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speechlessxx · 3 years

Text

my house of stone, your ivy grows & now i’m covered in you.

{King!Steve Rogers x noblewoman!Reader}

with a side of Prince/King!Peter Parker x Reader

ROYALTY/MEDIEVAL AU

summary -> engaged to the Prince of Arachnia, the young maiden finds her heart calling out the name of another.

warnings-> infidelity. age gap! (reader’s age isn’t explicitly said but she’s younger than Steve). poorly & awkwardly written SMUT. (includes: unprotected sex, brief fingering, slight breeding kink). rambles. angst. fluff. lots of tension. bittersweet ending :)

A/N -> for smut part, please scroll if you are not 18+. MINORS DNI

word count -> 12k+ !!! this one’s a lengthy one & i had no intentions of turning it into a series. it just got long.

Buy Me A Kofi

At the ripe age of five-years-old, you were plucked from your childhood, abandoning all the childish whims and adventures to be groomed to be the perfect wife. No more rolling in the dirt with your older brothers or mucking about the stables with the horses or fencing with sticks that substituted the steel bladed swords.

It all quickly became sewing needles and recipes, cleaning and books balanced on your crown.

You were taught it all.

How to behave. How to stand or sit. How to greet and host. How to exist in silence because “a lady is to be seen and never heard,” as your teacher, Madam Morris, would say. The many lessons were engraved into your mind while the meaningless tasks and skills became muscle memory.

Be pious. Be kind. Smile. Be what your husband wants. Laugh. (no, not like that). Do as your husband says. Be interesting but not too much. Never overshadow your husband. Don’t disappoint or you will bring shame upon your family.

What a burden to place on the shoulders of a young teen though it was expected of you. Coming from an aristocratic family, it was all you ever knew: “get a husband and make us proud”.

As the years droned on and you approached adulthood, the pressure to marry became more and more prominent. And when you shed past your teen years as an unmarried young adult, the disappointment and shame began to show. Your family throwing distaste your way with snide remarks and mocking smirks.

The embarrassment felt as if it had been painted across your cheeks and you grew restless, convincing yourself to accept any opportunities of marriage just to be rid of their cruelty.

So, when the Prince of Arachnia arrived at your father’s estate and asked for permission to court you, you had no choice but to accept.

Prince Peter Benjamin Parker was nothing short of the perfect gentleman. As you walked, he’d ensure that you were safely tucked into his side opposite of the streets. He’d hold your hand steady as you exited carriages. He’d leave chaste kisses on your forehead or knuckles – almost always on your left ring finger – even though your chaperone would throw a disapproving glance his way.

You thought of him as charming with his tousled, dark brown curls with matching eyes that squinted as he smiled or laughed harder than he intended.

“He would make a great king someday,” your father would sing his praises. “And you, my dove, will be his fine queen.”

You were never fond of these comments, never finding any appreciation or gratitude when they were uttered to you. Though the thought of being queen would make any young girl giddy with excitement, you found an odd sensation of dread within you.

You weren’t sure where the feelings had originated from. Were you nervous about being a queen? About the responsibility of running not only an estate but an entire country as well? Or was it the fact you would forever be labeled as his queen rather than the queen? Did you detest the idea of belonging to another person for the rest of your life?

“Are you alright?” His voice brought you back into the present. You swallowed as you turned away from the window facing the garden of roses that your mother was so proud of to face the prince. You curtseyed although he’s told you many times it was unnecessary.

“I’m grand,” you lied with a weary smile though he bought it all the same.

Peter grinned a toothy smile as he took your hand in his. It was then you felt the weight of the engagement ring on your finger. The sapphire blue was an oval shape, large enough to cover the skin of your knuckle. The center jewel adorned a halo of smaller diamonds. All this sitting on the delicate white gold band that wrapped around your finger like a shackle.

He brought your hand to his lips, placing a kiss upon the sapphire. “I shall be counting down the days,” he whispered in the quiet room. You forced another smile and nodded.

“As will I.”

»————-　⚜　————-«

Arachnia wasn’t a large country nor was it tiny either. It had eight main roads that extended into the towns with the capital and its palace in the center. It had been said that the main roads were all equal in length so that everyone was at an equal distance from the palace though you weren’t so sure that there was truth to this. Your father’s estate sat near the south of Arachnia, in one of the nicer towns. The ride to Peter’s real home felt like an eternity.

It had been his idea, of course, that you be brought to the palace months ahead of the wedding. “Life in the castle is different to life in the towns,” he told you before, weeks into your courtship, “Everyone’s always watching.” He reasoned that the prying eyes needed to get used to the presence of his future queen, but you understood it all the same – that although it was crucial that you adjust to court, it was equally, if not more so, important that the court adjust to you.

“I will give you the grand tour,” he said as you put your head on his shoulder. The journey, although short, had picked at your energy. All you wanted was to close your eyes and sleep, but his excited chatter kept pulling you back into consciousness. As much as you wanted to tell him to pipe down, you knew you couldn’t. Not only was he your husband to be, but he was also your soon to be king. “There’s fountains and gardens – I had them plant roses like the ones in your mother’s – “

The words became muddled nonsense as you slowly dozed off. The journey and your sleepless night, picking at the skin on your fingers, had finally caught up to you, making your eyelids heavy with sleep.

You jolted awake as the carriage hit a bump. You and Peter’s head slammed into each other, waking you both. You groaned, rubbing the spot as he mirrored you.

“You alright?” Peter asked you. You nodded, still rubbing the spot. Peter leaned over and kissed it and you gave him a tight-lipped smile. “You’ve been rather quiet. Is there something on your mind?”

You shook your head. “No, your highness,” you said. “I am just a bit nervous, is all.”

“Don’t be.” Peter chuckled. “The kingdom will fall in love with you just as I have.”

“And if they do not? Shall you find another bride?”

Peter’s smile faltered before shaking his head. “Those who do not immediately fall for my queen are mad and I shall find them the greatest court physician to treat their delusions.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder. You placed your head against his and took in a shaky breath.

There it was again. My queen. Another reminder that you no longer belonged to yourself. That as soon as vows are exchanged and he places another band on top of the enormous ring you already wore, you were completely his to own.

And suddenly that sweet moment, wrapped in your fiancé’s arms, was cut short as that familiar feeling of dread washed over you.

»————-　⚜　————-«

After weeks following your arrival in the center of Arachnia, it still didn’t feel like your home, rather it was Peter’s. The maids didn’t follow your orders nor did the kitchen staff. Heavens knows that the knights and the other noblemen wouldn’t acknowledge you. It felt as if no one knew your name, save for Prince Peter and his aunt, Lady May Parker.

You were merely a stranger in their court, the soon to be king’s guest.

Although the preparations for Peter’s coronation should’ve been your duty, Lady Parker seized the job, citing that you weren’t the queen just yet. “Let me alleviate you of this, Lady (Y/N).” She told you with a smile. “After your marriage, I shall step aside and allow you all the duties as the lady of the castle.” And in many ways, you were grateful that this was not your responsibility for the coronation of Prince Peter Parker had been long awaited for.

After Peter’s uncle, King Benjamin, passed and with Peter’s father long gone before then, the young prince was suddenly eyed to be the king. However, the councilmen thought that the boy was too young – too green to be king. They waited years until Peter came of age and once he finally did, they refused a peaceful transition of power. Instead, there were harsh rumors that the kingdom would be handed to Brooklyn’s King.

This debacle led to rumors of unrest and threats of civil war. It felt as if the entire continent held its breath as it stared at Arachnia, waiting for the violence to begin.

If King Anthony of Starken and Lady Parker did not intervene, then there would’ve been lives lost and a country torn. An agreement was made between House Parker and their council: that before Peter may take the throne, he must either be married or engaged, so that the line of succession may be secured.

And with your presence and Peter’s sapphire ring, the crown became his in an instant.

Nearly three weeks before his coronation, lords and ladies along with royals from other countries flocked to Arachnia to celebrate its king.

Lady Parker and Prince Peter introduced you to so many people in the coming days that none of their names truly stuck. All except one.

King Steven Rogers of Brooklyn.

The tall, broad man strode through the castle halls. His royal blue clothes made his eyes pop in the daylight. You thought he was beautiful. His presence demanded attention and he walked with a knowing smirk. Cocky. Arrogant. You profiled as he stood in front of Peter, towering over him.

Peter, still a prince, bowed to him as you did. “You’re younger than I expected.” The King’s voice was contradicting to his loud presence. His tone was even and steady like soft currents of a river or the expert strokes of a painter upon a canvas. You didn’t realize he was speaking to you until Peter called your name.

“King Steven, allow me to introduce my bride to be, Lady (Y/N).” Peter’s brow glistened with sweat though he stood tall. He was nervous. You could tell by the way his pitch was higher than it usually was. Under the king’s eye, he felt inferior. Insecure, even. Because although Peter was charming and slender, King Steven was intimidatingly handsome and built. Peter looked like a prince whereas Steven exuded the confidence of the king and looked like it, too.

You knew of the history between Brooklyn and Arachnia. There had been rumors that if Prince Peter could not get the crown, that the entire country would become part of Brooklyn’s, part of this other king’s domain.

“It’s a pleasure, my lady,” the king smiled at you and your eyes rounded as butterflies erupted from your stomach. He took your hand in his and you felt goosebumps rise all over your skin. A nervous, ragged breath escaped you as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss upon your knuckles like Peter’s done a million times.

But your reaction was different. Your face went hot, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. You could feel it between your legs, a feeling you had never felt before. Pulsing. Throbbing.

King Steven’s hand lingered over yours for a few seconds more, thumb grazing your skin and over the sapphire. You suddenly felt embarrassed – as beautiful as the ring was, it was so large that it looked odd on your dainty hand.

“Beautiful ring,” he complimented with a nod to Peter. “Excellent taste.” It wasn’t clear if the king was complimenting the ring or the young woman who wore it and no one dared question such a distinguished man.

You pulled your hand away from his with a bow of your head. You couldn’t look him in the eye for a second more. “Thank you for joining us, your majesty.”

The king smiled at your fiancé before nodding. “I look forward to your coronation, Peter. I’m sure it’ll be a pleasant event.”

You forced a smile as you and your fiancé greeted the next guest. The pleasantries and introductions fell upon deaf ears because as you looked up, searching through the crowd, your eyes immediately found his already staring back at you.

»————-　⚜　————-«

It felt as if there was a party every single day. A festival in the courtyard. A feast every night. You began to wonder where was all this money coming from – were the people being taxed heavily for the enjoyment of the upper class? Lady Parker assured you that Arachnia was well funded and that where the expenses exceeded their budget, they were handled by King Anthony, who considered it an early marriage present.

You sat like a decorated ornament next to Peter, surrounded by the other royals at a round table. You felt out of place in a gown made from your town’s finest tailor whereas the queens and princesses around you wore one-of-a-kind pieces. You were reminded, again, that you were just an aristocrat’s daughter, the fiancé of a king sitting among the men and women that bards wrote songs about.

You felt as if you were set to be the butt of the joke in another round of ridicule as King Anthony drew his attention from teasing Peter to you.

“You,” he began, words a bit slurred due to the ale in his overflowing cup, “are very gorgeous. My love,” he directed to his wife, Queen Virginia, “don’t you agree?”

“Yes, you are a delight, Lady (Y/N).” The strawberry blonde smiled at you. You returned the smile, timidly.

“Likewise, your majesty,” you returned before nodding your head to the rest of the table. “All of you are wonderful.” Truthfully, many of their names went over your head and to save yourself the embarrassment, you refrained from calling any of them by name, only saying simple titles like your majesty and my lord or lady.

“Lady (Y/N),” the princess from the foreign land, Sokovia you think, called your attention. You believe her name was Wanda, or at least that was what the King of Hawksview called her. “Are you excited for whatever adventures marriage will bring you?” Her tone was drunk and teasing. It was clear what she was alluding to though you weren’t quite sure if you caught on.

“Oh, dear,” Peter chuckled, awkwardly, obviously understanding. His face a beet red as he patted your hand that sat on your lap. “Dove, you do not need to answer.”

“Dove?” King Steven, the one man you knew by name, questioned from across the round table. He sat directly in front of you and you swore he sat there deliberately.

“It’s what my father calls me,” you explained though your voice was a bit scratchy, your throat dry. You coughed before taking a sip from your barely touched ale, finding the taste quite revolting. You shifted uncomfortably in the seat as you felt the prying eyes of the Brooklyn King stare through you as if you were glass.

“Dove.” He repeated, trying the petname out. “Sweet. Innocent.”

“Oh, you stop teasing, Steve,” the woman with dark red hair rolled her eyes. You remembered her being called Nat though you did remember her from your history lessons. Queen Natalia Romanova of Widow’s Peak, the queen who paved the way for women on the battlefield. She was revered and you were in awe when you met her.

“If we’re teasing, shall we jest about how Steven has yet to marry?” The prince from Asgard laughed. He pushed his long black hair over his shoulder as his older brother, the blonde – the King – swatted at his forearm with the back of his hand as if to say be quiet.

Steven smirked, eyes shifting to his lap, before chuckling. “Laugh and tease all you want,” he said, grabbing his cup and bringing it to his lips.

“Why is it you haven’t married?” Queen Natasha’s husband, Bruce – you think – asked.

Attention shifted back to Brooklyn’s king as he shrugged, taking another swig from his cup. His eyes darted around the table as if gaging – studying – the group.

You found it odd. Many of the royals around you considered the others their closest friends, yet here he was, a mystery to them still. It was as if he was content with going unseen and unheard. You could understand.

“C’mon, Stevie,” King Anthony taunted with a pet name. The blonde’s jaw tensed for a moment but quickly released. You frowned at that – was there tension between the two kings? “Handsome, wealthy king with vast holdings and a powerful kingdom, yet no marriage? It’s like you’re not trying, Steven.”

The Brooklyn king chuckled again, brows lifting with an amused look. His eyes met yours and you felt your face go hot again. Your gown shifted underneath the table as your knee bumped Peter’s when you crossed your legs. He looked away.

“I would not get married simply because I need a crown,” his eyes shifted to Peter before shifting back to his cup, “or I need an alliance, or my country requires finances or resources. Brooklyn’s striving under my rule.” He said it so calmly and smugly as if he weren’t throwing condescending comments about his friends’ marriages right in front of them.

“If I were to get married,” Steven’s ocean eyes met yours again like the waves crashing into a shore, “it would be because I’m in love.”

You shifted in your seat, that pulsing, throbbing ache returning as you held his stare. You bit your lip before nervously breaking the eye contact to pick at the bread roll on your plate.

You suddenly jumped when Peter draped his arm around your shoulder, completely unaware that he was about to do so, too preoccupied to appear occupied. He shot you a worried glance, but you gave him a tight smile and a nod.

“Well, I, for one,” he smiled, “am marrying for love.” Peter pressed a kiss to your temple, and you felt your smile drop for a second. Just a mere second – maybe even less.

No one noticed, you assured yourself with a relieved exhale. You scanned the round table to find that everyone smiled at you and your fiancé with dopey grins, staring at the two children in love. However, Steven’s was different.

No… The king had a knowing smirk on his face as if to say, I saw.

»————-　⚜　————-«

With the coronation in a fortnight, you and Peter found yourselves on edge. Your shoulders always felt tense which left an ache in your neck, leaving you to rub out the knots but to no avail.

Peter’s nerves made him jittery. During meals, his leg bounced up and down with nerves. The sudden movement often shaking the table, leaving you in an annoyed silence. To cope with his pending coronation nerves, the young prince whisked himself into meaningless tasks and hobbies in hopes to distract himself.

Unfortunately, this meant that he often left you to yourself, leaving you to dwell in your unease on your own.

You confided in Lady Parker about your nerves though she returned your concern with a small frown. “You aren’t getting coronated, why are you nervous?” She chuckled dismissively. You nearly snapped then but was able to stop yourself before saying anything offensive to Lady Parker.

Deciding that your thoughts were better left unsaid, you isolated yourself in the stairwell on the south wing of the castle. In your time here at Arachnia, this quickly became your favorite spot. The south wing was nowhere near the bustling crowds of guests and their parties, making it the quietest place in the castle at times. There was a wide window that stood above the stairs; it brought in gorgeous sunlight and you often found yourself basking in its warmth.

However, with your troubled thoughts, the south wing stairwell’s window brought you no comfort at all as you gnawed on the bump on the inside of your cheek. It was a habit you picked up when you were being taught to be a lady – a lady is to be seen and never heard – so you opted to biting back your opinions and retorts, whether it be physical or metaphorical.

Though Lady Parker was right, the coronation was Peter’s worry alone, it would not only be Peter that would be judged and watched by the entire continent the moment that crown is on his head. Even now as a mere lady, the fiancé of their soon to be king, you were burdened with such scrutiny and you were sure that this would only increase three-fold once Peter was crowned king.

The pressures would only worsen once you were dubbed Peter’s queen.

So, you sat pensively in your thoughts near the top of the stairs as you enjoyed the last few months of peace you had left.

“For an engaged woman, I do find you alone too many times,” a voice took you from your thoughts as it carried through the empty stairwell. You looked up and met the amused smirk of King Steven Rogers.

You stood up from your spot and found your footing at the top of the staircase before you curtseyed. “Your majesty,” you greeted.

“Most brides tend to cling to their fiancé, fighting to be by their side every waking moment,” the king mused, quirking an eyebrow up, “but not you.”

“I suppose.”

“May I?” He gestured to the unoccupied seat next to you. You bit your lip before nodding, sitting down again, but this time with the king’s warmth next to you. “Is something on your mind, Lady (Y/N)?”

“No, your majesty,” you said a bit too quickly and he saw through you.

He tutted, knowingly. “I know a troubled lady when I see one,” he pressed. “Please, my lady, speak freely as if I am just a friend.”

“I hadn’t realized I was friends with a king,” you muttered. You felt his eyes on you as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and stared at your lap.

The conversation stilled as the silence built, but you found comfort in the king’s presence. Although his eyes made you uneasy and nervous, he brought you a strange sense of peace.

His soft chuckle pulled you from your thoughts again. “Lady (Y/N).” He said your name and you glanced over at him with a brow cocked up. “I noticed that you don’t speak, not often, at least.”

“I was taught to never speak unless spoken to.”

He scoffed. “That’s a habit that you’ll grow out of.” He saw confusion flash through your expression and smiled, gently. “A strong, respected queen demands attention as she enters a room. Every step she takes must be a stride of confidence so that no one ever questions her status.”

“A status that my husband, the king, gives me. I cannot over-step. I would undermine him.”

“Peter’s a king,” Steven corrected. “I never said you would over-step, but a true king would ensure that he and his queen are in equal footing.” He cocked his head to the side as he noticed your grimace. “You don’t like that.”

“I beg your pardon?” You asked before quickly added, “your majesty.”

“Being called his queen,” he clarified with a smile.

Panicked, you began, “I am humbled to wear his ring on my finger – that he considered me for marriage and that – “

“You are not on trial,” he interrupted, quickly with a laugh. “It’s merely an observation.” You nodded, awkwardly. “In my opinion, I feel as if a marriage – any marriage, whether royal or otherwise – is a partnership, but unfortunately, many see it as an ownership.”

“That’s just not how our society sees it.” You muttered with a shake of your head.

“Where is your fiancé? It’s too often that I find you alone. I shall share a word with him about his manners.” He joked and you laughed lightly at his attempt to lighten the mood.

You sighed, fidgeting with the sapphire on your finger. “He’s … preoccupied.”

Steve frowned at that but abruptly stood, stretching his hand out to you. “Then, come, my lady, I shall escort you to the festival to enjoy this beautiful day.”

Your hands flew to your face as you shook your head, defiantly. “Oh, god no!” You groaned. He amusedly raised his eyebrows at you. “I hate leaving the castle to join the others… Everyone just stares at me. It’s unsettling!”

Steve laughed and leaned down to pull you to your feet. Although you stood at the top of the staircase and he a few steps beneath you, he was still taller than you.

“They’re admiring their future queen,” he tried. He took your hands in his and you felt a shiver run down your spine as the goosebumps rose. “And from where I stand, I must say, she is truly a vision… Even if she’s moping.”

The butterflies didn’t cease to exist as they fluttered excitedly under his stare. You bit your lip and avoided eye contact, staring at your hands clasped in his. His words lifted your confidence, but his presence made you nervous and you didn’t quite understand why.

He whispered your name; fingers reaching out beneath your chin and lifted your chin. Blue eyes staring deep into your wide ones and for a split second he glanced down at your lips.

“You can tell me to stop.”

He was so close to you. Your noses were nearly touching.

“What if I don’t want you to?” You whispered. You held your breath, but he gladly stole it as he pressed his soft, plump lips onto yours.

You swore it was almost instinct… It had to be. You moved in sync. With your lips pressed against his, you felt this feeling of belonging – something you hadn’t felt in all your time in the palace of Arachnia, in all your life. In all your time spent with Peter, it never felt like this.

Your hands fisted his dirty blonde hair as his hands cupped your face, holding you there… keeping you in the moment and you swore time stopped.

You were breathless when you finally pulled away. Eyes wide in realization.

You had just given your first kiss away to a man that wasn’t your fiancé and there was no ounce of regret in either of you.

»————-　⚜　————-«

Time passed so slowly when all you’d wish for was that it’d up – skipping to a time where you and Peter were already married and the royals have all vacated Arachnia and back to their own lands, where the king that occupied your mind was long gone.

In the days that followed, you avoided each like the plague. You’d turn the corner and see Peter then immediately turn the other way or you’d bow your head down so low so that you could avoid Steven’s fixated stare as you passed him in the corridors.

The only time you couldn’t escape the two was during meals. Although during breakfast and lunch you usually spent alone, it was during the feasts of dinner that you could not escape the lingering stare of King Steven nor the possessive arm of Prince Peter.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Peter whispered in your ear. You were guilt-ridden as you stared at the concern that filled his deep brown eyes. You muttered that you were alright just a bit tired although under the king’s eyes you have never felt more alive. But he accepted your answer nonetheless.

“Are we interrupting,” teased King Anthony with a playful grin. “Shall we order the absence of everyone in the room so that you two may have all the privacy in the world?” His wife slapped his shoulder with a chuckle as you and Peter bashfully apologized – Peter because he was truly embarrassed for being caught whispering in your ear and you because you felt Steven’s eyes staring through your soul. “Tell us, Lady (Y/N), how did such a lovely lady such as yourself end up with a brute of a prince like Peter?”

You swallowed as all their attention turned to you. You stared across the table at King Steven who eyed you with a smirk. His elbows rested on the table with his hands clasped together, head resting on top of his knuckles, as if taunting you, egging you on. You tore your eyes away as you focused on your lap.

“Well… uh – “

“We met at her brother’s party,” Peter announced, proudly. You took your cue and nodded with a small grin and kept silent. “My father and hers were friends before he passed, and so they invited my aunt and I. We had no choice but to accept, and thankfully, we did. She was truly a sight, this one.” You forced a laugh as the other chuckled. “I knew then she had to be mine, this little dove.”

You grimaced but quickly covered it up by grabbing your cup of untouched ale. Your eyes flicked over to Steven who was already staring at you. He cocked an eyebrow up at you as your eyes met. You brought the ale to your lips and he stared as your lips pressed against the rip of the chalice but never drank anything.

The conversation drifted to another topic, but you excused yourself, telling Peter you were exhausted. He nodded with a smile and leaned in to kiss you and your eyes widened, turning your head – had he wanted your first kiss to be in front of all these people? Marking you as his? His lips pressed against your cheek and you muttered goodbye to him and bid a goodnight to the others.

You wondered aimlessly throughout the corridors, lost in your thoughts. With everyone in the grand hall for dinner, the castle was felt empty, and your shoes clicked against the tiles and echoed through the halls. After minutes of silent walking, you felt the hairs at the back of your neck prick up and goosebumps run down your arms.

You turned to find the dark hallway staring back at you. You frowned before you turned and ran into a sturdy build of a man.

“I thought you retired for the night?” and you recognized the voice immediately.

“Your majesty,” you whispered, bowing awkwardly to King Steven.

He chuckled as you apologized frantically. He shushed you, seizing your hands but you snatched them away. Steven frowned. “You’re avoiding me.”

“What happened shouldn’t have happened,” you hissed.

A playful smirk replaced his scowl as he tilted his head, tauntingly. “But you could’ve stopped me. You could’ve said no.”

“Of course,” you chuckled dryly. “It’s always the woman’s fault. Men can never take responsibility for their misdoings and kings,” you spat out as if it were poison on your tongue. “are no better.”

“Was it your first kiss?”

Your tongue darted out and wet your bottom lip and you didn’t miss the way his eyes glanced down. Embarrassment washed over you like a wave as your shoulders slumped. Were you that bad?

“It was, wasn’t it?” He smiled. “I wouldn’t have known… but you were a natural – “

“Don’t flatter me.” You snapped and he laughed.

“So, I had the honor of being your first kiss…” He muttered. Steven’s hand grabbed your bicep, which was significantly smaller than his, and pulled you closer to him.

“Your majesty – “He shushed you as he kissed you again in that corridor, but you pulled away abruptly, not allowing yourself to melt into him. “We can’t. I am engaged to the prince.”

Steven rolled his eyes. “But you don’t want to be. Others may dismiss it as nerves, cold feet, even, but,” he tsked, “I know better.”

“You don’t know me. You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough.” He whispered. “Enough to know that I want you.”

“I have to be married to the prince. I wear his ring. I live in his castle.”

“And enjoy a loveless marriage? He can dote on you and you can learn to love him, yes… I’ve seen it in my parents’ union and in my friends’, but you’ll never truly be happy, no…” He told you, brows furrowed and shook his head.

“And I’d be happy as your mistress?” You scoffed, shaking your head, but you made no motions to step away. “A noblewoman reduced to nothing but a king’s play-thing? The dishonor, the shame – “

“I never said you’d be my mistress.” Steven shook his head as he cupped your jaw.

“And you intend to marry me?” You laughed as if he had said the funniest joke you’ve ever heard. And it was. It was hilarious to think that he was being anything but truthful. You were sure he was jesting with you. Empty words. Empty promises. But his stare was serious.

“I want you.”

“You want the idea of me,” you corrected. “The idea that you can take another king’s wife. Kings throughout history are all the same. Covet another man’s wife, his property, or his land. Just to prove you are better.” You shook your head. “It’s a pissing contest for you. It’s treason for me.”

“I am a king.” He told you and you rolled your eyes.

“Not mine.” You whispered. “Your teasing, your jokes. Your eyes… they linger in a way only Peter’s should, and it has to stop.”

“I want you.” He repeated. “And I know you want me, too.”

“I don’t – “

“Or else you would’ve walked away. You could’ve pulled your arm from me – I’m not holding onto you tightly. You could’ve run off to your little prince, but you’re avoiding him, too. Is it guilt, my lady?” He asked you, leaning down and whispering into your ear. Your breath hitched as his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, kissing the skin beneath it. “Because you know you don’t want the boy… but you’re too kind to hurt him.”

“You’re trying to get me killed.” You stifled a moan as his lips left a trail of wet kisses down your neck. “Shunned and humiliated – “

“I want to be yours,” he confessed.

A sudden burst of laughter had you jump from each other. Your back pressed against the wall as he took a step back with a smirk. In the distance, you could hear drunken men and their courtesans stumble about the castle, doors slamming shut. The feast must’ve been over, and the halls were soon to be crowded again.

You two held each other’s stares as you exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The moonlight that slipped through the curtains of the windows had his deep blue eyes gleaming and he was marvelous view.

»————-　⚜　————-«

The room was stuffy and the jewelry that adorned your neck and wrists were heavy. They weighed you down as if to remind you of the pressures that your new life held – what lay ahead of you. The dress you wore was a combination of white and gold. You looked regal like the betrothed of a king should look like. You stood in the crowd next to King Anthony and his wife, behind you was King Steven and his piercing stare.

The feelings that you held for Steven were wrong and you knew that. You often wished that Peter had been flawed – an unfaithful man or a cruel one but he was the opposite. He was kind and gentle albeit a bit dismissive or not present at times. The guilt gnawed at you each time you and the Brooklyn king met behind closed doors, or in the secluded library, or in the depths of the rose garden, planted especially for you by Peter’s order, but you didn’t care.

It was innocent, really – at least that’s what you told yourself. The meetings always started the same. Bickering and joking. He had even taken an interest in tutoring you about chess – “a game for kings,” he would say. Although he had beat you every game, you never minded because all the meetings ended the same – with your lips pressed against his and you melting into his touch.

The crowds all stood as Peter entered the throne room. He was dressed as a king in his house colors – red, blue, gold. He was sweaty and his hands were clasped together nervously. He shot a glance your way as he walked by and you gave him a soft, encouraging nod. He returned it with a smile as he kneeled before the throne.

The priest slipped a ring on his finger and he was later handed the scepter and the orb. You caught the way the scepter slipped due to his clammy hands – not too much but just enough to have him fumble. Behind you, you heard Steven chuckle and you shot him a look as if to tell him to behave and he shook his head at you with a grin.

The crown was placed onto Peter’s head and he hesitantly stood. He was unbalanced, weighed down, but he took each step towards the throne with stride and a proud smile.

“Long live the king!” You and the entire crowd chanted in unison though you were almost certain that Steven didn’t say a word.

The party held afterwards was filled with dancing and music, but you were tied to Peter’s side the entire evening as he thanked his guests and accepted their congratulations, all eager to get in favor with their new king.

Instead of the usual round table, Peter and his family – Lady Parker and you – were seated in a long table at the front of the grand hall. The rest of the royals scattered in other tables near yours. You picked at your food, boredom sinking in as another nobleman approached.

You glanced up and met Steven’s eyes. He brought his chalice up as if to salute you and you softly laughed before turning your attention to the duke. The conversation was dull with fake pleasantries and complaints of lost land – Peter promised the duke that he would look into it. You remembered Steven tell you that kings should make no promises that he could not uphold. and you wondered if Peter had any intentions of honoring it.

“Do you want to dance?” Peter asked you after the man left, offering you his hand. You smiled and nodded, taking it.

He pulled you onto the dancefloor, joining the other couples. Peter’s hold on you was tight as if you would run away or disappear. The crown on his head was just a little big and would slip over his forehead. You’d giggle and push it back up.

He pulled you close to him and swayed to the music. “This is grand,” he told you. “The crown, a beautiful bride.” You hummed in agreement though you didn’t entirely adore the idea – not as much as you used to. You hated being compared to that awful crown as if you were just an accessory to him. “And … In a few days’ time, my dove, we are to be wed.”

“What?” You shook your head with a dry laugh, taking it as a joke. “Your high – majesty,” you corrected, and he beamed at the title, “we are set to be married in the late spring. Not in a few days.”

Peter frowned. “Had no told you?” You shook your head, no. He sighed. “I suppose I should’ve… The council believes that it’s best we get married immediately. Now, that I’ve got the crown, they say I need heirs,” you blanched at the idea, “and besides, the other royal families of Marvel are already here.” Your breath hitched as the realization set it. “Well, aside from King Steven, he’s one to never attend weddings.”

“Peter – “you shook your head. The panic beginning to rise. Despite being trained for this very day since you were young, you were convinced you weren’t ready. You told yourself the anxiety was from the idea of being queen, but the truth was – the anxiety was from the idea of being wed… to Peter.

“May I cut in?” You didn’t hear Peter’s response just that a pair of familiar hands seized yours and your waist, pulling you flush against his body. “Are you okay?”

You stared up at Steven’s worried eyes, brows lifted and lines of concern all over his forehead. You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. You hated the idea that you would be Peter’s completely, and that Steven would never be yours.

“Peter said we are to be wed in a few days,” you uttered. The words didn’t feel right. Your voice was shaking as you held back your tears. Steven’s jaw dropped before he nodded. “Steve,” his eyes stared into yours, “I don’t want this.”

“And what is it do you want?” Steven asked you. He was hopeful although naively so. And in many ways, you were as well to believe that your affections for Steven could extend to something more. But reality set in, you were engaged to a king – just not the king you wanted.

“I want to marry you,” you confessed though voice hushed, afraid that any ears would hear your treasonous words. You let out a shaky breath as you stared at him before shaking your head. The idea that you fell in love with a man after knowing him for only three weeks was preposterous. “Or at least… that I want to be with you.”

Steven smiled softly at your confession – words he had been hoping to hear ever since he cornered you in the empty hallway. He leaned in and your eyes widened, but he brought his lips to your ear and whispered, “keep your chamber doors unlocked tonight.”

»————-　⚜　————-«

One of the peculiar things about your move to Arachnia’s palace was your bedroom. It was rather enormous for the fiancé of the now king. When you first arrived, you expected a room modest in size though not as big as this – especially since you’d move into Peter’s chambers once you were married. The mattress was pressed against the back wall between two large windows that never opened. Bookshelves filled with novels though no work area – no desk or study. Instead, you were given a vanity. Besides those pieces, the room was pure empty space.

You used to joke to yourself that you were just a prisoner who adorned the prince’s, now king’s, jewels and a fine title.

You stood by the window, watching the fireworks that celebrated the coronation. You swore you could see the towns in the distance, all lit up with anticipation. Peter would soon be making his rounds throughout the country as its official king. Would it happen before you were married or after? Would you be asked to join him as his queen?

You stared down at your ring finger. The sapphire staring tauntingly back at you. It shackled you to a man you didn’t want. It reminded you of your family’s side eyes and low whispers when you didn’t immediately get married once you were of age, or the hushed voices and stares of the other nobles as they judged your every move calling you unworthy to marry a prince, let alone a king.

And all you could think was – to hell with it all.

A soft knock was heard from the wooden door of the chamber and you walked towards it. The stone tiles were cold against your bare feet and the doorknob even colder against your already freezing hand. With a twist of the doorknob, a smile formed on your lips as Steven came to view.

You hurriedly pulled him inside, eyes scanning the now empty hallway, before closing it.

He eyed you up and down and smiled, admiring you – hair undone and natural, face free of any makeup or colors staining your cheeks or lips, no gown with a corset that clung onto your body that left you with no room to breathe.

You were beautiful and oh, how he’d kill to see you like this every day.

“Did anyone see you?” You asked him, softly, though within the thick walls of the castles and in the privacy of your chambers no one would hear you.

Steven shook his head, one hand finding your waist and the other cupping the side of your face. “They never do, do they?” He whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

You pulled away, leaning into his chest, settling into his warmth. You loved being in his embrace – it was safe and warm like a small cottage in the countryside with no judgmental stares or rumors whispered about.

You realize you could live like this until your last day – and with your intentions, that final day might be quickly approaching. “Why is it you asked to meet me here?”

Steven’s jaw ticked. Truthfully, he had no real answer. He could’ve asked to meet anywhere, and the risks were just the same. The mere act of meeting you in private was damning, no matter what he intended.

He thought that admiring you from across a crowded room, under the cover of hundreds all staring at you, too, would be enough. He thought his eyes would go unnoticed. He told himself that his attraction would be fleeting, but it wasn’t – and it became clear the moment he pressed his lips against yours at the top of the south stairwell.

“Steve?”

He sighed. “I… I’m not quite sure if I’m honest with you, Lady (Y/N).”

You smiled to yourself. In the time you’ve known King Steven, he had always been so smug, so confident. Every step had a direction and every word so sure, but you’ve reduced him to a man begging for the affection of a woman.

You pulled yourself from his chest and stared up at him before you stood on the tips of your toes to press a kiss onto his lips.

It was as if you two were molded together or made from the same cloth. Lips pressed together as if they had always belonged there.

His large hands found the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up, wrapping your legs around his tapered waist. You felt the heat rise to your face when that familiar throbbing feeling between your legs came back – and with your cunt pressed against the middle of his body, you were sure he could feel it, too.

Your back pressed against the soft, silk sheets of your bed. Steven draped over you like ivy covering the castle’s stone walls.

The framework creaked beneath your combined weight as he began to grind aimlessly against your center, eliciting a gasp from you as it helped the ache from deep within you.

He smirked into the kiss, but you caught him off guard yet again when you whispered, “I – I want you.” He pulled away, taken back. “I want all of you, Steve, please – “

“(Y/N) – “

He began to climb off you, but you sat up, hands cupping his face and staring deep into his eyes. You shook your head as you gave him a quick kiss.

Foreheads touching, you told him, “if I am to go marry and live in this hell, I might as well be granted a taste of heaven.”

“You will be ruined – “he whispered though the idea made his cock twitch in his trousers. You jumped as you felt it too.

You shook your head again, “how can you ruin anything, Steve?”

Steve licked his lips as he tried to fight off his morals. The devil and the angel on his shoulders disappeared and became one – the beautiful maiden beneath him, begging for him to take her.

“If we do this,” he whispered as he nudged your cheek, lips kissing your jaw, “there will be no going back, (Y/N).”

“I want to be yours, Steve,” you told him, honestly. “I – I love you.”

And that’s all it took to have his lips ravish yours, hands roaming, desperately grabbing on to what he could. He pulled away and grabbed your hand. He slid the ring off your finger, tossing it onto the table next to your bed before he pressed his lips to yours once again.

You heard a rip and you gasped as the cold air hit your bare skin. Steven’s hands pushed the torn fabric off away from your body, throwing the ruined white silk behind his shoulder.

He pulled away from you, admiring the view beneath him – the woman spread out before him like an offering, nipples perked in the cold winter air, mouth ajar as she panted, and the perfect, untouched pussy.

“I love you, too.”

He began to undress, and you couldn’t take your eyes off this Herculean being in front of you. He was thick and broad, the muscles that were arranged all over his body were hypnotizing as were the scars undoubtfully from all his training and his time spent in wars.

He was a god in the body of the king, and you wondered how you got so lucky.

Steven began to undo the strings that held his pants up and you watched with you lip between your teeth. The anticipation, alone, killed you. He pushed down his pants and your eyes widened at his massive cock – tanner than the rest of his skin, with a red angry tip, thick veins, and clear liquid coming from it.

He saw your uncertain expression and he raised his brows at you. “I – I –“you began to stammer.

“Don’t tell me you’re backing out now, little one,” Steven whispered. His hands reached out and cupped your cheek, hungry eyes scanned your body and your mouth went dry. The throbbing within you was relentless and made you clench your thighs together. “You’re beautiful.”

Your eyes looked away, bashfully, as his hands explored you – cupping your breasts and tracing the curves of your body. All Steven wanted was for all of you to be his.

“Look at me,” he whispered, and you hesitantly looked back at him. He had a soft smile and adoring eyes as his fingers slipped through your folds. You let out a soft gasp and your eyes fluttered closed as the ache was relieved by his touch. “Look at me,” Steven repeated, and you forced your eyes open to stare at him. Your lover smirked as he found your small bundle of nerves and rubbed tight circles around it.

It felt as if something within you had blossomed and you couldn’t help but grind into his touch, but he tutted at you, using his free hand to hold your hips down. “You’re soaked, my love,” Steven whispered, leaning down, and nipping at the base of your neck. Hard enough for you to gasp but not enough to leave marks. “Already so wet and I’ve yet to do anything.”

“It’s just my reaction to you,” you confessed, heat rising to your face.

You tried to avert your eyes away from his piercing stare, but he tsked and pinched your inner thigh. You hissed in return and brought your stare back to him. “Don’t make me tell you again, (Y/N),” Steven warned.

You nodded, speechless as his fingers wandered further down, ghosting over your untouched opening. You let out a shaky breath.

“Steven – “you moaned as he sunk one long, thick, skilled finger inside of you.

“You’re so tight,” the king noted with a smirk. He relished in the idea that he would be the first to have you and he wished that he’d be the only one to have you forever.

“Steven, I want you… Please – “

He tsked at you with a quick shake of his head. His lips pressed against yours again, silencing your soft whines and protests. “I need to open you up, my love,” he told you, lips still against yours, “or else you might get hurt.” He pressed another finger into you, and you pulled away from his lips.

The back of your head pressed against the mattress as another moan escaped you. The king began to scissor your opening. The stretch was tolerable though still uncomfortable and had your breath shuddering.

“You’re doing so well,” he praised you, nose tracing your jaw. His lips kissed the column of your throat.

You groaned when his fingers began to thrust, opening you up to him. You heard the faint sound of your arousal on his fingers, the wetness spilling onto your thighs, too. Your hands tangled up into the king’s long, dark blonde hair, pulling him into you as he added a third finger, effectively stretching you out.

“Are you alright?” He asked you, fingers thrusting into you in a rhythm of their own. You nodded, eyes staring at the top of the canopy over your bed and hands pushing the king flush against you’re the joint between your neck and shoulder. He kissed the skin there, trying not to suck on it to leave you with his marks – marks that young Peter would undoubtfully see on your wedding night.

You gasped as you felt this tightening knot in the depths of your stomach. “You almost there, my love?” Steven asked and you nodded though you weren’t sure where there was. Your thighs tightened around him. You whined when his fingers left your heated core right on the precipice of pleasure, leaving you with an emptiness. Steven chuckled.

“I was – “

“First time you get to cum will be around my cock,” he told you brazenly and it felt as if your entire body flushed at his words. He brought his fingers to his lips and your eyes widened when he began to suck on them, and he groaned. “You taste so sweet, my lady.” The king quirked up an eyebrow at your curious expression as he swiped his fingers against your lips. “Have a taste, my love.”

Your tongue reluctantly darted out over your lips, gathering the sweet yet musky taste of your essence. Your hand reached out, wrapping around his wrist and bringing his fingers to your mouth. Your lips wrapped around his index and middle finger and sucked carefully as he did, and you felt his cock twitch against your thigh at the sight.

He watched you intently as you cleaned off his fingers, his free hand stroking his throbbing dick. He swiped the tip against your slit, causing your body to shudder when he bumped your clit.

He took his fingers from your mouth and both hands held your waist. Instinctively, your pushed your knees further apart, opening up to him. Steven’s blue eyes flicked up to you as he pressed his tip against your heat.

“Are you sure?” He asked you.

You nodded. “I’ve never been more sure.”

You threw your head back as he began to press into you, the pressure unbearable and made your entire body tense. The king began to hush you, holding still. One of his hands caressed the side of your face, combing through your hair. “You need to relax, my love,” he cooed.

You muttered an incoherent agreement as you tried to will your muscles to loosen. You heard the squelching sound of your cunt engulfing the man, slowly. Your hand flew to his wrist and grabbed onto it, unsure of what to do.

He praised you as the tip slipped in along with an inch or two, but he was nowhere close to bottoming out. The king began to pull back, only leaving the tip in before pushing in more of him. You hissed again as he pressed past the thin veil of your innocence, being the first and only man to tear through it.

His cock was no match for his fingers, being much thicker and so much longer. You tried to even your breathing and he chuckled. “You’re doing so well, my love,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your lips. “Taking me so well… Look…”

His nose nudged the side of your cheek and you slowly craned your neck to look down as he bottomed out completely – his public bone flush against your clit. Your mouth watered at the sight as he slowly pulled out an inch or two. You took a sharp breath when you saw the faint strips of red on his length.

The king began to rock into you slowly and you couldn’t take your eyes away from where you were connected. The pain, although still there from the burning stretch, was incomparable to the pleasure when his tip brushed against a certain part of your canal.

You moaned, loudly, head thrown back, exposing your throat to him. Steven kissed the hollowness before capturing your lips in his. “I love you,” he murmured into the kiss as his hips began to speed up. Your own matching his thrusts.

The sound of skin clapping against each other echoed throughout the enormous room and you felt yourself clench against him.

He groaned in return. In one quick motion, the king hoisted your knees over his shoulder, giving him a much deeper angle to take you from. He thrusted so hard and so deeply that you swore you felt him in your chest.

You moaned his name as your hands grabbed your breasts. He watched with a smirk as you fondled yourself and one of his hands began to rub tight circles around your swollen clit again. Your back arched at the sensation.

“I’m gonna fill you up, my love,” he told you. “Have you fall pregnant with my child. Watch you swell…” It was a fantasy, on Steven’s behalf. He’d always wanted a wife and children but never found the right partner until you. “Do you want that, little one? Do you want my children?”

“I want you, Steven,” you moaned. No coherent thoughts were forming as the familiar tight knot in your stomach suddenly snapped. Your hips ground up against his as your walls tightened around the king, milking him, and pushing him over the edge.

Steven thrusts faltered, leaving his rhythm, and pushed deeply into you one last time. You felt his cock twitch inside of you and you felt each spurt, covering your walls in his white.

You two laid on top each other, legs entangled, and bodies intertwined like lovers. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you said, “I love you, Steven.”

And in that moment, all was right.

»————-　⚜　————-«

“What?”

The disbelief in each of their tones hung in the air. The councilmen shook their heads in shock as Peter stared at you from the throne with his brows furrowed, deep in thought.

“I beg your pardon, Lady (Y/N).” One of the men said.

“My lords, my king,” you addressed with a bow of your head. “I asked for this meeting to tell you that I am incredibly humbled to have been homed here in the palace of Arachnia and to be the betrothed of the prince – king – to have witnessed you be crowned, your majesty… But I,” you swallowed and took a deep breath. “I do not want to marry you.”

“What brought this on?” Peter asked you as he leaned into his throne. He eyed you, suspiciously, eyes glancing over your figure. Although the new king had been wrapped up in several meetings ever since his coronation, he noticed the change in you – the way your body filled out, hips wider and the glow in your complexion. You looked more radiant than you usually were and much happier. Though he wasn’t sure what was the cause, he was certain it had not been him but he refused to believe it was another.

“I cannot believe this!”

“We’ve wasted all this time preparing a marriage!”

“How dare she – “

“He needs a bride to keep his crown.”

“Silence,” Peter ordered the men and their murmurs quickly disappeared. Words and unfinished sentences hung in the air. “What brought this on, my lady?”

You cleared your throat as you took a step forward. “Your majesty, I … I am not meant to be your queen.”

Peter nodded in contemplation and you were hopeful. He had always been understanding. He would’ve surely granted you a swift exit from this engagement without another – “No.” And just like that your hopes were dashed. “You are to remain my betrothed as you have been for months.”

“But Pete – “

“Our wedding is in days!” Peter snapped and your eyes flicked to the floor. “And you want to end our engagement now? You had months to concede – “

“I was afraid!” You objected. The lords stared on as your voice rose higher than the king’s. The tone, the higher octave, may have been from a moment of frustration, but the men in the throne room saw it as one thing only: a lady undermining her king.

“Afraid?” He scoffed. “Of what? Of me? My lady, I am not a cruel man – “

“Then grant me my wish. Release me from this engagement.” You begged.

“No.” Peter shook his head. “We are to be married in a few days’ time.” You saw how his kind eyes darkened as he frowned at you. “You do your best to rid of your cold feet now, my lady.”

Defeated, you rushed out of the throne room. Several servants and other nobles stared with confused expressions as you ran past with tears in your eyes – running to the only man that understood you, the only man that could help.

You banged against his chamber doors, desperate for him to whisk you away.

“Steven!” You called when the door suddenly opened to reveal a maid. Her arms were full of linens and you stared at her in confusion.

She quickly curtseyed to you and cocked her head to the side. “My lady, have you been crying?”

“No,” you shook your head, jaw clenched, though your sniffle gave you away. “Where’s King Steven?”

“He left this afternoon, my lady.” She told you.

“What?” You felt the color drain from your face. You shook your head at her as if she were wrong. He wouldn’t have left you – not like this. “No… There must be a mistake. Steven – King Steven – “

She frowned before shaking her head. “No, my lady… The Brooklyn King left hours ago. If you had wanted to know, I would’ve told you. I had no idea you two were so close.”

You bit your lip and closed your eyes. Though the maid had been kind in her intention, you heard the accusation loud and clear.

A shaky breath left you as you forced a smile. “No,” you said shaking your head again, “no… The king, our king, Peter and I were hoping he’d attend our… our marriage.” The word felt heavy on your tongue as the world around you began to crash down. “I suppose, we were too naïve to believe he’d stay.”

»————-　⚜　————-«

The barren winter trees passed by in blurs as Steven stared out the carriage window. The bickering of his two friends and advisors, Lord Samuel Wilson and James Barnes, became background noise to his pensive thoughts.

He wondered how you were – were you as devasted as he was? Would you understand if he told you the truth – that he, though desperately and completely in love with you, could not have you? That his overstep, his coveting of Peter Parker’s fiancé, may reignite a feud long buried between Arachnia and Brooklyn.

That as a king, it was his duty to put a stop to a potential war.

Though as a man, he knew his duty was to you and may always be.

“The girl,” Barnes’s mention of your name had him turning from the window and towards the two men, “she seems well. A great match for the young king.”

Steve scoffed. Although he knew his opinion was heavily biased, he knew that you were most certainly not a good match for the Parker boy. Peter would have you as a decorated figurehead – a pretty woman on his arm for the world to see – while Steven wanted so much more in your forbidden union.

“I see you disagree,” Samuel nodded to his king. Steven sat in silence and the two lords shot a knowing glance at the other. “They are to be wed in a few days.” Steven hummed though the two didn’t miss the way his hand formed a fist over his knee.

“The sooner the better, I suppose,” James nodded, eyeing Steven wearily. “Peter, being so young and the last of his line, he needs an heir quickly.” The king shifted in the carriage and they felt the entire cart jolt with his fury. “Steven, I address this as your friend, nothing more, but what is your issue?”

“Nothing.” Steven said quickly and he scolded himself. He felt like a young boy throwing a tantrum with his mother.

James raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his king and childhood friend. “The girl has piqued your interest, hasn’t she?” His friend’s silence was all the confirmation he needed. “Steve – “

“I know,” Steven snapped. “I know it is wrong to want another man – “he scoffed, “child’s bride…”

“And yet you still do?” Samuel asked. “Steve, the consequences of your feelings,” he shook his head, “it will incite an unnecessary war… and over what? A girl?”

“If she’s a war, then I will fight.”

“A love blind man’s word… Not a king’s.” Samuel rebutted.

“Why did you leave her, then? You could’ve stowed her away in this carriage with us. You could’ve stolen her from under Peter’s nose. Why didn’t you?” James quizzed.

With a defeated sigh, Steven said, “it’s for her own good. My affections for her, whatever my heart says or hers, it will get her killed. Arachnia will not take lightly to her betrayal of their king.”

James nodded in agreement. “You’re saving her. This is for the best, my friend. For if you listened to your heart instead of your head, she will be a casualty in a pointless war.”

“It’s difficult,” Steven confessed, “to have let her go. And it’s something I will regret for the rest of my life.”

»————-　⚜　————-«

ONE YEAR LATER…

Your entire family cooed at the fussing three-month-old in the king’s arms. The child continue to wail and thrash, finding discomfort in your husband. “Argh!” He glanced over to you as if asking for your help. You stifled a laugh as you walked over, seizing your baby from him. “She prefers her mother over me.” He joked as the babe almost instantly calmed in your arms.

“Have you chosen a godparent, yet, your majesty?” Your father asked you, subtly pushing your older brother forward as a silent suggestion. You rolled your eyes.

The king ran a hand over his brown curls and shook his head at your father. “No, my lord, we have yet to choose.” Peter nodded in your direction. “I thought since most of baby Fallon’s life will be decided by me, his mother should have a say in that.”

Your father chuckled with a shake of his head. He clasped a hand on your shoulder, and you fought the urge to shrug it off. “Indecisive, this one, isn’t she?”

Peter glanced your way, “you have no idea.” The two men laughed, and you gnawed at the knob in the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood. Fallon yawned and you gave Peter a look. “I suppose, we should all greet our guests.”

“Oh, yes,” you nodded, “the christening. You go ahead, Peter. Someone should stay with Fallon.”

“Oh, nonsense, girl,” your father told you. “The nanny will – “

“She is my child and I will care for her. I do not need a nanny.” You snapped, your bottled up frustrations slowly bursting.

Peter laughed awkwardly, hands finding your waist though you pulled away from him. He coughed. “It’s the separation anxiety,” he joked with your father.

“Well, I never had that,” your mother piped up.

Of course, you didn’t. You sent me away as soon as Peter asked. You bit back the response.

Your family began to vacate the nursery and you felt a bit of relief. You felt Peter’s hands on your hips. You tensed when you felt his lips ghost over your ear. “Why don’t you join me in greeting our guests?” He asked you.

You shrugged him off. “I want to be alone.”

The young king sighed before releasing his hold on you. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned to you again. “You do realize your duty is not only to Fallon? It is to me and my kingdom as well.”

“I understand that my duty was to give you an heir,” you deadpanned. “I have done just that.”

“You have given me a daughter. Not an heir.” You glared at him and he immediately silenced.

“A daughter is an heir. Do not dare discredit her birthright because of her sex!” The babe began to stir in your arms and let out a small cry. You immediately shushed her, coddling her in your arms and she began to quiet.

You heard him sigh, defeatedly, before the door slammed shut again.

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you as you stared at the child in your arms. Many times, you found peace in Fallon’s presence, but as time went on and as the child began to resemble her father, you began to worry. Though Fallon had adorable dark curls, she had striking blue eyes – ones that undoubtfully belonged to her father.

On the day you were to wed Peter, he had gotten caught up in the affairs of the state. The wedding was quickly rescheduled for two weeks after despite the protests of the nobles and royals who had all stayed extra days to witness your union. As you were doing the final adjustments to your gown, you realized you were due for a bleed that had yet to come and a sickening feeling of realization ran erupted through you. You did not consummate that night – your nerves and guilt making you sick to your stomach.

But you decided that you would survive – if not for yourself, then the life within you, the life in your arms now.

Moments later, the door creaked open and you let out a frustrated sigh. “Peter, I said I wanted to be alone – “in the silence, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand and a shiver run down your spine. A familiar feeling you wanted to forget. You turned around and your eyes widened. All the fury you felt, the regrets, the pain – all of it – melted in an instant.

“Steve.”

He stared at you with adoring eyes. You had grown more beautiful if that were even possible. Your glowed, motherhood becoming you. “(Y/N).”

“You shouldn’t be here.” You shook your head.

“You weren’t with Peter,” the Brooklyn king told you. “I thought you may have been with your child…” He chuckled. “Near the south wing, next to the staircase.”

“I love the sunlight it brings in.” You muttered. “Peter never lets Fallon out of the castle, so I suppose, it’s a substitute.” Steven nodded.

After beats of silence and longing stares, Steve finally said, “I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” You nodded. “At first I was angry. I cursed your name in the dead of night. I wished you were dead and I often pretended so.”

“I deserve worse.”

You laughed. “You do.”

“I did it because I was afraid if I took you from him, in a furious rage, he’d strike you down. You are not of Brooklyn. I could not protect you against your own king.” Steven explained.

You nodded. “I told you. I would marry into hell.”

“Has he been cruel?” Steven frowned, his fury slowly rising and hands forming fists.

You shook your head. “No, far from it, actually.” You chuckled humorlessly. “In fact, perhaps, I’ve been the cruel one. I push him away because I don’t want Falon to believe that he is her father – “

“What?”

You glanced down at the child in your arms and beckoned Steven with a cock of your head. The king slowly walked over to you and the babe. Steven’s eyes watered slightly as he stared at the small creation. “She’s … she’s mine?”

You nodded. “They pushed the wedding back two weeks and I didn’t… uh… I didn’t bleed… and I knew then. We didn’t consummate,” you saw how he frowned at that, “until a week or so after. I was with child not long after.”

“How do you know?” He asked you. “Not to be accusatory, but – “

“She has your eyes.” You smiled. “Every time she stares at me, it’s as if you are.”

“She looks like me,” Steven smiled, a gentle finger caressing the child’s plump cheeks. You nodded in agreement.

“Would you like to hold her?” You asked and he eagerly nodded. He took the child from you and you felt your heart swell when Fallon didn’t immediately begin to fuss like she would with Peter. “She likes you.”

“I hope so. I’m her father, after all.”

You laughed and rested your head on his shoulder, both admiring the life that you both created. You imagined that this was your life… just for a moment. That you weren’t in Arachnia but in Brooklyn, bearing Steven’s name rather than Peter’s… Married to the one who truly held your heart.

You sighed, finding the calm in your daughter and your lover.

And in that moment… all was right.

let me know what y’all think

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hyungieyoongi · 3 years

Text

Found: “Run Away to You” Part 1

Let me go.

He was, without a doubt, your hardest goodbye.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Former Actress!Reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Genre: Fluff + Angst

Series Masterlist: Run Away to You

Premise: You ran away from your acting career one year ago, disappearing from the spotlight without a trace. No one from your past life knew where to find you. On the anniversary of your disappearance, your carefully constructed reality is shattered.

// Part 2

---

Looking at the calendar on your wall, the date glared back at you, red marker encircling the number as if you could forget it.

One year. It had been one whole year since you ran away from your old life.

Happy anniversary to me, you thought bitterly.

It hadn’t been easy–no, it had been tactful, strategic. Your best friend-turned-publicist, Marianne, had programmed your social media accounts to simultaneously deactivate. The phone you used for “celebrity” contacts and business-related matters was permanently turned off, stashed away in the back of a drawer. You had already moved all your belongings to a new apartment on the other side of the city, address undisclosed to everyone except Marianne and your parents on the other side of the world. Everything had been in place for you to completely disappear.

You were instructed to lay low for at least one entire month, groceries delivered to your door under a fake name with Marianne’s credit card. You had cut your hair, once long and flowing, to your collarbone. It was often hidden under a baseball hat when you went to your favorite café for a coffee or took your elderly neighbor’s dog for walks around the park. You were completely off the radar, just as intended.

That didn’t stop the world from trying to track you down for a while. Fan blogs speculated where you could have gone, and tabloids splashed old pictures of you on their covers with speculative headlines. Your parents even had to install a state-of-the-art security system in your hometown in the States after a magazine found out where you grew up and tried to break into their backyard. But you weren’t naïve enough to go back home; that was the first place people would expect you to go. Instead, you were hidden in plain sight in Seoul, just sans the flashes of the cameras following you. Without the designer clothes or big sunglasses hiding your features, you looked just like anyone else. Undetectable.

You had grown up in America, studying acting and Korean during your time at university with Marianne. Upon graduation, you landed a major role in a K-drama, uprooting your entire life to move to Seoul. For five years, you lived in the spotlight under the industry’s microscope. People said you were living the dream, but it started to feel more like a nightmare. It became overwhelming, suffocating.

When the show wrapped after three seasons, you knew it was time. You decided to run. You just wish you didn’t have to hurt anyone else in the process. Especially him.

You had instructed Marianne to give him a letter explaining why you had to go away, but she never heard back from him.

Let me go, Yoongi. Don’t look for me. This is for the best. I will always care about you. – Y/N

The words were emblazoned in your memory, your eyes tearing up at the thought of him reading the words you wrote to him.

Let me go.

He was, without a doubt, your hardest goodbye.

Your cell phone rang, distracting you from the memories that plagued your thoughts today.

“Good afternoon, dearie!” Marianne chirped on the other end of the phone. “It’s a big day for you. The first half of your manuscript came back from the publisher, so get excited to do some editing!” Hiding away from the world for a year gave you a lot of time to think. For you, that meant time to write. Marianne seamlessly transitioned from being your publicist for your acting career to managing your budding career as an author, even helping you pick out a pseudonym.

“That’s great news,” you mumbled in reply, taking a long sip of your coffee, the bitterness blooming on your tongue.

“Are you alright? You sound, I don’t know, a little off,” Marianne questioned, concern lacing her normally peppy tone.

“It’s been one year, Marianne,” you replied, knowing she’d understand.

“Oh my,” Marianne said after a beat of silence. “It completely slipped my mind. How are you holding up?”

“I’m alright just a little…weird, I guess? I’m so relieved to have my own life again. But I’m also just kind of mourning my old life today.”

“Oh babe, I’m so sorry you’re going through this. Do you want me to come over after work–we can order takeout and watch a movie? Take your mind off things?” Marianne offered.

“No, that’s okay. I think I’m just going to spend the day doing some self-care. We’re meeting tomorrow to discuss the manuscript timeline, right?”

“Yes, of course! I’ll be at the café at 11:00 a.m. Are you sure you’ll be okay today?” Marianne asked, clearly not convinced that you were telling the truth about being alright.

“I’ll call you if I need you, I promise,” you reassured her.

“Night or day, Y/N, you know I’m here.”

After you both said your goodbyes and ended the call, you started to feel restless, needing something to take your mind off the date and the competing emotions swirling in your brain. You decided fresh air and comfort food were the solution.

Grabbing your keys off the table by the front door, you slipped on your shoes, heading for the local corner store in your neighborhood, mindlessly forgetting your hat on the hook on the wall.

---

Mask pulled over the lower half of his face to conceal his appearance, Yoongi slipped into a nearby corner store, saving himself from the prying eyes that seemed to be examining him a little too closely from across the street.

He had snuck out of the studio without security, wanting to just take a moment to breathe all to himself. He had driven around Seoul with no destination in mind, eventually stopping in a neighborhood he found with a quiet park for a walk. His thoughts betrayed him as they kept going back to you and the letter he received one year ago, now crumpled in the top righthand drawer of his desk. He didn’t need to pull it out today to remember exactly what it said.

Let me go.

Once he read those words, he had stopped reading, smashing the paper together between his fists in frustration, shoving it in the drawer. It had stayed unopened since last year.

Yoongi aimlessly wandered through the aisles of the store, his mind continuously returning to that drawer. He had worked so hard to stop thinking about it–about you–over the past year. Today was a harsh reminder that you were still on his mind. He had stopped calling a long time ago, knowing that you wouldn’t pick up or return his calls. Sometimes though, if he had a little too much to drink with the boys, he’d call your number just to hear your voice on the voicemail recording. He didn’t tell anyone about those late-night calls.

Rounding the aisle corner, he collided with someone, knocking the snacks they had bundled in their arms to the ground. They immediately knelt down, trying to collect them.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Here, let me help you,” Yoongi offered, starting to lean over.

“Oh, no that’s okay I’ve got it.” Yoongi froze, his body going rigid. That voice. Your voice. He hadn’t heard it in-person in over a year. The sweetness of it rang through his ears, reminiscent of the voicemail he knew by heart.

It was you. After all this time.

---

Standing up with your snacks back safely in your grasp, you looked at the man in front of you who seemed to be barely breathing.

You were about to ask if he was alright, but then you recognized it. The black hat–the one with two rings on the edge that he would often wear when he went out. His mask had slipped below his nose, his pale cheeks slightly squished under the pressure of the fabric. Black hair poked out from underneath the hat, falling onto his forehead and into his dark brown eyes. They were wide with shock.

You felt the color rush from your face, hands beginning to shake because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

You were safe. Safe in your self-made bubble away from the world.

Until he found you. And it burst.

You contemplated turning around, pretending you hadn’t recognized him. Leave him again. But you knew that wasn’t an option now. You had to face the thing you were most scared of–him.

“Yoongi, I-” your voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

“Your hair,” Yoongi remarked, cutting you off, tone flat and quiet. “You cut your hair.” His eyes narrowed at you.

You swallowed the lump that had lodged itself in your throat. “Just...wanted a change, I guess.”

Hide. You wanted to hide.

“You seem to have gone through a lot of changes,” Yoongi said, bitterness seeping into his voice.

You winced at the implication of his words. You took a deep breath to try and collect yourself before replying.

“Can we...can we not do this here?”

“Fine.”

“I live around the corner. Maybe we could just...talk?” you asked, averting your eyes to the ground. When you didn’t hear a reply, you looked back up to Yoongi, who nodded at you once in agreement.

Abandoning your would-be purchases, you walked out the front door of the store, Yoongi silently following behind you. You felt his eyes burning into your back.

Just put one foot in front of the other, you thought to yourself.

As you and Yoongi silently walked to your apartment, neither of you noticed the camera pointed at the two of you, snapping the photo that would change everything.

// Part 2

---

Taglist: @loveyoongles @agustd-2020 @delacyrose224 @crispychanniee @sunshinejunghoseokie @jinsearthh

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Check out my other work! ❤️

#bts fluff #bts angst #bts fic #run away to you fic #bts fanfiction #bts series #min yoongi #bts yoongi #bts suga #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #suga #suga x reader #sugar x y/n #bts au fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst

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little-mad · 3 years

Text

A Seat at the Table Pt. 1

~ Prologue Story ~

~ Part 2 ~

Guess who's baaack? Yup, it's Gavin and Rael, ready for another lil adventure. This one is gonna be shorter than Downsides of Thievery, but I have several little pieces planned for this universe so don't worry, these lads aren't going anywhere.

Gavin just wanted to sleep in. Considering he had been...let’s say “self employed” ever since graduating high school, he was unaccustomed to being dragged out of bed at an unholy hour. The past two mornings had been the same way, but somehow he’d managed to scrape himself out of bed. This time however, his body seemed to be holding a protest.

“You need to get up,” a familiar voice called, the same voice that had already urged Gavin awake a couple minutes ago.

The only response Gavin offered was burying his head deeper into the stunningly plush handkerchief that served as his makeshift sheets.

There was a pause, then suddenly he felt a gust of warm air roll over his back. “If you don’t get up on your own, I’m going to have to make you,” the voice was much closer now, in fact it sounded as though the speaker was only a few inches above Gavin. A shiver ran across his spine, but still his tired brain refused to signal any action from the body. The only thing he did manage to do was shoot back an irritable groan.

The hot breath remained for a moment before disappearing. “Good, maybe he’s leaving me alo--” The blanket that had been protecting Gavin from the early morning chill was suddenly ripped away. Before he could even let out a complaint, a firm pressure took hold of either side of his waist.

A less than dignified yelp slipped out of Gavin’s mouth as he was effortlessly snatched out of his bed and lifted up into the air. He didn’t need to turn around to know what had happened, even in his groggy state he could put together the pieces. “What the hell, dude?!” he yelled as he squirmed angrily.

“You can’t say I didn’t warn you,” came Rael’s response as he rotated Gavin around so he was now dangling facing towards him.

Unlike Gavin, the teal-eyed alteon looked perfectly content being up at the asscrack of dawn. He was already dressed in his uniform, and his long black hair was neatly tied back in its usual style. He looked down at Gavin with an amused smirk on his lips, as well as a mischievous glint in his eyes that Gavin couldn’t help but feel responsible for encouraging.

Gavin scowled. “Put me down, Rael,” he ordered with as much authority as an action figure sized person could muster.

Rael’s grin widened, making him look alarmingly like the cat that ate the proverbial canary. “If you insist.” A sharp gasp got caught in Gavin’s throat as the hand holding him abruptly lurched into motion. The last thing he saw was a swath of tan before he was unceremoniously plopped down on the unidentified surface.

Scrambling to his feet, Gavin whipped around to try and make sense of where he’d been placed. It only took a moment before he realized, and when he did his face instantly began to flush red. “I didn’t mean on your lap!” he hissed, his cheeks now a bright red color as a result of being deposited on Rael’s left thigh.

There were several places that Gavin didn’t much like to be due to the fact that being there made him feel like a giant’s pet. On Rael’s lap was a big one. Other ones included being cradled in hands or set on a chest--which Rael had actually done the other day without seeming to realize how embarrassing it would be for the human.

Rael gave a small snicker, something that a couple days ago would have sounded foreign coming from the Imperial Guardsman. “Consider it punishment for not getting up the first, or second time I told you to,” he remarked, looking down at Gavin with unconcealed mirth.

Rather than try to argue, Gavin just glared up at his...mentor? Was that the right word? Parole officer was the closest thing he could think of that fit properly, but it didn’t really fit in with the medieval vibe of the alteon dimension. “Master” was maybe a better term, but Gavin would be damned if he ever referred to Rael as “master.”

Thankfully Gavin didn’t have to suffer in Rael’s lap for long, because a moment later the giant reached down and carefully scooped the human back up.

It was hard to believe how much less skittish Gavin had become about being around Rael’s hands. Over the past couple days they’d made a surprising amount of progress. That wasn’t to say Gavin’s heart rate didn’t pick up every time those oversized appendages came near him, but at least he didn’t have the urge to run for the hills anymore.

Gavin was only in transit for a short moment before being deposited back on the bedside table where his improvised bed resided. Until the palace craftsmen completed the miniature furniture set that the Emperor had commissioned, Rael had provided Gavin with a small wooden crate filled with fabric to sleep in.

Atop the table was also a small pile of clothes. The gray jumpsuit he’d arrived in the alteon dimension in was folded up neatly after having been washed for him. There were also several sets of simple garments that had apparently been painstakingly sewn by giant fingers. The work was certainly impressive, and apparently Gavin could expect even more intricate articles in the future.

“I’m going to get breakfast,” Rael announced, already making his way towards the door. “You’d better be dressed by the time I get back.” He glanced over his shoulder to shoot a warning glare back at Gavin, however the edge was taken off by the slight smile on the man’s lips.

“Yeah, yeah,” the human replied, waving a dismissive hand.

As soon as the alteon was out the door, Gavin let out a low sigh. “He still doesn’t think I can handle eating in the dining hall,” he muttered to himself as he went about getting dressed.

Ever since Gavin had started out as Rael’s assistant, Rael had insisted upon bringing their meals back to the room rather than joining the rest of the members of the Imperial Guard. At first, Gavin had been grateful. After the Ashryn incident, he had no desire to interact with any more soldiers. However, on the second day he’d begun to wonder why exactly Rael seemed so adamant about it. When he had posed the question to the alteon, he had simply responded with “it’s easier this way.”

Despite what many of the people in Gavin’s life might say, he wasn’t stupid. He knew each and every alteon was a potential danger to him. But everyone in the dining hall would be soldiers--soldiers who were bound by the Emperor’s order that Gavin be protected. Surely he would be perfectly safe there?

“I can’t spend this whole year hiding,” he grumbled. Tying the laces of his sneakers was the final touch on his outfit for the day. The human-sized shoes that were being crafted for him by a cobbler would take some time. He’d wondered why, if alteons had magic, they couldn’t just conjure a pair of shoes. But according to Rael, it didn’t work like that.

Either way, until the shoes were completed, he’d have to stick with the ones he’d arrived in the dimension with. They clashed pretty terribly with the loose fitting cotton tunic and fitted brown trousers, but looking fashionable had fallen pretty low on his list of priorities ever since he got arrested.

With no mirror around, Gavin could only hazard a guess as to what he looked like. He ran his fingers through his frequently disobedient brown locks. He felt pretty confident that his hair was a mess, aside from the fact that it pretty much always was, it had also dried uncombed after bathing the previous night.

Rael had taken Gavin to a massive stone basin to bathe in, and the experience was positively magical for the human. While the basin was intended for washing hands, at Gavin’s size the thing was almost like a small swimming pool! The water had been wonderfully warm and filled with lavender scented bubbles. It had been just the thing Gavin needed to unwind after the whirlwind past couple days he’d endured.

“They have the sausages you like again,” Rael announced as he pushed open the door, balancing an enormous tray of food on one hand.

“So you’re not letting me eat at the big kid table again, huh?” Gavin questioned, ignoring the sausage comment despite the fact that he did in fact like them quite a bit.

A stiff look came across Rael’s face as he snapped the door shut behind him. He said nothing at first, remaining silent as he took a seat on his bed with the food tray on his lap. Gavin began to think the guy wasn’t even going to bother responding until finally, “There’s nothing to gain from doing so.”

Gavin folded his arms over his chest, stepping closer to the edge of the bedside table closest to Rael. He hated when he took on that tone. It was the same tone he’d constantly used when they had first met. Gavin had started to think it was dead and gone, but clearly not.

“There’s nothing to gain from staying in here,” he countered.

Rael pressed his lips tightly together, as if there was something he wanted to say but also didn’t want to at the same time. Finally he blew out a long sigh. “I’ll think about it,” was all he said.

His tone wasn’t exactly promising, but Gavin didn’t want to pick a fight so early in the morning. His brain wasn’t full awake yet so any argument he got into, he’d no doubt lose. So for the time being, he let it go.

#i'm posting this at an absolutely terrible time #but oh well #maybe my fellow night owls will appreciate it #idk how many parts this will be for sure #I feel like I don't handle ocs the way most people do #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #oc: gavin stone #oc: rael #I could say this is a 600 followers celebration #but I was gonna post it anyways lol

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fortunatelyfresco · 3 years

Text

A Holistic Integration of Type 1 Narcolepsy into the Reading of Moist von Lipwig

Literary Interpretation, Disability, and Finding Yourself Between the Lines

As it goes, "I wrote this for me, but you can read it if you want." It might be a fun ride for anyone who is very interested in Moist von Lipwig, or narcolepsy, or both, and/or anyone who enjoys collecting small details from within a body of work and arranging them into threads that are supportable by the text, without being actually suggested by it.

Personally, I find it very interesting to read the meta behind different headcanons, and see how creators can unintentionally write a character who fits certain criteria. There are only so many traits, after all, and some of them tend to travel in groups! Humans are pattern seekers, etc etc.

The first step of reading Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic is wanting to read Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic. Being narcoleptic myself and relating heavily to Moist, this step was very easy. I invite you to take my hand and come along, at least briefly, if you were interested enough to click the readmore.

Once you have taken that step, things start falling into place. At least they do if you're intimately familiar with narcolepsy, or if you first learn about it in detail through, for instance, a Tumblr post with an agenda :)

I'll break this down symptom by symptom, citing only the ones I both have personal experience with and see textual support for.

I'll be using OverDrive's search function to catalogue "evidence" in (the American editions of) Going Postal, Making Money, and Raising Steam, so I might miss passages that don't use certain keywords.

Please take any statements along the lines of "being narcoleptic means X" with a huge grain of salt. Sometimes it's just more succinct. Narcolepsy can manifest in many different ways, and is still being actively studied. Don't base your entire understanding of it on a fandom essay I wrote to cope with the crushing pressures of capitalism. I have not even fully read the scientific studies linked here as sources.

Here we go! Spoilers abound.

I. Excessive Daytime Sleepiness (EDS) and sleep attacks.

Being narcoleptic means (salt now, please) that your brain does not get adequate rest while you sleep, no matter how much you sleep. This is because of a disturbance in the order and length of REM and NREM sleep phases. This leads to constant exhaustion. Some sources describe narcoleptic EDS as "comparable to [the sleepiness] experienced by a healthy individual who has been sleep-deprived continuously for 48–72 hours."

(Source.)

Sleep attacks can come on gradually or suddenly. In my case, I become irritable and easily overwhelmed, and nothing matters except finding a place to lie down. A more severe attack, under the right circumstances, can put me to sleep while I'm actively trying to stay awake and engaged.

Moist refers to 6:45 am as "still nighttime." He is "allergic to the concept of two seven o'clocks in one day" and is "not good at early mornings," and the narration even cites this as "one of the advantages of a life of crime; you didn't have to get up until other people had got the streets aired."

In Going Postal, he repeatedly falls asleep at his desk. I can only find two instances, but the first one describes it as having happened "again," so it happens at least three times over the course of one week. Both of the times I found were after Mr. Pump cleared his apartment, giving him access to a bed, and I can't find any reference to the fire destroying it—just that his office is "missing the whole of one wall." His presumably wooden desk is still intact, even, just "charred."

There's also no build-up either time. No direct narration of the time right before he falls asleep, just retroactive accounting for it.

Which is primarily a function of stories not showing us every boring second, and secondarily one of the smaller ways we're shown Moist being overwhelmed and racing to keep up with himself, but tertiarily it's a great set dressing if you've already decided he's narcoleptic. Sometimes sleep is just a thing that happens, without any deliberate transition. Sometimes you sit down to catch your breath or get some paperwork done, and wake up several hours later.

I've found only one example in GP of Moist waking up in his actual bed at the post office: the morning after being possessed by all the undelivered letters. Presumably either they put him there, or Mr. Pump did.

There are two points in Making Money where Moist, in an effort to be a comforting and/or guiding hand, advises people to get some sleep. First Owlswick Jenkins, and then one of the clerks (Robert) who is worried about Mr. Bent.

I take the optimistic view that this is Moist genuinely caring about these people, not just trying to get them to do what he wants. He has always done some combination of those things (GP opens with him having befriended his jailers, after all), but there's definitely a thread of him learning to treat both himself and those around him more like real people. (See also.)

Looking at this thread through narcolepsy-colored lenses, you get Moist perhaps drawing from his own experiences in an effort to be helpful. In Owlswick or Robert's position, what is something he would want to hear from the man currently in charge of his fate, or at least his job? "Get some sleep."

If we accept this as a pattern, it culminates in Raising Steam, when Moist starts to worry about "Dick Simnel and his band of overworked engineers," fixating particularly on their lack of sleep.

What sleep they got was in sleeping bags, curled up on carriage seats, eating but not eating well, just driven by their watches and their desire to keep the train going.

[...]

"People are going to die if we push them any further," he said to Dick. "You lot would rather work than sleep!"

[...]

The young man swayed in front of him and Moist's tone became gentle. "And I see now that part of my job is to tell you that you need some rest. You've run out of steam, Dick. Look, we're well on the way to Uberwald now, and while it's daylight and we're out of the mountains it's going to be the least risky time to run with minimum crew. We're all going to need our wits about us when we get near the pass. Surely you can take some rest?"

Simnel blinked as if he'd not seen Moist the first time, and said, "Yes, you're right."

And Moist could hear the slurring in the young man's speech, caught him before he fell and dragged him into a sleeping compartment, put him to bed, and noted that the engineer didn't so much fall asleep as somehow flow into it.

Moist then recruits Vimes to help him talk the rest of the engineers into getting some rest. The two of them briefly commiserate about people not realizing how important it is.

"I have to teach that to young coppers. Treasure a night's rest, I always say. Take a nap whenever you can."

"Very good."

II. Insomnia.

This is a lesser-known but very common symptom of narcolepsy. Or a comorbidity, depending on how you look at it. It seems counterintuitive if narcolepsy has been presented to you as "sleeping all the time," but it makes sense once you know it's really a matter of disruption in the brain's ability to regulate sleep cycles.

The case for this symptom is flimsier, and I fully admit I'm just reading my own experience into it. But here are two excerpts from Going Postal that I find quite suitable for my sleepy agenda:

1. "A man of affairs such as he had to learn to sleep in all kinds of situations, often while mobs were looking for him a wall's thickness away."

I latched hard onto this detail the first time I read GP.

At my worst, I could not get more than a couple hours of sleep in my bed. I kept taking naps in the bath because it was one of the few places I could sleep. It seemed to fulfill some of the criteria (isolation, temperature control, etc) that my brain demanded in exchange for playing nice.

We're told over and over again, throughout Moist's books, that he functions best under pressure.

(Brief aside: This is often cited as a reason to interpret Moist as having ADHD, which I'm also fully on board with. Not coincidentally, narcolepsy and ADHD share a few symptoms, have a notable comorbidity rate, and are treated with some of the same medications. Source.)

So again, if you're already inclined to read Moist as narcoleptic, the following is an easy jump:

"Moist thinks he's good at sleeping in strange places under strange circumstances. This is because A) his basis for comparison is a disordered attempt to sleep in normal places under normal circumstances, B) something about danger satisfies his brain into running more smoothly, and C) he's a resourceful person who is 'not given to introspection,' and so is less likely to wonder why his body demands sleep at strange times and more likely to focus on finding a place for that sleep to happen, and chalk this up later as a skill."

And returning briefly to EDS: Why would someone like Moist waste time finding a safe place to sleep while people are actively trying to kill him? At the beginning of GP, he leaves Vetinari's office and immediately goes on the run. In multiple books, when he feels threatened, his brain instinctively launches into complex escape plans. We see him successfully blend into an Ankh-Morpork crowd at least once after becoming a public figure.

So why bother? After all, a safe place to sleep is also a safe place to change clothes, or at least remove whatever distinguishing features he's given himself. Why wouldn't he just become someone else and leave town immediately?

The obvious answer is that sometimes things just happen, and an author doesn't need to know or explain every single detail of a character's past.

I would suggest, though, that one of those things might be Moist reaching a point where sleep is just not optional. A point where he not only doesn't, but can't, care about anything else. Where he is too tired to think straight, too tired to talk his way out of trouble, too tired to even contemplate the long journey from one town to the next.

2. "Moist knew he ought to get some sleep, but he had to be there, too, alive and sparkling."

Sometimes (especially in combination with underlying mental health issues) narcoleptic sleep deprivation can bypass everything I've described so far, and lead straight into a manic state. You won't necessarily find that on Google, but it's been my experience.

That's obviously not what the text is implying. "Alive and sparkling" is just a very relatable description. And we do often see Moist getting away from himself, speaking without thinking, making absurd promises that he justifies immediately afterwards as Just Part Of Being Him, always raising the stakes.

And here are a couple of excerpts from Raising Steam that could be interpreted as Moist being a light sleeper, AKA struggling to get deep sleep:

1. "And slowly Moist shut down, although a part of him was always listening to the rhythm of the rails, listening in his sleep, like a sailor listening to the sounds of the sea."

2. "All Moist's life he'd managed to find a way of sleeping in just about every circumstance and, besides, the guard's van was somehow the hub of the train; and although he didn't know how he did it, he always managed to sleep with half of one ear open."

Moist is exactly the kind of opportunist to see that as a useful tool, isn't he?

III. Hypnagogic and Hypnopompic Hallucinations.

These are hallucinations that come on as you're falling asleep or waking up. They can also happen during REM intrusions while you're awake. My most memorable ones include piano notes, someone calling my name, being trapped in the waves of a large body of water, and a huge truck going over a guard rail and tumbling down a hill. These are often, but not always, accompanied by sleep paralysis (and sleep paralysis is often, but not always, accompanied by hallucinations).

In GP, Moist casually cites his own hallucinations as proof that what is happening at the post office is not one.

"They're all alive! And angry! They talk! It was not a hallucination! I've had hallucinations and they don't hurt!"

Obviously that's not true for everyone, but it's true for Moist, and he has enough experience that he immediately recognizes the difference.

At one point while awake, Moist "[snaps] out of a dream of chandeliers" to realize someone has approached him to talk, while he was busy having visions of what the post office used to look like/could look like again.

Now, that's cheating, because we're probably supposed to assume it's a side effect of being possessed, but... I'm putting it here anyway.

There is also perhaps a case to be made for the tendency of Moist's internal monologue to lapse into extremely specific and prolonged hypotheticals. The lines between hallucinations, waking dreams, and "regular" daydreams have always been very blurry to me. I'm especially curious about the example at the end of Going Postal, which goes like this:

"Look, I know what I'm like," he said. "I'm not the person everyone thinks I am. I just wanted to prove to myself I'm not like Gilt. More than a hammer, you understand? But I'm still a fraud by trade. I thought you knew that. I can fake sincerity so well that even I can't tell. I mess with people's heads—"

"You're fooling no one but yourself," said Miss Dearheart, and reached for his hand.

Moist shook her off, and ran out of the building, out of the city, and back to his old life, or lives, always moving on, selling glass as diamond, but somehow it just didn't seem to work anymore, the flair wasn't there, the fun had dropped out of it, even the cards didn't seem to work for him, the money ran out, and one winter in some inn that was no more than a slum he turned his face to the wall—

And an angel appeared.

"What just happened?" said Miss Dearheart.

Perhaps you do get two...

"Only a passing thought," said Moist.

In-universe... what is Adora reacting to? What did just happen? The fact that these incidents are not isolated to Going Postal is a point against it being some sort of literal timeline divergence caused by The Spirit Of The Post.

So maybe Moist visibly zoned out. Maybe he had some kind of minor but noticeable cataplexy attack (more on those later) as part of a REM intrusion, brought on by the intense emotions he's currently struggling with.

IV. Vivid Dreams.

Again, at least some of this is probably supposed to be part of the possession, but I've been professionally projecting myself onto the surreal dreams of magically afflicted characters for years. Do try this at home.

1. "Moist dreamed of bottled wizards, all shouting his name. In the best tradition of awaking from a nightmare, the voices gradually became one voice, which turned out to be the voice of Mr. Pump, who was shaking him."

2. Moist is uneasy about the Smoking Gnu's plan, and then he has an extremely detailed dream about the Grand Trunk burning down.

This culminates in "Moist awoke, the Grand Trunk burning in his head," followed by a paragraph of him thinking things through and starting to form his own alternative plan, followed immediately by "Moist awoke. He was at his desk, and someone had put a pillow under his head."

So he fell asleep at his desk, woke up from a vivid nightmare, was awake just long enough for a coherent train of thought, and then passed back out. Which once again is not "proof" of anything, but fits the predetermined interpretation like a glove.

V. Cataplexy.

Cataplexy is a sudden loss of muscle control, usually triggered by strong emotions. This is thought to be a facet of REM intrusion—waking instances of the atonia that is meant to stop us from acting out our dreams.

The most well-known manifestation is laughter making your knees buckle, but it's not always that severe. My own attacks range from facial twitching, usually when I'm angry or otherwise extremely upset, to all-over weakness/immobilization and near-collapse when I laugh. My knees have fully buckled once or twice.

This is the biggest stretch. This is the one that is absolutely only there if you've already decided to read entire novels between the lines. It's also not even necessary for the broader headcanon; plenty of people have narcolepsy without cataplexy (or such mild cataplexy that it's never noticeable, or very delayed onset, etc).

However. I am doing this for fun. So I want him to have it. It's also become a major part of how I imagine Moist engaging with emotion, and I'd like to make a case for that.

There are a few scattered references to Moist's legs shaking, or being unsteady, or outright giving way, but there's usually an external physical reason, and/or enough psychological shock to justify it without a medical condition.

The most compelling example I've found so far comes from Moist and Adora's conversation about people expecting Moist to deliver letters to the gods.

"I never promised to—"

"You promised to when you sold them the stamps!"

Moist almost fell off his chair. She'd wielded the sentence like a fist.

"And it'll give them hope," she added, rather more quietly.

"False hope," said Moist, struggling upright.

"Almost fell off his chair" at first sounds like casual hyperbole, but then "struggling upright" implies it was a bit more literal. It's also an accurate description of me recovering from my more severe attacks, supporting myself on a wall or my spouse, or pushing myself up if I've fallen over in bed.

That happens to me multiple times per day, by the way. It doesn't bother me, and I didn't realize there was anything unusual about it for a long time. I barely think about it, except to fondly note that my spouse is good at making me laugh.

Which is to say, even severe cataplexy is not always noticeable or debilitating. Sometimes it absolutely is! It can be downright dangerous, depending on where you are, what you're doing, and whether you have any other conditions it might exacerbate. I don't want to undermine that.

I am just hell-bent on justifying the idea that this fictional character could have repeated attacks throughout the canonical narrative that are so routine they don't merit an explanation, or even a description. Especially for someone who is used to hiding his few distinguishing features behind false ones that are much more memorable. (See also.)

(That link goes to my own fanfic. Sorry.)

On the milder side, between Going Postal and Making Money, there are three instances of Moist's mouth "dropping open" when he's shocked, upset, confused, or some combination of the three. This is the kind of thing that shows up a lot in fiction, but rarely happens so literally in real life.

(There's technically a fourth instance, but I'm not counting it because it seems to be a deliberate choice on his part to convey surprise.)

And then there's laughter. Or rather, there isn't. I could be missing something, but I've searched all three books for instances of laughter and various synonyms (not counting spoken "Ha!"s), and what I've come up with is:

Moist laughs once in Going Postal, when he receives the assignment for the race to Genua.

Two packages were handed over. Moist undid his, and burst out laughing.

There's also an instance earlier in the book where Moist nearly "burst[s] out laughing."

I find the specifics here interesting, and, for our purposes, fortuitous. Cataplexy is complicated and presents differently for everyone. In my case, when laughter triggers an attack, one of the effects (which is sometimes also a cause) is that I laugh very hard, with little or no control. "Burst out laughing" is quite apt.

Let's move on to Making Money, and start with a quick tangent:

Mr. Bent explains that he has no sense of humor due to a medical condition, and that he isn't upset about this and doesn't understand why people feel sorry for him.

Moist immediately starts in with "Have you tried—" before getting cut off by the frustrated Bent.

Out-of-universe, "Have you tried" is such a well-known refrain to anyone with an incurable condition, I'm not at all surprised to find it in a book written by someone who had at least begun the process that would lead to a diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer's. And Pratchett has certainly never shied away from portraying ignorance in his protagonists.

In-universe, it feels a little odd. Moist's tongue runs away from him all the time, but usually in the form of making ridiculous claims or impossible promises. Moist's entire stock-in-trade is People Skills, and it feels strange for him to make this kind of mistake immediately after being told Mr. Bent is not looking for solutions.

But if one were reading with, for instance, the idea in mind that Moist himself has an incurable condition related to laughter and is enthusiastic about, but still relatively new to, the practice of drawing on his own experiences to help people... it is easy to imagine the gears in his head turning the wrong way, superimposing those experiences over the tail end of Mr. Bent's explanation. Disabled people are not immune to these well-meaning pitfalls.

There is another Mr. Bent moment that I want to discuss, but we'll circle back around to it later.

I found two instances of Moist himself laughing in MM.

1. "He said it with a laugh, to lighten the mood a little."

This is deliberate laughter, employed as a social tactic. A polite chuckle, probably. Not the sort of thing that generally triggers cataplexy.

2. "Moist started to laugh, and stopped at the sight of her grave expression."

The first and only involuntary laugh in MM. It doesn't always trigger attacks...

Which brings us to Raising Steam. Compared to the first two books, Moist laughs a lot here. I count nine instances. Two of them are "burst out laughing"s, a couple include him as part of a group, some of it comes off as deliberate, and some of it doesn't.

I've always seen a lot of... rage in Raising Steam. Combing through it for laughter, I realized Moist's emotions in general are much closer to the surface here, and he's much less concerned about letting people see them. He laughs with friends and acquaintances, he cries in front of strangers, he shouts at Harry King, he has that entire conversation with Dick that boils down to "I'm very worried about you," etc.

Opinions vary wildly and sharply on Raising Steam. I have my own hangups with it, as I do with most books in the series. (Every time I make a new Discworld post, Tumblr passive-aggressively suggests the tag "my kingdom for a discworld character who is normal about women and other species.")

But I like this particular change in Moist, and I choose to see it as character development. He's trading in the professional detachment of a conman for the ability to grow into himself as a person and make meaningful connections.

So, what does that have to do with cataplexy? A lot.

I don't want to get too maudlin, so I'll just say I have plenty of personal experience with emotional repression masking cataplexy symptoms. And so, I believe, does the version of Moist we've put together over the course of this post.

Which brings us back to Making Money, and Mr. Bent. He says something about Moist that I find very interesting: "I do not trust those who laugh too easily."

Unless I've missed something, at that point in the book, Moist has never actually laughed in front of him. And Mr. Bent is a man who pays very close attention to details.

So, what is the in-universe explanation for this? I'd like to propose that Moist is very skilled at seeming to laugh, without actually laughing. He smiles, he's friendly, and he makes other people laugh, which is another thing Bent dislikes about him. He gives the impression of being someone who laughs a lot. (He certainly left that impression on me; I was very surprised by the lack of examples in the first two books.)

Even staying strictly within the bounds of canon, it's easy to imagine why this might have become part of Moist's camouflage in his previous life. He wasn't looking to get attached to anyone, and he didn't want anyone getting inside his head. Engaging with people genuinely enough to laugh at their jokes would run counter to both of those things, but some of his personas still needed to come off as friendly and sociable.

Still working within the canon, it makes sense to assume he's similarly distanced himself from emotion in general. He sits in a cell for several weeks without truly believing he's going to die. He's bewildered when Mr. Pump points out that his schemes have hurt innocent people. He has no idea what to do with his feelings for Adora. Etc.

Interpreting Moist as having cataplexy adds an extra element of danger. Moist thrives on danger, but there's a difference between the thrill of a con and the threat of sudden, uncontrollable displays of vulnerability. And so it becomes even easier to see him stifling his own emotional capacity.*

We meet Moist at a moment of great upheaval. He is forcibly removed from his cocoon of false identities, and pushed out into the world as himself. And we are shown and told throughout Going Postal that he does not know how to be himself. (See also.)

He is repeatedly stymied by his own emotions. He gets tongue-tied and confused around Adora, he snaps at Mr. Pump, he lashes out at Mr. Groat, he gets lost in school flashbacks when he meets Miss Maccalariat. This thread continues in Making Money, where the sudden reappearance of Cribbins immediately rattles him into making an uncharacteristic mistake.

I called him Cribbins! Just then! I called him Cribbins! Did he tell me his name? Did he notice? He must have noticed!

Later in the same book, Moist misses a crucial opportunity to run damage control on the bank's public image... because he's excited to see Adora.

The Moist of GP and MM is not used to feeling things so deeply. It throws him off his game. I'm not at all suggesting cataplexy is the only (or even primary) reason for that, but I do think there's room for it on both sides of the cause and effect equation.

With or without the cataplexy, I find Moist's relative emotional openness in Raising Steam... really nice. (It's a work in progress. He's still getting a handle on anger.)

Cataplexy just adds another dimension. A physical manifestation of emotional vulnerability, which would have been especially untenable for a teenager on the run. Just one more facet of the real, human, fallible Moist von Lipwig who spent years buried beneath Albert Spangler and all the rest.

Another piece of himself that Moist is growing to understand and accept, as he learns to more comfortably be himself.

The Moist of Going Postal runs into a burning building to save lives without fully understanding why he wants to, and justifies it on the fly as an essential part of the role he's trying to play.

The Moist of Raising Steam mindlessly throws himself under a train to save two children, and then blows up at Harry King about the lack of safety regulations. Freshly traumatized by the murder of several railway workers and his own violent, vengeful response to it, he still offers, in the face of Harry's own grief, to be the one to inform their families. On a long and dangerous journey with plenty of moving parts to think about, he worries about Dick Simnel and the other engineers, and pushes them to take better care of themselves.

He also meets a bunch of kids who nearly derailed a train as part of a childish scheme. His admonishment is startlingly vivid.

"Can you imagine a railway accident? The screaming of the rails and the people inside and the explosion that scythes the countryside around when the boiler bursts? And you, little girl, and your little friends, would have done all that. Killed a trainload of people."

[...]

"I'll square this with the engine driver, but if I was you I'd get my pencil and turn any clever ideas you have like this into a book or two. Those penny dreadfuls are all the rage in the railway bookshops."

Maybe what he is also saying, between the lines, is:

I left home at 14 and began a life of smoke and mirrors. I was empty inside, and I thought everyone else was, too. It was all fun and games, and then a man made of clay told me I was killing people. Nip it in the bud, child. Write books.

------------

*There are studies suggesting that in addition to deliberately employed "tricks," people with cataplexy may experience physiological reactions in the brain meant to inhibit laughter. (Source 1, Source 2.)

Most of the information here is way over my head, but that second link also says "one region of the brain called the zona incerta (meaning 'zone of uncertainty') was only activated during laughter in people with narcolepsy, not in controls. Research on the zona incerta in animals suggests that it also helps to control fear-associated behavior."

The linked article about that (https://www.nature.com/articles/s41467-018-03581-6) is also over my head, but I would certainly describe Moist von Lipwig as having unusual fear responses.**

**Narcolepsy is a fun roller-coaster ride of constant scientific discoveries about exactly which parts of your brain are paying too much attention, not paying enough attention, or trying to eat each other.

#moist von lipwig #narcolepsy #discworld #disabled headcanons #oh my god this got so out of hand #earned itself a title AND a subtitle #mr. cybulskis i'm sorry i fell asleep in your class every day it was at the exact wrong time and temperature and lighting

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whiterosebrian · 3 years

Text

Letter To Democrats

I felt the need to do something besides raising awareness of environmental, indigenous, and socio-economic issues. I’ve decided to compose and then mail multiple printed copies of a letter to multiple politicians across the USA. I did wonder if I should copy-and-paste the letter to social media profiles like I did for the one that I wrote to President Biden. Ultimately, I decided that posting the letter would serve two purposes. First, I wanted to let indigenous activists know that they have another willing accomplice. Second, this could provide a decent template for anyone who also feels a need to write to political leaders and put pressure on them to take much-needed action. Without any further ado…

Greetings,

I am writing a generic letter to send to assorted politicians across the United States. For reasons that I will articulate over the course of this letter, I felt a serious need to address as many members of the American political leadership as possible. I do not intend to call you out personally. If you do take it as a personal callout, please consider why you feel that way.

The reports of wildfires, heat waves, and floods have filled many, many observers with existential terror. Some have even expressed utter despair over whether the world will be inhabitable by any form of life. At times I have been tempted to join the despair, to give up hope of ever leaving a beautiful legacy for future generations. For the sake of all the people of the world, I must fight that temptation. I need to do my part to fight for the future.

There are a large number of activists trying to protect the environment. However, they need help from people who have the power to make really concrete changes. That is why I am writing to you and other Democratic politicians. That does sound very partisan, but the sad fact is that the Republican party is almost a lost cause at this point. I wish to be proven wrong about that. The fact is that it already engaged in brutal obstruction during the Obama administration. A sinister side to the base already started emerging during that time as well. With the rise of Donald Trump, the much of its leadership and nearly all of its electoral base have become increasingly unwilling to offer the kind of compromise needed for a functional democracy.

The Democratic party as a whole has been criticized as very weak in opposing the radicalizing Republican Party. The current President has spoken of a desire for restoring national unity. That desire is certainly laudable in itself when Trump blatantly stoked resentment and division. Again, however, the Republican party and its core supporters have shown a complete unwillingness to work with any opponents in any way. They view their opponents as subversive enemies that need to be crushed underfoot. The Republican party has inched towards neo-fascism at a time when neo-fascism is mainstreaming around the world. The Republican party has also already been beholden to the selfish interests of major corporations for decades. It even seeks to magnify the already dire influence of corporations chiefly responsible for pollution. Its propaganda outlets outright deny pollution and mislead millions of people.

Some Democratic politicians have also been criticized as going along with corporate interests and watering down legislation meant to oppose corporate influence. By now it has become clear that corporate elites do not have the safety of the world and its human and nonhuman denizens in mind. By now it has become clear that they must be reined in for the greater good. The only language that major corporations even comprehend is money. Here I arrive at the first main point of this letter: I urge you to work with other Democratic leaders to divest from major corporations and their executives, especially those most directly responsible for polluting the Earth. I’ve also seen proposals that corporations be forced to contribute to removing as much pollution as possible. Quickening the transition away from fossil fuels is crucial.

However, alternate energy sources are not enough. Switching from gas-powered cars to electric cars is not enough. Building solar or wind farms in place of coal-burning power plants is not enough. Extraction and consumption cause their own serious problems. The problem of environmental degradation has roots that are far too deep and complicated to address here, though I will touch upon one later. Going hand-in-hand with corporate influence are the bad social and urban infrastructures that do not encourage sustainable lifestyles. I barely even know where to begin in this regard. Cities are too often built for cars and not people. Most people have to drive carbon-spewing cars to work at jobs that are not well-suited to their needs in order to pay their bills and feed their families. Too many people are left in poverty or near-poverty, some people are more-or-less isolated in suburbs, and a tiny handful are virtually untouchable in their wealth and privilege. Healthy food is not always accessible, and even when it is, it often has to be shipped very far from the source.

My second main point is this: in addition to transitioning to cleaner energy, the very infrastructure of our society needs to reformed. Local communities need to be lifted up so that they can better care for themselves without the need for distant figures constantly having to provide for them through convoluted supply chains. It’s true that right-wingers speak of “small government” with the unspoken agenda of leaving corporate oligarchs and ultra-conservative clergy to rule over ordinary human beings. Nonetheless, I believe that, at this point, government needs to assist in rebuilding communities so that they can eventually leave denizens to stand on their feet and care for each other. The pandemic, along with the poor responses of many local officials, has shown the need for communities to engage in mutual care.

I will confess that this exhortation is the vaguest one in this letter. I lack in-depth education on such matters. I bring it up in order to further nudge you in a direction that would be far better for the Earth and its people. I can offer one example of what must be done that is slightly clearer: helping communities establish gardens and small-scale farms to better feed themselves.

On a very important side note, this nation needs to divest from the military as well. The largest and most powerful military in history is known to be among the largest polluters on earth. Too many politicians seem to ignore how massive the military already is an insist on subsidizing it at the cost of actually building a peaceful and prosperous society.

I further wish to discuss the need to center indigenous peoples in renewing our society. No, I am no indigenous myself. I simply wish to point to their wisdom. Yes, the sagely magical Indian who is one with Mother Earth is a crude stereotype, and I have no intention of reinforcing it. With that said, I follow a number of indigenous writers, activists, spiritualists, and influencers on social media. I learned about how many indigenous people are attempting to reconnect to previously outlawed and hidden heritages. The stereotype could be rooted in reality.

In most cases, those heritages include animistic spiritualities, in which aspects of the natural world, from plants to animals to waters to stones, are seen as having spirits. Furthermore, these aspects of the natural world are seen as relatives to humans. I should note how some well-meaning white people, wishing to bond with the earth instead of submitting to organized religion, appropriate these indigenous spiritualties and associated practices. Indigenous writers will encourage such people to instead delve into their own pre-Christian heritages, which have similar animistic philosophies, however obscured by time they may be. I have actually been doing just that—though I won’t elaborate because I don’t want to center myself.

You may be asking, what is the relevance said common thread of the spiritualities of indigenous peoples? That animism seems to go hand-in-hand with methods of land care that developed over generations of trial and error, along with the principles behind those methods. With the subjugation and expulsion (and worse) of the land’s original caretakers, though, these practices fell into obscurity. The most dramatic example, perhaps, is the suppression of controlled burnings on the western coastline leading to the wildfires that we have seen in recent years. Indeed, the different lands of different indigenous nations need their own subtly distinct approaches, based on ecosystems, geographies, local histories, and general senses of place. Indigenous activists and figureheads are calling upon governments to heed their words on not only conservation but also regeneration.

One of the main demands that indigenous activists make is for the return of their lands, full sovereignty over them, and the facilitation of cultural revival. Yes, that is a very simple manner of justice and righting a historic wrong. It has become evident that their wisdom is a crucial piece of the puzzle of solving environmental problems as well. Simple “colorblind” or “globalized” liberalism won’t suffice when working for social or environmental justice. Indigenous activists argue that colonialism is at the root of so many of our world’s problems. Many of them even outright state that the “colonial state” in itself is a problem. I can see how colonialism has promoted the rise of an all-devouring capitalism and perpetuated it. The grim historical fact of how the enslavement of Black people and the elimination of indigenous peoples contributed to building this nation remains a grim historical fact.

I myself am figuring out the world and learning many truths, but I am sympathetic to people who have borne the brunt of colonialism. I welcome the humanistic achievements of modernity and utterly oppose fundamentalism and fascism, I assure you, but I’ve come to accept that the modern world is broken. Simple progress won’t heal the world. “Big government” certainly has a role to play in mobilizing the needed social changes, such as what I’ve alluded to above, but the “colonial state” needs to ultimately divest its own power.

I’ll try to summarize my points now. Major corporations and economic elites need to be drastically reined in and disempowered (along with the military). The transition to renewable energies needs to be quickened—but also needs to be accompanied by drastic changes to infrastructures and supply chains so as to result in less extraction and consumption. Localized communities need to be empowered so they can better care for themselves without much out faraway aid. Indigenous peoples need to be given their lands back, be elevated to leadership roles in caring for and regenerating said lands, and be empowered so they can rebuild their cultures. Settlers should learn from them as well. In the end, the state and the socio-economic system that it has upheld need to recede—not for billionaires or grand inquisitors or dictators, but for ordinary people and the earth. In truth, humans are meant to be a part of nature, and the generational challenge is for humanity to reconcile with the rest of nature.

This all may sound idealistic or radical. This past summer has shown us that we shouldn’t settle for anything less than radical social change. This nation, which has been a major world power for over a century, needs to be radically reimagined. This all may sound vague as well. I have little education in politics and governance apart from what I’ve tried to learn for myself across the internet. That is all the more reason for people like you—people with more real-world power than I—to push along radical social change. This letter is meant to raise awareness of your duty as a leader. A leader is meant to be a guide, not a dominator. There’s a chance that you could be recorded in history as a leader who did what was necessary to make the world’s healing and renewal possible.

Thank you.

You may call me Brian Solomon Whiterose.

#environment #environmentalism #indigenous rights #indigenous people #us politics #social justice #social reform #colonialism #capitalism #long text

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sgt-paul · 3 years

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Hey! Hope all is going well :) I’m curious if you have any information/sources about Linda’s role in Paul’s life during the Beatles breakup and the time after? Paul has said she saved him. I do think she provided so much stability and comfort throughout their marriage and I’m interested in knowing more

thanks so much, i hope all is going well with you too! i’m terrible at remembering and also, organizing stuff like this but i tried to gather a few interviews where paul mentions it.

“I suppose before I married Linda I was about to burn myself out, but I didn’t realize it at the time, you know. But looking back now, kinda 10 years, 11 years later, there were definitely a few moments there where I was getting near the edge kinda thing, but Linda is kind of a steadying influence.” (1980)

“She saved me from general overall excess, which was pretty much total sort of party and work.” (1991)

“I remember very early on apologising because I was so tired, I said, 'I'm really tired, I'm sorry.' She said, 'It's allowed.' I remember thinking, Fucking hell! That was a mind-blower. I'd never been with anyone who'd thought like that: 'It's allowed.' And it was quite patently clear that it was allowed to be tired. I think I'd trained myself never to appear tired. Always to be on the ball. 'Sorry I'm yawning. I'm sorry,' which is complete bullshit. It's a Beatles thing, you had to be there, you had to be on time.” (1997 - MYFN)

“I was in a bit of a state when I first knew Lin. There were a lot of drugs and I was living on my own, totally overdoing it, boozing away. It was a case of, ‘Yeh-hey, have some more drugs...’ ‘Have you got some?’ ‘Try this one...’ ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ It was the Sixties, the hardcore Sixties and it was really starting to get to me. Looking back I can see I was doing too much, but I didn’t think so at the time. I just had trouble getting my head off the pillow sometimes. I remember once almost suffocating myself whilst trying to sleep and thinking, ‘You’re probably going too far here, son, but never mind.’ Linda would say, ‘Let’s just cool it down.’ She was a huge help. She started to put some sense back into my life. She put some order into it.” (1998) + “I helped with the shearing and mowing the fields—and horse-riding. That was the biggest thing. Linda taught me to horse-ride. I really remember at that time being on a horse and thinking I’ve got control of something. It was a feeling of some sort of power that was very strong. Through the nature in Scotland, through riding and through her support I did manage to get it back together.” (1998)

I ask him what has given him most happiness. “I think marrying Linda. Personal happiness. It was a reawakening. With the Beatles you lose your identity. You put your identity into the common identity and you’re a Beatle.” (2001)

“It had been a heavy, difficult period, but meeting Linda and starting a family was the escape. I’d see there was life out there. [...] Because, Christ, I’d worked like a devil with the Beatles for all those years, and it didn’t appear like there was going to be any happiness at the end of it. So, suddenly I found it, and grabbed it. The album was my escape. We made it in the front parlour. Get home, new baby, it was that joy, it transforms your life. I hadn’t had a baby before – we had Heather from Linda’s first marriage – so home was great joy and solace for me.” (x)

Has the whole process of navigating fame and the pressures of the music industry affected your mental health? I think so, yes. But, in truth, I just took to booze. There wasn’t much time to have mental health issues, it was just, fuck it, it’s boozing or sleeping. But I’m sure it did, as they were very depressing times. It’s funny, I remember when I first met Linda, she was divorced with a child and living in New York and having to fend for herself. She got depression and I remember her saying she made a decision. She said, “You know what? I’m not going to have this depression, because if I do I’m going to be in the hands of other people. And I’m not going to allow that to happen.” So she sort of picked herself up by her bootstraps and said, “I’ve got to get out of this myself.” And I think that was what I was able to do, to get out of the depression by saying, “OK, this is really bad and I’ve got to do something about it.” So I did. (2020)

“Having just met Linda, there was a romantic element to it and there was a new discovery of you know, thinking about a family and so all of that was very nice. You know I’d be playing a bit of electric guitar let’s say, just sort of playing around and Linda would come in and say “I didn’t know you played electric!”. I said “Oh yeah, yeah, I do, a little bit”, (...) she was very encouraging, so that would encourage me to go “Right I’m gonna do a song with a big electric on it!”. [...] I think as I said Linda was a huge help, I’d hate to think what’d have happened if I didn’t have her.” (2020)

i think some people tend to think this “saving” only had to do with what was going on with the band at the time, and while that is undoubtedly true too, like whether we are talking about the personal or the business troubles, or paul feeling like an “unemployed worker” and all that stuff, linda was there as a shoulder to lean on and her support and love were( incredibly important to paul. but the way paul talks about it, when he mentions her steadying influence etc, i think he also (or maybe even more so) means it in regard to his messy lifestyle and his generally crazy behaviour in the 60s, which definitely peaked after his breakup with jane and before (/around) he got together with linda. so the transition from that lifestyle with all the drugs and clubbing, the groupies, the "i have 4 girlfriends" mess, the workaholic mindset, plus the slight uncertainty which was followed by complete uncertainty and instability after jane had left him, to a much calmer, a more stable and comforting family life with linda, heather, and later mary, was a huge thing and i can definitely see why paul values linda's role in that so much and why he credits her as the person who basically "saved" him. i'm sure this change didn't happen in a day or anything, but i think we just sort of take paul finding linda for granted, like he was extremely lucky that linda arrived at that exact point in his life and helped paul put himself on the right track basically and was able to provide him so much support and love. she showed him a new way of life, a new way of looking at things a different mindset etc, which paul really needed in order to avoid completely burning himself out. and i'm sure that that's also why he stresses this so much, because he knows that her influence turned out to be super important and all that.

#there are probably a million more examples #...#i feel like this answer doesnt really do justice to the subject ughhhh #Anonymous #answered #(forgot to talk about the later periods. but yeah her presence and personality remained to be very #influental throughout their whole marriage!)#(and she kept paul sane tbh)

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spine-buster · 4 years

Text

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 22

A/N: So this chapter actually marks the end of the plot line of the movie “The Devil Wears Prada” -- I’m sure the dialogue after the Zamboni driver game from last chapter and the “By all means, move at a glacial place, you know how that thrills me” line was a bit of a hint. Also, we’re striking that last scene where Andie apologizes to Nate in the restaurant because she had absolutely nothing to apologize for 😤 ANYWAYS, this means that from this point, up until maaaaaybe the final FINAL chapters (whenever this thing ends, because I still don’t know when), all content and storyline is original and not based on the movie, although it will still obviously be inspired by it. We love consistency! Have a great read, and enjoy! Let me know what you think as always!

February 24th, 2020

Aberdeen Bloom watched as Brendan and Kyle were answering phones left, right, and centre.

Seriously. At one point, Kyle had three on his ears. He didn’t have three ears. All because of the damned trade deadline. And it was still only 9:30 in the morning.

The room was set up the way she was told to set it up; prepared how Brendan wanted it prepared. Every major voice for both the Leafs and the Marlies was in the room – Brendan, Kyle, Brandon, Dave, Reid, Leanne, Sheldon, Paul, Dave, Andrew, Jim, Troy, and even Laurence, Mike, Greg, AJ, and Rob from the Toronto Marlies. At the front of the room, on the whiteboard, there were the names of all the players – even those in the system – glued to magnets so they could move them around. On the other side were magnets with names of some other players from teams that they’d been looking at bringing in through a trade. Three phones were hooked up in the room, and Brendan and Kyle were on their cellphones a lot. There was a TV set up for video playback and hooked up to Reid’s laptop. Brendan would exit and enter the board room at will while he was on his phone. So would Kyle. Kyle was dealing with most of the possible cap stuff. There were worksheets everywhere.

And in the back of Aberdeen’s mind, all she could think about was Tyson Barrie.

He’d been on her mind since the drive home, really, and since all the ramp up for the trade deadline started. And she couldn’t help but wonder if Brendan and Kyle knew of him wanting to be traded and him being unhappy. Did Brendan and Kyle concern themselves with the private lives of their players? Even if the player said nothing? That was the ultimate question Aberdeen needed answered, because now that she recognized all the clues, it was glaringly obvious to her how much Tyson wanted out. She hadn’t said anything, obviously. His name magnet wasn’t moving around much, but she knew how much he wanted to be moved. She was conflicted.

“This motherfu…” she heard Brendan mumble as he looked down at his phone. “Can someone post a memo to the entire fucking league that we’re not trading Nylander, for fuck sakes,” he announced to the room. “The core isn’t on the fucking table unless Connor Mc-fucking-David is in the mix.”

Aberdeen let out a shaky breath she didn’t know she was holding in. William being traded was not, for some reason, a worry of hers, if only because everyone knew he was having a banner year and Kyle had made explicitly clear that he wasn’t going to be traded so long as he was GM.

Kapanen.

Johnsson.

Gauthier.

Holl.

Ceci.

“It’s not in his contract but Spezza won’t go anywhere. He wants to be here.”

“If Johnsson goes it’s one less player we offer up to Seattle when the time comes.”

“Can Kappy go? He’s good bait. He’s got a friendly contract.”

It didn’t help that everything ended at 3pm. It also didn’t help that they had a charter flight waiting for them at 4:30 to take them to Tampa for their game tomorrow. Aberdeen didn’t know how they were going to handle this timeline. What if they made a blockbuster trade? What if someone was shipped off to the west coast at 2:59pm and had to uproot his whole life? Everybody in the room wasn’t exactly calm, but she didn’t know how they could take about trading these players as if they were cattle being moved. She knew this happened in all sports, but now that she was a part of it (well, in the room – it wasn’t like she was making decisions), it made everything more complicated for her.

“Tyson’s staying. Tyson – no – Tyson – Tyson is – Tyson is staying,” she heard Brendan repeating to Kyle, in what looked like a semi-private conversation. She couldn’t hear some of the other things he was saying, but some words were said loud enough. Contract. Avalanche. Kadri trade. Defense. Rielly-Barrie.

Happy.

Aberdeen gulped. Did Brendan think he was happy here? Did Kyle? Because she knew the exact opposite. She knew Tyson wasn’t, but she was sworn to secrecy by Tyson that she wouldn’t say a word to Brendan. But Brendan was wrong. Tyson wanted out.

Should…should she say something?

She liked Tyson. She wanted to see him happy. It was complicated, though, because she had no loyalty to him. She did, in a way, as an acquaintance – as someone who overheard a private conversation and then was asked not to share the details of it – but she had more loyalty to Brendan. Her boss. The guy who was trying to build a team that would win the Stanley Cup. The guy that her job depended on.

“Aberdeen.”

Like, who was she loyal to the most? If she actually said something to Brendan, would Tyson hate her forever? Would the entire team turn their back on her and hate her forever too? Because she couldn’t shut her mouth? Because she was a tattle-tale and exposed—

“Aberdeen.”

—exposed a secret of one of the players to the boss? But that secret was tied to his mental health. It’s not like she saw a guy hook up with a teammate’s girlfriend or escort or do blow off a toilet seat or something. This was integral to the well-being of a player—

“Aberdeen!”

She snapped out of her thoughts to see and hear Brendan calling her over. She jumped out of her seat and ran over to him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Sorry. What do you need?”

“I think Chipotle is in order for lunch for everyone,” he said. “Do you mind taking everyone’s orders?”

Seventeen Chipotle orders later, Aberdeen was waiting in the restaurant at a bar table, most definitely holding up the line that was starting to form due to her massive order. She took out her phone and saw that William had texted her a heart earlier but she hadn’t seen it. He had the day off.

how bad does tyson want out of Toronto? be honest

how do u know?

i overheard him and emma talking when they drove me home once is it really bad?

can i call u?

it’s not that he doesn’t like it here bc he loves the guys and he likes the city well he really didn’t like babs i think that’s a given but he found it really hard to transition from colorado to here like he couldn’t adjust and support wise he didn’t or doesn’t feel he’s been supported enough and he’s trying his hardest to mesh within the lines and be the guy he was in colorado but he just can’t and it’s driving him crazy

Aberdeen felt herself take a deep breath. Not that she thought the conversation in the car was out of the blue or a one-off, but at least she had confirmation from another source now. She couldn’t help but wonder if Tyson talked to the guys on the team about it. Like, was it an open secret between them?

why r u asking minskatt

She knew she’d have to lie about that one. Even though William was her boyfriend, she couldn’t reveal any secrets of what was happening in that war room. If she did, Brendan would probably put her head in a guillotine.

all i see on twitter and the sports channels is us moving him they think they’re in the war room with us but they’re not and it’s just funny to me that they already think it’s a done deal

welcome to the toronto media i am getting traded too, haven’t u heard 😉

Aberdeen smiled. He was such a little shit.

you’re never leaving me.

never, minskatt ❤️

“Alright, I got seventeen bowls!” the cashier yelled, and Aberdeen knew that was her cue. They were all stuffed into multiple bags and labelled appropriately, so she handed over the company card to pay. Holding the four bags in both hands, she made her way back towards the office.

When she got back, it was very chaotic. The reports were now everywhere. Half the people in the room had left to do God knows what. Kyle was frustrated on the phone with someone. And Brendan was nowhere to be seen. “You might want to find him,” Kyle said as Aberdeen handed him his burrito bowl. His hand was covering the receiver.

Aberdeen nodded frantically. She stopped putting all the burrito bowls on the table where people had been sitting, but for some reason grabbed Brendan’s before she began running around the halls, popping into rooms to search for him. He was nowhere. She tried texting and calling. Nothing. She thought about screaming his name down the hall. Her mind was getting the best of her. Why did Kyle need him? Who was he on the phone with?

Were they about to make a trade for Tyson?

She needed to find him. She needed to tell him.

After circling the halls twice, she finally saw him walking, his winter jacket on, phone to his ear before ending the call and walking towards the board room. “Brendan, Brendan, wait. I need to talk to you,” she scurried to his side. “Tyson Barrie wants to be moved. He told—I overheard a conversation between him and his girlfriend in the car once when they were driving me home after a flight about how deeply unhappy he was here and how he sort of knew he was going to get traded or at least wanted to get traded somewhere so he wouldn’t have to be here and have the pressure on him and maybe be happy again and I promised him I wouldn’t say anything to you but now I am because I thought that maybe if I told you, that you could fix it—”

“Do I smell chicken?” Brendan asked suddenly, taking off his jacket.

Aberdeen stopped. Her brain felt like it just short-circuited. “What? No. I—I specifically told them the beef bowl for you—”

“If I have chicken in mine, I will be very disappointed,” he said, taking his burrito bowl from her hands and giving her his jacket instead before disappearing into the conference room, leaving Aberdeen standing there in shock.

***

The New York Rangers traded Brady Skjei for a first round pick. The Edmonton Oilers acquired Tyler Ennis, who Aberdeen knew was one of Bee McTavish’s best friends. Patrick Marleau went to the Pittsburgh Penguins.

But the Leafs stayed quiet. Calle Rosen came back. That’s it. Tyson wasn’t moved. He was staying a Toronto Maple Leaf. Aberdeen wondered what he was feeling right now. She wondered if he and Emma already had their bags packed for nothing. As everybody went home, Aberdeen cleaned up the boardroom. When it was time to go to the airport, she went to her desk to grab her suitcase. Brendan was waiting outside his office.

The walk to the town car was quiet. The loading of their suitcases into the trunk was quiet. The getting into the back of the car together was quiet. The sitting there as Lou drove through the downtown streets and onto the highway to get to the airport was quiet.

“You thought I didn’t know…” Brendan began, his voice low as he stared out the window. When she heard his voice, Aberdeen turned her head slowly towards him. “I’ve known what was happening for quite some time. It just took me a while to find out what to do with Tyson. A few teams were interested, and were probably willing, come July, to make him absurdly overpaid that he would have jumped at it. But I had to tell everyone he was unavailable.”

Aberdeen felt a shiver run up her spine. Unavailable? If Brendan knew Tyson wanted to be moved – if he knew how unhappy he was – then why wouldn’t he move him?

“The truth is, there is no-one available in the league right now that can fill his place on our team, regardless of how unhappy he is,” Brendan continued. “Any of the other players would have found this job impossible and the team would have suffered. Especially because of the way the media is here. The list of writers, journalists, media personalities, analysts…they eat the players alive. It takes a very special type of player to want to play in Toronto. That’s why it was, and is still, such a big deal that John came home. Hockey is a business, Aberdeen. I’ve known for a while he was unhappy. But I couldn’t trade him. I couldn’t reconsider.”

Aberdeen took a deep breath. And there it was. Tyson Barrie was more valuable deeply unhappy here than he was happy somewhere else. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks. Hockey was a business, just like Brendan said. Despite her best intentions, good people had to make tough decisions – Brendan’s was to keep Tyson on the team. Brendan wanted to win more than anything, and he still thought he could do that with Tyson.

“But I was very, very impressed, by how intently you tried to warn me,” Brendan continued, finally looking at her. Aberdeen found it hard to meet his eye, not showing any emotion on her face. “I never thought I would say this, Aberdeen, but I really…I see a great deal of myself in you. You can see beyond what people want and what they need…and you can choose for yourself.”

Aberdeen shook her head slightly. “I don’t think I’m like that. I – I could do what you just did to Tyson. I couldn’t do something like that.”

“Hmph…but you already did,” Brendan said. “To Peter.”

Aberdeen’s eyes bulged out dramatically. “That’s not what I – no, that was different. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh no no no, you chose,” Brendan said sternly. “You chose to get ahead. You want to be successful in this life, those choices are necessary.”

Aberdeen felt like she was about to cry. She could feel her cheeks redden. “But what if this isn’t what I want? I mean, what if I don’t want to live the way you live or be in a career the way you conduct your career? Not caring about people’s happiness and only caring about success.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Aberdeen. Everybody wants this. Everybody wants to be successful. Even writers.”

Aberdeen hadn’t even noticed Lou had stopped the car because they’d arrive at the airport. She could only watch as the door unlocked and Brendan slipped on his sunglasses for the bright winter sun, getting out of the car and walking back to the trunk to get his suitcase. Aberdeen took a minute to process everything. What Brendan had just said. What he revealed to her.

Dumb. She was so dumb. And she still had so much to learn.

Aberdeen was quiet as she walked into the airport with Brendan. She was quiet as they checked in, quiet as they walked to their private hangar, quiet as she saw some of the boys and quiet as she plopped down into a seat, stuffing her headphones into her ears. She knew she should be thankful to be spending her 22nd birthday in Florida, but now, all she could think about was the conversation she’d just had with Brendan. Even William arriving almost didn’t even register with her.

She napped on the plane, not wanting to deal with hockey for at least an hour of her day.

***

The hotel was taking too long to get the key cards and reservations sorted for everyone. Aberdeen tried not to huff and puff, but she was tired. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to out for dinner. After the stress of the last two days, and especially today, she just wanted to get under the covers of her bed and sleep. Sleep would make her happy again. More than anything, she wanted to be in a good mood for her birthday tomorrow, even if she was working.

“Ab-er-deeeeeeeen Blooooooooom,” the way-too-perky helper called out her name. Aberdeen approached her and got her room key, mumbling a thank you. She was on the 5th floor.

Auston had followed behind her, grabbing his as well. When they rejoined the loosely assembled group, he took a look at her. “You look really tired, Aberdeen,” he commented.

She glared at him. She couldn’t believe the audacity of him. She’d just been up for almost two days straight because of the stupid trade deadline. Lucky for him that he didn’t have to work the last two days. And lucky for him that he didn’t have to worry about being traded like most of the other guys on the team. He could at least sleep at night knowing he wasn’t going to be traded for the next five years. “You can just say I look like shit, you know,” she deadpanned.

Auston’s eyes bulged out. “No no no—I didn’t mean—”

“Whatever, Auston,” she grumbled, shaking her head. “I know I look like shit, alright? I don’t need you to tell me.”

“Aberdeen, I didn’t mean it like that at all—”

“It’s fine,” she shook her head again, grabbing her suitcase and dragging it behind her as she stomped away from him. She didn’t have time for his excuses or for him trying to cover up his tracks. She practically punched the elevator button so she could go up to her room before everybody else. Screw waiting for everyone.

She was barely able to unpack her toiletries into her washroom before the first text came through on her phone. Of course, it was William.

saw u stomping away what happened?

She wasn’t exactly going to tell him what Auston said because God knows what he would do.

I’m just tired Willy. I’ve practically been up for 48 hours.

but u need to eat

I’ll order room service, but I’m not going out for dinner.

She left it at that. She heard her phone buzz a few times afterwards but she made a conscious decision not to answer it. She needed to be alone with her thoughts instead. She didn’t need to be around Auston telling her she looked tired. She didn’t need to be around Willy who would be staring at her all night. She didn’t need to be around Mitch and his hyperactive puppy personality. She didn’t need to be around Tyson who was probably sulking at the fact that he wasn’t trad—

A knock.

She took her sweet time going to open it. When she did, she was greeted with Jason Spezza and Jake Muzzin on the other side. She almost wanted to shut the door in their face but knew that would be the rudest thing she’d ever done. “We’re going for tacos. You in?”

“No.”

It was actually Jake who looked more taken aback by her statement than Jason. She figured it was because Jason knew better. “No to tacos? I think that’s the first time in my life I’ve ever heard anyone say no to tacos.”

Aberdeen cracked a half smile. “Have fun guys, but I’m exhausted. I’ve been up for like two days because of the deadline.”

“That’s all the more reason for you to get a healthy meal in,” Jake pressed.

Before she could politely decline again, she saw two figures out of the corner of her eye walking down the hallway towards them. One was William – she could figure him out from miles away just by how his hair looked – but once the other came into focus, a lump formed in her throat. Tyson was with him.

“We goin’ for tacos or what?” Tyson asked. There was a smile on his face. A fake one for sure, Aberdeen thought, all things considering.

And then it happened. She felt the blood and emotion rush to her cheeks, and she felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and responsibility for the man that was standing in front of her right now. She’d tried to help him and her attempt failed. And in that attempt to help, she betrayed him. She couldn’t even look him in the eye. “Please, just go,” she shook her head.

“What? What’s going on?” Jake looked in between Tyson and Aberdeen.

“Will you guys just leave me alone?” she pleaded, her voice strained as she felt tears well in her eyes. “Please. I’m so tired and I’m so—”

“Inside your room, now,” Jason pointed to her bed, not even waiting for her to make the first move, and instead just walking in himself. Everybody followed – everybody except William – who took his spot leaning on the doorway so he wasn’t actually in her room. But he was watching. And every muscle in his body wanted to walk in with everyone.

“What’s going on?” Jason asked softly. “What’s the real issue here?”

Aberdeen shook her head. She still couldn’t look Tyson in the eye, but when she could, she almost broke down. It took every ounce of strength in her not to burst out crying and maintain some type of composure. “I’m so sorry. I tried, I really tried—” she began.

“Tried what?” Tyson asked.

She hesitated. “Listen, I know – I’ll understand if you hate me forever because of this – I know you told me not to tell Brendan what I heard Emma say in the car, but I couldn’t help it,” she began. Tyson’s face visibly softened. “I thought that maybe if I told him he’d actually deal you out, and you could be—you could be happy again, you know, or at least somewhere where—”

“Aberdeen—”

“—but he couldn’t, and he didn’t, and I just feel horrible for betraying you by telling him and I feel so responsible now for everything that happened and I can’t live with myself—”

“—Aberdeen, are you apologizing right now because I wasn’t traded?” Tyson asked. Aberdeen didn’t respond. “Aberdeen, come on. You’re not the general manager or the president.”

“But I could have helped—”

“No, you couldn’t have,” he shook his head. Though his words were short there was a softness and a sentimentality in his voice, even a hint of surprise that she’d even go so far as to feel responsible for not being able to deal him to another team. He understood what she was getting at, understood why she was mad and was feeling this way, but ultimately, he was shocked that she was getting so emotional over it. “You’re not responsible for that sort of stuff, Aberdeen. I know you were trying to help, and I thank you for that, but the responsibility of what happens on trade deadline day falls on absolutely nobody in this room, not least the personal assistant to the president.”

She sniffled slightly. “I just thought that if I told him he’d be more inclined—”

“It doesn’t work that way,” he shook his head, looking her in the eye. “But thanks. I appreciate what you did in its own way. Just remember that it’s not your job to write the narrative.”

He was telling that to an aspiring writer. Go figure. But Aberdeen took in the words, really took them to heart, as she nodded her head quickly. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. And I don’t hate you,” Tyson said. “I see where you’re coming from. Just maybe don’t try to do it again.”

She let out the slightest of chuckles. “Yeah, I think that’s best.”

“William? What are you doing in Aberdeen’s room?”

Everybody whipped their heads towards the doorway to see Brendan Shanahan peeking in. Aberdeen thanked the fucking Lord (and would probably pray the entire rosary tonight) over the fact that she was able to control her emotions and not cry during the interaction, and also that two of the men currently in her room were married with children and the other had a serious girlfriend or else it would all look very suspicious. Brendan took a few steps in and saw Jason, Jake, and Tyson. He didn’t look suspicious, but he didn’t exactly look happy. He had a neutral look Aberdeen couldn’t make out. “I’m not sure if I like four of you in Aberdeen’s room like this,” he said.

“That’s my fault,” Jake piped up immediately. “I was forcing her to come out to eat with us. I was making sure she had at least something to eat since she kept saying no. Tys and Spezz followed to make sure, too.”

Brendan’s look became much more neutral at Jake’s words. “Hmm…I get it. Healthy meals and all. But she can order room service if she doesn’t want to go out. She’s been up for the past two days almost.”

Jake smiled. “Her words exactly. We were literally just on our way out.”

“Have fun boys,” he said, dismissing them. “And I’ll see you tomorrow, Aberdeen.”

She nodded. Everybody filed out of her room, each one of the giving her one last look before leaving. William was last, of course, letting his look linger for longer than the rest before letting the door close behind him. She let out a deep breath.

love how that was the closest we’ve ever been to getting caught and i wasn’t even in ur room

The text came from William not even two minutes after he left. Leave it to him to make light of it, she thought. But it was the following text that got her thinking.

can u tell how the boys wouldn’t say a word now?

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elderbwrry · 3 years

Text

The White Hound

When Hux becomes Supreme Leader, one of his first orders is to put Kylo in white. He didn't realise it would be quite so inconveniently distracting.

From discussions with @kyberkills about Adam Driver in white on the set of Gucci.

Tags: Mature audiences, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren, assorted very minor ocs, Supreme Leader Armitage Hux, Hound Kylo Ren, some violence, kylo does do a murder, a TEENSY bit of Beheading, but it is not the focus, Denial of Feelings, Married Couple, Blood, sex mention, fashion of the First Order, one day that'll be a real tag i swear *shakes fist at god*, the first order have only heard of three colours ever

Wordcount: 1913 - also on ao3

Hux narrowed his eyes.

The Magistrate in front of him was droning on and on, and had been for the last half hour. Ordinarily, Hux enjoyed a bit of grovelling, but the issue of it was that she was notgrovelling, she was delivering a very carefully worded monologue about the lengths her government was willing to go to in order to comply with the First Order's expanding jurisdiction over the Galaxy. It was too well put together, and Hux could already tell that nothing she was going to promise – once she finally got to her point – would be comprehensive enough for Hux to accept. He demanded submission. He demanded absolute order.

Still, perhaps she would surprise him, besides which it would be better to hear her entire point before rebuffing her, and, as Supreme Leader, time was Hux's to command.

On his left, the Praetorian Guard swapped their spear from their left to right hand. The Magistrate's eyes flicked over to the guard at their movement, and both of her own guards tensed, though they had been removed of their ranged weapons when they arrived. Hux shifted to lean on the other armrest of his throne, his arm poised on its elbow, his hand lazily positioned in the air. The Magistrate refocussed, evidently understanding Hux's subtle message that he should be displeased were she to disrespect his gracious attention, but it was the first crack Hux had noticed in her collected facade.

Of course, Hux knew what she didn't; the guards were exemplarily trained, and that particular movement was the signal of disturbance on the surface levels of the vast mega-ship which served as Hux's seat of command.

Hux readied himself in case the disturbance grew more serious, the Magistrate's words becoming thinner and thinner to his hearing as he mentally constructed the likeliest cause for this correlation of events; she was merely a distraction, her escort ship a vehicle for whatever forces were acting out this misguided plan.

It was a pity – he really had hoped she would surprise him.

Another slight adjustment of grip on the spear of his guard told him Ren was on his way. The knowledge inspired in Hux a sense of satisfaction, which he put down purely to that of knowing his hound had swiftly dealt with the issue.

The Magistrate was still talking. Her government's armies would be powerful enough to cause a problem, which was why Hux had been hoping for a diplomatic transition of power, but now there was little choice other than to take the system by force. And here she'd given him the opportunity, Hux mused as he smoothed down his blood red tunic.

The door at the far end of the throne room swished open, and immediately Ren was marching his way down the central aisle, stormtroopers at his heels along with one of his own knights, and, for one glorious moment, they were a vision all in white. He looked serious, his chin lowered as he glowered forward, his dark hair sweeping back due to the speed with which he was advancing through the otherwise static climate-controlled air. His alabaster robes gleamed in the strip lights. Hux himself had approved the uniform redesign that placed Ren in his current long culottes and figure-flattering shirt, stripped of the cape, the helmet, the things he hid behind before Hux took power. Ren had complained – about the style and the unfamiliar colour and many other things besides – but eventually caved under Hux's pressure; after all, what was grander than a besuited knight in white?

Quite suddenly, Hux found himself surging to his feet. Red – blood red – red, all over Ren's right hand, shoulder, hem, boots. Was he hurt? What had he done to get so filthy with it?

Hux was distracted, so, when the Magistrate drew a pistol and pointed it directly at him, the first he knew of it was the clankof the Praetorian Guards' armour, the warning cry of “Supreme Leader!” and the growl of Ren and his lightsaber igniting. Hux had only time to stare down the barrel of the weapon and consider exactly what he might die from, before the electric flash of the sabre split the air between the Magistrate's head and body and everything in between.

In the background, two further sounds of blaster fire were directed at the Magistrate's guards, along with a buzz of trooper commands and heavy booted footfalls as they surrounded the enemy, who were variously stunned and dead. Hux allowed himself a moment to look at the bodies and consider what would have to be done. Then, he mentally postponed that consideration and turned to Ren, whose chest was heaving as he stepped around the body, closer to Hux, but without taking his eyes off what he'd done.

Hux descended a step, his cloak swishing behind him, but one was all that was needed before Ren was right in front of him, seemingly only reassured that Hux was safe by proximity. Hux paused, hoping Ren wouldn't pull him into some kind of unwanted embrace – he didn't want to get blood on his robes – yet bracing for it somewhat eagerly.

“What is the situation?” he asked.

“Resistance,” came the gritted reply.

Hux raised an eyebrow. “They weren't her government's forces?” The potential ramifications of this were reeling through his mind, so the question was more to himself, but Ren nodded anyway.

“I recognised some of them. They must be desperate, to send such veteran members on a mission like this.”

Ren's tone caught at Hux. It was pained, more so than usual. For someone who had killed so many people and betrayed so many others, Kylo could get awfully trapped in the emotion of some single, awful actions. His lightsaber was still crackling at his side, scorching a mark into Hux's immaculate stairs. “Ren,” Hux prompted, modulating his tone to be more compassionate. It still sounded canned, but at least he was trying.

Ren didn't respond.

Frowning, Hux reached his gloved hand out to Ren's bare, bloodied one, fingers trailing over his raised, tightly gripping knuckles. Something akin to concern found its way into Hux's throat this time as he repeated, “Kylo?”

The lightsaber died at the same time Ren's attention snapped away from where the stormtroopers were quickly moving the body, to Hux. “She almost shot you.”

Hux's head quirked; was that what this show of emotion was about? Ren had looked so furious when he'd attacked the Magistrate. The intensity of Hux's emotions did not match, either for his own life or for Ren, but something inside him felt off, like data buffering, at the reminder that Ren cared so much.

The memory of their marriage ceremony remained fresh in Hux's mind; he thought about it often for this exact reason. Ren had been draped in white then too, and gold and jewels and lace and rare flowers. He had been radiant, especially with how much more meaning had flowed through his vows than Hux had been able to inject into his own. At the time, Hux had absently thought that Ren deserved to say his vows to someone who actually loved him, but hadn't much cared. Indeed, for himself the whole exercise was one of cementing his claim to the throne via marriage to Snoke's heir, something which he thought Ren had understood, despite his eager acceptance of the proposal, but since then it had become increasingly, unignorably obvious that Ren loved him. He thought this was real, and that Hux, emotionally reserved with it as he was, loved him back.

Hux had to take some of the blame for that; he'd done nothing to dissuade the idea. He'd played into it, given Ren power and purpose, played the role of husband to it's fullest extent. He'd gone through all the motions – nothing that he hadn't done before, really – except that the act was getting harder. When Ren played with Millie, Hux had to stop himself from smiling. When Ren stepped unselfconsciously out of the shower, Hux had to avert his eyes and suppress a blush. When Ren lavished adoration onto his body, the shudders he sent through Hux felt all too real.

Now, too, Hux had to tell himself that he was acting out of expectation, because his subjects were watching, when he took another step down to Ren's level and, holding him gently by the elbows, looked over the blood splatters, asking with too much concern, “Are you hurt?”

Ren looked down at himself, at the darkening spots of a slaughter over snow, as if only now realising his state. “Oh, no, this isn't mine.”

“Well,” Hux chided, noting that the colour of his red leather gloves was not so dissimilar to the splatters on Kylo's right side, “it would behove you to take more care next time. You'll need new robes, now you've stained these.”

“You could always put me back in black,” Ren objected, but it was laced with something Hux had come to recognise as his flirting voice.

“Never,” Hux said with more vehemence than he intended. He wasn't sure why he was so against it, other than that he loved the way Ren shone in white. No, not loved. Adored? Not right either, both too strong for him to justify to himself. He settled with preferred. “Go get cleaned up,” he ordered, to avoid thinking about it.

Ren's clean hand raised to Hux's waist. Months ago, Hux had had to stop himself from jerking away at such a touch, but now he was used to it, had to stop himself from leaning into it, even. He'd learned Ren's touches well, just as Ren had learned that Hux would not tolerate being touched by his bloody hand, and as such kept it at a distance. “Come do it with me?” Ren asked, lowering his voice and whispering into Hux's ear, “You know fighting makes me horny”.

Hux shook his head. No, he had plenty to be getting on with; planning the offensive on the Magistrate's home star system, minimising the fallout and outrage from the remaining systems who had yet to join the First Order, tracking the origin of the Resistance members. Still, the head shake was more firm than it would have been if he wasn't thoroughly tempted.

Ren let out an annoyed exhale. “Fine,” he said, and, barely a moment later, Hux was tugged forward into a firm kiss which gave just enough of a taste of hunger that Hux was under no illusions as to what Ren meant when he pulled away and said, “I'll be waiting for you when you're done.”

And maybe Hux was tired, maybe he was shaken by the – rather pedestrian – attempt on his life, but he forgot himself. His hand threaded itself up into the hair at the base of Kylo's neck, thinking how soft it would feel if it weren't for the gloves and drawing him in for another, more lingering kiss this time, one that tasted of the surprised little noise Kylo let out. This time, when they separated, it was as if Kylo's gorgeous white robes had been tinted with the crimson of Hux's; his own colour, rather than the blood of their enemies. The image seared itself into Hux's retina, and promised to be the only thing he could think about until he next saw Kylo. The white really did make the red come out nicely.

“I'll be there soon.”

#kylux #fanfiction #my writing #kylo ren #armitage hux #im putting them in clothes again #white can be goth too ok #star wars #check tags

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dontmeantobepoliticalbut · 3 years

Text

Sen. Joe Manchin (D-W.Va.) is emerging as the chief obstacle to quick passage of President Biden's $2.25 trillion infrastructure package that Democrats want to move through Congress sooner rather than later. Manchin is ramping up discussions with Republicans about what a scaled-down infrastructure package should look like, and some GOP senators are even optimistic that the moderate Democrat can be persuaded to block efforts to raise the corporate tax rate.

That means Senate Majority Leader Charles Schumer (D-N.Y.) will likely have to wait for the negotiations to reach some kind of conclusion before moving ahead with the budget reconciliation process, as Manchin is expected to be the critical 50th Democratic vote needed to avoid a GOP filibuster. Senate Republicans proposed a $568 billion infrastructure counteroffer last week. Now, bipartisan talks on a compromise proposal between $600 billion and $1 trillion are just getting started.

Manchin wants time for the talks to build momentum. "For the sake of our country, we have to show we can work in a bipartisan way," he said Monday evening. "I don't know what the rush is. Stay here a little bit, work a little bit," he advised colleagues. But Democrats are getting nervous about an extended timeline and worry that splitting Biden's infrastructure agenda into two or three pieces of legislation might mean that a substantial part of it gets left behind. "I'm the most anxious member of the Democratic caucus. I want to get it done and done quickly," Senate Majority Whip Dick Durbin (D-Ill.) said Monday when asked how long Democrats are willing to wait on bipartisan infrastructure talks.

Manchin said over the weekend that he wants to focus on "conventional infrastructure" such as roads, bridges, water projects and expanded broadband internet, and he proposed splitting off about $400 billion in funding for home- and community-based caregivers for the elderly and people with disabilities, as well as billions of dollars for child care. While Manchin said such priorities are "needed," he added that doesn't want to lump too many of them in a broad bill because he thinks it would be tougher to sell to the public. His remarks dealt a blow to other Senate Democrats who want to pass as large a package as possible and who called the $568 billion Republican proposal "totally inadequate" and a "slap in the face."

Durbin, the No. 2 Democrat, on Monday said he does not support splitting up Biden's $2.25 trillion infrastructure package into two pieces. "Time is not on our side. We have so many things to do," he said. "Immigration, policing. All of these things are critical elements and we don't have a lot of time on the calendar. The sooner the better to keep everything together and move it in a package that works," he added of Biden's proposal.

Senate Budget Committee Chairman Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.) said he wants to move as quickly as possible, warning that past efforts to negotiate with Republicans, such as on the Affordable Care Act in 2009, ended up wasting time. "We have learned that lesson in the past. I think we should have our ears open, we should listen to any great ideas, any good ideas that Republicans have. But obviously it cannot be an endless process. It has to move very quickly," he said Monday. Sanders balked at Manchin's suggestion of segmenting out the home- and community-based care portions of the package. Manchin, however, is praising the $568 billion framework put together by fellow West Virginia Sen. Shelley Moore Capito (R) as "a good start." The blueprint is focused on roads, bridges, transit systems, rail, water infrastructure and airports.

Democrats are also nervous about Manchin's opposition to Biden's proposal to raise the corporate tax rate to 28 percent, saying a 25 percent rate is more reasonable. He met last week with Sen. Lindsey Graham (R-S.C.), a staunch ally of former President Trump, to explore ways to fund a compromise infrastructure package without relying heavily on tax increases. "Watch Joe Manchin. Joe's going to be a key player here," Graham told Fox News Sunday. "I think there's a sweet spot on infrastructure where we can find pay-fors that won't hurt the economy. If you raise taxes, you're going to destroy jobs," Graham said.

Many Democrats are skeptical of efforts to pursue GOP proposals. "Take a deep breath and face reality. If we're going to do something big and bold and build the 21st century economy, we're not going to do it with what [Republicans] have suggested: user fees and tolls," Durbin said Monday.

Manchin has urged Schumer and his other Democratic colleagues not to use the budget reconciliation process to pass Biden's agenda, an approach that would shut out Republicans and allow for a simple majority vote in the 50-50 Senate. "I simply do not believe budget reconciliation should replace regular order in the Senate. How is that good for the future of the nation?" he wrote in a Washington Post op-ed this month. Manchin disagrees that he's a roadblock to Biden's agenda. "I'm not a roadblock at all. The best politics is good government," he told CNN's "State of the Union" over the weekend. He also reiterated his opposition to changing the Senate's filibuster rule to curtail GOP power to block Biden's priorities, such as police reform and the John Lewis Voting Rights Act. "I'm not going to be a part of blowing up this Senate of ours or basically this democracy of ours," he said Sunday.

Senate Democratic sources say they expect the bipartisan infrastructure talks to fizzle and Manchin to vote with them to pass a $2 trillion-plus infrastructure package under budget reconciliation. They argue that West Virginia, which had a 5.9 percent unemployment rate in March and a 14.9 percent poverty rate by last measure, needs its share of the $2.25 trillion plan as much as any state. "He's still trying to find his way as the new most important 'big man on campus,' but I think he'll have a very hard time standing up to the pressure of the administration. I think he'll find his way back home," said a Senate Democratic aide, referring to Manchin's power in an evenly split Senate where Democrats cannot afford a single defection. The aide predicted that if Manchin winds up derailing or excessively delaying Biden's infrastructure package, the backlash from within the party will be swift and damaging. "The more he plays that game, I think the more the pushback becomes significant and starts having legs to it," the aide added.

While Manchin is coming under increasing pressure from fellow Democrats to support passing Biden's full package without splitting it up, his reputation as a bipartisan dealmaker is also at stake. During the negotiation of Biden's $1.9 trillion coronavirus relief plan, Manchin played a central role in narrowing the number of Americans eligible for $1,400 stimulus checks by helping to craft a deal to phase out the direct checks for people earning $80,000 or more, instead of the $99,000 cutoff favored by House Democrats. He was also instrumental in shrinking the federal unemployment benefits in that bill from $400 a week to $300 a week and limiting the tax deductibility of unemployment benefits collected in 2020.

Despite Manchin's efforts to address the concerns of GOP colleagues who said the rescue plan needed to be more narrowly targeted, not a single Republican in either chamber voted for the package. If Manchin drags out consideration of the infrastructure package for weeks or months without securing any GOP votes for whatever bill finally gets passed, some Democrats say his reputation as a dealmaker will suffer severely. "That's what's at risk for him. He's going to have to put up or shut up," said the Democratic aide.

A second Senate Democratic aide, however, said Manchin represents a broader group of centrist Democrats who would like to rack up a significant bipartisan accomplishment with Republican votes before trying to move other elements of Biden's agenda under reconciliation. "There are other Democrats who agree with him, but they don't need to go out there and say it and take shit from the left," the aide said. The aide also said the GOP counteroffer unveiled last week "is a lot better" than the $618 billion COVID-19 relief package a group of 10 moderate Republicans floated to Biden earlier in the year. Democrats quickly dismissed the GOP's counteroffer on coronavirus relief and passed Biden's $1.9 trillion plan by a party-line vote. The source predicted that even if Manchin fails to bring about a bipartisan infrastructure deal, he'll remain a powerbroker for the rest of the 117th Congress. "He's still going to be a guy trying to negotiate big bipartisan deals," the aide said.

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jamiedc-they-them · 3 years

Text

Sibling Duty Part VII

Requested Imagine: Daisy does all she can to help you through the latest twist in your story.

“So, she’s healed?”

“Yes, everything seems fine.” Jemma answered her best friend. She didn’t mind the questions, if anything, she found them a bit comforting, she wasn’t the only one shit scared of what the newest twist to your tale would be.

“Seems?” Daisy pressed.

“Well, May was fine, but now she feels others’ emotions. I just….I can’t say what will happen with Y/N.” The brit explained.

Daisy took a moment, ideas running through her head in an attempt to make preparations.

“On three?” She asked, looking back to her friend. Said friend nodded.

“On three.” She confirmed.

They silently counted up to that magical number, before Jemma pushed the button. It took another second before they heard a gasp.

Your gasp.

Your hand shot up, slamming against the glass. You sounded panicked, you just didn’t look it.

“Hey, hey! Y/NN, you’re ok. You’re ok….Look – Look at me, Y/NN. Look at me. You’re ok.” Daisy, though keeping her voice soft, rushed through the words. She put her own hand on the pod, where yours laid.

At least, it did, until you let it slide off as you observed your surroundings. Your breaths started to calm. However, Daisy couldn’t help the small stab of hurt that hit her when you just let it fall.

It was like you didn’t care.

“Where am I?” You asked, voice almost monotone; it was devoid of any of that joy or underlying humour that they had known and loved you for.

It was devoid of emotion all together.

“On the Zephyr. We got you and May out. Jemma – well, Jemma’s a different Jemma timeline wise, but – the…same….Jemma.” Daisy looked to her friend, finding it hard to fully explain this to you.

Jemma took the reigns, stepping up and hovering over your pod, “I –” She stopped, not fully being able to remember, “—I can’t tell you. But, I’m still me at heart, Y/N. Just like you are.” She explained, or rather decided on. She then opened the pod, a SHHHH hissing from it as it opened.

Then, you helped yourself up, holding up a hand as they went to assist you, “I’m not broken. I’m fine.” You meant it in a firm, but loving way, it did not sound that way though.

You sat up fully, opening your eyes and seeing the rest of the team looking at you with a happy look that you were back.

Your eyes then settled on someone you thought to be dead, “….Coulson?”

He nodded, “Hey, Y/N. Resurrection does it’s thing once again. Well, kind of, I’m an LMD now. Still working out the kinks, but I’m here.” He shrugged, still having that same smooth smile.

You nodded, attempting a smile but failing to do so. You did, however, manage to raise your eyebrows.

However, you knew that you looked unimpressed.

“That was meant to be happy.” You confessed, voice still dull.

The sisters shared a smile before looking back at you, “You’re not….hiding them again, are you?” Daisy asked, feeling a bit bad for having to ask it.

Hurt hit you, but it didn’t – couldn’t show, “No, I promise.” You raised your voice, but it sounded like there should’ve been a crack in it there.

“Ok, ok,” Daisy’s voice was calm and soothing, “That’s ok, Y/NN. We’ll work on it. But, I’m sure Coulson knew, right?” She looked back at him, he nodded, “See? You’re ok, Y/N. That was ok. However you show it, it’s ok.”

“It’s not,” You argued dispassionately on the outside, but filled with annoyance on the inside, “I – I should….I should be able to not fucking talk about it.” You did not sound like the annoyed person you were in this moment.

“I know. May had a similar experience, Y/N, only…well, maybe it’s the same thing.” Jemma guessed, putting a hand on your arm. As she did, she gasped; she felt all the anger, frustration, rage, concern.

“Bloody hell.” She gasped, immediately removing her arm and taking a breath to calm herself after the wave that had hit her.

“I’m sorry.” You meant it, everyone could tell that.

“It – it’s ok, Y/NN, it’s not your fault.” She assured. Daisy put a hand on her friend’s shoulder, rubbing it in an attempt to help.

“What is it?” Elena asked, arms folded, but she did look concerned.

“Y/N does feel, she just can’t externalize it.” Simmons was blunt, but she had to be here.

The team all shared a look. It just made you look down.

“Great, so I’m fucking that up, too.” Daisy had never spun around so fast to face you when you spoke.

“You are not fucking it up.” She was firm, and she sounded livid.

“Daisy, face it, I was never the best at emotions; Coulson can attest to that when he first grabbed me to come on the team. He had to coach me about caring. I was always the shut off type, you know that from when we first met. Maybe this was just it’s natural conclusion. Reach an end point with my emotions where I only feel them and never show them like a normal person would.” You didn’t mean to have a speech, but here you were.

Daisy looked crestfallen, but the Quinjet shuddered as it came to a holt.

As the others ran up, Daisy grabbed your hand. You heard her groan a little at the weight of everything hitting her, but she kept a hold on your hand.

“Daisy, you can –” You started to say, but she cut you off.

“I’m not letting go, Y/NN,” She kept walking, but you heard the frustration, “I just got you back, I’m not losing you again,” – The desperation and concern – “I’m just not.”

You had landed in the 1970s; 1973, to be exact. You had all been ordered out to find….something. You weren’t entirely sure.

Daisy put her hands on your arms, “I’ll be with you, ok? Every step of the way,” She felt the sisterly love; actually feeling it this time: the warmth, the care, the love, “There’s my sister.” She said, bopping you on the nose affectionately.

“Now, come on, we ‘ve go the 70s to conquer.” She quipped, leading the way out.

You sighed, a small one. You might’ve been broken emotionally, but the world wasn’t broken. You could stop that.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You walked out with your younger sister. You had just brought clothes from the shop you were exiting: You, a cream top and dark blue trousers; your sister: white type with a checkered jacket, same coloured trousers and black heels.

She observe herself in the window reflection, as you looked around the area. It was almost completely like how the stories sold it to you.

You felt a sense of nostalgia despite having never been in this time.

“Hey, looking sharp.” Coulson said to you both as himself and May approached you.

You both turned to him, sharing a nod with May; seemed you both were in the same boat, just on different sides of it.

“Thanks.” Daisy said for you both.

“Where’s Agent Sousa?” Coulson asked. Ah yes, agent Sousa, the man who was also out of time. A man that they had saved, a legend of SHIELD. Now, he was on your team. If you could, you would’ve shown a pretty excited side to yourself; a fanboy that would’ve rivalled Coulson’s.

Even though you couldn’t show it, Daisy’s intuition told her that you had something you wanted to express. She held your hand, being hit with the feeling of excitement, “Oh, wow. Y/N is very excited about having Mr Sousa on our team.” She announced.

You could talk, obviously. You just….didn’t want to seem like a dick.

The two parental figures looked at you, “I’ve read about him. Always been a fan.” You explained.

“Yeah, that’s fair, he is pretty cool.” Coulson agreed.

“Don’t you both start, now.” May groaned. Daisy laughed, she felt you wanting to as well. She gave your hand a loving squeeze as a sign: I got this for the both of us.

You hated putting this amount of pressure on your sister.

“Anyway, he’s still inside, picking out his threads.” Daisy answered Coulson’s question with.

“How’s he handling the transition?” May questioned.

“Honestly, the fact that he’s not projectile vomiting from the shock is a miracle.” Right as she said that, the man of the hour left the shop.

He was in a suit, the same suit he was in before.

“What happened to blending in?” Your sister asked, looking at his lack of choice.

“I just don’t understand the functional appeal of those…elephant, pants.” Sousa confessed. Maybe the vomit was coming.

“It’s the clothes of the decade. All full of over the top and extravagant things,” You gained a look from the others, “I like it.” You stated, bluntly.

God you hated this turn in your life.

“You mean bell-bottoms?” Daisy asked, slight teasing bite to her words.

“Sure. How do people in your time function with all the extra fabric around their feet?” Sousa continued to ask questions. You found it funny, a bit. The main feeling you felt was pity.

“We have a gym. We keep in shape to fit in the things.” You answered.

“I got news for you. This isn’t actually our time period.” Sousa looked panicked at Coulson’s words.

“Well, fortunately, there’s unfashionable squares in every decade. So, you’re set.” Daisy said trying to help his worry a bit, or her worry.

“And nobody seems to look you in the eye now.” Sousa seemed very annoyed at this.

“We do, just not as much anymore. That and –” May finished it for you.

“Wait ‘til they all get cell phones.” She did so as you all started to work down the street.

“So, I was thinking, how do you guys know I was supposed to die in 1955?” Sousa asked as you crossed a road.

“It’s in the history books.” Coulson wasn’t wrong. It was.

“Yeah, but…But what if you always plucked me out of time? Does that mean I always survive? And if we end up in your present, will we even be in the same timeline?” The agent out of time’s questions were starting to hurt your head now.

“I’d stop thinking about it. Your brains will spill out.” Daisy said, trying to apparently stop her’s from hurting too.

“Mine already are.” Daisy gave you a smile as you continued walking.

“Simmons can explain, sort of, but maybe you’d feel more comfortable staying back on Zephyr One.” Coulson suggested.

“No. No, no, no. I’m here, no going back. Might as well dive in and embrace the 1970s.” Sousa was addiment.

“There wasn’t any going back anyway.” Your sister grabbed your hand again to see what stance you were taking: it was a firm one by the feeling you had.

Still holding your hand, she pulled you back as a man on roller blades went past with a boombox resting on his shoulder.

“Starting now….” Sousa concluded as he turned around, “I can’t believe this old hideout is still running.” What he was talking about, was an old SHIELD hideout used in time in the 40s. Apparently, the team had already been inside of it.

“Did you ever stop by back in your day?” Coulson asked.

“Once or twice. Only the top brass knew about it. Good place to lie low.” The man answered.

“Oh, yeah? I wish I could’ve seen it back then. I heard Dooley had a reserved booth with one of those plaque things next to it –” Coulson was starting to fanboy.

“Ok, dad, let’s not keep Enoch waiting any longer. He’s been chilling for like four decades.” Oh yeah, Enoch was still around. That was nice to hear, even if you guys had apparently been forced to leave him in the forties.

Daisy led you down the stairs, but Coulson was the one who typed in the code on a panel that was horizontal instead of vertical.

“See? Flashy.” You said to Sousa, pointing to the way the keypad had been laid out.

“See you haven’t lost your wit.” Daisy complimented. You looked to her and she gathered that you meant to smile, grabbing your hand confirmed the playful emotion inside of you.

It was in full Seventies swing, the bar. From the looks to the soundtrack. To be honest, you should’ve been expecting it, but here you were.

“So much for laying low.” Sousa seemed to have a wit to him. Ok, he wasn’t as straight and narrow as you had pegged him for.

“Wonder what all this is about?” Coulson wondered.

“Maybe it’s a party.” You supplied.

“Happy birthday Richard.” Your sister joked. She felt the humour you held inside at it.

“Maybe Enoch will know what’s going on.” So, the search for your friend began.

May was walking back to you both with drinks, seemingly drunk already off the joy from everyone else, “Oh. Ok.” Daisy said, getting up and helping the older woman sit down, “Glad you’re enjoying yourself. Any word on Enoch?”

May seemed to be coming down from the high, “Oh, uh, negative.” She answered. The two women then looked at you as you surveyed the room, “How about you?”

You stopped and looked at them, “Nothing yet.” You said, before going back to it.

“I’m worried that it’s more serious than we think. Also, I might be drunk.” Ah, so it was an actual drunkenness, not just the emotions off of everyone else.

“Yeah, I think you might’ve discovered a new form of Contact High. Hmm. Because they’re all three sheets to the wind.” Daisy quipped as she took a sip from her drink.

“I’m at least one sheet to the wind. Give me a moment.” May said as she took a moment. She then explained that, after talking to the staff, they hadn’t seen Enoch in over a year.

However, a bigger problem came your way, a Malick was in play: Wilfred Malick. Some kid named Freddy, whoever the fuck he was, was still alive apparently.

Daisy moved tables, leaving you on your own for a bit. You wondered, kind of wishing you still had your drink to help calm the nerves.

“Hey,” You turned and saw Sousa approaching you, “You alright?” He asked, seeming genuine.

You knew you could lie, but you didn’t, “No, not really. Not like you or anyone else can tell.”

“Ok, let’s get a range on it,” He held out his free arm, “Can I?”

“So gentleman like….Sure, go right ahead.” You answered, holding out your arm.

He touched it, steeling himself as they all flooded him at once, “That’s a lot.” He admitted.

“Complex creature like myself does. Broken people tend to not be so straight and narrow.”

“Here,” He held out what was left of his drink, “Think you’ll need this more than I do.” He shook it, as if it would make it more appetising.

“How will we know if it works?” You asked as you took it.

“I’ll know. I’m not as straight and narrow as you’d think. Sometimes I need that to help get me through some nerves before a mission.” He confessed.

“So, you’re a bit drunk when you go on an op?” You drank some of it. It was sweet, but had a kick to it.

“A bit. See? It helps, don’t it?” He held his hand out for it, you gave it back.

“Sure,” You coughed a bit. You couldn’t lie, it had helped a bit.

“It’s not creepy, you know?” You looked at him to continue, “This. The whole, emotions thing. People express ‘em how they express ‘em. Course, some ways are wrong, but I think we both know we know what those are. But, you and yours, nothing wrong with it. Can almost be like a superpower, make people feel how you feel, turn the tables on ‘em.” He told you.

You went to speak, before he felt the emotions change, going into a protective fire. He followed your eyeline, seeing Daisy speaking to someone, and he wasn’t taking no as an answer.

“Come on, let’s go.”

You went to your sister, Daniel was forced to let go of your arm as he played the boyfriend card to get the man away. The man’s name was Gideon Malick. Oh no.

Actually, no, Sousa played the fiancé card rather than the boyfriend one.

Either way, it worked and it got you away, “What was that about?” Sousa asked as the three of you kept your voices hush.

“Long story, but apparently, Freddy’s son Nathaniel is still alive, and he was supposed to die in 1970.” Daisy quickly summed up for the two of you.

“Another change in the timeline. Get any intel?”

“No. But I did get a clue on where we could find some.” That led you three to the back room.

“Seems like there’s a story with you two.” Sousa said, hoping that only you would hear it.

“With me and Dais?” You asked, wanting clarification. He nodded, confirming it, “Yeah. We didn’t know each other for a large part of our lives, almost feels like we’re playing catchup now, really.”

“How’d you reunite?”

“By happenstance. Coulson pulled me out of the academy. Kind of wasting my time there: closed off and not making any friends. I was decent, though, at fighting and all that.”

“You were more then decent, Y/NN.” Daisy cut in with.

“Fine, good –”

“More.”

“Pretty good –”

“More.”

“Amazing at it.”

“There you go.” You rolled your eyes. Sousa didn’t have to fully feel the emotion you felt to know it was an affectionate one for your sister at her boost of your confidence.

“Anyway, nice play back there with the whole fiancé thing.” You told him, seeing him lose eye contact with you for a second.

“Quick thinking.” He defended it as.

“Sure.” You sounded dull, but he knew it was teasing.

Daisy managed to find a lamp, pushing it up. Upon being questioned by Sousa, she explained that she had been here a few days ago…in 1931.

Ah, so it wasn’t the 40s, but the 30s instead.

It was a back office, with computer equipment scattered around and only one on.

Now, you all had a mole, giving HYDRA names that were on a list that was shown on the computer. The list had names of people to wipe out.

As you went to leave, you saw Coulson and May cornered by Malick and Chronicoms. Daisy and you shared a look, “What are you thinking?” Sousa asked, not wanting to be out the loop.

“Trade.” You answered in sync.

It got you out, but now the Chronicoms knew you were in play as well. Now it was bigger than before, now they were hunting others. You couldn’t get anywhere at once.

Some of the Chronicoms followed you up. Your sister quaked one back, while you used the shadows to make a rope, pulling the Chronicom back and snapped his neck.

“W—What the –” Sousa started to say, astounded at what had just happened.

“We’ll explain later. Let’s go!” Daisy said, pushing you all onward.

She felt your anger for just a second. But she felt it.

She felt it’s power.

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Enoch had returned, drifting a car around the corner and stopping right where you were, “Enoch, you’re here!” Daisy said, breathless, as you all entered his car.

“Yes. As I have been for the last forty years,” He met your eyes in the mirror, “And it is good to have you back, agent Johnson.”

“Thanks.” You replied.

“Now, buckle up.”

You all made it back to the Zephyr, all standing together and planning on where to go next, “So, HYDRA’s attempting Insight in 1973?” Mack questioned as you all walked to the main part of the ship.

“With no Heli carriers?” Elena finished the question.

“According to Malick, SHIELD has a system of satellites and lasers, which as I say it, sounds really cool, but it’s definitely not cool.” Coulson got through the sentence rather quickly, trying to not make himself sound made at the end.

“Coulson,” He looked to you when you spoke, “Now’s not the time to fanboy.” He nodded, but you saw how he seemed to fight a smile.

“And it explains the launch pad at the Lighthouse. Must be where they’re planning to send up the satellite.” Mack guessed.

“Any idea who the targets are?” Elena asked.

“We found a dossier of mostly SHIELD assets. Bruce Banner, Nick Fury –” Daisy started when Sousa took over.

“Peggy Carter –” And you added a name.

“Alan Connelly.” You got looks of confusion from everyone but Coulson at that moment, “…What?”

“Whose that?” Daisy asked.

“Dad of the kid I helped out when Coulson picked me out for the team,” You looked to your friend, who smiled at the fact you remembered the boy, “Kind of want to keep the kid alive. Timeline’s sake and all that.”

Coulson knew it was far more than that, however.

Now, this happy-ish moment was broken up by the Zephyr beeping at you. The clock was going haywire (the click would tick down to your next jump). Now, though? You were going to jump again, and even Simmons couldn’t override it.

It was Simmons who had realised what was going on: The Chronicoms had changed their plans and were jumping early, instead.

With that, there was a shuffle, before you had landed in your new time period: 1976.

“Three years? How the hell did we just jump three more years?” Sousa asked as you both followed Daisy.

“I told you, I don’t know. We can’t control it.” Daisy was growing frustrated.

“Well, who does?” That answer was simple: The Chronicoms did.

To stop insight, you had to flood the area. You had a job, get into the security feed. That was to make sure there was no one left behind.

“I’m going with them. I’d rather be out there working the problem than in here where we disappear at any moment.” No one seemed to argue, so off you went.

It was an alleyway, a dirty one. However, the walk down did go with now issues. So, that was new; and nice.

“You do your thing, we got your back.” Sousa assured Daisy as she started to get the items she needed from the bag. He then looked to you, “You…do whatever it is she does?”

“Hack? Nah, not my thing. I was all about –“ You pulled out your pistol, “She was the flip side of that.”

“Now I’m a hybrid between the two.” Daisy spoke up as she pulled her laptop out.

“And I’m….less of that.”

“Still play a role,” He comforted, before looking back to your sister, “I’m guessing you don’t really carry a piece, do you, seeing as how you got that super serum power. I mean, Y/N does, which doesn’t make too much sense with her own power.”

Daisy opened the control box, “Yeah, it’s not really a super serum thing.” She said as she plugged wires in.

“Didn’t expect a straight answer out of you.” Sousa quipped as you both kept watch for Daisy.

You heard a groan from Daisy, “How is there a firewall already?” You both walked over to her, to try and help. So much for keeping watch.

“Seems things just get just get worse the later in time you go. I think this is my last stop.” The man was honest.

“It’s ok. This is just a setback. My software will crack it. It just needs a minute to load.” As she said that, the computer beeped, with the words: EXPLOIT SUCCESSFUL appearing on the screen.

“Maybe you need a bigger computer. That thing’s too small.” At his words, Daisy chuckled.

“What?”

She pulled out his phone and took a picture, “What’s that?” He asked, slightly fearful of the thing.

“This is a phone.” Daisy found humour in this moment, dragging on each word, “But only old people use it for calls.” She showed him the photo.

He looked amazed, “How did you do that?” He asked, amazement in his tone.

“Check it out.” She zoomed it in. She let him continue to play with the phone as she looked at you. Her smile dimmed a bit as she realised that you couldn’t emote.

You looked away from her vision, gulping a bit.

“Yeah, you look ok for a guy who just aged 20 years.” She pulled the phone away, putting it back in her pocket. However, those words seem to hit him, hard.

“Looks like I missed a lot.” It was meant to be just to himself, instead the two of you heard it.

“I’m sorry. This is just so weird and messed up, but the Chronicoms jumped, and we had to dive in after them. Without us, it’s….it’s way worse.” Daisy explained. You didn’t even think, you just put your hand on his arm. However, as soon as you did that, he jumped at the pity you felt.

“Sorry.” You apologised, moving the hand away right away.

“It’s ok, I get it. Just…wish I could’ve said some goodbyes.” He said. You both then went back to watching Daisy’s back.

May radioed to tell you that herself and Coulson were in, “Copy that. I’m working on unlocking the next checkpoint. Just give me a sec,” She turned to Sousa, “Hey, can you open that panel?” He moved over to do just that.

“How are you holding up?” Daisy asked, quickly looking at you before going back to the computer.

“Holding up as best I can, really…” You weren’t quite sure how to answer.

“Well, how are you feeling?” Daisy asked.

“Paranoid, scared.”

She looked, again, “Why?”

“Well, they could jump at any moment. We could be stuck here and –” As you rambled, Daisy approached you, putting a – what was meant to be – calming hand on your arm.

As soon as she made contact, she felt the fear. She tried to keep it out of her voice as she spoke, “It’s ok. We will be ok. We – Look out! —” She tried to warn you all, but you were shot before she could fully move you out of the way.

“Good to see you move.” Sousa said as Daisy made some movement. She was conscious. Alive. So, that was something.

“Y/N….where is she?” Daisy was still barely conscious, yet she asked for you. It was definitely something Sousa had noted.

“Psycho? That’s unfair, and very well timed. Wow. Right as I’m walking in. Hi. Nathaniel. Uh, the three of you took me hostage and changed my life?” Nathaniel recapped for the pair, feigning hurt at Daisy’s choice of words as she ranted about him just moments before.

“Yeah. How about you unchain us, give me back my sister, and we hug it out? And HYDRA and SHIELD can be together at last.” She was sarcastic, but she meant the part to get you back. Or…at least know where you were.

“HYDRA? I look like HYDRA to you? Take a look at Ron’s suit. Guy’s here because he’s got mouths to feed, not because he worships a space octopus. No. Religion’s not really my thing.” Daniel explained what he actually wanted. He didn’t care about religion, just about them. About how they got here, and how you and Daisy got your abilities.

“Where. Is. My sister?” Daisy asked, running out of patience.

Nathaniel laughed as he lowered himself down, “We’re digging into her first. Now, I’ve never heard a scream with no passion behind it. No..raw emotion there. But, now I have. Guess I’ve heard everything. By the way, whatever she’s got going on beside her dark manipulation, that’s some series shit. I mean…damn. Somethings gone wrong with her brain waves.” Daisy lunged for him at that.

However, it had been what he was waiting for.

“There she is! There’s the fiery sister. You know, however Y/N feels on the inside, doesn’t matter. She yelled, kicked some of my guys, who were more angry than usual, has to be said. I mean, Christ, they beat her to a pulp. And that was before we even got her on the table.” Then, she was dragged away.

Entering the room, she saw you bloodied and bruised, “No!” She cried out, trying to fend them off to get to you. She was weakened, and tired. And shit scared, “NO!”

She was thrown against the table, “Hey, easy, easy! Neither of them die. Not yet, anyway.” Nathaniel stepped in before it escalated further. The man looked at Daisy, who was only looking at you, “Now, she’s alive. Stupid bitch can’t get a handle on whatever’s cooking up in there. She’s one angry person. She’s not very expressive, though. Seems to do that through action more than facial expressions. Don’t matter, though, I got what I wanted from her power. Now, I’ll get what I want from yours.”

Sousa had no choice but to watch. Watch through a tiny hole in the wall. Daisy was dragged out the room, but you were kept on your table, “Now, onto Y/N’s brain. Wanna find out how she infects you guys with what she’s feeling.”

“It’ll kill her.” One of his henchmen said. Seemed they weren’t all bad. Seemed that they were just genuinely in this to make money for their family, and hadn’t fully lost their moral code…yet.

“I’ll be careful. I just need a bit to get it into me.” Seemed Nathaniel wasn’t a remorseless killer either.

Daisy was dumped on the floor, and he was gone again.

Daniel tried to keep Daisy awake by telling her a story about his army days. However, he then turned the tables on her, “Tell me about Y/N?” He knew she was fighting with all she had to stay awake. And, in his time in the army, he saw how strong bonds between siblings or found siblings was.

“Y/N….wasn’t the most emotive when we first met. She was cold. Took – took a while, but we broke through. Now….now she’s back to square one in her mind –” Daisy managed to get through the sentence, stopping every now and then to let out a noise of discomfort or to catch her breath.

“And she thinks she’s broken?” Daisy managed a small nod.

You were barely awake, your breathing shallow. But, you were alive. Your brain trying to find something to comfort you with. The main thing was flashes of your time. If this was it, might as well have a recap, right?

It took you to Sousa, how you had started out a bit weary, but he had won you over. He was a good man. Good for your sister, if she followed through with the emotion her eyes communicated: a small bit of romantic attraction.

Then, it went to a particular phrase he had given you: “Can almost be like a superpower, make people feel how you feel, turn the tables on ‘em”.

“What’s she feeling?” Nathaniel asked. One of his men touched your hand.

“Fear, peaceful feeling…something else too.” He reported.

“How can she be both fearful and peaceful? What’s the other thing?” Nathaniel asked.

“It’s all building to something…” The man said.

“…What’s that?”

“….Rage.” At that, you shot up, biting into the man’s ear. You ripped it clean off, spitting it away, you pulled out his pistol and shot the guard. Nathaniel hid behind one, the man taking a bullet for Nathaniel as he ran away.

You ran after him, before you remembered that you weren’t alone here. You had a sister and a new, genuine, friend to help. To save.

The love you felt for them was greater than your desire to hurt Malick.

So, you turned back, going to save your family.

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“Is she ok?” Was the first think you asked when you entered the room. Your face was blank and voice monotone, but your concern was still heard by Sousa as he picked your sister up and held her.

“She will be, when we get out of here. How about you, though?” He asked, his concern being heard both in his voice in expression, seeing the state you were in.

“I’ll be fine. We need to get out of here, though.” He knew he didn’t have time to argue, so he just nodded and led the way.

The building started to shake, shadows started to almost ripple: he was trying to get to grips with your abilities.

You just kept your focus on getting the pair out.

“How are you able to even stand?” He was still on it, but still sounded concerned.

“Lots and lots of adrenaline. That, and fear, guilt, rage, love. All the cliché shit.”

“It’s not cliché, it’s emotion.” He argued.

“Granted. And I get that there’s probably people like me both inhuman and not. But, still, having to shout them out is –” You pushed, pushing him back as guards ran past you and to the rooms you were just in.

You continued on your way, “Is annoying.”

A gunshot hit the wall, you used your ability to pull Sousa back, “Protect her!” You exclaimed.

A bullet hit you in the shoulder, but your grabbed that guard with your ability and pulled him into the dark. The others dropped their weapons, running away.

They were hired to do a job, but if they couldn’t get home to their families, there was no point to it in the first place.

However, one remained, he was shaken, “Go,” He looked as if he didn’t believe you, “I’m serious, go.”

He didn’t move. So, you did the one thing you could think of, you approached him and grabbed him. He was instantly hit with your genuinely feeling of tiredness and the want for this to be over, “Go.”

He ran.

“Good job.” Sousa meant it, having a not-too-much bloody confrontation.

“Let’s go home.” You blinked, almost happy that it didn’t get any worse.

You felt relieved.

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“So…back in the pod?” You asked as Jemma prepared it for it.

She looked back to you with a small smile, “Yes, I’m afraid. There is no other way. I’m sorry.”

You nodded, “Ok.” You went to get up to join in your sister (who was in her own pod) in a sleep as you healed.

Jemma and Sousa were instantly up to help you, but paused, “It’ll hurt.” You warned them.

“Y/N, you’re one of my best friends, seeing you in pain hurts me. But, if being in a bit more gets you to that pod that will heal you, then it’s worth it.” She was firm, but in her own loving way.

“…Ok.” You held out your arms, Jemma grabbed one, Sousa the other. They did cringe at the emotional pain, but they soldiered on. It seemed that two people holding you separated it between the pair.

They got you to the pod, resting you against it’s open shell. You looked to Sousa, “You gonna stay?”

He nodded, “I’m right where I need to be.” He assured you.

“You’ll be ok, Y/N. You both will.” Was Jemma’s reassurance.

“Ok. See you on the other side.” The two smiled.

You went back in, the pod door closing. Jemma put her hand to it as you felt your eyelids drop, you put yours where her hand was.

Then, once again, you were asleep.

#agents of shield imagine #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d imagine #agents of shield x reader #daisy johnson x reader #daisy johnson imagine #sibling duty

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