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imagineabrighterworld · 4 years

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Shigaraki with an Enforcer S/O

Shigaraki didn't know you were at the meeting until you appeared behind him

Shigaraki needed more men after the failure at the U.S.J. It did bring the League into light, but without the criminals in his arsenal as most were taken into custody or deemed useless, he knew he had to start searching for a new crew. This led him to Corellia, an area full of thieves, black market traders, and mercenaries for hire. You were the enforcer of the biggest mafia in the area, and you made sure he knew that.

Crossing the alleged “safe zone” of Corellia and heading into the Black Light District, Shigaraki motions to the nomu’s on each side of him to take the lead. Kurogiri and another sleeker nomu would take spot behind him. While he was capable of protecting himself, he was taking no chances. He was his greatest pawn in this game, to lose himself and be captured would be detrimental to his whole system.

Moving further into the district, he notes the amounts of bordered up shops and graffiti covered walls, but this all changes when he reaches the center of the district. From there the shops are all open and bustling with customers, the scenery was not the same bleak grey and black concrete walls. It was lively and without the normal trash that coagulated on the streets. What made this area different than that of the one fifteen feet away?

With little else to do than gawk at the juxtaposition, Shigaraki heads down the alleyways of Corellia and enters the underbelly where the black market resided. It was at a shop that he found the leader of the Black Teeth, a gang notorious for drug manufacturing. They dealt with quirk enhancement and blockages, something Shigaraki took interest in after the nomu came to being. His best nomu was beaten by All Might, which meant he would need more than what his scientists were capable of in order to strengthen them.

The boss of the crew was lounging in his chair, the third eye on his forehead closed while his striking white eyes were staring directly at the nomu accompanying Shigaraki.

The man grins. “Their construction is magnificent. Who did you get your hands on to make these?” He sits up, elbows resting on his knees as he scans them up and down.

Shigaraki scoffs. “That is need to know information, and you do not need to know it.”

“Aye, it was a simple question.” The man leans back, his joking demeanor melting into something more serious. “So, Shigaraki Tomura. What can I do for you?”

Shigaraki takes a seat across from the man, knowing he was safe with his posse of nomu. “I need your numbers. You have men to spare. I require them.”

The man hissed through his teeth, an amused glint in his eyes. “You want my men. Mi amigo, are you sure you know what you're asking for?”

While Shigaraki didn't know what was said, he knew for certain what he wanted. What he needed. He wouldn't let the U.S.J. failure happen again. “I am more than certain.”

“Muy bien. I'll give you one of my crew. You'll find they're all you need. Incredibly loyal that one.”

“Only one?” Shigaraki grits his teeth. “Is that a joke?”

A hand lands itself on Shigaraki’s shoulder, causing him to jump slightly in his seat, already reaching to turn them into dust.

A barrier keeps him from touching you, the air seemingly hardening and turning golden at the force of his touch.

You give him a small smirk. “Hey jefe.”

You were either very smart, or incredibly dumb

You didn't bargain for power, or for riches, two things the League could most definitely provide. He found this strange, as everyone wanted something. No one ever gave anything for free. And with your skills, you could ask for anything in return, so why didn't you?

After finalizing a contract with your boss about new arrangements, you leave Corellia with the small group of League affiliates. Still, Shigaraki couldn't understand you, and it was bugging him to no end.

He slowed his pace until he was beside you, his hands clenched into fists as he remembers how you blocked him from using his quirk. “Why are you joining us?”

You examine the face of your new employer, or more of examine the hand covering his face. Your own face was scarred after battles and fights with the police and other gangs. Your body was covered in burns, stab wounds, and gunshots. You've been through the wringer yet still worked in the mafia with gusto. What fueled you? What led you to wanting to aid the league?

“Heroes and villains are white and black. I prefer grey.” You crack your fingers, watching the bones as they pop and settle back into place, relishing in the relief. “Your fighting will bring to light how corrupt some heroes are. It will usher in a better era. If the people work hard enough to make it.”

“You sound like a damn hero.”

“It's all about perspective mi amigo.”

You managed to enter his own little mafia after that display of your skills

There was no denying you had talent, he needed your abilities. You would make for a great asset to his newly forming team.

Two weeks into joining the league, you’ve already proven your worth. With your barrier quirk that could accumulate damage and send it right back at the attacker, you were a perfect tank in his array of assets.

In a meeting gone astray, you defended your new boss and led him to a safe zone away from the villains that wanted to usurp him as the new leader of the League.

At least, you believed it was a safe spot.

“Shigaraki!” You scream at him, spotting a hero ready to pummel him into the ground with their hammer quirk. Rushing to his side, you push him out of the way and put up a hasty shield, grunting as the force drives you into the ground. Breaking the shield, you watch as the hero is thrown back twice as hard, their back hitting a steel pillar above them.

“Get them out of here!” Your new boss yells at Kurogiri as he decays one of the hero’s sidekicks, not batting an eye at the ash covering him from head to toe. He proceeds further into the warehouse in search of the villain that ratted them out to the Hero Agency, but you refused to let him go in alone.

Kurogiri’s smoke appears below you, but using your barrier as a foothold, you launch yourself in the air and run after Shigaraki. “Pendejo!” You shout out, hoping to catch the attention of the blue haired male. “Use your head!”

The lights cut out, and all you could do is focus on the senses you still had.

Maybe it wasn't your smartest idea, but you raise your voice again.

“Shigaraki!”

You run to what you assume is the center of the room but slip on what feels like piles of sand.

The lights turn on, and in the corner of the room you find Shigaraki with a gash just under his chin, nearly catching him on his jugular.

He huffs, the hand that was normally covering his face no longer there, allowing you to see his annoyed yet soft expression. “I can handle myself too.”

An odd beat flutters in your chest.

“I know that idiota.”

You begin to grow on him /like a tumor/

He doesn't admit it, but after that incident, he begins to trust you more than he had before. You proved your loyalty, something he was inclined to ignore before. And you weren't afraid of his presence. The others in the league liked to have their own time away, they had separate goals and found the league as a place to enact them, but you didn't have that. So the fact that you stayed with him at the bar to just be there was quite nice.

You helped him with info gathering, and gathering in general

As his new enforcer with a knack of collecting data without being seen, you became extremely useful to him. And useful to the others as well.

“Oooh did you get the photos I asked for!” Toga chirps from her seat at the bar, spinning in a half circle as she watches you lift a heavy satchel and place it on the counter. The girl always had weird requests, but you caved in. She didn't ask for much anyway, not compared to what your old boss ordered you to do.

“Esperate chica, I have them.” You respond while pulling out a handful of polaroids. They were of several students of U.A., mostly of Izuku Midoriya, who you had yet to uncover why she was so obsessed with him. You pull your hand away just as she snatches them from your grip, remembering how she accidentally scratched you the last time you brought her photographs.

For Dabi you brought him information on Endeavor and his son, as you would see them occasionally on patrol. There wasn't much to tell, as the young boy didn't seem to like his father whatsoever. He rarely spoke, making him a poor source of info. But Dabi was sated either way.

“And what about for me?” Shigaraki hums from behind the counter, looking at you with carmine eyes. “You are my spider first and foremost. Don't forget it.”

With a grin from ear to ear, “I was thinking of you jefe.” You reach further into your satchel and pluck a collectable All Might action figure. “I thought you might like it.”

Needless to say, he decayed it right before storming off to his room.

But later that evening he opened his door to find a video game he had planned on buying.

With a small huff, he accepts the gift and returns to his nest.

You were his right hand alongside Kurogiri

Despite your rough beginning, you grew fond of your new boss. It was like having a friend, even if he could be somewhat of a man child, you learned how to deal with his moods. Which made Kurogiri’s life so much easier.

Shigaraki slams his hands on a table, turning it to dust. In fact, he was tossing everything out of his way, sending dust raining around the room. You stand at the door watching the sprays of ash like fireworks on New Year. It was always best to wait for his rage to ease before approaching him. This, you learned from Kurogiri.

But this time you needed him to calm down. You needed him to be a leader, not a temperamental child.

“Shigaraki.” You stand behind him, arms at your sides.

“How is it that he still gets all of the attention?! How, even after he retires, do we keep failing! One after another, our plans are turning into dust!” He slams a hand on another table, sending it crumbling to the ground.

“Shigaraki.” You repeat in a stern tone.

“What?!” His attention snaps to you, eyes crazed and bloodshot with rage.

“To win a battle is not to win a war.” You state calmly, keeping eye contact with the enraged leader. “Look at the bigger picture, and you will get the advantage you need.”

Something flickers in his eyes, giving you the shot of confidence you need in order to place a hand on his shoulder. He flinches at the contact but doesn't move from you.

“I believe in you cariño.”

He was incredibly antsy when Chisaki wanted you to join the yakuza, so you stepped up and said yes for him

Without knowing it, you had begun caring for the members of the League, something you weren't prepared for when you joined. At first it was just a side gig, a favor to your leader to work with the League. But now it wasn't just for your old boss or for the late Magne, it was for Shigaraki. You were doing this for him. Why? You didn't know. But you were caving for him.

“I’ll go.” You say from your spot beside him at the arm of the sofa. You were used to meetings like this. The yakuza wasn't much different from the mafia, they were like twins. That's how you knew it was better to give in than to argue anymore on the terms. Anymore nitpicking and the meeting would turn into a bloodbath mixed with ash.

Shigaraki doesn't look at you, and for that you were glad. To show weakness in front of these people would only give them a bigger advantage. Did Shigaraki like you? You didn't know. But neither did the Yakuza.

“Your underling has more sense than you do.” Chisaki croons from his spot across from Shigaraki. “They know when it's better to just back down. I like that.”

Shigaraki clenches his fist.

Chisaki looks you over, nodding once to himself before waving dismissively. “You'll need a mask if you are going to be here. I don't need you contaminating the air with your germs.”

You feel your eye twitch, but you give no more than a nod as you walk out of the room, bidding Shigaraki goodbye with a single look.

The next time you see him is the day you realize just how much you missed him

Bloody and sore from fighting with the yakuza underbosses in order to get out, you were happy to regroup with Toga and Twice. You were split up from them during your stint as a yakuza, you assumed it was because you were seen as a tier higher than them. Chisaki was smart enough not to let you plan with them behind his back, but he wasn't smart enough to realize the plans were already made even before the fated meeting.

“Shiggy!” Toga squeals from the back of the van as you all cruise on the empty highway with Chisaki strapped to the gurney. “I missed you guys so much! It was kinda fun being a yakuza! But they were so rude to us, weren't they Twice?”

“Yeah! They were dicks- The nicest people ever goddamnit! EW!”

You laugh at the two behind you, listening to them talk with Dabi, Spinner, and Mr. Compress about their little ‘vacation’.

“You're bleeding.”

Shigaraki’s voice drags you out of your thoughts.

“Hm?”

“You're bleeding.” He repeats in the same monotone voice.

Looking at your injuries you shrug and lay back deeper into the seat cushions. “I’m home, that's all that matters.”

Your leader huffs.

“I missed you cariño.”

“...”

You smile.

“Welcome back.”

#bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #bnha shigaraki #bnha shigaraki x reader #mha shigaraki #mha shigaraki x reader #bnha villains #mha villains #reader is part latino because I love the language sorry #they would totally call him nicknames in Spanish just to confuse him #is pendejo a compliment??#he wouldn't know #and I like it that way

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years

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Just a Friend

Sorry you’ve had to wait a few more days. i had a much needed few days holiday in Devon. And I realised it was the first time since February that I’d travelled more than 20 miles from home!

Anyway, we’re on to chapter 7. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta.

AO3

Chapter 7: From Feedback to The Force

I can see it clearly in my mind’s eye. A converted barn, situated at the end of a leafy country lane, surrounded by fields full of cows and maybe a horse or two. Jamie’s office will be at one end— all exposed beams with classic mahogany and leather furniture. Perhaps chickens will be roaming around outside as tractors pull up to deliver vegetables straight from the neighbouring fields.

This image begins to fade as I follow my Sat nav instructions and take the next junction off the motorway. Country lanes look to be few and far between in this urban sprawl. Signposts along the tarmacked road point to a series of industrial estates. At the fourth such sign, I’m instructed to turn left and in three hundred yards will have reached my destination.

Having parked up, I make my way towards the large, uninspiring building which resembles some sort of aircraft hangar. Its grey concrete and corrugated iron walls match the overcast sky and the roughly surfaced car park. The only colour in this landscape is provided by the bright orange FraserFood logo emblazoned above the loading bays.

There’s a single door to the right with an intercom. I press it and wait a few seconds.

“Hello, there.” A cheery voice greets me. “Can I help ye?”

“Yes. Hello, I’ve an appointment with Ja— Mr. Fraser, Jamie. It’s Claire Beauchamp.”

“Aye, come on through. Jamie is expecting ye. Down the passage and third door on the left.”

I step into a long corridor, painted an unoriginal white. Fluorescent strip lights hanging from the ceiling cast a harsh brightness. The floor is covered with grey carpet tiles.—the same as in thousands of other working offices across the country.

What sets it apart and brings character to the otherwise anonymous environment is the artwork. Colourful photographs line the walls — a bowl of strawberries, their red glossiness accentuated by the white porcelain; a perfect corn on the cob, rivulets of melted butter flowing around the kernels; a plate of steaming tagliatelle, the parmesan shavings falling gently onto the pasta. Then, as I move further towards the office, the photographs change to a series of images that I instantly recognise, La Boqueria, one of the food markets in Barcelona.

I pause for a moment in front of a picture of one of the stalls selling spices. Strings of different chillies cascade down from the metal frame of the stall. The vibrancy of that market was intoxicating, the noise, the colours, the aromas. I remember wandering from stall to stall snacking on fat, juicy olives, slices of spiced ham and wedges of refreshing melon, just soaking up that atmosphere.

My stomach automatically rumbles at the memory just as Jamie steps into the corridor.

He laughs at this unconventional greeting. “And good day tae ye too. Ye found us alright then?”

“No problem. Sat nav brought me straight here. It’s—“ I stop myself before I say any more, but, as usual, my glass face gives me away.

“C’mon. What is it? It’s no’ what ye were expecting, is it?”

“No— yes—no. It’s fine. It’s just, well, I was expecting something more, er, rural… rustic, you know.”

He sighs, but I can tell that he’s not offended. “What, ye mean like on a farm? Wi’ chickens running around? And tractors bringing the vegetables straight from the fields?”

I nod, feeling not a little bit foolish.

“And down a wee winding country lane, that yer lumbering great vans and lorries have tae drive along? Wi’ no easy transport links fer all the deliveries? And having tae deal wi’ all the food hygiene standards in some great old barn?” He laughs. “Trust me, it may no’ be photogenic but it’s the best place fer the business.”

He takes my arm. “Let’s go intae ma office and I’ll make ye a cup of coffee.”

My stomach rumbles once more. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any of those lovely Spanish biscuits too, have you?”

*********

The display of colourful photographs continues in Jamie’s office. I don’t recognise the scenes, but, I’m guessing these are more local— fields of corn bordered by old drystone walls, hedgerows bursting with dark jewel-like brambles. I pause at a picture of an ancient stone mill, the calm water of the mill pond reflecting the rundown building perfectly.

“That’s a bonny picture, is it no’?” Jamie’s voice is low in my ear.

I turn around. He is standing behind me, gazing intently at the picture.

“It is. Where is it? I’m guessing it’s somewhere here in Scotland.”

“Aye, it’s the old mill at Lallybroch.”

“Where you grew up?”

He nods. “Generations of ma family used that mill tae grind flour fer them and their tenants. It’s empty inside now. The wheel has long since rotted away. Jenny and I would escape there whenever chores were tae be done. She took the photo, weel, most of the photos here actually.”

I study the photograph more closely. “She’s very talented as a photographer. Is that her job?”

“She’d love tae have done that, but once she married Ian and the bairns started appearing, she hasna got the time. Mebbe one day.”

He moves past me towards his desk and I catch a hint of his musky cologne. I find myself comparing it to the slightly synthetic cologne that Frank always favoured. I decide that Jamie’s is preferable. It’s more real, somehow, earthy and, well, more masculine.

“... does that sound ok?”

I realise that whilst I was considering male scents, Jamie had been asking me a question. “Er, sorry, I was miles away. What did you say?”

“Am I really that boring tae ye?” He laughs. “I said I would make ye a coffee and invite Rupert tae come in and join us. He’s our Head of Product Development. Will ye no’ take a seat?”

I sit down on one of the chairs arranged around a circular meeting table and take a good look at the office while Jamie makes a phone call. The walls and ceiling are the same uninspiring white, livened up by all the photographs. There’s a couple of framed photographs near Jamie’s chair that seem to be more personal. I’m too far away to be able to see clearly, but they look like children... his nephew and niece perhaps?

Jamie’s ‘L’ shaped desk is made of grey wood, as is a tall bookcase and this meeting table. Simple, but clearly a considered purchase, no haphazard grouping of random furniture. The desk itself is remarkably free from clutter— just a laptop with two huge screens and a black leather document wallet. The contrast to the clutter on the desks in my office and home couldn’t be greater. Not that my clutter isn’t important to me—a collection of pots and dishes from my uncle’s archaeological digs plus a paperweight and letter opener that I remember, as a young child, at my parents’ house. Then I realise, looking at the family portraits surrounding Jamie’s desk, that he doesn’t need to gather mementoes from the past. He has a living, breathing close knit family creating memories all the time.

I’m well aware that most of my friends have more of a family than I have, or have ever had, and generally I’m fine with that. But every now and again it hits me right in the gut—this pang of...not loneliness, but more of being disconnected, rootless.

Before I can dwell on this, there’s a faint tap at the door. It opens immediately and a woman stands in the doorway. She’s easily past retirement age, quite short and… is sturdy a polite descriptor? Well, short and ‘motherly’ in appearance.

She’s very smiley too. Her eyes crinkle as she grins broadly before speaking. “Jamie, lad. I’ve come tae see if ye both want a coffee. I dinna mind making it. And mebbe a few biscuits?”

Jamie steps away from his desk. “Ah, Mrs. Fitz, how d’ye always ken what I want? Coffee would be grand. And fer ye Claire?”

“Coffee, please. Lovely. White, no sugar. Thanks.”

She looks at me for a moment before Jamie makes the introduction. “ Claire, this is Mrs Fitz. She’s worked wi’ me since I started and I dinna ken what I’d do wi’out her.”

He reaches across and pats her arm gently.

“Mrs. Fitz, this is Claire, a friend of mine. She’s been trying out our Spanish dinner party menu and has come tae meet wi’ Rupert tae give him her opinions.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Fitz.” I hold out my hand.

She takes it in both of hers. “And it’s lovely tae meet ye too, Claire.”

She turns away and heads out the door.

“Right-oh. Two coffees it is then,” she says clearly, then carries on muttering under her breath as she leaves. “Friends, is it, then? A bonny lass, sure enough…”

Jamie smiles apologetically. “Mrs. Fitz can be a bit, weel...she’s been working with me a long time. She’s like a second mother tae me…”

He leaves the sentence unfinished, but I know what he’s thinking. Why can’t people understand that we’re friends, that’s all?

*******

Rupert is a complete delight, but somehow not what I was expecting. He rushes into the office just as Jamie and I are drinking our coffees. Nearly as tall as Jamie but quite a bit broader with a large beard, like an overgrown teddy bear, and clad in a sweatshirt and baggy ill-fitting jeans, he looks as if he would be more at home on a rugby pitch rather than in a development kitchen. With Jamie now standing next to him, the office suddenly feels rather small.

Jamie makes the introductions and we settle once more around the table. Rupert places his notebook and pen on the table.

“Ye dinna mind if I take a biscuit or two, do ye?” He asks, with a smile. He knows how tasty they are.

Jamie and I shake our heads and Rupert reaches out and takes two in his large, fleshy hand. He starts to eat, sprinkling crumbs all over his notebook.

“Ye canna take me anywhere,” he says as he tries to sweep the crumbs into his hand.

Jamie laughs and playfully punches Rupert’s shoulder. “Weel, ye can… but only the once, mind.”

There’s an easy camaraderie between the two of them. I’m guessing that Jamie has worked with the same people for quite a while. It’s good to see.

Rupert swallows, picks up a tissue and wipes the stray crumbs from his beard. “Right-oh. So, Claire, thanks fer doing this—“

“No, I should be thanking you. It was a great meal.”

“Weel, glad tae hear that, but I would appreciate any improvements we could make. Is there anything we need tae change?”

I’ve been racking my brains all the way here, trying to think of something constructive to say rather than just reeling off a list of compliments, nice as that would be for Rupert and Jamie. And, honestly, I don’t know what more I can add. The food was excellent, the wine matched perfectly and the olives were a thoughtful addition.

I tell them all this and Rupert solemnly notes it all down. Sitting there, side by side, elbows almost touching, they look for all the world like two proud parents being complimented on their child’s talents. But they have every right to be proud.

“And nothing else?” Rupert persists. “Nothing we could do better?”

“Well, a couple of tiny suggestions. Maybe a few more pictures with the recipes would help. I’m not the most gifted cook.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Jamie trying to suppress a smile. He’s never seen me in the kitchen, maybe he’s imagining me as some sort of culinary disaster area. I vow to prove him wrong at some point.

“And,” I continue as Rupert scribbles in his notebook. “Perhaps add a couple of suggestions to complete the Spanish night. I made sangria to start the evening. Could you add a recipe for that?”

Rupert closes his notebook with a flourish. “Right then. Thank ye sae much fer that. Glad yer friends all enjoyed the food.”

He stands up, shifting the table as he does so.

“Weel, bye then, Claire. Lovely tae meet ye. Hope tae see ye again.” He shoots a quick look across at Jamie before leaving.

“Rupert’s a lovely guy,” I comment as the door shuts behind him.

“Aye, he is that,” Jamie shifts in his seat. “Listen, I need tae ask ye a favour.”

“Another one,” I joke. “Wasn’t the dinner party enough?”

I add a sigh, purely for dramatic effect.

“Ye can say no if ye want tae,” he continues. “But I was wondering… weel... Ian, that’s Jenny’s husband, his rugby club is having a charity dinner dance a week on Saturday. Jenny’s bought two tickets fer me and a plus one. D’ye fancy it? It would help me out of a wee bit of bother with ma sister.”

Now I’m intrigued about his “wee bit of bother” with Jenny. I don’t want to end up in the middle of some sibling squabble.

“How so?” I’m not giving an answer straight away. At least not until I know what the bother is.

“Jenny bought the two tickets fer me a couple of months ago. I think she was assuming I would bring Laoghaire. But ye ken what happened there. Anyways, she asked me yesterday about it, and ever so casually suggested I might bring Kelly— that was ma date the other night.”

The pattern of Rupert’s crumbs on the table appears to suddenly be of great interest to him. He studies them intently as he talks, his ears turning slightly pink as he does so.

“And?” I prompt him.

“And, I told Jenny that after Laoghaire and I broke up, I didna want tae disappoint her about the dinner and so I’d already asked ye tae come along. As a friend,” he hastily adds the last part.

So, what do I decide? I do love the opportunity to have a bit of a dance and rugby club dos are usually a bit of a laugh, in my experience. And of course, I know Jamie is offering as a friend, so I’m not worried about that.

“Why don’t you want to ask Kelly then?” I want the full story before I give him my answer.

“She’s a nice enough lass but I didna think we had any spark. Plus she was trying too hard. Fer example she asked me what films I liked, then when I told her, she was all ‘no way, they’re ma favourites too’.”

He adds gestures at this point, to demonstrate Kelly’s actions, one hand flapping excitedly, the other resting on my sleeve, lightly stroking through the fabric of my shirt. It feels—

“Apparently we have exactly the same taste in films, music, food, drinks, television and holidays,” he continues as he sits back and folds his arms.

“Sounds like a match made in heaven to me.” I joke. I can still feel the sensation of his hand on my arm.

He looks up at me and frowns. “I’m no’ joking. Ye would be helping me if ye came as ma plus one.”

“Ok then. I do know that I’m not on call. I can come and be your wingman, if you like. Just one question. What are your favourite films?”

“Star Wars.”

This wasn’t the answer I was expecting. He doesn’t seem like a typical fan. Maybe he has a dark side that I haven’t yet seen, with a secret stash of Star Wars figures and multiple light sabres.

“I’ve never watched any of them.” It’s true. I seem to be in the minority but I just don’t get the appeal.

“And I can tell from yer face exactly what ye think of them. But they’re classics, weel most of them, anyway,” he starts to enthuse.

I shake my head. I can’t see that he will ever convince me.

“Well, Sassenach, have I got a treat in store for you!”

And, worryingly, it seems that he’s up for the challenge.

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #Just a Friend #James Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Chapter 7

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obeymeshallwedate-latinplayer · 4 years

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Latin MC.

My MC.

I know; “if I wanted to be reading about a MC I would rather read mine.” Well I want to talk about her, because I want you all to meet her!

It's a tragedy that I can't draw her, because I suck at drawing!

Her name is Yukari, all my OCs will be named Yukari If you find my profile in Obey Me! We can be friends!!! Anyways.

Her full name is Verónica Yukari Perez Aguilar, she was born the 22 of June, in Mexico (She´s from the center of the Republic) As a good Mexican and Latin American she has a BIG family, the 25% of her blood is indigenous. (Her grandfather is 100% indigenous) and she will always brag about it.

Characteristics.

Small really small. Her height is 1.45 (4.76 feet... enserio ¿Por qué no se conformaron con los centímetros?) brown wavy hair, even thought she bleached and coloured it in red. She always use dresses and shirts with a whole in her back, she has a lot of tatoos and she olny has one in her spine, the pact with Beel. Of course when she made a pact with every demon her back became black because of the ink and pacts, she use a lot of black, dark lipstick and tons of eyeliner, but just for speciall events, Yukari is way to lazy to make her make up every single day.

Her first interaction with the devils was not even natural, they imagine the new exchange student was pure, but nope. Her whole family is good with magic and more than that, when she was young accidentaly call upon Belzebuub, they made a pact in exchange of food and horchata water, after that they kinda became good friends. She was (10 years old and she was bored).

The “Kidnap” by the other hand... Her whole family went straight to the Devildom, they knew, if her daughter was missing she was in hell, and yes, there she was half naked, from the waist up, her tattoo artist way to afraid of saying something, her mama was about to murder Diavolo (He loved it because he already knew Yukari´s mother) cousins and her older brother protected her with an encantation that she broke when things became espesas. And she used the pact with Beel to show everyone how she was gonna be fine. After that she bought lunch for Beel and her family started to shout at her. “Pendeja, los demonios no son juguetes.” “DEJA EN PAZ A ESE DEMONIO YUKARI VERÓNICA PEREZ AGUILAR O YO TE PUTEO AQUÍ Y AHORA”

Yukari: AMAAA DEJA LA CHANCLA NO, NOOOOOOOO EN LA ESPALDA NOOOOOOOOOOOOO AMAAAA MIS TATUAJESSS.

Yukari´s mom: ¿¿Quien te manda pendeja??

After the putazos. The demons understood, they better don´t mess up with her family.

Her relationship with the brothers.

Lucifer.

He was surprised that Beel didn´t told him about his pact with a human, and he knew everything. After the show that Yukari put through, he decided that Mammon needed to stick around with her.

He even went to her house for photos, books and action figures for her room. After that he saw Yukari in the big garden, planting cempasúchil, she even put in her door Papel picado she made an encantation with them so nobody could cross her door. He tried once when she wasn´t answering her D.D.D, he couldn´t. He was amazed about her magic and power to talk, also she eats a lot for her small being, he has a Beel 2.0 but smaller.

Mammon.

He tried to sell the flowers in the garden, but Yukari nearly kill him, not on pourpose though, she put a protection for her flowers, and he crossed the protection, tha result was burns level two, that she cured.

He is the only demon that like the saying says. “Entra como perro por su casa” it seems that after he burned up her encantations didn´t worked on him, so she needed to make better encantations and even protect her books. Once in a while she likes to cast a spell of truth in him so she can analyse his ways. The first time she spoke Spanish he knew he needed to create a bussiness with her. And her tattos are sick, he takes photos for her, he´s so in love with the art in her back.

Levi.

LOOOOOOOL She´s like that character from that anime, plus her hair is sick. He got another otaku by his side, for Yukari it was easy to make a pact with Levi, they became friends in a anime group so they kinda knew each other.

When Levi saw her magic he started to tell her how amazing she was, and how he can summon Lotan, and they totaly need to make a pact, she´s Henry, like in real live. For first time in his life he feels better with himself.

He actually has a secret pasword with her door, so he can enter whenever he wants too, and laughs when his other brothers can´t even open the door.

Satan.

He was the opposite of his three older brothers, he needed to draw a line between that woman and himself, but when he saw how she could read difficult books and even summon other demons and even angels.

Yukari: Ay Güerito I´m creating this potion so Asmo can´t flirt with me, I just want to see his face.

She was evil, and he loved it, once he understood that she wasn´t a threat they became quite close.The cherry that was on top of the whole cake, was, Yukari was studying literature back in the human Realm, so yes, Satan made a pact with her, not as fast as Mammon or Levi, but if he was going to have a master, it needed to be her.

Asmo.

For him, Yukari was cute, and the first impression was way to good for him. If anyone dares to see her body and thinks that she is not sensual, they are wrong, she just doesn´t like to show her atributtes, but damn, those Latin Americans were pure sensuality. Omg, that type of clothes does match with her personality, she was evil and he loved it, needed more that a look.

Bloking your door my dear? No problem I always have the key. (He doesn´t have it though) His human is the best of all, even Solom can cry before her and she wouldn´t mind, his humans are great.

Beel.

Most protect my master, Beelzebub actually know her really good, he stayed in her life since she was 10 years old and they agree to make a pact. That means every familiar dinner he went, every birthday there he was, and after a break of each other, when he saw Yukari again he needed to hug and kiss her, she became a proper lady no longer a small child that summon him for cookies or for bullies.

He got a crush in the 18 years old woman, and even if she doesn´t like him or she see him like a really old uncle that was okey for him. He knows that the flowers and potions that she makes can´t be eaten, so he always waits for her to give him a bite of her lunch or snacks.

Beelphegor.

When he tried to kill her in the other line of timpe she threw a flip flop in his head, and actually used her pacts, so Yukari 2.0 could have enough time to cast a spell, she summon an Archangel. It was impressive and the brothers were terrified, one human could summon anything was a danger.

When she returned to her line she hugged Belphie and told him; If you try to kill me here, I will take your teared your head off, with one spell. After that they became such good friends, and she kept her secrete for eternity.

With the undateables

Luke.

Try to bully him and she will bite. She´s small so she hates with all her heart when the brothers are mean to him. Luke loves her, she´s like a big sister, and finally someone can face those devils. She even knows Michael, and when he speaks with him, Michael always tell him how impressed he was. Luke stook with Yukari every time he can, they also make sleepovers, and the curse in her door always give him a candy. He is the happiest Angel alive.

Solomon.

Worried, her magic is way to powerfull, he knows her type of magic, but, he can´t make it, that magic is from way far away in the humanity time line, and if she could summon one of the seven brothers when she was young, he didn´t knew how powerfull she was know. Ancient magic might stayed as a secret. He faced Yukari when she was angry, and damn, not even his magic helped him when he recived a Chanclazo.

Simeon.

He liked her, her apperiance was angelical, and her height was the cutest of them all, but he knew that even the Archangels had respect for that human, he saw her once in the Realm, and he was shocked, she was nearly 14 years old, and was talking with Uriel like nothing.

Diavolo.

As powerful as a human might be, they have a time limit, he´s not that affraid of Yukari, he knows that she can handdle herself, and won´t start a rebelion Right? Even if she does that, he can always marry her and that would be all.

Barbatos.

He got atonished when she returned from the temporal line time, that wasn´t part of his plan, and she managed to break it. They became close, not only to know Yukari better but he needed to keep an eye on her, she wasn´t normal, she was playing with fire, but she didn´t get any burn of it.

LET´S LEARN SPANISH!

Chanclazo. When a flip flop hit you

Güerito, This one is how should I say it? Kinda racist, means when a person has a white skin color and when he or she has a lighter hair. BUT in Mexico in the market, all people are güeritos, so dont worry.

“Entra como perro por su casa” He enters like a dog in his house

cempasúchil A flower that means 1000 petals. And we use them for day of the deaths.

Papel picado Type of paper, that is use for our day of the deaths, in the ofrendas

“Pendeja, los demonios no son juguetes.” “DEJA EN PAZ A ESE DEMONIO YUKARI VERÓNICA PEREZ AGUILAR O YO TE PUTEO AQUÍ Y AHORA”: IDIOT, THE DEMONS AREN´T TOYS. LEAVE ALONE THAT DEMON YUKARI VERÓNICA PEREZ AGUILAR, OR I WILL KICK YOU HERE AND NOW.

It´s very common that Latins owns 2 names and put the two last names of the two families, the whole name from a mother, means danger.

AMAAA DEJA LA CHANCLA NO, NOOOOOOOO EN LA ESPALDA NOOOOOOOOOOOOO AMAAAA MIS TATUAJESSS.

MOOOOOM LEAVE THE FLIP FLOP NO, NOOOOOOO, NO IN THE BACK, NOOOOOOOOOO MOOOOMMM MY TATOOS.

¿¿Quien te manda pendeja??

Who leads you asshole?

horchata

Type of drink,without alcohol. It is usually made of rice, and it´s sweet.

espesas : Thick.

#obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me latin #obey me mammon #obey me undateables #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #Obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me luke #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me let´s learn Spanish

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ahtohallan-calling · 4 years

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chapter 1 of the food of love is here!

{kristanna / t /modern au / humor and fluff / pride & prejudice inspired}

Legendary food critic Hayden West is known for their scathing reviews of restaurants and wickedly sharp wit. Restaurant owners tremble at the thought of the day the mysterious reviewer will walk through their doors-- never suspecting that Hayden West is, in fact, the redheaded woman with a sketchbook eating a quiet meal alone.

It's an easy enough job for Anna, and she's got her routine down pat, especially with the help of her assistant, Olaf.

And then comes the day she walks into Kristoff Bjorgman's restaurant-- and gets much, much more than she bargained for.

Pencil-- check.

Sketchbook-- check.

Phone, wallet, and keys-- check.

Anna took one last glance at herself in the mirror, smoothing down the navy skirt of her nondescript dress. Her hair, that couldn’t be helped; a wig would stand out even more than the fiery shade of auburn, but she’d pulled it up into a ponytail to keep it mostly out of sight. Simple makeup, plain unbranded shoes-- she appeared entirely unremarkable.

Perfect.

She hummed to herself a little as she locked her apartment and headed towards the stairs. This week’s assignment was easy enough; some new little bistro on the edge of an area that was trendy five years ago.

She liked the little, unfussy places. It was easier to hide when no one cared if she lingered with her sketchbook, easier to see what she was looking for at places where you could hear what was happening in the kitchen while still watching the manager wander around trying to figure out who Hayden West was.

The only clue they ever got was the day Hayden would be there; no photos existed of the mysterious restaurant critic, no matter how many times their scathing reviews went viral. “The Gordon Ramsay of newspaper critics,” that was what the Times had called Hayden after a withering review of a seafood place had garnered a hundred thousand retweets for its description of particularly horrible crab cakes that “deserved neither to be called crab nor cake but perhaps a vaguely saltwater scented cement patty that should be patented and marketed as an instantaneously effective weight loss supplement.”

Anna had been particularly proud of that one. It was a rare day when the food was actually bad enough to warrant such a review on its own; the fact that the manager had gotten into a screaming match that reduced a sixteen year old waitress to tears was simply motivation to hold absolutely nothing back.

She wondered, sometimes, what people would think if they knew the truth: that in fact Hayden had never existed at all and was in fact a twenty-four-year-old woman who’d unexpectedly been promoted into the gig after the man she’d been interning under was unceremoniously given the boot for drunkenly relieving himself on the editor’s lawn, where he had gotten caught by a ferocious Maltese.

The restaurant, thankfully, was only a few blocks away; her car was in desperate need of a replacement everything, but she didn’t have the heart to get rid of it, not when it’d seen her through thick and thin for nearly ten years, from her sixteenth birthday to her college move-ins to her hour long commute to the Tribune’s office for her barely-more-than-unpaid internship.

It came to a creaky halt in front of the restaurant at ten to noon; she’d have just enough time to get seated without having to wait, but she’d bear witness to the midday lunch rush and its aftermath. The place wasn’t much to look at, though she could tell by the small garden out front and the stenciled outlines on the white-painted brick wall that it wasn’t for lack of effort. It had opened only a month ago, the latest in a long line of valiant attempts to put something interesting on this block. If she remembered correctly, six months ago this space had been a design-your-own-lasagna place (wonderful idea, but impossible to execute efficiently); before that, there had been a sugar-free bakery that had been run out of business in two weeks when it was discovered that the only sugar-free thing it sold was bottled water; and even before that, it had been, like most places that were cursed with a constant “for lease” sign, a Jenny Craig.

And now it was just BB’s, a name that was so simple it made her worry that this venture would fail like all its predecessors, especially considering its lack of marketing and online presence; she’d had to send her intern to do some scouting for her to even get her hands on a menu in advance.

“This place is great, boss,” Olaf had said through a mouthful of food as he’d called her on his way back to the office. “They’ve even got cheesecake.”

“With--”

“Chocolate sauce, yeah, yeah, I know how you are. I got the menu for you and had the cute waiter circle all his recommendations, and that was top of the list. Well, not literally top, the desserts are all at the--”

“I knew what you meant, Olaf,” she’d said as she rolled her eyes, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “And thanks.”

Now, Anna found herself hoping he had been right about this place when she pushed the door open, bells jingling overhead; it had been far too long since she’d gotten the chance to write an enthusiastic endorsement of a place that really deserved it. To her surprise, only one other table was taken by two men, one broad-shouldered and blond, the other dark-haired and sporting a wide smile the second he laid eyes on her.

“Hi!” he said brightly, leaping to his feet and wiping his hands on his apron. “Welcome to BB’s! Table for one?”

“Yes, please,” she said, returning his smile after a moment’s confusion; if the place was as good as Olaf had said, why was it this desolate on a Saturday at lunchtime?

“I’m Ryder, and I’ll be taking care of you today,” the waiter said, pulling a chair out for her at a table next to the window. “Let me grab you a menu, okay?”

“Thanks,” Anna said, her focus instead on the other man as he rose to his feet and ambled over to the door that led to the kitchen. He was even taller-- and broader, Jesus but those shoulders-- than she’d realized at first.

This place must have been an old-fashioned diner once upon a time, judging by the window to the kitchen through which she could still see him. He was handsome, she supposed, if you liked men with strong jaws and broad noses and floppy golden hair.

And brown eyes, she thought, her cheeks turning bright red as he looked up and caught her staring. She jerked her attention away just as Ryder said cheerfully “Here you go!” as he put a laminated menu on the table in front of her. “The soup of the day is minestrone. What would you like to drink?”

“Water, please, and a coffee,” she said, still trying to cover her embarrassment.

“I’ll brew some fresh for you and be right back,” he said, that broad grin still plastered to his face as he bustled back to the kitchen.

Anna fidgeted a little in her seat as she pulled out her sketchbook. The whole point of her job was going unnoticed, but if she was the only customer in the restaurant today-- shit, this could blow her whole cover, considering each restaurant knew in advance that Hayden was coming that day.

For now, though, she had to worry about her notes, and so she began to sketch the interior of the restaurant in the notepad. She was no great artist by any stretch of the imagination, but it was the best way she’d found to remember her thoughts and impressions of a restaurant without having to worry about prying eyes reading over her shoulder. With each detail she drew, she thought of something specific-- friendly waiter as she scribbled the outline of the door, not busy, why? for the back of a chair, clean, good health rating posted for the box of the kitchen window.

And the menu-- she glanced over it as she doodled it. Simple, Italian-American fare; judging by the names-- Cliff’s Favorite, a deep-dish pizza with meatballs, and Ronnie’s Ravioli-- these were family recipes. She couldn’t help but wonder about what the chef’s family was like as she dared to steal another peek at him. He was working on prepping something, his forehead furrowed in concentration, and if she noticed the way his shoulders strained against his white t-shirt as he did so...well, so long as he didn’t catch her looking again, what did it matter?

The bells over the door jingled, startling her, and she turned to see a chattering group of six friends come in. A feeling of relief washed over her; she hated to see places like this go under fast.

Ryder set her coffee down in front of her, winking as he dropped a couple of creamers beside it, before scurrying over to seat the newcomers. She took a sip as her phone buzzed with a text from Olaf.

how is it?

Good so far. Decent coffee. Not many people here, though, can you send some friends?

aye aye, captain. i’ll remind them to do a better job of pretending not to recognize you this time lol

God, it was hard to remember how she’d used to do this without him. When Hans had first been fired and she’d been unceremoniously promoted into his newly vacant position, she’d spent the first few weeks scrambling to find a restaurant that actually deserved the sort of bad review Hayden West was known for. Hans, of course, had never had such scruples, but it felt wrong to Anna to make a mockery of a place and risk running it out of business when it was run by perfectly nice people, even if they did have a watery hollandaise. She’d used to rely on word of mouth and her own scouting expeditions to try and find places that really deserved it, but it wasn’t until she’d found the place with the shitty crab cakes that she’d finally found a manager who was a big enough asshole to deserve every bad review the place got.

The problem, though, was that when the review had gone viral, it had spelled a complete shutdown for the restaurant. After spending two sleepless nights worrying about the impact it’d have on the rest of the staff, Anna had gone for a second visit-- this time ordering a simple salad that still managed to be disgusting-- and pulled one of the waiters aside, asking about the plans the rests of the staff had for a next job.

And, because that had been her lucky day, the waiter had been Olaf, and he’d been just as enthusiastic as she was about helping connect the rest of the staff with new places more than willing to hire them on-- and he didn’t ask any questions about why, exactly, she cared so much. But when Anna had asked what Olaf himself was looking for as a next step, he’d blushed and admitted, “Honestly, I’m on a break from college right now. Journalism major-- not sure if it’s worth finishing, you know?”

Anna had confessed then for the very first time that she was, in fact, the legendary Hayden West-- or at least his successor-- expecting him to react with shock and, if she was being honest, a bit of awe, but instead Olaf had burst into laughter.

“Obviously,” he said, wiping at his eyes. “I saw the way you were looking around the place and heard the questions you were asking. Secret’s safe with me, though.”

She’d called her boss the same day asking to bring him on as a paid intern, and neither of them had looked back since. Olaf had a knack for finding disgruntled waitstaff in the Tri-State area complaining on Twitter and Reddit about their shitty bosses, then following up with them after Hayden’s reviews were published to make sure that they and their coworkers had a better place to work, either because their managers had seen the light or because they had moved on to greener pastures.

One of the tricks they’d developed together was sending in decoys if Anna was ever worried about getting caught. Olaf had a whole network of friends who were more than willing to show up to restaurants at a moment’s notice and eat a meal on the Tribune’s dime.

Today, though, she needed a certain pair of them to make sure this went smoothly.

Send the two improv kids, she texted back. They’ve got their work cut out for them-- this place is deserted. They have to act extra Hayden-y.

Olaf replied with only a thumbs-up emoji. Anna sighed and sat back in her seat, and a moment later Ryder appeared by her side. “Ready to order?” he asked, wearing another bright smile.

Extra attentive-- she’d add that to the sketch later. “Yeah,” she said, skimming the menu quickly again. Honestly, so far, this place hit every mark of a restaurant worth one of Hayden’s really positive reviews, which, thanks to the column’s usual reputation, went even more viral than the venomous ones-- not every day that a renowned cynic actually liked something.

There was just one more test, the one that elevated a good place to a great one, great enough that she’d come back to on her own time and money and bring her sister along for the ride.

“I’ll just have the spaghetti, please,” she said with her sunniest smile.

Ryder nodded and turned away, whistling to himself, and she glanced up at the clock over his head.

Five minutes and counting, she thought. Fingers crossed this goes the way I want.

---

a/n: THANK YOU to molly, laura, and melissa for helping me brainstorm and plan this one out!!extra thanks to molly and to johanna for helping me with some of the restaurant stuff, to ronnie for helping me decide what kind of restaurant kristoff would have, and as always, to creative director gabi :')

#kristanna #my fics #p&p&p

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ozis-paradise · 4 years

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ØZI | TURNING IT UP FROM TAIWAN TO THE STATES

ØZI FOR FLAUNT MAGAZINE – published August 27, 2020

ØZI is a rising star who’s ready to break through to the US market. Gaining a tremendous amount of momentum in Asia, winning Best New Artist of the Year at the Golden Melody Awards and Chinese CMA Awards, the Taiwanese-American singer, songwriter, producer, and director likes to push boundaries and experiment with different genres of art— from his visuals to his music to his everyday life.

According to ØZI, Chinese music (unlike Korean K-pop) isn’t really heard on the planet. Having performed with the likes of Jay Park and Tiffany Young of the legendary K-pop group Girls’ Generation, he states, “I'm trying to put Chinese music on the map. Not just Chinese, I'm trying to put this whole entire culture on the map by any means. People listen to K-pop or American hip-hop—me being on this side of the world, being raised in Taipei, there's a lot to offer. But people have to hear it.”

Now, he returns with his newest single and visual for “LAVA!” His music is the perfect blend of Asian and American culture, fusing influences from his roots in Taiwan with the hip-hop we all know and love. Additionally, he’s had the pleasure of working with notable fashion brands from Burberry to Valentino to Fendi—the latter of which caught the attention of Nicki Minaj.

Flaunt caught up with ØZI via FaceTime who was located in Taipei, discussing everything from his upbringing in music, “B.O.” going viral,” Nicki shouting him out on the Gram, and his own label Forbidden Paradise.

“B.O.” has over 11 million views on Youtube alone, what did that do for your career?

A lot actually, that’s the song that got me the Taiwanese Grammys. I wrote that song 3 years ago. I was an underground rapper out here, producing my album. That song wasn’t something I thought would hit. I put it in with hopes of it doing good, but didn't think too much about it. I shot it with 9m88, she's a very good friend of mine and a great jazz musician. I said "hey, you'll sound amazing on this record!" She hopped on it. I shot the music video in L.A., came back. I dropped it and it took off. It caught me off guard. During that time, I had some sort of buzz underground. 2 or 3 songs had hit before “B.O.” so I had a little bit of noise, but that song really took me to a different level. That song brought me mainstream. I got nominated for Golden Melody, which is the Taiwanese Grammys. I got Best New Artist, that changed my career.

Being from Taipei, what was the household like growing up?

I'm a third culture kid. My parents don't know how to speak English at all. I went to an international school. This is a common thing for international school kids: I go to school speaking only English, then I come home watching Chinese TV and talking in Chinese. Taipei is a small place so everybody knows each other. I go back and forth because I was born in L.A., in Pasadena. Every summer and winter, I’d go back to visit my godparents. But we sold our house in Pasadena.

When did music come into play?

I was born in it. My parents are both in the entertainment industry. My mom’s a pop diva, artist, singer-songwriter in Taiwan. My dad’s a photographer, he did photoshoots for all the fashion magazines from 10 to 30 years ago. He retired. All my life, I was a part of this. I played classical piano since I was 4, I'm sure all the Asian kids can relate. [laughs] I had a rock band when I was 7, which is interesting because my mom’s like "aye, you should start a rock band with your first grade classmates." In middle school, I started really listening to music. It started with 50 Cent’s “Disco Inferno," I thought "what the fuck is this?!" I was 11, then it went to Eminem. Started with Marshall Mathers LP, went back to the Slim Shady LP, then to Encore. I also fell in love with Linkin Park.

You just released your new visual for “LAVA!” Who or what inspired this one?

I started collaborating with Transparent Arts (Far East Movement). I met them last year, started working in July. I went to L.A., they arranged me with a couple of producers. One of them I particularly fucked with was Ian Thomas, he's done songs with Bryson Tiller. That’s the first song we worked on. I'm putting it on my album but that whole project got delayed because of COVID. It’s a feel-good, summer track like “aye, I vibe with this."

How’s it feel to have a co-sign from Nicki Minaj?

That's hard. That's the biggest thing to ever happen to me. [laughs] I had a photoshoot and tagged Fendi. Nicki had a collab, a capsule thing with Fendi. I do a lot of fashion stuff, that was one of my gigs. I didn't think too much of it. I went to an event, took photos and did some press. Afterward, I woke up to Nick Minaj putting me on her feed. So surreal, she’s like “big shouts to OZI in Taiwan, wassup?”

You have your own hip-hop label named Forbidden Paradise, what’s the significance in the name?

We started it 3 years ago with my colleagues Razor and MCKY, they're OGs producers in hip-hop and pop. We all saw how Mandarin pop music is so stagnant, we wanted to change that and bring something fresh to the game. R&B and hip hop wasn't big in Asia at all. Mandarin pop was all slow songs, we weren’t fucking with that. We had to do something. The world’s been listening to hip-hop for the longest time. At that time, Drake popped. The 3 of us are gamers, so we're really into medieval times and dragons. We like anything super poetic and epic, Forbidden Paradise came from that. The classic Adam and Eve story, we're the forbidden fruit. We're here to give the rest of the world the apple, particularly in Taiwan. After you’re introduced to our culture, you gain wisdom. We’re opening the Forbidden Paradise for you guys to listen.

#øzi #ozi #flaunt magazine #interview

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pengychan · 4 years

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[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 19

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

Art by @swanpit.

[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: Kind of sucks when your brain tells you one thing and your heart another entirely, doesn't it.

***

“... And they chewed through all the cables!”

“They never do that at ho--”

“Say that one more time, and I’ll strangle you. With the cables.”

“Didn’t they chew--”

“I bought new ones. Which you’re going to pay for. Immediately.”

Ernesto opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get in another word Sofía slaps something against his chest - a full list of expenses that he supposes he will have to pay back. Dog food, of course, cables, some toys to keep them from destroying the cables, new leashes when they chewed through the leashes, a new cover for her couch when they destroyed it, a new pillow, dog shampoo, pet-safe nail polish-- wait a moment.

“Did you give them spa treatment or what?” Ernesto asks, glancing down at the chihuahuas. They're all on their hind legs, pawing at him and yapping for attention. Come to think of it, Clara looks particularly fluffy and the others have really shiny fur, and… she’s actually painted their nails. He blinks, and looks back at Sofía.

A shrug. “They’re good boys and girls. They deserved it.”

Well, Ernesto can agree with that assessment, of course, but he didn’t expect it to come after a long list of their supposed misdeeds. “Didn’t they wreak havoc--”

“Not their fault if their stupid master didn’t bother to train them properly.”

“They never did that before,” he protests despite the very real threat of strangulation. “They missed me!”

Sofía rolls her eyes. “Clearly,” she mutters, but smiles a bit. “So now take them back and don’t drop them on me like that ever again.”

“I won’t,” Ernesto promises, crouching down to let his dogs lick his hands and face. There is a chuckle above him.

“... Well, did it help, being off for a bit?”

Ernesto nods, still petting his dogs. “Yes. Guess it did.” He doesn’t feel like going over his visit to Santa Cecilia again - or explain yet again that yes, his father was indeed stone sober - so he keeps it vague. “I needed some time away.”

“And, the situation with…?”

“We sorted it out.” Ernesto stands with an armful of dogs. “We’re okay. It’s over, but we’re okay.”

He ignores the dull ache in his chest as he says it’s over aloud. Of course it stings, and will keep stinging, but it will get better, eventually. They are the closest to okay they can be. It will get easier.

“That’s good.” Sofía looks relieved. “Back on the market, then?”

“Guess I am.” Ernesto smiles but ah, it feels fake to his own ears. He clears his throat and nods towards the table where he left his phone, still holding up his dogs. “Can you take a photo? For Instagram.” He smiles again and this time it comes easier. “My fans were getting worried.”

Sofía rolls her eyes. “Ay, all four of them?” she jokes, but picks up the phone. “All right, smile.”

Ernesto tries to smile, but the dogs do their best to lick his mouth and he has to pull back his head, laughing. The photo catches him mid-laugh and it’s… not bad. Not bad at all. He uploads it with a chuckle, pays Sofía for her trouble, and he’s off with his dogs in tow. It’s nice to have them back, to be back. Something still aches, but it was to be expected. It will get better, in time.

It must.

***

“Are you sure it won’t hurt you?”

“I’m sure.”

“What if it hurts the baby?”

“It won’t hurt the baby.”

“What if I hit her with my--”

Imelda groans, dropping her head on the pillow and shutting her eyes, with half a thought of biting it in frustration. Above her, Héctor is the very picture of parental anxiety. “Héctor,” she mutters, her voice tight. “We have been through this. Well-endowed as you are, you cannot hit the baby with your penis.”

“Ah. Right.” A nervous chuckle, a pause. “... So you think I’m well-endowed?” he asks, sounding just a touch coy now. Imelda looks up at him, unimpressed.

“You are, mi amor, and I would really appreciate you putting it to use,” she almost growls, pushing back against him. “Now would be a good time, considering it’s the last night we have the house all for ourselves,” she adds.

With her brothers coming over the next day to stay in the guest room, so that they can start learning how to make shoes and then help her set up the shop she has just rented, it may be… a good, it will be a while until they are able to enjoy a full night like this without any worry of being overheard. And Imelda has no intention whatsoever to let it go to waste.

“Right, right.” Héctor clears his throat. “And, uh, would love to-- I just--”

For fuck’s sake.

Imelda groans and sits up with more difficulty than she’d like, grasping his cheeks and bringing her face a scant inch away from her husband’s. “Héctor,” she spells out. “Do you want me or not?”

“What!” he sputters, like she just casually asked whether or not Earth is round. “Of course I want-- agh, this looks bad, I’m sorry, that’s not it at all! You look amazing-- even more amazing-- I just…” a pause, and he swallows. “Sorry. I know it can’t harm the baby. I just, well, I worry.” A sheepish grin. “You know.”

Imelda sighs. Of course she knows; Héctor is still half-expecting to mess up somehow, and Imelda supposes it is not a fear easy to look past. “Trust me,” he says, letting go of his jaw to cup his cheek. “There is no risk.”

A smile, and he turns his head to kiss her palm. “I trust you with my life,” he says, before leaning in to kiss her. “But let me try something else…”

“Something else?” Imelda tilts back her head when his lips trail lower, letting him kiss her throat. Her breathing grows a little faster, the aching need between her legs a little more urgent. Héctor’s mouth moves down her chest, over her breasts and oh, right, she’s more than willing to see where he’s going with this.

Plus, may as well let him enjoy her breasts until someone else claims them for the next few months.

His mouth trails down her stomach, over the bump - oh God please do not let him turn into mush at the thought of being a father again, it is very sweet and all but right now she is so horny - and then, thank God, lower down. With a long sigh, Imelda parts her legs, grasps the sheets, and lets Héctor go about it his way. She has no complaints, now.

Her husband has more good uses for his mouth and tongue than just singing.

It’s… not the most passionate of nights, but it is sweet. Imelda’s senses are still numbed by the ripples of her orgasm when she pulls Héctor down on her, kisses his mouth, reaches down blindly to grasp him and stroke, a thumb brushing the tip. She finds him hard, and he lasts little under her touch; he comes with a shudder and a soft moan he muffles against her lips before he sinks beside her, pulling her close.

Imelda chuckles, leaning into the warmth. “Feeling better now?” she asks, resting her head on his chest. She feels him smile into her hair.

“What color is the sky? Ay mi amor, ay mi amor…” he hums, and settles down with a content sigh, an arm around her. The hand rests on the bump and Imelda smiles, covering it with her own. It’s cozy, warm, just right. Everything as it should be: the two of them and their baby on the way, Héctor’s first album about to launch, the lease for the shop she’s looking to open to expand her business signed, her brothers coming over to help and start learning a viable trade.

Everything is moving in the right direction. Everything is in place.

Or almost. Something about their bed feels out of place - like it’s too large.

Don’t. Don’t go there, you know why it is, don’t.

It would be the wise thing to do, keep her eyes shut and avoid looking at the empty space beside them, but she doesn’t. She opens her eyes, and looks at the spot where Ernesto would usually rest, leaning close to them. And ah, it stings.

It could never work. We are friends again. It is for the best.

Imelda briefly wonders if Héctor ever looks at the gap beside them, too, thinking the same, but she doesn’t ask. Some things are best left unspoken.

Imelda closes her eyes not to look, shifts a little in her husband’s warm embrace, and focuses on nothing else.

Ernesto keeps staring at the ceiling for a good while after his dogs have fallen asleep.

He knows it’s not a good idea. He should be trying to sleep, shouldn’t be thinking about Héctor and Imelda a couple of floors up, sharing the bed he will never be welcomed in again. Except that of course, that is exactly what he’s thinking about.

His bed is not empty because his dogs all climbed on it, of course, not about to let him out of their sight a second after he went seemingly missing for days, but it is… definitely not the same thing.

He could go out and find someone to spend the night with, call some of the numbers he still has on his phone - he never had trouble getting someone in bed, after all. It was the norm, up to just about a year ago; find someone to have a good time for the night, part ways in the morning, possibly stay in touch to meet up again for another pleasant night.

A few people met that way he’d become friends with - Sofía was one - but in most cases, he barely remembered their names, and mostly only recalled their bodies with clarity. It had been a simpler time, uncomplicated. No string but those of his guitar, he said. He would go back to that.

Only the thought didn’t appeal to him at all, now.

What’s the point?

A sigh, and Ernesto closes his eyes. He needs time, that is all, to get used to this new normal. Eventually, it will be just like the old normal. And he did enjoy the old normal, he tells himself.

He just needs to remember how to.

***

“Why does your cat hate me?”

“Huh?” Héctor looks up from the string he’s tuning to follow Ernesto’s gaze. The damn cat in question is looking down at them from the top of a bookcase or, rather, staring straight at Ernesto. Her eyes are narrowed, to slits of pure malevolence, tail whipping the air.

As though he sees none of that, Héctor chuckles.

“She doesn't hate you.”

“She’s glaring at me.”

“No, she’s not.

“That is a glare. ”

“Believe me, if she hated you I’d be calling an ambulance for you right now.” Héctor laughs, focusing on tuning the guitar again. “You just think all pets should behave like dogs.”

Ernesto grumbles, still keeping an eye on the beast - who, from her part, seemingly decides she’s had enough of making him uncomfortable for the afternoon. She stretches, yawns, and jumps off the bookcase onto the windowsill to lay down. The window is open, to allow her to jump on the tree right by in case she wants to--

Wait a minute.

“Héctor-- Imelda’s pregnant. ”

That causes him to blink, looking up at him. “... Well, we’ve known that for a while.”

“And you’re still letting her go out?”

Héctor blinks again, at a loss. “She’s just checking on the twins putting together furniture in the new shop and getting some groceries, it won’t be long and it’s good for her to stretch her leg--”

“What-- not Imelda , idiota! The cat!” Ernesto gestures towards Pepita, who seems on the verge of falling asleep. “She could be catching and eating mice or rats, and what if she catches toxoplasmosis?”

“Toxo-- what?” Héctor clearly has no idea what that is, but the name and Ernesto’s tone worry him enough to pull out his phone and search. He reads on, his gaze going from perplexed to mildly concerned - markedly more concerned once he reads it can be passed on to humans - and Ernesto knows he’s reading what happens if it’s caught during pregnancy when all color drains from his face.

He’s not especially surprised when Héctor jumps to his feet. “We must take her to the vet to check,” he urges. “Now.”

“... Can’t we wait until Imelda gets ba--”

“Now!”

The struggle to get Pepita into the cat carrier is brief, but oh is it vicious, and Ernesto takes great care to hold the carrier as far as he can from his body while Héctor tries to coax Pepita in at first, then wrestles her. He had no idea a cat could make such a vast array of unpleasant noises. Ernesto suspects he’ll keep hearing a few of them in his nightmares; on the doorway, both his dogs and Dante are observing the scene in utter confusion.

By the time Pepita is in the carrier, which jumps and clatters as she throws herself against the bars, Héctor looks like he might need medical attention himself, scratched-up and with his shirt in tatters.

“You might want to disinfect--” Ernesto begins, putting down the carrier carefully and taking a step back for good measure, but is immediately silenced.

“Later, I’m calling the vet to let him know we’re coming,” Héctor cuts him off, waving his free hand as he searches for the vet’s number. Ernesto sighs, and glances down at the carrier. Pepita stares right back at him, and hisses.

You’re going to regret this, that furious hiss tells him, and Ernesto suddenly wishes he never mentioned toxoplasmosis in Héctor’s presence.

“All right, we can go in immediately!” Héctor declares, ending the call and picking up the carrier.

Like being told we can’t go in immediately would have changed your mind, Ernesto thinks, and follows him through the doorway, almost to the front door. Almost , because they’re still a few steps away when the door opens and Imelda steps in, holding up a grocery bag so that Dante - and Ernesto’s dogs, too, but mostly Dante - can’t get to it.

“Héctor, can you get this to the kitchen for me? I need to... sit down just a...” Imelda’s voice slows as she takez in the scene - Pepita screaming from the carrier in Héctor’s hands, her own husband looking like he’d just crawled back from battle, and Ernesto pretending to be very busy smoothing down his shirt. “... Moment?”

“Imelda!” Héctor cries out, and lets the cat carrier fall, getting a literal howl of fury out of Pepita. He grabs both of her hands, including the one still holding the groceries, before she has time to voice any objections. “Mi amor! Are you feeling all right?”

She blinks. “What’s gotten into--”

“Aches? Fatigue?”

“I’m pregnant, of course I am-- the cat, what--”

“Headaches?”

“Por Dios, you’re giving me a headache right now!” Imelda groans, and turns to Ernesto. “You. Explain.”

And for the love of God, her gaze tells him, give me an explanation that makes sense.

He shrugs. “Taking her to the vet,” he says, and Imelda’s expression suddenly becomes worried.

Well. More worried.

“Is she sick?” she asks, leaving the grocery bag to Héctor and picking up the carrier. She holds up before her face, and Pepita’s growls turn into pitiful meowing to be let out. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing!” Héctor exclaims. “I mean, we hope nothing’s wrong. We’re taking her to the vet to check!”

“... You decided to wrestle her in the carrier and rush her to the vet for an impromptu check-up?”

“Well, Ernesto said--”

Oh no, this is Not Happening. He’s not taking the blame for something he is… probably to blame for. “I told you we should wait until Imelda came back! And I only asked because she keeps going out hunting rodents and if she catches it--”

“If she catches what?” Imelda cuts him off, opening the carrier. Pepita immediately jumps in her arms, tame as a kitten, although she does shoot Ernesto another look of pure evil. Like it was him to put her in there, anyway.

“Toxoplasmosis,” Héctor speaks, sounding like he’s naming the most horrifying thing in the world. “Ernesto told me that it would be-- really bad if you caught it.”

Imelda blinks and turns to Ernesto, honestly surprised. “Since when are you an expert on…?”

“Dogs get it too,” he points out, crossing his arms. “I did my research after I got mine.”

“I see,” Imelda mutters, sounding… mildly impressed before she turns to Héctor. “... Mi amor. Did you think I did not do all the research needed?”

Héctor blinks. “Well-- of course you would, but--”

“Remember how I asked you to take on the litter cleaning duty when I realized I was pregnant?”

“Yes, but--”

“Why, in God’s name, do you think I asked you to do that?”

Oh, Ernesto thinks, of course she’d already taken it into account. Well, that’s… a relief. Makes him feel kind of stupid, but it’s still a relief. Beside him Héctor opens his mouth, then closes it. He hesitates.

“So-- you’re safe?”

“I am perfectly safe and so is the baby.”

“Ah.” Héctor glances at Pepita, who returns his gaze with another hiss. He gives both cat and wife an embarrassed smile. “Heh. Lo siento?”

Imelda sighs, reaching to cup his face. “Let me look at that - you have to be on TV in less than a week,” she points out. “You shouldn’t show up on screen looking like you’ve been to battle.”

Ernesto nods. “She has a point. That nose is not doing you any favors as it is, best not to make it worse on camera,” he says, gaining himself an unimpressed look from Héctor.

“Pendejo,” he huffs, smacking the grocery bag against his chest, and he turns to Imelda with a dramatic hand over his heart. “I would go to battle for you, just for a dance,” he declares, causing her to roll her eyes.

“It would be less of a dance and more of a waddle,” Imelda points out, a hand on the baby bump, now remarkably close in size to a ripe watermelon. “Come, let me fix your face. Hope we still have peroxyde.”

“No! Anything but that!”

“What happened to being willing to march into battle for me?”

Ernesto has a chuckle at Héctor’s expenses as Imelda leads him to the bathroom, but it is short-lived; it fades almost as soon as they’re out of his sight, and he’s quiet as he takes the groceries to the kitchen, ignoring the pleading looks from his dog, the murderous glare from Pepita, and holding it well out of Dante’s reach.

It’s nice to be welcomed back, of course. It’s good to have his best friend back. It’s good to be on good terms with Imelda, to know they want him there, want him to be their child’s godfather. It’s been weeks, almost two months; he should be used to this new normal. He is, for the most part - but he’s still human and ah, sometimes it still hurts. Sometimes he wonders if they feel the same, too, but he may never know. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself.

It’s for the best.

***

“You know, we could invent a machine that--”

“No machines, Felipe.”

“Actually, I’m Óscar.” “I have never fallen for that, and I won’t start now. So, when it comes to working the leather--”

“It would be faster if we built a machine to do it for us.”

“If we used machines, it wouldn’t be traditionally handmade.”

“Yes, but--”

“And that is what our brand is about,” Imelda cuts him off, sitting back. Her brothers are sitting across her at the workbench, supposedly to watch her and learn, but they seem to be too busy running their mouths to retain much of what she's trying to teach them. “People buy these shoes because they want them traditionally handmade, or else they’d be buying from a chain store.”

“Not that they would know,” Óscar mutters, the next moment he barely ducks under a roll of masking tape.

“We are not using machines,” Imelda enounces. “And that is fin--”

Her phone beeps suddenly with a reminder, and both twins leap over the workbench to sit next to Imelda, looking over at her laptop, which at the moment is showing the latest orders received.

“It’s about to start, isn’t it?”

“Come on, get it on!”

“They’re streaming it, no?”

“Yes, yes, give me a moment…”

It is… odd, to see Héctor and Ernesto on screen, being interviewed about their upcoming album. She’s seen them playing before crowds, and they were interviewed by radio stations before - she can’t say their agent doesn’t know how to get them visibility - but a TV studio must be an entirely different experience. And Héctor looks… a little overwhelmed at first, although the smile is wide enough that no one who doesn’t know him as well as she does would be tricked into thinking otherwise.

“So, your debut album will be out tomorrow. Tell us how your career started…”

Ernesto, of course, looks perfectly at ease and does the lion’s share of the talking, smile bright and voice smooth, a natural in front of the camera - even inspiring, if you fall for his ‘seize your moment’ spiel. He has the interviewer and just about everybody else in the studio absolutely charmed, and soon enough Imelda sees Héctor’s body language relax, too. His smiles are more sincere, he laughs when Ernesto brings up a particularly disastrous trip over a cable during their first day recording, playfully punches his shoulder when he brings up the time he forgot to pick him up from the airport years ago because he got caught up writing a new song.

“It was one time!”

“It happened at least three times.” A laugh, and Ernesto shoves him back. “But we got three good songs out of it, so who am I to complain?”

More chuckles, and the interviewer turns to Héctor, who looks perfectly at ease by now.

“I understand you’re the songwriter - I listened to a preview of your album and loved Un Poco Loco especially. Who is the song about?”

Héctor’s smile grows wider, and so does Imelda’s. “Oh, it’s about my wife.”

“Awwww,” her brothers exclaim, bringing a hand to each other’s heart. Imelda lightly smacks the arm closest to her, eyes on the screen, still smiling.

“She’s amazing - she couldn’t be here today, but she’s… my muse,” Héctor is going on. “She’s in the album, too! In our cover of La Llorona, the female singing voice? That’s her! She and Ernesto did the video, too, and it won't be out until--”

He goes on talking about the song, gushing about her, and the smile remains on Imelda’s lips - only a tad more melancholic. She remembers the day they recorded the song, of course. She remembers the day she and Ernesto filmed the video, too, dancing in front of a green screen. There had been attempts at upstaging each other, bickering, and oh they were so tired by the end of it - but they had given their absolute best, and it had been fun, looking back. Not that she’d have admitted it in front of Ernesto, then.

A good time.

She keeps listening, keeps her gaze on the screen as they stand and grab their guitars to play for the public - and if her brothers notice a change in her expression, they say nothing of it.

***

To their credit, Héctor would think later, he and Ernesto managed to wait until they were alone in a changing room backstage before they erupted in gritos, laughter and more gritos while hugging each other and dancing around like idiots, almost knocking down a clothes rack.

But what the hell, they just talked about their album on TV, played for the audience, and were loudly asked for an encore; they have every reason to celebrate and be as loud about it as they damn please. To think of how they’d started out from Santa Cecilia… well, this was beyond anything Héctor ever thought they would achieve.

And clearly, Ernesto’s dreams go even further.

“And this is just the start!” Ernesto exclaims, an arm tight around Héctor’s shoulders and the other hand gesturing at empty air, like he’s addressing a crowd of fans. “It’s going to be a success, I’m telling you, and so will be the albums that follow! Our names will be everywhere - Ernesto y Héctor!”

“You mean, Héctor y Ernesto,” Héctor points out, grinning a little and elbowing him in the chest. “That’s what it says on the album. Armando agreed it sounds better.”

Ernesto rolls his eyes. “Details, details.” He waves a hand dismissively, like he didn’t pout for the entire day after the decision to place Héctor’s name first was taken. “What matters is, we’re on the right track! We should go out and celebrate!”

“Ah, I…” Héctor shifts a little, feeling mildly guilty. “I should go back home. You know, with Imelda… her brothers are there, sure, but… you know.” He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. Ernesto is not very happy to hear that, he can tell. “How about you come over and have dinner with us?”

“No,” Ernesto says a little too quickly. He clears his throat. “I mean-- no, thanks. I will probably go out, have some drinks… networking, you know?”

Héctor nods. “Of course. You were always the best at this kind of thing. Just, uh… you’re alway welcome. You know that, no?”

Ernesto pauses at the door to look back at him. His expression is somewhat blank for a moment, then the easy smile is back, familiar, reassuring. And, Héctor fears, not entirely sincere. “Of course. Thanks, amigo. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you,” Héctor says, and sighs when the door closes again. Part of him wants to throw the door open, call out for his best friend, tell him they really want him to join them, but in the end he cannot bring himself to do so. They are no longer an item, so he can… do his own thing, party, maybe get some company - meet someone else. If he wants to, then he should get to do so.

It would be the normal thing to do. Things are back to normal, and all is going well. But ah, sometimes… no, often, Héctor misses the way things were. He misses what they had.

And he wonders if Imelda does, too.

***

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#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #imelda rivera #hector rivera #coco #mind the gap

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istnyjulian · 4 years

Note

Hi! I love your art style! Your colours are very vibrant and you always capture the essence of a character! I was wondering how you drew your art pieces? What do you use and what steps do you take to make them? Who would you say is the hardest character in All Hail King Julien to draw?Do you have any tips for drawing lemurs + other AHKJ characters? 💚💛

You don't even know how much your words mean to me! THANK YOU HUNDERT TIME! People like you are a great motivation for me to keep going with my art and make people happy with my art cuz it was ALWAYS my big dream! To make people happy with my work! ~~ <3<3<3

“I was wondering how you drew your art pieces? What do you use and what steps do you take to make them?“

To be honest, I'm not willing to give advice on drawing techniques, because I'm self-taught, I have never participated in any workshops. All I can is what I have learned by trying different things and watching others. Usually when I give advice, there will always be someone who draws professionally and points out the mistakes that I certainly make from a prefesionalist point of view.

Therefore, if you are looking for professional advice, you should certainly ask someone else! XD I don't want you to get into bad drawing habits. BUT if you want to know how I do it and what motoda I practiced it is fine. I will show you what and how. ;)

I will explain everything in turn using one of my drawings as an example. (That’s humanisation of Becca from AHKJ, of course. ;))

At the beginning I make a sketch. As long as I think it's good enough! XD I follow the pictures of the characters to best convey important details. I draw some of them from memory. ;) I use a regular school pencil and eraser to make a sketch. You can buy all this at every market.

Then I do lineart and I use eraser to remove pencil residue. To make lineart I use pigment ink, usually: uni pin fine line or Faber-Castell Ecco Pigment but normal fineliners are also great and sometimes I use them too!

When the lineart is ready it is time for the colour base. This is very helpful because the color is even and there are no unsightly clearances. Personally, I recommend Winsor & Newton Promarker but to be honest I didn't use others, that's why I don't have a real comparison. I can only say that promarkers fulfill their role well. For small surfaces I also use regular markers. They are easier to get and also work ok. :) Promarkers are expensive and you can buy them mainly in art stores.

The next step is shading and giving shape and depth using colored pencils. In my opinion, this is the most important step in creating each drawing. I have been using Bruynzeel crayons for several years because this set of crayons I got as a gift once and I still use them, but in the case of some colors I also use the usual random coloured pencils, which I have after school.

Actually, the work is ready here. I add white elements to get a nice effect on the eye. This is not necessary, but I like it. You can do it with a white ball pen or just like I do with a regular liquid concealer.

Optional at the end of the last color details that can be added to the already colored drawing (this is just an additional effect and some people do it in the program on the computer) and voila! Your art is done! It probably doesn't look like your imagination, but calm down. This is normal. ;)

“Who would you say is the hardest character in All Hail King Julien to draw?“

Oooh, it’s hard to say only ONE character! There is so many hard character to draw for me...

Aye-ayes are very difficult for me because I can't draw their wrinkled skin so that it looks quite natural. In my performance it looks ... strange.

It often happens that some lemurs drawn by me do not completely resemble their original counterparts, because I can not quite keep their characteristics. However, Dorothy is certainly one of them, but sometimes Horst and Pancho (if not his specific fur color, it would be hard to guess that I drew him :P).

It's difficult to draw Rob's hairstyle too. It hurts cuz I like drawing him!

Indris (mountain’s lemurs) are too hard to draw because their strange body shape.

I’m not good with drawing snakes + Dr S has kind of athypical designe and if you draw him with normal cobra head he look completelly different. Not so cute! ;)

Clover/Crimson is hard to draw becuase her head shape. This is a typical pattern used to draw lemurs' children, but you can't follow this lead. She is not a child.

Tammy! OMG, no comment! I can’t draw her! :(

Hands... or maybe wings of Andy are complicated to draw... They works more like wings or hands? XD

As you can see, it's very difficult to choose one or even a few characters that are the biggest problem for me. I'd rather say that each character has one (or more) drawback that makes me cry when I draw it. ;)

“Do you have any tips for drawing lemurs + other AHKJ characters?”

My advice is to draw the way you feel! Do not worry about the fact that something doesn't look like in the show, or that you add some features for canon character. I saw a lot of people who draw according to their own concept and be sure that it doesn't spoil the reception of these characters! On the contrary! It lets you see something more in these characters. Something that the artist sees, and everyone interprets characters in their own way. It gives inspiration to another artist. You can view photos of real lemurs, but you don't have to. Some people draw lemurs as if they were cats. I assure you, however, that lemurs in no way resemble cats, neither appearance nor character ... but what's wrong with someone presenting them in this way? NOTHING! Everyone has the right to their own interpretation. And who knows, maybe something will come of it. My advice is be creative and try different things! There are no bad fans! And there are no bad artists (they are only inexperienced). Each of them is trying to convey something and enrich the fandom with a new point of view! Be one of them and throw away the conventional thinking that leads to nowhere.

Thank you very much for your amazing questions! You made my day! ~~ ^^

And sorry for my English!

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collateralfiction · 5 years

Text

OBJ Short

DREW

“Aye, three stacks, where you at, my love?”

With a little help from my coconut and avocado oil concoction, I carefully combed through my tresses and slicked my hair into a low ponytail at the back of my head. I was growing frustrated with having my natural hair out for so long that I was honestly contemplating siting through 5 hours of faux locs. And God knows I have zero patience to sit for an extended period of time, let alone have someone in my head at that. With Air Pods sticking in my ears, I could barely hear my best friend yelling at me from downstairs. Sliding back into my fluffy slippers, I stepped out of my room, looked over the staircase and down at her with a cheesy smile.

“Well don’t you look amazing. Jimmy Choo?”

“Absolutely and why are you not ready?” she sassed, placing her hand on her hips.

“Girl, it’s only All-Star weekend. This is not the Met Gala and the only reason I’m going is because you asked me to go. If I had my way, I would rather sit home and not get classified with a bunch of thirsty women trying to trap someone else’s man. Been through that and I’m past that,”

“I know how you feel about it, mama. But honestly, we’re just going for a good time and to network like usual. Stop acting ugly,” Kory laughed.

“You know I would rather stay in and catch up on The Walking Dead but fine. My outfit is already picked out too. I just need to throw it on. Being natural is so time consuming,” I complained as I watched her take her time up my spiral staircase.

“But it seems like you had more than enough time to do that face of yours,” she laughed, hugging me tightly. It was always Drew and Kory or Kory and Drew. If you see one, you would see either one of us not too far behind. That’s just how it went. I would say I was a social butterfly but when I find people I click with, I tend to stick with them and have reservations on wanting to make new friends.

“Oh girl, you know I love a good beat. I didn’t do anything too crazy. Just foundation, highlight, eyebrows, eyelash and lips,”

“So again, a full beat,” she laughed, pushing me into the bedroom.

“Oh, bitch. Call us an Uber or something,” I said as I dropped my robe and quickly ran into my walk-in closet to pick up the outfit of the day. Since it was only a simple basketball game that would be filled with multiple press outlets, celebrities and spectators, I still had to look my best. I wore a bright two-piece neon green sweater skirt set, and paired it with my favorite Versace sandals- if you must know the name, they’re called the Triple Strap Platform High-Heel Sandals. The heels in itself is perfect for me because with my little above average height and toned legs, it’ll just bring out even further my Goddess like features. Not to bring all the attention on me, I grabbed one of my favorite fringed black jean jackets to seal in the look. I normally carried a bag with me, but I figure a Fendi fanny pack to sling across my body would be so much easier.

“No Uber. We got car service and it’s downstairs waiting,” she said as she leaned against the doorway. “Woah, mama. You look damn hot. You’re sure to get someone’s attention tonight. Use the Burberry Her scent. It’s so refreshing,” she suggested.

“Thank you, babe. I’m pretty much done. We can go before I find something else I need to do,” I smiled.

“Wait, we have got to take some photos first. Because you know after this, we’re going to the afterparty,” she expressed, walking into the connected bathroom. When I moved into this house almost five years ago, everything that I had in here was crafted to what I wanted specifically. Everything had to be of my standards and whether that was me ripping everything out and starting from the ground up, so be it. My bathroom had one of the largest mirrors in the house, spanning from the floor to the ceiling as soon as you walked in. That’s where most of my photos were taken as people have noticed a certain pattern on Instagram.

“Smile, bitch,” Kory said, immediately smizing like the professional model she is.

I turned to the side to show the profile of my body and the shoes, smiling seductively in the picture. We took turns taking solo pictures of one another until we both sought out at least three good pictures we both could put on IG. Soon after, we both dashed out of the house and into the waiting car.

The ride to the Staples Center was nothing short of traffic and corny jokes shared between Kory and I. We couldn’t help but laugh at all the Instagram models suddenly making an appearance at a sports’ filled event. I could understand if they were going to support their love ones or something else in between. But to just be here for clout and attention is lame. At least pretend like you keep up with the festivities.

As we entered the world-renowned arena, we were escorted promptly to our seats to make it in time for the National Anthem. But Kory and I couldn’t help but say hi to many of the familiar faces we passed. I preferred to be seated in the skybox up top, but this was the All-Star game. It was only right that we sit courtside and by Gabrielle Union, DJ Khaled and Ludacris. Kory had someone grab us some refreshments while we settled in comfortably and I couldn’t help but to take out my phone and do a photo-op with Mrs. Wade. The arena begun to darken with the announcement of the National Anthem beginning. As much shit this country has put people of color through, I didn’t feel the need to stand. But if the players were going to stand tall and hold their head’s high, that was the least I could do. So, we stood and laughed.

Fergie was chosen to sing the National Anthem. Aside from being a part of the Black Eyed Peas, and a few hits of her own, I wasn’t the first one to be eager to put her music on. But hey, this meant more publicity to her and probably a great marketing tool. I didn’t understand the need to change up the format of the song, but Fergie’s slow and jazzy rendition missed the target. “What in the world?” I muttered, stifling back laughter. Kory’s snickers and slick comments had me and Gabby ready to throw the towel in and walk out of the arena. After taking a look at Draymond’s face, I knew from that moment on I could no longer hold it in. It even progressively grew worse when she yelled “Let’s play some basketball!”

The chatter continued around Fergie’s interesting remix of a song before the game begun to really start. I was actually happy that Kory convinced me to come out tonight because it made me realize how lax and chill the All Star games are when they’re competing in the name of charity and having fun. By the time halftime came around, Team Stephen was ahead by two points and it was still a close game. Pharell, N.E.R.D and Migos led the halftime show performance which gave me enough opportunity to get up and walk around. Kevin Hart and Drake were on the opposite sides of the court and I made it my business to harass the two men who call themselves my big brothers before making a quick beeline to the bathroom.

“Ass check,” Kory said. I laughed as I turned around so she could take a look. The things she would say would be so out of pocket and random, but I swear she’s the only person I know who could get away with it. “Great so when Mr. Blonde Curls comes over here for a sneak peek, everything will look proper,” she smiled.

“Who?” I questioned, sliding my glasses atop my head.

“Odell Beckham Jr. He is so damn fine. But I know he doesn’t like black girls but the way he’s looking at you, would make me eat my words all over again,”

“Girl, you just said a mouthful that will have to be addressed later,” I said, shaking my head as I turned my head to follow the direction of her eyes before our eyes both locked together and my words got caught in my throat. It was him. I quickly turned around and grabbed her hand to move her back to our seats. “I think he was looking at someone else. Come on, let’s go sit before it starts back up again,” Out of curiosity, I turned my head around to see if he was still staring at me and to my surprise he was.

I hadn’t seen this man since LSU days, how does he still recognize me?

ODELL

“They ain’t never gone invite my black ass up here; we cutting up way too much,” Ben laughed, taking another sip of the Henny and coke mix. You couldn’t really take Ben anywhere but what would be a party without Ben? It was impossible. He was needed whether you liked him or not. I couldn’t miss the 2018 All Star Basketball game even if I wanted to. The stars were aligned for me to attend. I was in L.A. to see my pops and brother, have a few meetings lined up with Nike and hey, the All Star weekend just happened to fall in my lap. Right time and place. I couldn’t pass up on the opportunity. And, I had my right hand man Ben. Perfect. “You’re making fun of the back of this nigga head. He finna spin that camera on your ass and show them what they don’t really want to see,” he said as he continued to blabber on and on.

“Don’t be upset because Dave Chapelle ain’t laugh at your corny ass joke,” I snickered. “Or the fact that the bets these kids have been making thus far, you’re losing in all of them. That’s crazy, broskie,” I said.

“You know what? That just sounds like words from a true hater. My new mixtape gone have you as the very first athlete that gets dissed, can’t wait,”

“Don’t matter to me long as I can still dress,” I said, shoving his arm. He was always trying to come for my dome and by now, I was used to all of his antics.

“Ain’t no one worried about you and that damn Supreme satchel my nigga sold you on,” he said, kissing his teeth.

“Man, I’m tired of this. Keep my seat warm,” I said as I stretched a little and grabbed my empty cup of beer. The arena had plenty of employees but not for a tiny second would any of them leave our section alone just to make sure we were satisfied and had everything we needed. I’m sure they were excited to see big stars and this is probably not the first time, but I would get tired quick waiting hand and feet on us celebrities. Absolutely not.

The halftime show was underway which put everyone else’s attention on the performer, my eyes were locked on someone else. She passed me on the way to her seat and I couldn’t place a name to the face, but I knew her. Her laugh was the same as I remembered it; so vivid. But where did I know her from? I had to distract myself with things around me or else I’d be staring at her the whole time, trying to figure it out. And knowing Ben so well, he’d pick up the pieces. I was tempted to walk over there and say something but how do you introduce yourself to a stranger without it being strange? You don’t. I posed for a few photo-ops before finding myself a bathroom, grabbing some snacks and making my way back out just in time for the start of the third quarter.

I wasn’t too interested in the game after my mind was warped with trying to figure out how did I know her. After another hour and a half of the game, team Lebron came out with the win. It was a close game and it was no brainer that Lebron James was walking away with the MVP award and title for the night. He scored 29 points, had 10 rebounds and 8 assists. Tell me he wasn’t dedicated.

The floor was mixed with a bunch of people; reporters, players, celebrities, you name it. I lost her in the crowd of people, and it wasn’t helping that Ben was trying to build the courage to talk to Beyoncé, knowing damn well he was the last thing on her mind. “Yo, bro, we finna head over to the afterparty,” I wasn’t too interested in going out myself but after convincing myself that a night out wouldn’t do me any harm, I agreed to go. Besides that, I couldn’t let my boy have all the fun.

___

She was there again.

Cabaret was a popular club in New York and had recently opened up a spot in Los Angeles. It had only been opened for a month thus far but the way the lines were wrapped around the block, and the fact that the club itself was at its capacity just showed you how well thought out and lucrative it is to open a club of this magnitude. I nodded my head to the beat of the music as I followed behind the security team to Snoop’s VIP area. All I saw were girls, girls and more girls, big ass bottles of champagne and a thick cloud of smoke. But sitting behind in the corner was the same woman I saw earlier at the game, with her friend I’m assuming, talking to Lonzo Ball. What are the odds? Everyone must know everyone in Hollywood.

“What are you staring at so damn hard?” Ben asked, after grabbing a glass of champagne from one of the waitresses and handing it to me.

“Her,” I mumbled. “She looks familiar, but I don’t know where from,”

“You fucked her?” he said, stepping in front of my view.

“I gotta fuck everyone to say they look familiar?” I questioned, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You fucked-“

“Okay, happenstance which doesn’t really count. Move outta my way real quick,” I said.

“Aye, you want me to help? I could be the wingman, ice breaker, whatever your stiff ass needs,” he chuckled, throwing his hands up. I chuckled, shaking my head as I passed him by and went towards the direction of the lady in question. I stopped midway when I realized I didn’t really have a game plan and the fact that she was surrounded by people only really meant that this wasn’t the moment to approach her. Let me fall back.

“Beckham! Brody, what’s happening, boy? I haven’t seen you in weeks,” I turned around and smiled, bringing Drake into a brotherly hug. Out of all those that put on a show in this industry, Drake was really a stand-up dude and even a few months back, I was crashing at his place till I was well adjusted. I could never repay him for that.

“Ah man, Champagne Papi, what it do, man? I’m out here with Ben crazy ass, just getting in some fun in the sun,”

“Or stirring up some trouble. Aye, listen. I’m about to head on out but I’m having a little get together at my crib in Calabasas. Come through, I’ll send you the details,” he said as he patted my shoulder. “Bring Ben too. He’s good times.”

“This nigga finna be hype as shit. Will do, brody,” I said, giving him one last dap before I parted ways and greeted Snoop. I wasn’t that big of a drinker to begin with, but no one would know it by how hype and energize I was by just music alone. It was sort of like a painkiller for me. Just the beat alone could put me in a great mood no matter what the situation was. The club itself didn’t look like it dying down anytime soon and maybe an hour or two into the party, I had lost Ben in the crowd of people. With a dead cellphone and cloud of smoke hanging around me, there was no way possible I would be able to locate him. So, I sat on the couch, hoping he would notice his friend with the blonde curls wasn’t dancing any longer.

“I’ll be right back, Kory. I promise. I just need to get some fresh air,”

“Drew, I am not letting you leave by yourself. I’ll come,” My ears perked up at that revelation as I turned my head to the left to listen. They were there the whole night and in their own zone with conversation. We locked eyes a couple of times, but they were quickly cut short by either her friend, Kory, blocking my view or some random girl trying her best to persuade and talk to me.

Her name is Drew.

Drew Jordan.

DJ.

We went to Louisiana State University together.

That’s exactly how I knew her; a short flame that quickly fizzled as soon as I made it pro. I got up and grabbed my bottle of water and followed behind her slowly, watching her every movement. She still looked the same as before and I just didn’t know how I could forget a face like hers or a smile as radiating as hers could be. All of a sudden it felt like reality was sinking in. “Drew?” I called out as soon as I stepped outside. She stood off to the side drinking from a bottle of Sprite. I had watched her for five minutes before deciding to call her name. She turned around slowly and her eyes widened upon seeing me. “I probably caught you off guard, I ain’t mean to do that… I just been staring at you since the game and… I probably sound like a straight up creep,” I laughed, walking towards her. “Do you remember me?”

“Doesn’t matter if I remember you, everyone knows you,” she smirked. “But, how could I forget? How are you, Odell?”

“I’m doing great.. I can’t complain. I love how you say my name like we don’t got history, girl,” I teased, taking a step closer towards her.

She chuckled slightly and twisted the cap back onto her soda bottle and looked at me. “Well, if I do say so myself, I do recall once upon a time someone denying my phone calls so…” she trailed off.

“That wasn’t intentional, baby. I mean- Drew,” I said, tucking my bottom lip into my mouth to prevent me from saying anything else but I think it only had the opposite effect as the words already came out of my mouth.

“Calm down, Odell. It’s an Orleans thing, I get it,” she laughed. “I also understand that your career took off so damn quick, so I’m not surprised we lost touch. It happens in life,” she shrugged. I could tell she was cold by the way she tried to grip her jacket closer. It was corny but I was thinking I should offer up my jacket for an added layer of heat.

“Do you want my jacket? I think trying to look cute caught up to yo stubborn ass,” I teased, already shrugging my jacket off and placing it around her shoulders.

“Now you know I have a jacket of my own and now you’re going to get sick,” She said.

“That’s fine, that just means you gotta come to the crib and take care of me,” I winked.

“You haven’t changed at all,” she snickered. “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t be too thrilled to see another woman’s face all in her man’s space,”

“Most likely not but you’re not just another woman. You’re a pretty woman that I got history with and I don’t have a girlfriend so it works out even better,” I smiled.

“Oooh, lucky me. Maybe I’ll finally get a text back from you,” she laughed, the dimples in her smile making my stomach flutter upside down.

“Nah, you ain’t never gonna let that go. Are you?” The quick shake to the head was all the confirmation I needed. “How about this, I take you out tomorrow from brunch or something along the lines of that and we just catch up completely. No bullshit, just like LSU days,” Her lips twisted to the side as she tapped her finger on her chin a few times in contemplation. From what I remember of Drew, she has always been stubborn but that’s what attracted me to her instantly. She had a good head on her shoulder and what could be looked at as arrogance was actually her just being confident which is one thing we had in common from the jump.

She was fiery, passionate and a damn bad ass athlete. Not to mention I thought she was so beautiful and still do, to this day. She was naturally a tom boy; she dressed in nothing but Nike tracksuits and Jordan’s. But she made it work because she always had her hair done up, nails on like Flo Jo and would do her make up every now and then. Then when she really wanted to show out, she would completely dress up and would wear the tightest possible dresses ever. And of course, that would piss me off because of all the attention she would get from guys. If it wasn’t from me and me only, I didn’t want her receiving anyone else’s attention.

We fit together like puzzle pieces.

“It’s a deal, but only on the ground that I get to choose the location,” she smirked.

“You know I like to take control. Let me pick it and you pay,” I countered.

Her laughter radiated and became louder as she bent down a little. “Fuck all the way off!” she continued to laugh. “You still owe me for running me dry from my Tiger card. I swear you was only my friend for the food,” she recalled.

“Nah, you know better than that. But the 5 dining hall was the spot. You know damn well I couldn’t resist them omelets,” I laughed.

“No, you’re absolutely right. Well worth it,” she smiled. “Well, I guess this is the part where I assume we exchange information again?”

“I follow you on Instagram already,” I admitted.

“Since when?” she questioned.

“Today. After the basketball game, actually. I had to make a completely new account once I hit the pros and your old handle no longer worked so I had to do a little extra work to get your current handle,”

“Boy, bye. What extra work? You still just as dramatic as ever,” she waved off. “I guess I can do a quick follow back,” she teased.

“And while you’re at it, maybe slide me your number too,” I said, reaching for my phone, only to remember that it was dead. “Shit, or maybe you put my number in and just text me. My phone is dead,”

“Ah, making me do the work. If I text and don’t receive a text back, you’re going on the blogs, Beckham,” she said, pointing her nails in my chest.

“Deal, baby girl,” I smiled.

#this was the original short I did before I switched it around to what is currently posted #does that make sense lmao #here sumn sumn

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lachlann-macnab · 4 years

Text

At Al’s Potluck

Alternative title: Backstory, friendly banter, potatoes and feels.

Dated: October 24, 2020

Lachlann MacNab Lachlann had learned rather quickly that when Seamus had said "you're a menace to society you're never driving again, not unless I'm hurt so badly I'm passed out" he'd really, really meant it and no amount of pouting and/or complaining would stop the man from driving them both to Al's Comic Barn as their respective recipes sat on the backseat. But karma had struck the man as soon they had to get out the car, since now he had to juggle his enourmous plate and the keys, a scene Lachlann found actually quite funny as he remained seated on his place, phone on one hand and dish on the other

Seamus MacTunnag it would have been much easier to balance the fucking pot if he didn't have another platter along with it. Stovies and oatcakes were easy to make, especially for large amounts of people, but that meant having more than was necessarily manageable. Lachlann was pouting in the car and, thus, unhelpful. Finally shoving his keys in his pants pocket, the brunet picked up the second tray he'd set carefully on the hood of the Roadster. "Yer no help, ye know that?" He shook his head and mumbled under his breath about a grown man being a brat all because he wasn't allowed to drive before he nodded to the door. "Hands're otherwise occupied. Care the get th' door at least?"

Lachlann MacNab "That's a lot of complainin' for someone that generally insists on doing everything himself, Mister Mac T" Lachlann replied with a grin, making sure his phone was set to airplane mode (having figured before that receiving any message during the event would be a faux pas) and using the little moment to also make sure he'd actually closed Spotify, not wanting a certain other playlist to accidentally...well, play after the "driving" one had finished. "Yeah, yeah, I'm getting the doors. I'm still surprised you decided to actually come, tho'" he said, now being the one doing some juggling

Seamus MacTunnag "An' that's a lot o' lip comin' from a man who sat an' watched 'cause he wasna allowed tae drive," Seamus quipped back, smiling winningly as he waited. Lachlann fiddled with his phone for a moment before shoving it in a pocket then reached for the door. "Thank ye kindly," he murmured, brushing past the other as he strode through the doors. "An' 'course I would, Lachie. I try tae at least go tae one or two o' these every year. Get a feel fer th' candidates." McWiggin was a native to the town, ran a small business, and seemed concerned with the community as a whole. It would be smart to look into him, at the very least. "'Sides, I havena cooked fer a large group in a while. Seemed th' thing tae do. Old family favorite, an all."

Lachlann MacNab Lachlann didn't have a counterpoint for that, so he decided to stick his tongue out at the other man and take that L as he made sure the car's doors were closed, Al's were opened and his own pot of Chili Macaroni (Vegan, mind you) remained secure on his hands. "Louie says Al 's a pretty cool dude and I think he did well during the first debate" Lachlann nodded "you rootin' for him, Mister Mac T? or are you more interested on the food? Like, I think he's done great so far but, well, I'm kinda new around, so... I don't really know for certain"

Seamus MacTunnag If Seamus's hands were free, he'd have gone for Lachlann's tongue. Much like how Adelaide had done to him when she was a wee one, in fact, though the circumstances were far different. "Careful darlin'," he warned, grin hinting at the mischievous, "wouldna want ye tae lose yer tongue." Listening for a moment as he found somewhere to set the platter and pot down, Seamus hummed in acknowledgement, mind turning over what he knew. In years previous, he'd known McWiggin to be a bit of a tit, rude to women and someone who was just generally unpleasant. Seemed like he'd cleaned up his act in the past year or so, as well as he could anyway, and was hoping to turn over a new leaf. "Dunno quite who 'm votin' fer yet, in truth. 'S why I come tae these, see what they're about. He seems concerned about th' town he grew up in an' the local business, but I'd like tae see more of his stance on Magick/Mundus relations, given where we live."

Lachlann MacNab "Darlin'" Lachlann didn't know what to reply to that -at least not while in public-, even stopping for a second before deciding that the best next unrelated step was finding a place to place his pot as he nodded. "Yeah, it's kind of complicated" politics had never been an easy topic, really "Al strikes me as the most approachable candidate, like, I don't get a thing Reza talks about, Aquata is kind of initimidating and Shock..." He didn't really finish that sentence because he figured that everyone felt the same way about the youngest candidate and her blasé ways about... everything. Also, because he'd just spotted a familiar recipe. "Oh, the Beignets! Tiana must be here too!"

Seamus MacTunnag The silence was noted and smugly filed away. And over a little old thing like darlin', at that. "Aye," he agreed, eyes sweeping over the people milling about the comic shop. He'd never ben inside the place himself, but he knew Louie worked here, so he'd wanted to come down for a look-see. "Al may be approachable, but both Reza and Aquata address cohesion and Magick representation in a mixed community as well as plans to provide a more streamlined petition process. An' Adamson, well, I hardly take 'er seriously." Seamus shrugged, running a hand through his hair. After having lived with a Magick for half a decade, amidst other generational hardships, Seamus had always made it a point to look at legislation that had to do with Magicks. "Take it ye know someone around?" The name was vaguely familiar, like he'd met them previously, but he couldn't place a face to it.

Lachlann MacNab "I mean, yeah, they do" Lachlann shrugged "Like, they sound like they know what they're saying but I think that the best possible option 's having someone you know you can approach, you know? I'd get nervous by the mere thought of just getting close to Miss Triton or Reza -like, I don't think I'd ever have a reason to do so but...yeah" And he'd rather not think much about the whole Magick-Mundus things, since he still had a bittersweet feeling about the whole Moon Market fiasco. "Ah! Yeah, well- kind of! She's an acquaintance of sorts, I guess. 'nyways, what was it that you cooked, again, smoochiekins?"

Seamus MacTunnag Lachlann did have a point, yes. You had to be able to approach a council representative, or feel like you could, anyway. That was the entire point of it all, wasn't it? Granted, Seamus had cut his teeth on hardened business men and women, their unflinching values and ironclad stances. There was a different type of ability to interact there for him than there was Lachlann. "The Triton lasses ain't all bad. Adella's nice, even if she is a right pest." He smiled, thinking on the woman fondly. He'd not seen her in a while but she was one person in town he counted as a friend. "Aquata's Da was a staple of th' council. Think she's jus' tryin' tae do right by him." Both brows rose at the abrupt change of subject and the godawful nickname. His nose wrinkled involuntarily at the implementation. "That's awful, Lachie. Truly, truly awful. But 's, uh, we call it stovies an' oatcakes. Traditional Scottish fare. Me mam used tae make it a lot." He glanced down and off to the side, clearing his throat once he was through speaking, suddenly not too keen on talking about Davina MacTunnag. "Yers was, uh, vegan was it?"

Lachlann MacNab "I think I've heard about the Tritons before- I think one of them designed Loopy's favourite lipstick" he couldn't say which one, though "And I kind of recall seeing Adella's name somewhere..." He'd checked Tinder one or twice since arriving to Swynlake and vaguely recalled seeing someone with a curious name and amazing photos but, well, obviously out of his league, so he hadn't even bothered trying. And there was another reason, of course, which was currently looking fondly at his own pots. "So that's what you needed all those potatoes for!" he said with a wide smile "and here I was, thinking you were feeling like starting a farm, Mister Mac T! And, yeah, 's no big deal. You kinda just throw all the ingredients into the pot and pray for the best. It may not be anything fancy but at least I didn't burn down my kitchen"

Seamus MacTunnag It took him a moment to parse out who Loopy was but, once he had, Seamus nodded his head. "Aye, one o' 'em has a make up line I think. Adella dragged me tae th' bloody adult prom a year of so back," he mumbled, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "She's a sweet girl. Seemed tae think I needed tae get outta th' house. Kinda like someone else I know." Yes, that was a Pointed Pause, Lachlann. "The family's from Swynlake though. Been here fer generations, I s'pose. Makes sense they'd try tae continue it." The comment about the potatoes made him pause, lips quirking up into a smile before he chuckled and shook his head. "Nope, no potato farming. My people didna do such a thing," he quipped, grin widening. "But th' Stovies feed a family fer a while, keep ye warm, all o' that. 'S a staple when ye grow up in Glasgow slums. Had tae take th' liquor outta the recipe though. Been sober around two an' a half years. Don'tcare tae cook with it neither." He hummed his acknowledgement of the other man's dish, wondering how it tasted. At least it wasn't burnt

Lachlann MacNab "Oh" Lachlann said, nodding at the comment and making a mental note about Adella being cool (even in a non-Tinder context). But at the rest of the phrase he tilted his head and bit the inner part of his right cheek "But isn't that kind of thing like...what's the word? When someone in power helps other person to achieve things- necromancy? no, eh, neo- no, nepotism?" He paused for a second, first thinking about the implications of the words and the situation he wasn't sure about, then deciding to move towards a plate full of cookies before the girl with the white dress decided to eat them all by herself. "Myesh" he said with a mouthfull of cookies "sh more like ah shtereoghtiphgical 'rish thng, nt Scottish" Wait. Slums?... " 's better that way, I guess. That way you can be the one driving, instead of having me risking everyone else's well-being, sweetipie" he joked, even if he was still curious about the comment about living in the slums once.

Seamus MacTunnag "Mm, I s'pose ye could see it that way, aye. Most dunna. From what I understand 's more--" Seamus searched for the words, brow furrowing a bit as he walked alongside the other man. Toward more food, he could see. "--a generational connection to th' town. The Triton family is rooted in Swynlake. Everyone knows 'em. Sure, it sounds like they're takin' advantage o' that an' maybe they are, but what if 's because they got th' best fer th' town at heart? I jus' tend tae look at both sides o' matters, or try tae." Rolling his eyes as the other man spoke with a full mouth, Seamus waited until he was done. "Aye. An' 'm nae fuckin' Irish." He'd had to live in the Little Ireland neighborhoods in New York for a while, mind, but that's because no one knew their arse from their head back then. Couldn't tell the difference. Some people still couldn't. Seamus swiped a cookie from the other man and took a bite before turning on his heel to take a look through the rest of the dishes, offering quiet hellos as he went. When he heard another awful nickname, Seamus turned to give Lachlann a droll look. "'M nae luggin' yer heavy arse tae th' car--" A mischievous little grin cropped up and, just to be a tit, tacked on a m'eudail for good measure, accent thickening around the familiar word.

Lachlann MacNab "Yep, 's important to try and do that, get to know both sides I mean, like the whole thing with Reza's scandal" which had surprised all of twitter, himself included. Lachlann still wasn't sure where he stood on all that and his attention was, instead, focused on the food and trying to keep his cookies away from the other's hands, anyways. But even when he swiped one away, Lachlann couldn't help but smile it off, nod and follow him in the search for something nice to munch on. "Yeah, some people think it's the same thing but that's, frankly, offensive to both nationalities" he said, having some vague knowledge about the topic, since people assumed a lot of things when they heard the MacNab surname, but he had never really mind the errors "You started it, darling. Anyways, so Stovies are kind of a family recipe, then?"

Seamus MacTunnag Seamus nodded his head, agreeing without really needing to say anything. It was true, after all. The scandal release had been a shock to everyone, but Seamus wasn't just going to judge the man like so many other people seemed to be fond of. Sorcerer or not, Magick or Mundus, all sides deserved a critical look. "'S extremely offensive, particularly when I was exposed to it." The Irish, at one point, were treated like animals. When people had believed Seamus was, he'd been given the same treatment. He'd had to learn how to defend himself and his sisters quickly. "Darlin' is a term of endearment. Whatever those other things were were nae. But yes, I s'pose so. Most everyone in th' area knew how tae make 'em, but me mam taught me. I had tae work two or three jobs growin' up but, uh, she let me help in me downtime. Da never gave a shite so--" Seamus shrugged, going a bit pinched around the eyes at the involuntary reminder of his father. "--figured I could give another pair o' hands when she needed 'em."

Lachlann MacNab This was the first time Lachlann heard about Mister Mac T's parents and- nothing about it sounded all that cool. Slums, working two or three jobs, the "Da never gave a shite"... Sure, the older man was resilient and most certainly had seen a lot of stuff before, but hearing that he'd to struggle even during childhood was kind of a harsh idea; Maybe someone that felt particularly poetic or philosophical would say that that kind of things had turned the man into the kind of person he currently was but- but Lachlann only found it kind of miserable, really, that he hadn't had the chance to just be a happy child. "Maybe you could teach Huey, Dewey or Louie how to cook it, eventually" he said, placing a hand in the other's shoulder, in an effort to cheer him up "or me. I'd be happy to learn it"

Seamus MacTunnag See, he knew what his childhood sounded like. He had lived it and it was just as shite in the telling as it had been back when he was a lad, and that had been hedging around how big of a piece of shite his father had been. Seamus snorted at the mention that the boys would learn. He turned his head to look at Lachlann's face, squeezed the hand that had landed on his shoulder."Aye, maybe Huey. Dunno about Dewey. Louie would rather food be served to him, not be made by him, so I doubt he would. But I wouldna mind it, if ye wanted tae learn. Ain't hard tae make."

Lachlann MacNab "I think Dewey would be down to clo- I mean, totally up for it" Probably. Maybe. He wasn't sure if his best friend had any interest in cooking but he figured that as long as something sounded like a fun time, he'd be up for it. Huey probably would take notes about the recipe like the very organized guy he was and- -he was absolutely correct about Louie, so there was no point in thinking about that, so he smiled and nod, then pointing towards a fancy-looking salad, as if asking the man if he wanted to try some of that (while still not letting go of his shoulder). "I wonder if we'll see Al himself. I'd really like to tell him that I admire the fact that he has Darkwing comics in stock- and also maybe give him props for making the drinking game interesting for everyone"

Seamus MacTunnag Down to clown? Really? Resisting the urge to laugh or smile at the turn of phrase (because it was awful and not at all endearing in any way whatsoever), Seamus still found himself losing the battle when his mouth twitched upward. Nodding his head at the nonverbal suggestion, the Scotsman allowed himself to be steered to the side a bit, walking in step with the other man and listening as he spoke. He'd have to remember to ask the boys if they ever wanted to learn how to cook. It would come in handy for them later, if anything. "Maybe, maybe not," Seamus murmured, a shoulder moving in a half-shrug. "Though I dunno if havin' a series o' books or tryin' tae give yah alcohol poisonin' is worthy of congratulations." Now he was just being a shit head, it was true, but it was also a fact that McWiggin had seemed to run in circles during the first debate, never really seemed to address questions that were more hard hitting when his contempories had. He had stuck to "small businesses" and "community" which, while what he was using in his campaign, should not have been the entire thing, in Seamus's opinion. But what did he know?

Lachlann MacNab "But I'm ok now" he declared, rather proud of himself "I'm dying by plane crash or not at all" Which was a joke, really; He simply didn't get (terribly) injured in any of his particular stunts so that phrase was more of a roundabout way to say "no way" than an actual - -wait. Mister Mac T wasn't supposed to know about that. Shit. "They aren't just any comic books, they are, objetively, the best comic books ever made" he said, trying to steer the conversation into another direction, then stuffing his mouth on some nearby potato salad so he could play the "sorry, I can't talk, my mouth is full" card just in case the older man didn't take the Darkwing bait. "Thish ish tashty! You shld try shome"

Seamus MacTunnag Dying by plane crash or not at all. That...that didn't sound good at all. In fact, that sounded the opposite of good. In fact, that sounded like Seamus should be worried about Lachlann flying a goddamn airplane which was, frankly, disappointing. He wanted to see how the man flew. And the fact that the other man tried to steer the conversation into a 360 didn't help any. "In a minute. We're gonna circle back tae th' plane crash thing. How many times, exactly, have ye crashed Lachlann? How accident prone are ye?" Is that why you're in Swynlake?

Lachlann MacNab Oh, Lachlann was absolutely not having that conversation -not in that place, not ever and specially not with Mister Mac T of all people. " Gee, I was only joking" he said, even if his tone was way more somber than intended "but, I guess now I know what I'm not supposed to joke about when you're around, eh?. Like, I guess that's all my fault, I know it's a serious topic and all". He decided to try and distract himself searching for a plate and filling it indiscriminately with food.

Seamus MacTunnag Ah, sore subject then. Seamus could read a room well enough by now and certainly could tell when someone didn't want to talk about something, even if it was something important. He'll, he'd done much the same more than once. It was still irritating but it was forgivable. It would be hypocritical to not be, after all. "Mmhmm," he murmured, both brows hiking ninto his hairline before offering a small smile, the kind that said 'I know you don't wanna yak about whatever that is, so I won't. Yet.' "Ye can joke around plenty. Death 's just a touchy subject, is all." Which wasn't a lie, but he wasn't going to elaborate much more just then. Instead, he picked up a small plate of his own.

Lachlann MacNab Look, Lachlann generally tried his best to take that whole topic in stride, playfully mentioning it every now and then when necessary, but discussing it (or anything vaguely related to it) with the older man was simply not going to happen, not when he held his family's talents in such high regards, not when he felt like his-their current closeness depended on what he could offer (and driving certainly wasn't it). If he didn't have a good reason to be there then- then Mister Mac T would send on his way, right? He would never bother dealing with a washed-up pilot, right? He- he deserved way better and- "'s ok. I know, I'm sorry" he finally said, voice slightly cracked. He just couldn't bear to lose the other's respect too, or the comfortable closeness they've built.

Seamus MacTunnag He heard the cracks in Lachlann's voice before they really made themselves apparent and Seamus felt his brow furrow at the sound, wondering at it. He filed it away for later, just like he did much everything else he observed about Lachlann and other people around him, to pull up and examine later on. Clearly, whatever it was, it was something the younger man didn't want to talk about, probably something with his family, if Seamus had to guess. Just a hunch but, well, MacNabs usually didn't stray far from their clan, if you will. And Lachlann was an entire ocean away from his. "Ye dunna have tae apologize, Lachie, 's alright," he said, voice pitched low so the nosy biddies around them couldn't eavesdrop. Namely, his nephew, wherever he might be.

Lachlann MacNab "Yeah, but still...." Lachlann said, trying to keep up with the conversation even if he suddenly felt quite down (so much so that the food currently on his plate suddenly didn't seem all that enticing anymore and had been reduced to a mere excuse for his movements). He just didn't want to deal with that topic. He'd rather run away. He'd rather pretend all of that wasn't even a thing. He'd rather just take his few belongings, throw 'em into his uncle's car and never look back now that people, that Mister Mac T knew about his failures. But he couldn't. Not now. He didn't want to let go of that- them- him. Not yet. "I just- could we- I'd rather talk about politics or Darkwing or Swynlake, you know?"

Seamus MacTunnag Yes, there was definitely something sore about the subject here. He recognized the behavior. In fact, he'd done it himself, once upon a time. It was...odd seeing it mirrored in someone else, someone he knew that hadn't been from decades and lifetimes ago. "Aye," he said, voice still pitched low, a small, placating smile, curling around his mouth. "We can do that." Seamus checked him with his hip, herding the man away from the food table and closer to the comic books, figuring it was a better topic to pick up than anything else. "Which arc's yer favorite? Or th' one ye need? Might have it here."

Lachlann MacNab That- was kind of unexpected, really. Lachlann had hoped the other would simply nod and let him be instead of guiding him away from the table -or actually mentioning Darkwing. He couldn't but give the man a little smile (that also served as a silent 'thank you') as he followed him and looked into the various colorful displays, plate still in his hand. "The Dark Knight Returns, hands down" he said, voice slowly returning to it's usual volume "I like the idea of Darkwing being retired for a while, then returning. Like, I feel that makes a hero -doing the right thing even when it's difficult or it kind of hurts, being- reliable, I guess" But he wasn't looking at the comics as he said that, not really.

Seamus MacTunnag He saw the unexpected surprise cross Lachlann's face and counted it as a win. Or, at least, a minor victory of a small skirmish. It was also, incidentally, what appeared to be a bit of a thank you in its own right. As the other ran spoke about the comics, Seamus's eyes traveled over the colorful covers and the snazzy artwork, the characters that came to life in their pages pitted against the harrowing forces of some villain or another in a snapshot on the front cover. The Darkwing books were no different, though Seamus knew them by hert a little differently. Still, it was nice to hear Lachlann a bit more normal, so he let him go on with his explanation, chuckling quietly at what he heard. "Sounds like yer trying tae tell me somethin', Lachie," he mumbled, teasing in the tone. He reached out a hand and tapped one of the covers, the garish suit they put Darkwing in front and center. "I remember when th' first one o' these came out. Laughed meself about sick. 'Course, I knew why. He did deserve it, retirement an' all. Sometimes it ain't fer someone, though, an' they wanna keep on, even if they dunno how tae quite get back intah th' game." No, he wasn't taking about Darkwing anymore.

Lachlann MacNab Lachlann laughed and shook his head 'no', even if there was some true to the other's statement and once again found himself intrigued by the other's words, or more exactly the way he used them -sure, one could argue that him being older meant he'd had more exposure to that sort of media, but that didn't seem like the reason he talked of Darkwing in such a way. But then again, who was Lachlann to judge? If anything, he was happy to had a shared interest. "It's difficult sometimes. Once you start doubting it just...isn't the same, right?" he asked, before taking a bite of his previously-forgotten food "I really admire the kind of people that just- you know, keep doing their best even when things get difficult. I hope to learn to do that kinda stuff someday" Maybe he could from the older man, that even with his rough start had managed to make the best he could and continued trying to do so. "I- I know this may not be the best place, but could I ask you a question real quick, Mister Mac T?"

Seamus MacTunnag Seamus paused when he was done speaking, glanced over at the other man, a hand holding just over the spine of an omnibus edition. Looked like the first arc of an early Darkwing series. Maybe another hero, mixed into the wrong area. "Aye, it is." Turning so he was facing the other man more fully, Seamus leaned his empty arm against the shelf and crossed his feet at the ankles, brow ticking upward. "Shoot, Lachie."

Lachlann MacNab "Would you keep me around even if I had nothing interesting to offer?" But that was a waaay too complex of a question for that moment and place, really, so Lachlann chewed a couple of seconds more, eyes on the omnibus' in the other's hands, before speaking again. "How do you do it?" he finally said "keeping on even when things get difficult, I mean"

Seamus MacTunnag It had long been established that patience was a virtue in Seamus's life, one that he had learned to perfect over the years. Even with a bit of a temper when he got riled up, he had learned to make the most of a wait. And he did. Even guessing at the question hadn't really prepared him for the actual thing, however. It made the brunet's eyes widen as he drew in a breath and let it out. That was a bit of a loaded question. "Sometimes ye dunna want tae," he began, wetting his lips and giving a small smile. "Sometimes 's hard, harder than anythin' yer gonna ever do. But then ye remember ye've got family that need ye, friends that care about ye. An' th' shite ye hear in yer own head...dunna sound so loud anymore. Ye keep busy an'...ye remember. Ye remember everythin'." He'd looked down as he started speaking, thumb of his free hand flicking against the side of the shelf as he spoke, but he looked up now and met Lachlann's gaze head on.

Lachlann MacNab Lachlann remained silent for a second, taking in every single word, and smiling at the end. "See? Just like a hero" he said almost in a whisper "You're there for them-" He paused again, eating a piece of steamed broccoli before he continued, adding a better word to express his idea. "-for us" because he was still there, even if his previous words hadn't been the best, his skills still were a sore topic and he was too dumb or too loud or just too much in general "I- thank you for that, for being there" For staying, even when he, himself, wanted to run.

Seamus MacTunnag A wider grin edged around the corners of Seamus's mouth and eyes; despite that, he shook his head, bemused. "Aye, if ye wanna call it that, then sure." There were a lot of times he didn't quite feel like a hero, like there were times were he missed a step or took a wrong turn, hid away or back tracked entirely. But if he kept moving forward, didn't look back, he had learned that maybe, just maybe, things would get better. That he could learn to live with the things he had seen and what had been done in his life. Thank you for that, for being there. "'Course, Lachie. What else would I do?"

#I like talking this way cause it makes everything sound important (Writings)#S: At Als Potluck #c: Scrooge #tw plane crash #tw depressing thoughts #tw mentions of death #tw vague mentions of alcoholism #/it may not seem like it cause of the tags but it's actually a sweet thing #/This is a recap for the non-group friends so they can kind of understand the chaos

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renee-writer · 5 years

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Hitman Chapter 7 A Date?

The next morning, he exits the lift to find Claire sitting in his waiting room.

‘’Good morning Mr. Fraser.’’ She stands when he walks in.

‘’Good morning Miss Beauchamp. How may I help you?’’ He hopes treating her like any other person who comes in his office and not like the lass that haunted his dreams, would cover what she is doing to him.

‘’I thought I would save you the postage and just pick up Frank's, or should I say Uncle Lamb’s book, as I have discovered that Frank stole the research from him. I wish to return it to him.’’

‘’Of course,’’ he leads her back into his office, ‘’ in that case I wouldn’t publish anyway. I've high standards.’’ He invites her to sit. ‘’Can I get you anything?’’

‘’A coffee please.’’ He nods and rings for his assistant, ‘’ Milk and sugar.’’ His assistant enters and he hands him a five pound note.

‘’Go get Miss Beauchamp a cup of coffee with milk and brown sugar.’’ He nods and heads out. ‘’So Miss, err Claire, Frank stole your Uncle’s research?’’

‘’Yes, Uncle Lamb, gave Frank some of his research to look over but he used it without crediting him. He just used it as his own.’’

Jamie’s assistant came in and handed Claire the coffee. They continue the conversation and she tells him he wasn’t only cheating with the book. She tells him about discovering his many girlfriends. Jamie is careful too keep his face a mask. He knew all this. It was part of the reason the bloke had to die. But she is just finding out.

‘’And, a strange thing happened that night, the call wasn’t from the hospital. I stayed because they got busy. Oh, I need to apologize to you Jamie. I wasn’t at my best the first day we meet. Frank had forced me to come along. I didn’t wish to, nothing against you, I just don’t like to be forced into things.’’

‘’I understand. Don’t worry about it. I knew something was wrong but it wasn’t my place to inquire about it.’’

‘’You are a true gentleman. Unlike, ‘’ she sighs and fingers the manuscript he had handed back to her. ‘’well, I must be off. Thank you for the coffee and for listening.’’ She stands up to leave and he stands with her, habits his parents had long instilled coming back in her presence.

‘’Claire, when will you be back?’’ He knows she is heading to Oxford to return her uncle’s work.

‘’In two days, but then working until the weekend, why?’’

‘’I just thought you might want to see the rights of London with me.’’

‘’That would be lovely. I really haven't taken the time with everything else going on.’’ She gives him her number and he walks her to the lift. ‘Thanks for everything Jamie.’’ He stands and watch’s the numbers count down to the ground floor before walking back into his office. Why had he did that, asking her out. He doesn’t take women out. He just pays to take them as a brute when he has need. Shaking his head at himself, he enters her number in his phone. Later in the day, he text her and made sure she had made it to Oxford okay. She had and thanks him again.

Later he looks on the dark web for any other jobs. Oh, that is interesting. He was being hired to take out himself! Hired by his crazy stalker. Well, that will never do. He copies the information, removing any trace of where it came from and sends it to the Yard. The next day he finds out she had been arrested. His sister calls in a panic.

‘’Jamie, oh God, I didn’t know she was that crazy! Are you alright lad?’’

‘’I am fine,, Dinna fash. You couldn’t have ken'd. She is locked safely away now.’’ He reassures her even as he thinks of the lass his heart yearns for. It makes no sense but even as he talks to Jenny, he is texting Claire to make sure she is okay. His relief at her, ‘ yes. Home now. See you this weekend.’ Is more then he feels for his own safety. It is crazy. He is a killer, the killer of her husband.

That Saturday, they meet at the London Eye. They walk towards Waterloo bridge and the Convent garden and some bistro's Jamie knew there. It is close enough to the hospital that if she gets called in, she can easily head back.

‘Do you like living in London?’’ He asks after they are seated. It is a bit cold to be seating outside but it is so pretty.

‘’Yes and no. I lived in Oxford before Frank and I meet,’’ she runs her hand over her left hand, bare now where her wedding ring used to be, ‘’we then moved to Boston. But, after his death, well I needed to be near family. Uncle Lamb helped me see, or is helping me see that Frank's death wasn’t my fault.’’

He is shocked that she would blame herself. ‘’Why would you think it was?’’

‘’I am a doctor Jamie. A doctor and my husband passes of a coronary and I am not there to help.’’

‘’You were at the hospital, aye?’’

‘’Yes just.. The police checked, especially with his parents deaths. Yes. I was. I found out about his adultery later. It wasn’t a motive. We weren’t fully happy. He would say I was working to much. Wanted to start a family. Oh, and then I find out he already has. One of his mistresses is expecting.’’ She starts to cry as she continue, ‘’ I was embarrassed, the wronged women everyone was whispering about. I needed to be where people didn’t know me.’’ Her tears are freely falling now. Jamie feels helpless. He longs to comfort her but taking her in his arms would be his undoing.

‘’Dinna cry lass.’’ He softly says. ,’’He was in the wrong not you.’’ She pulls herself together and her phone rings. A deep breath and a wiping of her eyes before she answers.

‘’Yes. I see. I will be right there.’’ She rings off. ‘’I am sorry but I must go.’’

‘’I will see you to a cab. Text me later if you wish.’’

‘’I will. You are a wonderful listener Jamie.’’

He places her in a cab and pays the driver. He then stands routed to the spot watching her ride off. Now what? He is uncomfortable. He feels strange, at lose ends. He, when he has felt this needy, he knew how to handle it. But the thought of another woman made him feel a bit nauseous. He hurries back to his flat and changes into workout clothes. He runs to the gym and has a brutal workout. He is trying and failing to exercise her out of his brain.

She is beautiful, smart, and sassy. Vulnerable and needy. He is the darkness that should stay away from her light. But he is drawn to it like a moth to the flame. Now what? He has never been here before. He wants her and can’t take her. She is a new widow and he is such bad news.

His phone binged with a text message alert.

‘’I am off. Would you like some dinner with me. I will cook.’’

The smart thing to do would be to run the opposite direction but. ‘Can I bring anything?’

‘Whisky and wine.’

That he can do. A bottle of Fraser's special and a good bottle of wine from his uncle's collection. A shower and shave and he heads to her house.

She comes to the door with a huge smile. It lights up his world. Christ, he is in trouble.

‘’Hello there. Come in.’’ he follows her in. Her home is simple but elegant. Her. He knows what their Boston home looked like from photos he found on the dark web. This was lighter with more her. ‘’Let me get you oriented. Bedrooms upstairs,’’ she says as she places the bottles he had handed her on the counter, ‘’ there is a bathroom on this floor.’’

‘’You have a big home.’’

‘’Well, my uncle and his wife have a 10 year old son, Fergus. I wanted him to have room and space here. He will be coming up next weekend to see the sights. I will take him to winter wonderland.’’

‘’I would be happy to come with you, to keep you and the lad safe.’’ He offers before he thinks. She laughs and he feels it soul deep. That laugh! He knows he would do anything to hear it again.

‘’He is ten and has a ton of energy. Another adult would help.’’

A timer rang in the kitchen and he follows her that direction. She pulls out a roast with potatoes and carrots.

‘’Wow! You made that?’’ She laughs again. She is determined to kill him.

‘’No. My housekeeper did. But, I did cook it. She worries that I don't eat enough.’’

‘’Do you?’’ She shrugs

‘’Come, let's eat and talk.’’

She tells him she had been working hard to keep her marriage and career together. That since his death she had slowed down.

‘’Still a surgeon but went from trauma surgery to consultant in general surgery. Less insane hours. I hardly every have to work weekends now. The irony is Frank would be pleased.’’

He tells her about the publishing world. That it wasn’t near as glamorous as it seems. ‘’A lot of reading bad manuscripts. Oh, there was one about a woman traveling through time to meet the love of her life.’’

That giggle again. ‘’Did you publish it?’’

‘’Nae it wouldn’t have sold.’’

The clean up together after they meal. ‘’I will get some glasses for the whisky.’’

‘’I pray you like it. It is from Lallybroch, my family's estate. It isn’t on the market. Made by my da for our family.’’

‘’Oh nice.’’

They take seats on her couch. Jamie is careful to seat far away from her as the couch allows. But as they drink they move closer. Before he can react, she is pressed close to him and is kissing him. It is just a peak but it is enough to fire his blood. It also throws him into a panic. He freezes for a minute. Now what? His body reacts as his mind struggles. He takes her lips in a frenzy. Now what?!

#my writing #modern au #hitman #a date?#anti hero #outlander fanfic #outlander fandom

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lifblogs · 4 years

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Title: Livin In You: Chapter 6

Rating: Explicit (for later chapters)

Pairing: Destiel (they’ll be meeting soon!)

Word Count: 1500

Summary: Castiel is a mental health worker who is just fine with the way his life is. The only thing that really bugs him is how much his co-worker, and friend, Meg, mentions Dean Winchester, the most famous rock star in the modern age. Meg drags him to a concert, and he ends up getting tied into the wild and angsty life of Dean Winchester. Suddenly his old life seems boring, but so much calmer. Suddenly, it matters to him that he's still a virgin. Suddenly, this rock star that he despised the mention of, now matters to him.

Dean Winchester is a rockstar who's on top of the world when it comes to music. Yet there's more that he wants. He misses Lisa and Ben, he craves connection, craves being himself. Any hope for that amidst his alcoholic life all changes when Zachariah, the head exec of Heaven's Records, pairs with a new exec, Michael Edlund -- the Archangel of Music. Under Michael's dominance, he's no longer in control of his own life. There are rules. No more sex with fans. No more alcohol. And in Dean's view, no more god damn free will. Yet he stumbled into Castiel.

A/N: This chapter contains alcoholism, violence, and mentions of abuse.

Tagging: @evilwriter37, @becky-srs

Anyone else, feel free to let me know if you want to be tagged! Always happy to have more readers. :D

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

“Though the sounds of someday / May be home! / Though the sounds of someday / May be be home, ay!”

Sweat glistening on his skin, but not ruining the various bronzers that had been put on him, Dean brought his running, and his dancing to a stop, and he stood, blocking out the crowd, just listening to the guitar as he strummed, just waiting for the right moment. His soul seemed like it could fly, and he was on top of the world, and as he took in the breath to finish this song, he knew that he was high on life. It could take him anywhere.

“And though the sounds of someday / May be home, ooh!”

Dean let the last notes hang in the air, simply mesmerized with the tune of his own song, with the depth and lightness of his voice.

Finally, he finished the concert, and the fans went wild. Dean came back to himself, beaming, still feeling as though music was pounding through his body.

“Thank you, everybody!” he screamed. “You’ve been a great crowd! Whoo! Kansas City!”

After more moments of adoration, Dean’s handlers were behind the curtain, beckoning him to come off the stage.

He left, body exhausted, but made sure he seemed to have as much energy as he had upon entering the stage.

An assistant took his guitar, and the sounds of the crowd faded as he was led down stairs, and through various halls of the stadium, to a green room.

Dean skipped the water on the table as he passed by, and grabbed a beer.

Sam was waiting for him in the green room, having been allowed in because he was his brother. Crowley was there as well, and unfortunately, so was a man he’d had a few dealings with and rather didn’t like: Zachariah. He was the executive of the record label Dean was contracted with, Heaven’s Records. Usually execs didn’t come out to concerts and they left that business to representatives, so this had to be big.

Great.

He suppressed rolling his eyes, popped the tab on his beer, and took a sip.

“That was excellent!” Crowley told him, standing to embrace him. He pointed to a screen that was in the green room, which was now showing the crowd departing. “Caught the whole thing.”

Dean nodded, then addressed his brother, “Sam, you like it?”

Sammy beamed, and also got up to congratulate him with physical affection, clapping his shoulder. “Hell yeah, man!”

Dean got himself a seat across from the exec, and bluntly asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Just enjoying the show, Dean.”

Another sip of his beer.

“Uh huh.”

Zach gave him an uneasy smile, hands clasped before him, leaning forward. “Look, we want to change your contract. Nothing big. Just add a couple more zeros to the paycheck, and with it you gotta make a music video, along with cooperating in some other areas.”

Dean sighed. “Ain’t music videos more the pop industry type deal?”

“You’ve turned rock into the new pop, Dean.”

“Yep, and what’s the catch? You’re not just gonna give me more money for a single music video.”

“We want you to tour. Europe, UK.”

“But?” he prompted, sensing a but.

“But, you have to behave.” Zach stood, taking the beer out of his hands as Dean had been about to drink a great amount of it. He held it up, shaking it. “No more of this.”

“But—”

And now he held out his phone, showing paparazzi photos of Dean making out with a woman on the street. Who was she? Was that that girl Cassie, the one who had a tattoo of his name somewhere, well, interesting?

“No more of this. Crowley’s already told me he’s been working with you on it.”

“What, so I can’t have fun?”

“No,” Zachariah simply stated. “You can’t have fun, Dean. Your kind of fun can lead to mishaps, mistakes, bad press. You’re a label, someone to be marketed. You want to market the bad boy who gets too drunk and punches a reporter?”

“I haven’t done that,” he argued.

“Yet. You want to be the bad boy who sleeps with a fan lying about her age?”

“Or him,” Dean interjected.

“Excuse me?”

Dean stood, getting right in his face. “I’m a person,” Dean yelled. “ A person, you got that? I have vices, and flaws, and wants, and needs.”

“A person, huh?”

Dean glanced around the room, at Sam, at Crowley, eyes big, pleading for help. Sam seemed just as caught off guard and helpless as he was. The best he seemed able to do was to start shouting “objection!” but they both knew he wasn’t going to do that.

“What if I say no?”

“We drop you.”

Dean clenched his jaw, and felt his hands curling into fists. God, was that wall close enough to punch? Soon it didn’t matter because he’d brushed past Zach, and, vision going red, he swept plates of food and bottles of drinks off the table, and then there was a loud noise, numb pressure exploding in his knuckles.

Cheeks flushed, he pulled his hand from the hole in the wall.

“Fuck you!” Dean cried, pointing a finger at him.

“Now, now, Dean, don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he asked, getting in his face again. Now Sam was up, arms around Dean to hold him back. Dean didn’t bother fighting him. “Don’t what?”

“Tantrums will get you nowhere.”

“So I quit drinking just like that?” he asked. “And I don’t see people anymore? No dating?”

“None.”

“What about free time, my established relationships, family? Is Sammy getting swept aside with this deal too, huh?”

“Dean,” Sam intoned, voice soothing in his ear.

“What about Lisa and Ben?”

“We won’t touch them if you do what we say. Look, I don’t like to do this, Dean, pretend you’re not someone, but well… you’re not. Who you are doesn’t matter to us. It’s what you can sell. And we want to sell you off as a worshipful, immaculate being, having you ascend above the rockstar stereotypes. Your popularity will burst through the roof. So, you clean up your act, you stay away from fans, you do as we say, and we won’t have a problem.”

Dean shrugged out of Sam’s grip, and went over to Crowley, pointing an accusing finger. “You knew about this.”

“Dean—”

“You knew,” he breathed, voice low, but gritty with emotion. “You knew and you didn’t tell me.”

“I warned you.”

“Well, nice warning, fuckwad.”

“Dean, I will quit if you keep this up.”

Dean stood back, laughing.

Was this really happening? Where had his freedom gone? He just wanted to make music, wanted to make people happy. He didn’t want any of this bullshit. And why all the changes, and why so soon, so fast?

Zachariah set Dean’s beer bottle down, but Dean ignored it, grabbing another one, and drank as much as he could, feeling liquid dribble down his chin. Oh god, that stuff was good. It wasn’t enough to get him buzzing or even numb though. And was blood dripping down his knuckles? They were starting to swell, right hand red, maybe turning a little purple.

Dean finished off half the bottle, and spluttered through his drink.

“Dean, I think you need to sit down,” Sam said, taking him by the shoulders and attempting to maneuver him to a seat.

“Sammy, can they do this?” he asked.

“Of course I can,” Zachariah said, all self-important and pleased. “Paired with a new exec. Michael Edlund.”

Oh god, Dean had heard of him, the fucking Archangel of Music as celebrity fans liked to call him. The bastard didn’t care about people, just cared about stats, and marketing, and money, and having people act to his every whim. Dean wouldn’t even be surprised if there were sex scandals wrapped up in there, kept hidden away since he was oh so clean and immaculate.

But maybe the worst for Dean was that Michael forced himself to live through his artists, took them over.

Dean let Sam drag him into a chair at that.

He raised his bottle at Crowley, and Zachariah, smiling. “Well, here’s to fucking up my life. Maybe you own me, but I’m gonna fight tooth and nail the whole time. So I agree to this new, fucking stupid contract. Drop off the papers with my assistant, and I’ll even sign with a god damn golden pen. How’s that? I’ll do what you want, but you better believe I’m gonna test the limit.”

Sam pat a comforting hand against Dean’s chest as he continued drinking, feeling angered, embittered tears built up in his eyes.

So long, Dean Winchester, he thought. Here’s to life as an angel condom. May you rest in peace, you son of a bitch.

So he wasn’t out of being controlled. His dad, John was probably smiling up from Hell at that.

He’d better have a good seat down there.

Dean wondered if he would too.

#Destiel #Destiel AU #Destiel fanfiction #Supernatural #Supernatural fanfiction #spn #spn fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #my writing

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robertosmithuk · 4 years

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11 Ideas to Mitigating the Impact of COVID-19

This post about mitigating the impact of COVID-19

We’ve been in lockdown from 5-6 months depending on where you live. Here at Mac Productions we have been working (from our home office) during that time. In that time I have redesigned this website to optimise the page load speed of all pages see the results here.

In that time I have also been contacted and shared a number of new ideas on SEO and also on the Covid-19 situation.

Below is an article I am happy to share by marketing wizard Guy Kawasaki (chief evangelist for Canva). He is probably best known for his time at Apple with Steve Jobs at the time of the 1984 launch of the Macintosh line of computers. In addition he has launched a number of tech companies in Silicon valley.

I hope you like what he has to say but if not then hopefully you will take a second look at your own outlook on the the future.

I haven’t been through a worldwide health and economic crisis of this severity, and I doubt that most people have. I mentally revisited my stint at Apple when it was flailing and failing in the 1990s and my ups and downs with companies that I’ve led, advised, and invested in to provide a framework for persevering through this pandemic.

This list isn’t about pixie dust and unicorns. It’s about grit and courage and do or die decisions. We can’t defeat a virus with bluster, machismo, and fake news, but we can mitigate its impact by making wise, albeit tough decisions.

1) Run the right race. This is not a sprint. It’s a marathon. It’s not a hundred yards. It’s miles and miles and months and months, perhaps even years and years. An even better metaphor is that it’s a decathlon because it takes multiple skills to survive.

2) Focus on cash. Cash is king, queen, prince, and princess. Perseverance is not about perceptions and images. Perseverance is about surviving. Think about this. The iPad that Apple announced a few weeks ago is now discounted on Amazon. Wrap your mind around that. When have you seen a new Apple product discounted on Amazon? The lesson is to turn your inventory into cash because you can’t pay your employees and bills with inventory.

3) Cut deeper than you think you should. The rising tide floats all boats, but the falling tide affects big boats the most. My experience is that people, in hindsight, regret not reacting fast enough and tough enough.

It’s better to look back and say, I cut too much and left money on the table than I should have done more, but I didn’t, so I died. With the former, at least you’re still in business with the latter. You are gone.

4) Go direct. You cannot depend on multiple tier distribution. Imagine if Amazon decided your product wasn’t essential and delayed fulfillment. Or if your resellers aren’t even open to accept your product, much less sell it.

You should be so lucky that your biggest problem is that your channel partners, assuming they’re still around, resent that you did business directly.

5) Tap your customer base. The easiest people to sell to are the people that you’ve sold to before. If you have a good product or service, you can tap dance all the way to the bank.

6) Don’t depend on white knights and silver bullets, especially politicians. Magical forgiven loans from the government aren’t going to suddenly materialize. If you get a loan, hallelujah, take it and run. But a good business strategy is never, “And then the miracle will occur.”

7) Be transparent with your employees. If there was ever a time to be transparent with your employees, it is now because everyone is suffering. It’s not like you’re going to tell them something that they haven’t read about or heard from their friends, families, and colleagues.

Also lying and shading take a lot of time and energy, and you have none of either to spare. That said, a leader can never have a bad day. A leader’s role is to provide a calm, rational, honest, and empathetic model, even if you have to fake it. I never saw Steve Jobs have a bad day.

8) Give to get. You’re asking a lot of your employees, so give a lot. The currency that you have is stock. Using stock is not going to affect your cash balance. I hope you end up in a situation where you say, “I should not have offered so much equity” because it means you’re still alive. That’s a lot better than owning 100% of a dead company.

9) Evaluate your supply chain. Stuff made locally doesn’t need to be shipped. Robots don’t get sick. Maybe paying a little more is worth not being subject to the whims of trade wars, much less pandemics. So examine your supply chain to see if you can simplify and control more of it.

10) Do the crap that you never had time to do. Establish and document new processes and procedures. Upgrade technology, learn new skills such as video conferencing. Making videos and remote everything. This is the time to do the yucky stuff that you never had time to do before.

11) A bonus: ask the question, “Therefore, what?” What will this pandemic change, and how will it create opportunities?

Let’s go back a little in history. Suppose that you came to the insight that people were going to have phones, these phones would have cameras, and these cameras would be able to take high-quality pictures that you can share via the internet. Therefore, what? Therefore, you create a photo-sharing app such as Instagram.

Now is the time for you to ask the question, Therefore, what? You know it’s going to be a long time before we fly to large in-person conferences, gleefully go shopping and crowded malls, learn only in physical classrooms, and sit in the reception areas of medical facilities.

I have a fun example of, therefore what an animal sanctuary called Sweet Farm has created a service called Goat 2 Meeting, not Go to Meeting. This service enables companies to include animals such as a llama in your video conferences to provide a bit of levity and relief.

Video conferencing is exploding. But the meetings are boring and stressful, so Sweet Farm came up with the idea of offering live video appearances of animals.

If you liked this post by Guy Kawasaki here are a couple more places to learn more from him.

Listen to Guy Kawaski’s Podcats ay https://guykawasaki.com/remarkable-people/

The Guy Kawasaki Guide to Rocking Your Online Marketing – https://neilpatel.com/blog/guy-kawasaki-marketing-guide/

The post 11 Ideas to Mitigating the Impact of COVID-19 appeared first on Mac Productions Digital Marketing.

source https://macproductions.com/11-ideas-to-mitigating-the-impact-of-covid-19/ source https://lesvisible1.blogspot.com/2020/09/11-ideas-to-mitigating-impact-of-covid.html

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