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pitchsidestories · 8 months

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The Princess Diaries II Zećira Mušović x Reader

chelsea women masterlist

The Swedish Princess got enganged. Scroll further to find the whole transcript of their adorable engagement video with the swedish national team goalkeeper

Interviewer: So how did you two first met? gives them both a curious look

Zecira: To be honest I did not recognize who she was back when. grins sheepishly

Princess!Reader: That's true, for me personally I found that very refreshing smirks

Zecira: She says that now but I don’t think she did back then throws a teasing smile at her

Interviewer: What happened ?

Zecira: It all happened during a football game looks into the eyes of her fiancée

Princess!Reader: Yes, it was a sweden game of course slowly nods while she can't look away

Zecira: I think we even won that game smiles

Princess!Reader: Yeah you did so naturally I went to the after party to congratulate the whole team and you might have heard about it but swedish female football team partys are legendary chuckles

Zecira: You make it sound like it was a big deal laughs

Princess!Reader: Well it kinda was, you girls were securing the third place in the world cup her tone getting more serious

Zecira: Maybe it was kind of a big deal

Princess!Reader: See?

Zecira: So anyways, she was standing there and I didn’t know who she was speaks animatedly with her hands

Princess!Reader: Yes, which was nice and akward at the same time but my instinct was just go with it shrugs

Zecira: I might have had a few drinks already so I just went for it

Interviewer: You flirted with the princess ? shakes his head in surprise

Zecira: Yeah. But I didn’t know it at the time

Princess!Reader: True

Zecira: I only found out hours after that

Princess!Reader: Magda and Frido had to spoil it and tell her about my identity rolls her eyes

Zecira: Didn’t stop me from texting her though smiles confidently

Princess!Reader: Of course not because Z loves a good challenge winks at her fiancée before turning her face back to the camera

Zecira: I do grins bright

Princess!Reader: And what a challenge it was for our both families to accept this entwines her fingers with Zeciras while speaking about it

Interviewer: Tell us more about it.

Zecira: Well, my parents were panicking quite a bit shrugs it off

Princess!Reader: They did until I met them for the first time, remember that love?

Zecira: That’s what you say, they still panic before you come visit them jokes

Princess!Reader: Same, to be honest

Zecira: No, you don’t. Wait, you do? gives her an astonished look

Princess!Reader: Yes, I always feel like I might not be good enough for you in their eyes.. bites her lip

Zecira: Even though you’re a princess?

Princess!Reader: That does not mean I'm the perfect daughter in law, love..

Zecira: It doesnt? winks at her

Princess!Reader: Oh you disagree, huh? looks at her in amusement

Zecira: I do nods

Princess!Reader: Maybe your parents will change their minds too someday in a hopeful tone

Zecira: What am I supposed to say about that, huh? hides her face behind her long hands for a moment

Princess!Reader: next question, please ? turns her head to the interviewer

Zecira: See, she never wants to talk about that huffs

Interviewer: I can tell. But what the swedes want to know how was the propasal and who asked the big question?

Princess!Reader: I did. Really.

Zecira: She did sighs

Princess!Reader: Much to Z's dismay, she even shed a few tears gives her fiancée a teasing smile

Zecira: I had an allergy! laughs

Princess!Reader: In our flat in London ?

Zecira: Yes !

Princess!Reader: So you're allergic to romantic moments ? sounds skeptical

Zecira: Maybe.

Princess!Reader: Maybe?

Zecira: Yeah, my nose is running and my eyes are watering when there’s an emotional moment. Must be an allergy throws her hands up in defence

Princess!Reader: No, that's called feelings chuckles

Zecira: It is? irony dripping from her voice

Princess!Reader: Yeah

Zecira: Oh

Princess!Reader: So yes, we can't wait to get married as you can see grins

Interviewer: I can tell. Any plans for the future?

Princess!Reader: Actually, we do, which one do you think we can tell them, Z ?

Interviewer: you have several plans? interjects

Zecira: Of course but we also know that some things can't be planned..

Interviewer: For example?

Zecira: Children getting serious

Interviewer: That’s… a big plan laughs surprised about Zecira's openess

Princess!Reader: It's but we..

Interviewer: Yes ?

Princess!Reader: Nevermind blushes

Zecira: Let’s just say that our future plans are not that far into the future offers a mischievous smile to the camera

Princess!Reader: Exactly, that might be a good end for our interview, right?

Interviewer: Usually I should end the interview but sure. I think we got enough gives them a satisfied look

Princess!Reader: thanks shakes the hand of the interviewer

"Let’s leave, love.", with a huge smile on Zecira's face she took your hand in hers to get out of the studio where the engagement interview took place.

Hopeful you looked up to the taller woman: "Right, someone has a game to play and I hope Frido secured a good place for me."

"I’m sure, she did.", the goalkeeper reassured you.

With a glance at your phone you answered with a nod: Ah yes, she texted me earlier and is already waiting."

"See you after the game.", your fiancée hugged you fiercly.

Cheerful you wished her good luck.

In a flirty tone Zecira replied:" I don’t need that. I got you here."

Suddenly Fridolina who was still healing from her knee injury appeared at your side:" Don't worry, I'll take care of your princess for you."

"I hope you will.", Zecira said.

Quickly the injured blonde football player responded:"Promise."

"You better should. I’ll see if she’s happy after the game.", the goalkeeper warned her teammate jokingly.

After the match, you were in the stands, leaning down towards your fiancée so you could kiss her: "Your saves were amazing, Zecira !"

"Just for you, love.", the taller woman answered, looking overjoyed about the win.

"For you, the team and me."

"Yeah, fine.", Zecira snotted.

Your cheeks were flushing while you admited:"But it sounded very cute from your lips."

Cheekily your fiancée asked:" How does another kiss from these lips sound?"

"That sounds perfect." , you declared before the goalkeeper was drawing you in for an even more passionate kiss.

"Come here then."

To our readers: Do you like this form of storytelling? Should we do it more often ?

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #woso one shot #zecira musovic #chelsea fcw #zecira musovic x reader #fridolina rolfö #magdalena eriksson #fcb femeni #chelsea women #wwc 2023 #wwc 23

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zenkindoflove · 29 days

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26 Elucien

26...as an apology.

The gold chain slipped through her fingers as she dropped it. He could have it back. It was a mistake, after all.

Elain quivered in anger and embarrassment. His words had reopened Graysen’s wound, and she cried sad, regretful tears in her room, waiting for Azriel to leave. Once she calmed down, it hit her how very different this was from then. Her reaction was a reflex. An old headspace that had been her reality since Graysen had looked at her with such disgust. Azriel had reminded her so much of Graysen sometimes that maybe she was reliving each feeling in her head, even the torrential ending.

But Azriel was not Graysen. To even compare was a joke. He was just a male. A male who barely spoke to her and didn’t truly know her. Didn’t see her. He was a fantasy. A distraction. A way to focus her attentions on someone else. Anyone else but the one who haunted her dreams. The one who called to her, body and soul, even with an ocean of distance between them. Even without truly knowing each other. And with him here, in the same house, sleeping in the room just above her head, she grasped desperately to any distraction that could rival his might. Not that she truly ever found it.

She only felt stupid now. She understood a bit more why Nesta lost herself in alcohol and anonymous sex. She needed to numb herself and to avoid the inevitable with Cassian. Elain could see it so plainly, how much her sister wanted him. It was in the way she lashed out viciously against him. Elain was a different creature though. She always lost herself in her internal worlds, turning inward rather than letting anyone see where she bled.

There was rustling behind her, and when she whipped around, she saw a shadow pass over the adjacent hallway, heading for the front door. She knew those movements like they were her own, and he could never hide his heart from her.

Her instinct was to cower, hiding where she stood to avoid him. But as she heard him putting on his coat, she realized that he meant to leave, sneaking out in the middle of the night. She noticed then that the pain and embarrassment she felt did not solely belong to her. His blended so perfectly with the notes of her own emotions that she had barely noticed his presence. If she could feel him, it meant he also could feel her. And if he felt her this whole time… Oh gods.

Elain ran, catching up to him in the hall just as he slowly opened to the front door.

“Wait!” She called down the hall. Lucien froze, his body wedged in the door frame. He looked up at her with his russet and gold mechanical eye, surprise and confusion painted over his handsome expression. Elain could hear her breath as her limbs shook. She didn’t plan anything. She didn’t know what to say. How to explain herself. Or why she felt so compelled to do so. Just before she had opened herself up to Azriel, she had convinced herself that she didn’t owe Lucien anything. But now that confidence had shattered seeing his sheepish escape from her insult.

Lucien straightened his back as he pulled his leg back into the house. He didn’t shut the door, but he turned to face her directly. “Is everything okay, lady?”

Lady. Formal and polite, as always. Careful. He’d always been so careful with her. Like any moment she was likely to fall apart. And maybe that’s because it was true. When she wasn’t on the brink of sobbing, she teetered on the edge of something darker. A well of anger and resentment so deep, she had never felt the bottom.

“You’re leaving,” she stated, taking a tentative step forward.

“Yes,” Lucien dropped his eyes down, ashamed. Why? Why would he be ashamed? “I’m going back to my apartment.”

“Why?” Her question was more of a demand, forceful and needy.

She watched carefully as he looked back towards her, studying her features with a pained expression. As if whatever he saw was too much to handle. It was more emotion than he ever allowed her to see.

“I… thought it would be best,” he began, and Elain took more steps forward, his words drawing her in, like a moth to a flame. “I thought… well… I thought maybe you would like your privacy.”

It stabbed her right in her rib. He knew. Of course he knew.

“It’s okay,” he said, his face changing from one of embarrassment and rejection to a one of warmth and reassurance. It was a clever mask, the way he used his genuine self to cover what he really felt. “I shouldn’t be here anyways. I have my own place.”

Elain nodded her head, looking down at their feet. She didn’t know what she expected, or what she wanted his reaction to be.

“Goodnight, Elain.”

She snapped her head up. He never said her name. He always addressed her formally. His voice rattled inside of her, shaking her bones until she lurched forward, reaching out her hands to brace her weight on his forearm. Her instincts took over, and she stood on her tip toes, planting a kiss on his cheek. His skin was warm and smooth. And when she pulled away, her lips tingled. She clung to his forearm as she said, “I’m sorry that I’m not ready yet.”

She dropped on her heels, exhaling a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

It took several seconds for Lucien to react, like he had lost himself in the moment. He blinked his eyes, and Elain heard the quiet whirring sound of his metal eye darting to look at her. Elain felt exposed, wearing her vulnerability like a shawl, much like she had just an hour before. But this time something inside of her knew she wouldn’t crash to the ground. Lucien would never allow it.

She held his stare, watching as a story played out behind his eyes. At the end, a light glittered in the darkness, and Elain saw a renewed determination settle over him.

“Take as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

When he closed the door behind him, Elain touched her fingertips to her lips.

Kiss prompts.

@crazy-ache wrote another bonus chapter solstice inspired fic that definitely implanted in my brain and made me want to pursue writing my own version of what happened after. Read hers here!

#elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #elain x lucien #pro elucien #elucien fanfiction #kiss asks #ask games #i'm all angst tonight #though this one is a little more hopeful because i can't go too hard with elucien

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geeks-universe · 2 years

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Hiiii I just want to say I love your writing!!

I was wondering if you could do Elrond X reader (soft/comfort) when he asks her to marry him? Or maybe their wedding?

If not that’s okay but Thank you so much☺️☺️

Did I just spend a bunch of time researching Elvish marriages? Bet your ass I did.

Rings of Power Elrond x Reader

When Elrond visited Durin, he had a habit of bringing you along.

At first, it was because he wanted his best friend to meet you. Since then, both Disa and Durin had insisted on you returning.

The insistence only grew worse when Elrond told Durin of his intention to marry you. He had never been more certain of anything in his life, yet he was also terrified. Confiding in Durin was the only way he could keep his sanity.

His friend, though, was having difficulty keeping it a secret from you.

Elrond shot him a glare over your bowed head, hoping he understood the message. The dwarf’s wide eyes, and a swift kick from Disa, told him he very much did.

“Elrond has told us you may be traveling west soon?” Disa prompted kindly, the smile on her face the picture of innocence. Had you not had the sharp instincts you did, you may not have even realized she’d physically admonished her husband.

For why, you couldn’t quite understand. Obviously, though, there was an unspoken conversation between the rest of the dinner occupants.

“Just a routine survey of the lands,” you supplied, taking a small sip of the Dwarvish wine. “I suspect nothing of consequence to come of it.”

Durin hummed thoughtfully, using his fork to push at the contents of his plate. He looked upset, but also unnerved. Curiously, you turned your gaze to Elrond, who was sat beside you.

The normal steadfast smile on his lips had been replaced with a grim expression, his stare on the table in front of him. Gently, and concealed from the wandering eyes of your favorite friends, you rested your hand on Elrond’s thigh.

He startled, the sharp intake of his breath breaking the silence that had permeated the air.

“Are you alright?” Durin asked, narrowing his eyes at his Elvish friend.

“Quite,” Elrond replied, voice an octave too high.

He not-so-subtly shot you a questioning gaze, full of intensity and heat. You replied by slipping your hand into his, and rested it back on his lap. Heat rushed to his cheeks, turning them a brilliant red. You resisted the urge to trace the path with your thumb, hardly remembering you had an audience.

At least, until Durin spoke once more.

“I thought elves didn’t blush?” He teased, laughter lacing his tone.

“Might I be excused for a moment,” Elrond responds breathily. “(Y/N) as well.”

Disa resisted the slightly inappropriate quip she wanted to respond with, instead gesturing towards the door, where they might find some extra privacy. Elrond practically dragged you with him, bringing you both to just outside the lovely home of Disa and Durin.

“I had hoped to do this in a slightly more private setting,” Elrond admitted, gazing deep in your eyes.

Your breath caught as you tried to make sense of what he was saying.

He had been your best friend for many, many years, and while you certainly felt an affection greater than friendship, you had never tried to push those boundaries save a few gentle touches.

“I wish to-”

He stopped short, dropping his head in his hands. You’d never seen him so distressed before.

“Elrond,” you whispered, placing your hand beneath his jaw, and forcing his gaze back to you.

He breathed in deeply, his eyes so full of emotion.

“You are my truest friend, and my most loyal companion. You can tell me anything.”

He opened his mouth to speak, yet no words came out.

His stare searched your face, and finally:

“You are a marvel,” he admitted. “I find myself drawn to your presence, to your light.”

He moved his hand slowly, pausing, but encouraged by the barest smile that overtook your features. Then, he traced his thumb down the apple of your cheek, and then your jaw.

“I will never feel so deeply for another, as I feel for you.”

His words were a whisper, barely audible above the distant cheeriness of the Dwarven kingdom. The world disappeared, swallowed whole by the moment you’ve waited lifetimes for.

“I wish to marry you, to spend an eternity loving you, as I have since the moment I first laid eyes upon you.”

Tears were in your eyes, had been for some time, and had begun to fall. The thumping of your heart had slowed. With Elrond, you felt comfortable. He was your home, and you could not find it in yourself to feel anything but love in his presence.

“Then let us marry,” you pressed forward, your forehead connecting to his. “For I have loved you just as long.”

He smiled, a smile so wide and bright you were sure it could be seen from the very edges of the world. Unable to contain his excitement, he had swept you off your feet and swung you around, laughing deep from his belly as he did so.

You giggled, settling down against him when he placed you back on your feet.

Unbeknownst to you and Elrond, though definitely suspected by the latter, Disa and Durin were watching.

“So sweet,” Disa commented, leaning back into Durin’s embrace as she did so.

He happily held her close, grinning proudly at his friend. The moment was perfect. At least, until Durin spoke.

“Maybe I should skip the wedding, call it even?”

#elrond x reader #elrond x y/n #elrond x you #elrond imagine #rop imagine #rop x reader #lotr imagine #lotr x reader #did you know that elves equate sex to marriage?#because that's what i just read and i was taken by surprise

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auroraesmeraldarose · 3 months

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Rafael/ Coral Island fic pt 10

In which it’s all been going too smoothly so, true to form, ya girl is going to start screwing things up. Prepare for self-esteem issues, angst, and that desire you get to smash two characters’ heads together and say JUST USE YOUR WORDS YOU IDIOTS

//////////

As the seasons turned, Rose was happier on the island with each passing day. Her farm had finally started to become profitable - though by no means lucrative - as the summer had gone on, and autumn was fast approaching. She had developed new skills, becoming even more proficient in fishing, diving, and even mining. Of all her new skills, mining had become a favourite; she loved the excitement of geodes cracking open to reveal a surprise within. She was particularly motivated by an idea she had for Rafael’s birthday, which was now fewer than three weeks away. He had been wearing a shell on a braided rope around his neck through the summer that Valentina had made for him, until it had broken. He asked her for a new one, but she had told him that shell necklaces were “totally uncool now,” and you could only wear one in the summer. When he had retold the story to Rose one afternoon she had laughed, and pointed out that Valentina’s father was the king of fashion on the island; if she said shell necklaces were uncool now, that was it. Rose was secretly quite glad Valentina hadn’t wanted to make a replacement, because it gave her the idea to make her own necklace for Rafael. She knew that onyx was his favourite stone. Since she was mining so much anyway at the moment, it seemed like a perfect idea to find one for him, and turn it into something he could wear to remind him of their fast-growing… friendship. She felt thrilled by the idea of something she had made for him sitting on his chest, near his heart… Even if admitting it to herself made her cringe, and she would never say it out loud.

There were only two real problems in her way; getting an onyx, and keeping it a secret from Rafael until his birthday. Rose had been forced to start visiting the blacksmiths in the morning, if she wanted to get the geodes cracked by Pablo, rather than Rafael. It felt somehow like a betrayal, even though she knew she didn’t want Rafael seeing her with stones that had clearly come from deeper in the mine that she thought he’d be happy with. They were close now, and she felt instinctively he wouldn’t like the idea of her putting herself in danger. He had warned her before about going too deep, and even offered to be her bodyguard; she couldn’t allow him to do that for his own birthday present, though. Plus, if there was an onyx in one of the geodes, he might want to buy it from her, and how would she possibly say no to him, without looking mean or having to explain that it was going to be his birthday present? No, it was easier to do it this way, even if she missed seeing him. She changed her routine to early morning farm chores, grab a bag of geodes and take them to Pablo, then straight back to the mines for more, late into the night until she found the stone she was looking for. It was hard work, and as she was going deeper in the mine she had had a few close calls with the creatures, but managed to escape mostly unscathed save a few bruises and scrapes. The second day she had arrived bright and early in front of Pablo he had questioned the sudden mania for morning geodes, and she decided to confide in him. She knew his help would be invaluable, she was no jeweller and although neither was he, he knew metal; more importantly, he knew Rafael.

“It’s for Rafael’s birthday…” she blushed a little as she told him. “I’ve got this idea, a polished onyx wrapped in silver wire, to wear around his neck…” she blushed deeper, before continuing, “he said onyx was his favourite…” she trailed off, wondering what mockery Pablo would respond with.

“Perfect.” Pablo said simply, his face a wide smile. No mockery, just honest encouragement; her eyes narrowed suspiciously; this was weird. “You’ll want a chain, that’ll be too hard for a beginner, I’ll hook you up, bonita Rosita, and maybe you guys can finally hook up!” He winked; there was the mockery, she knew it was too good to last.

“Pablooooo!” She covered her face with her hands, and he laughed at her pathetic response.

“What, you think I didn’t notice your jacket you left behind the door the other Friday? And the beer bottles? Rafaelito never drinks alone, and definitely not two. I was disappointed when you didn’t come down for breakfast the next morning, I thought you two had finally hooked up!” She was crimson now, and had turned as if to leave.

“Ay ok, ok!” He placated her, waving his hands, “but I will get you a chain, and you’ll need some tools.” He moved into a storage cupboard off the workshop and returned with a selection of useful looking equipment. “Here, take this with you while he’s not here, and you can bring it back when you’re done.”

She gratefully exchanged the geodes for the tools in her backpack, thanking him profusely through her blushes.

“Esta bien, you know I’ll do anything for a pretty girl,” he winked at her again and she rolled her eyes.

“And for your little brother, of course, Pablo?” She teased.

“Well, yeah, him too I guess. Now let’s get these geodes open and find you an onyx!”

They didn’t find an onyx. Two more early morning geode cracking sessions passed, and still, nothing. It had been four days of brutal, feverish mining, and she was now covered in bruises and scratches, with nothing to show for it. Well, that wasn’t true; the museum was filling up with samples, and she wouldn’t need to make her own charcoal for ages, but if it wasn’t the onyx she desperately wanted for Rafael, it felt worthless. He was in a bad mood with her too, she could tell… once or twice he’d caught her leaving the smith, and looked a little hurt when she didn’t stop to talk, just dashed past him with a “sorry hero, on a secret mission!” Rafael was indeed hurt, though he wasn’t surprised. He felt stupid for daring to think that night when they were holding each other close watching a horror movie could have meant anything. A lifetime of being second best to Pablo had taught him to never expect himself to be anyone’s first choice. He knew it had been too good to be true… How could he have dared to believe she cared for him? Of course, she was coming to see Pablo in the mornings, and not Rafael in the afternoons, of course! It was only a matter of time, why would she be interested in him with Pablo around? Between Rose’s inability to find the onyx, and Rafael’s dark suspicion that Pablo had stolen her heart, they made a gloomy pair. Pablo was getting the worst of both of their moods, Rose more frustrated then ever as each cracked geode gave something that wasn’t what she wanted, and Rafael stalking about the workshop and house barely speaking to him.

On the fifth day she went into the mines, Rose went even deeper than before, and knew she should have listened to Rafael. There were… creatures, and though she avoided them for the most part, this place was infested. She managed to grab a few looser geodes, slipping them into pockets in her overalls, and saw one that she prayed might finally be what she had been searching for all along. Even on the outside, the slight sheen of black, almost like spilled oil, taunted her. It was a little too far into the cavern for her to easily reach it without exposing herself to the creatures, but she didn’t care. She was determined, she would get Rafael an onyx if it killed her. She tied the rope she used to lower herself into the cavern around her waist, so she could quickly drag herself back to the opening if things got too hairy, and went for it.

Hands sweating, trying to be as quiet as she could, she chipped and levered away gently at the geode in the rock, trying not to shake too much with the effort. She felt the rope tighten and knew she was going too far… ahead, she could see something stirring in the darkness; something big. She wished she had Rafael here with one of those weapons he loved to make; if only she could have taken him up on the bodyguard offer! With the thought of Rafael in her mind, she wrenched at the geode, hoping to somehow find some of his strength just by thinking about him, and with a loud crack it finally came free. She clutched it desperately with one hand, hearing whatever was up ahead in the darkness move. She ran. Tucking the geode into the front pocket of her overalls, she climbed back up the narrow crevice she had entered by, her hands pulling on the rope and her feet scrabbling up the rocks. Whatever was below her was close now, and she moved as fast as she could, not being careful anymore, her body banging off the rocks as she went, desperate to get up into the safety above. One foot slipped and she managed to just about catch it on a rock slightly below, but not before slamming into a sharp, jagged one in front of her. Luckily, she moved her head and avoided knocking herself out, but her shoulder took the brunt of the impact, scraping across the razor sharp rock, tearing the shoulder of her t-shirt under the overalls. She didn’t stop to inspect the damage, and kept moving despite the pain until she was back in the blissful open air above.

Back in safety, before she looked at the injury, she took out the geode and inspected it. It was dark, with shimmering hints of black. This had to be it, she was sure. She grinned, allowing herself to hope. She wondered what the time was, and if she could get to Pablo to open it… but as she looked out at the dark sky, she knew it was far too late for that, it would have to wait until morning. She grabbed her things, and headed back home, still trying not to look at her battered shoulder; she didn’t want to know yet, and knew she shouldn’t touch it until she had clean hands, so not looking was better. She practically sprinted home. On arrival, she washed her hands as best she could before sitting down to look at the damage properly. There was a long, deep gash in the front of her shoulder, surrounded by a dozen or more smaller scrapes and grazes from the rocks. It ached badly, and she knew it would bruise too, the first hints of it were already starting. Rose had always bruised like a peach, probably something to do with her fair skin. She was going to be a mess in the morning, but she didn’t care. If that really was an onyx, it would all be worth it. She washed carefully, gingerly, and stemmed the bleeding cut with rough bandages, before falling into bed exhausted. Tomorrow, she would have Pablo crack that geode.

The next morning, she woke in agony. Every part of her body ached, and she knew she had seriously overdone it. The bruises were beginning to form; not dark yet, but definitely there. She didn’t look under the bandage on her shoulder, but could see marks spilling out from under it, and a hundred more all over her arms, her legs, even her hips and stomach were bruised. The only part of her that wasn’t battered or scraped was her face. She threw on clean clothes and a shirt with sleeves just short of her wrists to cover the worst of the injuries, and distracted herself with what she could manage of her farm chores until the blacksmith would be open.

She was waiting outside the door when they opened at nine, and Rafael opened the door to see her almost bouncing up and down in agitation.

“Morning hero!” She trilled, giving him a wide smile. “You’re heading out, right?” His heart had lifted at the sight of her, but those next words cut him to the heart. So, she wanted him out of the way, did she? Probably wanted to spend some alone time with Pablo… The thought of them together caused a pain in his chest that felt like his lungs had turned to stone.

“Yup.” He stalked past her, without looking back. Rose cursed herself, and wanted to call him back, to try and backtrack, but what could she say that wouldn’t need further explanation? Focusing on the hope she felt for this geode, instead, she headed inside, and threw it over to Pablo who caught it deftly.

“Looking hopeful today, Rosita!” He smiled. “About time too, you keep avoiding Raf and coming to see me and he’ll have my head on that anvil!” He chuckled, and took the geode over towards the anvil.

“I don’t think he’d start with your head, Pablo,” she laughed back, nervously, following him.

“Ouch. Good point. But this looks like it might be what you’re searching for… I’ve got a good feeling about this one Rosita!” He cracked it open, and punched the air.

She let out a cry of joy, and she could have hugged him, but chose not to; Rafael was annoyed enough at her. But here it was, most definitely an onyx, in all its midnight black glory. Pablo cleaned it off for her a little, and instructed her on how to use the rock tumbler he’d let her borrow. By the time she left, she was beaming and excited, and couldn’t wait to get to work.

She passed Rafael cleaning the graveyard on her way home, and ran to him.

“Raf, phase one of the secret mission is done, and I’m so happy!”

He had turned and wanted to smile, and join in her happiness, but was still feeling too bitter and hopeless. He managed half a smile, that didn’t reach his eyes, and nodded.

“Good for you, Rose.” His eyes, which wouldn’t meet her face, caught the bruises on her wrist, and his tone changed. “What the…?” He reached out and gently pulled her arm towards him to inspect the blooming patches on her pale skin.

“Mines,” she shrugged, not wanting to say more. “Told you, secret mission!” She pretended to zip her lips and pulled her arm quickly away from him.

His face had a look she’d never seen before - was it anger? Frustration? Sadness? All of them, rolled into one?

“Didn’t want me as a bodyguard then?” His voice filled with bitter venom. He had tried not to emphasise the “me,” but he knew that’s what he really meant; she didn’t want him.

“Couldn’t, hero, not for this. I’m done with the mines now anyway, at least for a while!” She was trying to speak brightly, cheerfully, because she hated the way he looked like a spaniel puppy that had been kicked.

He didn’t respond with words, just shrugged, nodded, and turned back to his work.

“Well, I’ll see you later, hero? Maybe at the beach cleanup?” She hoped that repeating the nickname might pull him out of his mood, but for once it didn’t work.

“Yeah, see you later,” he nodded and grunted, not looking at her.

#coral island rafael #rafael coral island #coral island #fanfic #fluff

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pocket-lad · 1 month

Text

CH 8- A (Not So) Promising Start

Adelaide was in Sarah’s hand. Sarah had grabbed her. She struggled against it on instinct (eight years of it was hard to suppress), uncomfortable in the dark, wet, muddy enclosure, but settled down when she heard Ian’s voice. They were going to get out of this. She just had to be patient, keep a low profile, and take deep breaths.

The men that just arrived had to be the other InGen team. There was nobody else on the island. At least as far as Adelaide knew. She didn’t think she’d be facing this many Humans, and she and Sarah seemed to agree that now wasn’t the time to introduce a tiny humanoid being into the already messy equation.

Sarah couldn’t find a good time to sneak Adelaide into a pocket with all these eyes trained on her, so she held Adelaide against her stomach. Ian looked at her, and Sarah nodded toward her occupied hand in response to his unspoken question. Adelaide was safe. Ian looked relieved. He had Kelly in his arms and Sarah and Adelaide close by. They survived.

Adelaide meanwhile felt stifled against Sarah’s stomach. Her body was coated head to toe in mud, and breathing was difficult. She felt Sarah stand up, and the Beans went on their way. All Adelaide could do was sit tight and try desperately not to think about Eddie’s last moments. It didn’t go so well.

She tried to keep her fidgeting to a minimum. Ian said it could tickle (which Adelaide took great offense to at the time), and she didn’t want to inadvertently reveal herself by causing Sarah to twitch.

Eventually they stopped moving and an accented voice started speaking. “Our communication equipment’s been destroyed. And if your radio and satellite phone were in those trailers, then we’re stuck here, ladies and gentlemen. And stuck together, thanks to you people.”

“Yeah, we came to watch,” Nick said offensively. “You came to strip mine the place. Back off.” The last bit seemed to be directed toward somebody else, but Adelaide had no way to tell.

“At least we came prepared,” Peter Ludlow, said. Great. Hammond's nephew was on the island.

“It’s a looter mentality,” Nick continued. “All you care about is what you can take. You have no right.”

“An extinct animal brought back to life has no rights. It exists because we made it. We patented it. We own it.”

Oh, that was it. Adelaide’s blood boiled. Typical Humans, deciding who did and did not have rights. These animals weren’t even genetically engineered! They had been living on the island for a while now and were likely offspring of those engineered animals. Ludlow would probably say she has no rights either just because he was big enough to do so.

Adelaide suddenly felt very cramped, her anger taking up most of the space in her small enclosure and leaving little room for her body. She shoved at Sarah’s hand, hoping to at least gain a little more breathing room. Or maybe stab Ludlow in the neck.

“Whatchu got there?” Yet another new voice, and not one that sounded friendly. Adelaide froze.

“Nothing,” Sarah said confidently. “I think I bruised my ribs.”

Adelaide admired Sarah’s lying capabilities, but she doubted it would do them any good. She felt the tension in the air and readied herself to attack, just in case.

Sarah’s hand was abruptly yanked away from her stomach and shaken around with sharp, jerky movements, threatening to make Adelaide throw up. She searched for a grip on anything that was available, which was, unfortunately, not much. She didn't have to worry about falling, though. Sarah's hand instinctively tightened to prevent this, squeezing Adelaide just a little too tightly. There was yelling coming from a bunch of different people, but Adelaide couldn’t differentiate any of the voices.

Sarah tried her best to wrestle her hand away, but she also didn’t want to hurt Adelaide or send her flying. In the end, Sarah’s hand was empty, numerous people stood on guard, and Adelaide was dangling from her shirt between the pinched fingers of Dieter Stark.

All of this was a blur for the borrower. She wouldn’t be able to gain her bearings until everyone stopped moving, but she made sure she had a grasp on the one thing that was important - her knife. When everything stilled, Adelaide found herself face to face with a new human. He sneered down his big nose at her.

Adelaide clenched her jaw. It was hard not to show fear when the only things keeping her from falling to the ground were the thumb and forefinger of an unknown, unpredictable, and unfriendly giant clasping the back of her T-shirt. The shirt dug into her neck and chest as she dangled there.

“What the hell am I supposed to be looking at?” the man smirked, and his hot, smelly breath engulfed Adelaide’s body. She coughed.

“Put her down. Now.” Ian’s voice was dangerously quiet. With how close the man held Adelaide, she couldn’t see anything past his face, but she desperately wanted to check out her surroundings.

“Or what?” the man said.

“Or I’ll claw your eyes out,” Adelaide threatened as she drew her knife from her belt.

“Ah, I’m really scared,” he laughed, pulling her away from his face and sending her spinning. She clutched onto her knife, afraid it would be thrown from her grip and lost to the mud below.

When she stopped spinning, Adelaide glanced around her. Ian, Nick, and Sarah stood defensively close, ready to make a move but afraid he’d drop her if they did. Four other men stared at her. She had to assume one was Ludlow and one was the accented guy who said they were stuck here. She didn’t know about the third or fourth.

Nick was the first one to try something. He stepped toward the man aggressively, but the man was quick. He pulled Adelaide up and away, far above his head. “Ah!” He held his hand up to Nick, indicating that if Nick didn’t back down, he’d let go.

Adelaide gasped. “Stop moving!” she shouted at her friends, annoyed. (Was ‘friends’ the right word? She wasn’t sure.) She knew they wanted to protect her, but they’d only make it worse by antagonizing him. Her shirt started to bunch around her shoulders. Not only was it embarrassing (both her shirt and the general situation), but it was cutting off circulation.

“Dieter,” the accented one said in a commanding voice. He wore a hat and was dressed in a way not dissimilar to Robert Muldoon. Like he was ready for a safari.

“What?” Deiter responded. He was clearly having fun riling everyone up.

“I’m not going to ask you twice,” Ian said. Adelaide tried to make eye contact with him to telepathically explain her plan, but he kept his eyes trained on the enemy.

Oh well. She’d do it on her own.

Adelaide slashed at Deiter’s finger with her knife. She couldn’t get a good angle to really dig in, but she was hoping it was enough to make him drop her so she could make an escape. She was also hoping somebody (preferably Ian) would think to catch her.

Deiter just winced and lifted Adelaide back up to his face, not to look at her, but to look at the wound she left behind. His blood dripped onto her head and down her face. She wiped at it with the back of her hand. Gross. His eyes flicked back to her and she forced herself to maintain eye contact if it was the last thing she did.

“Oh, you just got yourself-” he began.

“DEITER!” the accented man repeated, somehow even more forceful than the first time.

Dieter looked at the man, then back to Adelaide, then back to the man again. His thought process was completely opaque to everyone, especially Adelaide, but it became clear in the next few seconds.

“Whatever,” he complained as he carelessly tossed Adelaide upward. She spun rapidly in mid-air and scrambled for purchase on anything, but nothing was there. Her body reached its apex and began to fall, but Deiter caught her by the ankle between two pinched fingers.

The pain in her leg made Adelaide gasp. It felt like it had nearly been pulled out of its socket. And if he applied any more pressure, she was due for a sprained ankle at the very least. As it was now, it would definitely bruise.

This was nothing like when Ian dangled her by her legs that one time. She was still pissed at him for doing that, but it had only been for a second and, as always, he made sure not to pinch too hard. This guy didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she swung back and forth, and even without sight, she could feel his presence directly in front of her face. And then he let go.

Holyshitholyshitholyshitholyshitholyshit, Adelaide thought as she hurtled toward the Earth. This was it. This was the end. The Beans weren’t fast enough.

At the last second, Adelaide landed in someone’s palm. Before she knew who it was but not taking any chances, she shot to her feet and held her knife out defensively.

It was Ian, breathing heavily. “Talk to me,” he said, trying to see if she was okay. He would have just asked if she was okay, but she would have said a simple ‘yes’, and that meant absolutely nothing.

“Let me at him,” Adelaide said darkly, ready for round two, but she was rubbing at her sore ankle.

Ian laughed, thankful that she was alright. He knew he was in for an earful later after everything he did and everything they went through, but he didn’t care. He cupped Adelaide to his chest in the approximation of a hug, despite her muffled protests.

“I’m serious!” Adelaide shoved against Ian’s chest as he pulled away. “I want a chunk of his skin.” She geared up to leap off his palm in the direction of Dieter, but Ian tilted his hand back toward his body to keep her from doing so.

“I know, I know. And I trust you’d get it, too. But generally people don’t take - don’t take chunks of other people’s…skin,” he said, trying to keep Adelaide in one place without wrapping his hand around her. “And it looks like Nick’s got you covered.”

Adelaide paused in her struggle against the ever-changing, ever-moving, steep incline of Ian’s hands. She looked out to see Nick picking a fight.

“You looking for a problem?” he yelled.

“I found you, didn’t I?” Dieter shot back.

Nick lost it and shoved Dieter, but didn’t stop there. He ran at the man, ready for a fight, but everyone else forced the two men apart, yelling at them to stop.

Adelaide winced, ever-impressed with the strength Human Beans possessed. It was like watching two mountains engage in a brawl, and it was very humbling.

“I know you,” the accented man with the hat said as he approached Nick. “You’re that ‘Earth first’ bastard.”

“What’s Earth First?” Ludlow asked.

“Professional saboteurs.”

“Environmentalists!” Nick corrected. He tried to lunge at the other group again, but two men held him back. How did Nick just keep getting cooler?

During the fray, Kelly silently walked up behind Ian. Adelaide felt a presence and turned around, nearly jumping out of her skin when she saw the girl.

“Are you okay?” Adelaide asked awkwardly, noting the blanket around her shoulders.

“Mhm,” Kelly nodded.

Adelaide waited for more but nothing came. “Good talk,” she muttered to herself as she turned forward.

“Knock it off!” Sarah yelled at everyone. “Listen to me. Moving the baby to our camp may have changed the adults’ perceived territory. We have to move. Now.”

Ludlow chimed in with some actually helpful information. “There’s a communication center here near the old operations building. Everything ran on geothermal power. It was never meant to need replenishing. If we can get there, we can send a radio call to the airlift. It’ll be a day’s walk, maybe more. But that’s not the problem.”

“What is? What is the problem?”

“Velociraptors.”

Adelaide froze, and she felt Ian do the same. The T-Rex was bad enough. Velociraptors were worse. There was no evading them.

“We could head back down to the lagoon,” Ian suggested.

“And sit out in the open, next to a heavily used water source and hope that your captain comes back? We head for the village,” the man with the hat said. “We might find shelter and we can call for help. Rex just fed, so he won’t stalk us for food.”

“Just fed? You mean Eddie? Show some respect. He saved our lives by giving his,” Ian said.

“Then his troubles are over. My point is predators don’t hunt when they’re not hungry.”

“No, only humans do,” Nick added.

“You’re breaking our heart,” the man said sarcastically.

“What is your problem?!” Adelaide blurted out. The reminder of Eddie’s gruesome death shot detailed memories straight back into her head and she actively had to force them out.

The man turned his attention to her and she suppressed a shiver. He walked closer but both Ian and Adelaide held their ground. When he stopped walking, Adelaide had to look way, way up at him from Ian’s cupped palm. She stood up.

“Ludlow, is this one of yours?” he called.

Peter Ludlow sauntered up shortly and Adelaide now found herself staring up at two giants. Even better. Between them and Ian, she started to feel claustrophobic.

Ludlow paused for a considerably long time, as if he had to think about it. “No, I can’t say it is,” he finally said.

“You don’t sound so sure about that,” Adelaide said.

“Quite sure, thank you,” he responded shortly.

“I have a name,” Adelaide said, glancing between them.

“Me too. Roland Tembo.”

“Adelaide,” Adelaide said hesitantly.

“Peter Ludl-”

“I know,” she interrupted, refusing to take her eyes off Roland.

Roland bent down to Adelaide’s level and Ian took a cautious step back. Roland’s eyes flickered briefly toward Ian’s but quickly returned to Adelaide’s. “I don’t have a problem, Miss Adelaide. Do you?”

It wasn’t exactly a threat, but Adelaide felt a menacing energy nonetheless. “Just your face,” she mumbled, realizing her mistake as soon as she said it. She really needed to stop antagonizing giants.

To Adelaide’s surprise, Roland just let out a good-natured laugh. “Right, then.” He shot to his feet, making Adelaide flinch and drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity. “Saddle up! Let’s get this moveable feast underway.”

As everyone headed off in a direction, Ian just looked at Adelaide. “Why?” he asked.

“Cause,” she smirked, refusing to elaborate. He knew. He knew that Roland was a jerk and Dieter was a jerk and all of them were jerks and Adelaide didn’t like jerks.

“Did he do that?” Ian indicated Adelaide’s leg with a finger.

Adelaide glanced at her leg and the gash that was now covered in dried blood. She remembered the pencil that fell and took her out, but the pain was nearly gone now. It was replaced by new pain in her ankle from where Deiter’s fingers were, but that pain was also doable. As long as she could walk, she’d survive. She nudged Ian's finger to get it out of her space. “Oh, no. Something fell in the trailer, but I’m good now.”

Ian sighed. “You’re going to kill me one day. You know that?”

“Shoulder please?” She gave Ian her best smile, though she was sure she looked insane coated head to toe in dirt and blood.

And with that, everyone was off. Adelaide tried to keep her mind off of the dangers that passed and the dangers to come, but there was little else to think about, and she always found her mind wandering back to those awful thoughts. Not to mention, she kept herself alert to the people around her just in case. She could feel them staring.

Though the rain never really ceased, it did let up for a moment. Now, it was pouring harder than ever and everyone was soaked to the bone. Adelaide could hardly see, which is why, when Peter Ludlow suddenly appeared at their side, she shot to her feet in surprise.

Then, since everything was wet, she almost slipped off Ian’s shoulder. She couldn’t sit back down now though. No, she had to make that look intentional, so she held on as best she could.

Ian turned to Ludlow. “I didn’t wish you luck on your new venture. You’re off to a promising start.”

Adelaide unwillingly laughed.

Ludlow eyed them both. “My team is intact. I’m sorry for the loss of your man.” He didn’t sound very sorry to Adelaide.

“Do you even know his name?” she asked. She wasn’t sure what it was about this man, but he didn’t scare her in the slightest. He was all talk. No action. Ian could definitely take him in a fight if it came down to it, and she was even beginning to think she could too.

Ludlow looked at her, disgusted, as if she were some pest, as if he wasn’t sure why she was speaking to him. He ignored her. “It’s easy to criticize someone who generates an idea, assumes the risk.”

“His name was Eddie,” Adelaide pushed loudly. She wiped at her eyes, trying to clear the rainwater away in vain.

Ludlow paused as he was forced to acknowledge her. “Right,” he said. He studied her for a moment, his eyes gleaming, and then the moment passed. That was all Adelaide was going to get.

“Taking dinosaurs off this island is the worst idea in the long, sad, history of bad ideas. And we’ll be there when you learn that,” Ian said, and he walked a couple paces ahead, effectively ending the conversation. Thank God for long legs.

They hiked through the night and then some. Adelaide had always heard about how beautiful sunrises were, how the sky filled with brilliant pinks and oranges. She only ever saw them through a window, and back then her mind was focused on other things. Namely, borrowing.

Adelaide hardly recognized that the sun rose because there was no sign of color in the sky. It just transitioned from black to a light gray. She supposed that felt correct given their bleak circumstances. Still, a little color in the sky would have been much appreciated.

“Take a break! Five minutes!” Roland called out to the group. Everyone collapsed into a seated position, exhausted from walking hours on end. Adelaide felt Ian’s limp get worse as time went on, and she was glad he got to rest.

She, on the other hand, had the opposite problem. She needed to walk around and use her legs, shake out the stress.

Adelaide began her descent down Ian’s shirt, but paused when he spoke. “I’m gonna wash up. You wanna come?”

She wasn’t sure what exactly he meant by that, but she did feel completely disgusting. She thought the rain would wash away some of the grime, but now, instead of being just muddy and bloody, she was wet, muddy, and bloody. And the blood wasn’t even hers. Gross. “Yeah, sure,” she said.

Ian stood up. “Stay here,” he said to Kelly. “Sarah!”

Sarah looked up and Ian pointed to Kelly, indicating that he wanted her to watch her. Sarah nodded.

Adelaide’s arms trembled from holding herself up so long, so she let go of Ian’s shirt, assuming he would catch her. He did, obviously, but it caught him off guard and he scrambled to do so.

“Are you actively trying to give me a heart attack?” Ian asked.

“I’m trusting you,” Adelaide shrugged as she stared up at him.

Ian walked over to a small stream not too far away. At least, it was small to him. It was still within eyesight and earshot of the group, so they’d know when it was time to leave.

He set Adelaide on the ground next to the edge and knelt down next to her.

Adelaide stared at the stream. From up above, it looked so small, so doable. She’d walk in, wash off, walk out, and be done. Up close, it was massive. There was no gradual decline into the water. It was a straight dropoff into the murky depths, the current strong and the water so clouded that she couldn’t tell how deep it was. She couldn’t even be sure it was clean, but it had to be better than the five layers of grime her skin was currently coated in. If only she could swim.

Adelaide must have been standing there for a long time because Ian piped up again. “Della? Hello? Earth to Della?”

Adelaide whipped around to face Ian as if just now realizing he was there. She stammered, trying to figure out if she wanted to admit that she didn’t know how to swim. It was probably best to avoid the conversation altogether. Save them some time. Forget this ever happened.

“Actually, I’m good. I don’t want to,” Adelaide said quickly.

Ian furrowed his eyebrows and stared, trying to work her out. She shifted uncomfortably, and she was suddenly very aware she was on the ground. Like, the ground ground.

Adelaide could physically feel the silence. It needed to be filled. “It looks dirty, so um, so I don’t want to. And it’ll take too long and we only have five minutes, and I don’t think you should leave Kelly alone with-”

“No offense, but that stream looks - looks a lot cleaner than, um, you.” Ian continued to stare. He knew that none of those reasons were legitimate.

Adelaide couldn’t take it any longer. Her eyes bored into the ground at her feet as she sheepishly admitted, “I can’t swim.”

#jurassic park #ian malcolm #g/t #giant/tiny #jurassic park g/t #gt #size difference

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lavender-temult · 6 months

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my timeline for otohana has always been loosely “1) they meet and become friends in gelvaan, 2) ????, 3) profit”, but I have thought about it some more and please consider: Otohan and Relvin are friends first. (headcanon rambling under the cut)

They meet when they’re young, Otohan not even a general yet, but she’s ambitious and little Relvin, very much intimidated by them, is quite confident in their abilities. But he mostly looks from afar, watching this muscly stranger staying with the other soldiers in Gelvaan.

Later, Otohan comes back to Gelvaan, although they’re a general now. Tired and worn out from a recent battle, she needs a place to stay - quiet and comforting, and Relvin is exactly that. He welcomes her, albeit somewhat nervously, and makes her tea while telling her stories to distract her. He tells her stories of his work, of how one of the horses is pregnant now. He tells stories his school, of his teachers, of a purple-haired girl who says hi to him in school hallways. Otohan doesn’t have any good stories to share, their life filled with too much bloodshed and pain, and Relvin isn’t particularly interested in battle tactics, so they sip their tea, block out Relvin’s thoughts, and every so often offer up names for the soon-to-be-born foal.

The next time Otohan visits is during a brief truce between the two warring parties, and Otohan had been looking forward to going back to Gelvaan, a part of her (that she would never admit) missing the boy who had almost become something like a friend to her. Relvin greets her (no longer nervous this time), and he introduces her to his girlfriend, Liliana. Otohan is fascinated with her, with Liliana’s powers (similar to their own - that’s new), with her violet eyes and lavender hair (they smile to themself when they remember Relvin’s stories from a little while ago). But it’s more than that, too - Liliana is inquisitive, bursting with questions (she was just a simple farm girl, after all, desperately curious about the outside world). She was smart, too - when she asked questions about the war, she seemed to instinctively understand battle strategies and the like, and wanted endless details of what happened. Relvin was glad to his his girlfriend and best friend (there unfortunately wasn’t much competition for that title) getting along, and he joked that Otohan may as well steal Liliana away from him, and they laughed, because how could that happen? Why would Liliana want to leave? (Otohan knows why she’d leave, and they keep quiet with a pang of guilt.)

Otohan heard about the fires in Gelvaan, and was terrified. It took her too long to get there, and when she finally arrived in Gelvaan, she took in the wide swathes of farmland withered and charred and raced to the home of her best friend (there unfortunately wasn’t much competition for that title). They arrived, and Relvin welcomed her (this time looking as if bags had been permanently carved under his eyes). He introduced them to his newborn daughter, Imogen, and Otohan (mostly relieved he and Liliana were alive) held her, rocking her to sleep as the two exhausted parents tried to rest.

Otohan wasn’t able to visit for a while, and she tried to pretend the part of her that worried for the Temult family didn’t exist. (But were they well rested? was Relvin less lonely? did Liliana feel more trapped? was Imogen ok? was she like her mother, like Otohan herself?) As soon as the war was over, they rushed to Gelvaan (still reeling from the war, and reckoning with their religion - after all the bloodshed and pain with no reward, was it really all worth it?) and they held Relvin tight - uncharacteristic for both of them, neither of them were physically affectionate people. They sat to talk, drank tea together, and when Otohan asked how Liliana was, Relvin flinched and said nothing. But (like Liliana, which Relvin tried not to focus on) Otohan was Ruidusborn, and she simply had to open up her mind to know what had happened. They promised to try to find her, and Relvin just nodded, and the two fell back into their regular quiet.

Otohan does find her, although she doesn’t bring herself to tell Relvin - she doesn’t actually reach out. Every time she puts a pen to paper, she doesn’t know what to say. What was there to say? “Hello, Relvin. Saw Liliana. She’s doing good, we’re fucking now! How’s Imogen? How’re the crops? The horses? Love, Otohan.” No, that wouldn’t do. So Otohan doesn’t write, and a part of her longed for the quiet comfort that is her best friend.

Relvin, for his part, was not having a good time. His wife left, his best friend hadn’t reached out for years, and he was lonely with no one but a child he might’ve struggled to raise even with Liliana’s help for company. He had long stopped hoping Liliana would ever come back - had long since grown to resent her - but part of him still longed for his best friend to return. And another part of him, the part that he tried to ignore, was the agonizingly cruel humor that all those years ago, when he had joked that Liliana and Otohan would run away together, he might as well have been right.

#long post #like LONG post lol oops #anyways that’s that for my random late-night headcanon ramblings #otohan thull #relvin temult #liliana temult #otohana #critical role headcanons #critical role #this is. not the most well written but whatever

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eviesaurusrex · 2 years

Text

Stark Universe | Chapter Two

Nick Fury x Stark!Reader

summary: Coming back to her childhood home reveals new, unpredictable opportunities - and insights.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: swearing (as usual), Pepper being a big sister, sad thoughts, Fury... being Fury, my bullshit about how a motorcycle works (I've studied motorcycle at Wikipedia University), mentions of Steve Rogers (because this handsome man is a warning)

author's note: I was so excited to write this chapter because the plot is slowly emerging! Have fun, people, and thank you so much for all the lovely comments and the overall support of my writing! Lysm!!!

[Series Masterlist]

“Don’t wait for me, Pepper,” [Y/N] shouted over her shoulder back into the apartment where the redhead sat at the table, surrounded by papers and envelopes. The woman looked up to watch the Stark picking up her jacket and the keys lying next to the mirror in the hallway of the luxurious Upper East Side apartment. “Mind if I ask where you’re heading? In case Mr. Stane calls.” [Y/N] stopped in her tracks and pushed the phone into the back pocket of her outworn jeans. She thought about telling her confidant where she intended to go, but instead, she shrugged her leather-clad shoulders. “Just taking a walk in Central Park. Getting some fresh air and trying to clear my head. Should I get you something for dinner on my way back?” Even though she didn’t tell Pepper where she would spend the next few hours, she definitely cared for the woman. She was the last trustworthy person in her close proximity, after all. The redhead smiled at her question. “If you’re getting something for yourself, then yeah, sure. Thank you, [Y/N/N].”

Smiling and waving, the Stark snatched another set of keys out of the key box next to the door before leaving. She took the elevator down to the lobby of the apartment building and peeked around the last corner to see the sidewalk in front of the revolving doors. An ocean of reporters and photographers stood in front of her home because word traveled fast in this city (well, in every city, actually), and everyone wanted to have a piece of Stark for his own so-called newspaper.

More likely the shame of the entire press world.

[Y/N] ground her teeth against each other before pressing her palms against the tightly shut eyes. The reporters were the one thing she hated the most about being a Stark. Sometimes, she just wished for an easier life, far off the public eye and interest in which she could be a teacher or something the like. But she was no regular woman, and she had learned through the years how to conquer everyday life while carrying the name Stark. That’s why [Y/N] again peeked around the corner to have the concierge within her line of sight. She whistled, and Mr. Kingsley spotted her instantly. A genuine smile formed on his face, and he walked over to her.

“Miss Stark. How can I help you at this beautiful afternoon?” Ever since buying the apartment after transferring from Yale to Columbia University, she had spent an awful lot of time inside this building, and Mr. Kingsley had looked after her since day one. His fatherly instinct had probably kicked in at the sight of the parentless teenager, barely even old enough to live in a city like New York on her own.

[Y/N] nodded in the vague direction of the building’s front. “Could you use your magical superpowers and hinder these idiots from getting too close to the garage exit? I don’t wanna find myself on another front page of one of their tabloids.” Plus, she didn’t want them to earn more money with her face. They certainly had made enough with lurid stories about her very person until this point. But the woman had backing like Mr. Kingsley to help in situations like these as soon as they occurred. The aged man nodded before patting her arm softly. “Nothing easier as that, Miss Stark. Will you take the Audi?” At the question, [Y/N] shook her head. “Nah, I’m more in the mood for some wind on my face.” With that, the concierge went back to his desk and opened the large cabinet door behind it to grab one of the many helmets stored inside.

She wasn’t the only one with an unhealthy taste for fast trips around the city. The black helmet flew in her direction, and the Stark caught it with both hands.

“You don’t need to wait downstairs for my go. Save driving, Miss Stark.” Waving with the helmet in hand, [Y/N] grinned while walking backward. “You are the best, Joseph.” A blush crept on his cheeks, and the Stark grinned even wider before stepping back into the elevator to reach the underground car park of the building. She put the helmet down on the ground and securely braided her hair together. The last time she drove the motorcycle, she forgot about her hair, and after the ride, she thought she had to cut her ends off. Tangled beyond rescue. But Pepper, always the more patient one in the trio formed by Tony, Pepper, and herself, took her time and brushed every single strand.

[Y/N] bent down to retrieve the helmet and took her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans to write Pepper a quick message while walking out of the stopping elevator.

I’m gonna get some cheeseburgers on my way home. Any special orders for the booze?

If she’ll eat in honor of her brother, the woman needed alcohol to accompany her pathetic coping attempt. Maybe Pepper knew it, maybe not. But judging by the arriving message she read after stopping in front of her trusty bike, the redhead knew what was happening.

Remember the cocktail bar next to the diner? I think they started selling cocktails to go. – Got’ya.

The last Stark smiled warmly at the screen before closing the chat and stowed the phone in the pocket of her leather jacket before closing it with the sipper. Yes, she loved Pepper Potts with all her heart ever since she arrived in the siblings’ lives. She was like the older sister she never had - and always wished for because an older brother just wasn’t the same - even though [Y/N] thought that Pepper and Tony were oblivious little idiots. But making a move now was basically impossible, and the woman felt sorry for her friend and assistant.

Ferociously shaking her head, the Stark shut her eyes close as tightly as it was biologically possible to stop the tears from forming. She had been so good at controlling these foolish tears since leaving the Metro-General two days ago that she just couldn’t jump back to the beginning of everything. She had to be strong. Not because Obadiah ordered her to be, but for Pepper and herself.

“Just… take a deep breath, compose yourself, and get on that motorcycle,” she whispered to herself, the helmet already on the seat, to lean both her hands against the tuned and altered machine. She just needed to breathe in and out, and everything would be alright. Keep telling yourself that, stupid. Well, she had to begin somewhere.

And that’s why [Y/N] straightened up again, put the helmet on, and swung her right leg over the seat. The key found its place inside the ignition. Her sneaker-clad foot found its home on one of the footpegs after pushing the stand up, and her left hand pulled the clutch tightly. The adrenaline production within her body kicked off. Her adrenal glands started to produce, the neurons within her medulla oblongata started to fire, and the hormone soon flowed through every single vein in her body. All of this happened within fractions of seconds, and [Y/N] couldn’t even press the start button of her motorcycle. But that followed soon after the last deep breath she took, and her baby came to life.

The roaring sound echoed through the car park. The engine’s vibration shook through her entire body and awakened the woman. Her soul felt slightly lighter, not as heavy as in the past weeks. Using the throttle, the engine roared even louder, and [Y/N] pushed the visor of her helmet down, preparing herself for the ride in front of her.

Finally, she could feel like a bird again – free and without any responsibilities, without pain and agony constantly torturing her body and soul. She would be free in every possible meaning, even if it was short-termed and short-lived. It would be enough to rescue her from the abyss opening up in front of her feet for the next couple of days.

The last thing [Y/N] did was press the button for the garage door to open up before she used the throttle again and finally released the clutch and brake. The motorcycle shot forward in a swift motion, gaining speed, and brought its rider out of the concrete bunker underneath the building. The Stark took a sharp turn on the street to prevent causing a crash, almost sliding with one of her legs over the road, but the horns of disturbed car drivers didn’t bother her at all. Instead, her lips formed a wide grin behind the dark visor.

She changed the gear to drive like lightning through the streets of New York City, and a joyful scream pushed through the black helmet while passersby turned to follow the deep red motorcycle with curious eyes.

It was strange coming back to the place where she grew up if she hadn’t been at boarding school in Upstate New York. The Stark Mansion always seemed like a palace back then when she was still a kid who didn’t know anything about the real world. Now, as an adult growing up too fast, it was a mere tad bigger than other houses only a mile away.

[Y/N] sat on the still rumbling motorcycle, the helmet still on her head, and only the visor lifted to observe her surroundings. This street was where her father had taught her how to ride a bicycle; it was where she had fallen multiple times and had shed blood and tears in order to achieve riding the coolest bicycle ever in existence. It was where she and Maria had planted numerous plants and flowers in the front yard. Tony had taught her how to skate after their parents had died. Well, he had tried but failed horrendously. Jarvis had brought them both to the hospital, and where Tony had broken his arm at multiple spots, [Y/N] only showed some bruises and cuts.

This place, this very street, had been her entire world.

Now, the house laid dark in front of her and reminded the Stark that she was the last one carrying their once shared name.

With a barely audible sigh leaving her lips, the engine died down, the helmet got removed off her head, and she left the bike behind. [Y/N] walked the footpath up with slow, measured steps, past the neatly trimmed lawn and pretty cut flower bushes, and stepped up the stairs to the front door. Its old wood – Mahogany, as Jarvis had once told her – was still intact and still owned his beautiful shine.

Tony must have paid them well.

Whoever “them” were. He scarcely had talked about their family home, always avoided the topic like acid-spiked booze, so the younger Stark really didn’t have a single clue who looked after their home. Almost more than a decade had passed since [Y/N] had left her home to begin her studies at Yale and never looked back. Jarvis had already passed away at that point in her life.

Shaking her head to sort the circling thoughts, infused with memories rising to the surface of her consciousness, the Stark opened the left sipper of her jacket to pull out the long-unused key to this very house. She wasn’t sure why the urge to come back after all these years was so strong, but she stopped asking what her emotions meant a long time ago. She just… lived with them. Lived after them and just followed their lead. Until now, it had proven itself.

Never change a perfectly running system.

A half-smile tucked at the corner of her mouth while unlocking the door. The familiar feeling of the wood under her palm and fingertips elicited a relieved sigh out of the depths of her soul. How she craved familiar feelings. It was absurd how much [Y/N] needed well-known things around her in order to feel at ease. The old wood slightly creaked at the force of her hand as she pushed the door open and was greeted by dim light which fell through slits in the sheets people had hung at the windows to prevent nosy glances by even nosier individuals.

Her sneaker created light footprints in the thin layer of dust as soon as she entered the threshold. She laid her head back, both hands now inside her jacket pockets, and glanced up to the ceiling with the massive but beautifully crafted chandelier her mother had bought. Dad hated that thing. She smiled softly at the memory of him complaining about the damn thing while workers had hung it up. But her mother had just smiled while patting his cheek and had told him bluntly, “You have to deal with it, dear”. After a while, Howard Stark had started to love it.

“I’m glad you didn’t return as ghosts like you always told me, Dad,” [Y/N] whispered into the silence while wandering eyes observed the foyer. Every single piece of furniture elapsed under white cotton sheets, probably until the end of the Stark family. After her death – if she never would marry and never would have kids to pass on the name - this very house would be auctioned off to some strangers, and they probably would sell everything in it.

Their stuff doesn’t deserve such an end, the daughter thought sadly before venturing in the direction of the living area behind the grand staircase, which led to the upper two floors.

Silence greeted [Y/N] once more, and her steps were the only sound inside the huge house. Not even the wooden floor creaked underneath her weight. Fingertips stroked over cotton sheets, dark eyes following the light to watch the memories of her childhood merge with the here and now. The pictures put themselves over the abandoned living room and filled it with life like a film. In one second, [Y/N] stood alone in the dim light, whereas a second later, she saw her eight-year-old self sitting at the midnight black piano while playing one of her favorite pieces she could master at that time.

It was a travel to the past, and [Y/N] wasn’t sure how she felt about that observation.

Why did I come here?! “I must lose my mind.” The mumbling almost echoed through the empty halls, but a creaking sound startled the Stark. It was almost inaudible, but she always had a better hearing than other people. Soft and slow steps moved her through the living room, past the abandoned piano, and to the swinging door leading to the kitchen. [Y/N] tried hard to listen closely if the creaking noise would erupt a second time, but all she heard was her rapidly beating heart and the rush of blood within her ears.

Her hand held the swinging door back as it tried to close again behind her, and as slowly as she could, she put it back into place without creating a treacherous noise. As fast but silently as possible, [Y/N] sneaked around the kitchen island, over to the drawers that were once full of cutlery and knives. Opening one after the other, she searched with her eyes only, the heart still beating profusely in her chest. Until she found a suitable cutting knife – it was more of a small(er) butchers’ knife – time had seemingly passed in slow-motion. But with it in a surprisingly steady hand, [Y/N] felt much better prepared in case a burglar had decided to try his luck today.

Of all days, why couldn’t you wait until tomorrow, dumbass?!

Sneaking back to the swinging door, the Stark pushed it open slowly and peeked around its edge to observe the living room. Without the sun shining through the white sheets, she never would have seen the dark silhouette standing in front of the massive bookshelf – a bookshelf without a sheet, at second glance. And on it stood various pictures which [Y/N] knew by heart. She had copies of them at her apartment, after all.

The intruder didn’t wear a mask, and the audacity behind that angered the woman tremendously. That was probably why she abandoned the original plan, consisting of keeping hidden and calling the damn police, and instead, she just stepped into the room. The swinging door behind her fell shut with another creaking noise.

“I hate to disturb your staring and the overall intruding thing you obviously have going on, but what on earth’s fuck do you want in my house?!”

The knife still tightly in her grasp, [Y/N] cocked an eyebrow while the person wearing a dark coat crossed their hands behind their back. Judging by the statue of this person, the Stark was pretty sure it was a man. Only a few women would be this dumb to just stroll into a house in one of New York City’s best neighborhoods.

“You see, Miss Stark.” [Y/N] was shocked that he knew her name. “I have something to discuss with you. Something of important matter.” Still, he looked at the pictures on the shelf, and the woman scoffed. “Yeah, sure. Instead of, I don’t know, calling my assistant or writing an email, you just decided to come here in the hopes my sorry little ass sits around and wallows over her pathetic, sad life? Puh, okay. Interesting train of thought you’re having there. Care to teach me a few things?”

She just couldn’t shut her mouth in moments like these – life-defining moments.

He chuckled, hands still behind his back. “Like father, like daughter, I suppose,” he mused but seemingly still couldn’t push himself to turn around to finally face her. He was starting to get on her freaking nerves. “Yeah, well. Can’t really say something about that because my father died when I was nine, and I did spend most of my time at a boarding school in Upstate New York.” Another chuckle left him. “I know all of that, Miss Stark.”

Yep, he got on her nerves. Lowly groaning, [Y/N] stepped two steps forward. “Would you have the courtesy of telling me your name? Maybe it would make this entire situation less awkward and Matrix-like? I never asked for a full-on Morpheus experience during my prayers in the morning.” Please, you need to keep an eye on that mouth, dumbass! He could kill you. Would it be that bad, though? Probably not.

One of his hands reached out the put one of the pictures back into place. “My name is Nick Fury. I’m the Director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.” With that, he turned around to finally face her. [Y/N] wasn’t impressed at all because she had to suppress the grin tucking at her lips. “Ah, yeah. The Strategic Homeland Inter-what the fuck is this name. That’s… uhm… a mouthful.” She furrowed her forehead and let the hand with the knife finally lower itself. “You ever thought about renaming it? Because this name will never fit on merchandise, I’m really sorry if I’m the first one telling you that.” The Stark saw something on his face, something almost resembling a humored smile, but it was faster gone as ice cream in summer.

“We recently started to work on that front, yes.” Nick Fury rounded the piano and situated himself near the windows now, and [Y/N] finally could scan his face with building curiosity. The eye patch was the first thing to observe, of course, but after that… Well. The woman couldn’t say that he was terrifying. Maybe intimidating to some extent. “Do you know anything about Captain America?” His question elicited a snort from the young Stark. “Who does not? People who don’t know about Captain America either didn’t pay attention in history class or just live behind the moon.” She leaned against the wall next to the swinging door and crossed her arms to her chest. The knife had found a place on the cupboard next to her before that. “Fair point,” Fury nodded and gave her a look-over.

He cleared his throat before continuing. “Captain America, or Steve Rogers to be more precise, started as nothing but an ordinary man, unfit to be sent to Europe during World War-…” [Y/N] interrupted him. “You don’t have to give me a crash course in US history, Mr. Fury." - "Quit the mister." She was confused, but did it anyway. "Fury. I did not only pay attention in history classes, but my own father was the hugest fanboy ever gracing this planet. To-…” She stopped instantly, not ready to say his name out loud. “My brother had to grow up with the picture of Captain Steve Rogers all over the place, with our father’s expectations that he will, one day, turn out just like his former best buddy and hero. I know everything there is about Captain America, so just skip that part, and we can end this conversation sooner rather than later, yeah?” The Director seemed taken aback but continued, nonetheless. “As I mentioned before, I have an important matter to discuss with you. If you know everything about Steve Rogers, you will know something about how he became as who he died.” [Y/N] nodded slowly. “The transformation. You’re talking about the - what did they call it again? The Super Soldier Serum?” Again, Fury nodded. “Yes, the Super Soldier Serum. Your father helped transforming him back in the forties. He tried to recreate the serum over the decades, but failed numerous times, before he finally succeeded. He recreated an enhanced version of the original serum and we locked it away.”

[Y/N] propped her left foot against the wall. “There is an until waiting. I can feel it. Until… what? It was stolen? It expired because it had an expiry date my father didn’t know about?” She hated the unpleasant feeling of patience. She never had that when it came to stories and information.

Nick Fury started to slowly walk around the room again. “Until Howard Stark was supposed to deliver the serum to a safe place and died in a car accident.” Ouch. The Stark didn’t see this bomb coming. Her brain started to work, tried to connect the newly acquired pieces of information with already existing folders in her mind. She tried until everything started to make sense and fell into place. She lifted her eyes and carefully eyed the Director. “Are you trying to tell me that my parents not only died that day, but were killed, so some asshole could get their hands on the serum?” The man looked more than just pleased. “You have an excellent working mind, Miss Stark,” he complimented, and [Y/N] scoffed. “Yeah, I’m not stupid, thanks for noticing. It’s tradition.” As usual, she tried to hide confusion and pain behind sarcasm and jokes.

Like brother, like sister. It was their unique way of coping with reality.

Fury grabbed a thick file from a table behind him and looked from it back to the youngest Stark. “But Howard Stark did something before he died. Actually a few years prior to the accident. He took one of the samples and injected it a single person.” Now her brain couldn’t follow anymore. “So, why are you here, then? If you know so much as you claim to know, you probably know the name of said person and you can just track them with your spy-ness and take a sample of their blood. Having the blood will reopen the possibility of recreating it another time. It’s a simple biological process. Even a high schooler could come to that conclusion.”

Now it was the Director to cock an eyebrow, but he answered, nevertheless. “Howard Stark gave the sample to the person he loved more than anything in this world. A person, who was constantly sick and familiar with Death itself. They would have called Death an old friend if they were older back then. The person was magically healed after the last time they had went to the hospital, and never became sick again, not for a single day in their entire life.”

As Nicky Fury progressed with his explanation, a memory forced itself into her consciousness.

She saw sterile white walls surrounding her shortly before her father stepped into the white room, a hopeful look in his eyes. He sat on the chair next to the bed she lay in, and she felt his cold hand caressing her heated cheek. The feeling of a fire burning deep inside her felt too real to be just an imagination. She saw her father’s lips moving, but she understood nothing of what he said, too deep within the fever dream. Then, the piercing pain of a needle in her arm and her father’s face became blurry.

Swallowing dryly, [Y/N] looked up from the floor, straight to the file in Nick Fury’s hand, before she moved her eyes to his face. “He gave it to me,” the Stark whispered and crossed her arms even tighter. “Yes. He prevented you from dying another, and probably your last time. The serum enhanced your immune system which had attacked your body constantly, but it enhanced other aspects as well. We are not entirely sure which exactly because we were only able to track you from afar, but now, with arising threats, we need to know more.”

The Stark nodded deep in thought, slowly realizing what was happening. But afar from all the new information she had gathered in a new folder within her mind, she had to ask one question. “Do you know if he’s still alive? If he’s somewhere out there, trying to find help?” Trying to come home and back to me? But Fury couldn’t answer that. “I don’t know, Miss Stark.” And that seemingly was a first-timer.

She sighed, kind of deeply annoyed, but shrugged anyway. “If you promise me to not turn me into a lab rat, I’ll give you my blood and time. As soon as this changes though, I’m out and leave the country to start living on the moon. Understood?” It was an offer; Nick Fury only had to accept it and keep his promise. But he had other plans. Plans, [Y/N] never would have thought of.

“Actually, Miss Stark, I want to offer you a job.”

Comments, reblogs and likes are much appreciated! Lots of love and thanks for reading! If you want to join the taglist, please reach out and let me know!

Taglist:

@poor-unfortunate-soul-85 @seasonofthenerd @mischiefmanaged71 @keepingitlokiii @sokoviansorceress @perssepeony @apple-and-berry @seggsyswagger (tumblr doesn’t let me tag you!)

#stephen strange x reader #doctor strange x reader #nick fury x reader #Stark Universe #stark!reader #doctor strange series #stephen strange series #stephen strange fanfic #doctor strange fanfic #doctor strange x stark!reader #stephen strange x stark!reader

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call-sign-shark · 10 months

Note

Seeing your asks about au love stories for Heaveb, and i got to ask: how would an Eva x Heaven story look like?

Ref to this Ask AU

JULI. THIS IS A FANTASTIC QUESTION. I’m enjoying this far too much, so my ask box is definitely open for this kind of shipping game with Heaven. (Arthur is yelling now lmao “stoppp stealing me angel arghhhhh 😭”). Honestly, I got a little bit excited with this because my mind buzzed with ideas for our two witches.

“You’re the moon of my life, Eva.” “And you’re the light in my darkness.”

• Following Arthur’s death in the boxing ring attack, Heaven went into a downward spiral. The women meet for the first time in the nearby forest when Heaven attempted to kill herself by drowning in a river. Eva was wandering in the wild, needing a pause from the city’s noise, when she was struck by prophetic instincts.

• Her witch’s visions led her to Heaven and, when she sensed she was a witch like her (the very first and incredibly powerful she’s met) Eva saved her. In fact, our elegant Eva didn’t mind ruining her expensive black dress.

• Back to the ground, she pressed her soft and intoxicating lips on the pale woman’s to breathe her back to life — As soon as their flesh collapsed together, Heaven reopened her eyes and felt an indescribable fire lighting up within. A fire she had thought extinguished when her sweet Arthur died in her arms.

• “Dying is for the weak, ángel, and you’re no weak.” She whispered, “You’re a wonderful creature and I’ll make you reach your full potential.” Her voice lost itself in the wind, like the threatening rumble of a far away storm. That’s how Eva decided to bring her home.

• Luca and Eva had a heated argument about her: “She’s Arthur Shelby’s fucking window!! We’ve killed her husband, don’t you think she’ll be a danger to us? She’ll avenge him. Please, my Queen, this is not a good idea.”

_ “She stays or I leave with her.” That was the only thing she said in the whole discussion, her dark eyes glistening with confidence and authority. Luca knew he had lost.

• Eva took care of Heaven for months, for the poor angel was in a half-catatonic state. She would spend most of her time with Heaven, taking baths with her, changing her whole dressing, and bringing her in art galleries to change her mind. Soon, Eva became the only person she trusts and loves with all her heart.

• When Heaven starts getting better, our powerful Eva teaches her to use her power properly. One night they are in the forest, dancing around a bonfire, and pulls even in her arms to kiss her. They make love for the first time.

• At first Luca was jealous, but he rapidly understands that the two witches are inseparable. Somehow, they end up forming a polyamory couple.

• Heaven loves sex with the two of them, and it can get very tender and sensual, but her favorite moments are still when she’s alone with her Eva.

• She sometimes weeps when Luca hugs her in bed, for the sensation of his slender arms around her body reminds her of Arthur. Eva, behind her, kisses her shoulder tenderly and whispers lovely and reassuring sentences in Spanish to soothe her.

• Loved and cared for, Heaven’s hatred for Tommy grows more and more. She firmly believes that Arthur’s and John’s death are his fault. She just remains worried for Polly and Ada.

• As time passes, Heaven is always by Eva’s side. She has become Eva’s lover and personal body guard, even if she’s far more able to defend herself. I like to picture our goth Queen Eva sitting on a sofa with a glass of wine in her hand, and caressing her angel’s hair with the other. Heaven would sit on the floor scattered with comfortable cushions, next to the sofa. She would be ready to poison and kill at her command.

• Heaven is the only one who manages to calm down Eva when her bad memories come to haunt her. She lays with her in bed, all naked, and gently stroke her long dark hair until Eva falls asleep. Sometimes, Heaven sings for her.

• “Eva is the Queen, and God has mercy on those who disrespect her royal mistress.”

Okay gonna stop her because I could write a whole series about the two of them. I know it’s quite original so I hope you’ll like it, Juli. 🤍✨

✞ Heaven is you in the Arthur x Reader!OC Heaven in your Eyes || Read last chapter

#Shark talks #Peaky blinders imagine #Peaky blinders oc #Peaky blinders x reader #Heaven Shelby #eva smith changretta #eva smith Riley #Peaky witches #luca changretta

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phoenix-downer · 8 months

Text

Every Moment Matters

Every Moment Matters: ~2120 words. As Tifa grapples with her grief over Aerith's death, she imagines what she would say to her friend if she could talk to her one more time. But in her half-awake, half-asleep state, she begins to wonder if perhaps she really is speaking to her friend.

Story Info: Gen with a focus on Tifa and Aerith's friendship. Borrows elements from the FFVII Remake Continuity and set post FFVII-Remake, assuming the story hits the same overall plot points as the original. Tifa POV. Grief, Mourning, Angst, Dreams, Friendship.

Tifa had always wanted an older sister. Someone she could confide in and look up to. Someone who would understand what it was like to grow up in her town and family and who would laugh at her inside jokes. Someone who would always have her back no matter what, who she could always count on in a pinch. Of course, Tifa was an only child and an orphan now on top of that, as she didn’t have any blood relatives left. Her dreams of family were nothing more than the sad musings of a woman who had lost her home years ago.

And yet, Aerith was like that sister she’d always longed for. Older and confident, outgoing and bubbly to Tifa’s introverted, shy self. They complemented each other perfectly in their hobbled-together adoptive family. Even their fighting styles fit like a glove, Aerith’s sweeping magic doing damage from afar as Tifa rushed in for a flurry of physical blows.

And it wasn’t just that. Tifa had opened up to Aerith about things she hadn’t told anyone else before. She just instinctively knew that Aerith was safe, that Aerith was to be trusted. And so the things she kept locked deep inside came out more easily, and Aerith treated them with the utmost care and respect. Aerith had confided things to her too, about her mother and her past. About Zack. For someone with so much loss in her life, Aerith had a lot of joy, and she helped Tifa see the good in things too.

That didn’t mean their relationship was perfect. Far from it. Just like blood sisters, there were the rivalries and jealousies, the insecurities and uncertainties. Moments when Tifa couldn’t help but be hurt or frustrated or question whether Aerith thought she was just a pest or an annoyance or an obstacle. Instances when Tifa envied Aerith’s bond with Cloud and how easily she shared what was on her heart without hesitation.

But none of that mattered in the end. All that mattered was that they loved each other. Nothing puts life into such crystal clear perspective as death, and each tear that dripped down Tifa’s face was evidence of how much Aerith meant to her. Funny how it took Aerith dying for Tifa to fully realize just how deeply she cared for her friend.

She rolled over on her side and silently wept as she pulled the checkered blanket closer, shivering a little. Even with the glowing embers in the hotel room’s sole fireplace, it was still cold. But adding more firewood might wake the others, and she didn’t want to disturb them because it was still dark outside. Gentle snow fell in icy flakes, carpeting the world in white and muffling all noises outdoors while amplifying the sounds inside. But despite her best efforts, she couldn’t fully stop the tears. During the day she could distract herself, but at night there was no escaping her grief.

Aerith was so young. So healthy. It wasn’t fair. She had so much life ahead of her, so much she wanted to see and do. She lived each day to the fullest, inspiring them all to do the same. Every day was an adventure with her, and no moment was too small to treasure and appreciate. Aerith’s death made Tifa feel like she’d been robbed. Like all the future moments she should’ve had with Aerith had been yanked suddenly and violently out of her hands. In their place was a bloodied, mangled mess and an empty future that stretched out endlessly before her. The thought of living the rest of her life without Aerith made her feel like one of those waves back at Costa del Sol kept engulfing her and crushing her under its weight.

If only Tifa had stopped Aerith from running off on her own. If only Tifa had noticed Sephiroth before it was too late. If only Tifa were as good a white mage as Aerith was, then, maybe, she might’ve been able to heal her friend before it was too late.

If only, if only, if only. It didn’t matter how illogical Tifa’s guilt was. It persisted all the same, haunting her and tormenting her and never giving her a moment’s peace. Of course, in her more rational moments, Tifa knew that Aerith was always going to do whatever she wanted; she was stubborn and strong-willed, and that was one of the things Tifa loved about her. Sephiroth would’ve found some other time to kill Aerith if not at the Forbidden City; he was a super soldier and out for her blood. And some wounds just couldn’t be healed, even with the strongest of white magic.

Tifa knew all of these things, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to let go of the knife in her hand and kept stabbing herself in the heart with it instead. That was the only thing that felt close to atoning for Aerith’s death. For making up for her failure to save her friend.

Aerith was the important one. She was the last Cetra, the one who could save us all. And now she’s dead. Fresh tears welled up in Tifa’s eyes. I wish it were me instead. Aerith would live her life so much better than I would. Her life was so much more valuable than mine—

The moment she had that thought, she imagined Aerith scowling at her, hands on her hips and green eyes flashing.

“Tifa Lockhart, don’t you dare say that crap about yourself!” she could almost hear Aerith say, her tone scolding yet loving at the same time. “Your life is just as precious as mine, and just because I’m dead doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get to live.” Aerith’s expression softened. “I want you to live, okay?”

But Tifa wasn’t sure she wanted to. Yet another person had been torn from her life, and she wished with all her heart that it had been her instead. Her mother, her father, Jessie, Biggs, Wedge, and now Aerith, too. What she wouldn’t give to have them all back. They deserved to live. She didn’t.

Why am I always the one who survives? Why does everyone I love always die? As her breath came out in warm puffs of steam, a dark thought entered her mind. Do I bring death to the people around me? Am I some kind of angel of death? Did my jealousy and envy kill Aerith?

“No,” came Aerith’s voice again, firm but gentle. “Sephiroth killed me, not you. And jealousy is only human. I was jealous of you too, you know.” She could almost picture Aerith’s rueful smile. “It all seems so silly in hindsight, but it is what it is. I’m not some perfect saint, so please don’t remember me that way. I want to be remembered as I was. Fully myself and fully flawed and fully human.”

A deep pang coursed through Tifa. It was all too easy to make a saint out of someone who had died young and tragically, but was that truly honoring the deceased’s memory? Or was it better to remember the person as they really were, flaws and all?

Still, it was hard not to worry that in some way her jealousy had led to Aerith’s death somehow. That she hadn’t made the most of the time she had with Aerith because of it. She glanced worriedly at Cloud, who was fast asleep on the bed next to hers. What if I lose Cloud too?

“You won’t. You bring life and healing, Tifa. Your name even means miracles and compassion. You’ll live up to your name.”

It doesn’t matter what my name is. I haven’t stopped a single person I love from dying, Tifa thought bitterly to her mental version of Aerith. I couldn’t stop you from dying, she admitted to her friend, trying to put into words all the guilt and shame she’d felt since Aerith’s death.

She could almost feel Aerith’s hand gently stroking her hair and resting a hand on her cheek in the same way she’d done for Aerith before running away sobbing. As if Aerith knew what Tifa had done for her and wanted to repay the heartfelt gesture in kind.

“My time on this Planet was through,” came Aerith’s voice at last, “but that wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could have done. Please, don’t blame yourself.”

This illusion of Aerith was much kinder to Tifa than Tifa was to herself. Tifa was starting to wonder if it really might be Aerith in some strange way. Or maybe her memories of the sister she wished she had were just that strong.

I wish I could believe that, she told Aerith, but no matter what I do, the guilt remains.

“I know. But there are people who still love you in the land of the living. If you can’t live for yourself, live for them for now until you can live for yourself again. And when the time is right, I’ll see you again in the Promised Land. This separation won’t last forever, Tifa. I promise.”

At this Aerith clasped her hands. A prayer was never too far from her lips, even in death. “Until then, please live your life with the people you love while you still can. Every moment matters, and I want you to make the most of each one you have left.”

She smiled at Tifa, a beautiful, bittersweet smile, and with that, she was gone. Only silence remained. Tifa’s heart already ached for her to return, but she was grateful she’d had these few moments with her. This brief conversation that defied all rational explanation.

A few final tears dripped down her cheeks, and at last her eyelids fluttered shut. She’d been flickering at the edge of consciousness this entire time, and sleep was overtaking her once more.

When Tifa awoke, she sat up and stretched. Light streamed through the windows, and Cloud and Barret and the others must be downstairs getting food because she had the room all to herself. Well, they did have a full day ahead of them, so a hearty breakfast was in order. She needed to get bundled up in the winter gear she’d gotten yesterday so she could join them, and—

She paused, her hand mid-way to grabbing her fuzzy red sweater. Aerith. Had she spoken to Aerith? She had faint, foggy memories of doing just that in the early hours of the morning.

But Aerith was dead. Talking to her would be impossible, right? Maybe it was all just in her head. And yet…it had felt so real. She couldn’t remember much of the details, just a few specific phrases and feelings.

She pulled the sweater over her head. What if Aerith were haunting them all like a ghost? A shiver went down Tifa’s spine. Tifa hated ghosts, and even the ghost of a beloved friend and sister-in-arms might be too much to handle. And yet…Aerith’s presence hadn’t made her feel scared or unnerved. Just safe and comforted.

She brushed a hand through her now-staticky hair, and her breath caught as she remembered a flickering impression, a moment when Aerith had gently stroked her hair and touched her cheek. Surely she hadn’t imagined that.

“Aerith, I wish you were still here with us in the physical realm,” Tifa said sadly as she pulled on her thick woolen socks. “I miss you so much. But whatever happened this morning…thank you.”

She could almost picture Aerith’s smiling face in her mind. As if her friend were telling her to finish getting ready and go join the others and live her life, one moment at a time. So she did just that. She finished getting ready and took the big wooden stairs covered in plush green carpet two at a time, wishing that Aerith were here to race her but happy that she knew Aerith well enough to know Aerith would want to race her.

There were so many nuances and quirks and tics and habits that made Aerith Aerith. Tears welled up in Tifa’s eyes again, but she didn’t try to hide them this time. The tears were just a sign of how much she loved Aerith. Little things like racing down stairs wouldn’t remind her of Aerith if Aerith hadn’t so thoroughly made herself at home in Tifa’s life that her absence was sorely felt and her presence was sorely missed.

And so long as Tifa didn’t forget Aerith, so long as she kept the sad memories and the happy ones alive, the silly ones and the serious ones, the funny ones and the heartwarming ones, a part of Aerith would live on in this world.

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A/N: This story is dedicated to all my readers who have lost a loved one. My heart goes out to you, and while nothing can ever make up for the loss, I hope you can find ways to honor your loved one and keep putting one foot in front of the other, one day, one hour, one moment at a time.

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clownqueenofprom · 1 year

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An Unnecessary Evil

Why are girls allowed to say girlfriend to refer to a platonic friend but boys can't say "this is my boytoy Twink male wife Jason?

another part of the Au “where everything is exactly the same but Lady Bone Demon destroys everyone with facts and logic”

“You’ve been busy.”

Appearing strong when weak was, what Macaque considered a key component when in a bad spot. His “brothers” always considered him the most cowardly among them. Usually, he would roll his eyes and snark that he was rather the most intelligent- able to keep a cool head. He’d need it.

“Tell me,” The Lady’s voice was boundlessly more undone- calm, yet accompanied by a second presence that echoed her words aloud. “What madness overcame you that you would forsake your oath?” She asked, the pitch of her tone dropped.

“When did you decide to betray me?”

The answer to that question was certainly nothing that the bone witch wanted to hear- that he had not a moment of hesitation in tossing her key to the side, not ever any intention of freeing her in the first place. What was he supposed to say? That it didn’t count because he crossed his fingers?

“Listen, Lady Bone Demo-” He started, with a casual tone and a smile laced with nonexistent nonchalance, but The Lady was in no mood to hear whatever seat-of-his-pants lie he was planning to give her.

Sharply, her eyes flickered open, a blue gleam enforcing her stony glare as the winds pushed him back. He had to cover his face, anchoring his foot down to the ground so that he wouldn’t be pushed back by the sheer force.

“Have you forgotten who I am?” Her voice was louder now, and clearer, no longer accompanied by the eerie whispering. “What I am?”

He clenched his teeth at the sound of her voice splitting into many at the last sentence, each one ringing in his six ears.

“Were my instructions, perhaps, unclear to you, Liu’er?” At the mention of his traditional name, he felt similar to a child who’s parent who just called them downstairs with their full name. A fight-or-flight instinct within him begged him to inch away into the shadows, but he knew all too well how that would end.

“Did I cause you pain during your resurrection? Or perhaps, you felt yourself above a task so unbelievably simple as freeing me from my prison tomb,” She said, staring down at him, before vanishing in a blur of blue, before reappearing in front of him, mere inches away from his face just as quickly. “In exchange for something so unbelievably meager as your soul!?”

Again, her voice seemed to contort, and this time, he really did step back, trying to get as far away from her as he could. He stumbled backwards, bumping into the chest of the lady’s puppet, who sent him a wide, unnerving smile that reminded Macaque of a young child amused at a sibling or classmate getting in trouble.

He placed his hand on Macaque’s back, shoving him forward with surprising strength. The wind was knocked out of him for a moment, but he mustered a confident smirk, looking up at the bone demon, who stood before him, arms folded behind her back.

“So…” He said, a conscious effort going into keeping his voice steady, “You want something.”

“From you? No.” The lady said tersely, eyes cooling back into her host’s deep brown ones as she turned away. “There is nothing I have to gain from the presence of someone who is unable to insert a key into a keyhole.”

With her back turned, a white circle opened up beneath Macaque, chains in her signature blue color shooting out of it to entangle his limbs, dragging him inside. “Wait!” He huffed, yanking on the bindings, trying to stay afloat. “So you’re just going to kill me because I didn’t open your stupid cage!? You dragged me all the way out here so that you could get even!?”

The puppet lunged forward, grabbing Macaque by the hair and holding him down, smile wide with giddy anticipation of Macaque’s imposing death (the strange fellow didn’t seem to like him very much). The Lady turned her head, eyes narrow.

“Even?” She echoed, before her lips quirked upwards into a smile, and her brows creased before she let out a shrill laugh.

“If I wanted vengeance, my champion, then I wouldn’t grant you a painless death such as this.” She flickered out of view again, appearing in front of him as she crouched down to meet his eyes, a cold smile decorating the soft features of the child she was possessing- an eerie contrast.

“I would shrink you,” She said, holding her fingers close together to intimate being tiny.

“And find a nice jar to leave you trapped in for a few centuries. I’ll even find a nice blanket in the color of your choice to make sure you never get to look at the face of another sentient being. With that being the alternative, ask yourself,” She leaned down. “Wouldn’t you rather die?”

His lips parted in mild horror- but only for a moment as she leaned away from him. He struggled against the puppet, thrashing about, as if that would save him. “Wait, what do you want!?” He yelled. “I can find Wukong, and his brat too!”

She stood, turning away. “Goodbye, Six-Eared Macaque.” She said coolly. “Your magic will be going towards an excellent cause. You will be much happier in your next life.”

Macaque released a grunt of distress at her retreating form. Was that supposed to reassure him or something?

“Wait!” He yelled, disliking the frantic tone. Was he really about to die? “Damn it, Baigujing, listen for once!” After that, it was silent for a moment. The pull of the chains seemed to ease on his limbs, and the thrall was no longer shoving his head into the pit of doom.

“…You may speak.” She said tiredly, probably of him and his refusal to die with dignity, and baffled with the audacity he had to use her traditional name like they were old chums. “Do be quick about it. I do not have all day to listen to your pointless excuses.”

“Why do you think I didn’t free you? Probably because you never make room for reason in all your crazy ramblings about destiny,” He sneered.

Maybe insults weren’t his best option, but in Lady Bone Demon’s actions, there was always method to her madness. Maybe he could find some way to compromise if he could just get through to her, he could at least get out of this Scott-free.

“Is that so?” She hummed, turning her head to look away. “I suppose you would feel that way. I understand why many try and fight destiny- it is oftentimes cruel. What I do not understand why they fight the only solution to that problem.”

“The only solution is destroying the world?” He snapped. His voice came out a lot less “understanding” than he intended. We’re his acting skills slipping? She chuckled.

“And I suppose you’d prefer I leave it to it’s devices?” She mused. “That I allow war, famine, and crime to endlessly continue when I have the power to stop it all?”

“So you’re a Good Samaritan now? Let me guess, taking over this city was a necessary evil?” He mocked her aristocratic manner of speaking, able to rise to his feet again, as the chains had gone limp.

“Quite correct,” The Lady said, a hint of amusement in her tone. “And you, Six-Eared Macaque? Was destroying this city to get to Sun Wukong a necessary evil?”

He stopped, eyes knitting together at the question. “How do you…”

“My servant made it a point to update me on current events worldwide upon being freed from my tomb.” She answered quickly. He couldn’t see her, but he knew she was smiling.

“Don’t tell me the cat has your tongue now, Liu’er. What happened to all your newfound self-righteousness from before?”

He grit his teeth. “So, I’m not the crème de la crème of purity and goodness.” He said, fists clenched tight enough to draw blood. “You certainly aren’t any better than me. You’re the one who brought me back to life.”

She lightly laughed, and Macaque grew angrier by the second. She was still going to kill him after this, wasn’t she? He needed to get the upper hand, but…

“You’re quite quick to blame others, I notice. I presume that is also my fault that my little host was orphaned in that attack of yours?”

Macaque’s eyes widened. What? “What…?” He repeated his thoughts aloud, no louder than a whisper, but it didn’t go unheard by The Lady.

“I wasn’t trying to…” He trailed off. “But you did.” The Lady finished for him, titling her head upwards as she sighed. “I’ve seen selfishness and hatred far more intense than yours, Six-Eared Macaque.” The wicked amusement she had garnered earlier had faded. She turned to look at him, finally.

Her eyes seemed far too tired, and filled with far too much anger to be on the face of a little girl.

Her tone was cool as she looked above him, at the night sky. “But it will all be over soon.”

For a moment, all was quiet.

“Why’d you pick me?” He asked, after a moment. The Lady, seemingly brought back down to earth, hummed in question. “Anyone could have opened your tomb. But you went out of her way to pluck my soul out of the Diyu, specifically. Why?”

The Lady’s expression morphed into one of annoyance. “You’re only wondering this now?” She asked crossly. His expression didn’t change.

“I had decided not to tell you what I had planned to happen to you in your next life, but I suppose, if it will give you closure,” She hummed. “I can answer your last question.”

She’s really set on killing me… He thought wearily.

“There is one person who exists in this world who, with certainty, will not exist in the new one. Do you know to whom I am referring?”

“Wukong. Right,” Macaque answered. “Yes,” The Bone Lady sighed, closing her eyes. “But in the absence of the Great Sage, there will be a void that will need to be filled.” She spat the words “Great Sage” out as if a worm she’d found in an apple. (He understood finding the title obnoxious. Great Sage, Equal to Heaven? Give me a break.)

A void? Macaque thought for a moment. As in, an empty space that would need to be filled- someone to replace Wukong as the monkey king. MK? But…

Macaque’s head shot up. “You mean-!?” The Lady cut him off with a smile. “Interested now, are we?”

The next thing he knew, the chains were gone.

#lmk lady bone demon #lady bone demon #six eared macaque #lmk macaque #lego monkie kid #lmk #Skullplum #lmk liu er mihou #baigujing #canon divergent au #Villain team up #my own writing

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pontevoix · 3 months

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hc + rage for erwin from here | @chaoslulled

headcanon | erwin + rage

youth.

his father’s specialty had been history — his specialty had also been people. he had a habit of promoting community work, of hosting events for literacy or politics or holiday celebrations at the schoolhouse. it had been a one-room schoolhouse. he thought of himself as the school’s groundskeeper as much as the teacher.

erwin smith grew up in his mother’s town. though his father was welcomed & praised, he was never wanted. there was an awkward space between his father’s good intentions & the beliefs he didn’t share with the townsfolk.

smith stepped quite easily into the awkward space. he was an in-between picture of someone who should have belonged, & he was someone who never tried to believe. remember : the townsfolk thought that the child was too prone to arrogance. at that point, they thought he had poor social manners too —

he wasn’t rude. he just was unsympathetic. he never engaged in other children’s fights or provocations — & sometimes, he didn’t recognize provocations for what they were.

still. even if he had never been a believer, he grew up in the context of beliefs that frowned upon hatred & anger & rage & too much passion. a healthy soul, a good soul knew moderation. even though smith had not believed these things, he ingested the lessons regardless.

he grew up moderate.

his father’s specialty had been history — his specialty had also been people. & still, he had felt trapped enough that he confided in his son when the right questions were asked. in hindsight, smith supposes that he believed his father to be larger than life. the things he said were too grand to be true, so the threat wasn’t real.

of course, in hindsight, smith was wrong. his father turned into a deadman. smith bloodied hands for the first time. the stain it left on his skin never came out, &

smith had never thought it would be possible for him to hate his father — but when the time came, he rotated between self-hatred & blame & remorse & hatred for his father for having damned him this way.

the village people offered their condolences. smith hated them too because they believed in what they were saying, & everything that they were saying was empty.

they were sorry for his loss —- but they had done nothing wrong. they were sorry for his loss —- but they could only shelter him for a while, provide funds for him for a while.

in hindsight again ( he’s always thinking in hindsight ) smith hadn’t spread his father’s theories to any authority figures directly. so someone had to have been a rat.

he imagines bloodying his hands further & choking rumors ( & their sources ) into silence.

smith grew up moderate, but he started to learn that things like grief & guilt can break through old instincts. he no longer feels moderate, even if he still feels capable of disguising himself. it feels reasonable to do so — if he detests himself, then it shouldn’t be anyone’s problem but his own.

it shouldn’t be the problem of: his aunt, whose hair always frizzes by late afternoon. she looks older than she should, & he tutors her children. he feels cruel sometimes because he hadn’t been close to her when his father was alive. he wasn’t close to her when his father was dead. he feels cruel sometimes but imagines her as half a person.

her children too - polite & sweet sometimes. shallow & half-formed sometimes.

it shouldn’t be the problem of: his aunt’s husband, who always held a pipe between his lips when he tried to challenge his nephew.

it shouldn’t be the problem of: the neighborhood’s holy man, who asks smith how he is coping & whether smith struggles with sin.

it shouldn’t be the problem of: the new teacher, a man who is not his father. smith has a horrible habit sometimes of trying the teacher to trip into saying something stupid. his teacher recommends that he put more effort into physical exertion. it may help him heal. it’s a stupid recommendation to give because smith is already trying. he’s more active than he ever was. he’s more focused than he ever was, even if he’s young.

he’s eleven, & rage is self-hatred. rage is the rapid decay of the love for others.

militancy.

rage is something that simmers & takes a backseat when he leaves his hometown, when he joins the training corps. for a second, he’s his age. the children who join the corps often come with similar energies — they’re combative, they’re free, they’re still naive. they think they know everything.

for a second, he trains. he doesn’t hate anyone that he’s with — though he hates himself still, he at least forgets to hate himself during the daytime when he’s learning & being drilled. he forgets to hate himself some nights when zacharias startles him into laughter, when he squirms because he’s told that he smells like he’s trying too hard. zacharias has a good nose, but whatever.

rage starts brewing stronger when smith joins the survey corps, when he starts seeing his comrades fall. their deaths are grotesque & gory & grim. he survives, & it’s the first time he starts playing for power. shadis is someone he respects sometimes & disrespects at other times. shadis’ strategies are poor —- smith’s comrades fall because his strategies are poor. it’s the first time that rage can be targeted strategically against another person.

smith starts climbing in the ranks.

he starts playing dangerous games — against shadis, against politicians, against those in power. since his teenage years, smith has spent some nights with self-destructive behaviors, & he calls them a learning experience.

for a while, he engages in bar fights & street fights. he learns to claim fake names.

otherwise, he spends time talking to the right people, buying the right information, writing anonymous threats.

smith starts climbing in the ranks, & rage evolves with every step that he takes. no longer does rage come as surges of impulse & hatred. instead, it comes as something that can be repurposed. it’s something that he uses to rot at himself & corrode his humanity —

blood still stains his hands. it stains darker now with every expedition that he leads. smith no longer has a clean count of the bodies that had died under his command. the best he can guess is that the bodies would be a mountain —-

& he keeps surviving.

it’s a little selfish. rage makes him selfish.

which is funny, in its own way. rage evolves as smith ages, but it has always been consistent in how it reflects self-hatred. as smith ages, it’s harder for him to distinguish himself from the things that he wars against — as such, it becomes harder for smith to feel as though rage is something he can instrument against others. instead, it’s a goddamned curse against himself. it’s rage against his soul ( maybe moderation had been the correct answer ) &

he loses his arm. he loses zacharias. he gives himself to handcuffs & the prospect of a noose.

smith loses against rage, & it turns out that rage can also be self-surrender. he’s doing things now that are personally hurtful to his comrades.

he goes into battle unnecessarily. out of selfish interests.

he dies.

& somewhere in the midst of that, he tells his soldiers to rage. because even if it means self-destruction & selfish interests there is hope that someone’s selfish interests align with a greater good, with the interests of humanity, with everything golden that smith had bullshitted into his speeches. rage can be used for purpose, so there is hope. & there hadn’t been hope for smith.

he settled with rage too long.

he died a hypocrite.

he died corroded.

rage is a self-imbibed toxin.

#5. headcanon #100. c. smith #chaoslulled #oKAY HERE'S A START SDFG #we are thiNKING

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inkspellangel · 11 months

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Find the Word Tag

Thank you so much @dogmomwrites for tagging me.

Tagging: @theskeletonprior @mariahwritesstuff @eccaiia & an open tag! Your words are: Find, Jump, Music and Pass

My words are: ready, neither, pick, and shove

Ready:

“I hope the secret meat was enough to give you a chance to keep up with me.” He was, once again, too close and his smile was too confident. She instinctively reached for her knives, but stopped before pulling them. This time she was sure words was better than violence.

“Are you sure about that? Because I think you might need some more of it.” She flashed him a smile, before mounting her bike. “Ready?”

He got onto the ATV and they placed themselves side by side outside the entrance.

“Do I get a kiss if I win?”

She had to laugh at the audacity. “As if that’s even possible!”

“Confident. I like that.” He gave her another one of those confident smirks. “I won’t go easy on you.”

This time she smiled back. “I wouldn’t want you to!”

Neither:

Sakura had almost forgotten about her other friends. Sandr was as much of a worry-wart as Fuki. Their similarities had been her excuse for telling them that they’d be great for each other. Not that they seemed to agree with her, though. She wasn’t really surprised. Neither of them cared about that stuff, but she needed some excuse to introduce them to each other. And this was the one they would question the least.

Yes, she did believe that they would be good together, but that hadn’t been her main reason. Sandr had looked down for a while now and she couldn’t think of a single person, better to get advice from. Fuki was always so logical and objective about everything. As long as it didn’t have to do with herself, of course.

Pick:

She rolled the throttle to pick up more speed. Why did ninety kilometers per hour feel like ten? This was a lot faster than she used to drive on these roads. Her brother’s house was only a short drive away, so why did it take so long to get there?

Her eyes scanned every stone and metal bush in sight. This wasn’t an occupied road so if he was here, she would see him. Nothing. When she reached Yuki’s house, she hadn’t seen a single sign of him on the way.

Shove:

Fun Fact: Gideon is the only one born into one of the big families, that doesn't follow a naming theme. The Petals have a theme of Japanese flowers and spring. He does, however, have Poppy as his Finders Label.

#my writing #wip:keep me breathing #taggames #writeblr

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middleearthpixie · 2 years

Text

After the Fire ~ Chapter Four

Title: After the Fire -

Fandom: The Hobbit - Post BOTFA AU Where Everybody Lives

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a grievously wounded Thorin is brought back to the kingdom of Erebor, which is still mostly in ruins. Although he’s survived the wounds he received at the end of Azog’s blade, his recovery is far from complete. Grief, regret, anger, all are making his journey that much more difficult and the physical recovery isn’t quite the most difficult challenge he faces.

Jasna Stoneham is no stranger to loss, as she is a survivor of Smaug’s wrath upon Esgaroth. When she is asked to help the dwarves healers of Erebor, her instinct is to say no, but she needs the job, and so agrees to it. However, no one told her that of all the patients, she would be responsible for the king himself, Thorin Oakenshield.

Unfortunately, the road to recovery isn’t necessary a smooth one, but if there’s one thing Thorin will learn, it’s that Jasna is just as stubborn as he is and for every step back he takes, she is there to push him three steps forward. And Jasna will soon find out that there is a gentle, softer side to the dwarf king, one that very few people have ever seen and one he fights to keep hidden from her as well. But like his recovery, that is also easier said than done.

Jasna is slowly settling in, finding a bit of a friend in Balin, and Fíli finally regains consciousness, full of questions about his prognosis

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Jasna Stoneham

Characters: Jasna, Óin, Balin, Fíli

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,258

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

Had someone asked her, Jasna would have assumed the first night in the infirmary would be the worst for the wounded dwarves. But, she realized the folly of that by the second night. Because of the extent of his injuries, Fíli had been kept heavily sedated, but neither his brother nor his uncle required that and Jasna wondered if that was at all wise. Especially where Thorin was concerned. The slightest bit of movement pained him, which was understandable, as he’d sustained those two very serious stab wounds to his chest and abdomen and it was only through good fortune that no vital organs were irreparably damaged. Óin was able to repair whatever needed it, and she’d managed to remain on her feet alongside him to observe and assist in the first surgeries she’d ever witnessed. Messy, but utterly fascinating to her. And where Kíli’s surgery made her queasy, she suffered no ill effects of observing Thorin’s. No, instead, the thought of stepping out of that surgery never even occurred to her. She felt that if she kept watch over him, nothing bad would happen as a result. Odd, when she stopped to think about it.

But she didn’t have much time to dwell on it. For the next three nights, she sat up at Thorin’s bedside. She wanted to be there if he had another nightmare, or if the pain threatened to engulf him, or his nephews for that matter, again. Óin had shown her how to mix together valerian and willow for pain relief and that he and Narnerra trusted her to do this and administer it did much to boost her confidence in herself. Bard was right, she was growing more comfortable around them and they seemed to feel the same about her.

By the fourth night, Thorin finally slept peacefully through until morning. The bloodstains on the bandages shrank with each change, thank Mahal, and hopefully the itchiness of hair regrowth wouldn’t drive him too mad, as they’d had to shave two decent-sized patches of thick, dark hair on both his chest and his belly to sew him up.

It was not quite six in the morning on the fifth day when she stumbled into the kitchens for a much needed cup of tea. And as she sipped it, she was beyond grateful that said kitchens were finally up and running despite being in such a ruinous state, as they hadn’t been until the previous day. The dwarves of the Iron Hills remained there, working alongside the Ereborian dwarves tirelessly to get as much of the kingdom up and running as possible. The work picked up and progress came faster, but it would still be some time before the kingdom began to resemble anything other than a well-preserved ruins.

“Miss Jasna?”

She paused as Balin emerged from a lower floor, his normally fluffy white hair sooty gray and his long white beard a bit limp. “Yes?”

“How is he doing?”

“Thorin?”

“Yes. And the lads as well.”

“He’s awake now, but in a bit of pain, a-as you might im-im-imagine.” She spoke as her mother, Arabella had drummed into her—slowly, concentrating on each syllable before it could trip her up. For all the good it did. “I think he w-will b-b-be fine, in t-t-t-time, though.”

“It will be some time, I’m afraid. They all have a long road ahead of them, don’t they?”

She nodded. “H-h-h-he was v-v-v-very concerned about Fee-fee—”

“Fíli?” Balin interrupted gently. When she nodded, he offered up a sad smile. “I’m not surprised. Fíli is his nephew, one of his sister’s boys, as well as his heir. How does he fare?”

Jasna turned to look over at the blond dwarf in the corner. He’d come in with a terrible stab wound to his back and two shattered femurs, two broken ankles, and faced a very long, uphill battle for recovery. Fortunately, the blade that pierced his back didn't sever his spinal cord, but the damage to his legs was quite extensive, as he’d been thrown from a tower and had fallen some twenty feet to the stone below. Óin still wasn't at all certain he’d ever walk again. But she didn't know if she was to share that information with anyone.

“I b-b-b-beg your pardon, b-b-b-but, I d-d-don’t know if Óin wishes me to sh-sh-share information on anyone h-h-h-here.”

“Never mind then, I’d not want to get you in trouble.” Balin drew over a chair and sank into it. “Does Óin know you stutter?”

“I—I try hard to keep it from ha-ha—” she scowled as the word refused to behave itself on her tongue—“That is—I try—”

“It’s quite all right, lassie,” he said, patting her arm with a small, thick-fingered hand. “I imagine it’s worse when you are nervous and you must be very nervous here, I’ll wager.”

She nodded, feeling a hint of the weight she’d been carrying lift from her shoulders. “A bit, I’m afraid. I’ve… I’ve not had much tr—training. Only a few m-m-months. Then Smaug…”

“Oh, lassie. That would be our fault,” he broke in softly. “I am so terribly sorry.”

“No, it’s all r-r-right. I was m-mean, no one m-m-meant to unleash him. At least, I h-h-hope not.” She managed a shy laugh and then looked over at Thorin, who slept peacefully now, his silver-streaked, long black curls spread out across the stark white bed linens. “And he is your king. Th-that makes it even m-m-more diff-difficult for me, I’m afraid.”

“I imagine it’s like being thrown in the deep end.”

“Or into the Long Lake,” she said with a smile.

He smiled back. “Óin must see something, for him to allow you to remain here.”’

“He needs the ha-ha-ha—drat it! Hands.”

“Easy, lassie. I’m not impatient. Take the time you need to unstick your tongue. I promise, I won’t hurry you and I won’t mock you.”

“It’s as if I was a child again. It hasn’t been thi-this bad in ye-years.” She sank back in her chair and drew her hand through her hair, trying to smooth the mostly unruly curls back into place, for all the good it did. Her hair had a mind of its own at times and this was one of them.

“You are under much pressure here. As you said, Thorin is our king. But,” he smiled again, patting her hand this time, “he isn’t a tyrant. At least, not any longer. And I’ve the feeling he is in fine hands, even if they are inexperienced.”

“Thank you for saying that.” She returned his smile. “Óin is so knowledgeable and b-b-between him and Narn-narnerra, I feel as if I’m getting quite the edu-education at their sides.”

“And look, you must be more comfortable with me now.”

“A bit, yes.”

“Good. You will be fine in time. And Erebor will thank you for your service and hopefully make you feel welcomed.”

“So far, most have j-just rather ignored me.” She glanced over at Óin who was busy with a dark haired dwarf on the far side of the infirmary. Narnerra was at the desk in the corner, her head bent over whatever file she studied. Both had been nothing but patient with her, despite her stammer, which seemed to grow worse with each day.

But with Balin, it improved. He was kind and patient and the total opposite of his brother, who terrified her to no end. Dwalin Fundison was taller and fiercer looking, with a tattooed head and cold blue eyes. When he came to check on his king, she wanted to melt into the floor. She could barely string a sentence together and his expression suggested he wondered about her intelligence.

“It is rare for Men to be allowed in Erebor. Historically speaking, we have always come to them in Dale.”

“I know. I’ve been told. And reminded. More than once. And no-not always ni-ni-nicely, I might add.” She managed a laugh, although when it happened and a dwarf told her exactly what he thought of her, she wanted to melt into the floor at the time.

“Tact is not necessarily our strong suit, I’m sorry to say.” He patted her hand again and then rose. “But you’re doing a fine job. You must be. Otherwise Óin would never allow you to stay. In fact, he’d be hollering the roof down for Bard to come and claim you. He takes this responsibility very seriously.”

“Claim me? I’m not his to claim.”

“You’re not?”

She shook her head. “No. He’s but a friend. A good friend, but a friend only.”

“Oh, pardon me, then. I thought he was more than that.”

“No. He’s not.”

“I will pass through later and see how everyone fares. But from where I stand, the Durins are in good hands.”

She smiled. “Thank you. That’s very ki-kind of you.”

“Fíli…” Thorin’s voice was little more than a low moan as he tried to stretch.

“Excuse me,” she said as she stood. “I should get back t-to work”

“Of course.”

He took his leave and Óin looked up. “Do ye need me, Jasna?”

“No. I—I don’t think so.”

“Let me know if ye do.”

“I will.” She laid her hand against Thorin’s forehead. Warm. Fever. Óin had worried that it would strike. “Óin?”

He looked up again. “What is it?”

“His Majesty is running a fever.”

Óin’s forehead creased. “Very hot?”

“I—I can’t te-tell.”

His chair squeaked as he pushed it back, and when he came over to her, they were about the same height and stood shoulder to shoulder as he leaned over to lay his hand against Thorin’s forehead. “He is warm, but not hot. Keep an eye on him, and if he burns hotter, let me know.”

Another low moan rent the air. Fíli. She looked over at Óin. “Should I tend to him?”

“Please do. I need to change Kíli’s dressings.”

“Tell me, is he Thorin’s son? They bear a strong resemblance to one another.”

“Kíli? No. His nephew. Fíli’s younger brother and both the sons of Thorin’s sister Dís. She will be here sometime in the coming days and I don’t believe she’s yet been told.”

“She doesn’t know?”

“Not yet.”

“And His Majesty’s wife? Is she on her way as well?”

Óin offered up a slight smile. “He is not married, so no. There is no wife coming, although I daresay there will be plenty of marriage-minded hopefuls returning as well.”

“Oh, my…” She turned to glance down at Thorin, who’d gone quiet again, then moved over to Fíli’s bed. The blond dwarf was conscious, his blue eyes open as he stared up at the ceiling, but she wasn't at all certain they focused on anything, as they seemed a bit cloudy. He grimaced, his left hand freed from the sheets to twist the linens as he sucked in a hard breath.

“Fíli?” She kept her voice soft so as not to startle him. “Can you hear me?”

“Where am I?” His voice was raspy and thin, as if it hurt to speak. “What happened? Why can I not move?”

“You were wounded in battle,” she replied, retrieving her chair to bring to his bedside. “What do you remember?”

“I—I remember falling…” His eyes closed briefly and he visibly swallowed. “And cold metal. A blade. It—it pierced me. Through—through the back…”

“That’s right. You were.” She leaned over to lay her hand against his cool forehead. “And you cannot move because your legs have been badly broken. Your thighbones. Your shinbones. Your ankles, too, I believe. But, it’s good that you’re awake, that you are alert.”

“Am I… will I… walk again?”

“In time, I hope so. But you w-would need to speak to Óin about th-that. I—I’m only helping him.”

“I’m sorry, but… who—who even are you?”

“I’m Jasna Stoneham. From D-dale—well, Esgaroth, actually, but you know what h-h-happened there.” She sank back into her chair. “I sho—should have told you that at first. I apol-apol-apologize.”

His brow furrowed. A muscle in his jaw bulged. She frowned slightly. “Do you ne-need something for pain?”

“Please.”

“Of course.” She stood and hurried between the cots to the desk in the corner. “Óin? Fíli is awake and is in need of pai-pain relief.”

“Is he with fever as well?”

“No. He is not.”

“Good. Check on Kíli whilst I tend to his brother.”

“Of course.”

She started over to Kíli’s bed, pausing when Óin said, “And Jasna?”

“Yes?”

“Yer doin’ fine, lass. I would like to keep ye on, if yer willin’ to learn. I think ye’ll make a good healer one day.”

She smiled, a bit of her nervousness draining away, displaced by a feeling of warm pride, one she didn't feel often. “Thank you, Óin. I would, yes.”

“Good. I’ll have Narnerra work up a program for ye and we will continue yer training.”

“Thank you.”

“Do no’ thank me. I know skill when I see it. Now,” he returned her smile, “go tend to Kíli.”

“I am, Óin. I am.”

#Richard Armitage #The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Everybody Lives AU #The Hobbit BOTFA

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thekrows-nest · 1 year

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(anon)

I think the deadliest thing about Krow is how badly he can be underestimated due to being short, goofy and kind. He’s charismatic, persistent, sneaky, and shaped like a friend. Non-threatening. He covers his tracks. He can also gaslight.

So how are Gabby’s instincts so damn good? She seems a lot more switched on than the average person and is very confident and clear in her perceptions. She knows no specifics but read Krow to filth. There was no confusion, she sniffed him out inside that sheep’s clothing from day one.

Has she dealt with dangerous people before? Is she a Murderino/true crime fan? Naturally tuned in socially or good at body language? Very analytical? Guarded less trusting personality?

Gabby takes a lot of safety precautions. Is that specifically about Krow, living in a dangerous city, simply being cautious as an AFAB person? Had a family member or friend been stalked, attacked or killed? Is it due to her having past experiences of abuse that makes her wary of others, or her/her partner working a high risk job that requires it?

Is her partner working in law enforcement or as a psychologist, is she ex-law enforcement or ex-psychologist? (Perhaps she still is, or if she works with Dove as a barista maybe she didn’t continue after study or burned out and left for a less demanding job. Perhaps she’s working part time as a barista with Dove while she studies.)

Perhaps she’s sapphic and so has more emotional distance from *people assumed to be men not to be influenced by his charm. (Sorry if that question is intrusive/inappropriate or misgenders Krow.) She could be asexual. She could have a personality that doesn’t readily form connections with others so he can’t buddy up. All of this would give her a more objective view of his behaviours.

Or maybe she’s so happy and nourished in her relationship she just isn’t as susceptible. She has a strong support network and/or is not emotionally vulnerable.

I don’t know how she worked it out on so little. Because I know exactly what Krow is and still don’t know how she so intuitively saw the danger without being told, and I still find him a somewhat sympathetic/tragic figure.

Did he miscalculate, do something slightly sus and she saw it? Was he just that bit overly forward or persistent, coming to the cafe too much? Seeking Dove out specifically? Did she overhear him manipulating Dove or pushing them for a date?

The lady is street smart as hell and I need her to teach classes.

I love these detailed asks you send in anon. But you also need to get out of my head. /lh /teasing

You definitely have it right about Krow, that his greatest asset (I think) is the fact he is often so wildly underestimated. As you say, he's short, a bit goofy and rather kind and well mannered (most of the time). He's just a silly, quirky artist guy with a crush. What harm could he possibly do or be capable of? So why is Gabby so keen on saying he is a giant red flag?

Part of the answer is kind of spoilery (or well, wouldn't make much sense at the moment, other things need to be revealed), but the short of it is: Gabby is extremely paranoid and tends to have a 'glass is half empty, and what's left is probably poisoned' view of the world and others. Sometimes this benefits her. Sometimes it doesn't. This pessimistic personality she has now wasn't always extreme. It's something she has developed over the years.

Gabby has had some... harsh experiences in life, shall we say, that has left her with a pretty bitter outlook. She is in a MUCH better place in all regards (you ARE right anon that she is quite happy and nourished in her relationship and has strong bonds with other folks in her life) but the damage has been done. It still leaves her... wary of most others.

From her life experiences, and just brief interactions with Krow, he just ticks off one too many boxes on her 'most likely dangerous person' checklist for comfort. And the fact he is keen on getting close to Dove... is it any wonder she is so adament in telling you to stay away from him?

But this isn't exactly new or surprising behavior from her (and she HAS been wrong about people in the past, to be clear) so it's up to you, Dove, if you believe her warnings or not.

I will say though, there IS something that Gabby herself does in her own time that also has helped her hone her analytical skills, yet also has perhaps left her with some more bitter impressions on the world at large.

I'll say too her partner also has some skills which also come in handy for sussing out someone like Krow.

The major thing though is... something has happened to Gabby in the past that has reeeeally left her... wary and very cautious of others. Which may or may not be revealed in due time. (:

#winndy talks #gabby asked and answered #the krow's nest verse #the krow's nest #winndy asked and answered #about gabby

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thesokovianaccords · 2 years

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12 + 34 for Steggy for the 2 part drabble game?

(...let's not talk about how long ago you sent me this prompt lol)

12 - Finally home after a hard day / 34 - “It’s 2am. Go back to sleep.”

The Carter siblings were…a lot. If Steve had to pick a phrase to describe them, it would be—well, it would be pure chaos.

The most hyper-competent people he’s ever met.

But, still. Pure chaos.

Steve didn’t actually regret moving in with the Carters after his old roommate decided to abandon him to live with her boyfriend. Most days.

But Michael and Peggy—well, Steve had a pretty good command of the English language (despite what they might say) but words failed to describe them. No matter how hard he tried.

He told Sam that they’re maddening, and yet disarmingly charming. Bucky heard a story or two about Michael’s one-man war with the MTA, and Peggy’s many international misadventures—the context of which Steve was honestly afraid to examine too closely. Natasha actually heard one of Peggy’s terrifying non-anecdotes about the time she and a friend were trapped on a mostly-deserted Mediterranean island, and she had to play a high-stakes game of blackjack to secure their freedom (he desperately wanted to follow up but was very afraid she’d actually answer his questions). Tony knew a lot of their stories already because he was there, was an accessory, or heard about their exploits through the grapevine—the dubious benefits the Starks and the Carters running in the same social circles.

Steve had been called to find Michael after he ran away to a farm in rural Virginia—Peggy had been her usual inscrutable, unflappable self, but Steve was a quick learner (and slightly obsessed with discovering all of Peggy’s tells, a fact he was ruthlessly suppressing). He had been ferried—by Tony and Pepper—across the Atlantic and Indian Oceans to bring Peggy her passport as she fled to the British Embassy in Hong Kong, with Michael calling him every hour on the hour until she had it, and Steve had her, safe in hand. Both of them would go silent for weeks at a time and then pop up again in their shared fifth-floor walk-up with no warning at 4:00am, hungry and loud and full of stories that were high on hijinks and low on details.

Steve was ninety percent sure that the whole Carter family was involved in some form of espionage, but he had just enough self preservation to never, ever ask for details. Even when his journalistic instincts screamed at him to dig deeper, he knew it was a bad idea to know more than the bare minimum.

Not that any of that stopped him from orbiting closer and closer to Peggy, much to her brother’s amusement. Steve couldn’t help himself—her glossy hair (voluminous with secrets, of course) and her lips painted red and her killer sense of humour and her absolute confidence in herself were a potent drug, intoxicating and addictive.

Maybe it was pathetic, how he knew all her favorite foods and always had a bottle of her whiskey on hand—created specifically for her by a distillery in Scotland she’d saved from some convoluted extortion scheme. How he started studying French when he saw a plane ticket to Morocco on their dining room table—just in case she needed a bailout. How he woke up sweating and tense—from dreams about her laugh and her perfume and that one time she took swinging trapeze classes—in a way that was extremely inappropriate for him to be dreaming about his roommate (whose brother was also his roommate).

But on the other hand, Steve wasn’t about to rock the boat. He was content to admire from up close and from afar, but always on the outside looking in. Peggy wasn’t complaining, but she also never said anything to signal her own interest—and she had become too important to Steve to consider stepping outside the boundaries they’d established. She and Michael both had. They were family—chaotic and dysfunctional family, but whose wasn’t, at the end of the day?

So, Steve stayed within this equilibrium—enjoying her presence when they were home, worrying after her and her brother when they weren’t. He was used to it, and even when he’d come to expect chaos, the Carters still managed to surprise him once in a while.

It was in the wee hours of the morning when Steve returned home from covering a gruelling all-night Security Council meeting, exhausted and overworked and ready to collapse on the nearest soft surface for the three hours he had before returning to the UN for the next day of the General Assembly meetings. The last thing he was expecting to see when he opened the front door was warm lighting flooding the kitchen, soft brass instrumentals flowing through the apartment, and Peggy in the midst of what could only be described as culinary carnage.

“Steve, darling! Welcome home!”

His exhaustion bled out of his limbs at the sound of her voice—cheerful, excited to see him, her familiar accent washing over him like a sense of relief. He dropped his shoulder bag by the door, shocked to see her in the flesh after three weeks of increasingly cryptic text messages and memes lighting up his phone at odd hours. He mouthed her name, unable to force the sound from his throat, but it didn’t matter, as she tugged him to the kitchen island, chattering all the way about how she had missed him, she’d brought him a souvenir but he mustn’t ask about its origin, Michael was in the city but she wasn’t sure where, she’d been gifted this divine new chocolate chip cookie recipe that was going to blow his mind.

Steve followed along gamely—he forgot, when she was away, exactly how enticing Hurricane Peggy could be up close. She manoeuvred him onto a stool, dropping a plate in front of him that was stacked precariously high with cookies that, admittedly, looked delicious. He took a tentative bite and sighed with relief at the gooey centre and melted chocolate—her past baking experiments had not been as successful as this one.

“So, there I was, dangling off the bridge over the river—mind, I’d already secured myself with a rope and was waiting for someone to pull me back in, so I was making a shopping list for when I got back in today, and I stopped by the bodega on my way home because I know you with your sweet tooth, we probably wouldn’t have any chocolate chips left, and—“ Peggy trailed off, taking in the way Steve was already half-off the stool, drifting away as she prattled on. “Steve, dear lord. I forgot about the time difference. Here I am, nattering on, and you look like you’re about to collapse. It’s 2am. Go to sleep.”

He straightened, shaking his head. “No, that’s okay, Pegs. I’m listening. I’m not that tired. You were dangling off a bridge.”

She laughed and grabbed the cookie that was falling to pieces in his hand. “Darling, go to bed. You’re clearly knackered.”

He shook his head. Stubborn to a fault. She clasped his newly-empty hand in hers, mindless of the chocolate residue. “My darling, I’ll still be here in the morning, I promise. Go to bed—Peggy’s orders. You have a busy day ahead and I can’t have you at less than your best because of me.”

He eyed her carefully. “You promise?”

His eyes were drooping, his cheeks rosy with exhaustion, but his look of determination and suspicion made Peggy feel, finally, like she was home. There were worse things than to have such a man as her anchor, her port in a storm, calling her back. “Yes, Steve. I promise. You won’t be able to get rid of me. I’ll be skulking around the United Nations for a couple days—we can grab a drink, as long as you don’t ask for any details.”

He tossed her a wry look as he stood, and she couldn’t help but reel him in for a hug. “You know I missed you terribly, right?”

He nuzzled his nose into her hair for a brief moment, roses briefly overtaking his senses. “You were having far too much fun for that.”

She smacked him on his back, playfully. “I never have half as much fun as when I’m with you. I’ll just have to drag you along with me next time—it’ll be the best of both worlds. Now, off to bed with you.”

He squeezed her tightly, then stepped back. “Welcome home, Peggy. I’m glad you’re here.” And with an irreverent salute, he vanished into his bedroom. Peggy turned back to the mess she’d made of the kitchen with a critical eye. The pastry chef behind the recipe had promised Peggy that these cookies were magic, capable of turning a man to mush, but clearly she’d forgotten an ingredient or two.

#steggy #steggy fic #steggy au #theawkwardterrier #surprise?#this is so old I dont even know where to find the prompt list lmaoooo #anyway this was originally going to be something much different but I sort of got it in my head #that if peggy and Michael had been reunited they would have been pure chaos #and I just rewatched schitts creek and then I was like...oh my god the two of them as David and Alexis?? gold #so...this happened #have peggy as an international woman of mystery and Steve holding her stuff as she storms an embassy #he's great at being an accessory to incomprehensible schemes #idk what this even is but hopefully its at least fun!#also I wrote this in like a stream of consciousness burst of inspiration so apologies if it’s nonsense ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#from the vault (aka the drafts folder)

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