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rosemaidenvixen · 4 years

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A Secret’s Worth

Chapter 4: Mary

Ao3

Mary wanted to let out an indignant scoff, but seeing how her mouth was full of nachos she settled for a scowl. Seriously, it had been two days and Dean still hadn’t texted her back. At first she had just been annoyed, now she was straight up mad.

No more playing nice, if Dean wanted her back it was going to cost him a date with pizza and ice cream.

A wry smile broke through her frown.

Of course it wasn’t like she needed Dean, plenty of other boys would give anything to go out with her. Henry, otherwise known as Tight-Jeans Hank, had just asked her to go to the basketball game this week, maybe she should take him up on it, show Dean what he was missing out on.

“I didn’t make the team,”

Mary practically jumped out of her seat. She was so engrossed in her texts that she hadn’t even noticed Darci sitting down across from her.

“What?”

Darci was staring down at the logo stamped into the middle of the table, eyes scrunched and mouth crumpled. It took Mary a few seconds to realize she was holding back tears.

“The cheerleading team, I didn’t make the cut,”

Mary gently slid her phone into her pocket “Sorry...that sucks,”

Heat started to bloom on her face as silence stretched out between the two of them, thick and tacky. Mary never knew what to say in these kinds of situations. She couldn't just tell Darci it wasn’t as bad as it seemed, in her track record saying that never went over well. Bottom line, Mary sucked at making people feel better when they were down. Whatever she tried always seemed to make things worse.

Fortunately both of them were saved when Claire came swooping in and planted herself in the seat beside Darci.

“I’m so sorry,” Claire reached over grasped Darci’s hand with hers “That must be such a let down after all your hard work,”

Darci’s lower lip trembled “I knew they weren’t going to let more than one or two freshman onto the team, but I thought that maybe I was good enough…”

She trailed off as Claire patted the back of her hand “You’re plenty good enough Darci, they probably just didn’t have enough spots available. I’m sure that next year they’ll be glad to have you,”

“Thanks Claire,”

Mary watched as Claire successfully pulled Darci back from the brink of tears, wriggling uncomfortably, wishing she could be half as comforting and sweet as Claire. She didn’t envy her friends for a lot of things, but this was one of them.

She sat up straighter as an idea came to her. Mary might suck at sympathy, but maybe she could help by providing a welcome distraction.

“Yeah, you’ll be on the team for sure next year,” Mary’s eyes twinkled “Maybe by then Claire will have finally asked Jimmy-Jam out,”

The sharp look on Claire’s face made Mary wonder if this had been the right move after all. Then Darci let out a small laugh and she stopped wondering.

She let herself relax a little bit, Claire still looked pissed about her love life being brought up, but Darci was smiling so Mary decided to roll with it.

“Yesterday you went on and on about how today was the day you were finally going to do it, but in the end you chickened out,” she smirked “Again,”

Claire didn’t reply to that but her rapidly pinkening cheeks did all the talking.

Darci giggled, successfully distracted now “Come on Claire, we’ve been hanging out with the boys for weeks, when are you planning on actually telling Jim that you like-like him?”

She let out a deep sigh “Soon, ok, soon,”

“You know Claire, the longer you wait, the more likely it is some other girl snaches him up,”

“What!”

“What Mare means...” Darci said while throwing a knowing look in Mary’s direction “Is if you really like Jim you should just tell him that, get the words out there” she placed a reassuring hand on Claire’s shoulder “And if it makes you feel better, I think that Jim likes you to,”

“You...think so?”

“Better hurry, I saw Valerie eyeing him during social studies,”

If looks could kill Claire would have her dead on the ground “Are you actually invested in my love life or do you just want to watch me suffer?”

“Yes,”

Claire looked back and forth between Mary and Darci’s eager expressions, then buried her face into her hands with a groan “Look, I know you guys are just trying to help. But I really need to figure this out on my own. So can you just...give me some space on this,”

Translation; time to back off now.

“Ok, ok,” Mary said, knowing not to push further “But when you do ask him out, promise we’ll be the first to know?”

Claire nodded “Promise,”

Satisfied, Mary went back to her nachos, Claire and Darci following suit with their own lunches. Based on the clock it wouldn’t be long before Jim and Toby joined them.

Strange how normal a thought that was.

This time last year the idea of having lunch with anyone else besides her besties was unthinkable. Sometimes Mary still couldn’t believe the boys were part of their unofficial ‘group’ now.

She hadn’t had a problem going along with Claire’s county fair idea. Claire had wanted to make Jim happy and Mary wanted to make Claire happy. Just one day out, no harm no foul.

But when Darci had wanted to keep hanging around with the boys after that, Mary hadn’t exactly been thrilled.

Maintaining their hard won social status took a lot of work, and she wasn’t going to jeopardize that, not even for the boy Claire was crushing on. Besides, the three of them had been BFFs since kindergarten, and Mary wasn’t going to let just anyone butt in on that, let alone boys.

Mary didn’t have anything against boys. Actually she liked them quite a bit. Boys could be cool and pretty darn fun to hang around with, but only if a girl kept her distance. Letting a boy get too close was a rookie mistake. Mary had learned that lesson the hard way and there was no way in hell she was letting Claire or Darci get hurt like that.

So yeah, she hadn’t been down with turning this into a thing.

But Darci wanted to hang out with Toby and Jim more and of course Claire had all but jumped to agree. Even if she had put her foot down Mary was outvoted two to one, so she just gritted her teeth and put up with the boys tagging along.

Sitting together at lunch, hanging out after school. Claire even invited them along to videogame Saturday at her house; an event that had been exclusive to the three of them for years!

Mary hadn’t dropped her guard the entire time, always keeping watch for any sign that either Toby or Jim would push their newfound privilege too far.

One toe out of line and she’d kick them to the curb so fast it would leave skid marks.

She’d kept up her hypervigilance for weeks, but nothing had ever come of it. Mary had known boys that would act all nice and then do a 180 the second they had you where they wanted you, but Toby and Jim actually seemed genuinely….nice.

Jim shared his lunch when Darci was down on cash, and offered to bring an extra any time one of them needed it. Toby lent out his geology notes and kept them all from completely flunking a pop quiz. The enitre time she’d known them Jim and Toby had never been anything less than friendly and helpfull. More than that, neither of them ever acted like their good behavior entitled them to...more.

Toby and Jim weren’t just acting nice, they were nice; a little dorky maybe, but nice.

So after weeks of being on edge Mary finally eased up. The boys might not have earned her full trust just yet, but they had gained quite a bit of it, enough for her to call them friends.

And speak of the devil, Toby and Jim chose that moment to show up at their table. She waved in greeting, mouth still full. Toby smiled and waved back “How’s it going guys, oh hey Darci, did you hear about the cheer team yet?”

Darci’s face fell “I didn’t make the cut,”

Jim winced as he slid into his seat “Bummer,”

Toby looked affronted on her behalf “If they were crazy enough to turn you down that’s their loss,”

She managed a weak grin “Thanks guys,”

The conversations died down again as they all started eating in earnest. Not because they didn’t have anything to talk about, but because they didn’t have the time. Lunch period was barely long enough to get a full meal in, especially when you got your lunch from the food truck in the park like they did today. They didn’t have to rush, but they couldn’t exactly take their time either.

Mary was able to multitask by chowing down on her nachos with her left hand and tapping at her phone with her right.

She was finished checking her texts so she moved on to organize her calendar. Planning and coordinating all of their group’s outings took a lot of time and effort, but all four of her friends thanked her on a regular basis and let her know how much they appreciated it.

It might be a lot of hard work, but it really was good to be Queen Bee.

And when she spotted an event planned for that weekend, Mary realized it was a very good thing she decided to check her calendar when all five of them were at lunch together.

“Darc, Claire; how much prep time will you need for your makeup on Saturday?”

Darci perked up instantly “I’ll need half an hour at the very least,”

Claire puzzled over it for a bit longer before answering “Mine should take ten, fifteen minutes tops,”

Mary added a note to the event before turning to Jim and Toby “What about you guys?”

The two just blinked at her, Jim hesitantly raising a hand into the air “Uh, question, why are we talking about makeup?”

“To go with our costumes, duh,”

Toby nervously tapped his fingers against the table “....costumes?

Mary gave both of them a flat, unimpressed stare “For the Halloween Hop on Saturday that we’ve been talking about for weeks. Seriously, do you guys never check Messenger?”

Jim still didn’t look like he was getting it “The Halloween Hop?”

“Yep,” Claire said with a grin “I’m going as a vampire,”

“I’m going as a corpse bride,” Darci added.

Realization dawned on Toby’s face as things clicked into place “Those sound awesomely spooky, what about you Mary?”

“Mermaid,”

“Nice,”

“So wait,” Jim spoke up, still sounding confused “That’s this weekend?”

Her eye roll practically scraped the ceiling “Yeah they’ve had flyers posted for weeks. Now spill, what are you going as and how much time are you going to need to suit up? We need to get there by six,”

Finally she could see the lightbulb going off in Jim’s head as he came up to speed.

Toby let out a sharp gasp “We should go as Freddy Kruger and Jason! I already have a hockey mask, all we need is a hat, glove, and fake machete,”

Mary nodded in approval and looked back down at her phone “Can you guys be ready at Darci’s house at six? Her dad can drive us there and my moms agreed to pick us up. Afterwards they can drop you off at home or…”

She deliberately paused, letting the anticipation build for a few seconds. Seeing as how the boys were a little slow on the uptake Mary might as well relish the big reveal “We can all spend the night at my house, my moms will be home all night and they say it’s fine,”

If Toby grinned any wider he was going to crack his face in half “A sleepover?! Awesomesauce!”

So Jim and Toby were in, good. Tonight Mary would let her moms know so they could exchange numbers with Jim’s mom and Toby’s Nana, then she had to make sure they had enough snacks for all five of--

“Actually…” Jim’s voice derailed her train of thought “I won’t be able to make it,”

Mary frowned “If your mom isn’t cool with the boy-girl thing, just let my moms talk to her, they’ll make her come around,”

Jim chewed on his lower lip, not looking reassured at all “It’s...not that...I can’t do any of it,”

Wait. What?

“You mean you can’t come to the sleepover or the Halloween hop?”

“Nope, sorry,”

She narrowed her eyes “Is it because of your curfew?”

Jim looked down and away “No,”

Translation, it most certainly was. The real question was why she was even surprised at this point.

Mary scowled and set her phone down on the table “Seriously? Come on Jim you always bail early, can’t you ignore your crazy early curfew just this once?”

“If your mom’s worried it’s totally safe,” Darci added helpfully “We’ll be at school with the teachers or at Mary’s house with her moms the whole time,”

Claire leaned closer to him, expression hopeful and pleading “My parents can talk to her, they’re super big on safety, so if they think it’s ok for me to go you know it’s danger free,”

Jim opened his mouth, no doubt to object, but stopped when Toby laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Dr. Lake has nothing to worry about,” Toby smiled up expectantly at him “You’re not a little kid anymore, you need a night out, your mom will understand,”

Jim shut his jaw with a click, biting back whatever rebuttal he’d had. They’d all given him a hard time about the ridiculous hours his mom wanted him home by at some point, but this was the first time all four of them had ganged up about it, leaving absolutely no room for counterarguments.

Mary arched a single eyebrow “So do you think you can convince your mom to let you off the hook for one night?”

He snapped out of his speechlessness “It’s not that!”

“They why?”

“The reason I can’t come is...is…” Jim stammered “...is because my mom and I...are going camping,”

Mary’s jaw dropped “You and your mom are going camping?”

He grinned sheepishly “Yeah, it’s kind of our family thing,”

“In October?!”

Jim’s already brittle smile wavered “Yeah...she’s an ER doctor so her work schedule is weird, she can’t always pick what days off she gets so we have to go camping whenever we can, right Toby?”

Looking majorly disappointed, Toby still nodded in agreement “Yeah, I remember one year her schedule was so packed you guys didn’t go on vacation for six months and then you went to Yosemite for two solid weeks,”

Claire’s face fell “So you guys can’t go on another weekend?”

“Nope, sorry,”

Mary’s eyes narrowed as she fought to keep her mouth from twisting into an ugly snarl. While she didn’t consider herself a troublemaker, Mary had gotten pretty darn good at telling people what they wanted to hear in order to weasel her way out of tight spots, like detention or extra homework. And she could tell that Jim was doing the exact same thing right now.

Jim was lying, there was no camping trip.

But then why couldn’t he go to the Halloween Hop, or the sleepover for that matter, or literally anything?

Was his curfew no exceptions, or was there some other reason he couldn’t go out on Saturday. Maybe he couldn’t bear to sleep away from home? Mary had known some kids like that, but that was when they were all little, there was no way that could be going on with Jim now, could it?

Mary wanted to trust him, she already trusted Jim and Toby more than any other boys their age.

But Jim was lying to her, to all of them.

Her fingers dug into the fabric of her jeans and Jim babbled on about the imaginary camping trip that prevented him from joining them that weekend. She was one bad decision away from reaching across the table and shaking him by the shoulders, demanding actual answers.

Quick as the thought crossed her mind, a hot wave of shame followed.

Stealing the truth wasn’t the right way to go. Mary wanted to know what was going on with Jim, but that didn’t entitle her to his dirty laundry.

She had learned that lesson the same week she met him.

Mary took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. Jim was a friend, her friend, and she would let him keep his secrets. He could share them in his own time.

“Fine, if you can’t go you can’t go,” Mary said with she hoped was a friendly, not insincere looking, smile “Just let me know when you and your mom are going camping, that way I can plan around it, ok?”

Jim beamed back at her “You betcha,”

#tales of arcadia #Trollhunters #Mary Wang #darci scott #claire nuñez #toby domzalski #jim lake jr #a secret's worth #rmvwrites #fanfic

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xaz-fr · 5 years

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I’ll edit links for previous chapters later but you know how Tumblr feelse about links but they’re all in the zs tag

Set in a fantasy world of the semi socialist society Fey Alliance with magic, dick head dragon riders, benevolent necromancers, and even bigger dick head gods of mischief. The Zealous Servant is the story about a guy named Spayar who, has to keep his crown prince of a bff from being murdered by his entire family by murdering them first. Though Spayar just wants to take a nap and find a cute boy to kiss and not have to worry about his corpse potentially being dragged through the street after a war. Better win that shit then.

I will only ping this particular list once and if you want to be pinged for future posts a like or reblog will get you on the next pinglist. Reblogs (especially with a dumb comment but not required) are way more appreciated as it allows other people to see the work

@deadpool-scar-bro @starry-ampelope @golden-lionsnake @massdestructionn @frxemriss

Finally y’all get to meet Diylan, the last pretty major character of the story. He doesn’t have a super lot to do right now but in future things he is SUPER important. Also he’s basically the boy version of Tassa: a real slut and I fucking love him

It was pouring out. Not exactly surprising. Spayar had his rain coat hanging on the back of a chair just outside the family shrine. In the Alliance most Feylon went to temples to pray. Spayar was the first born of immigrants and hadn't been raised the same way. He knew the process of going to a temple and leaving offerings for all the gods, like he'd taken his siblings to yesterday but it wasn't how he worshipped, not how he'd been taught by his parents.

In Dirin everyone had a patron god that chose them at a young age. Sometimes in a dream or in an event in their life. While free worship of the other gods awas encouraged most Dirinians primarily worshipped only their patron god. They kept shrines to their gods in their homes. He had older aunties and uncles from Dirin who had their gods tattood or branded onto their bodies as a form of constant worship.

The family shrine had six statues, one for each of the children, and one for their parents, in an elaborate alcove his father had added onto the house when Spayar was small, when Calli was but an infant and Spayar was just starting to really talk. He'd built it around the same time they both stopped talking in Dirnine exclusively around him so he'd learn Feylian better and without their accent. The shrine was a gilt table covered in Dirin motifs: palms, hyenas, crocodile, and great sand dunes that cupped the western part of the country. A sphinx sat with raised wings in the backdrop. The statues of the gods were arranged by size with the largest being Spayar's and his parents and then his siblings’ being smaller.

Relora’s goddess had one eye in the middle of her forehead and was shrouded in veils that concealed most of her body. Her name was Dehvonokoz, she was a seer, a counterpart to the Feylon Belldha. Spayar Sr.’s statue belonged to the god Enko, the god of fire and willfulness. He leaned against a long spear, balanced on one leg, the other foot resting on the calf of the standing one. Enko had no true feylon counterpart but seemed to be a male version of Galaia.

On one side were Anora and Duren’s personal gods. Duren’s was the Feylon god Maldrin, god of makers and a bit of a trickster. He had a wide, grinning, mouth, and balanced a knife on the tip of his finger. Anora’s statue was to the Feylon goddess Pacia, goddess of mercy and was always depicted as a young woman wearing full plate armor. To the other side where Calli and Spayar’s gods. Unlike their siblings Calli and Spayar had Dirin gods, as they were more Dirinnan than their little siblings. Their parents had decided it was better this way. Calli’s statue was of the goddess Nuvokon, goddess of wells and springs and held a jug that poured ever flowing water onto a parched earth. She also had no true Feylon counterpart but Calli hardly ever prayed to her either.

Then there was Spayar’s. Densinn, or as his mother called him: Sevok, the lying crocodile. No matter what pantheon he resided in Densinn always looked the same: an iconography that spanned the continent. He was a young man with a charming smile, mouth sewn shut, hands cut off at the wrist and wrapped in golden fleece. Densinn was not a god most people wanted to associate with. He was a trickster godmwho would lead you down a path you didn't want to go down if you weren't careful. Spayar had dreamed about him when he was a boy. A haggard man with eyes like fire, bloody stumps for hands, still trying to open his mouth despite the stitches.

Densinn was not a benevolent god but appeared in many stories of the gods especially around the brothers Lemp and Anceion as one of the first gods they wove into being along with Can'dhe, Perunez, Galaia and Tipal. Densinn was the god of language and had been the first one to utter a word and whisper it into a human's ear. He'd taught humans to speak, write, and create sign language. He had a gold and poison tongue that spoke truth as often as it spoke lies. He'd been the first thing to lie as much as the first to sing and orate. Once he'd been a powerful god like the other first borns but earned his fathers’ ire because of his lies and tales, and his promises to teach dogs and fish to talk like he had their precious humans. So the brothers had ripped out his tongue, sewn his mouth shut and chopped off his hands so he could never speak again.

Mostly under protest Spayar worshipped Densinn and called him that out of spite. He might have a personal god like a Dirinnan but he wasn't and knew he wasn't going to give Densinn the satisfaction of using his Dirnnan name. He also didn't pray often but he'd been meaning to lately, especially after what had happened to him lately. Talking like a man possessed. Like a man unafraid of death.

“You did that when I saw Teldin, didn't you?” he asked the statue. “And with Pale Cross. You're going to get me killed at this rate.” Densinn was a liar but great at saying whatever he needed to get the job done. “I’m not a use to you dead.”

The statue was unmoving. Spayar sighed and looked up at the ceiling in annoyance. “You’re not even listening are you?” he huffed softly. He'd seen the statue move once or twice as a boy. He'd told his mother and she just said his god was watching him, which with a god like Densinn was not always a good thing.

Spayar went to his rain coat and grabbed his coin purse. He found a golden atrin and brought it back to the painted wooden statue. He made a slight face as he bent the atrin and pulled it with his mattallurgist magic. Elemental magic wasn't a weave or a spell, it was just an extension of being and Spayar was not very good at it. The trick back at King’s Casket where he'd pulled Pale Cross’ knife out of his belt had been a fluke and a lucky one at that. Even he'd been surprised it had worked. Not cutting himself hadn't been, but his ability was limited. He fiddled with the soft metal, shaping it in his hands before he got it to look approximately like how he wanted. It was a pair of roughly made golden hands. He added a spike to the end and lifted the little statue to pin them into the wrists. He put the statue back down.

“Don’t ignore me, Densinn,” he said seriously. “I’ve seen your shrine on Swan Island; I'm your only worshipper. Don't ignore me.”

“Spayar, mazuk, the cabbie is outside,” his mother called from the door.

“Coming!” he called back. “Don’t let me die, Densinn. You need me,” and he went to grab his rain coat. As he pulled it on he glanced back at the statue. He wasn't sure if he was happy or sad the statue was different. Densinn was winking at him. “Great,” he muttered and grabbed his hat from the chair seat and went out to meet the cabbie who was standing at the doorway with an umbrella ready for him.

—

The sand the wyrm landed on was warm even though Spayar’s boots which he was grateful for. He was cold! After the all day flight up north on wyrm back at high altitudes he was close to shivering despite purposefully layering up like he was going to Surassa for the winter. Being a fire warlock Von had been a blessing as he was able to keep them warm for a while but even he had difficulty with the high cold winds. No wonder flighters wore such thick jackets and pants all the time.

The sun was just starting to set when they arrived and were given over to a man who gave them a room and meals and said the Wyrm Lord would be alerted they'd arrived but were free to do as they pleased.

The room they'd been given was a shared room which Spayar did not like. He hadn't slept in the same room as Von since he'd hit puberty and wasn't looking forward to starting now. Von was just busy stuffing his face. They'd stopped once briefly for lunch but normally postal flighters even ate their meals awing if going across the country. Spayar couldn't say he was particularly hungry. The height and motions of the great wyrm had made food the last thing on his mind.

“Are we just going to see him tonight?” Spayar asked, picking at the steamed fish seasoned with more lemon than Spayar knew was possible.

“Yes. We aren't staying long,” Von said. “Teldin has the cooperation of the White Foot so there is nothing north or west of use to me.”

“The Norths,” Spayar said.

“I think they've had their share of war for a few more generations,” was all Von said. Spayar didn't disagree. “I want to get in and out of here.”

Soayar finally ate some of the fish. It was good, very sharp, which he wasn't expecting. “This isn't about the Wyrm Lord is it?”

“It is.”

“You just want bully him into giving your Diylan,” Spayar said, seeing through him.

“Okay maaaybe I am,” Von said with a slight grin. “But he has no alligence to my family other than that my mother is Asuras. There's no Conflicy yet so he hasn't picked a side.”

“That you know of.”

“Well are you not sharing information, Spayar?” Von gave him an annoyed look.

“No. I haven't heard anything either.”

“Exactly. Which is why I'm here now before my siblings show up. Once they learn I have the Rosalia they will try for the Drake just because the Drake hate them and want to fight them.”

“Which is stupid,” Spayar said blandly.

“Yes,” Von agreed. “Now are you done? You know how Diylan is. The sooner we see him the better we'll find him in his room.”

Spayar ate four more bites, which was about as much as he could stomach. “Okay, let's go.” He made sure to take off his coat before following Von.

The Wyrd was an old, mostly dormant, volcano. Most of the mountain was in some way hollow and the central cone was a great shaft that ran up through the entire mountain to the sky. When they left the tunnel it was just barely still light out and Spayar glanced up, the circle of sky was starting to turn indigo as night approached. At the bottom of the cone was a large grounds filled with hot sand, warmed from underground to help keep the Wyrd warm even at this altitude. A ring had been cut around the bottom of the cone for foot traffic and two long, spiraling, staircases ran up the entire length of the cone in opposite directions with damaged landings at regular intervals. Down on the first floor the walls were covered in mosaics of orange groves and the sky, the ground paved in circular designs. Spayar had to admit, though there were no real buildings in the Wyrd the place was still beautiful and covered in the wealth of the Drake.

"So, Diylan?" Von asked as they stood for a moment under the cut overhang of the central cone, both trying not to gape at the magnitude of the Wyrd and failing a bit. "Which staircase is he again?"

"The red one I believe," Spayar said. The staircases had the front facing side of each step painted red or blue and where they overlapped was purple. "Two curves up?"

"Why don't you just stop acting like you don't know exactly where he is?" Von grumbled, Spayar grinned, "You're completely insufferable."

"Come along my princeling," Spayar chuckled and started for the red stairs. At each landing there were huge grooves cut into the rock and Spayar knew they weren't there for decorative purposes. Climbing stairs sucked even for Von, who lived five floors up, so it was just much easier to get your wyrm to fly up to your landing, grab on, and climb off, than to have to walk up the stairs to your landing.

They were both out of breath and Spayar's legs were sore when they reached the proper landing. No matter how in shape you were stairs were still rough, especially with how many they'd just climbed. "Show off," Von grumbled as across from them on the blue staircase a wyrm landed on the wall, great claws digging into the wall, and their rider sliding off and onto the landing without incident. They then opened a portal and the wyrm crawled in and was gone.

Spayar chuckled, "C'mon, we're almost there," and he went into the tunnel on the landing. Here the lights were magical in nature, growing brighter as people neared them. They walked down the hallway, along the curve of the mountain, to a door. Spayar knocked. No answer. Spayar knocked again, louder this time. Von gave him a look and Spayar traced a new weave into the door to check to make sure he was at least in there were magic, just giving a brief courtesy inspection of the room and yes, Diylan was indeed in there.

"Well?" Von asked.

"He's in," Spayar banged his fist on the door. "Diylan, open up, I know you're in there," he yelled.

There was a moment and then the door opened. "Who the hell is- oh... you two," Diylan wasn't wearing a shirt and barely wearing any pants, which were holding onto his hips for dear life.

"Did we interrupt?" Von asked though with the air of someone who really didn't care.

Diylan gave Von a look, "Yes actually, you are," he said irritably. "But the royal family doesn't care if they bother the common people do they?" Diylan was the only one of their friends who gave Von the same amount of shit Spayar did. Diylan wasn't afraid of Von like most of their friends were, even if they didn't realize they were.

"Nope," Von said, "We require you now and they can wait."

Diylan gave Von a look, "You know when people normally tell me that sort of stuff they're usually promising me more than a hard time. Unless you're up for that," and Von rolled his eyes even as the tips of his peaked ears turned pink. "Didn't think so," Diylan looked at Spayar, "What about you junior?" he asked.

"I'm far too good for you Diylan," Spayar said. Not that Diylan wasn't nice to look at without a shirt on. Diylan was hot, tall and huge with pale white skin, green eyes with gray scleras, short, messy copper hair with a silver streak along one side and more freckles than you could count. Too bad he was a bit of a man whore and even for Spayar that was too much.

Diylan leaned against his door frame, Von now completely forgotten. "That so?" he asked, his green eyes gleamed with challenge. "And who's to say that, hmm? Too good to lower yourself to some flighter?"

"More I don't like easy men," Spayar said.

Diylan smirked, "I can be hard for you Spayar-

"You two," Von interrupted, mortified as he realized what his friends were doing. "Can you not?"

"Awww? What's wrong Gard? Don't like me encroaching on your territory?" Diylan asked.

Von actually flushed a little, "I don't need to watch you two flirt," he said irritably. Spayar rolled his eyes a little.

"Ah... seems your lord doesn't like the idea of you having any fun, junior," Diylan said.

"Oh lay off Diylan. He's only sixteen and still a boy.” He and Diylan laughed. "Okay that's enough fun at our prince's expense," Spayar said.

"Yeah yeah, come in, I'll get dressed," Diylan moved out of the way and they went in, Von trying to control himself better but it was nice for Spayar to see Von actually get flustered. It also made him glad Von seemed so against Spayar getting with Diylan. There was a small sitting room in the front and half a wall between it and the bedroom. "Get up love, got more pressing things to attend."

"What? But we were-

"I'm quite aware what we were," Diylan interrupted her, "But I have important guests. So get dressed a see yourself out," and Diylan was pulling on clothes. Spayar and Von sat while he was talking.

A minute later a woman came out from behind the half wall, dressed, and glared at the both of them. She wasn't really pretty but had huge breasts. Diylan was way too predictable. She left the room in a huff, slamming the door after her. "You sure know how to pick 'em Diylan," Spayar called.

"She's not my wife, so why should I care?" he called back and Spayar heard leather moving against itself.

"She could have been," Von said, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair.

Diylan came out from his bedroom, "Please. I might be easy but I know how to keep myself sonless if at all possible."

Von looked him up and down, "Quite a thing that. A flighter who doesn't want a son. You sure you're a Drake?" he asked.

"Children are horrendous little monsters. I'll gladly save myself the trouble of ever having one," Diylan made a face and finished buckling his thigh length flak jacket before falling into the remaining chair gracelessly. "So, what do you two want? You didn't come all the way from Assarus for a personal call. If you had I would have gotten a letter demanding I come to the capital," and Von smiled a little. At the very least Von didn't make friends with idiots, say what you wanted about their habits in bed.

"One is I need to speak to the Wyrm Lord-

"Good luck with that."

"It's important."

"Yeah, what about?" Diylan said and picked at his nails. "Jollen doesn't make idle chatter with princelings."

Von scowled at him, "A Conflict is coming. I am trying to get ahead of it," Von said.

Diylan stopped picking his nails and turned to Von. He put his elbows on his knees, face serious. "Come again, Gard?" Diylan said.

"I know you're not a fool, Diylan. I'm sure you've heard an inkling of a Conflict," Von said, "Teldin and Tallalsala and Dellin are also making preparations. Forces are being mustered. If I wasn't here one of them would be. Unless they have been?"

"No," Diylan said, "None of your siblings have come to the Wyrd."

"Good. Then I need to speak with Jollen."

"About what?"

"A mutually benefitting alliance for us," Von said.

Diylan leaned back in his chair, looking huge and menacing with his flak jacket and steely grey eyes save for the circles of pale green. Diylan was not a skilled fighter, instead his skills were in desk work, which he gladly did. Diylan was one of the apprentices of the Overseer and a potential successor. A man who obeyed only the Wyrm Lord they knew everything about everything in the Wyrd. As a junior overseer that meant Diylan knew more about everything than a normal flighter. "What did you plan?"

"I'll discuss that with Jollen-

"You will tell me," Diylan said. "The Wyrm Lord only meets with people who have been cleared by the overseers. Prince or not you are still a man."

Von scowled, "I want his assistance in my coup. For his cooperation I'm prepared to make all sorts of promises for when I'm Asuras."

Diylan looked at Von, then Spayar. "You know about this?" he asked Spayar. Spayar nodded. "Who else is on your side?"

"Galinsum, the Shade, praetor X'vazior and his army, as well as a smattering of lower lords."

Diylan appraised Spayar, "That's all?"

"So far," Spayar didn't mention the Rosalia. No need to start an argument.

"You're lying about someone," Diylan said, narrowing his eyes a bit, "You're a good liar Spayar I'll give you that but I'm supposed to tell the good liars from the bad ones. Who else have you gotten?"

Spayar thought quickly, who the hell could he say instead of the Rosalia? If the Drake knew Von was already friends with Helida not only would they not agree to joining with them but they might also get thrown out. "Lord Addling," Von said, and Spayar didn't look at him until Diylan did.

"Why would you omit Lord Addling?" Diylan asked.

"It's not official," Von said. "He has agreed to nothing, so we aren't counting his number, but we want him."

Diylan looked contemplative, steepling his fingers, and looked at Spayar again, Spayar made his face unreadable. "I'll get you a meeting with Jollen," he said.

"Thank you," Von said.

"Don't thank me yet. Jollen likes your mother. He might not take kindly to your proposition."

"How's your crop this year?" Von asked.

Diylan blinked slowly and looked suspicious, "Why do you want to know?"

"You know my mother isn't going to help you," Von said. "Trade is still regulated to the normal limits on importation across our borders. Your oranges looked lackluster this year. I've heard from other cities that their harvests are so bad they'll have to ration it this winter if they want get food imported in the quantity they need. My mother needs to die, the sooner, the better, for the entire Alliance. If I don't do it my siblings will. We won't let our people starve because of our mother."

Diylan gave him a look, "... You have a point," he conceded. "Was that all you came to the Wyrd for?" he asked.

"Haven't seen you in a year or so," Spayar put in.

"Well, two years on you," Diylan said to Spayar.

"I was serving time."

"And you didn't even write. How rude," and Spayar laughed.

"I wasn't going to waste ink on you," Spayar said.

"That hurts junior."

"Hurts what? That icy thing in your chest you call a heart?"

"I'll have you know my heart is the only thing that is icy," Diylan gave him a look.

"Ahg! Stooop," Von cried and covered his eyes. "Anceion's gaze above, please stop flirting," he said miserably.

Spayar and Diylan laughed, "I think your little princeling needs a taste of what its like," Diylan said.

"What? What what's like?" Von demanded.

"He's really rather stupid sometimes isn't he?" Diylan asked Spayar.

"He’s still got his virtue what do you expect?” he teased Von a bit.

“Spayar!” Von cried, a flush high in his cheeks.

"What?" Spayar asked him, grinning, sometimes it was too much fun to have a laugh at Von's expense, especially with Diylan around. It was, effectively, like having two of them around and while sometimes Diylan annoyed the hell out of Spayar they were very alike and both of them knew how to poke Von without actually pissing him off. Von frowned deeply at him.

"And what I meant was," Diylan continued, having the decency to at least not laugh, "that Spayar has to suffer through all your flirting, I don't see why you can't suffer through his," Spayar gave Diylan a dark look for that. Spayar wasn't sure if most people were just stupid or obvious but of their friends Diylan was one of the only ones who really noticed Spayar had a thing for their prince. It would be just less painful for everyone if Von didn't know though since he'd make it weird and awkward. "Unless, you know," Diylan quirked his head at Von, "you're some sort of homophobe."

Spayar barely reacted fast enough to grab Von's arm when he lurched out of his seat. Diylan jerked back, pressing into the back of chair when Von stood up and looked ready to strike him across the face. "I can take a lot Diylan," Von said, voice hard "But don't ever insult me like that again," and he tugged his arm out of Spayar's grip. "Now go get me that meeting with Jollen," he ordered. Diylan swallowed a little, looked over at Spayar and then got out of his seat. He'd never seen Diylan slink in his life, but Diylan positively slithered out of the room, just to get away from Von.

"Von-

"Can you believe him?" Von cried once Diylan was gone and turned to Spayar. "Accuse me of being that. You're my best friend," his voice quieted quickly after his initial outburst. Spayar just looked up at him, honestly he didn't know what to think himself. Diylan had been pretty out of hand there. "And I don't care who the hell you, or anyone takes to their bed. But by the gods there is nothing worse than watching Diylan flirt because he's a slimy creep when he does it."

Spayar grinned a little, "I'll agree with you on that," he said.

“That's the part I forgot with him,” he sighed. “He's better not doing that.” Von looked contemplative for a moment, "You-" he paused, hesitant. "Would you? With him?" he asked awkwardly.

"Uh..." Spayar said, "No, he's not really my type.”

Von deflated a little, "Okay," and he sat down abruptly.

"You alright Von?" Spayar asked him.

Von looked at him, "I just... don't think you should sell yourself short. You're too good for him."

Spayar laughed a little, "Von, the last thing you need to be worried about is my love life-

"Well I do! Sometimes," he hunched a little, "I just want you to find someone who makes you happy," and Spayar was so stunned he couldn't speak. "You don't really... like anyone and sometimes I get concerned."

"Neither do you," he pointed out.

"I'm a prince," Von said, "and... too young right now to think about that," he swallowed. "No one wants to be with a prince.” Everyone attached to princes or princess were usually cast aside after the coups, the ones who didn't die fighting for their prince or princess usually never dealt with politics again, or went near the capitals. It was better, because they would never bend to another Asuras . Some of them went to a temple of Lemp in their grief and shame to be brought to the Shadow Lands. "You could still be something without me," Von said.

"No," Spayar said, "I couldn't. Because if you go to the Shadowed Lands I'd be in front of you. Because to get to you, they'd have to get through me first," Spayar said in a hard tone. He wasn't fooling around. Whoever wanted to kill Von would have to kill him first, because he wouldn't let any harm come to him so long as he drew breath.

Von sighed, "Thanks," he said quietly, not smiling but looking at Spayar gratefully.

—

When the Wyrm Lord agreed to see them Spayar was cautious. Of course he was. It was no secret that Jollen liked Virilia, and at least thought her competent, or perhaps more he thought her benefitting. He was waiting for them in his office but didn't stand when Von entered. He had one of the few views in the entire Wyrd with his office having an open air window to the volcano cone.

"Your highness," Jollen said when Von stood before his desk. There were no chairs, everyone who came here was expected to stand.

"Wyrm Lord, I trust your fairing well-

"I didn't agree to a meeting of pleasantries, boy," Jollen said harshly. "I am a busy man with a busy house and many things to do. Get to what you want and then you may be on your way."

Von swallowed, he hadn't been expecting Jollen to be so harsh. The man was like a wolf, his hair a shimmering silver with black shot through it and his eyes ice blue inside black scleras. Every feature on him was sharp and lean and he didn't have a scrap of fat on him. Sitting down he didn't look too big but like most flighters Jollen not only reached six foot, he exceeded it by far. "I'm sure you can hazard a guess why I'm here," Von said.

"The same reason Dellin wanted to speak with me."

"Dellin's here?"

"No. But he tried to speak with me regardless. Then he insulted me and made me very upset."

What was with the Le'Acard children and pissing off noble houses lately? Spayar didn't understand. They should know better, but it seemed like all they were doing was misstepping. He hoped Von didn't misstep. Spayar also wasn't sure Jollen wasn't lying. Diylan said no other princes had come through here. Unless it was earlier. Or maybe Diylan didn't know. "I'm not my brother," Von said.

"Well I certainly hope so," Jollen said, leaning back in his chair and folding his fingers together.

"Do you like my mother, Jollen?"

"She has her uses," Jollen said.

"And what are those?"

Jollen smiled a small, wolf, smile, "That would be between me and the Asuras, your highness."

"I want your help Jollen," Von said, "You're not stupid, I would never accuse you of that. You know why I'm here and what I want from you."

"The Drake are not interested," Jollen said.

"I can offer you things Jollen," Von said.

"And what when you die, little princeling?" he asked. "I was a boy when your mother took the throne and I saw what siding with the wrong side did to my father, to my house. My father sided with her brother-

"Who should have been Asuras and you know it," Von said.

"Of course he should have,” it came out as a snarl. “Only the weak take the leftovers. But your mother is Asuras now. I like your mother, because she is weak. The Drake offer nothing in these schemes. We want, nothing."

Von bit his lips, he sucked his teeth a moment in thought and then said, "Not even be on the same field as the Rosalia?" he asked.

"What do those bitches in the west have anything to do with it?" Jollen growled.

"Helida is on my side," Von said. "She doesn't back the weak either. When I win she'll have played a valuable role in helping me claim my throne. Do you want to be cut out by them?" he asked.

Jollen's eyes narrowed, "Tell that slut of Lemp to go to do us all a favor and kill herself,” Jollen said.

"I'll be sure to. And maybe when she retaliates against such slander I'll just... look the other way," he turned his head a bit like he was thoughtlessly averting his eyes.

"Are you threatening me, boy?" Jollen asked.

"Of course not, Jollen," Von said. "But when I am Asuras it will be Helida with me. I've never known a Drake to let a necromancer get one up on them," he said and Spayar didn't look at Von, though he wanted to. Von was out of his mind right now. He'd just threatened Jollen, one of the most powerful men in the Alliance. And he was baiting the man. Not even Densinn’s influence would have made Spayar say something so wreckless. Right? He was starting to regret asking Densinn to pay attention to him. Jollen wouldn't hurt Von but Spayar was a commoner despite his position as d'aelar and easy pickings for a Governor. "You've been rough on the Rosalia since my mother decided she liked you better than them. I doubt Helida has forgotten, or that she'll be kind in her retaliation."

"You'd threaten me with civil war?" Jollen said.

"Unlike you, Jollen, my accenion is not given to me in the Book of Bloods. I don't plan on dying," Von said cooly, "I am not my siblings. I am Vondugard Le'Acard and let me tell you; I live up to my name," now Jollen swallowed. The hero of old, Vondugard, had been Archon and personally led every battle of the Asuras that had claimed most of the eastern provinces. He'd been relentless, ferocious and showed no mercy to his enemies. Most eastern provinces, like Dodorum where the Wyrd resided, had many tales of Vondugard both good and had. "You are either with me, Jollen, or you are against me. Which is it so I know if I need to keep wasting my time in this tiny province out in the middle of nowhere. If so, when I'm Asuras you can stay here and rot for all I care. So what is it Jollen?"

Jollen stared angrily at Von, "If I join you I want assurances," Jollen said.

"Name them."

"We'll think about them," Jollen said. "When the time comes you'll have your answer. In the meantime I want you out of my Wyrd."

"Fine. I want one of your flighters to accompany me home," Von said, Jollen's eyes narrowed.

"Fine I'll assign-

"I want Diylan Rastin," Von said, "a junior overseer, you won't miss him."

Jollen's mouth went thin. "Fine," he said through grit teeth. "He will be ordered to stay out of the affairs of the Le'Acard," though Spayar knew Jollen saw what Von was giving him. With Diylan with them he'd have a constant eye and ear on Von to report his doings, and Von would gain a protection of a flighter. Diylan wasn't a good fighter, but most people didn't know that, all they'd see was a flighter, a warrior mounted on wyrm-back, standing at Von's back. "Take him and get out of my Wyrd."

"We'll be in touch Jollen, I'm sure," Von bowed a little to him. Spayar was caught off guard enough do that as well. Then Von turned on his heel and walked out. Spayar took one last glance at Jollen and then followed after his prince.

"Have you lost your mind?" Spayar hissed once they were outside Jollen's office and headed for the offices of the Overseer.

"I got what I wanted," Von said dismissively. "I don't care if Jollen does or doesn't back me," Spayar grabbed Von's arm.

"Excuse me?" he asked, turning Von to him. He lowered his voice, "You don't care?"

"I wanted Diylan, that was all. And I wanted Jollen to know that he'd better start picking sides. The Drake can't afford to be bipartisan," Von said quietly.

"And you thought the best way to do that would be to piss him off?" Spayar rubbed his forehead.

"He told me everything I needed to know, and got me Diylan. Everything went exactly as planned," Von said, pleased with himself and started to walk towards the Overseer office.

"Yeah, plan you didn't tell me," Spayar said, watching him go but didn't follow.

Von stopped and turned back to Spayar, "I don't tell you everything Spayar. Just like you don't tell me everything."

"Not about this," Spayar hissed. "This is our lives. You tell me everything." Von was being unreasonable and just now he'd used Spayar as nothing more than a show of force. Jollen knew Spayar was d'aelar and despite saying nothing that entire time him just standing behind Von said enough. Spayar had never felt so used. Von was his friend but in that moment all he felt like was a prince’s primary vassal. He didn't like it at all.

Von looked at Spayar, "I do what I have to." Spayar glared after Von as he continued towards the Overseers offices. "Come along Spayar, we need to tell Diylan the good news." The words from his mouth didn't even sound like his friend. Either he was just barely keeping it together or instead of Spayar Densinn had indeed decided the best way to pay attention to Spayar was through Von. Neither option was pleasant and it didn't make him feel better either.

Spayar grit his teeth and followed after Von because he was too good a friend to keep this up. And what else could he do? Nothing. "And what's that?"

"That he gets to go to Assarus, and," he added this with a devious look, "he gets to go to my sister's naming day," he grinned a little. "If we're lucky he'll get into her bed and give her some vinerial disease-

"Von please, have some class," Spayar sighed. "She's more likely to give him one," and Von had to cover his mouth so he didn't laugh too loudly.

#Writeblr #Writblr #Original writing #Original fantasy #Fantasy #Zs

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dancekickboxcardio · 5 years

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Wow 😯, looking at the pictures 📸, the day was eventful for me even if the gym 🏃🏼‍♀️ 💪🏾 was quiet 🤫 because it was a Sunday and it is Labor Day weekend. I was suppose to travel 🗺🛣 to New York like now. Instead, this is what’s December is going to look 👀 like.

I am a little excited 😆. I don’t know 🤷🏼‍♀️ where we’ll stay. My Mom said finances 🔣🔢 are tight Apple Watch ⌚️ Series 5. I wonder if I should spend my allowance shopping 🛍 in the outlet. Oh, my Dad is driving 🚘. It’s going to be nice to hang out it the city. I live and breath for the hustle and bustle and the excitement. I wonder what stuff we could do. I shall drag them to the Serendipity café. I love 💕 coffee ☕️ shop even if you just do there is sip your cappuccino, sit down and talk. Au bon pain is like the busy commercial one.

I am actually up but I am not spending my morning in the gym 🏃🏼‍♀️ 💪🏾. I am not sore, I am weak. My legs 🦵🏾 are. I really have to know what’s the right way to exhausting yourself. I suppose you build up your strength. I was tossing and turning trying to get back to bed 🛏 after my alarm ⏰🔊 rang. All I could think 💭 of is, “Cookies 🍪.” As I was enjoying 😊 it Kanika is at the back of my mind, “Avoid sugar.” I thought I should live a little. I took great pride in being in Under Armours yesterday, Monday. Apparently for my BFF I should let go of them. I was just thinking 🤔 to myself in the treadmill run 🏃🏼‍♀️, “I like this. I feel good about my athleticism 🎽.” Yeah, I have a wonderful inner underpinning 📍💠. Before I was going back to bed 🛏 I was looking at pants 👖 . “I am never not thinking of you 🙂.” 🤦🏼‍♀️

I ended up being bubbly leaving the gym yesterday. You showered 🧼 . Partly, I feel that I recognized my lack of. The rest after lunch 🍴 was helpful too. Perhaps I changed my outlook. You know how you could get caught up on things. Of course, life is not a vacuum. But I really felt good talking to some friends and hearing what’s happening with them. Mostly, I loosey goosey and allowed myself to see humor like lighten up. Viewing these selfies 🤳🏾 from Sunday, I identified what I felt like. Yes, I made it to the health club afternoon. On second inquiry, my Dad said he could drop me off while he gets a haircut 💇🏻‍♂️ and exercises himself. I am not sure 🤔 why he wouldn’t just go with me. He loves 💗 his own little rickety stuff. I suppose he finds meaning and courage in it. They were the same stuff he has been using four months after a huge cancer surgery. He encourages us to be physically active because he believes his continued survival in every aspect after his lifechanging illnes was because of it.

I always looked 👀 well, not all the time mellowed after a good long work out. Perhaps, it’s the sauna 🧖🏼‍♀️ 😆. I see a little worry. Although my bleeding eyeliner makes me look a little sad 😞. Was I tired 😴? I don’t remember but I spend time simmering down after the work out. I think 🤔 I was worried about my time. I am also spent. I had to make sure I kept some energy to get on with where I want to be. I actually waited for my Dad an hour. I happily tweeted away. Twitter is very helpful to me. I decided to follow people that mean something and interest me. I also want to see what’s happening in their area of expertise. I want to be like my programming language sifting through data 📊📈📉 only I am doing the processing. It might seem futile but not to a graduate 👩🏼‍🎓 student . In fact, if I say seeming outlandish things which many don’t consider it like that even on overt sabotaging opinions, these are statements based on what I have read through. I like forming my ideas 💡. I was thinking to myself how my mind 🧠 has lost it’s creativity 💡. There are no perplexed 😕 insightful stuff worth further exploring. Actually yesterday, there were. I just never bothered to save 📌 on notes 📝. Perhaps, I should give a damn.

I seem more confident and sure of everything after sitting down doing nothing but look at what others have to say in an online platform. Perhaps part of what made me feel good is talking to an old guy. He was looking to changing the channel to the news 📰. After sitting next to him for like maybe an hour, when I was to leave I asked if he got the remote. He said he went to his phone 📱 for news. Then there I was pouring my heart ♥️ out on how I read my daily dose of current events taking care of a client undergoing treatment chemo for blood cellular abnormality. He asked if I am still doing it👩🏼‍⚕️. I said I am a computer 💻 student now. But I saw myself as I am and not how others wanted me to look like even if they know in their heart ❤️ of hearts 🖤 or perhaps to really delude themselves that I am this tiny minuscule person. I like being small. It builds character.

I didn’t eat 🍴 three meals. When was the last time I ate breakfast 🥞. Actually, yesterday which is a day after this. Perhaps that is what’s driving my slow loses. I checked myself out in the studio mirror I am healthy even if my weight is a lot. How about muscles 💪🏾? In that regard, I asked myself if it is right that I keep my goals on none arbitrary measurements. Meaning, I am heavy because I have mass. But is it fair when it’s not just because of entirely fat? I am aware I still need to work on my upper arms and upper thighs. Yeah, my abs or lack or it is fine. I am willing to be imperfect. But I want to look muscular strong. It’s not boyish. It says I am just as beautiful tough as any man. It’s actually a little intimidating don’t you think even if a weak languid girl is easy to a man’s eyes 👁. But what does a guy see in a lady? Vie, cut your full of philosophy 🏛. They are chuckling.

What I want to say is perhaps I have this rigid way of how I want to do things because I am exacting by nature 🐦 🌳 and I proceed with scientific 🧪 approach. I have said it before and let me say it again even if it is negotiable depending on how bad it needs to be done ✅, we don’t live in a vacuum. Life happens 😀. No I am not saying go home 🏡 with every guy you think hot 🍹, take illegal substance, spend all your money 💵 which I do, have no sense of responsibility, and other risky behaviors, what I am saying and this is esp to all those individuals who have no breathing room in their lives and perhaps that’s how they want it or that’s how they move with life, you allow yourself to be and adapt accordingly. Live. That’s loaded coming from me because I am obstinate as the obelisk of Egypt 🇪🇬 🤦🏼‍♀️. But no, really, if there are more than a month’s 📅 worth of cookies 🍮 and you are losing adipose tissues albeit slowly, you ask yourself does it need to happen within a year. What will you do the next? Oh, I know what I want to do.

No, but seriously. I am of the view that the earlier it’s done ✅ the better. I am at a little haste at whittling not to look 👀 good but to be of super health. I know that things take time and I am moving in glacial speeds really. 🗻 I already saw that building my ideal body is going to take time. But yeah, strength 👏🏾. I would like to enjoy 😊, work on me, and develop areas in life that I would otherwise not pay attention to specially if people think this is how it should be not this is how I want it to be. The power 💥 is really in you. It doesn’t scream attention. It’s that quiet voice that says, “good job.” Oh, I am easing myself to Surrender 🧘🏼‍♀️. I hold child’s pose for two minutes. I also check if I could do twists. I saw Stephanie, hello 👋🏾. She looked 👀 cute in her outfit. I told her why I wasn’t attending class. She was teaching again the afternoon. I feel that the class really helps in recovery. Yoga 🧘🏼‍♀️ makes your body lit 🔥—nimble. Like I am ready to go today. I am mentally alert and mentally there. Yes apart from resilience, mindfulness and approaches, there is such a thing as mental toughness and for me it’s a lot of setting yourself up there. What I am trying to say is that I am attuned to my bod. Sometimes I may feel like it’s a defeat. When you are physically exhausted 😩 and you have had it with all the drama, my antidote is to keep on showing up. However you have to keep up with those little changes. You have to recognize, problem solve and do something about it. You have to move past it. Well, I am running on it ready today. But treadmills on long hours maybe taking a toll on my joints. Yes, you get stronger. Know how to rest. What’s the point? I don’t get it? Be smart about it. See the big picture, pay attention, allow some flexibility on the process.

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3one3 · 7 years

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The Sequel - 789

Chelsea, England

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea players, and random awesome OC’s

(okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“You know what’s funny? Schü and I went on our first date at the restaurant here, if you don’t count the lunches and dinners we had in Florida when I was 100% positive he was 100% not interested in having sex with me.”

“What, you thought he was interested in having riding lessons with you?”

“No. I don’t know. I just thought he was bored or something.”

“Remarkable.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m getting another drink.”

“Ohmetoo! Same again, please, thank you.”

Juan deliberately bumped into Christina’s arm so her elbow would fall off the table when he got up to go to the bar. Their watering hole of choice for a rainy Monday night was the basement for a trendy Shoreditch boutique hotel. She wanted to see Juan because two weeks of horse showing and visiting André meant two weeks without any friend-dates, and he wanted to go out. Christina rode the horses that weren’t in Zurich with her over the weekend and then took Lukas shopping in the city. Mostly they were out for food. She wanted to visit her favorite market to get some really good meat and produce to cook with while she was home for a few days. Prolonged exposure to hotel food often did that to her. The little boy “helped” her make blueberry and oats muffins. He thought chia seeds were magic. Stirring them in water and watching it turn to gel was so much fun for him. Using magical ingredients in place of others to make her baked goods more healthy was so much fun for his mom. So was experimenting with cocktails in a rather plainly decorated but colorfully lit bar and music venue. Her drink of choice was made from Aperol, Bombay Sapphire, Campari, grapefruit juice, and ginger ale. Juan placed her second one down beside her cheese plate. She forgot to schedule dinner between baking and getting dressed to go out.

“What are you having?” she asked him curiously when the next glass to touch down on the table was not the same as the stemware his first drink was served in.

“Johnnie Walker.”

“Ew.”

“Do you want to stay for whatever the musical act is or do you have a curfew?” the footballer inquired from the relaxed posture immediately resumed upon returning to his seat. Juan was in a pretty good mood. A slight blip at White Hart Lane was wiped away with a win at home against Hull after almost every team in the large chasing pack managed to stumble and distance themselves even further from Chelsea’s heels. They also recovered from some Diego Costa drama. Everything was great. The Spaniard also just took on another marketing project- his father’s restaurant. Perhaps most obviously in terms of reasons for him to be relaxed, was his happiness at Christina being back in town and available to hang out.

“I don’t really care,” she told him with grilled sourdough in one hand and her cocktail in the other. “Espen is staying over to do Lukas in the morning because I have a shoot, so it doesn’t matter when I get home.” The bar under the Ace Hotel was known for its 7-days-a-week live entertainment and late nights. Some nights it was more like a packed club. On Monday at a little after 9 it was just a bar with some people really pushing the limits of “after work drinks”, and a few little conclaves whose lives evidently afforded them the freedom to go out for boozing and lounging on weeknights. If there was a crowd coming specifically to see whomever the scheduled artists were, they weren’t there yet.

“Who or what are you shooting for?”

“A German horse magazine. I did the interview in Leipzig so they’re just coming to do the pictures, which evidently necessitates having some people from adidas come dress me.” Three-to-one he’s saying something like “In that case, you should sleep over and let me UNdress you” in his head, the brunette in leather leggings surmised. She rubbed a square paper napkin between her fingers to get rid of crumbs, and then flipped her hair over its part, removing it from her face.

“What was the last legitimately interesting interview question you were asked? I get the same ones over and over for years.”

“I don’t know.” Her nose wrinkled a little on its own volition, and she paused with her drink on its way to her mouth. “I kind of don’t pay attention anymore. I don’t even think about the answers, let alone the questions. I haven’t given a consciously honest interview in...more than a year, probably. I used to care. I used to always try to be brutally honest. I’m tired of the same questions over and over, as you say, and I think I was tired of having to share so much of myself. I used to like being really transparent. It was important to me. It was also emotionally exhausting. People used to find it novel and fun and refreshing and then after a while they just tried to use it against me all the time, so F that. If you’re going to twist everything I say and make drama, I’m not going to give real answers anymore.”

“I have a very serious and important question for you, cariña.” Juan’s lips stayed flat and un-emotive, but his eyes sparkled with his typical kind of guile. Christina raised a brow to invite him to make his inquiry. “When are you making me fried chicken?”

“Wednesday!” She sat back in her boxy wood chair and smiled like the cat who got the canary, even as she licked spicy cranberry jam off her thumb. “I got a bunch of fresh chicken today. I’ll make the buttermilk up for it tomorrow so it can soak overnight. You can make yourself free for Wednesday dinner, yes?” It was novel to have the ability and opportunity to surprise the player.

“For the fried chicken, yes, absolutely.”

“Good. I’m going to invite Nat and the kids too, and Eden I guess. Otherwise I have too much leftover chicken and not enough days to eat it.”

“Why are you so giggly?” The Chelsea man was skeptical about his ex-girlfriend’s persistent, gaping smile. The giggles were in her eyes too, and even in her skin. She was a little red from her off-the-shoulder sweater all the way up to her cheeks. “You look like you’re keeping a secret. Are you going to use some weird, healthy, disgusting ingredient to bread the chicken and be like “Surprise! It tastes as good but it’s really...seaweed flour”?” She used her newly re-cleaned fingers to shake her hair back where it belonged, and pinched some of the length between her index and pointer fingers to gesture with it at her friend.

“You are as paranoid about food as Schü. I made chunky mashed potatoes while I was in Dortmund and trying to save Stef and Mario’s relationship with an intimate dinner for four, and he was like smell testing the bowl because he was sure I snuck cauliflower in with the potatoes.” Christina used her little cheese knife to get some soft Brie for her next piece of bread, but she hardly broke eye contact to do it, and her smirk remained.

“Seriously. You’ve been borderline giddy all evening, with the exception of talking about interview questions.” The player’s head tilted to his right, like a dog might do when he’s asked a question or wishes to ask one of his human. “Do you have some secret you’re keeping?” She thought absently that he might have assumed she was concealing some seduction plot for later on. That wasn’t the case. She did make her underwear choices with the possibility of that sort of thing in mind, but it wasn’t made up yet as to whether or not she wanted to get into that.

A curious thing happened on her visit to Dortmund. It became apparent that sleeping with someone else a couple of times made sleeping with her husband again way better than usual. There was no telling why, or what was even different about it. It just felt good, physically and emotionally. The parts that were supposed to be special felt special, and the parts that were supposed to make her melt into a warm soup of satisfaction did that too, on a level higher than the equivalent experiences just a week or so earlier. André enjoyed it too. He had that inevitable sense of relief that his girl didn’t seem in any way tainted, or spoiled. Her visit was much too short for his liking but much better than he expected, in part because they stayed in bed for a lot of it. Still, Christina was wary of the concept of rushing to Juan’s bed the minute she had the free time and opportunity. And that definitely wasn’t what had her smiling out of her pores.

“What did you do yesterday again?” she asked back of her friend, with a concerted effort to squeeze her brows discerningly and questioningly- an act to try to suppress the smirking. “Remind me.” The Spaniard was confused.

“I went to Paris with Taylor, to look for a book she wants. And to eat. I told you this.” His burlier brows were pinched too, because he didn’t understand her line of questioning or what it had to do with her cocktail-infused perma-smiles.

“And what didn’t you do, that you otherwise normally would on a Sunday when your BFF is competing?”

“Watch the stream?”

“Nah, more normally than that. I know you don’t always watch,” she laughed.

“I didn’t wish you luck. I was trying to give T my attention all day, and you made it pretty clear last week that you didn’t want to talk about-“

“Relax!” There was persistent, tame laughter in the face of the player’s self defense. “I’m not complaining. I’m not asking what you didn’t do like I’m mad about it. Use your head, Juanin,” Christina challenged. He grew desperate without a clue what she was trying to get him to deduce or conclude. The violent shaking around of the ice in his glass matched the almost perturbed look in his eyes. I’ll put him out of his misery, I suppose. “You didn’t ask me how the qualifier went!”

“Like I said, you made it seem like you didn’t want-“

“I’m not complaining! I’m just trying to tell you that I won! That I’m happy because Dirk was excellent and absolutely perfect and we won the qualifier. Derp.” The rider folded her left leg up to put her platform sneaker flat on her seat, and continued to look devious above the rim of her drink, which she then sipped carefully in hopes that her friend’s face wouldn’t contort in any more comical ways that might make her laugh and thus choke.

“Oh, fantastic. Well why didn’t you just say that from the beginning!” He remained perturbed and appeared even frazzled. This delighted his ex. He looks like someone has done him some injustice, she thought. He’s incredulous but I think it’s actually because he’s upset with himself for not asking me about the horse show. I’m sure he did remember that I said last week not to talk about horse showing because last week was a hellacious nightmare of calamity and it wasn’t even my fault, but I bet he still meant to at least ask how the show went, she worked out in her head while reaching over to shove him in the arm- a teasing gesture. Either way, he is so cute when he’s off his game, or when anything unexpected happens, really.

“I’m trying not to make a big deal out of wins,” she demurred, her own composure regained and her cocktail half gone. “They never used to be a big deal. It was just normal to win. So I’m treating it like a normal thing, in hopes that it actually becomes normal again. Kind of like the US media and Donald Trump. But yes, I am in a good mood, and- Actually, hold up for just a second.” Christina raised one finger and took a deep breath. “I want to amend my previous statement. The winning part isn’t so important, or the normal thing. The performance is. D-Money was uhhmazing. He had wings and turbo boosters and FRIC suspension. But that use-“

“What suspension?”

“FRIC. Front and Rear InterConnected, for F1. Mercedes developed it at the end of the V8 era and Ferrari complained and complained until Charlie decided it was illegal. You know how roll bars link the front right to the front left and the rear right to the rear left? FRIC was a hydraulic system designed to connect front and rear, to work like a roll bar but for pitch, to try to keep ride height stable. I trust I don’t need to explain why that would be advantageous.”

“You’re an insufferable know-it-all at times, cariña. Stop knowing things you have no right to know,” Juan insisted. He also tried somewhat halfheartedly to get the attention of a waitress who was less than halfheartedly committed to doing her job.

“This isn’t even like uber nerd level F1 knowledge. It was discussed on TV. Ted Kravitz probably explained it on his iPad in a phone booth or something.”

“What?”

“Never mind. We should go to a race together this year though.” Christina briefly considered righting her most relaxed posture in the broad chair when the waitress walked up to the table. She felt like she was relaxing on a couch at home, and ordinarily that wasn’t an acceptable state of being for her in a bar, but it was awfully comfortable. She just looked up at the young woman instead, and then over at Juan, since she didn’t know what he summoned her for.

“She needs a piece of cake, or a tart, or something like that.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes you do. She does,” he nodded at the server.

“I have a pecan tart with vanilla mascarpone and blackcurrants, toffee pudding with ginger ice cream, ice cream by itself, roasted pineapple with fresh passion fruit and coconut sorbet, and chocolate and brioche butter pudding with rum raisin ice cream.”

“You want the thing with the chocolate?” The player looked at Christina with large and innocent, almost childlike eyes. He clearly believed some celebration was necessary despite her explicit wish to downplay her World Cup qualifier result, or the performance that earned it, as it were. She had no interest in dessert of any kind but his expression was too cute and genuine to deny. The idea of seeing his face fall- of disappointment moving in- was too terrible. Instead the rider nodded to the waitress and held up two fingers to request two spoons. If he was making her have bread pudding and ice cream, he was going to have to eat some too, and she was sure he’d have no objections. “You’re already having a fizzy drink so I didn’t think champagne was an adequate celebration,” he explained once the girl left with the empty glasses from their first round. Christina stared at the part of the table freed up. There was a minimalist depiction of a constellation there. All the tables had them- white drawings on the dark gray tabletops, giving a hint of the celestial about the place. Each table had a very melty white candle in the middle too.

“No celebration is necessary, but okay.”

“Good.”

“I’m gonna need to go home after dessert though because food coma. I’m already full of cheese.” Christina reached for another block of semi-hard British cheese in defiance of her own decree.

“My home.”

“Oh you think so?” she chuckled.

“I know so.” The Chelsea midfielder nodded just one time and a clever smirk spread across his jaw, doing away with all the confusion, bafflement, and innocence of before. She looked all around their table to assess who might be looking, and hurled a piece of cheese in the direction of his face. It bounced off his cheek and chin and ended up in his lap.

“You’re so cheesy!”

“You’re so happy you’re drunk even though you’re not drunk,” he told her while he ate her harmless artillery. “It’s a little weird. I forgot what it’s like. I only see you this happy when you’re naked and sweating. And that’s a different kind of happy.”

“Shhhhhhhhh!”

Juan assured her no one was or could be listening, and that was probably true. The tables immediately surrounding them were empty. They were populated slowly over the course of their dessert eating and a third and final round of drinks. The volume of people showing up late for the band was a surprise to both of them, and kind of unwelcome. Juan had picked that spot for its relative emptiness and super relaxed atmosphere. Nobody bothered him there. It was almost like the bar had a regular crowd and they didn’t care what new people popped in as long as they didn’t change that chilled out atmosphere. That changed with the hour. Christina also couldn’t bear to sit still for a minute longer, or wear all her clothes, for that matter. She was a little drunk and a lot full and very tired, and for her that necessitated comfortable and/or minimal clothing and lying down.

The duo of intoxicated friends took a cab back to Juan’s. Christina was committed to hanging there for a while regardless of anything he might have had in mind about her being naked and sweating, purely because she drank too much to drive and needed that recovery period for the food too. There was couch spooning, and she found a triple play of episodes of The Tudors, and spent much of the first one explaining her Henry VIII era fetish- her self-proclaimed strange obsession with kings and other royal folk sleeping with anyone they wanted, by charm, coercion, or brute force, the “boobs in the face” costumes no doubt scandalized by Hollywood, and the idea of having sex in Victorian-draped beds. The player told her she just had a rape fetish, which she vehemently denied. Her rebuttal also included a thesis about women actually having all the power over the king of many wives. The fact that half of them ended up dead didn’t sway her. To her, Henry VIII was just a hopeless romantic, not in that he behaved like a particularly romantic gent, but in that he fell in love or lust with pretty much everybody and couldn’t keep it in his pants. The male heir problem didn’t figure into her theory. She liked The Tudors because it included all the soap opera drama with just enough of the authentic violence to elevate it above actual soap operas. Also, she thought Jonathan Rhys Meyers was really sexy as a brooding, womanizing king.

“Hoooooow can you enjoy this show?” Juan whined to her halfway through the second episode. She’d been quiet for a while and thus afforded him the opportunity to actually pay attention to the program, and to playing with her hair. “All that happens is two or three people have a quiet conversation about another person betraying someone, then clergy members threaten people or get threatened, and a young man in poofy sleeves flirts offensively with a blushing girl with her breasts in his face. It just goes on repeat. Same thing over and over.” He spoke quietly and tiredly, and he was losing motivation to remain upright on his elbow behind the rider, his head beginning to tip backward into the rear cushion.

“I don’t see how that can be a bad thing. Those are all dramatic and interesting things. There’s a trial coming! This is the kind of shit that goes down when you marry your brother’s wife and then want to bang somebody younger and hotter and need permission from the Pope. The Queen has such pretty jewels. I think Dolce ripped off the costume designers for this show.” Christina insisted on silence for the tense trial before some representatives of the Pope, and Juan nearly fell asleep. He did abandon holding his head up, and laid it down on double stacked pillows behind her. The episode finished when the trial didn’t really go as planned for Henry and his treasonous confidant.

“What else happened this weekend that I didn’t remember to ask about?” the Spaniard questioned with a sleepy yawn. He was more interested in playing with her fingers in his hand in front of her chest than he was in whatever would happen in the third and final episode. It was past both of their bedtimes.

“Tim got an offer for a book deal. A publisher wants me to do a book about...me, I guess. He said they have some writers in mind to help with it and I could use the time between now and the Olympics to meet with them and pick one, and then we’d do it after the games. I’m not interested.”

“Your career is too young to be in a book.”

“I agree.”

“Why do you think it went better this time, baby girl? Can I ask that?”

“I have no idea. I was by myself but I doubt that matters. Hey, I have a question for you.” Christina shifted from her side to her back to ask her question, because she wanted to see his face when he answered. It wasn’t going to be an easy question, however. It was one she felt slightly uncomfortable asking, but deeply curious about the response. Juan didn’t seem wont to let go of her hand, which he held loosely by a couple of fingers, so she just moved it to her stomach, over his sweatshirt that she borrowed for coziness’ sake. He sat up on his elbow again. “You’ve slept with Taylor since we were last together, right?” He nodded and his right eyebrow kind of twitched, which she read as confusion about why she was asking that specific question, and maybe what her feelings about the answer were. But that wasn’t the answer she was most curious about. It was just part of the set up. “Was it better than usual, or not as good? Or the same?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” she fibbed, averting her eyes from the sleepy blue ones studying her at close range. The ceiling was a fine safe harbor for hers.

“Yes you do.” The Chelsea creator released her fingers to move some hair from her face, in case she was trying to hide under that too. He uncovered her right eye, previously protected by a curtain of pure cacao. She’d parted her root-boosted and very soft, shiny hair far to the left, which meant there was always some hanging in front of her face. Juan’s pointer finger must have liked the way it felt. He continued combing the relocated strands by her temple.

“I’m just wondering.”

“Why are you wondering? “I don’t know”.” A baby smile accompanied his mocking impression.

“Why does it matter? Whatever I say, you’re going to assume I just want reassurance that you like being with me better.”

“Why do you say that? I don’t assume that. I do assume you already know I’d rather be with you. I’ve made that clear to you, cariña, haven’t I?” The faint but authentic little smile morphed into faint consternation. I have bitten off more than I wanted to chew, Christina reflected. It wasn’t that she couldn’t chew her piece. She just didn’t want to have to. She wished she’d gone for something less substantial.

“Can you just answer my question, and maybe I’ll tell you why depending on the answer.”

“It’s not any different.”

“Okay.”

“Now tell me why.”

“No.”

“Is it not good with him anymore?”

He can hardly contain himself, the rider thought when she gave in and peeked to her left- when she made eye contact. There was eagerness looking back at her, and someone on the verge of validation. I didn’t even think of that. He thinks I’m asking because I don’t like sleeping with Schü anymore, and that that means something. Something good for him. Now I have to crush him and tell him it’s the opposite? How do I always get myself into these stupid emotional quandaries? Ever since I got a fox tattooed on my person my cleverness and cunning have steadily waned. Perhaps my baby fox is growing up and he’s stealing my foxy qualities so that he can be a complete, adult fox. Christina reached for the inky fox cub in the top hat on her wrist and inadvertently chewed her lip. The Spaniard gently nudged her toward giving an answer.

“If you spend three minutes before you answer, I know you don’t say the truth, baby girl.”

“It’s better. It’s amazing. I was hoping you’d say the same so that we could talk about it, but now I realize how stupid that is,” she sighed, eyes back on the ceiling and thus with no idea whether her friend’s face registered disappointment or not. “You wanted me to say it’s bad now.”

“It’s not stupid. You can talk to me about anything.”

“I know I can, but that doesn’t mean I should.”

“Beautiful girl,” Juan mumbled, his gaze still very much trained on her, and her impending dismissive reaction. “Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“Don’t try to get me out of my own stupidity with an empty compliment,” Christina mumbled back.

“I wasn’t, and it’s not empty. You are objectively a beautiful girl, and to me, more than that.” He used his thumb to gently push on her temple and encourage her to turn her head towards him a bit. “Stay tonight,” he implored when she finally looked his way.

“Do I look like I’m going anywhere?” The rider let her bent knees tip over against him, and pushed her pout out for a kiss. She got the innocent sort she was after- the kind that punctuates a decision, or seals an agreement. Hollow as her head said his compliments were, her heart disagreed. His face being that close to her and his hand touching her and his voice near enough to vibrate off her instead of just resonate in her ears could give her heart veto power over her head- could let irrationality and romanticism overrule skepticism and reluctance. Christina lived her life through a filter of skepticism and reluctance. They were like guiding principles. They came naturally to her, by instinct. She was dubious about everything and the reluctance came as a consequence of her never wanting to be wrong, and never wanting to disappoint anyone. Everyone in her life that she loved dearly, be it as a partner, a lover, or friend, and including the horses she was closest to, was able to lure her out of skepticism and reluctance and allow her to indulge the irrational and revel in the romantic. To have a close and endeared relationship with Christina required being able to give her a holiday from her own personality. That was why her relationship with herself was often so rocky. Juan made her want to believe in his compliments.

“Ready for bed?”

“Only if you’re gonna carry me there. I’m too tired to move. My body is already sleeping,” she smiled. It would take more than telling her she was beautiful and giving her a smooch to turn off the sarcasm-dependent part of her personality, which relied on humor to save her from overly intense moments.

“You want me to wake it up?” The footballer withdrew his delicate touch from near her temple and placed his palm on her stomach instead, where the borrowed gray, white, and black sweatshirt was all bunched up from her various wiggles and twists. She warned him not to tickle, and he promised that he meant alternative methods of rousing her body from its figurative slumber. That garnered more eye rolling, so then she did get tickled, and when she was about to tip over that well known line between laughing hysterically and suffering a literal fit of giggles, and not being able to breathe, stomach pain, and panic, her scruffy-faced tormenter actually did pick her up to carry her to bed- only Christina was uncooperative. She ended up being carried predominantly by her butt, with her arms around the back of his neck and one bare leg trying desperately to hold around his waist so she wouldn’t fall, is if she were ever in jeopardy. He set her safely down on her feet near his bathroom door so she could make use of her new toothbrush, or wash her face, but the reigning World Cup champion just got into bed and asked for a t-shirt, since there was no chance she was sleeping in the sweatshirt in his already too hot room, engulfed in the too hot featherbed, covered with the too hot comforter, next to his too hot body.

Juan supplied one of his teeny tiny black tees but tried to stop her from actually putting it on. She intended to take the sweatshirt off, put the shirt on, and then unhook her bra and fish it out. He unhooked the two clasps on the strapless lace garment in one go before she even got the shirt over her head, and just rubbed her back when she turned to scold him in the other half of the bed. There was no act or game afoot. She didn’t really feel like cashing in on André’s understanding again that night. She still went pretty willingly when he used that hand on her back to try to pull her close, and she still let him kiss her with more invention than the prior liplock on the couch.

“Beautiful girl,” the player repeated from close enough that his nose was still touching hers.

“Not tonight, okay?” Christina didn’t move to stop him, or even to put some distance between them. She was still but for tilting her head a bit to kiss one side of his mouth apologetically. He closed his left arm around her waist to stop her from moving away anyway.

“Why?” he asked without disappointment. His nose glanced across her smaller one on his way to giving her another kiss, with his whole mouth.

“I’m tired, and I don’t like the optics,” she explained once given autonomy over her lips again.

“What optics?”

“The I don’t see you for a couple of weeks and the first thing I do is go out with you, spoon on your couch, and have sex optics. It’s like I was gone and busy for two weeks and then hurried to have a date or something.”

“Why do you care what it looks like? That’s like telling yourself what you want isn’t right. We’re the only ones who see. Shouldn’t you be more concerned with wanting it than how it looks?”

“But I don’t want it- that’s what I’m saying.” Oof now I feel bad, and awkward, Christina cringed to herself, imagining that her best friend felt as if he put in all the legwork throughout the night- taking her out, getting her drinks and dessert, suffering through her TV shows so they could cuddle and chit-chat, laying on the tender compliments, getting her to agree to spend the night- and wasn’t getting anything for it. “I’m sorry. I can still go home if you want.”

“Why would I want that?”

“Because you asked me to stay so we can fuck, and-“

“When did I say that?” The player reached for the top of her thigh with the hand that wasn’t on her waist. She was sort of half sitting Indian-style and half leaned over on her hands by his lap from his pulling her closer. He kneaded halfway between her knee and hip, and kissed persuasively at her mouth, which still opened a little for him despite her stated disinterest. The hair around his lips scratched and tickled against her skin. I feel almost a little like catnip, like when the cat gets the little bag of it and rubs his face all over it, but Juanin is slightly less intoxicated by it than a kitty gets. “Hmm?”

“What?” the expat managed to get out before his lips were trying to engage hers again. His tongue staying in its confines made communication, with words anyway, easier than it otherwise could have been.

“When did I ask you to stay so I can fuck you?”

“Why are you-“ Her opportunities to speak were still pretty limited by his slow and soft kissing, however. “Kissing me...and squeeze...my butt...if that’s not what you meant?”

“Why are you kissing me back if you meant not tonight?” the Spaniard questioned before poking his head out more to make sure his face stayed pressed to hers one way or another if she was going to sit up or pull back. Because she didn’t do either of those things, his lips hit hers with a bit more force and she read that as willful intent rather than a physical consequence. I should be more careful with what I say to him about liking when he’s in control, and that whole rape fetish thing. She finally checked out mentally on the smooching and Juan noticed. “We don’t have to have sex,” he assured, nonchalant and casual but still face to face- quite literally, really, with his forehead pushed into hers. “I want you to stay. I missed your body, baby girl- touching, holding, watching it. So beautiful. My angel. Come here,” he whispered while pulling her all the way over with him so they both ended up laying down- him on pillows and her on him. Soon she felt his warm and careful palm moving aimlessly around the small of her back, and the bottom of her butt lifted up. The constant kissing actually stopped. The scruffy face was pressed to her left cheek, and she could feel breath on the top of her shoulder in the form of a contented exhale. And she had no idea what she wanted, or if Juan literally meant he just wanted to touch her or if he was alluding to more than that and thought he could turn her on and change her mind by talking about it that way. Her soft and susceptible core could only withstand so many whispered “baby girls” and “my angels” before shifting.

“Why am I so beautiful tonight, hm?” she inquired, just to buy some time to figure out what she wanted. A little part of her conscience was afraid her best friend found her extra attractive that night because she was so obviously happy. When André told her she looked better happy it annoyed her and she counted it as a strike against him. And yet...I have 100% always found Juanin irresistibly hot when he’s really, really happy and smiley.

“You’re always beautiful.”

“Uhhuh.”

“I said already. I missed you, cariña. We sleep together like 4 times and then you don’t let me see you for 17 days.”

“Aww you counted,” Christina chuckled in his loving hold. She lifted her chin off the front of his shoulder to turn and smooch his cheek. “I can’t allow too much access, or demand will diminish.”

“I assure you it will not.”

“Seriously, and I don’t ask out of vanity, but curiosity- what to you is beautiful? Why is my body so beautiful to you? And don’t give me any bullshit about my abs making you think about my orgasms,” she warned while trying to figure out where to put her arms and hands.

“Your hair is beautiful. I love your hair when you do things with it. Every time you touch it. Your eyes are beautiful and you know it. Your nose, and your lips, and your chin- all beautiful together. Your thighs to me are amazing- the shape, the tone, the skin- all about them. The way you do everything is beautiful to me. You exist and I watch and you’re beautiful, cariña.” Juan explained, his delicate touch still roaming around some of her beautiful parts. He was a little bit flippant about his assessment, like he was amused that she wanted specifics. But most of all he sounded appreciative, and casual. He wasn’t trying to make a romantic declaration, or oversell his answer to make her want more.

“Thank you? Is that what a girl is supposed to say when you tell her her existence is beautiful?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re pretty too.”

“Thanks,” Juan laughed. He also moved both hands to her waist, spread them wide, and let them massage their way up her torso. She felt his legs circle around her knees too. It was not an unpleasant way to be immobilized. “Do you want your cashmere blanket to sleep with?”

“In lieu of the comforter or in addition?”

“Either.”

“Are you going to sleep in it with me if I choose in lieu?”

“Yes.”

“Is there jizz on it?”

“No,” the player scoffed. He turned to frown and shake his head at her, and took her poking finger prisoner. It had been poking at the dent in the base of his neck. Taking it was just an excuse to engage with her hand, and his digits were laced between hers a couple of seconds later. The whole concept of lying together and just touching and feeling made her curious again, but the second time it was about something that also gave her trepidation. She couldn’t help but wonder if her friend regularly shared the same activity with his girlfriend in that bed, and if he was so enamored with her body too.

“Do you stop Taylor from putting clothes on and hold her hostage atop your body just to...enjoy hers?”

“Why do you always ask me questions you don’t really want answers to, cariña?” Juan used his hold on her hand to bring it to his cheek, to press the back of it into his scruff and keep it there.

“Insatiable curiosity.”

“While I believe with all of my heart that you have insatiable curiosity, you and I both know that has nothing to do with it,” he scolded.

“If I say yes to the sex can I get out of the lecture you’re about to deliver?”

“No lecture. Take your beautiful body over to that chair and get your blanket.” In yet another surprising and impressive demonstration of the Spaniard’s ability to multitask, he simultaneously removed her hand from his cheek so that he could give it a little kiss, and let go of her side to pat her butt encouragingly. She got up to follow instructions and he got up to fold the comforter out of the way. He left it close enough that they could still tuck their feet under it. Christina wrapped herself up in the expansive navy James Perse blanket and then climbed clumsily over his body back to her spot. I kind of want to be held hostage aga- The thought was hardly complete before Juan invaded her blanket and made sure his also beautiful body was as close to hers as it could be. He rubbed his right hand up and down the outside of her left thigh- possessively almost- and then pulled her leg over his hip and let his palm rest further up, on her butt. The rider did her best to get some of her blanket over him.

“I need to set my alarm still,” she reminded while moving her head around to try to figure out where she was in relation to the nearest pillow.

“You need to talk with me more still.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Now I’m a hostage of him AND this blanket and its over my head and I can’t see and I don’t know where my pillow is and he’s making my thong go too far up my ass. Oh, there. Pillow.

“I like talking with you. I like when your voice is the last thing on my mind before I sleep.”

“Have I not been talking to you for the last 5 hours?”

“Yes.” The Chelsea player who moved one of his large square pillows for her so that they could share it settled in, seemingly for the long haul. He was very close inside the cashmere, and the enshrouding made it possible for Christina to pick up the faintest whiff of Scotch on his breath. It was sweet and woody, in contrast to the citrus and spice of the stuff André liked. It was hard not to think of the German in that situation. She loved that lingering whisky flavor when she kissed him.

“What else do you want to talk about?” Besides sex, my body, and kissing.

“Whatever,” her friend shrugged.

“Let’s talk about how Trump is going to start a war with Iran and we’re all gonna die.”

“Perhaps there is a more...light subject you could come up with for bedtime.”

“Talk to me about football.” Because the only thing mein Schü will tell me about football is how angry he is about it all the time, and I love hearing about football, and I’m annoyed that we’re right back where we were in footballing terms a year ago, only now we’re living in different countries and upending our lives for football. “And I’ll talk about it back. About Chelsea. England.”

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