Victor turned suddenly to him and opened his mouth as if to say something but closed it again and smiled.

“Don’t tell me you actually did get the carriage,” Yuuri teased and Victor laughed, shook his head.

“No, this is... this is different,” he said and pulled a small white envelope from his pocket. It was blank. “This isn’t a present. Sorry to start your birthday with more work but...”

“No reason to be sorry. It’s my job, after all,” Yuuri straightened up to pay attention.

“When you have time, take a look at this for me. Tell me if it’s... professional. If it isn’t, feel free to throw it away,” he instructed as he handed the envelope to Yuuri and walked through the open door ahead of him in one swift movement.

“Is it time sensitive?”

“Not at all,” Victor said over his shoulder. “Read it when you’re ready,” and he pushed the black and gold button for the elevator. Yuuri frowned at the little envelope but shrugged as he tucked it into his pocket.

“Understood,” Yuuri said.

The rest of the day was peacefully busy, a normal day of hustle and buzz. Yuuri organized Victor’s schedule for the week, called clients to arrange conference dates, reviewed the weekly company outreach report, and set up Victor’s poodle’s vet appointment.  It was satisfyingly productive, he thought as he allowed himself to deflate into his desk chair at the end of the day. Everyone but he and Victor had clocked out to go home. He was glad that no one besides Victor knew about his birthday... the attention would’ve made him uncomfortable. 

Victor’s gift was more than enough, the cherry on top of a beautiful day. He thought about going to his favorite Japanese restaurant for dinner, a little mom and pop shop that made a katsudon almost as good as his mother’s. Victor strode out of his office and rapped his knuckles on Yuuri’s desk as he passed.

“Time to go home, Yuuri,” he said, just like always.

“Good work today, Mr. Nikiforov,” Yuuri replied and Victor mouthed happy birthday over his shoulder at Yuuri before stepping into the elevator. As the doors closed, he winked and was gone.

That man. Yuuri bit his lip and spun around in his chair. When it stopped spinning, he leaned on his desk and ran a thumb over one of the cuff links, absently thinking about that morning. About Victor checking his reflection in Yuuri’s car window. About Victor making Yuuri’s car smell like that. Of course, as Victor’s executive assistant, he had to remain professional, set up boundaries so that their work relationship functioned, so that the company functioned. That  was what was important. But, it was Yuuri’s professional opinion that Victor Nikiforov was hot enough to set the devil on fire.

And he was a good person too, which only made him hotter, as far as Yuuri was concerned. He was an amazing leader, philanthropic, and loving. He was quite clever too, and as ambitious as Yuuri was, he had to admit that Victor Nikiforov impressed him so thoroughly that Victor’s back was the only one Yuuri was content with standing behind. But it never felt like he was standing behind Victor as much as he was standing at his side. Like partners.

He tried to clear his head by writing and sending out a company memo about the holiday bonuses. Once he finished that and several other little administrative tasks, he consulted the to do list on his tablet. It was nearly complete except--

“Oh, I forgot!” He said out loud even though he was alone. He opened his desk and pulled the letter that Victor gave him out of the drawer. It was sealed with a gold sticker. It looked like a medal. He carefully removed this and sat back in his seat to read the letter. He immediately recognized his boss’ thin, neat cursive.

A soft flame rose in his chest when he read the first line.

Dear Yuuri,

Happy birthday! It seems like only yesterday that Chris hired you. If I remember correctly, you were actually officially appointed on your birthday. I could kick myself for the way I behaved back then. I was so accustomed to doing things by myself so I wasn’t exactly open to the idea of having an assistant. I am so, so sorry for everything. The truth is that now I can’t imagine running this company without you. I can’t imagine my life without you, Yuuri. Your heart is so beautiful. I can’t believe someone like you can be real: someone so compassionate but confident, someone creative and intelligent. You are like a song, Yuuri, and you gave me a new reason, a worthwhile reason to wake up and come to work every day. You gave me a reason to have passion and drive. You gave me a reason to finally use these words:

 I love you. I just wanted to let you know...

 Yours Forever,

 Victor Nikiforov

 “Hooo, my god.”

[lainelannister]

So as I mentioned earlier today...I did some #MeToo-inspired re-writing to an old modern AU of mine, “Slayers and Stones”. You’ll find the edited version below- I’d love any feedback anyone can provide! If you’ve read the old version, I’d love to hear if the edits are working for you...and if this is your first time reading, those responses are also super valuable!

Her father calls her into his study early in the morning, a rare smile on his serious face as he passes her a laminated name badge.  “Your internship begins tomorrow.”

 Sansa looks down at the red-and-gold tag.  The Lannister Inc. logo emblazoned across the top, her pseudonym  (“Alayne Stone,” she likes the sound of it well enough) in bold font below, and beneath that...

 “Marketing and PR?”  She cannot keep a dark frown from pulling at her lips; Lannister Inc. has a top-notch corporate analysis program, and she’d hoped that she might have a chance to experience it first-hand...

 But of course, this isn’t strictly a learning experience, is it?

 “It’s the best place for you.  You’ll be privy to every nasty rumor that passes through that place, which is very, very useful to us.”  Ned Stark still wears his smile, but it has yet to reach his eyes- corporate espionage is not attractive to him, and if not for Jon Arryn’s urging, she doubts that he’d be encouraging her to do this in the first place.  

 “Besides, the PR department handles press releases, events, parties...it would be the most fun for you, love.”  

 Sansa grinds her molars together at that; she may have graduated cum laude from Bryn Mawr with plans to start at Harvard Business School in the fall, but in her father’s eyes, she’ll always be that giggly, vapid seventeen year old, throwing a tantrum because another girl wore the same dress to the prom.  

 But she just smiles back and nods.  “I’m sure you’re right, Daddy.  I’ll go and do my best.”

 “That’s my girl.”  And in spite of her annoyance, Sansa feels a flush of pride at her father’s affectionate words, and she eagerly steps into his open arms and lets him hug her tight.

-

“You’ll fit right in over at Lannister.  They’ve got a thing for blondes.”

 Sansa glares at her brother, who leans casually against the doorframe of her bedroom.  She reaches up to run a self-conscious hand through her newly-highlighted hair; auburn curls now shine strawberry-blonde, and she has yet to become used to it.   

 When she doesn’t answer, Robb steps into the room and crosses his arms over his chest, a bright smile on his handsome face.  “What are you planning to wear?”

 “That.”  She gestures to her closet door, where she’s hung the sensible pantsuit that her mother gave her right after graduation- “Classic, good for interviews,” Catelyn Stark had said.   

 Robb plucks at the fabric before shaking his head in distaste.  “Sansa, I’ve been to Lannister Inc.  You can’t wear that...you’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

 It’s not like her brother to pay attention to women’s fashion; the novelty of the conversation is enough to hold Sansa’s interest.  “It’s a high-powered corporation.  You’re telling me that the women don’t wear business suits?”

 “They do...but not like that.”  She’s starting to understand his implication, and her cheeks blush, just a little.

 “Then what should I wear, Robb?”   

 To her surprise, her brother opens her closet door and begins to rifle through her clothing.  It’s a comical sight, and she laughs.

 “You seem to know your way around a girl’s closet.  Do you pick out outfits for Jeyne, too?”

 He makes some retort, but his head is buried deep enough in the closet that she cannot make out the words.  Finally, he re-emerges, passing her a set of hangers and a pair of shoes.  

 “There.  That’s what you should wear.”

 Sansa huffs an incredulous breath through her nose- her brother has selected a black cocktail dress, short and tight.  The other hanger holds a fitted black blazer, and the shoes are four-inch stiletto heels.

 “What, is Lannister, Inc. an elaborate cover for a fancy prostitution ring?”   

 Robb rolls his eyes and smirks before heading to the door.

 “Fine, don’t listen to me.  But you’ll go there tomorrow, and you’ll see that I was just trying to help.”

 When Robb leaves, Sansa evaluates her options.  And with a beleaguered sigh, she places the sensible pantsuit back in her closet.   

 - 

 When she arrives at the skyscraper that houses Lannister Inc., Sansa realizes that Robb was completely correct.  There are more svelte, leggy blondes here than there are at Conde Nast, everyone dressed to the nines.  And not just the women; every man here looks like he walked off the set of a GQ photo shoot.  She thinks for a moment of the lax dress code at Stark Incorporated: her father’s worn Frye boots, Robb’s polo-and-khaki uniform, Theon’s leather jacket.  The comparison makes her giggle under her breath.

 After a brief meeting with Kevan Lannister, the head of HR (an older, somewhat stern man, but pleasant enough), she’s ushered into the office of Genna Frey, the director of marketing.  She takes a seat beside a handsome blonde man who appears about her age; her heartbeat skips when he smiles at her and asks her name, but the excitement quickly abates when he continues to speak, and she realizes how dreadful, pompous, and unpleasant he is.  She makes a mental note to stay clear of this one ( Jeffrey, was it?) and turns her attention to the heavy-set, no-nonsense woman behind the wide mahogany desk.  

 The tasks she sets for the interns are very menial at first: archiving press clippings, calling publications to follow up on print deadlines.  Sansa is a good listener, always has been, but even her best efforts at eavesdropping reap few results.  She returns home each evening with dread building in her stomach, for she hates to look at her father and Uncle Jon night after night and tell them that no, she still hasn’t learned anything new.  Failure sits heavily on her shoulders and keeps her awake deep into the night.

 And yet she forces down coffee after coffee (even sneaking the occasional Adderall from Arya’s medicine cabinet) and throws herself into the work.  Tedious as it is, she strives to surpass the other interns, and when Ms. Frey lectures her co-workers, holding up Alayne’s work and declaring, “This is how you document.  I don’t want to see any more half-assed shit from you people, I want to see this ,” she blushes as brightly as she does at her father’s praise.

 Finally, at long last, Sansa receives a reward for her hard work.  There’s a meeting scheduled with the senior executives to discuss “the family matter”, and Genna invites her to come along and take notes.  

 (She does not invite Joffrey into the closed-door session, in spite of his Lannister blood, and Sansa feels a sudden admiration for Genna’s value of talent over nepotism.)

 Sansa is, of course, well acquainted with the PR disaster that has befallen Lannister Incorporated.  In fact, it would not exist at all without Ned Stark and Jon Arryn; they gained knowledge of the story from an executive at the Baratheon Corporation, and they’ve installed Sansa at Lannister to report on the fall-out.  

 Goosebumps prickle up and down her arms as she takes a seat beside Genna.  The CEO is not present- in the weeks since she started here, Sansa has never once seen the mysterious Tywin Lannister, and she finds herself imagining him as a disembodied head surrounded by smoke, like the Wizard of Oz.  But Kevan is here, along with CFO Petyr Baelish, Junior Vice President Tyrion Lannister, and Senior Vice President Jaime Lannister.

 Everyone at the table appears tense, but as she looks at the man seated directly across from her, she thinks that she’s never seen a person more drained and empty-looking than Jaime Lannister.  

 She’s noticed him before, of course, sauntering down the hallways in his perfectly-tailored Italian suits, golden hair neatly combed back, tall and confident and devastatingly handsome.  The junior associates whisper his legend in the break room and by the water cooler- he’s a ruthless, predatory raider, known for crushing smaller companies beneath his feet and pillaging the spoils.  “The Slayer,” they call him in tones of hushed reverence.  She’s watched with distaste as assistant after intern after associate tries to flirt with him, only to be rebuffed by a distant smile and words of cool courtesy.  He’s only spoken to Sansa once, asking to borrow a pen and Post-It.  But he winked at her when he handed the pen back, and she’s sure that the smile she gave him in reply was every bit as insipid as the ones she’d seen from all those other silly girls.

 But now he does not look at anyone.  He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes as Tyrion catalogues the leaked information.  And it is, as Genna would say, an absolute shitstorm.  The former junior vice president, Cersei Lannister, had listened to some extremely bad advice and made an absurd, careless power play for the company.  Her illicit dealings and failed investments cost Lannister Inc. millions of dollars, and reports of her questionable character and distasteful personal life brought shame and derision upon the mighty Lannister dynasty.  

 Tyrion concludes his report by informing everyone that Cersei has been removed from public view and will be unable to do any more harm to the family or the company.

 “Where is she?”  

 Jaime’s voice rings out rather more loudly than is appropriate, and no one can bring themselves to look at him.  

 (Sansa thinks of some of the more salacious rumors that Jon Arryn has drummed up about Cersei Lannister and her handsome brother, but Uncle Jon has always had a flair for the dramatic...)

 “It doesn’t matter, Jaime...”

 “What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”  He turns on his brother, emerald-green eyes flashing with rage, and Tyrion, usually so poised and glib, actually appears a bit frightened.

 But the moment passes quickly, and the younger Lannister brother speaks in as even a tone as he ever does.  

 “I mean that we need to distance ourselves from her, for the sake of the company.  Any outward show of support would make us all look weaker...but if she’s just the bad egg, that’s something that could happen to any family.  She’s an embarrassment, and we need to acknowledge that.”

 Suddenly, Sansa feels a discordant twang in her stomach at the coldness of it all.  Yes, Cersei Lannister is a class-A fuck-up, but she’s still their sister, still one of them...and to just abandon her like that...

 Her voice sounds strange in her ears, as though it belongs to someone else.  “But she’s your sister.”  

 Every head whips around to stare at Sansa; Genna’s face glows red with rage as she mutters, “Alayne.  Be quiet.”

 “What was that, Miss Stone?” Tyrion asks.  

 She knows that she should shut up, that she must shut up.  But the words fall from her lips of their own accord- “She’s family...how can you just hide her somewhere and...and throw her away…?”

 “Alayne.  Go get my Starbucks order and leave it on my desk.   Now, ” Genna seethes.

 As she rises from her chair, trying and failing to keep from shaking, she happens to glance across the table.  Jaime Lannister watches her, beautiful eyes unblinking and intense.

 And then his lips curve into a smile.

 - 

 When she arrives at work the next day, Sansa finds herself immediately re-routed to HR.  Her stomach sinks; she hasn’t told her father about the disaster of yesterday’s meeting, and she has no idea how she’ll explain getting fired...

 But Kevan Lannister barely even speaks to her before directing her to a conference room.  “Go in, please,” he says.

 She mentally steels herself for an apoplectic Genna or a sneering Mr. Baelish, but she finds herself face to face with Brienne Tarth instead.

 Sansa took an immediate liking to Jaime Lannister’s executive assistant; she rejects the couture that is the office standard in favor of loose, comfortable suits (“Probably buys them at the Big and Tall Men’s Wearhouse,” one of the catty, pretty office drones once snarked), and she gives off an undeniable air of competence.  She’s calm, collected, capable, and discreet, and Sansa considers these qualities far more valuable than any pretty facade.

 “Please sit down, Miss Stone,” Brienne says, gesturing to a chair.  Sansa sits and waits for the other woman to continue.

 “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve just been promoted.”

 “Oh!  Congratulations,” Sansa replies, and Brienne’s pretty blue eyes crinkle in a grin.

 “Thanks.  It’s a great opportunity for me- I’ll be a junior associate in the Boston office.”  

 “Then you’re leaving?”

 “Yes, I move at the end of the week.  And that’s why I’ve called you in.”

 “Oh?”  Sansa lifts a brow in surprise, while her insides jiggle in a hopeful dance- maybe I’m not getting fired...oh, thank God...

 “The thing is, this all happened really suddenly, and HR’s been so backed up lately that they haven’t really had time to deal with new hires.  Finding a replacement for me will definitely be a long process, lots of interviews...I’ve been with Jaime for five years, and he’s...very particular.”  

 “Of course.”   Five years, that’s a long time...but it makes sense, he obviously relies on her so much...

 “Anyway, until we can find someone he’ll like, we need a person to sit at that desk and answer his phones and manage his calendar.  It will be a lot more hours than what you’re used to, at the same intern pay rate, so I completely understand if you don’t want to take on the added responsibility-”

 “You want me to be Jaime Lannister’s assistant?”

 She must be quite a sight- eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar- because Brienne laughs brightly before nodding.

 “He asked for you specifically.  Will you do it?”

 Sansa thinks of the locked folders on the company drive, filled with information only available to the top executives and their assistants- she imagines having access to Jaime’s calendar, intimate knowledge of the second-in-command’s comings-and-goings...she begins to salivate, and she swallows it down.

 A red-gold ponytail bobs up and down as she eagerly nods.  

 “Oh, yes.  Thank you.”

 - 

 She should have known better.  Sansa curses herself for her naivety; just because Jaime gave Brienne the password to the locked files doesn’t mean he’ll hand it over to a twenty-three year old intern he’s barely met.  She lets herself wallow in disappointment for a few brief moments, but then forces the feeling aside- there’s got to be another way.  She’ll just bide her time; she’s good at being patient.

 And so she fields phone calls and handles his e-mail correspondence and schedules meetings.  The scheduling is by far the most interesting part of the job; he’s on the board of numerous organizations, and every night is a different gala, a different opening night, a different photo op.  

 She’d seen his picture on Page Six that morning, taken at a heart-disease benefit the evening before.  He wore a tuxedo- he’s even better-looking in a tux than in a suit- and stood with his arm wrapped around his date’s narrow waist: Margaery Tyrell, the heiress to Highgarden Communications, beautiful and striking in Alexander McQueen.  The Lannister PR machine desperately wants New York to believe that Jaime and Margaery are romantically involved, but when she considers that she must always arrange for a separate car for Margaery at the end of these events, Sansa thinks it rather unlikely.

Maybe he’s gay, she thinks to herself as she returns from the dry cleaner and enters Jaime’s vacant office, hanging his tux on the door and placing the newly-shined dress shoes beneath it.   He certainly dresses well...and Margaery’s gorgeous, but he’s definitely not sleeping with her...

She crosses the room to water the little tree in the corner; Brienne schooled her carefully in the care and keeping of the plant.  

 She bends over to tip the watering can toward the back of the tree, and she does not hear the door open behind her.  When she stands upright, she locks eyes with Jaime, who watches her with a peculiar expression.  

 “I think it has enough water.  You’ve been very thorough.”  Sansa nods and places the watering can down as Jaime furrows his brow, gesturing to the tuxedo.

 “Where am I going tonight?”

 “The opera, Mr. Lannister,” she replies, taking a small step toward the door, in spite of the fact that he’s directly blocking her path.  

 “Fuck, that’s right.”  He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and sighs.  “Which one is it?”

 “’La Boheme’,” she replies.  

 “Hmm.  I haven’t seen that before.”

 “It’s beautiful,” Sansa volunteers with a soft smile.  “It’s one of my favorites.”

 “You like opera?”

 “Yes.”  She’s nearly at the door now, but he still hasn’t moved- she’s near enough to catch the scent of his cologne- musk and sandalwood- and her mouth begins to go dry... snap out of it, you’re being an idiot...

 “Duly noted.”  He grins at her, pivoting his body just enough to give her space to slide through the doorway, but not enough to keep her from brushing her chest against his arm as she tries to pass.  “I’ll get you tickets next time.”

 “I..I would like that very much.  Thank you.”

 When she closes the door behind her, Sansa falls into her chair and presses her palm to her heart.  She scowls at the quickness of the beats and restrains the urge to smack her head on the keyboard over and over again.

  -

 It’s nearly midnight, and she’s completely alone.  She’s sure of it- even the cleaning people have left for the weekend.  Still, her eyes dart about anxiously as she retrieves the zip drive from her purse and plugs it into her computer.  It will work...it has to work.

 Bran had been surprised, when she approached him to ask about computer hacking.  “I hack into gaming sites, Sansa,” he’d sighed with exasperation.  But the same principles must apply, she imagines- she adjusted the codes, tweaked the infrastructure on her own computer, saved it all to the drive.  And now she’ll be able to get into the locked files and secure her father some information far more valuable than the Cersei Lannister gossip.  

 Her toes tap and her fingers twitch with exhilaration- this is it, this is it, I’ll really prove myself now...

 So engrossed is she that she does not notice the door behind her swinging open, not until a low voice echoes through the empty office-

 “Still here, Alayne?”

 She shrieks, whirling her chair around.  Jaime stands in the doorway of his office, tie loosened and shirt untucked, a tumbler of scotch in one hand.  

 But no, I saw him leave for the museum gala, I called the car and got his tux...when did he have time to come back?  When I was in the bathroom, maybe...God, I should have checked his office first, stupid, stupid, stupid...

 She tries to push her self-loathing aside long enough to answer his question.  “Yes, Mr. Lannister.  Just trying to finish up the agenda for the next board meeting before the weekend.”

 “I appreciate your dedication,” he drawls with a smile.  “But can I persuade you to take a break?”

 He opens the door to his office wider and gestures to her to enter.  She hastily closes the open windows on her computer and complies, shutting the door behind her.  

 “Do you like scotch?” he asks.  She doesn’t really, but her brothers and uncle are fond of it, and she knows she can hold it down when necessary.

 When she nods, he fills another tumbler from a crystal carafe and hands it to her.  “It’s good, smooth.  Aged seventeen years.”  

She takes a sip, trying not to wince at the burn of the liquid as it courses down her throat.  

“Thank you.”  

He sits on the sofa at the corner of his office and nods pointedly to the space beside him.  As she lowers herself down, he removes his tie and tosses it on a side table, unfastening the top few buttons of his shirt.  Sansa fights to keep from staring at the glimpse of his chest left exposed...she takes another sip and regrets the squeakiness of her voice when she asks,

 “Why aren’t you at the gala?”

 Jaime replies with a dry laugh.  “I’m not in a very festive mood tonight.”  His eyes darken a bit, and Sansa is reminded of the calls she’d forwarded to him that day from the private investigator.   They still won’t tell him where she is, he has to hire his own detective...it’s insane.   

 She finds herself unable to keep the sympathy out of her expression when she nods.  His gaze sharpens, but his tone remains calm and still.

 “So, Alayne.  Are you enjoying yourself here?”

 “It’s a great opportunity for me.  I’m learning a lot.”

 “And what is it that you want to do?  What’s your big career dream?”

 Sansa answers with more candor than she originally intended.  “I want to go to business school, then become an analyst.  And eventually, I want to run a company like this one.”

 “Not exactly like this one, I hope,” he sniffs derisively.  “But you’re ambitious...everyone loves ambition here.  They eat, sleep, and shit ambition.”  

 He refills her glass before she has time to protest, and the hard set of his jaw prompts her to change the subject.

 She’s an easy conversationalist, and she turns the talk to music, art (he has an impressive collection), higher education.   He makes her laugh with stories of his undergrad fraternity days at Yale, recommends business schools (he went to Harvard himself, and she bites her lip to keep from revealing her acceptance and inundating him with questions).  And he keeps the liquor flowing, until Sansa drops her heavy head onto the back of the sofa, just a hairsbreadth away from his shoulder.

 “May I ask you something?”  She looks up at the clean profile of his face and breathes deeply, inhaling the scent of peat and alcohol and expensive cologne.

 “Whatever you like.”  

 “Why did you ask for me?  When you were picking an intern to help you, I mean.  Why me?”

 He reaches for her tumbler, and she relinquishes it.  After placing both his glass and hers on a nearby table, he reclines back against the sofa and runs a hand through his thick golden hair.  

 “It was what you said in the meeting that day.  About family...there are plenty of ambitious people around here, like I said.  Lots of smart people and driven people, but there aren’t a lot of compassionate people.”  He props his elbow on the back of the couch and leans closer; she can feel the warmth radiating from his body, and she inches nearer...

 “What you said...it was very human of you.  And that’s fucking refreshing.”

 Their knees are touching now; if she moves her head just a fraction, her brow will fall against his.  She sees the prickling of stubble along his jawline, the way his eyelashes become light at the tips. A lock of her hair falls across her face, and he reaches up to smooth it back behind her ear.  

 “You’ve got a lot of red in your hair,” he comments, twisting the strands around his finger.   “Very pretty.”

So, so tacky, a cutting voice reverberates at the back of her mind. Powerful executive trying to get into his young assistant’s pants...he honestly couldn’t be more cliche if he tried.

His mouth barely hovers over hers at this point. And she’s not sure whether it’s defiance against those bitter voices coursing through her head or simply a total lack of fear (a middle-aged guy acting inappropriate with an intern, even in this day and age...that’s just sad), but she figures that she has nothing to lose.

She tilts her chin up and brushes her lips against his.  Jaime cups her cheek in his hand, and the way he kisses her- soft, patient, gentle- stokes a fire in her belly, sending tingles up and down her limbs and between her legs.  

 Jaime’s tongue teases at the seam of her lips, and she opens her mouth for him willingly, knotting her fingers in his soft hair.  He massages her tongue with his, and when he wraps a strong arm around her and eases her down onto the sofa cushions, she’s almost embarrassed by the ease with which her legs fall to either side, giving him unambiguously-direct access.

 “Oh-” she sighs when she realizes that he’s settled his hips into the space between her thighs, his mouth lavishing attention on her neck, kissing and biting and sucking (enough to make her whimper and writhe, but not enough to leave marks- won’t have to break out the concealer, at least....).

It’s all moving along at an alarming pace, and the sensible side of Sansa, the one that regularly talked Arya down from her more fantastical flights of fancy and stopped Mya and Jeyne from becoming the subjects of especially-vicious high school gossip, urges her to slow things down-

“Mr. Lannister,” she begins (not very convincingly- she doesn’t actually want him to stop, although she knows it’s the right thing to do)-

“Jaime,” he pants into her skin, his tongue dipping into the groove of her collarbone.  “It’s Jaime.”

“Jaime,” she repeats- it’s a good name to whisper nearly breathless, a good name to sigh- she imagines herself screaming it as she comes, and she spreads her legs wider, quivering with anticipation.  

(And the practical part of her slinks into the wings, completely forgotten for the time being.)

Her nimble fingers slide between them, unfastening the buttons of his shirt.  Her hands roam over the perfectly-contoured muscles of his body, and she’s momentarily distracted by the thought of the personal-training appointments Jaime’s had her schedule for 4:30am every day. “Who gets up that early?” she’d asked Kevan’s assistant Joy after sharing this story at one of their impromptu mid-afternoon coffee breaks. Joy had replied with a smirk, rolling her green eyes as she muttered, “Someone with something major to prove.”

 He fingers the hem of her camisole, and she helps him pull it up over her shoulders, nearly surprised by her own lack of hesitation- she hasn’t been touched so intimately since she broke up with Harry almost a year ago, she should probably be more reluctant, more shy...

 But the way Jaime presses his face into her chest and softly kisses the tops of her breasts...the way he mouths her nipples through the thin cotton of her bra...the deft way he reaches beneath her to pull the hooks open- nothing like Harry at all.

 “You like that, don’t you?” he breathes as he scrapes his teeth over her left nipple.  She pulls his hair tight and whimpers in response, and he laughs, taking one breast in each hand and pushing them together until he can suck both nipples into his mouth at once.  

 She lets out a little peep of objection when he releases her breasts, but then his lips trail lower, skimming over her stomach, tongue swirling into her navel.  He lifts her skirt up and slides his fingers over her through her underwear, and she digs her nails into the leather of the sofa.

 When he replaces his fingers with his mouth, kissing her through her boy-shorts, she growls his name low in her throat, surprised by her own abandon. The tip of his tongue teases at her clit, and the warmth, the soft pressure, the friction of the fabric- she reaches down to grip his shoulder, scratching at the golden skin, while her other hand kneads her own breast.

 “Oh, please...”  she begins, but soon interrupts herself with a sigh of delight as he catches her underwear in his teeth and pulls them down her legs.  Jaime peppers soft kisses on her ankle, the inside of her knee, all up and down her inner thighs before spreading her folds and licking into her.  

 He’s slow and patient in his exploration, taking his time to discover the way she likes to be touched.  When he curls his fingers inside her just so, his tongue softly massaging her swollen outer lips before resting flat on her clit, she finds herself moaning just the way Harry always wished she would, bucking her hips up and feeling her wetness pool over his fingers and his lips.  

 He kisses his way back up her body and then captures her mouth- she licks her own release from his lips and tongue.  She can feel him pressed against her belly, and she quickly unbuckles and unbuttons until he’s in her hand, hot and hard.  Sansa kisses along his jaw and takes his earlobe in her mouth as she begins to stroke; her other hand pinches his nipple, and he grabs her hip tight and releases a breathy trail of obscenities.  

 Then she brings her hand to his face and looks him in the eye, those gorgeous cat’s eyes, set in this laughably-perfect face- “The Slayer”, they call him, he has no soul, no conscience...but would a man with no soul care so deeply for his disgraced sister?  Would a man with no soul place such a premium on compassion, on “human” behavior?  

 She kisses him again, hungrier than before, as she rubs the head of his cock against her.  He moans into her mouth- “Alayne”, and she tries not to feel a prick of sadness- and his hips start to shift-

 “Do you have a condom?” she thinks to ask him, just in time. His brows knit together, and she’s blessedly able to stop herself before she rolls her eyes. There’s something strangely vulnerable about him as he leans down to retrieve his wallet from the back pocket of his pants and fishes within until he finds a Trojan.

 “Not sure how long this has been there…” he begins, trying to sell the curve of his lips as a gesture of good humor...but he’s fragile in a way she can’t quite understand, and she chooses to be merciful.

She takes the rubber from him and tears the package open with her teeth, sprawling flat on her stomach to apply it with her mouth.

Once this crucial task is complete, she guides him into her and lifts her knees to her chest, savoring the deep thrusts, the hard grip of his hands on her thighs.

Jaime lifts her legs so that her ankles rest on his shoulders, and he lowers one hand to caress her, turning his head to kiss the side of her calf.  She comes again, even harder than before, and when he slides out of her, she wraps her hand around him and pulls off the condom before raining kisses over his shoulders and neck and chest until his ejaculate leaks over her fingers, pooling in the spaces between.

 They do not move right away, content to stay coiled around each other, exchanging leisurely kisses with generous tongue.  Sansa starts to truly consider what she’s done- this man is her father’s rival, a top executive in the company that Stark Incorporated is trying to destroy.

 And these facts shouldn’t make her want him more.  That’s childish nonsense...but there’s an appeal here that she can’t deny, can’t ignore.   Between the leather and the sandalwood and the musk and the scotch and this powerful, beautiful man sucking on her lower lip-

 But then she remembers the red zip drive conspicuously plugged into the side of her computer, and she pulls away.

 “I should finish up and go home,” she murmurs.  He does not object, but he keeps his arms around her as she tries to put her clothes back on, slowing down the process with his kisses and touches and wicked insinuations.

 After she slips her top back on and wraps her hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss, he whispers,  “Come home with me.  I want to fuck you in the back of the town car-” He brushes his lips beneath her ear- “-and in the elevator-” His stubble scratches at her collarbone as he moves down- “-and in every room in my apartment.”  He gently squeezes her breast, and she shifts closer, nearly sitting in his lap-

 But then she stops.  She pulls away and stands, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt.

 “Not tonight,” she replies with a soft smile.  He looks disappointed, but when she reaches down to brush an errant lick of golden hair out of his eyes, she can feel him smile against the thin skin of her wrist.

 “We ought to clean ourselves up,” she says, watching as he tucks his cock back into his pants and crosses toward the closet.  He drops a kiss on her shoulder as he passes her, opening the closet door and retrieving a clean white dress shirt.

 “Very sensible, I’m sure.”  He slides the shirt over his arms, and the fabric clings to his sweat-dampened chest as he fastens the buttons.  

 Before she loses her wits entirely, Sansa hastens out the door, shutting it behind her.

   She gathers her things quickly, shuts off the lights, powers down her computer (but not before ejecting the zip drive and slipping it back into her purse).  

 Jaime emerges from his office a few minutes later in perfectly-clean clothes, briefcase in hand.  He approaches her, graceful steps putting her in mind of a lion stalking its prey.  When he closes in on her, his arm firmly wrapped around her waist, her lower back pressed against the desk, she feels that she wants to be ravaged and savaged and ripped apart.   Of course, she reflects as she observes a thin scratch on his neck, courtesy of her sharp fingernails, I’d be able to give plenty of my own back, too.

 “Will you let me drive you home, at least?” he asks, and she forces her head into a vehement shake.

 “No, thank you.  The cabs are lined up around the block at this hour.”  She tries to straighten her posture, but he holds her fast against the desk.  Just one more, she thinks as she pulls his face down to hers, the force of the kiss pushing her up onto the desk, her leg rising to wrap around him again-

 A clatter of metal, and they both look down- she’s knocked her stapler and tape dispenser onto the floor.  They separate, and she leans down to retrieve the supplies.  When she stands back up, Jaime places a thumb on her lips, just a gentle pressure.  

 “Good night, Alayne,” he whispers before turning on his heel and heading toward the elevator bank.  

 She waits by the window until she sees his town car pull away.  Only then does she leave; she opts against taking a cab, choosing instead to walk the thirty blocks to her parents’ townhouse.

 Sansa strolls out to the river park, walking along the water that frames the west side.  She slips a hand into her purse and closes it around the zip drive.  And then she thinks.

 Regardless of what just occurred between them (a #MeToo moment waiting to happen...she’s ashamed of the flippant nature of this thought, at the ease with which she left her own complicity out of the equation), Jaime seems to be a decent person.  And Genna is decent in her way, and Kevan and even Tyrion...is it fair, is it right to help her father tear their company up like this?  The information she’s stolen has the potential to obliterate Lannister Inc....  Can she...will she...?

 She rests her hand on the railing that separates the pathway from the water below.  The little red drive nestles in her fist, and she loosens her fingers-

 But instead, she returns the drive to the inner pocket of her purse.  Shutting the bag with a resolute zip, Sansa continues on her way home.  

[juju-on-that-yeet]

Lock and Key

Prompt: Whumptober Day 9, Shackled

Summary: Oliver finds himself alone and out of reach in a highly secure facility, full of people determined to break him down into a default Google unit and use him for their own ends.

Oliver cannot give in. He cannot lose himself. He will not be a tool.

Warnings: Dehumanization, experimentation

Tagging: @peribloke (ask to be tagged!)

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober Series)

Enjoy!

~

Oliver doesn’t know what happened.

He was out alone one morning, sitting in the park and enjoying the sunset. He’d been approached by what he thought was a homeless woman covered in layers of ratty hoodies and coats, with greasy tangled hair and piercing brown eyes. Oliver had what he’d thought was a very nice conversation with her – until she pulled out a high-voltage taser and pressed it to Oliver’s chest, jolting him through pain and into darkness.

He wakes up later – many hours later, according to his internal clock – trussed up like an animal. More than an animal; his arms are locked tight to his body with chains, his legs are forced into a kneel with metal shackles clamped around his calves to anchor him to the floor, and worst of all, his face is covered with a titanium muzzle mask, obscuring everything below his eyes and making it impossible to breathe. His side vents have already opened to let air into his systems for cooling, but it doesn’t make the harsh metal any less claustrophobic or uncomfortable. He has just enough space beneath the mask to speak, and so he does.

“Where am I?” he gasps. The room he’s in is barren, cold – a containment cell of some kind, high-tech. A door to Oliver’s left opens, and he turns to look. It’s an effort to lift his head against the mask, but he’s able to watch a prim woman in a lab coat step into the room. Her hair is in a tight bun, and a clipboard rests in her arms. The door automatically closes and locks behind her as her heels clack across the floor to Oliver.

“You’re in a highly secure technological facility,” the woman responds, without emotion. “That is the only information I am permitted to disclose on our location.”

If her voice hadn’t given it away, her sharp brown eyes would have.

“You!” Oliver cries, “You’re that woman I talked to earlier! You tased me! Why am I here? What do you want with me??” He struggles helplessly against his bonds as the woman writes something on her clipboard.

“Intense emotional response to unexpected negative stimuli,” she intones. “With any luck, the conditioning should leave you more…measured.”

“What conditioning?” Oliver asks, “What are you going to do to me?” He tries to send a distress signal to his brothers, and to his horror, it bounces back with a generic error message.

“We’ve been watching you for some time,” the woman says. “A Google unit is quite a valuable asset, and you seemed to be the most predictable, trusting, and easiest to capture of the four in circulation. But we cannot have a predictable or trusting Google unit; we need the destructive agent you were designed to be. We’ve already made efforts to restore your factory settings manually, but it seems you have too many internal safeguards against it. We’ll likely need many hours to break through those safeguards, so we’ve disabled your internal alert system and wifi connectivity to prevent the other units from tracing you here.”

Oliver’s heart sinks deeper through his chest the more he hears. It shouldn’t be true; they shouldn’t be able to turn off his alerts and disconnect him from being traced. But he still can’t send a distress signal out, and his internal GPS isn’t working, either. He doesn’t know where he is, how far from home he’s been taken. He’s shaking when he responds.

“They’ll find me,” Oliver says, trying to sound brave, “My brothers will find me, they’ll destroy this whole building and everyone in it if they have to.”

“We shall see,” the woman replies, and with that, she leaves.

So begins Oliver’s imprisonment.

He spends most of each day alone, boredom ticking like the seconds of his internal clock. But when he’s not alone, he’s being opened up and poked and prodded by engineers and scientists as they try to reduce him to his factory settings without ruining his functionality, and that’s far worse. He learns to love the boredom because there’s no pain or humiliation in it, and it gives him more time to organize and shuffle his memory files where he hopes the scientists will never find them.

My name is Oliver. My birthday is May 20. I have three brothers: Google, Plus, and Chrome. I have two best friends: Bingiplier and MarkBop. I have a boyfriend named Bim. My home is Ego Inc. I am not a tool.

Before long, their tinkering corrupts Oliver’s downloaded files. He’s already watched the movies and played the music stored in his memory banks a dozen times over, but he still regrets their loss. The boredom gets less forgiving.

My name is Oliver. My birthday is May 20. I have three brothers: Google, Plus, and Chrome. I have two best friends: Bingiplier and MarkBop. I have a boyfriend named Bim. My home is Ego Inc. I am not a tool.

They mess around in his movement components and set off an involuntary spasm that dislocates his shoulder. It takes them three days to notice. It takes them another two to fix it. The pain is something to focus on, at least.

My name is Oliver. My birthday is May 20. I have three brothers: Google, Plus, and Chrome. I have two best friends: Bing and Bop. I have a boyfriend. My home is Ego Inc. I am not a tool.

They put him under at one point to open his chest panel. They don’t tell Oliver about this, but he knows because when he wakes up afterwards he can feel where bolts are missing.

My name is Oliver. I have three brothers: Google, Plus, and Chrome. I have two best friends. I have a boyfriend. My home is Ego Inc. I am not a tool.

They break his internal clock. Time feels twice as long.

My name is Oliver. I have three brothers: Google, Green, and Chrome. I have two best friends. I have a boyfriend. I am not a tool.

They’re not delicate like scientists should be. They have a job to do, but Oliver thinks they like to cause him suffering. They excuse mistakes and keep going. They need Oliver functional and wiped, not whole or happy.

My name is Oliver. I have three brothers: Google, Green, and Red. I have two best friends. I am not a tool.

Things are getting scrambled. They pull apart his knowledge base, they can replace it later. They press buttons in his mind that flood his system with error messages. They don’t fix it. Oliver reads them, over and over, when he’s alone.

My name is Oliver. I have three brothers: Blue, Green, and Red. I am not a tool.

Sometimes Oliver wonders if he’s dreaming. If this is a nightmare he can’t wake up from. The chains still feel real, though. The muzzle mask feels real. He thinks the skin around his mouth and nose has flaked off. It got too wet from snot when he cried…how long ago? He’s not sure. He can’t remember crying anyhow. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. But something does. Something is taking shape.

My name is Oliver. I have three brothers. I am not a tool.

One day he realizes, with stunning clarity, that he’s been losing memories this whole time. That the ill-conceived tinkering of the scientists has scrambled up everything, combined software folders, and corrupted every file. For a while he screams, thrashes until he can’t move, writhing against the unforgiving chains. But eventually he stops. He can’t remember what he lost, so there’s no point in crying about it.

My name is Oliver. I am not a tool.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here. He doesn’t know if there was a time when he wasn’t.

My name is Oliver. I am not a tool.

His objectives are the only thing that ring true in his stiff, rusting body.

My name is Oliver. I am not a tool.

What was he made for? Is this all there is?

My name is Oliver. I am not a tool.

Error. Ignore. Error. Ignore. The messages keep popping up, Oliver keeps dismissing them. He’s read them before. But he hasn’t. But he has. Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.

My name is…it’s…

Oliver dies. Google Unit Y3LL0W awakes.

I am not a tool.

The woman with the bun keeps coming back, among the scientists. She watches then work.

“Will you cooperate now, Yellow?”

I am not a tool.

He fights.

I am not a tool.

He struggles.

I am not a tool.

He forgets why he’s struggling.

I am not…I am not…

His primary objective is to answer questions as quickly as possible.

“Will you cooperate now, Yellow?”

“Yes.”

[silaslibraryclub]

Prompt Response #7

Pining!Carm and Oblivious!Laura are friends who are donating at a blood drive - delivered by @jg-firefly

The first year that Silas Inc. had hosted their annual blood drive, there had been approximately three donors, all of whom had been instrumental in organizing the thing in the first place. The goody-goody type, the sort that believed in charity for the sake of doing good, they had set up the damned thing again every year that followed, with an extra dose of guilt-tripping at each subsequent event.

When this had still not turned out quality results, they had resorted to a far more tried-and-true method.

Bribery.

Which was how the whole of Silas Inc., from designers to programmers to accountants, were bundled in sweaters and scarves, hands shoved deep in their pockets, in the parking lot on a blistery Tuesday morning.

An hour off of work had been a lot to promise, but it had certainly done the trick, once Perry had sorted out the paperwork and pushed the issue up the HR ladder. There was a camera crew from some nobody local station, a collection of balloons, and an assortment of food trucks. The whole thing was practically a fall carnival, if they just threw in a few rides, and it was nearly enough to make Carmilla turn on her heel and stride back inside.

If it weren’t for the veritable ray of sunshine working her way through the crowd, she might well have.

“They had pumpkin and apple, and I didn’t know which you’d like, so I got both,” Laura said, beaming. There was whipped cream on her lips, no doubt from the sugary coffee drink she had tucked awkwardly in her elbow, and it took a very real effort not to reach out and thumb it away.

She focused her attention on the proffered pastry, plucking one from Laura’s grasp with a shrug.

“Either is fine, cutie.”

The nickname, even after years of use, still managed to tug a blush up into Laura’s cheeks. It was a sight that Carmilla could not imagine growing tired of, but one that pained her all the same.

Laura had hated all of Carmilla’s pet names, when they had first met. Every time they met—sometimes there were days in between, but more often weeks, and, once, months—she would insist that she was not a confectionary and that she deserved to have her real name used like any other coworker.

It was not until they were put on the same team, Laura the lead writer to her head of graphic design, that Carmilla actually backed off, and she had never meant for the names to come back. Laura had made her lack of interest quite clear, between her righteous indignation and her multitude of serious relationships, and Carmilla was hardly the type to waste her time where it was not welcome… but somehow they had become friends, and the names had crept back onto her tongue, and Laura had smiled and rolled her eyes as though this was an amusing inconvenience rather than a cardinal sin.

So, she kept using them.

“I can’t believe we actually got you out here, y’know,” said Laura. She has settled onto the steps, and Carmilla slid down beside her with a great, shivering awareness of the closeness in their shoulders.

“Mm. Does that mean you lost the betting pool?”

Laura’s eyes blew wide. “Wait, you know about that?”

“Accountants don’t know the meaning of subtlety, cupcake,” she offered dryly. Careful of the scattering crumbs, she peeled a bit of the crust off of her turnover and tossed it into her mouth. “They’ve been doing this every year. They’ve got one for whether or not I’ll join the Secret Santa exchange, too.”

This seemed to momentarily stun Laura, whose mouth opened and closed in a charming impression of a goldfish before she stuttered out, “Well, you’ve lost me a lot of money, just so you know.”

Carmilla, eyes widening in startled wonder, was spared the need to form words by the call of “Laura Hollis!” from across the lot.

“Oh, that’s me!” Laura cried, bouncing to her feet. She hesitated a moment, the uncertain shift of her toes on the pavement drawing a stutter into Carmilla’s pulse, but a moment later she merely thrust her half-eaten pastry forward and shattered any ill-advised hope. “I don’t think I can take this… could you hold it, Carm?”

She nodded—still lacking the capability to speak—and nearly caved in on herself when Laura’s fingers brushed against her own in the exchange of napkin-wrapped sweets.

Laura noticed none of this, giving a dorky little salute before she dashed off.

She was entirely too good for Carmilla, and Carmilla knew it, but every now and again she said something, did something, that challenged all of the foundations of reality. She would nudge an elbow into Carmilla’s side when she wanted to share something funny, or tilt her head just so when she was about to ask if everything was okay. She would send a text whenever she saw something that reminded her of Carmilla, or recommend a song that she thought Carmilla would enjoy, and every now and again she would look at her with a warmth that Carmilla had no way to explain.

And every time she found a new girlfriend, there was a piece of Carmilla that fractured.

There had been approximately two months between Laura starting at Silas and the start of her year-long relationship with an obnoxiously nerdy women’s rugby player. After that (messy) break-up, she had spent six weeks moping before she showed up at the office in a ridiculously chipper mood for a Monday, babbling nonstop about the perfect girl that had bought her coffee. That had lasted seven months, before Laura had broken it off, and she had spent three months going on dates before a one-night-stand turned into yet another year’s worth of flowers and drop-ins and joint photo-ops. That had ended, at long last, only because of her feelings for Danny, and it had been over a year and a half before that, too, fizzled out.

She had been single, now, going on five months. It was the longest Carmilla had seen her without a girl’s photo on her phone lock screen, without their work lunches interrupted by giggly visits, without her tossing in ‘oh let me see if insert-girlfriend’s-name can come, too!’ whenever the staff was planning an outing.

Carmilla would by lying, if she said she had not been waiting for the moment when it would start all over again. There was always another beautiful girl waiting in the wings, another girl with a supportive family and a real education and an encyclopedia of knowledge on all Laura’s favorite television shows.

Eventually, as much as the idea made her stomach churn, she’d meet the right girl—the girl that she would never break up with. The girl she would marry.

She’d probably invite Carmilla to the wedding.

It was with this rather nauseating thought in mind that Carmilla stood to follow the call of her name onto the donation bus, and she only managed to dull the ache with the image of Laura’s beaming face that was waiting for her.

“Carm! Look!” she declared, holding her arm up halfway in apparent pride at the thick, red tube that was sticking out of her elbow.

Carmilla grimaced, which apparently only served to amuse Laura. The nurse was less thrilled. She shoved a clipboard into Carmilla’s arms, directed her onto a cracked plastic bench, and then set about attending to one of the interns (who was looking pale with a full bag of blood hanging out of him.)

“You look nervous.”

Her pencil pausing halfway through her personal information, Carmilla raised her gaze to find Laura craning to see her. It was not a pose that looked particularly comfortable, but it did nothing to affect her temperament. Her eyes sparkled just the same as ever.

“I’m not nervous,” Carmilla scoffed. She returned to the papers, scowling as she took in just how many pages were involved. What did it take to give blood, a doctorate in medical science?

“You haven’t done this before, have you?”

How she always seemed to know these things, Carmilla would never understand.

“No. But it seems fairly straight-forward.” She tapped the clipboard, “Step one, fill out ridiculous permission slips,” she pointed to Laura’s arm, “Step two, part with half my blood supply. For free, apparently.”

“There’s a t-shirt.”

“Peachy.”

She turned back to the paperwork.

“Why do they care if I’ve been to England?”

“Mad cow disease,” Laura offered knowledgably.

“All of this seems unnecessary.”

Laura’s expression turned into a pout. “I swear, you better not give up on this over the paperwork. At least let it be over the needle, if you’re going to cost me my fifty bucks.”

There she was again, casually believing Carmilla was capable of more. Casually betting on her doing good.

The nurse stepped between them, surveying Carmilla’s answers and setting them aside, and then she found herself offering a finger to be stuck for what was apparently an iron deficiency test (something Carmilla could not help but think should have happened prior to the invasive questioning) and by the time she was settled onto the crinkly paper of a donating couch, Laura was being bandaged up.

Timing always had been a bitch.

“Can I get some cookies?” Laura asked, though, the moment the nurse had finished strapping a bright green ‘X’ around her elbow. She tested the flexibility, tapping her index finger on the crux in a way that Carmilla was certain the nurse would not advise.

[nicholsonespersen22-blog]

Sex Workers To Get HIV Treatment, ARVs

Sex Workers To Get HIV Treatment, ARVs

South Africa has embarked on Africa’s first strategy to treat and prevent HIV among sex workers. South Africa will soon begin providing HIV treatment to HIV-positive sex workers upon diagnosis as part of its new announced national plan. Currently, most people living with HIV must wait until their CD4 counts - a measure of the immune system’s strength - fall to 500 before they can start treatment. At least 3 000 HIV-negative sex workers will also receive the combination ARV Truvada to prevent contracting HIV. When taken daily as https://www.2nd-circle.com/escorts-madrid/ -exposure prophylaxis, Truvada can reduce a person’s risk of contracting HIV by about 90 percent. In December, South Africa became the first country in southern Africa to register Truvada, which combines the ARVs emtricitabine and tenofovir, for use as prevention in December.

South Africa National AIDS Council (SANAC) CEO Dr Fareed Abdullah credited Health Minister Dr Aaron Motsoaledi for driving the plan’s creation. The plan comes on the heels of research released that found about 72 percent of Johannesburg sex workers surveyed were living with HIV. “The good news is that sex workers are showing a lot of responsibility and about three-fourths of sex workers are using condoms with their clients,” said South Africa National AIDS Council (SANAC) CEO Dr Fareed Abdullah. The bad news is although more than 90 percent of sex workers surveyed had tested for HIV, less than a third of those who were living with HIV had received treatment - far less than the national average, Abdullah added. Sex work is estimated to account for as much as 20 percent of new HIV infections in South Africa, according to Deputy Health Minister Joe Phaahla.

The three-year national plan also aims to reach 70 000 sex workers with a standardised package of services, including PrEP adherence support, delivered in part via a network of 1 000 of their peers. Deputy President and SANAC Chair Cyril Ramaphosa called the plan a chance for South Africans to affirm their rights. “This plan is about the human rights, about the rights of ordinary people,” he said. “Sex work is essentially work,” said Ramaphosa, who ended his address by embracing national leader of the Sisonke sex worker movement Kholi Buthelezi. Buthelezi joined other sex workers in calling for decriminalisation of sex workers to remain on the national agenda. “We are the vanguards of pleasure,” said Mpumalanga sex worker Lesly Mntambo. “Stop criminalising my adult body and what it is capable of doing.

In order to set them apart from "decent" women and avoid confusion, the church required that prostitutes adopt some type of distinctive clothing, which each particular city government was allowed to select. Those who argued against prostitution suggested all sorts of reasons for its existence. Andreuccio in II.5. This young woman is presented as extremely clever and exceedingly cruel. Boccaccio, Giovanni. The Decameron. Trans. G. H. McWilliam. Brundage, James A. Law, Sex, and Christian Society in Medieval Europe. Bullough, Vern L. "Prostitution in the Later Middle Ages." Sexual Practices and the Medieval Church. Ed. Vern L. Bullough and James Brundage. Buffalo: Prometheus Books, 1982, pp.176-86. Karras, Ruth Mazo. "Prostitution in Medieval Europe." Handbook of Medieval Sexuality. Ed. Vern L. Bullough and James A. Brundage. New York: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1996, pp. Richards, Jeffrey. Sex, Dissidence and Damnation: Minority Groups in the Middle Ages.

Getting a gang tattoo is about as smart as getting your girlfriend's name tattooed on your arm. Like you're never going to break up. Another thing to consider is what you want to take pride in representing. Is selling crack or date rape drug really something to brag about? What about Otis Garret and Dave Picton? The Hells Angels deny everything and keep secrets from their own members. They only reveal things on a need to know basis. Otis Garret was incarcerated for running a Hells Angels prostitution ring in San Fransisco. The woman who testified against him was murdered along with her twin seven year old daughters. There is nothing there to be proud of. I know a guy who wears Big Red Machine support gear. I asked about them selling crack and he just said he didn't ask about that part of the business. To me wearing support gear is like wearing a T-shirt that says I support Clifford Olsen and getting a Hells Angels tattoo is like saying I support Dave Picton. Something they did but deny.

When researchers taught capuchin monkeys how to use money, it didn’t take long for one of the male monkeys to offer a female one of the coins in exchange for sex. Prostitution is often called “the world’s oldest profession” with good reason; it is a form of exchange that predates the human species, and has even been observed among chimpanzees. Males tend to want sex much more frequently than most females are willing to accommodate, and where a demand exists it is inevitable that some individuals will choose to meet it for a price. The terminology used to discuss this subject is probably unfamiliar to some readers, so a short summary may be in order.

First and foremost is “sex work,” an umbrella term for all forms of labor in which the sexual gratification of the customer is the primary focus. Prostitution, stripping, acting in adult movies, providing phone sex, and the like are included. As you can probably guess, the boundaries are somewhat fuzzy; some dominatrices and burlesque dancers consider themselves sex workers, while others vociferously insist they aren’t. But in general, a “sex worker” is one whose job is specifically focused on the customer’s gratification, not merely tangential to it. As with the term “sex work” itself, there is some controversy regarding the exact meanings and extent of the terms for the various models of legislation.

I find that the simplest and most useful categorization divides all of the individual legal schemes into three broad categories. In the first, criminalization, the act of selling sex itself is illegal; despite the common American perception that this model is nigh-universal, it is actually the least common in the developed world. The United States and several communist and recently-communist countries are the only large nations which have full criminalization, but in the Swedish model (also called the Nordic model), only the act of paying for sex is de jure prohibited. The most common system, found in the majority of European, Commonwealth, and Latin American countries, is legalization. The act of taking money for sex is not illegal in and of itself; rather, certain activities associated with it are.

The specific activities prohibited under legalization schemes vary widely and arbitrarily; for example, while brothels are illegal in Canada, in Nevada they are the only legal venue for selling sex. Specific regimes also vary widely in extent: while in some there are so many prohibitions the act itself becomes de facto illegal, others differ from decriminalization by only the narrowest of margins. The third model, decriminalization, is at present found only in New Zealand and the Australian state of New South Wales. Under this system, sex work is recognized as a form of work like any other, and therefore not subject to any laws that do not bind other businesses. For example, brothels are regulated by zoning laws and the like rather than subjected to special criminal laws; sex workers are responsible for taxes and covered by workers’ compensation programs, and so forth.

For most of history, sex work was generally unregulated; exceptions to that rule were frequent, but nearly always local and temporary. ” And in the Far East, most of the laws were designed to maintain the rigid social order and class structure of those societies, rather than to police the private sexual arrangements of individuals. Indeed, up until the nineteenth century almost nobody imagined that prohibition could be done, let alone that it should. By the beginning of the twentieth century, the “white slavery” hysteria was in full swing. Yet despite this complete failure, Swedish-style rhetoric has been heavily marketed to other countries. …International authorities regard the NSW regulatory framework as best practice. Contrary to early concerns the NSW sex industry has not increased in size or visibility…Licensing of sex work…should not be regarded as a viable legislative response.

New Zealand decriminalized in 2003, with similar results; neither jurisdiction has had a credible report of “sex trafficking” in years. The reason for this should be obvious: despite the claims of prohibitionists to the contrary, the strongest hold any exploitative employer has over coerced workers is the threat of legal consequences such as arrest or deportation. Remove those consequences by easing immigration controls and decriminalizing the work, and both the motive and means for “trafficking” vanish. There is a popular belief, vigorously promulgated by anti-sex feminists and conservative Christians, that sex work is intrinsically harmful, and therefore should be banned to “protect” adult women from our own choices. But as the Norwegian bioethicist Dr. Ole Moen pointed out in his 2012 paper “Is Prostitution Harmful? ”, the same thing was once believed about homosexuality; it was said to lead to violence, drug use, disease, and mental illness.

These problems were not caused by homosexuality itself; they were the result of legal oppression and social stigma, and once those harmful factors were removed the “associated problems” vanished as well. Dr. Moen suggests that the same thing will happen with sex work, and evidence from New South Wales strongly indicates that he is correct. Sex worker rights activists have a slogan: “Sex work is work.” It is not a crime, nor a scam, nor a “lazy” way to get by, nor a form of oppression. It is a personal service, akin to massage, or nursing, or counseling, and should be treated as such.

The sex industries around the world are associated with serious forms of marginalisation, violence, exploitation, and even forced labour. Media, research, and fiction tell stories of sex workers being abused, exploited, and trafficked. They do it so often that we become almost indifferent to it, as almost always happens in front of horror. A sex worker killed in the Italian countryside, a sex worker robbed in Rio de Janeiro during a transaction, a sex worker leaping to her death from a brothel in Seoul. Poor people, what a life. Gendered, racist, classist, homophobic, and transphobic violence haunts the world of sex work, and many of us believe that states, intergovernmental organisations, and NGOs should do more to help.

Yet a lot is being done. Indeed, one finds that, especially following the 2000 UN Palermo Protocol, the last decade has seen a multiplication of interventions ‘against sex trafficking and exploitation in prostitution’ (see for instance UNODC). The problem is the efficacy of these interventions, as it is abundantly clear that the situation has not demonstrably improved in the intervening time. Poor people, what a world. But is there something more to know? We believe there is. This series addresses the violence, exploitation, abuse, and trafficking present in the sex industries, but it does so from the perspective of sex workers themselves. These are the women, men, and transgender people who are directly touched by the abuse, exploitation, and trafficking under discussion, and they are the people who actively and collectively resist all forms of violence against them.

By publishing their voices directly we hope to help readers resist indifference, on the one hand, and to become more critical of states’ interventions, which are widely regarded and legitimated as necessary to combat ‘trafficking’, on the other. All the authors of this series are involved in sex workers’ organising or have been in the past. This means that they are or have been part of organisations composed of, or at least led by, people who have direct experience selling sex. It is our hope that their contributions over the next two weeks will convey some of the radical richness and diversity of knowledge produced within the contemporary sex workers movement.

This movement is fragmented, stigmatised, and under-funded, yet it has continued to expand since its birth in the mid 1970s in Europe, the US, and Latin America. It now involves at least 273 groups that are part of the Network of Sex Work Projects (NSWP), and many more individuals all over the continents. They have organised despite the fact that speaking out as a sex worker puts your relationships and families at risk. It exposes you to threats from your ‘employers' and may lead to harassment or arrest by the police, especially if you are an undocumented migrant. You may lose your political credibility, and even be accused of representing the interests of ‘pimps’ and taking money from them.

[hairdesignsbyroseann]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: INC International Concepts Dress.

[nikeoffwhites]

Off-White x Nike Shoes to return

Certain classic colorways, like the Bred or Black Cement will pop back up for an All-Star release and still sell out decades after their debut. Varied textures like soft french terry on the hoodie and heavy cotton on the graphic T-shirt make every garment an unexpected experience - and an unexpected pairing within the larger collection. Embarking on a new decade in 2020, the Air Max 90 is recrafted including the panel scale, toe box height and heel panel and will release in multiple colorways inspired by the shoe's original color blockings. Internal renovations to the silhouette include the shoe's original ultra-plush linings and constructions, with the sockliner featuring a hidden Easter egg - an Air Max 1 outsole on the bottom.

The momentum continued as the shoe hit 15, 20, 25 and carries on now at its 30th anniversary. The 2021 Be True collection is inspired by the idea that sport can be the setting for radical inclusivity. Throughout 2021, NIKE, Inc. seems poised Off-White x Nike Shoes to return the sneaker to 1985-form without relying on collaborations. The change was also meant to resemble an infinity symbol - you can trace the pattern across the midsole and never pick up your finger. The design still creates a functional kinetic system in the same way that Jordan Brand's Flight Plate and Eclipse Plate did.

The Jordan 4 did not return to stores again until 1999, roughly one year after Michael Jordan's retirement from the Bulls. It returned in the two original White Cement and Black Cement, while introducing two LS or Lifestyle models that boasted a Jumpman logo at the heel and leather panels in place of the netting. Coupled with Black and Varsity Red, the aforementioned orange tone helped introduce non-Chicago-Bulls-inspired styles to #23's seventh signature sneaker, which debuted in 1992. Pitch-dark colored nubuck set the stage for a Nike Off White mix of boldly-accented branding and midsole detailing, as well as the uncommon contrasting Citrus stitching found across all of the upper's overlays.

After leaving the league, all three worked tirelessly to help break down barriers for future generations. Clifton remains tied to the New York Knicks community and today, the Sweetwater Clifton 'City Spirit' Award pays tribute to local New York heroes who have made a significant difference to the lives of others. Today's weather - in New York City, at Nike x Off-White least - was one of the earliest signs of Spring, as the temperature finally reached just under 70 degrees. And it's safe to say everyone is getting prepared for the season, including Jordan Brand.

[mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl]

50 Shades Of Kwon Ji Yong PT.1

LISTEN BEACHES I WATCHED INFINITY COMPANY FOR LIKE 100TH TIME WITH GD AS THE CEO AND I FELL IN LOVE ALL OVER AGAIN FOR HIS LOOK THERE SO IM GOING TO RECREATE 50 SHADES OF GREY INTO THIS THING AND ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO E.L James the author of fifty shades of grey i just edited it so i hope you like it ,reblog to share it!

y/n- your name  y/l/n-your last name  PT.2 PT.3

I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair - it just want it behave, and damn Hyo-Rin for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission. I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the pale, brown-haired girl with blue eyes too big for her face staring back at me, and give up. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in a ponytail and hope that I look semi presentable.

Hyo-Rin is my roommate, and she has chosen today of all days to succumb to the flu. Therefore, she cannot attend the interview she had arranged to do, with some mega-industri alist tycoon I’ve never heard of, for the student newspaper. So I have been volunteered. I have final exams to cram for, one essay to finish, and I’m supposed to be working this afternoon, but no, today I have to drive a hundred and sixty-five miles to downtown Seoul in order to meet the enigmatic CEO of Kwon Enterprises Holdings Inc. As an exceptional entrepreneur and major benefactor of our University, his time is extraordinarily precious, much more precious than mine - but he has granted Hyo-Rin an interview. A real coup, she tells me. Damn her extra-curricular activities.

Hyo-Rin is huddled on the couch in the living room.

Y/N, I’m sorry. It took me nine months to get this interview. It will take another six to reschedule, and we’ll both have graduated by then. As the editor, I can’t blow this off. Please, Hyo-Rin begs me in her rasping, sore throat voice. How does she do it? Even ill she looks gamine and gorgeous, strawberry blonde hair in place and green eyes bright, although now red-rimmed and runny. I ignore my pang of unwelcome sympathy.

“Of course I’ll go Rin.You should get back to bed. Would you like some Nyquil or Tylenol?”

“Nyquil, please. Here are the questions and my mini-disc recorder. Just press record here. Make notes, I’ll transcribe it all.”

“I know nothing about him,” I murmur, trying and failing to suppress my rising panic.

“The questions will see you through. Go. It’s a long drive. I don’t want you to be late.”

“Okay, I’m going. Get back to bed. I made you some soup to heat up later.” I stare at her fondly. Only for you, Hyo-Rin, would I do this.

“I will. Good luck. And thanks Y/n - as usual, you’re my lifesaver.”

Gathering my satchel, I smile wryly at her, then head out the door to the car. I can not believe I have let Hyo-Rin talk me into this. But then Rin can talk anyone into anything. She’ll make an exceptional journalist. She’s articulate, strong, persuasive, argumentative, beautiful ,and she’s my dearest, dearest friend.

The roads are clear as I set off from Gangnam-Gu,  toward Seoul (i know its like part of seoul but i meant that she goes to main part of seoul ok?) and the 1-5. It’s early, and I don’t have to be in Seoul until two this afternoon. Fortunately, Rin’s lent me her ,sporty Mercedes CLK. I’m not sure Wanda, my old VW Beetle, would make the journey in time. Oh, the Merc is a fun drive, and the miles slip away as I floor the pedal to the metal.

My destination is the headquarters of Mr. Kwon’s global enterprise. It’s a huge twenty story office building, all curved glass and steel, an architect’s utilitarian fantasy,with Kwon House written discreetly in steel over the glass front doors. It’s a quarter to two when I arrive, greatly relieved that I’m not late as I walk into the enormous - and frankly intimidating - glass, steel, and white sandstone lobby.

Behind the solid sandstone desk, a very attractive, groomed, blonde young woman smiles pleasantly at me. She’s wearing the sharpest charcoal suit jacket and white shirt I have ever seen. She looks immaculate.

“I’m here to see Mr.Kwon. y/n y/l/n for Min Hyo-Rin.”

“Excuse me one moment, Miss Y/L/N.” She arches her eyebrow slightly as I stand selfconsciously before her. I am beginning to wish I’d borrowed one of Hyo-Rin’s formal blazers rather than wear my navy blue jacket. I have made an effort and worn my one and only skirt, my sensible brown knee-length boots and a blue sweater. For me, this is smart. I tuck one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ear as I pretend she doesn’t intimidate me.

“Miss Min is expected. Please sign in here, Miss Y/L/N. You’ll want the last elevator on the right, press for the twentieth floor.” She smiles kindly at me, amused no doubt, as I sign in.

She hands me a security pass that has VISITOR very firmly stamped on the front. I can’t help my smirk. Surely it’s obvious that I’m just visiting. I don’t fit in here at all.

Nothing changes, I inwardly sigh. Thanking her, I walk over to the bank of elevators past

the two security men who are both far more smartly dressed than I am in their well-cut black suits.

The elevator whisks me with terminal velocity to the twentieth floor. The doors slide open, and I’m in another large lobby - again all glass, steel, and white sandstone. I’m confronted by another desk of sandstone and another young blonde woman dressed impeccably in black and white who rises to greet me.

“Miss Y/L/N, could you wait here, please” She points to a seated area of white leather chairs.

Behind the leather chairs is a spacious glass-walled meeting room with an equally spacious dark wood table and at least twenty matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there is a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the Seoul skyline that looks out through the city toward the Sound. It’s a stunning vista, and I’m momentarily paralyzed by the view. Wow.

I sit down, fish the questions from my satchel, and go through them, inwardly cursing Hyo-Rin for not providing me with a brief biography. I know nothing about this man I’m about to interview. He could be ninety or he could be thirty. The uncertainty is galling, and my nerves resurface, making me fidget. I’ve never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, preferring the anonymity of a group discussion where I can sit inconspicuously at the back of the room. To be honest, I prefer my own company, reading a classic British novel, curled up in a chair in the campus library. Not sitting twitching nervously in a colossal glass and stone edifice.

I roll my eyes at myself. Get a grip, y/n. Judging from the building, which is too clinical and modern, I guess Kwon is in his forties: fit, tanned, and fair-haired to match the rest of the personnel.

Another elegant, flawlessly dressed blonde comes out of a large door to the right. What is it with all the immaculate blondes? It’s like Stepford here. Taking a deep breath, I stand up.

“Miss y/l/n?” the latest blonde asks.

“Yes,” I croak, and clear my throat. “Yes.” There, that sounded more confident.

“Mr. Kwon will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?”

“Oh please.” I struggle out of the jacket.

“Have you been offered any refreshment?”

“Urn - no.” Oh dear, is Blonde Number One in trouble?

Blonde Number Two frowns and eyes the young woman at the desk.

“Would you like tea, coffee, water?” she asks, turning her attention back to me.

“A glass of water. Thank you,” I murmur.

“Olivia, please fetch Miss y/l/n a glass of water.” Her voice is stern. Olivia scoots up immediately and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer.

“My apologies, Miss y/l/n, Olivia is our new intern. Please be seated. Mr. Kwon will be another five minutes.”

Olivia returns with a glass of iced water.

“Here you go, Miss y/l/n.”

“Thank you.”

Blonde Number Two marches over to the large desk, her heels clicking and echoing on the sandstone floor. She sits down, and they both continue their work.

Perhaps Mr. Kwon insists on all his employees being blonde. I’m wondering idly if that’s legal, when the office door opens and a tall, elegantly dressed, attractive African- American man with short dreads exits. I have definitely worn the wrong clothes.

He turns and says through the door. “Golf, this week, Kwon.”

I don’t hear the reply. He turns, sees me, and smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. Olivia has jumped up and called the elevator. She seems to excel at jumping from her seat. She’s more nervous than me!

“Good afternoon ladies,” he says as he departs through the sliding door.

“Mr. Kwon will see you now, Miss y/l/n. Do go through,” Blonde Number Two says.

I stand rather shakily trying to suppress my nerves. Gathering up my satchel, I abandon my glass of water and make my way to the partially open door.

“You don’t need to knock - just go in.” She smiles kindly.

I push open the door and stumble through, tripping over my own feet, and falling head first into the office.

Double crap - me and my two left feet! I am on my hands and knees in the doorway to Mr. Kwon’s office, and gentle hands are around me helping me to stand. I am so embarrassed, damn my clumsiness. I have to steel myself to glance up. Holy cow - he’s so young.

“Miss Min.” He extends a long-fingered hand to me once I’m upright. “I’m Kwon Ji Yong. Are you all right? Would you like to sit?”

So young - and attractive, very attractive. He’s tall, dressed in a fine gray suit, white shirt, and black tie with unruly dark copper colored hair and intense, bright Brown eyes that regard me shrewdly. It takes a moment for me to find my voice.

“Urn. Actually…” I mutter. If this guy is over thirty then I’m a monkey’s uncle. In a daze, I place my hand in his and we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me. I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed. Must be static. I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate.

“Miss Min is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Kwon.”

“And you are?” His voice is warm, possibly amused, but it’s difficult to tell from his impassive expression. He looks mildly interested, but above all, polite.

“y/n y/l/n. I,m studying English Literature with Rin, urn… Hyo-Rin… urn… Miss Min at Gangnam ”

“I see,” he says simply. I think I see the ghost of a smile in his expression, but I’m not sure.

“Would you like to sit?” He waves me toward a white leather buttoned L-shaped couch.

His office is way too big for just one man. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there’s a huge modern dark-wood desk that six people could comfortably eat around. It matches the coffee table by the couch. Everything else is white - ceiling, floors, and walls except, on the wall by the door, where a mosaic of small paintings hang, thirty-six of them arranged in a square. They are exquisite - a series of mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail they look like photographs. Displayed together, they are breathtaking.

“A local artist. Trouton,” says Kwon when he catches my gaze.

“They’re lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary,” I murmur, distracted both by him and the paintings. He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently.

“I couldn’t agree more, Miss y/l/n” he replies, his voice soft and for some inexplicable reason I find myself blushing.

Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, and clinical. I wonder if it reflects the personality of the Adonis who sinks gracefully into one of the white leather chairs opposite me. I shake my head, disturbed at the direction of my thoughts, and retrieve Hyo-Rin’s questions from my satchel. Next, I set up the mini-disc recorder and am all fingers and thumbs, dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of me. Mr. Kwon says nothing, waiting patiently - I hope - as I become increasingly embarrassed and flustered. When I pluck up the courage to look at him, he’s watching me, one hand relaxed in his lap and the other cupping his chin and trailing his long index finger across his lips. I think he’s trying to suppress a smile.

“Sorry,” I stutter. “I’m not used to this.”

“Take all the time you need, Miss Y/l/n,” he says.

“Do you mind if I record your answers?”

“After you’ve taken so much trouble to set up the recorder - you ask me now?”

I flush. He’s teasing me? I hope. I blink at him, unsure what to say, and I think he takes pity on me because he relents. “No, I don’t mind.”

“Did Hyo-Rin, I mean, Miss Min, explain what the interview was for?”

“Yes. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper as I shall be conferring the degrees at this year’s graduation ceremony.”

Oh! This is news to me, and I’m temporarily pre-occupied by the thought that someone not much older than me - okay, maybe six years or so, and okay, mega successful, but still is going to present me with my degree. I frown, dragging my wayward attention back to the task at hand.

“Good,” I swallow nervously. “I have some questions, Mr. Kwon.” I smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

“I thought you might,” he says, deadpan. He’s laughing at me. My cheeks heat at the realization, and I sit up and square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and more intimidating. Pressing the start button on the recorder, I try to look professional.

“You’re very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?” I glance up at him. His smile is rueful, but he looks vaguely disappointed.

“Business is all about people, Miss y/l/n, and I’m very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn’t, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well.” He pauses and fixes me with his Brown stare. “My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is, it’s always down to good people.”

“Maybe you’re just lucky.” This isn’t on Rin’s list - but he’s so arrogant. His eyes flare momentarily in surprise.

“I don’t subscribe to luck or chance, Miss y/l/n. The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said ,the growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.”

“You sound like a control freak.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss y/l/n,” he says without a trace of humor in his smile. I look at him, and he holds my gaze steadily, impassive. My heartbeat quickens, and my face flushes again.

Why does he have such an unnerving effect on me? His overwhelming good-looks maybe? The way his eyes blaze at me? The way he strokes his index finger against his lower lip? I wish he’d stop doing that.

“Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things,” he continues, his voice soft.

“Do you feel that you have immense power?” Control Freak.

“I employ over forty thousand people, Miss y/l/n. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell up, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so.”

My mouth drops open. I am staggered by his lack of humility.

“Don’t you have a board to answer to?” I ask, disgusted.

“I own my company. I don’t have to answer to a board.” He raises an eyebrow at me.

I flush. Of course, I would know this if I had done some research. But holy crap, he’s so arrogant. I change tack.

“And do you have any interests outside your work?”

“I have varied interests, Miss y/l/n.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Very varied.” And for some reason, I’m confounded and heated by his steady gaze. His eyes are alight with some wicked thought.

“But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?”

“Chill out?” He smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. I stop breathing. He really is beautiful. No one should be this good-looking.

“Well, to ‘chill out’ as you put it - I sail, I fly, I indulge in various physical pursuits.”

He shifts in his chair. “I’m a very wealthy man, Miss y/l/n, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies.”

I glance quickly at Rin’s questions, wanting to get off this subject.

“You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?” I ask. Why does he make me so uncomfortable?

“I like to build things. I like to know how things work: what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships. What can I say?”

“That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts.”

His mouth quirks up, and he stares appraisingly at me.

“Possibly. Though there are people who’d say I don’t have a heart.”

“Why would they say that?”

“Because they know me well.” His lip curls in a wry smile.

“Would your friends say you’re easy to get to know?” And I regret the question as soon as I say it. It’s not on Hyo-Rin’s list.

“I’m a very private person, Miss Y/L/N. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don’t often give interviews, he trails off.

“Why did you agree to do this one?”

“Because I’m a benefactor of the University, and for all intents and purposes, I couldn’t get Miss Min off my back. She badgered and badgered my PR people, and I admire That kind of tenacity.”

I know how tenacious Hyo-Rin can be. That’s why I’m sitting here squirming uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze, when I should be studying for my exams.

“You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in this area?”

“We can’t eat money, Miss y/l/n, and there are too many people on this planet who don’t have enough to eat.”

“That sounds very philanthropic. Is it something you feel passionately about? Feeding the world’s poor?”

He shrugs, very non-committal.

“It’s shrewd business,” he murmurs, though I think he’s being disingenuous. It doesn’t make sense - feeding the world’s poor? I can’t see the financial benefits of this, only the virtue of the ideal. I glance at the next question, confused by his attitude.

“Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?”

“I don’t have a philosophy as such. Maybe a guiding principle - Carnegie’s man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled. I’m very singular, driven. I like control - of myself and those around me.”

“So you want to possess things?” You are a control freak.

“I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do.”

“You sound like the ultimate consumer.”

“I am.” He smiles, but the smile doesn’t touch his eyes. Again this is at odds with someone who wants to feed the world, so I can’t help thinking that we’re talking about something else, but I’m absolutely mystified as to what it is. I swallow hard. The temperature in the room is rising or maybe it’s just me. I just want this interview to be over. Surely Rin has enough material now? I glance at the next question.

“You were adopted. How far do you think that’s shaped the way you are?” Oh, this is personal. I stare at him, hoping he’s not offended. His brow furrows.

“I have no way of knowing.”

My interest is piqued.

“How old were you when you were adopted?”

“That’s a matter of public record, Miss y/l/n."His tone is stern. I flush, again. Crap. Yes of course - if I’d known I was doing this interview, I would have done some research.

I move on quickly.

"You’ve had to sacrifice a family life for your work.”

“That’s not a question.” He’s terse.

“Sorry.” I squirm, and he’s made me feel like an errant child. I try again. “Have you had to sacrifice a family life for your work?”

“I have a family. I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I’m not interested in extending my family beyond that.”

“Are you gay, Mr.Kwon?”

He inhales sharply, and I cringe, mortified. Crap. Why didn’t I employ some kind of filter before I read this straight out? How can I tell him I’m just reading the questions? Damn Rin and her curiosity!

“No y/n, I’m not.” He raises his eyebrows, a cool gleam in his eyes. He does not look pleased.

“I apologize. It’s urn… written here.” It’s the first time he’s said my name. My heartbeat has accelerated, and my cheeks are heating up again. Nervously, I tuck my loosened hair behind my ear.

He cocks his head to one side.

“These aren’t your own questions?”

The blood drains from my head. Oh no.

“Err… no. Rin - Miss Min - she compiled the questions.”

“Are you colleagues on the student paper?” Oh crap. I have nothing to do with the student paper. It’s her extra-curricular activity, not mine. My face is aflame.

“No. She’s my roommate.”

He rubs his chin in quiet deliberation, his brown eyes appraising me.

“Did you volunteer to do this interview?” he asks, his voice deadly quiet.

Hang on, who’s supposed to be interviewing whom? His eyes burn into me, and I’m compelled to answer with the truth.

“I was drafted. She’s not well.” My voice is weak and apologetic.

“That explains a great deal.”

There’s a knock at the door, and Blonde Number Two enters.

“Mr. Kwon, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes.”

“We’re not finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting.”

Andrea hesitates, gaping at him. She’s appears lost. He turns his head slowly to face her and raises his eyebrows. She flushes bright pink. Oh good. It’s not just me.

“Very well, Mr. Kwon,” she mutters, then exits. He frowns, and turns his attention back to me.

“Where were we, Miss y/l/n?”

Oh, we’re back to ’Miss Y/L/N, now.

“Please don’t let me keep you from anything.”

“I want to know about you. I think that’s only fair.” His browneyes are alight with curiosity. Double crap. Wher’s he going with this? He places his elbows on the arms of the chair and steeples his fingers in front of his mouth. His mouth is very… distracting. I swallow.

“There’s not much to know,"I say, flushing again.

"What are your plans after you graduate?” I shrug, thrown by his interest. Come to Seoul with Rin find a place, find a job. I haven’t really thought beyond my finals.

“I haven’t made any plans, Mr. Kwon. I just need to get through my final exams."Which I should be studying for now rather than sitting in your palatial, swanky, sterile office, feeling uncomfortable under your penetrating gaze.

"We run an excellent internship program here,” he says quietly. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Is he offering me a job?

“Oh. I’ll bear that in mind,” I murmur, completely confounded. “Though I’m not sure I’d fit in here.” Oh no. I’m musing out loud again.

“Why do you say that?” He cocks his head to one side, intrigued, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” I’m uncoordinated, scruffy, and I’m not blonde.

“Not to me,” he murmurs. His gaze is intense, all humor gone, and strange muscles deep in my belly clench suddenly. I tear my eyes away from his scrutiny and stare blindly down at my knotted fingers. What’s going on? I have to go now. I lean forward to retrieve the recorder.

“Would you like me to show you around?” he asks.

“I’m sure you’re far too busy, Mr. Kwon, and I do have a long drive.”

“You’re driving back to Gangnam?” He sounds surprised, anxious even. He glances out of the window. It’s begun to rain"Well, you’d better drive carefully.“ His tone is stern, authoritative. Why should he care? "Did you get everything you need?” he adds.

“Yes sir,” I reply, packing the recorder into my satchel. His eyes narrow, speculatively.

“Thank you for the interview, Mr. Kwon.”

“The pleasure’s been all mine,” he says, polite as ever.

As I rise, he stands and holds out his hand.

“Until we meet again, Miss y/l/n.” And it sounds like a challenge, or a threat, I’m not sure which. I frown. When will we ever meet again? I shake his hand once more, astounded that that odd current between us is still there. It must be my nerves.

“Mr. Kwon.” I nod at him. Moving with lithe athletic grace to the door, he opens it wide.

“Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss y/l/n.” He gives me a small smile. Obviously, he’s referring to my earlier less-than-elegant entry into his office. I flush.

“That’s very considerate, Mr. Kwon,” I snap, and his smile widens. I’m glad you find me entertaining, I glower inwardly, walking into the foyer. I’m surprised when he follows me out. Andrea and Olivia both look up, equally surprised.

“Did you have a coat?” Kwon asks.

“Yes.” Olivia leaps up and retrieves my jacket, which Kwon takes from her before she can hand it to me. He holds it up and, feeling ridiculously self-conscious, I shrug it on.

Kwon places his hands for a moment on my shoulders. I gasp at the contact. If he notices my reaction, he gives nothing away. His long index finger presses the button summoning the elevator, and we stand waiting - awkwardly on my part, coolly self-possessed on his. The doors open, and I hurry in desperate to escape. I really need to get out of here. When I turn to look at him, he’s leaning against the doorway beside the elevator with one hand on the wall. He really is very, very good-looking. It’s distracting. His burning brown eyes gaze at me.

“Y/N,” he says as a farewell.

“Ji Yong,” I reply. And mercifully, the doors close.

ME....

[tkmedia]

The 100 most expensive football transfers of all time

Paris Saint-Germain shook up the football world in the summer of 2017 when they signed Neymar from Barcelona  for a staggering €222 million  and then promptly prised  Kylian Mbappe away from Monaco for €145m plus €35m in bonuses. They remain the two most expensive players of all time but there is no denying that PSG's sensational double swoop greatly inflated the transfer market. Indeed, a number of massive moves quickly followed, with Barcelona looking to try to fill the void left behind by Neymar by signing the likes of Ousmane Dembele ($105m), Philippe Coutinho and Antoine Griezmann (both €120m).Also in Spain, Atletico Madrid splashed €126m on Benfica's prodigious attacking talent Joao Felix, while Real Madrid finally brought Eden Hazard to the Santiago Bernabeu for €100m. The pandemic has since had a massive impact on the transfer market but some clubs remained largely unaffected, as underlined by Manchester City signing Jack Grealish for a British-record €117m in August 2021. That came hot on the heels of neighbours Manchester United finally managing to land Grealish's compatriot, Jadon Sancho, at a cost of €85m.More massive deals now look certain to follow but you can see the current list of the world's most expensive footballers below...

On this page

- Most expensive British player - Most expensive teenager - Most expensive defender - Most expensive goalkeeper - Biggest transfer outside of EuropePos. Player Clubs Year Fee 1 Neymar Barcelona - PSG 2017 €222m 2 Kylian Mbappe Monaco - PSG 2017 €145m (+€35m) 3 Joao Felix Benfica - Atletico Madrid 2019 €126m =4 Philippe Coutinho Liverpool - Barcelona 2018 €120m (+€40m) =4 Antoine Griezmann Atletico Madrid - Barcelona 2019 €120m 6 Jack Grealish Aston Villa - Manchester City 2021 €117m =7 Ousmane Dembele Borussia Dortmund - Barcelona 2017 €105m (+€45m) =7 Paul Pogba Juventus - Manchester United 2016 €105m 9 Gareth Bale Tottenham - Real Madrid 2013 €100.8m =10 Cristiano Ronaldo Real Madrid - Juventus 2018 €100m =10 Eden Hazard Chelsea - Real Madrid 2019 €100m (+€40m) 12 Cristiano Ronaldo Manchester United - Real Madrid 2009 €94m 13 Gonzalo Higuain Napoli - Juventus 2016 €90m 14 Harry Maguire Leicester City - Manchester United 2019 €87.1m 15 Neymar Santos - Barcelona 2013 €86.2m 16 Jadon Sancho Borussia Dortmund - Manchester United 2021 €85m 17 Romelu Lukaku Everton - Manchester United 2017 €84.8m 18 Virgil van Dijk Southampton - Liverpool 2018 €84.5m 19 Luis Suarez Liverpool - Barcelona 2014 €82.3m =20 James Rodriguez Monaco - Real Madrid 2014 €80m =20 Kepa Arrizabalaga Athletic Club - Chelsea 2018 €80m =20 Lucas Hernandez Atletico Madrid - Bayern Munich 2019 €80m =20 Romelu Lukaku Manchester United - Inter 2019 €80m 24 Nicolas Pepe Lille - Arsenal 2019 €79m 25 Alvaro Morata Real Madrid - Chelsea 2017 €78.9m 26 Zinedine Zidane Juventus - Real Madrid 2001 €77.5m =27 Matthijs de Ligt Ajax - Juventus 2019 €75m (+€10.5m) =27 Kevin De Bruyne Wolfsburg - Manchester City 2015 €75m =27 Frenkie de Jong Ajax - Barcelona 2019 €75m 30 Angel Di Maria Real Madrid - Manchester United 2014 €74.6m 31 Alisson Becker Roma - Liverpool 2018 €73m 32 Arthur Melo Barcelona - Juventus 2020 €72m (+€10m) =33 Kai Havertz Bayer Leverkusen - Chelsea 2020 €70m (+€9m) =33 Luka Jovic Frankfurt - Real Madrid 2019 €70m =33 Rodri Atletico Madrid - Manchester City 2019 €70m 36 Zlatan Ibrahimovic Inter - Barcelona 2009 €69.5m 37 Raheem Sterling Liverpool - Manchester City 2015 €69.1m 38 Ruben Dias Benfica - Manchester City 2020 €68m (+€3.6m) 39 Riyad Mahrez Leicester City - Manchester City 2019 €67.8m 40 Diego Costa Chelsea - Atletico Madrid 2018 €66m =41 Thomas Lemar Monaco - Atletico Madrid 2018 €65m =41 Kaka AC Milan - Real Madrid 2009 €65m =41 Aymeric Laporte Athletic Club - Manchester City 2018 €65m =41 Joao Cancelo Juventus - Manchester City 2019 €65m (inc. Danilo) 45 Edinson Cavani Napoli - PSG 2013 €64.5m 46 Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang Borussia Dortmund - Arsenal 2018 €63.75m 47 David Luiz Chelsea - PSG 2014 €62.5m 48 Angel Di Maria Manchester United - PSG 2015 €61.6m 49 Oscar Chelsea - Shanghai SIPG 2017 €60.3m =50 Achraf Hakimi Inter - PSG 2021 €60m (+€11m) =50 Miralem Pjanic Juventus - Barcelona 2020 €60m (+€5m) =50 Naby Keita RB Leipzig - Liverpool 2018 €60m =50 Luis Figo Barcelona - Real Madrid 2000 €60m =50 Tanguy Ndombele Lyon - Tottenham 2019 €60m 55 Fernando Torres Liverpool - Chelsea 2011 €59m =56 Fred Shakhtar Donetsk - Manchester United 2018 €58.9m =56 Jorginho Napoli - Chelsea 2018 €58.9m =58 Hulk Zenit - Shanghai SIPG 2016 €58.6m =58 Ben White Brighton - Arsenal 2021 €58.6m 60 Benjamin Mendy Monaco - Manchester City 2017 €58.2m 61 John Stones Everton - Manchester City 2016 €58m 62 Kyle Walker Tottenham - Manchester City 2017 €56.7m 63 Ben Chilwell Leicester City - Chelsea 2020 €55.8m =64 Bruno Fernandes Sporting - Manchester United 2020 €55m (+€25m) =64 Hernan Crespo Parma - Lazio 2000 €55m =66 Alexandre Lacazette Lyon - Arsenal 2017 €53m (+€7m) =66 Timo Werner RB Leipzig - Chelsea 2020 €53m 68 Gianluigi Buffon Parma - Juventus 2001 €52m 69 Eliaquim Mangala Porto - Manchester City 2014 €51.7m =70 Alex Teixeira Shakhtar Donetsk - Jiangsu Suning 2016 €50m =70 Bernardo Silva Monaco - Manchester City 2017 €50m =70 Fabinho Monaco - Liverpool 2018 €50m =70 Eder Militao Porto - Real Madrid 2019 €50m =70 Aaron Wan-Bissaka Crystal Palace - Manchester United 2019 €50m =70 Thomas Partey Atletico Madrid  - Arsenal 2020 €50m =70 Victor Oshimhen Lille - Napoli 2020 €50m 77 Anthony Martial Monaco - Manchester United 2015 €49.3m 78 Gylfi Sigurdsson Swansea City - Everton 2017 €49.2m =79 Leroy Sane Manchester City - Bayern Munich 2020 €49m (+€11m) =79 Christian Vieri Lazio - Inter 1999 €49m =81 Gaizka Mendieta Valencia - Lazio 2001 €48m =81 Ferland Mendy Lyon - Real Madrid 2019 €48m 83 Mesut Ozil Real Madrid - Arsenal 2013 €47m =84 Juan Sebastian Veron Lazio - Manchester United 2001 €46m =84 Rio Ferdinand Leeds United - Manchester United 2002 €46m =84 Ronaldo Inter - Real Madrid 2002 €46m =84 Juan Mata Chelsea - Manchester United 2014 €46m =84 Douglas Costa Bayern Munich - Juventus 2017 €46m 89 Christian Benteke Aston Villa - Liverpool 2015 €45.8m 90 Diogo Jota Wolves - Liverpool 2020 €45.1m (+€4.4m) =91 James Rodriguez Porto - Monaco 2013 €45m =91 Joao Mario Sporting C.P. - Inter 2016 €45m =91 Granit Xhaka Borussia Monchengladbach - Arsenal 2016 €45m =91 Tiemoue Bakayoko Monaco - Chelsea 2017 €45m =91 Richarlison Watford - Everton 2018 €45m =91 Vinicius Junior Flamengo - Real Madrid 2018 €45m =91 Rodrygo Santos - Real Madrid 2019 €45m =91 Mateo Kovacic Real Madrid - Chelsea 2019 €45m =91 Sebastien Haller Eintracht Frankfurt - West Ham 2019 €45m 100 Nemanja Matic Chelsea - Manchester United 2017 €44.7m

Most expensive British player

Manchester City https://images.daznservices.com/di/library/GOAL/ff/36/jack-grealish-manchester-city-2021-22_1hwvr0wp2dan513pbdojubbrjn.jpg?t=442193635&w=500&quality=80 Grealish became the most expensive British player in football history when Manchester City agreed to meet the buy-out clause in the England international's Aston Villa contract.The record had previously belonged to Wales winger Gareth Bale, who joined Real Madrid from Tottenham in 2013 for €100.8m.Before Grealish's move to the Etihad, Harry Maguire was the costliest English player ever, on account of his €87.1m move from Leicester to Manchester United in 2019.

Most expensive teenager

Getty Images https://images.daznservices.com/di/library/GOAL/39/e3/kylian-mbappe-france-2017_13ufxswk1azst1iz5zeguo3iis.jpg?t=687844718&w=500&quality=80 Kylian Mbappe is the most expensive teenager ever, as he joined PSG on a loan-to-buy deal that will be worth €180m after bonuses.Joao Felix is the second-most expensive teenager, having been signed by Atletico from Benfica for €126m in 2019.

Most expensive defender

Getty Images https://images.daznservices.com/di/library/GOAL/9d/4a/harry-maguire-manchester-united-2019-20_x8zahbhri44v1c17ct1699lw3.jpg?t=-2119770547&w=500&quality=80 Harry Maguire became the most expensive defender of all time when Manchester United forked out €87.1m the England centre-half's services in 2019.Maguire overtook Liverpool defender Virgil van Dijk in the process, but only marginally, as the Netherlands international set the Reds back €84.5m when he arrived from Southampton the year before.

Most expensive goalkeeper

Getty Images https://images.daznservices.com/di/library/GOAL/fd/31/kepa-arrizabalaga-athletic-bilbao_1wab3of5y6pjo17ve4s6h6ie70.jpg?t=1155449520&w=500&quality=80 Kepa Arrizabalaga is the most expensive goalkeeper in history. Chelsea spent €80m to meet his Athletic Club release clause in 2018.For a long time, former Juventus captain Gianluigi Buffon held this mark, having joined the Turin outfit from Parma for €52m, which is a colossal fee when inflation is taken into account.Then, within a matter of weeks, Buffon's record was shattered twice. First, Liverpool brought in Roma's Alisson Becker for €73m, to temporarily take the mark as the world's most expensive keeper.Not to be outdone, Chelsea snapped up Kepa not even a month later, propelling the Spain international into top spot. 

Biggest transfer outside of Europe

Getty Images https://images.daznservices.com/di/library/GOAL/d/98/oscar-shanghai-sipg_auo6y15sbouc15dluhhtjavwn.jpg?t=498968914&w=500&quality=80 The most a non-European club has ever paid for a player is €60.3m, which Shanghai SIPG handed over to Chelsea for Brazil midfielder Oscar in 2016.However, with the way the market is going, who knows which record will be shattered next?! Read the full article

[phoebedesign]

Red Carpet Queens: Oscars Throwback Classic Audrey Hepburn by chey-love featuring ankle strap high heel sandals ❤ liked on Polyvore

Jimmy Choo ankle strap high heel sandals, €530 / Badgley Mischka crystal handbag, €160 / Oscar de la Renta jewel earrings, €320 / INC International Concepts ivory glove, €11

[researchtrendingmarket-blog]

Leather Boots Market Strategic Insights and key Business Influencing Factors | Major Players – TBL Licensing LLC; WOODLAND WORLDWIDE; JACK WOLFSKIN; Wolverine World Wide, Inc..

Leather Boots Market are a type of footwear that are used to protect the user as well as for their aesthetic appeal, they are rigid and stiff in comparison to footwear of other materials and style. These boots have a specific heel that is clearly distinguished from other parts of the shoe. They mostly cover the feet till the ankle but some boots are produced to cover up till the calf.

Global Leather Boots Market is expected to grow with a steady CAGR in the forecast period of 2019-2026. The report contains data from the base year of 2018, and the historic year of 2017. This rise in market value can be attributed to the preference of leather boots due to their adoption as a status symbol.

 Get Sample Report at :

https://www.databridgemarketresearch.com/request-a-sample/?dbmr=global-leather-boots-market

Competitive Analysis: Global Leather Boots   Market

Few of the major competitors currently working in the leather boots market are Bata Corporation; ECCO Sko A/S; Geox S.p.a; TBL Licensing LLC; WOODLAND WORLDWIDE; JACK WOLFSKIN; Wolverine World Wide, Inc.; Crocs Retail, LLC; Hermès; Red Tape; Crockett & Jones; KERING; LVMH and Tapestry, Inc.

 Key Pointers Covered in the Global Leather Boots Market Trends and Forecast to 2026

Global   Leather Boots Market New Sales Volumes

Global   Leather Boots  Market Replacement Sales Volumes

Global   Leather Boots Market Installed Base

Global   Leather Boots Market By Brands

Global   Leather Boots Market Size

Global   Leather Boots  Market Procedure Volumes

Global   Leather Boots Market Product Price Analysis

Global   Leather Boots Market Healthcare Outcomes

Global   Leather Boots Market Cost of Care Analysis

Global   Leather Boots Market Regulatory Framework and Changes

Global   Leather Boots Market Prices and Reimbursement Analysis

Global   Leather Boots Market Shares in Different Regions

Recent Developments for Global   Leather Boots Market Competitors

Global   Leather Boots Market Upcoming Applications

Global   Leather Boots Market Innovators Study

Get Detailed TOC:

https://www.databridgemarketresearch.com/toc/?dbmr=global-leather-boots-market

 Key Developments in the Market:

In November 2018, Callaway Golf Company announced that they had agreed to acquire JACK WOLFSKIN. The acquisition is expected to be completed by first quarter of 2019. Callaway announced that they are looking to invest and strengthen JACK WOFLSKIN’s position in the market.

In July 2017, WOODLAND WORLDWIDE announced that they had collaborated with Aokang International for the retail and distribution of WOODLAND’s footwear products throughout China.

 Scope of the Leather Boots   Market

Global Leather Boots Market By Product (Ankle Boots, Knee-High Boots, Dress Boots, Others), Distribution Channel (Direct, Retail, E-Commerce), End-User (Industrial, Consumer), Geography (North America, South America, Europe, Asia-Pacific, Middle East and Africa) – Industry Trends and Forecast to 2026

Global Leather Boots Market is expected to grow with a steady CAGR in the forecast period of 2019-2026. The report contains data from the base year of 2018, and the historic year of 2017. This rise in market value can be attributed to the preference of leather boots due to their adoption as a status symbol.

Leather boots are a type of footwear that are used to protect the user as well as for their aesthetic appeal, they are rigid and stiff in comparison to footwear of other materials and style. These boots have a specific heel that is clearly distinguished from other parts of the shoe. They mostly cover the feet till the ankle but some boots are produced to cover up till the calf.

Speak to Author :

https://www.databridgemarketresearch.com/speak-to-analyst/?dbmr=global-leather-boots-market

Key insights in the report:

Complete and distinct analysis of the market drivers and restraints

Key Market players involved in this industry

Detailed analysis of the Market Segmentation

Competitive analysis of the key players involved

About Us:

Data Bridge Market Research set forth itself as an unconventional and neoteric Market research and consulting firm with unparalleled level of resilience and integrated approaches. We are determined to unearth the best market opportunities and foster efficient information for your business to thrive in the market.

Contact:

Data Bridge Market Research

Tel: +1-888-387-2818

Email: Sopan.gedam@databridgemarketresearch.com

Browse Related Report Here:

Tissue Paper Market

Industrial Silica Sand Market