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itwoodbeprefect · 3 years

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Inge! sorry I'm a little late to the party, but do you still take prompts? if yes, I'd like to request a friendship piece for either Rodney&Teyla or Rodney&Ronon (w/ or w/out a dash of McShep is good for me) pretty please? thanks! <3

Not that late at all, and what a lovely warm prompt! Thank you. :D

I went with Rodney & Ronon, but also kind of Rodney & Teyla and maybe Ronon & Teyla, and also John is around, and it’s almost teamfic? Also, Jeannie.

---

The door to John’s quarters slides open exactly like his own would, which he expects, but he stops cold after two hasty steps into the room anyway. He turns back to the door to check, and in the process has to look past the Johnny Cash poster above the bed and the surfboard leaning against the wall and the giant brick of a Tolstoy book on the nightstand, so yeah, he decides in the end, without stepping out to doublecheck - these are John’s quarters. There’s not a single thing out of place, except, well, the obvious.

“McKay,” Ronon grumbles. It sounds like a greeting. Like Ronon, sitting fully clothed on the edge of John’s made bed, is saying hi.

“What are you doing here?” Rodney asks, by way of saying hi back.

“Meeting Sheppard.” Ronon grins, in a way that looks a little dangerous. That’s a good sign with Ronon, who has no problem looking a lot dangerous, if he wants. “Unless you want to spar with me.”

Rodney does not. Rodney thinks that’s a little too predictable for him to say out loud; quite honestly, he thinks John is crazy for endangering his life that way voluntarily every week.

Rodney looks back at the door again, which has slid closed, and in front of which the person he’s been looking for has not suddenly materialized in the last ten seconds. “Where is John?”

“Not here.”

Rodney’s nerves make him skip the snappy comeback. “Any idea where he might be?”

“Why?” Ronon asks.

Which is more than enough to make Rodney spill his guts. He was barely holding it in, anyway. “I think Jeannie’s mad at me, and I’m not sure why.” He frowns and starts to pace back and forth and rub his hands together. He’s a multitasker. “I don’t think I did or said anything rude lately, but her emails are shorter than usual, and she didn’t even sign the last one. It’s really not like me to overthink these kinds of things, because I don’t care what people think of me anyway-” That’s a lie, he’s come to realize in recent years, but it’s a comforting one to repeat out loud, sometimes. “But, you know, I think I was the bad guy for not contacting Jeannie all those years and we’ve only just started being brother and sister again, so I’ve been trying to put in the effort, and now I think she’s mad at me.” He stops marching and gives the too long, didn’t read version. “So I need someone to tell me what I did wrong, so I can fix it.”

Ronon levels a look at him. “And you need John for this.”

The look says more than the words, and it has a point, of course. John’s not known for his exceptional social grace and skill. Rodney wags his head a little, considering how to justify his choice. John is his best friend, but he’d feel a little pathetic saying that to Ronon, who he’s pretty sure is also John’s best friend. “He had some surprisingly clever insights about my relationship with Jeannie last time she was here,” is what Rodney lands on, reluctantly. He spots John’s golf stuff in the corner, and wistfully thinks back to being able to just ramble at John without Ronon sitting there, judging him.

Ronon leans back, planting his hands behind him on the mattress. “I could help,” he offers, out of the blue.

Some deep, deep blue. Blue enough to make Rodney stare, hands stilling mid-wring. “You?” Rodney’s not trying to be offensively puzzled, but he thinks he’s allowed a little surprise. If John is dubious in his social grace, Ronon is a tripping hazard. “You could help?”

Ronon stares back like a challenge. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Rodney says. He waits and looks at Ronon expectantly, but nothing happens. Ronon just looks back at him mutely. “Please?”

“What would Teyla do?”

“Huh?” She’s not here, either - if Ronon’s help is just sending him to chase someone else around the city, that’s not very helpful at all.

“Ask yourself,” Ronon says. “What would Teyla do? And then do that thing.”

Rodney is right back to baffled. He’s not sure he ever left - he’s talking to Ronon Dex about feelings. “Is that how you handle a problem?”

“No.” Ronon leaves a pause there. Rodney finds himself unexpectedly distracted by the question if Ronon talks so little because he really just doesn’t have much to say, or because finding words takes effort. “I glare at it until it goes away.”

Rodney huffs a laugh out of pure surprise, because that almost sounds like a joke. It may not have been, but either way Ronon doesn’t glare at him, which Rodney takes as a sign that he hasn’t just become a problem.

“And if that doesn’t work-” Ronon continues, which Rodney feels is surprisingly talkative of him, until he lets that sentence hang unfinished.

But Rodney can do that, now. Finish Ronon’s sentence. “What would Teyla do?”

Ronon nods. He looks a little smug, like there’s a dead Wraith around here somewhere. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” Rodney says, both because he would have guessed that Ronon’s backup plan would involve a lot more knives (though it could, potentially, still involve knives sometimes - Teyla’s very good with those) and because that’s actually good advice. If there’s one person who would know how to get someone to tell them what’s wrong, it’s Teyla.

And if Teyla thought somebody she loved might be mad at her, but she wasn’t sure why, she would... ask. She wouldn’t go into a tailspin and try to guess at the answer while assuming it had to be her fault, she would ask why and listen and then talk it out.

“Oh my God,” Rodney says, feeling like a whole new world just opened up to him. “Words.”

Ronon pulls a face. It looks a little like a sympathy wince.

Rodney flings a hand out at him. “Thank you!”

“Thank Teyla,” Ronon says, which Rodney thinks is a little weirdly modest for the galaxy’s greatest Runner who just counseled him through a family emergency, but they can work on Ronon’s ability to accept gratitude later, over lunch or something.

For now, Rodney sweeps out of the room, because he needs his computer so he can type so he can get Jeannie to tell him what’s bothering her so he can be a good brother, and apologize only once he knows what he’s apologizing for. God, Teyla’s smart.

As luck would have it, John is just stepping out of the transporter when Rodney storms towards it. “Hey,” he says, slowing to a stop when Rodney doesn’t. “What are you doing here?”

“Asking you for help.” Rodney brushes right past him with a pat to his arm; no time.

“You’re going the wrong way,” John calls after him.

“I’m fine! Ronon helped me by making Teyla help me help myself with Jeannie.”

“What?”

The last thing Rodney sees before he steps into the transporter is John’s bewildered face. It’s clear John is left with some questions, but Rodney doesn’t need to hang around for that. Ronon can take over; that’s what Teyla would do.

Or, Rodney thinks, what a friend would do.

(Turns out, in the end, that Jeannie was never even mad at him to begin with - her next email is much longer, and details all the mundane little circumstances that piled up and left her very stressed last month but that she didn’t think Rodney had wanted to hear about (it involves a flu and lice and a car that wouldn’t start and visiting in-laws and school play preparations and a lost teddy bear and half a dozen other little things Rodney is glad he doesn’t have to deal with in Pegasus), and then she calls him very attentive for picking up on her mood and sweet for thinking to ask if everything is okay.

The next day Rodney bribes one of the botanists to cut a bouquet for him and gives it to Teyla, and he hoards one of the last pieces of pie at dinner until Ronon shows up. “What’s happening?” John asks, suspicious. Maybe Ronon’s explanation wasn’t all that comprehensive after all.

“Emotional intelligence,” Ronon says around a full mouth, spewing little pieces of pie across the table, and Rodney nods solemnly.

That’s not what Teyla would do, because she’s smiling at them both, but close enough.)

#there could be mcshep in this but it would be very hidden between the lines #(i have two prompts left and if one of those is yours - it's still coming! somewhere the next few days hopefully)#my fic #sga #*#stargate atlantis #ronon dex #rodney mckay

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13uswntimagines · 3 years

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Shy but Fierce (Alpha!Christen x Omega!Reader)

Request: alpha christen one where the reader is new on the team and they find out they’re mates? maybe christen is shy but also v fierce when it comes to her new found omega

Pt. 2

Special thanks to @literaryhedgehog for helping me make this thing not as heavy as it originally way and livening it up with her BBQ discussion. Hit me up with Questions or if ya just wanna say hi!

It was a warm wave rolling through your body. The feelings of all your nerves tingling on end and your souls reaching out to intertwine with another’s. You smiled at the warmth spreading through your chest as you made eye contact with the green-eyed veteran.

Of all the things you expected from your first camp, meeting your mate in the first 20 minutes was not one of them. Your best friend had told you that the team was welcoming, but this was definitely more than you bargained for.

Nonetheless, you smiled charmingly up at the frozen alpha, lifting her hand to your lips.

“Well it's most definitely a pleasure to meet you,” You purred, smirking at the blush that crawled up the alpha’s (your alpha’s?) cheeks.

Rose rolled her eyes at your antics. The alpha had known you since you were in diapers, and in that time she had learned you were not your stereotypical omega. You weren’t meek or shy and loved to flirt. Christen was gonna have fun trying to reel you in.

Christen opened and closed her mouth several times, wide eyes taking you in. Tobin snickered behind her.

“What Chris, cat got your tongue?”

“Not yet, but I’m sure it will soon,” You smirked, lips ticking up at Christen’s dropped jaw. If your alpha was this easy to fluster when you weren’t even trying, this was going to be a blast.

“Hey hot stuff, middy meeting starts soon, we better go,” Rose smiled, throwing an arm over your shoulder, amused by your effect on the normally put together alpha.

“Later cutie pie, see you on the field,” You winked at Christen, kissing her hand again before allowing Rose to guide you to where the rest of the midfielders were getting ready to meet.

Christen watched you go with wide eyes, still trying to process what had just happened.

“Holy shit, is she always like that?” Christen asked, looking at Mal. If her alpha knew you so well, then she was bound to have insights.

Mal suppressed her snicker “This is her going easy on you,”

The omega had heard the stories about you and found them difficult to believe at first. But seeing you in action was pretty inspiring.

“It’s nice to see after everything that happened with the Courage,” Megan added, watching you carefully.

She didn’t think she would ever be able to get the sight of you pale and sickly out of her head. You had been so hesitant when you joined the Regin, and Rose had been overly protective (Megan would learn that there was a very good reason why as she got to know you).

“What happened with the Courage?” Christen snapped, her elation dwindling as she tried to find some sense of unease in your stance. Her eyes squeezed when she couldn’t find anything. Soon enough she would be able to read you like the back of her hand.

“That’s her story to tell,” Mal said firmly, shaking her head. Christen frowned, she might be shy and “adorable” as you put it, but she would cut a bitch if they hurt her mate.

*****

“Hey cutie, is this seat taken?” You asked, gesturing towards the seat beside your mate.

“N-no not at all,” Christen stuttered out, blushing when she accidentally released a small puff of her pheromones. God, she felt like a teenager going through their first rut.

“Fantastic,” You smirked, sitting down, and moving the chair so it was very close to the alpha, so close your thighs were basically touching. “Hmm, you smell good,” you hummed, leaning in so your nose was nearly touching her neck and breathing in deep. If this was a snapshot into what the rest of your life was going to be, you were completely ok with that.

“Th-thanks,” She shivered as your cold nose touched her skin, closing her eyes and biting her lip, trying with every ounce of her being to control her instincts.

****

“You better save her before she melts,” Mal said, leaning into her alpha. Rose carded her fingers through the omega’s hair, scratching her scalp the way she knew her mate liked.

“Nah, let Y/n have her fun. She hasn’t been this relaxed in forever,” Sonnett snorted, shaking her head as Christen’s face got progressively redder.

“Seems like Y/n is handling herself fine to me,” Rose shrugged.

You hadn’t been this open with anyone since she had rescued you from the courage. She wasn’t going to step in between you and the thing (person) who was making you happy. Chris was a big girl and she could handle herself.

****

“Alright lovebirds, it’s only the first night of camp and you’re already disgustingly sweet,” Ashlyn said feigning seriousness as she took the seat on your other side. You missed the look Ali shot her in your haste to scoot away from your alpha, knocking over your plate in the process.

Your eyes stayed glued to your lap and your head tilted just slightly to the side. Christen’s eyebrows furrowed as you seemed to sink in on yourself.

Rose was on her feet immediately, rushing over to put herself in between you and Ashlyn. Christen took that as her cue and was also on her feet seconds later.

“If it bothers you, Ashlyn, you can sit somewhere else,” Christen growled, stepping around you to act as a barrier between you and the very confused alphas “It doesn’t bother me I was just saying--” Ashlyn sputtered.

“Well don’t!” Rose snapped, turning her back on Ashlyn to look at you. “You okay KitKat?”

“Yeah I’m fine,” you murmured, avoiding her eyes, your head still tilting to expose your neck. She sighed.

“You don’t have to do that. This team is different,” she mumbled, and you nodded noncommittally.

“You spilled your barbecue.” She laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

“It’s Memphis style barbecue anyway, hardly worth eating,” you said, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

“Yeah, don’t know why they bother, everyone knows Kansas style is the best” Becky scoffed, smiling from across the table and winking at Rose.

“I mean, I would say that good barbecue is one of the only good things to come out of North Carolina,” you said, grinning into your napkin, “but then y’all haven’t tried Cookout milkshakes.”

“What happened in North Carolina?” Christen interjected, and you froze, biting your lip so hard she was afraid you would draw blood.

Your smile faded, and your eyes took on a faraway look.

*****

You were not the typical omega. You were outgoing and a bouncing ray of sun that loved to meet new people. On your first day with the courage you had bounded up to everyone, your hand stuck out and a bright grin on your face (an act that had gotten you into serious trouble).

You looked one too many alphas in the eye before one took a particular offense and forced you to submit. Most of the team and coaching staff had simply watched while she humiliated you.

As the season progressed, things had only gotten worse and you had become more and more unbalanced. You jumped at the opportunity to get out of there the second you could, thanking God that there was a spot for a striker on the Reign with Rose.

*****

“Hinkle thought it would be fun to assert her alpha ness,” You shrugged, picking at your fingers, flinching at the weight of Christen’s eyes on you, and the pheromones she was beginning to emit.

“She forced you to submit?” The alpha asked breathlessly, her heart dropping when you gave her a singular stiff nod, wincing as though it pained you. She was sure it did. It was the greatest form of disrespect. “How many times,” she tried to keep her voice level, she didn’t want to scare you off.

“Too many,” You said slowly.

“I would never make you do that. None of us would,” Christen said horrified, kneeling down in front of you, and letting out her soothing scent. Though you weren’t mates yet, it still wrapped around you like a warm blanket, settling your nerves.

You nodded quickly, grabbing her hand for support. “I know. I could tell. Plus you blush too much to be an asshole alpha,” you smirked towards the end, she smiled in return.

“You might turn me to mush, but that’s not going to stop me from ripping her head off the next time I see her,”

She wasn’t the only one who held that sentiment. It was fair to say that a certain North Carolina defender was going to hit the turf a lot next season. No one got to mess with one of their teammates.

#uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt x reader #christen press x reader

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woah-were-halfway-there · 4 years

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The Sweetest of Them All

A/N: just another little bonus part of the AFTR universe that I came up with out of nowhere. Also, I left this as third person instead of second. Enjoy!

Word Count: 3.2k

Y/N has never been a big fan of Valentine's Day.

To her, it was overrated and expensive. But, she'd be lying if she said she didn't love the fact that it gave an extra reason to love on Auston a ridiculous amount. Sure, she did that every day, but to be fair, she loved how the title of Valentine's Day added a bit more fun and excitement to something she'd normally do any other day. It felt different for some reason, so even though she didn't love the so-called holiday, she still tried to plan something special for it every year.

Admittedly, she and Auston almost got competitive about it with trying to one-up the other with affection. They didn't care about gifts. They cared about the time they spent together and the thoughtfulness behind it.

Usually, it was Y/N that came up with something ridiculously sweet for Valentine's Day to do for Auston. However, this year, he had her beat.

For some odd reason, Y/N woke up very early that day. Maybe it was the baby waking her, or perhaps it was her internal clock saying sleep was no longer necessary. But, regardless, she was awake much earlier than usual. She also knew Mia wasn't awake or else she would've heard her, so she took that time to lie back in bed and relax for a few minutes on her own.

The bed felt incredibly empty, given that Auston was with the Leafs in Washington and wasn't expected to be back in Toronto until late that night. Frank was a good cuddle buddy alternative, but sometimes the Goldendoodle just wasn't enough when Y/N was missing her man. Of course, this was one of the days when she missed him a lot, so she took that as an excuse to text Auston and at least get this so-called holiday kicked off.

Y/N Happy Valentine's Day, Aus 🥰 can't wait to see you tonight

She wasn't expecting him to message back right away, seeing as it was only 7:30 in the morning, but much to her surprise, he did.

Auston Happy Valentine's Day, babe 💕 Can't wait to see you either. Did the flowers for Mia get delivered?

Y/N Yes, they got here last night. They're beautiful. I set them on the kitchen counter, so once she's awake and we go downstairs, she'll see her little V-Day gift from you

Auston Perfect. I got part of your Valentine's thing with me right now too. Ready for it?

Y/N Is it going to make me cry?

Auston Probably

Y/N Great. Hit me with your best shot

She stared at her phone screen for a moment, expecting it to light up with the notification of an incoming FaceTime call from her husband or a picture, but instead, he sent her a link. But not just any link, it was the link to the video recording of a new Spittin' Chiclets podcast episode that was over an hour-long called 'Love Day: Part One.'

Confused, but also insanely curious, Y/N then leaned over to grab her laptop from the bedside table and got into the most comfortable position her growing baby bump would allow so she could watch the video like that. As soon as she was about to press play, her phone buzzed with another text.

Auston This was filmed a couple of weeks ago when the Chiclets guys were in Toronto. They interviewed at least 10 different guys in the league at different times, and they're kind of long, which is why there's more than one part. Just watch the intro, then I'm the first interview. Mitch is on part 2 if you want to watch that as well, but yeah... call me when you're done 💕

Still unsure of how to process what was going on, Y/N just shook her head and followed the link.

The video started with Biz, Whit and Rear sat all-around a table, each wearing a different red, white or pink shirt with heart-shaped balloons positioned behind them. Empty bottles of Pink Whitney sat on the table, acting as vases for bouquets of roses, making Y/N roll her eyes and chuckle at how far these guys would go for good product placement. But, she kept watching, and unsurprisingly, Biz was the first to speak.

Biz: "For Valentines Day this year, we wanted to do something different. Something more soft. So, we're going to tell, well, I guess, show some love stories."

Whit: "Bet you all didn't know that some of the greatest love stories to ever be told have happened to some of the guys that play in the NHL. Don't believe me? Guess you'll have to listen to find out what they are."

Rear: "We asked some players to come in and talk to us about their relationship stories and give as many details as they were willing to give. And let me tell you, they were great. To start us off, we have Auston Matthews of the Toronto Maple Leafs telling us his fairytale romance."

The video then clipped to a shot of Biz sitting next to Auston in what Y/N assumed was the hotel downtown that the Chiclets guys were staying at. Auston wasn't dressed extravagantly or anything, just wore a grey hoodie, black pants, and his signature Raiders snapback.

Y/N immediately recognized his outfit. She remembered Auston coming home in those same clothes early one afternoon after he did some running around downtown with Mia, and started thinking of how not once did he mention doing anything for the podcast. He kept this very on the down low, and Y/N was excited to see how it would all play out.

Biz: "Alright, with us today, we have none other than the Leafs number 34, Auston Matthews. Welcome back to the show, Auston. How ya doin?"

Auston: "I'm great. Thanks for having me. How are you guys?"

Whit and Rear: "Good."

Biz: "Great, real good. Now, Auston, you know what you're here to talk about, right?"

Auston: (chuckling) "You're acting like you didn't spend the last week blowing up my phone until I agreed to do this."

Biz: "Amazing! You do know. So, here's how it's all going to go down. We've got a list of questions about your relationship with your significant other. Your obvious better half. And are going to take turns asking them so the people listening at home can get a bit of insight on your, and I quote, iconic love story. Why don't you give us a little summary of your relationship before we dive in?"

Auston: (hesitantly) "Sure, okay. So, my wife Y/N and I have been married for almost two years now. Our anniversary is at the end of July. She accidentally forgot it last year, which I haven't let her live down. Y/N, babe, this is your six month in advance warning that our anniversary is indeed coming up again this year… She's going to hate that I mentioned that. We, uh, we've been together since my first season in Toronto, so for a pretty long time now, and it's been amazing. We have a daughter, Amelia, but everyone just calls her Mia unless she's in trouble. She just turned two on January 25th, and we have our second baby on the way. They're due to be making their grand appearance in late June. We also have our firstborn, Frank, the Goldendoodle. Can't forget about him. But, yeah, that's my little family."

Whit: (nodding along with Biz and Rear) "Fair enough. Now, how and when did you and Y/N meet exactly?"

Auston: "We met on the night of my first NHL game back in 2016. She was at that game."

Biz: "Oh, yeah? Was she there for a reason?"

Auston gave him an unimpressed look.

Biz: "What?"

Auston: "You know why she was there!"

Biz: (shrugging) "Our listeners don't. C'mon, refresh my memory. Was she there to cheer someone else on?"

Auston: (shaking his head) "Yeah. She, uh, she's a cousin of one of my teammates, so she was there with their family to watch him during our first game."

Biz: (grinning widely) "What teammate?"

Auston: "The one out in the hallway keeping my daughter occupied while you keep being annoying and asking me questions you already know the answer to."

Everyone laughed at that, including Y/N, as she shifted onto her side, being mindful of her growing bump that seemingly became more noticeable each day, and got comfortable as she braced herself for what the rest of this interview would entail.

Biz: (still laughing): "Just to clarify for everyone who still doesn't know, he's talking about Mitch Marner."

Auston: "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up."

Rear: "I take it that Mitch and Mia get along really well? I haven't heard a peep from her since you came in here."

Auston: "Oh, she loves him. Yeah, that's her Mitchy, alright. Him and Steph, who you will hear all about once Mitch comes in here, are Mia's godparents and some of her favourite people."

Whit: "That's awesome. And how was that at first, though, being romantically involved with one of your teammates' family members? Sounds like grounds for some chaos, if I'm honest."

Auston: "It sure made meeting the family a bit more nerve-wracking. I'm just kidding. No, it was fine. It was definitely a little awkward at first trying to figure out how I was going to tell Mitch that I wanted to date his cousin. Like, he and Y/N are very close. Always have been. And the last thing both me and Y/N wanted was for Mitch to be uncomfortable. He did handle it really well, though. It's because of him I was even able to get to know her in the first place, which I'll never be able to thank him enough for."

Rear: "Now, you're a pretty private guy. You post the odd picture of your little family from time to time. Y/N is rather private, as well. So, really, no one knows your guys' story other than those who have lived it with you or watched it unfold. I'm sure many people will jump right on the chance to listen to this, seeing as you and Y/N are one of the most beloved couples in the NHL. But, what exactly made you want to come on here, give a bit of insight into your private life, and talk about it all?"

Auston: "Well, for one, Biz would not stop asking me to do it. Literally kept calling and texting me for days until I finally agreed."

Whit: "Shocker."

Biz: "Hey, now."

Auston: (chuckling) "That and also I figured, why not. I love my wife, and I love our little story. It's nice to think back on everything that's happened and see how it all got us to where we are now. With all the ups and the downs, its uh, it's been an amazing ride for sure, and I wouldn't change it for a thing. Also, it's for Valentine's Day. I haven't told her I'm doing this, so when you guys drop the episode, I'm just going to send it to her without much context."

Whit: "Do you think she'll cry?"

Auston: "Absolutely. I know this kind of thing would make her tear up regularly, but those pregnancy hormones have got her bad. Without a doubt, she's going to call me crying once she's done watching this."

Y/N scoffed as he said that and grabbed some tissues to wipe away the waterworks she already felt coming on.

Biz: "I've met Y/N many times now. The first time being back in what, 2018?"

The screen then showed an old picture of Biz sitting in a restaurant with his arm wrapped around Y/N's shoulders, both smiling widely as they held up their drinks, with Auston seemingly moping off to the side a little bit. Y/N chuckled at the image, instantly thinking back to the day she first met Paul Bissonnette and how wild it was before the photo faded away and showed the guys again.

Biz: "Yeah, it was when she was in Scottsdale visiting you during the summer. Great girl, completely out of Auston's league."

Auston: "Hey!"

Biz: "I'll never forget you sassing her when she commented on how hot Arizona was, with her being Canadian and all, but damn she was fast putting you in your place by calling you a, what was it?"

Auston: (grumbling) "Desert Boy."

Everyone burst out laughing again, except Auston, who just rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically.

Auston: "Whatever. She sasses me all the time when I complain about the snow, but the one time I do it back, I get called a Desert Boy and can never live it down."

Biz: (still laughing) "Ugh, amazing. Okay, moving on because we don't have much time and can probably fit in like two more questions. So, Auston, tell us how you knew that Y/N was the end game for you. How did you know that she was the one?"

Auston: "Oh, man. I don't even know how to explain it. Growing up, you see all these movies and shows, or read books where people always find someone who is their soulmate. Their perfect match. And I never knew what the feeling of finding that person was because I had never experienced it. My mom would tell me that when I did find that person, I'd know. That it'll be such an intense feeling, and to be honest, I didn't believe her. Until I met Y/N, I know that sounds cheesy, but it's true. The first time I met her, something drew me in, and I knew I wanted to get to know her better right away. Mitch spoke so highly of her, so did the other guys on the team that had already met her and over the first couple of months of us knowing each other, I saw what they meant. She quickly became one of my best friends ever. When we started dating, I saw more of how good a person she is, which attracted me even more. She is so selfless and caring for everyone around her; it truly blows my mind. I had never seen my family welcome a girl I introduced them to as quickly as they did her, and I trust their judgment the most. But even if they didn't do that, I know they would have accepted her regardless because, honestly, I probably seemed like a lovesick idiot. I still do. Y/N became this significant light in my life that I knew I wanted to be there forever. I began thinking about what it'd be like spending the rest of my life with her. Then it became something that I knew I needed. I can't imagine my life without her, and I never want to. She makes me so happy and has given me more than I could ever thank her for. I'll never understand how I, of all people, was the one to capture her massive heart, but I do know how lucky I am."

As he spoke, the screen showed a little picture slideshow of Y/N and Auston over the years of their relationship. It started with one that Ema took the first time Y/N had ever gone to Scottsdale. Y/N was sitting on the edge of a pool, and her legs dipped into the water. Auston stood between them as he wrapped his arms around her middle and leaned against her while looking over at where Ema stood taking the picture. The next one was from a Christmas party where the two were under a mistletoe as Auston leaned Y/N back and was kissing her cheek as she laughed and held onto him for dear life. There was a picture of them with Auston's family, one of them with Mitch and Steph, and another of Auston with his arms around Nate and Mya, Y/N's younger brother and sister, as the three smiled at the camera and Y/N was in the background looking confused.

The last few pictures were a bit more recent. They showed Y/N holding Frank as a puppy, a maternity photo of her and Auston posing when she was pregnant with Mia, and one of them on their wedding day with Mia and the rest of the gang. Then, the slideshow concluded with a very recent picture of them taken just a couple of weeks prior at Mia's birthday party, where Auston has his arms wrapped around Y/N from the back, showcasing her growing belly. At the same time, she leaned against him and glanced over her shoulder at him lovingly. The photos then went away and showed the guys again as Auston finished speaking.

Auston was right. Y/N was full-on bawling by that point.

All the guys were smiling as Auston finished saying his thing, but were soon interrupted by a knocking noise followed by a door opening.

Mitch: (offscreen) "Wait, no! Don't let her in!"

Mia: (also offscreen) "Daddy!"

Mia then came into the frame as she ran towards Auston, not caring about what was going on or who was there. Auston was quick reacting as he smiled widely and scooped Mia right up into his arms, making sure to place multiple kisses on her cheek as she giggled and squirmed in his hold, while Mitch became visible too and shrugged.

Auston: "Hi, mini. I missed you. Did you have fun with Mitchy?"

Mia: "Yeah! Where's mommy, daddy?"

Auston: "She's at home, baby girl. I'm almost done, then we can go get a Timbit while we wait for Mitch to be done. Sounds good?"

Mia: (knuckling at her eyes, tiredly) "Mhmm."

Rear: "This is adorable."

Biz: "Hi, Mia."

Mia: (shyly while hiding against Auston's chest a bit) "Hi, Biz."

Whit: (laughing) "Okay, I think we've kept you long enough now, Auston. Is there anything else you and Mia would like to say to Y/N?"

Auston: "Yes. Happy Valentine's Day, babe. I love you so much, and I'm sorry I'm not there right now. You're going to hear a lot more from me on actual Valentine's Day, but for right now, I think that's just about it. Mia, can you blow a kiss to the camera so mommy can see it and say 'happy Love Day!'"

Mia: (blows the kiss) "Happy Love Day, mommy!"

Auston: "Can you tell her that you love her?"

Mia: "Love you!"

Auston and Mia then waved to the camera and said bye as the clip faded out, and a new interview of another NHLer began playing.

Y/N's heart felt so full. She couldn't stop crying over how much she loved her family and how badly she needed to hear something like that. Life had been particularly hard on her as of late and seemed to keep throwing her curveballs, but this, this was exactly what she needed. To be reminded of how loved she is and that she genuinely is never alone.

She then grabbed her phone to call Auston and remind him of how much she loved him, that day and every day. The two talked for a few minutes before Y/N was pretty sure she could hear Mia waking up. After saying their goodbyes, Y/N found herself thinking about how, regardless of how she feels about the actual day, this was a Valentine's Day she will never forget.

#auston matthews fanfiction #nhl imagines #hockey rpf #nhl rpf #auston matthews imagine #auston matthews imagines #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #toronto maple leafs fanfiction #nhl headcanon #hockey fanfiction #hockey imagines #hockey imagine

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vivithefolle · 3 years

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Not sure if you already talked about this. (I’m pretty sure you have) but someone seemed to notice that when the trio get into fights, Hermione’s always in the right. Even when she’s supposed to be wrong she always seems to be half right. That kind of bothers me. Especially since it’s evident in the whole Scabbers situation.

I have indeed, on Quora, so let’s move yet another answer of mine to Tumblr!

Hermione is seldom wrong in the Harry Potter books. Sometimes she makes mistakes but those mistakes are either completely swept under the rug or downright ignored.

It’s partly due to lazy writing and partly due to Rowling’s own growing bias in favour of her Author Avatar that was fuelled by Steve Kloves, the primary advocate of the Hermione Granger Is The Perfect Girl Ever line of thinking (an utterly ridiculous line of thinking mind you).

Lizo: Steve, Hermione is a character that you have said is one of your favorites. Has that made her easier to write?

Steve: Yeah, I mean, I like writing all three, but I've always loved writing Hermione. Because, I just, one, she's a tremendous character for a lot of reasons for a writer, which also is she can carry exposition in a wonderful way because you just assume she read it in a book. If I need to tell the audience something...

JKR: Absolutely right, I find that all the time in the book, if you need to tell your readers something just put it in her. There are only two characters that you can put it convincingly into their dialogue. One is Hermione, the other is Dumbledore. In both cases you accept, it's plausible that they have, well Dumbledore knows pretty much everything anyway, but that Hermione has read it somewhere. So, she's handy.

Now this, right here, is the exact core of the problem.

Rowling herself admits it: if she wants the readers to have information, she puts Hermione in the scene. Hermione is our primary means of exposition because, like *grits teeth* Sssssteve puts it, it’s easy to assume that she’s read about it somewhere and it makes sense.

That’s all well and good but at first, if you notice, Ron also gave us exposition about the wizarding world, mostly about its culture. He was able to recall the exact year of the Wizarding Confederation that outlawed dragon breeding in Philosopher’s Stone! He explained what were respectively a “Mudblood”, a “Squib”, and Parseltongue, Hermione doing a little exposition about the history of that last one! He was also able to identify Sirius, after being dragged into the Whomping Willow, as an Animagi!

But then Goblet of Fire happens and you can notice the first change that will exponentially grow through the books: instead of Ron, pureblood Ron, born-before-the-end-of-the-war Ron, lived-through-the-aftermath-of-the-war Ron, identifying the Dark Mark, it’s instead Hermione, muggleborn Hermione, lived-as-a-Muggle-for-most-of-her-life Hermione, has-no-idea-about-the-emotional-impact-of-the-Mark Hermione who looks terrified as the Dark Mark shoots into the sky!

And it only will get worse, by the end of the series, Hermione pretty much knows about everything the plot needs her to know, instead of having to work with things she knows but can’t always apply to the situation:

Suddenly has a deep knowledge of Magical Law (in the will of Dumbledore’s chapter, while we had Rufus Scrimgeour who could have provided it to us, or to a lesser extent, Ron could have explained how a wizarding will basically worked)

Is suddenly an expert at finding edible plants and mushrooms. Apparently books are always the goddamn answer in JKR’s world, you can literally learn anything from them

She can decipher all the Tales of Beedle the Bard (may I remind you that they were written in Runes, okay Hermione may have a few years of Ancient Runes education BUT I once tried to translate a 3k+ story I had written for fun, from French to English, which means I knew what the subtleties and intentions were, I knew which turns of phrase I had to preserve so it would make sense in the end, and it still took me two gruelling weeks to get a satisfying result!)

Has suddenly grown a sense of quick-thinking (escaping Xenophilius’ house, using the jinx to make Harry’s face weird-looking) despite it being the only remaining flaw she had at the time (remember when she turned her back on her enemy while he was still conscious just to compliment Harry, and almost died as a result, even though she had been training in the DA to learn how to fight Death Eaters?) Quick-thinking under pressure can be learned, but it takes time and a lot of work to force your brain to override its instinct - and it’s fine because we’re all human and different. But no suddenly Hermione is the Greatest Strategist Evah™ and those silly boys (who actually were the original quick-thinking ones, and one of them was established as the strategist early on) better be grateful for this literal goddess because she protects them from all harm with her superhuman brain.

Somehow knows about Quidditch stuff - she knows about a Snitch’s “memory-touch”. Why should she give all the answers? Why can’t Ron give us this particular tidbit of information?

And then when we come to something Ron actually knows, the damn narration itself goes “woah a book that Ron has read but Hermione hasn’t??? shocking!! incredible!! Ron is not dumb, somebody call the news channel”. But… is that really so surprising? We’ve never seen Hermione read wizarding fiction or even Muggle fiction. We’ve never seen Hermione with anything other than schoolbooks in her hands. Of course Ron has read books she hasn’t read since she doesn’t seem to read fiction at all!

Sorry, bit of a tangent over here.

There are only two characters that you can put it convincingly into their dialogue.

So, that’s one part of the problem: the fact that Rowling, after making Ron our insight into magical culture and Hermione our provider of knowledge, ended up saying “eh whatever I guess Hermione can tell us everything we gotta know because it’s more convenient for me”. Which is a decision that was not based on Hermione’s character, but simply lazy writing. Long story short, it probably went: “Could Ron explain this bit of trivia? Meh, better make Hermione say it cause she’ll have read it in a book. It’s convenient and I won’t need to bother myself with exploring Ron’s characterisation.”

(And thus completely forgetting that Ron could maybe ask his big brothers via owl and provide us with a good heap of extra advanced knowledge - Bill is supposed to have aced his NEWTs after all.)

The other part of the problem is quite simply that Hermione is more often than not, either painted as a victim by the narrative (which makes more people take her side, classic manipulation tactic), or made to be right anytime it’s about a plot point.

Hermione’s mistakes are never explicitly stated, corrected, or even pointed out as being unethical.

Hermione only gets one mistake expressedly pointed out as being a mistake: her misadventure in Polyjuice Potion. The rest of them? Even her crush on Lockhart can’t be counted as a mistake - people get crushes all the time, based solely on physical appearance, it’s not something awful or terrible (Except when it’s Ron who crushes on someone. Ron crushing on someone is absolutely forbidden, and he must be punished with much ridicule and humiliation if he thinks he can get away with not worshipping Hermione like the goddess she is. The nerve of him, really.).

Throughout the books Hermione eventually morphs into Rowling’s Powerful Angel of Vengeance, that punishes the people who dared to do something she disliked - Rita is silenced but at a very ethically dubious price; Marietta gets scarred for life because she was more loyal to her mother than to a bunch of people her friend insisted she hang out with; Umbridge is led to a very, very alarming fate that is never made clear but some people have ideas and they’re not all very kid-friendly; Ron first is “helped” without knowing it because Hermione can’t be bothered to have faith in his capabilities, then when he fails to dutifully reward her for “helping” him, she causes him bodily harm before actively bullying him for not mind-reading her interest in him; causes even more bodily harm to Ron because that’s how feminism works; etc.

Hermione’s mistakes are always justified through the plot itself (which is lazy writing).

Turning into a cat? Only affects her.

The Firebolt? Scabbers? Well, in the end, it was really sent by Sirius Black and Crookshanks really wasn’t the culprit. Therefore all the feelings that were hurt and all the trust lost are irrelevant because Hermione was right all along.

Trying to free the house-elves? Well, it’s the intent that counts, right? And we’re never told enough about house-elf lore to know whether they’re poor brainwashed victims or powerful Penate-like symbiotes who need to serve a wizard to survive?

Kidnapping Rita Skeeter, trapping her and blackmailing her? Rita may be one foul little beetle, but that’s going a bit far, isn’t it? Harry approves? Oh, well, I guess it’s okay then…? A main character can’t have a dubious morality, right?

Manipulating Harry into forming Dumbledore’s Army and forcing him to relive a traumatic event with the same woman she’s kidnapped and blackmail and that she knows he hates? In the end, it all works out for the best and Harry’s hurt feelings don’t matter since it’s all about the greater good.

Using the centaurs to get rid of Umbridge (which poses the highly distressing question of what did the centaurs do to her?), realizing that the centaurs aren’t nice little horsies that are going to gently obey her every orders like good Disney princess’ companions, my goodness could this be an opportunity for character growth - nevermind, here comes Grawp the Giant Ex Machina, saving her arse and protecting Hermione from all that scary possibility of introspection. Thanks, Grawp Ex Machina.

Trying to dissuade a highly stressed-out and irrational Harry from rescuing Sirius by telling him exactly what he needed not to hear, a.k.a. “you have a saving people-thing” which causes Harry to completely go bonkers and go save his godfather without thinking twice? Well she was right after all, it was a trap! Nevermind how mind-boggingly insenstive and inadept at dealing with someone else’s feelings she was being, she was right! That means it wasn’t Hermione’s mistake!… probably. (Geez, I’m sensing a pattern here…)

Endangering Cormac’s life (Confunding him WHILE HE’S ON HIS BROOM) to promote Ron’s success? Oh but that’s so romantic! (Yeaaaah, how romantic to display exactly how much faith you lack in your crush. Top it off with a broken neck and that’s a picture perfect first date!)

Assaulting Ron with magic and causing him even more scars than he already had? But he was being cold with her first, right? And he totally should have known she was asking him out! It’s not like her invitation was even worse than his attempt to ask her out two years earlier! Plus she’s just a teenage girl expressing her emotions, anyone who tries to find fault in this is a disgusting abusive misogynist pig! Ha!

Getting all jealous that Harry is better than her at Potions, then pretending she’s not jealous by claiming that TEH BOOK IS EVIL, HARRY, and giving him the cold shoulder too? But no, she’s right, look, Harry used Sectumsempra and he almost killed Draco, nevermind that he’s very horrified about it! Hermione was right, like she always is!

Hermione Obliviating her parents, which pulls her from the “ethically dubious” zone into the “wow okay I’m pretty sure that this counts as a violation of basic human rights” zone, makes her one of those quirky wizardfolk who have the privilege to control those simple-minded Muggles because it’s for the greater good? But nooo she’s crying about it so it’s obviously very sad and angsty and it shows her devotion to the cause!

Splinching Ron while fleeing from the Ministry? Eeeh, but he’s fine, they’ve got Dittany, he’s good as new!… blood loss? Anaemia? What’s that?

Hermione was wrong about the Deathly Hallows not existing? Um, um, that doesn’t matter, LOOK DOBBY IS DEAD AND HARRY IS BACK TO LOOKING FOR THE HORCRUXES!! Therefore Hermione was right, the Hallows weren’t important for their quest, therefore the Hallows might as well not exist, HERMIONE WAS RIGHT NO REALLY I’VE GOT RECEIPTS -

The books never forget to remind Harry and Ron of their own shortcomings and moments of weakness.

Harry’s wrath and recklessness cost Sirius his life. This is the lesson he has to learn from his entitled behaviour in OotP: actions have consequences, and the greater your responsibility, the greater the cost will be.

Ron’s envy and insecurity lead him astray; they’re used to humiliate, ridicule and torture him throughout the books. They’re supposed to teach him that he’s worth something - but how is he supposed to believe that, when nobody ever tells him he’s worth anything? When nobody ever apologizes to him? When his feelings are taken for granted over and over? When his two friends seem to discard him whenever he does one thing wrong?

Hermione is never punished. Hermione is never said to be wrong, never shown to be wrong, never called out on her behaviour. From Prisoner of Azkaban to mid-Deathly Hallows, she stays exactly the same character. She doesn’t grow up. She doesn’t learn. She doesn’t change. She has virtually no character arc.

The only time, THE ONLY TIME IN SEVEN BOOKS, the only time we have something remotely resembling a call-out of Hermione’s horrible behaviour is with this sole quote in HBP:

Harry was left to ponder in silence the depths to which girls would sink to get revenge.

Note how it’s about “girls” and not Hermione in particular, which implies that any girl would do what Hermione does to Ron. Thanks for the generalization, JKR, but I like to believe I’m actually a decent sort of person that doesn’t resort to petty cruelty and exploits my friends’ insecurities whenever I’m angry with them.

Hermione NEVER has to apologize. Hermione NEVER has to learn from her mistakes because she’s always presented as a victim when she really isn’t. Hermione NEVER develops into something more - she’s emotionally stuck at fourteen years old. Even less than that when you consider that her reaction to Ron’s return in Deathly Hallows is to trash him with her fists - and she was going to get her wand!! The utter psychopathic b- wanted TO THROW BIRDS AT HIM AGAIN!!! - and this reaction is an appropriate one for a four-years old girl, but certainly not for a supposedly “mature” seventeen-years old.

(Yes, because what separates a child from an adult is the ability to reign in your emotions and not succumb to your impulses. Exactly what Ron did when he left the tent (notice that he had drawn his wand, then he left before he could start hexing Harry), he left to calm himself down. Exactly what Hermione fails to do when Ron returns (she has the impulse to strike him and immediately succumbs to it, which proves to us that The Brightest Witch Of Her Age has all the maturity of a very small child).)

All of that, on top of the awful portrayal in the movies which removes all of Ron’s characteristics to stuff them into Hermione and turns her into some impossible epitome of perfection, eventually contributed to the portrayal of Hermione as the one who is always right and knows everything.

Add to it JKR’s own ridiculous bias (“Ron was quite emotionally immature compared to the other two”, yeah right I don’t see him trying to force freedom onto unwilling creatures or making Harry fly into an irrational rage with mere words but you do you, Jo) and the sexist misconception that “girls are innately more mature than boys”, and you get yourself this apparent behemoth of righteousness that was literally the sole reason why those two silly boys survived everything, and don’t you dare criticize this angel of perfection OR ELSE.

#vivi answers #ask #hermione granger critical #hermione granger #hermione critical #harry potter series #ron weasley #jk rowling #anti jk rowling

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empyreanwritings · 4 years

Text

Over-Protective

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Udaku!Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Language (as usual), blood and gore, mentions of death, some sexual tension in between

Summary: You’re on a path of discovering all of Hydra’s secrets, but a certain someone keeps interrupting you when you least expect it.

A/N: This is my fic for @buckysknifecollection for the giveaway! Again, I am so sorry it took me so long, I have been struggling to keep up with all the fics I gotta write. Hopefully this is going to help push my motivation along. Ily so much, I really do hope you enjoy it! x

Feedback is always welcome and appreciated :) x

Hydra. A mob run by some of the most vile people in the city. No one could ever seem to get them under control, and anyone who tried ended up fired - or dead. While some politicians denied it, everyone knew they had their hands dipped in Hydra's honey pot; it was the only way they managed to stay in power so long. Pierce, who had more blood on his hands than the entire U.S. military, was the greatest example. No accusation ever seemed to stick.

Your family did its best to stay out of mob business, until Zemo killed your father. Your brother joined Steve Rogers, the only man who was willing to cross Hydra and take Zemo out. He became one of Steve's closest advisors when it came to business deals and expansion; he had a knack for ruling behind the scenes.

And your cousin, while you didn't agree with his methods, built his own world within the city. He seized the dock's out from under Hydra's control and made a new name for himself: Killmonger. Most of the family didn't approve of what he did to avenge your father, but you didn't mind much. The only time you actually despised seeing Erik was Thanksgiving because he always managed to swipe the last piece of pumpkin pie before you could. That was a worse betrayal than joining the mob could ever be in your eyes.

Despite everything, you still felt like it wasn't enough. You wanted to see Hydra burn. Everything they built, everything they stood for, you wanted to watch it crumble.

You slipped through crowds of people, doing your best not to be noticed by the man you were following. Working for The Daily Bugle taught you how to go unseen in order to get a good story. There were times you weren't always successful - like the first time you met Steve and managed to knock pipes all over the ground - but the longer you worked, the better you became. You tailed this man for miles, and he hadn't noticed you yet.

He stopped in one of the cafes, and you were just about to follow him in when someone grabbed you by your elbow and yanked you into the alley. The surprise of it caught you off guard, giving you no time to reach for your pepper spray before your attacker pinned your arms against the wall.

But you were surprised to look up and see it wasn't an attacker at all - it was Steve.

"What the hell are you doing?" You pitched your head forward to get him to stumble back, and once he let you go, you put a few feet between the two of you. You trusted him, but you were pissed he made you lose your only lead.

"Nakia called," he replied casually. "She said you were digging into things you shouldn't have been."

"Exposing Hydra's sex trafficking ring could be the biggest story of my career! And it can help us take them down once and for all!"

Steve huffed, a slight flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "There is no 'us' in all of this. You know your brother wants you to stay out, and I have to agree with him. Anyone who digs into Hydra's work disappears and gets recovered in the river a few days later."

You rolled your eyes. Every time Steve tried to use the "Your brother said so" excuse, you knew it wasn't just your brother. Steve let you sit in on a few of his interrogations, so you could work on your mob series. He didn't have to, but as soon as he found out you were T'Chaka's daughter, he knew you weren't going to just give up on what you were doing. Your entire family was filled with stubborn people. He figured if he gave you a little insight on what his life was like, you wouldn't feel the need to dig deeper. But he should have known you weren't going to stop until you uncovered the truth about Hydra and why they ordered the hit on your father.

"Stark said-"

"Of course Stark is behind this," he grumbled. "That man would be willing to sacrifice everyone that works for him in order to get a good scoop."

"Hey! You might not always get along with him, but he's actually on your side. He doesn’t want me to do this piece either because he knows what the repercussions can be." You shifted from side to side, Steve's piercing gaze suddenly making you feel like a bundle of nerves. "But he agreed to let me do it by myself, so I'm not dragging anybody else down with me."

"How does that make it better?"

"You will try to find something negative in everything I say, won't you?"

"Maybe I do because I'm the only one using common sense here!"

"Common sense?" You barked out a laugh. "You manage to have common sense in that thick skull of yours?"

You weren't sure how - or when - it happened, but you were suddenly very aware that you stood toe to toe with Steve. Your chin stuck out defiantly, and he rolled his shoulders back. Neither of you made a move to stand down, and it made your heart hammer inside of your chest.

It was a terrible time to notice, but you never realized how blue his eyes were. When he was angry, one of his eyebrows twitched, and you had to suppress the feeling to reach up and make it stop yourself. It was an urge you never had before. The feeling of being this close to him suddenly made you feel too hot, so you were the first one to step back. Reluctantly.

You pretended not to notice the disappoint flood his features because if he enjoyed being close to you, that meant everything was going to change. You weren't ready for something like that.

He sighed and ran his hands down his face. "I'm trying to look out for you. Your family doesn't need to bury another person this year."

You hated that he was right, but it wasn't his decision to make. You refused to let your father die in vain after all of the good he did for this world. He didn't deserve to meet his end the way he did, and if something happened to you while taking them down then so be it.

"I'm a big girl, Steve. I can handle myself."

You didn't give him a chance to argue with you again. You warned him that you would start screaming for help if he tried to stop you and took off out of the alley in hopes of finding your mark. He was long gone by the time you made it to the entrance of the alley, but you had a feeling you knew where he was going. You'd be able to catch up to him before the end of the day.

Steve watched you go, irritated that he couldn't convince you to stop digging. Your stubbornness was sexy when you weren't using it against him, but even then, he couldn't help but feel a little impressed.

He quickly dialed Bucky's number and moved back into the alley, so no one could hear him. He never knew what strangers were secretly involved with Hydra, and he didn't want anyone ratting him out to get into their good favor.

"Hey, Buck, I need you to do me a favor," he mumbled. "Y/N was looking into James Winderfield. Get his schedule and find out where he was going around this time. I need to get to him before she does."

---

Charming your way into a building with strong security was a lot harder than you expected it to be. The front desk workers weren't impressed with you slinging around titles. Who cared if you were supposedly the wife of a prince overseas? They saw couples like that all the time on TV, so they weren't fawning over you, but you got lucky because they just didn't want to deal with you. You imagined they had to deal with a lot of stuck up clients, and they were bending their last straw.

You made your way towards the elevators past security, slipping the fake rock off your finger and sliding it back into your purse. Not a single person was looking at you, and yet it felt like everyone was aware of your presence. Sneaking into a rival mob made you more paranoid than usual. You ended up working yourself into a small panic attack just as you made it into the elevator.

You were about to let out a small sigh of relief when a familiar, annoyingly smug, face stepped in and made sure no one got in after him when the doors closed.

If Steve Rogers was anything, he was a persistent man. You wanted to knock that persistence right in his nose, but you had a feeling you would break your hand before you did any real damage to that chiseled face of his. And it really was chiseled.

The two of you rode in silence for a few moments. He waited until you were two floors away to your destination to hit the emergency stop button, which made you throw your hands up and groan in total frustration. His lips twitched at the corners, and you knew right away he was enjoying this - and that irritated you more than actually being stopped.

"Oh, don't worry, the elevator will get fixed eventually," he assured you. "I won't be late to my meeting with Mr. Winderfield." You looked up at him, eyes growing wide and your chest beginning to heave. He furrowed his brows in mock confusion, and you knew he was gearing up to say something slick. "What's the matter? Was that the man you were trying to follow this morning?"

You ground your teeth together. "You knew that already. How the hell did you find out so quickly?"

"I have a feeling my sources are better than your sources."

"You can't call Bucky intimidating people a good source," you quipped.

Steve shrugged and leaned his hands back against the small railing. He clearly had no intention of letting you speak to Mr. Winderfield alone; why else would he show up here and let you get this far? If he set up a meeting, he was willing to entertain your plans but only on his terms.

You reminded yourself to thank Nakia for making your day a lot harder than you wanted it to be, but you understood where she was coming from. She wanted to keep you safe. She had been there the day you and your family found out about your father, and she didn't want them to go through that again. It wasn't entirely a bad thing. It really wasn't. Her protectiveness just made everything that much more difficult to obtain.

"Fine. What will it take for you to let me sit in and speak with him?" You asked, trying your best to hide the frustration in your voice.

"You don't speak with him at all." You opened your mouth to protest, but he stepped forward and pressed a finger to your lips. "You don't speak to him at all. I will make this seem like a casual conversation about Hydra encroaching on my territory, and you will take notes because you're my secretary. Write down names and locations, anything you may need to work your way up to Pierce. You will not say a word about who you are; you are just a secretary. Do you understand?"

Your mouth felt dry. The assertive tone to his voice made you understand why women seemed to fall at his feet when he called. His hands were so close to you, they could easily reach down and grab your chin or your throat and make you listen to every word falling from his lips. The words "I understand, Sir," were dancing on the tip of your tongue, and you wanted to slap yourself silly for even thinking it.

You quickly blinked and cleared your throat to recover. "Fine, fine, but don't skip any hard questions just because you don’t want me digging, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Steve hit the button again, and the elevator instantly sprung back to life. Once you stepped out, the cooler air of the floor hit your face and brought you back down to earth. Being that close to Steve made you feel hot, and it was the second time it happened today. You weren't sure what would go down if either of you ever made it to a third.

---

The meeting started off well. You understood how Steve managed to build his empire; he was a charming man, full of life and control. He commanded a room the second he stepped in. Not a single person would dare to take it from him or speak over him. Sometimes his control wasn't in words alone but in his body language as well.

Steve never sat down when he spoke. He kept his shoulders relaxed, but you could see the guarded expression on his face. He wasn't worried about losing control of the situation, but he was always prepared for the worst. You couldn't help but wonder if he was more on edge because of your presence. He didn't need to say it out loud - you could tell by the way he acted - your protection was most important to him. Your family didn't deserve to lose another person. And maybe he didn't want to lose you either.

Unfortunately, even with Steve trying his best, the meeting did go south. Winderfield knew who you were before you walked in. He played along for a little while, pretending he didn't know who your father was. It was when you tried to leave that you were greeted by the barrel of his gun. Neither of you knew, but an order was put out on anyone who tried to get information about T'Chaka's death - higher reward if the person taken out was family.

Steve should have predicted something like this, and he kicked himself for not doing so.

He looked between you and Winderfield, carefully and silently calculating his next move. The office was too wide. He knew he wouldn't be able to push you out of the line of fire before a bullet hit you.

"Don't even think about moving, Rogers," Winderfield hissed. "She'll be dead before you blink an eye."

"Wouldn't I be of more value to Hydra alive?" You piped up. Steve looked over at you as if you had two heads, and he wanted to yell at you to keep your mouth shut, but he didn't. Mainly because he worried that you would kill him as soon as you got the chance for doing so.

Winderfield scoffed. "What the hell are you going on about?"

"You want Killmonger's territory, right? Newsflash: I'm his cousin. He'll be willing to make a deal if there is sign of life." Erik loved you, but Steve didn't believe he'd give up his own territory for you. He was too unpredictable to trust, yet you spoke as if you believed your words wholeheartedly. "It would be a waste to let me die and not consider those possibilities."

There was a moment of hesitation in Winderfield's eyes, and Steve used the opportunity to draw his gun and shoot. The impact of the bullet made him drop his gun, but not before he got one shot in. Steve heard you yelp, and he turned to make sure you were okay. You were clutching your arm, streams of red pouring down your white sleeve. He was thankful it wasn't anything fatal; Mr. Winderfield couldn't say the same. Steve knew he landed a good shot. The man wouldn't survive the blood loss.

He dashed to your side, murmuring promises of patching you up once the two of you made it out of the building. You had to take the stairs since security was coming up the elevator. He practically had to carry you down the last few flights - partly because you were out of breath, but also due to the dizziness that started to settle in. You weren't sure if it was the thrill of everything going on or the blood still pouring from your arm, but you would have passed out if it weren't for Steve.

As he held you up, you noticed the way his muscles flexed under his shirt. It was a terrible time to notice something like that, you knew it, but you couldn't stop yourself from giving his bicep the slightest squeeze. If he caught on to what you did, he didn't make it known. Which you appreciated. If he thought you were feeling him up, his ego would never let you live it down.

A car was already waiting for you at the back exit, as if Steve knew something like this would happen. Ever the prepared man. Bucky sat in the driver's seat, his eyes going wide when Steve lifted you into the back. There wasn't time to question what happened; a small security group burst through the door you had just ran through and started firing at the car.

"Go!" Steve ordered, half a shout and half a plea.

He grabbed the back of your neck and forced your head down into his lap to avoid any of the shots. The tires of the car squealed to life as Bucky sped out of the alley. Your stomach lurched when he swerved into traffic, and based on the honks you heard, drivers weren't too happy about it either.

"I think I'm going to be sick," you whimpered. You started to loosen the pressure on your wound, and Steve instantly pressed his hand against it for you.

"Where should we go?" Bucky asked once he knew no one was tailing the three of you.

"Natasha's. She's far enough out of the city that we'll notice if someone is still following us."

Bucky sucked in a breath. "You know she's not going to like us showing up unannounced. With Wanda being pregnant and all-"

"She owes me," he quipped with such a finality in his tone that Bucky didn't bother to argue.

You didn't care where you ended up, you just silently hoped it would be somewhere with a suitable first aid kit. And maybe a bucket for you to finally throw up in.

---

Bucky was right, Natasha wasn't happy to see Steve on her doorstep, but she ushered the three of you in anyways. Steve was lucky looks couldn't kill because Natasha glared daggers at the back of his head the entire time. She only looked away when she realized you were going limp against his side. You thought you heard her mumble something about 'talking about this later' but you weren't entirely sure.

Steve guided you upstairs to the master bathroom. Droplets of blood hit the white tile, and you flinched at how disgusting it must have looked. You also felt bad because it was clear Natasha and her wife did a lot to keep their house looking clean. And here you were, walking through it with a trail of blood coming from you.

He helped you onto the counter before he started rummaging through everything for the first aid kit. You leaned back, resting your head against the mirror, and took several deep breaths. The wound couldn't have been too deep, but it was enough to make you feel queasy. Other people's blood didn't affect you as much as seeing your own did. Your blood was supposed to be inside your body, so when it wasn't, your brain worked overtime to make you feel faint.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence as he cleaned you up. You managed to hold in your groans even when he started to stitch the wound. Every time you flinched, Steve would pause and let you get used to the pain before continuing on. He was gentle. And attentive. He paid attention to even the slightest change in breathing to gauge how you were doing and continued on accordingly.

"You're a little too good at stitches," you teased quietly, not able to get yourself to speak much louder. "Should I be worried about your meetings always ending up in shootouts?"

Steve looked up at you, a small smile dancing at the corner of his lips. "You admitting you worry about me in general?"

"I'm worried about my brother, actually. Since you drag him along to all of them."

He hummed in response, not believing your words for a second. You weren't a terrible liar; you just weren't sure what the truth was right now.

Did you care about your brother's safety when he was around Steve? Of course you did. But your worry didn't stem from Steve's ability to protect him. He showed you today that he was quick to act when it came to protecting others. There was just a small voice in your mind that kept pushing you to admit you cared about Steve's safety too. Not because of your brother, but because you cared about him in general. Even if he was a pain in your ass.

"You saved my life today," you mentioned with a smile. "Thank you."

"I'd do it again."

You chuckled. "Because my brother would kill you if you didn't?"

"No," he paused, giving himself a moment to think about that answer, and shook his head. "Well, yes, but that's not the only reason."

"Oh?"

"Don't pretend like you don't already know what that is."

You trapped your bottom lip between your teeth. You did know, but was it wrong of you to want him to say it out loud? He was a man that made your stomach do cartwheels with a single look. His smile made any woman - yourself included - swoon. He could have anyone he wanted in this world, and all you wanted was for him to admit that he only wanted you.

You wondered if that was moving too fast, so you stayed quiet.

"I care about you too," you assured him.

He paused again. A beat of silence passed, and he leaned over to press a kiss on your forehead. He didn't say it, but you knew he was thinking it. He cared about you just as much.

And that was enough for now.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x black!reader #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #mob!steve rogers #mob au #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #marvel one shot #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic

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monstersdownthepath · 4 years

Text

Deity: Iai-Cophleal, the Scarred Diviner

Lawful Evil Outer God of Destiny, Agony, and Sacrifice

Domains: Evil, Knowledge, Magic, Rune, Void Subdomains: Velstrac, Education, Memory, Rites, Legislation, Dark Tapestry Favored Weapons: Scalpel (dagger) Symbol: An eye with three scars trailing down its surface; or hand with its fingers curled inwards towards an eye in its palm. Sacred Animals: None Sacred Colors: Purple, red

BIG WARNING: This deity deals a lot in the concepts of torture and self-harm. Do not read further if you are sensitive to either topic.

What would you give to know?

What price would you pay to understand?

What sacrifices would you make to achieve enlightenment?

How much are you willing to suffer to get what you want?

The core belief in the faith if the Scarred Diviner is that all progress requires sacrifice, that one can never gain without giving. The alien god holds fast to his belief that pain, fear, loss, and death are the greatest motivators for change and adaptation, and that many of the greatest creations or steps forward in mortal history have been achieved in the throes of deep and piercing agony. It is through this suffering that all have learned, and it is through yet more than he will teach.

He is the guardian of knowledge against the unworthy, those who’d sacrifice nothing, who’ve never known suffering, and those who’d never pay the price themselves. Such creatures will find themselves unwelcome in the Diviner’s flock, unable to hear anything but his barest whispers and scraps of knowing, because while they can torment as many helpless victims as they want in his name, it’s the victims themselves that gain the greatest insights into the truths of the cosmos and receive his greatest blessings. They are the ones paying, after all.

The Scarred Diviner can be called cruel, sadistic, or callous, but he is fair. Knowledge belongs to those who pay for it. And the more you give, the more you get.

The Scarred Diviner is something of an anomaly among Outer Gods, registering and interacting with mortal life on a scale even their comparatively diminutive minds can understand. He does not see them as insects to be exterminated or ignored; indeed, he does not view them as insignificant at all. Perhaps to the greatest among their kind--Yog-Sothoth, Azathoth, and Shub-Nishurath--mortal life is little more than dust, but to the Diviner, their capacity for change under pressure (Outer Gods rarely change or experience pressure) is an absolutely fascinating phenomena, one he has studied ever since there was life to study.

In a universe filled with suffering, going out of your way to inflict yet more upon yourself to gain strength through adversity is a blessed act to the Diviner, an act that must be rewarded. His faith is thus filled with people covered in ritualistic scars and bearing the signs of self-inflicted tortures and dismemberment, who perform excruciating experiments upon themselves and each other in an attempt to commune with and please their lord. The screaming of nerves, burning of muscles, creaking and cracking of bones, and tearing of flesh is sometimes referred to as “his voice” or “his song,” and those who ‘hear’ it long enough begin to receive flashes of divine inspiration and instruction, visions of the future or of steps they must undertake to reach their goals, answers to the questions that plague them or instructions on how to find them, or even the keys to obtaining divine magic.

As one discovers and surpasses the limits to the agonies they can feel, eventually their bodies will simply no longer respond to their self-inflicted tortures, and the Diviner’s song begins to fade from them. Most turn to restorative magic to fix their most grievous injuries and heal dead nerves, but the fact of the matter is that, eventually, they will reach a point where they feel pain, but no longer suffer. While many would consider such a state to be ‘perfect,’ believing that all the weakness has been carved from their bodies, those used to feeling the song coursing through them and those who still need answers may grow desperate to feel again. The former is difficult to satisfy, the supplicants often ending up destroying themselves in the search for more exotic means of self-torment, but the latter is thankfully rectified by the fact that the Diviner cares little who is paying his price, so long as someone is.

Within the faith, members who’ve scoured their bodies to the point of numbness often work through proxies. Initiates who long to hear the voice of the Diviner, practiced members who need to learn more, poor fools stolen from the streets or their beds, it matters not who suffers so long as there is suffering. The Diviner rewards the victim with the answers to questions they ask (or are forced to ask), the torturer-surgeon attending then extracting those answers via whatever means are at their disposal. With others in the faith, it can be as simple as asking. With stolen victims, their nerves unprepared and screaming in time with the song, are typically less likely to simply hand over what they’ve learned through their blessed suffering and may require some coercing. Of course, most will shout everything they’ve gained just to make it all stop. Alas, the intricacies of enlightenment through adversity can be lost on the uninitiated.

Rather understandably, this practice causes pockets of the Diviner’s faithful tend to veer into “sadistic torture cult” territory (and be justifiably viewed as such by polite society). He blesses those who pay his price, but the lazy and weak will often get others to pay the price for them--willingly or otherwise--and then extract the obtained knowledge from their victim without ever suffering a single papercut themselves. They go on their merry way to live a life free of suffering, never changing or facing adversity. He does not hold back when punishing those who would abuse his system; direct action is impossible for him as it is for any divine figure, but those true to his faith will quickly hunt down these “soft ones” and teach them to truly hear his song. In a similar vein, he dislikes those who torture their victims to death so that they cannot use the knowledge they’ve paid for, and will work to punish those who too often prevent the Diviner’s song from concluding properly.

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OBEDIENCE AND BOONS

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Mortals have been suffering ever since the very first birth, all of their collective knowledge driven towards the goal of minimizing and eliminating that very suffering. Abundance and safety are anathema to the Diviner, who believes that safety will lead to stagnation, that a lack of danger or threat of agony will prevent mortals from continuing to adapt. Thus, he and his flock work to assure mortalkind will keep moving forward, quietly sabotaging events on both a short- and long-term scale to prevent or subvert anything that would otherwise birth utopias or civilizations free of worry.

The majority of the Diviner’s faith are masochistic mortals either attracted by the allure of knowledge or looking for a purpose to their penchant for mortification. While individual organized cults may be more restrictive (a dislike of Constructs is especially common), the Diviner himself accepts all kinds into his flock; those of any background or species are accepted, for all beings can suffer in one way or another. His faith is especially popular among trollkind, whose regenerative abilities allow for an endless cycle of self-destruction and who can perform one of the most powerful sacred acts of the faith: gutting ones self to divine the future through one’s own entrails. This action is obviously fatal without the assistance of healing magic or major medical intervention, but the trolls can do so with almost insulting regularity and ease... Which is why the Diviner regularly demands that they escalate even further, branding their bodies and their exposed organs with fire and acid.

Velstrac who dislike the madness of their Demagogues can find curious solace in the teachings of the Diviner, turning away from the practice of endlessly butchering others to graft the most appealing parts onto themselves and instead moving towards... the practice of endlessly butchering others for the sake of teaching them. Velstrac who serve the Diviner sometimes claim to have found some corrupted equivalent to self-sacrificing enlightenment, unable to hear the Diviner for themselves due to the ruination of their bodies but eager to help others listen to his song.

As Outer Gods do not possess a dedicated Prestige Class for accelerating the power of their faithful, one can only enter the actual Evangelist, Sentinel, and Exalted Prestige Classes to obtain Boons at a much faster pace. Otherwise, they are gained at levels 12, 16, and 20. One must have the Deific Obedience feat to enter into the mentioned Prestige Classes, and entering the classes as soon as possible allows one to obtain the Boons at levels 8, 11, and 14.

Obedience: Ritualistically inflict painful wounds upon yourself or upon another living creature. These wounds are grievous and scarring, reducing the recipient’s HP maximum by 3 for the next 24 hours. The recipient must be able to survive the reduction for this ritual to succeed. Benefit: The recipient of the ritual torture selects two Knowledge skills. They gain a +4 profane bonus to checks with those skills, and are considered trained in those skills for 24 hours.

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EVANGELIST

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Boon 1: Sight And Suffering (Sp): Gain Anticipate Peril 3/day, Augury 2/day, or Inflict Pain 1/day.

Boon 2: Hear His Song (Sp): Through suffering, you shall receive the answers you seek. Once per day, you may inflict a gruesome, lengthy, and agonizing ritual upon yourself or another sapient creature that is willing or helpless. This ritual takes one hour to perform and inflicts 5 points of Constitution damage on the victim if they are a living creature. Undead take 5 points of Charisma damage; being reduced to 0 Charisma destroys them. The creature must be able to survive this affliction for the ritual to succeed. At the conclusion of this ritual, the victim asks the Diviner a single question and receives an answer to it as if they had used the spell Commune. Unlike most beings contacted with Commune, the Diviner is omniscient and is capable of answering any question that can be answered with yes, a no, or a five-word phrase. The damage from this ritual cannot be undone through any means for 24 hours.

Boon 3: Apostle of Pain (Su): In the twisted, blood-soaked dungeons of the Diviner’s most horrid faithful, creatures of great power await the call of his greatest agents, eager to show off their talents. Once per day as a full-round action, you may call an Advanced Velstrac Interlocutor to your side, which will unquestionably obey your commands. In addition to its normal retinue of spells, this Interlocutor may use both Heal and Harm 1/day. It lingers for 1 minute per HD you possess, after which it politely departs, vanishing back to its home.

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EXALTED

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Boon 1: Careful Cuts (Sp): Gain Inflict Minor Wounds 3/day, Cure Moderate Wounds 2/day, or Fractions of Heal and Harm 1/day.

Boon 2: Touch of a Surgeon (Ex/Sp): Helping your victims back on their feet (provided they still have feet) is an important step in the Diviner’s beliefs, as slaying your victims after every session is likely to anger him if it happens too often. You gain a profane bonus equal to half your HD to all Heal checks, and may treat creatures with Heal in half the normal time (a standard action is reduced to a swift action). You may treat a particular creature’s deadly wounds a number of times equal to their Constitution modifier (min 1) each day. In addition, mistakes happen; thus, you may also cast Breath of Life as a spell-like ability 1/day.

Boon 3: Tapestry of Scars (Ex): Your body bears countless terrible scars and wounds from your self-inflicted injuries, but you are not inconvenienced by them; quite the opposite, in fact. You’ve been cutting weakness and ignorance from your body for ages now, and the Diviner blesses these wounds, granting you a +2 profane bonus to your Armor Class, as well as to your Constitution score and one mental ability score of your choice.

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SENTINEL

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Boon 1: Cruel Teacher (Sp): Gain Interrogation 3/day, Blood Armor 2/day, or Excruciating Deformation 1/day.

Boon 2: Mercy in Cruelty (Ex): You know exactly where to strike to cause lethal blows... And know even better how to render a victim unconscious through agony alone, so that you may use them further later. You gain +2d6 Sneak Attack damage, stacking with any Sneak Attack damage you may already have. You may use a dagger nonlethally without suffering a penalty, and doing so allows you to use your Sneak Attack nonlethally as well. When using a dagger to deal nonlethal damage, your bonus Sneak Attack damage from this ability is raised to +4d6.

Boon 3: Tortuous Chorus (Sp): The Diviner’s song reaches a terrifying volume within you each time you suffer enough damage, a volume you cannot possibly contain within your own body. Each time you take damage equal to or exceeding 25% of your total HP from a single action (such as an attack or a full attack, a spell or spell-like ability, or an environmental hazard), you may use an immediate action to shriek out in agony, afflicting a number of creatures equal to your Constitution modifier (min 1) of your choice that are within 60ft of you with Power Word Stun. This Power Word Stun is a pain effect, rather than a compulsion and mind-affecting effect. You may use this ability a number of times each day equal to your Constitution modifier (min 1).

#torture /#body horror /#self harm /#Original Concepts

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sunshinebunnie · 4 years

Note

Happy Holidays! If it strikes your creative fancy.. #14 with Bughead for the holiday prompts ask game!

**Squee** Thank you so much for this lovely ask, Sarah!! I hope you like it. 🤗🤗

Kissing Beneath the 23rd Floor

Jughead banged his head against the wall of the elevator when the greenish-orangish lights flickered for the umpteenth time. He hated living in the dorms, but the housing allowance that came with his writing scholarship couldn’t be transferred to off-campus housing (not that it would’ve covered anything other than 21st century tenement housing anyway given New York’s insane rents). As embarrassing as it was to be the only non-residential advisor junior living in a freshman/sophomore dorm, the housing office had at least done him the courtesy of securing him a single on the top floor. While he certainly couldn’t beat the view and he greatly appreciated not having to deal with the sounds of people having sex above him or puking in a trashcan five feet from his bed in the middle of the night, he was at the mercy of the latest and greatest in 1960s elevator technology. Nearly every other week, there were signs taped to the elevators banks indicating at least one or the other of the building’s elevators was out of commission because of repairs.

The creaky metal box came to a shuddering stop at 14th floor. As the doors slowly opened with a protesting screech, Jughead found himself silently praying that some freshman had decided to play ding-dong-ditch with the elevators. Over the course of the semester, he’d quickly come to learn that the only thing worse than living in a dorm with antiquated facilities was living in a dorm with antiquated facilities with underclassmen. It had taken him a couple weeks, but he’d eventually managed to figure out the tell-tale signs that someone was a freshman and largely avoided getting on to the elevators with them: he’d been subjected one too many times to someone’s wide-eyed story about how it was their life dream to move to New York! as well as a couple awkward instances of being sloppily propositioned by drunk freshmen (men and women), not to mention the especially memorable time after midterms when a comp sci major bawled against his shoulder for sixteen floors because he’d flunked his coding exam. He held his breath as he waited to see whether one of Santa’s “lost elves” was about to get on the elevator with him (he’d already had thirteen unavoidable encounters this week).

When no one immediately made to get on the elevator, he started to breathe a sigh of relief, only to tense up as a hand suddenly shot between the slowly closing doors. The disembodied appendage flailed for a second, trying to find the elevator’s sensor to signal that someone was trying to get on. As the doors continued shutting, he heard a muffled voice that sounded like it said ‘for fuck’s sake’ as the waving hand disappeared. For a split second, he considered just appreciating his good luck and enjoying the rest of his elevator ride (hopefully) in peace, but then he thought back to what time it probably was. It had already been after 11:30 when Archie’s gig had wrapped up, which meant it had to be nearing midnight or later. The only people he’d run into in his dorm that late at night who sounded as coherent as the person on the other end of the elevator doors were the residential advisors. With a heavy sigh, he reached for the “door open” button.

It took long enough for the doors to reopen that he was almost beginning to think he’d broken the elevator when a cheery, but tired-looking blonde stepped gracefully into the confined space. Her hunter green corduroy skirt was offset by a pristine cream-colored sweater covered with a tasteful motif of poinsettias made out of delicate red glass seed beads. If it had been anyone else, he would’ve immediately glanced at her feet to see if she was wearing the ubiquitous Uggs that nearly every sophomore girl in the building appeared to own; however, he recognized her ponytail. (He should’ve, after all, having been transfixed by it every Monday and Wednesday from 10 to 11:30 during their required survey course freshman year: Intro to Film Studies.)

Betty Cooper.

He’d wanted an excuse to talk to her, but had never worked up the nerve. Toni, Sweet Pea and Fangs had latched on to him for their group project within the first week of class, and she always seemed to be surrounded by some guy named Kevin and a forbidding brunette named Veronica. Out of all his friends, Toni seemed to be the only one who’d caught him mooning over her from time to time, and she’d jokingly given him shit that he should just bite the bullet and create an Instagram account so he could stalk her properly.

Jughead was so caught up in his own memories that it took him a minute to realize she was giving him an odd look of searching recognition: it was a look he’d frequently gotten in high school when more popular people from Riverdale High would run into the “loner weirdo from the Southside” around town. Before he had a chance to confirm to her that yes, they did know each other, her green eyes lit up a little, and she said, “Jughead?”

Any ability he had to comprehend or communicate in English–or in any other way, for that matter–abandoned him as he stared dumbly at her in shock. When he didn’t initially respond, the small crinkles at the corners of her eyes started to smooth out as she repeated a little more tentatively, “It is Jughead, right? I remember you. From Film Studies? Freshman year? You always had really insightful comments on all the Hitchcock movies. I’m Bett…”

“…Betty Cooper. I remember,” he finished for her, his brain and his mouth having finally reconnected to one another.

The tentative look she had was once again chased away by a tired smile as she acknowledged he recognized her too. Betty briefly turned to look at the floor buttons before giving her attention back to him. Having mutually confirmed that they knew each other, they settled back into that semi-awkward silence that tends to pervades elevators when the occupants know one another, but not well enough for casual conversation to come naturally. Jughead watched as she began to unconsciously worrying at the cuffs of her sweater before he said, “I didn’t realize you were one of the residential advisors here.”

Betty ducked her head to the side as she softly tittered for a second before replying, “Oh, that’s because I’m not. There’s a mold problem in my campus apartment, and facility services can’t take care of it until Monday. My friend Ethel is off skiing in the Poconos this weekend with her sorority sisters though, so she’s letting me crash in her room.”

He knew Ethel. She was one of the “motherly” advisors that the more homesick freshmen seemed to swarm around like gnats. Jughead had tried being cordial with her initially–like he was with most of the other upperclassmen in the building–but had started avoiding her more recently after she’d taken it into her head that she needed to Witness to him and had become hellbent on converting him.

Before the awkward silence descended on them again, Betty prompted, “Do you like being an advisor?”

Jughead let out a dry laugh, which earned him a confused look from her, before he replied, “I’m not an advisor either.”

Betty’s face lit up for the briefest of seconds before her brows started knitting together again. Right as he was going to ask what was bothering her, she said, “You don’t strike me as the booty call type.”

As a creative writing major, Jughead rarely found himself speechless, yet Betty Cooper had managed to strike him dumb twice in under five minutes. He could only imagine how hard Toni would be laughing if she could see him now. His normal embarrassment at admitting he lived in the building was quickly overridden by his desire to disabuse her of the notion that he was somehow preying on young women who weren’t much older than jailbait. Closing his eyes for a second, he centered his thoughts, before steadily holding her gaze as he said seriously, “I’m not. I live here.”

The confusion on her face only deepened as she said, “But you said you’re not an advisor.”

He sighed. This was the explanation he hated getting into with other upperclassmen. He was supposed to be doing a semester abroad at a prestigious writing retreat; however, getting everything settled, he found out the stipend he’d been depending on to cover his living expenses for the four months he was there had been given to a “more challenged” candidate. Unable to make the financials work, he’d been forced to scrap his study abroad plan at the last minute. While getting into the classes he wanted hadn’t been too difficult (the benefit of being a faculty favorite within the department), sorting out his housing had proved much more difficult. Toni had wound up transferring to an all-women’s college upstate at the start of their sophomore year, while Sweet Pea and Fangs moved off campus. Without really knowing any other juniors or seniors, he hadn’t been able to get into a suite with anyone he knew he’d get along with, and he wasn’t willing to risk moving in with another psychotic like his freshman roommate, Malachai. When a freshman decided to de-enroll two weeks before the start of school, campus housing had shoved him into the newly available single and called it a day.

Rather than get into his sob story with her, he opted for the decidedly more taciturn explanation: “There were complications with my study abroad program, and this was the only available housing left.”

Jughead paused, waiting for the invariable look that decried, ‘Seriously? You couldn’t find a single upperclassman to live with? What’s wrong with you?’ Before he could go on the defensive though, Betty turned soft green eyes full of genuine sympathy toward him as she said, “That must’ve been really frustrating for you. At least, I know when I had to cancel my study abroad plans it was really frustrating.”

A part of him wanted to snap that he didn’t need her pity, but the more rational side of him was able to squash the self-destructive impulse before he did something stupid—like act on it. Instead, he found himself giving her a small smile back as he said, “It was.”

Silence settled back over them again, periodically broken up by high-pitched squealing from the elevator’s ancient cable wheel. By the time they’d reached the 19th floor, several minutes had passed without them speaking, and Betty had begun looking earnestly at her shoes to avoid the temptation to stare at the enigmatic man sharing the small space with her. She was just starting to daydream about what might’ve happened if she’d listened to Veronica freshman year and simply given him her phone number when she suddenly heard him ask, “What’s the occasion?”

Her head popped up like a prairie dog at the unexpected question before she briefly glanced back down to take a look at her outfit. “This? No occasion,” she said with a slight blush, “A few of us from the student paper got together to watch the tree lighting at Rockefeller Center, then grabbed some drinks after.”

He nodded sagely, although in three years of living in Manhattan, it had never once occurred to him to go see a Christmas tree get lit up. The image of Betty standing in front of a comically large tree covered in twinkling fairy lights suddenly popped into his head—the whole idea seemed positively Rockwellian to him, and a small sardonic grin pulled at the edges of his mouth. At least, it did, until he realized Betty hadn’t gotten on the elevator at the ground floor, and his good humor quickly morphed into a scowl. “Seducing impressionable freshmen with the romantic holiday atmosphere, Mrs. Robinson?” he asked just dryly enough for it to still be considered a joke, but it was close.

Betty’s eyes shot wide open, and for the briefest second, he thought she was going to slap him, but instead, she threw her head, her ponytail dancing in time with her tinkling laughter. “Hardly,” she said when she finally caught her breath. “More like letting Trev cry on my shoulder after finding out the guy he’s sort of been seeing this semester has a very serious girlfriend back home in Connecticut, who decided to come down for the weekend as a surprise.”

Jughead winced. He didn’t know Trevor well, but he’d periodically shared a creaky elevator ride with the quiet ceramics major, and what happened to him was a shitty thing to go through.

The elevator had just pulled passed the 20th floor when it let out a particularly loud whine of protest before coming to an abrupt halt. The sudden change in momentum caught them both by surprise. Although Betty valiantly attempted to stay upright, her efforts were for naught as Jughead slammed heavily into her with a loud oof.

“Ow!” Betty cried as her hip slammed into the aluminum grab bar screwed to the wall of the elevator.

“Sorry!” Jughead said, his hand reflexively dropping to Betty’s waist as he braced himself for the fall.

His fingers feathered over a sliver of exposed skin on her back as her sweater rode up slightly, and she shivered a little from the unexpected contact. Jughead’s eyes dropped to her lips before sweeping back up to her face. A light blush spread across her cheeks as she looked up at him with something akin to longing, and his heart started to race. Her eyes flickered past his ear.

“Mistletoe,” she said breathily.

“Huh?” he said as her captivating eyes settled back on his face.

“Someone hung mistletoe from the lights,” she whispered with a husky burr coloring her voice.

His heart momentarily stuttered in his chest. He didn’t normally ascribe to the sort of forced holiday merriment that mistletoe pretended to embody; however, as Betty’s hopeful gaze slowly settled back toward his lips, he found himself leaning infinitesimally closer toward her.

“Remind me,” he said softly as he felt the humidity caused by the warm exhalations of her mouth so close to his skin, “what’s the tradition with mistletoe?”

Without another word, Betty closed the small gap between them, pressing her plush, velvety lips to his. He groaned against her mouth as all of his synaptic nerves suddenly fired off like fireworks on New Year’s Eve, and he reflexively pulled Betty closer to him. Her tongue probed his half open mouth more eagerly than he was anticipating as her fingers pulled sharply on the fine hairs at the base of his neck, and the sharp sting caught him pleasantly by surprise. Pulling his mouth away from hers, he nipped teasingly at her bottom lip when she let out a small plaintive mewl of displeasure at his having broken off their kiss.

Jughead couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he took in the full scope of her adorable pout. Before he had a chance to make a playfully sarcastic comment though, the stalled elevator slowly started rumbling back to life. His eyes reflexively sought out the floor guide, and he felt his heart drop a little when he realized Betty was destined to get off in two more floors. He could sense his normal “bah-humbug” romantic feelings begin overtaking him again as he realized his shared moment with Betty was all too fleeting.

As the light for the 21st floor weakly illuminated, Jughead could see Betty chewing on her lip as if she was contemplating a question. As if on cue, he heard her ask in a quietly suggestive voice, “Do you believe in Krampus, Jughead?”

His brow knit momentarily in confusion before he replied a little more brusquely than he otherwise would’ve intended, “No. Why?”

Betty gave him a blinding grin before balling her fist in his soft cotton t-shirt and yanking him toward the creakily opening doors as she said, “Good. Because I aim to misbehave.”

~*~The End~*~

#reindeergames #riverdale #bughead #Sunshinebunnie ficlet #betty x jughead

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neargaztambide · 4 years

Text

Civilized Games

Summary: just a fast question... do you like play chess?

Words: 1.630, almost.

Text made for the Stan Twins Celebration Month, idea from @thestanbros (week number two: BIRTHDAY).

WARNING: This story in its beginning may not seem about the Stan twins, but this requires understanding the metaphorical language (and the bizarre, strange and referential language) that has content. It is not for being pretentious, but it will make you think a little. Also, this story plays and changes a little the prompt for this week. You’ll know of what I’m talking about later.. Enjoy.

Two people were heading to a table: a chair for each. On the table was nothing more than chess boards, which were sixteen wide and nine long. The two armies looked at each other: one pink, the other yellow. These were ready to kill the opponent, and give the ultimate victory to their owners. The leader of the yellow was a class lord: Victorian outfit, monocle included. His opponent was a woman in a white dress, who took the pink figures. Neither spoke. They looked at each other, and continued without speaking. The woman put her arm on a pawn, and moved it just one square. "I suppose you are very insecure about moving, right?" The man moved a pawn in two positions. The woman did not speak, until she moved her first pawn again, one step again. "You know perfectly well what this game implies, and who will care about the result." "And what if they never find out?" “You have always been like this: you obscure everyone you met” The woman moved to keep her king intact, and the other wanted to attack, to go straight for the head. “. And you always think that everything can be false, unless it is in your favor. You are purely egocentric.” The man silently glared at the woman, not knowing how to contradict what she had just said. They kept playing, and so it got slower and more boring. After the initial phase, movements became more thoughtful: winning was everything. Losing was far worse than a simple endgame. "So if one of us wins, he can do whatever he wants." "I'll get you to do a handstand for an hour." "You know the rules perfectly, and who set them." The man stopped after moving his horse, and the woman approached with confidence. "Let's get serious: I'm not going to allow you to win." "Do you want to move, please?" The man wanted to get down to business in that game, because winning was too important. “Well: do you want to know?: Of course I know the rules.” Then, the woman moved, but the man made his horse eat her tower, which caused the woman to take a little finger near her teeth to bite her. She did it gently.

The man noticed it thanks to his insight. "You are nervous, right?" The woman quickly looked up, and that caused a good feeling of victory in the man, but he was able to disguise it with a completely serious and unreserved face: he was catching her. Mind games, convince her about her flaws, and make her believe; sow the seed of doubt so that he can control her. "What do you mean?" "Look at the board." The woman did, and realized that the man was close enough to check, and to eat the queen. That would mean she would be in trouble. “I already know what I am going to want when I win: to see you decay in fear. Doesn't that seem like a good request?” The woman felt a drop of sweat crown her forehead. The man toyed with her mustache as she felt victorious. “It would start with a simple terror. I don't know why, but it would be easy. Then... and sooner rather than later, if I am to be honest, it will consume you from the inside out, until you are... an empty shell. Like this… ” The man did not finish of speaking, when the woman said: “crown me”. The man did not understand, until he looked down to see that a pawn, the same one with which the woman had started the game, had reached the other end of the board. “And what does that even...?” The woman interrupted him, finally removing her little finger from the mouth: “In chess, there’s a rule called coronation; and it is applied when a pawn reaches the other end of the board. And so, you can turn it any other piece. And I want a new horsey.” The woman had recovered her calm, and she looked remarkably determined. He snapped mockingly.

The man did not refute that rule: he remembers it perfectly.

There began the decline of the man during the rest of the game: she moved during his speech taking advantage of the fact that it was an oversight. He kept going and going, promising himself he was going to win. But, the problem is that the woman had already gained him an immense advantage. No matter how hard he tried, she always ate his pieces, and made sure to keep him in line with her king. She always had her pawns reach the other end and they had to be crowned - plus, there was an insidious bishop who couldn't corner, and she was going around the entire board-. But, by grace, luck, or carelessness, her king was careless. "You forgot something, my dear" The man had long since despaired, and he was noted by the angry expression. The woman looked at him, putting her little finger in her mouth as she had done before. “: a king above all has to have eyes on his back! Check.” The man put a horse dangerously close to the pink king. He was clearly saying to her: "retire now, if not...” “And I say the same: checkmate.”

youtube

That was the final thing that made the man almost lose his nerves. "But what...?!" Upon seeing it, the man regretted the check almost immediately: that woman had put his precious yellow king in a slaughterhouse by cornering him with queens and a single pawn. He was basically in the greatest doom, finally being sealed by a bishop. The woman finished the game, causing the bishop to go after the king, causing him to fall to the ground. "How…?" The woman took a few seconds to assimilate her victory, and stepped all the pieces back in measure, while the man brought his right hand to his face and squeezed. "Let me answer that question with another question: do you know what the golden rectangle is?" To be honest, the man did not know. There came an explanation with quite a bit of mathematical poise: that rectangle was, simply, a visual representation of equal proportions, even with smaller rectangles for logarithmic use. “For example: this board is a perfect golden rectangle, and can create other rectangles to infinity. Look.” The woman took out a marker and began to make lines, and so she created those figures until it was almost impossible to do more. “It serves to make infinite sequences of numbers, as well as everything that has to do with the subject. However...” The woman paused dramatically, and took the bishop with which she had won and put it in its original position.

“There is more about it. For example, the golden spiral. These two themes complement each other. All this is considered divine, and the spiral ” The woman made the bishop move, making movements that made a rather pyramidal spiral. The man saw that with horror, but in turn, trying to guess what her sentence would be for having lost miserably. “It is not less: it is found in some galaxies, clouds, in some animals, in almost everything you want, basically. So” The woman said this with complete certainty, and already seemed to be very professional: she raised her voice to be heard more than by the man… maybe she wanted to be heard by something bigger than her, or him. “, everything you do or try to do will be like the rectangle, the spiral. All your intentions will end like this chess game: an infinite loose. And acknowledging your sins will be the only way to end your evil. It's a good request... don't you think so?”

During that explanation and sentence, the man had become angry. He was blinded, completely drowned by anger and hatred. He couldn't believe it... that... that!... “You... filthy lizard ...” The woman looked at the man, completely calm even when this guy looked completely insane. “I'm gonna kill you, you bitch!”

The man jumped at her: oh, of course he was ready to kill her. He was going to suffocate her with his bare hands, he didn't care: he could. He can, of course he can!... but she was missing. In a daze, she disappeared.

No... damn it, no... how is that possible? “No... no, no, no, no...” The man raised his right hand to his face. He scratched and was mistreating his face by making him bleed. He made it so strong, with the combination of defeat, resignation and anger that he made his monocle begin to crack.

“Oh my God! Filbrick!” The man stands up in a second from his seat, tossing the newspaper aside when he heard his wife screaming. The man went to his room, and his pregnant wife was screaming in pain. He saw her, with fear and disgust, that Caryn was... –Filbrick, is coming… -

The husband helped his wife down the stairs. They crossed by the pawn shop. The night before, they played a very quick game of chess: the black king was defeated by a white bishop.

On that day, not only was the birth of two souls was celebrated. That day, every year, not only was their birthday celebrated. Also, that day represented the first nail placed in the grave of a very, very distant being. The loser's fate was sealed forever, by a civilized game.

#thestansbros #stan twins event #bill cipher #chess #axolotl #gravity falls #week 2: birthday #stan twins

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lov3nerdstuff · 5 years

Text

Fallen {Part 2}

*Loki x reader*

{Part 1} {Part 3}

Chapter: 2/?

Words: 2k

Imagine: You go on a more or less involuntary roadtrip with Loki after he finds you hiding in Grand Canyon. With the Avengers AND the police chasing you, you are forced to trust each other in ways neither of you could've imagined.

Genre: mainly humor, little fluffy

"And why are you here?" Loki asked, letting his gaze wander over the rocky landscape.

"Nah… doesn't really matter. I'm here. That's all that matters." You mused, gazing up to the millions upon millions of stars.

There was something in the way your voice carried their meaning through the silence and it made Loki shiver involuntarily. He was sure of one thing: you didn't refuse to tell him because he was a stranger. No, it was something far worse and he would make sure to find out what it was. For now all he could tell was that the memory pained you. Usually, under normal circumstances and with any other being but you it would be his greatest joy to dig deep into this wound until his target cracked, crashed and burned. But for some reason, being here with you made him want to do rather the opposite. Not because you were so fragile or because he cared so much… he just couldn't imagine to voluntarily hurt you and so he didn't inquire any further. You seemed equally lost in thought and thus the two of you remained in the comfortable silence of the nature around you.

"Are you cold?" Loki finally asked and his smooth voice seemed to cut through the cold nightly air like a breath of fire. Despite every vain attempt to keep his cool and pretend that not every nerve in his body was ablaze, he just couldn't stop himself from growing increasingly fond of you and with a speed he couldn't quite comprehend.

"How'd you get the impression? Can you read my mind?" You smirked.

"No. You're shivering." He rolled his eyes at your ridiculous question, but only then realized that you were merely mocking him, playing him like a damn game of cards. He let out a long breath and ran a hand through his hair. If he kept being around you, and he knew he would, you'd drive him absolutely mad.

"Why do you sit as far away from me as possible?" You asked with a teasing curiosity, closing your eyes and slightly swinging your foot to a music only you could hear.

"I don't like being around people." He answered coldly, his voice coming out harsher than intended.

"And yet you are still here…" You sang and turned your head to face him. The huge grin on your lips was the most annoying thing he'd ever seen and yet… also the most endearing.

"You know nothing about me." Loki sighed.

"Oh well, I know that your name is Loki, that's something at least. You're probably not out here alone, but you despise your company. Probably the Avenger-guys, if you ask me. Only ever saw them on TV to be honest, but they seem quite… righteous." You laughed, making him chuckle in return.

"Righteous is a very... fitting way to put it." Loki grinned at you. "Kind of an understatement though."

"Nah…" You winked at him. "I bet they are annoying as hell."

Loki let out a loud and sincere laugh. "Oh, you have no idea! They are a melting pot of mundaneness, prejudice and witty remarks."

"Well, I could live with the witty remarks." You chuckled. "But the rest… I'm not that much into normal people."

Loki grinned at you; of course you didn't like normal people. Otherwise you'd hardly be sitting alone in the wilderness talking to a stranger in the dark.

"I get why you'd run away." You sighed, sitting back up and crossing your legs beneath you.

"You do?" He asked immediately.

"Well, I… I just don't think they are the kind of people who would be very open for things, or people, they don't understand. People can be cruel when they are scared. They lash out at the people who deserve it the least just because they are different." You said quietly, looking down at your hands in your lap.

Your words twisted the sinews of Loki's heart and he felt uncomfortably exposed. But then again, your words made him stop before he could lash out at you in defense. That was exactly what you were talking about and the realization that he himself was no better than the Avengers in this regard hit him hard.

"I'm sorry if I crossed a line, I didn't mean to…" You looked back up and into Loki's wide eyes.

"It's… it's fine, you are right. They are a mean bunch of assholes if you ask me. But they are kind and welcoming to each other and that's what hurts me the most." He said without thinking, only realizing too late that he had unintentionally shared one of his most intimate thoughts with you. This has never happened before, not once in the small eternity that he has lived. A cold heat washed over him like a wave crashing on the shore. Every cell in his body was burning and freezing at the same time and he felt the sudden urge to run.

You could only hear your own breath as you stared into his wide eyes. Both of you sat completely still as the space between you seemed to shrink into nothingness, eyes fixed on eyes, both unsure what do say or do.

You took the time to study his sharp features and his beautiful eyes, certain that if you just looked long enough you'd be able to see his soul.

Loki however couldn't believe the effect you seemed to have on him. He'd just shared a deep insight into his feelings with you and yet, he felt… relieved to have told you. Unbelievable.

"I…" You started, feeling the overwhelming urge to open up as well. "I'm just passing through here, you know... I'm on my way to New York. I started in Sacramento and hitchhiked my way to Grand Canyon. There's always someone willing to take a helpless little girl a few miles east."

"You don't look all that helpless to me." Loki chuckled. He was grateful for the opportunity to change the topic and leave his sudden reveal of emotions unaddressed for now.

"Well, they won't have to know that." You winked.

"Why are you going to New York?" He asked, leaning his head to one side. "I mean… do you really want to go to New York or do you want to get away from Sacramento?"

You smirked, shaking your head slightly. "You're good at reading people. Really good."

"I've heard that much." He laughed. "And you're really good at avoiding questions you don't want to answer."

You smiled at him sweetly. "Everyone needs a talent I guess…"

"So… how are you planning on getting to New York from here on?" It was obvious to Loki that you didn't want to talk about your reasons or your past and he could very well live with that. As much as it intrigued him, he had his own demons he was trying to leave behind. If anyone understands the trouble of a difficult past, it was him.

"I wanted to ask random tourists if they'd be willing to take me a few miles, maybe I would've hidden in their cars… but I was stupid and fell asleep. Woke back up shortly before you attacked me."

"I'd hardly call that an attack!" Loki protested, humored by your little banter. "I hardly even scared you! I must say there are very few people who won't panic when a dagger is pointed at their throats."

"I was scared as hell, but showing fear is something entirely different. But you've got some really nice daggers… can I see them again?" You smiled at him in ever so slight excitement.

He just couldn't help himself, the way your eyes light up… He materialized one of his daggers and flipped it so that the blade lay in his hand, holding it out to you. In amazement you took it from him, holding it carefully but with a certain expertise. In the moonlight it looked utterly out of this world and you let out an unintentional sigh. You wanted to facepalm when you realized that indeed, neither Loki nor his blade were in fact out of this world.

"You like it?" He smirked, feeling confident like a little boy showing off his best toys to his secret crush.

"It's well balanced, light weight and elegant. Couldn't ask for more."

"I'm not gifting it to you."

You let out a snort and gracefully twisted the blade in your hand before handing it back to Loki. "I didn't expect you to."

"You didn't?!" He mocked you. "I thought mortal women always expect to be gifted things."

Now you straight out laughed in his face. "Oh, you forgot that we're also helpless, stupid little things without an opinion, eager to let mysterious and of course male strangers dig into our tragic pasts full of sadness and misery in the hope of saving our poor little souls, which we will gladly reward by gifting them or bodies."

Loki suppressed the urge to laugh. "Yeah, sorry, I forgot that. My bad."

You grinned at each other for a little moment longer, before Loki let the dagger disappear again.

"How do you do that?" You asked.

"It's called magic." He said with so much sarcasm in his voice that you just had to roll your eyes.

"Can you make me disappear?" You asked once more, but with a more serious undertone.

"Why would I do that?" Loki frowned at you.

You shrugged, not in the mood to explain that sometimes you'd like to simply be gone and not feel a thing anymore.

Then, you heard a car in the distance, it's brakes screeching loudly.

"I must go." You said immediately, jumping to your feet. Loki however just stared at you in confusion.

"I can't have anyone find me." You added while grabbing your bag. Loki also got up, stepping off the blanket so you could stuff it into your bag.

"I found you." He said calmly. "Was that so bad?"

"Yes." You frown and shake your head. "Well, no, but you're not…" You groaned in frustration.

Loki rose an eyebrow at you and watched you panic. Maybe he should do something to help, his feelings were urging him to do so, but his mind wanted answers first.

"So you're on the run?" He asked.

"Yes." You sighed.

"You could've told me that."

"Yes."

"Why did you not?"

"Would it have changed anything?"

"No."

"Then there's your answer." You smirked at him. "It was nice meeting you, Loki. Really nice, actually. I haven't felt like this in months."

He felt himself silently agree with you. It had been more than nice. So much so, that he didn't want it to end already. But he realized that he would have to return to the Avengers soon and that you needed to go as well.

Just as you were about to walk down a small path, a rustling caught the attention of both of you.

"Hey! What are you doing here?" A ranger demanded to know rather loudly.

You froze in your movement.

"Hey, haven't I seen you before?" The ranger pointed at you and walked closer. "Yes, you were on the news!"

He drew his gun and pointed it at your face with shaking hands. "Don't… don't move…" With his other hand he went to alarm his colleagues.

"You don't seem to do this very often." Loki commented from the side, seemingly completely unbothered by the weapon.

The ranger's head shot around to look at Loki, who he obviously hadn't noticed before. "You! Get over there!"

With an eye roll Loki sauntered off to stand next to you close to the edge of the cliff.

He could see the panic in your eyes as you looked at him, silently begging him to help you out of this.

He knew what helping you meant, knew that he'd have to live with the consequences. What had gotten into him, thinking about someone else's well before his own? When had that happened? But no there was no denying it any longer. One more look at your face gave him every certainty that what he was about to do would worth it. You were worth it, to him.

"Do you trust me, y/n?" He asked quietly.

"No." You breathed. "But do I have a choice?"

"No."

With that he gently took your hand in his. Just as you were about to protest, he pulled you with him over the edge of the cliff. Greeted by nothing but the empty air, you fell into an uncertain future. But not once did Loki let go of your hand.

___________

A.N.: I'm sorry this chapter is a little short and rly badly written 😭 I've been rewriting it over and over again but nothing good came out of it... So this is what we're rolling with! It's kind of like a filler chapter to establish a basic relationship between Loki and reader... I rly hope you still somewhat enjoyed it and I promise the next chapter will be better 💗✨

Tags:

@oceans-deep-ice

@waiting-for-motivation

@its-remy-not-ratatouille

@scienceofficersmith

@rinthehufflepuff

If you'd like to be added to the story tag list or general tag list send an ask or comment below ✨💗

#loki fanfic #loki x you #loki x reader #loki imagine #loki x y/n #Loki #loki odinson #loki of asgard #loki fandom #loki laufeyson #loki (marvel)#tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x you

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7deadlycinderellas · 5 years

Text

if the summer of our lives could just come again, ch6

Ao3 link

Tyrion

Tyrion Lannister knew he was clever. It was one of his only traits which he felt he could always depend on. Even his father and sister could begrudgingly admit he was quick and quick-witted. And only in the throes of truly heavy drink did he ever feel like his faculties had left him.

The entire ride north had robbed him of this belief. A single letter, and a few whispered words had been the culprit.

The Stark bastard had seemed similarly struck dumb on the journey, but Tyrion had merely taken that by being faced with the realities of his decision to join the Night’s Watch. Tyrion had felt at one point to remind him that they weren’t even at the wall yet, he could still change his mind and turn around.

Yet every time he spoke to the boy, memories of the things contained in Sansa’s letter returned to his mind and he was once again robbed of his wits.

It’s not until they’re all camped a few days from the wall, that Tyrion finally manages to ask the boy,

“I was wondering if you’re sister…”

“Which one?” Jon replied. He was on his back staring up at the sky and didn’t seem to be paying much in the way of attention.

“Sansa, the older one. Has she...ever sustained some sort of violent blow to the head?”

“No, she was always the most careful of us.”

“Has she ever been prone to fits or spells or other sorts of madness? Does she ever eat strange wild mushrooms? Drink suspect liquor? ”

Jon rolls on one side to look at him .

“A few weeks ago I would have told you the only time Sansa ever lost her head was over songs or stories of romance. She was always conscientious and proper and never would have even thought of disobeying. But from the way you’re speaking of her, I’m guessing she sent us off telling you of some of the same madness my siblings laid on me.”

The same sort of madness?

“More than one your siblings spoke of this...madness?”

“And though it was, as you say, complete madness, they all seemed completely convinced. And as much as I wished that some of the things they told me were not the truth, I cannot dismiss them completely. ”

The smaller man is quiet for a time.

“Your sister told me something only two other people in the world besides me should know. She spoke a name to me I haven’t said aloud in more than a decade.”

He didn’t think Jamie or his father had either. Tywin had paid the matter no spare thought once it was done, and Jamie too did not mention it. Tyrion hoped it was due to shame.

“They told me things they should have had no ability to know. I guess that’s what convinced me to listen.”

“What are you going to do?”

Jon is silent.

“Go on ahead with things? Try and remember the important things they told me? Even the ones that are terrifying...It’s the only thing I think I can do. If you really want to know more, I guess you could try and ask them yourself. You’ll have to go past Winterfell on the way back down the Kingsroad anyway.”

Tyrion makes an excuse to step away from the young man after that. They had still been speaking so much in vagaries. He isn’t sure anything the other Stark children could have told the bastard could have shocked him to the core as much as what he’d been told.

Before drifting off to sleep, Tyrion pulls out Sansa’s letter and re-reads it.

She’s a good writer, and has managed to only hint at things which might make the note inflammatory if anyone else reads it. “The lioness tires of the stag, might make him a hart,” and the like. He would have likely dismissed it as the ravings of a bored maid with an overactive imagination, if it weren’t for the words she has whispered to him.

“Your first wife’s name was Tysha,” was all she had said to him.

He hadn’t said that name since nearly after it had happened. He had buried it. Jamie had done the same it seems. There was absolutely no reason Sansa Stark could have known that name.

And he was going to find out how she did.

Gendry

The week’s journey had not been an easy on Gendry. He did not have sealegs. And they didn’t seem to think growing on him was a good choice.

He staggered and stumbled about the ship, trying to help out where he could. He could fetch and carry and he learned a few knots. It was enough that he didn’t feel like a freeloader.

Davos tried to assure him that he didn’t expect him to be an experienced seaman, that if this was his only trip by boat, than that would be fine.

They’re dropping anchor in White Harbor when Davos finds him heaving the last bit of his food over the railing.

“Give it all back to the sea, boy, you’ll be on solid land again tomorrow. We have enough for a good meal before starting out.”

Gendry heaves, though this one is empty. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Might not stay down too long. Might just turn to nerves.”

Davos sighs, and slaps him on the shoulder.

“Don’t go doubting yourself. I was there when you wed the girl. I don’t think she’d suddenly jilt you, especially after an experience like this.”

“It’s not that.” Gendry lets himself smile at the memory. Arya had dragged him to the Godswood, with only Davos and the Hound to speak, the latter man cursing all the way. Jon had been pulled away by the continually rising wights, and it hadn’t been a good time for a proper ceremony.

Sansa had been rather upset, that she hadn’t gotten to be there. Every one else agreed that it hadn’t really been the time. That hadn’t stopped the two of them from basking in the glow as long as they could.

The dead had been rising in the fields and hollows, but the two of them hadn’t felt so alive in a long time.

“It’s not her I’m worrying about. It was easy enough, when the world was coming apart around us. But now things are normal, as normal as they’re ever going to be. She had tried to convince me once, when we were younger, that her family would accept me, but now I’m just not sure if I should believe her.”

Davos takes a seat atop a barrel sitting by the railing. It’s full of ale they were carrying to sell, and he feels he could use a cup. Ale, wine, spirits, they were all easy to haul and ship, and fetched a solid price wherever they were sold. Only problem was stopping your crew from attempting to skim off the top.

“I can’t say I knew the she-wolf better than you do. But I met her sister, and her half-brother, and I know her father had a reputation for being honorable. If things were truly ordinary again, I would say you likely would encounter a number of setbacks, but it isn’t. Nothing for us will ever be normal again, not with what we know. And if the three of them told anyone else...than I would say your greatest worry is far from marrying a girl who was born above your station.”

Gendry has another niggling doubt.

“You don’t think she’s...told anyone else about the, uhh... circumstances of my birth?”

Davos sighs, more deeply than before.

“I don’t think Arya’s the type to put much stock in things like that, and truthfully, I’ve always thought the dead should stay dead.”

He glances at Gendry, his black hair longer than before just beginning to fall in his eyes.

“But I highly suspect others will figure things out anyhow. Family resemblances being what they are.”

Gendry looks at him, and asks.

“You got all your sons back when we returned. Don’t you ever get tired of having to deal with all the strays you picked up along the way?’

Davos laughs, deep and hearty.

“One of these days, you may be blessed with sons and daughters of your own. Whether they’re your blood or not, they can never be cast aside.”

Sansa

Sansa yawns and stretches her arms as she stood. She had been in her father’s solar all morning. Ned and Catelyn had just left for the mid-day meal, leaving her briefly alone. She’s got papers strewn in front of her where she’s written down a mass of things they need to keep an eye on.

Telling about Robert’s potentially forthcoming death had been an easy one. Being gored by a wild boar had been a very easy death for them to believe.

“It even sounds like the sort of death that might appeal to Robert himself,” Ned had muttered.

Telling them about Joffrey and his siblings had been awkward, but similarly simple.

“They...they really don’t look anything like him at all,” Catelyn thinks aloud.

“And I saw the first bastard he sired before his marriage,” Ned trails off, clearly thinking that that had been before Robert had supposed to marry Lyanna, “she looked just like you would have thought.”

“It ended up having nothing to do with Jon Arryn’s death after all,” Sansa adds, “But it definitely had its role in yours. And I am pretty sure Cersei had a hand in Robert’s death, even if I’m not sure how. I should ask Bran later if he’d had any kind of insight into that.“

Catelyn makes a noise deep in her throat.

“I once told someone that a woman ought to be able to lead as well as a man, but I cannot imagine a situation that ended with that woman on the Iron Throne.”

“There are other women who made their own bids into leadership,” Sansa tells her, though she doesn’t include herself in her list, “Yara Greyjoy might be the first trustworthy head of the Iron Islands in generations. But Cersei’s rule was based entirely on the deaths of all three of her children. I’m sure we can disrupt that.”

But eventually she has to push onto the one that’s been haunting her mind. She saved it until last.

“Mother,” she starts, reaching out to touch her, “You cannot trust a single word that comes out of Petyr Baelish’s mouth.”

Catelyn’s face freezes, and she opens her mouth as though she wants to object, so Sansa doesn’t stop speaking.

“I’m still not sure what exactly his end goal was,” that’s a bit of a lie but easy to run with, “but he has his fingers in so many pies right now that even if we had decided to go with Arya’s initial plan to sneak out and find a way to slit his throat-” there’s a big intake of breath from both Ned and Catelyn at that, “-then I would have absolutely no idea the fallout it would cause.”

She keeps going. It’s easier than stopping to breath or to give them a chance to respond.

“The Lannisters didn’t have Jon Arryn killed for finding out about Cersei’s children. Baelish had Aunt Lysa poison him at his behest- I know she’s your sister, but she’s seriously lost her grip on reality. And I obviously can’t say for sure, but I’m almost completely sure he had a hand in your death too, Father.”

There had been angry words after that, and tears. Sansa was beyond overwhelmed and couldn’t even begin to think about how to handle it. She missed Tyrion, he had always been able to keep a grasp on situations like this. She missed Margaery Tyrell too, who always seemed to be to handle difficult situations with grace. Sansa pauses at that thought. She wonders if she should try and send one of the Tyrell’s a letter too, but she didn’t have a clear enough picture of their motivations in the overall map that was their lives to feel comfortable doing so.

She feels a wet nose brush at her side, and turns to find Lady sitting at her feet. With a smile, she pets her on the head.

“I’m sorry you’re too big to carry now, girl. But you can come with me to the meal.”

The wolf is now as large as a small sheep, but lean and quiet. She can slip down the hallways on dainty paws, and hardly make a sound. Sansa sticks close to her as she leaves Ned’s solar for the Great Hall.

The meal is sitting on the table, but there’s hardly anyone sitting to eat it. Everyone seems to be keeping their own schedules as of late, and people wandered in and out on their own time. Ned and Catelyn appear to have gotten waylaid on their paths, as they’re not here yet. Arya’s here right now, munching on her bread and potato-and-leek soup.

“Don’t run off, I’m going to need to borrow you after we eat.”

Arya raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t bolt. The old her would have in a second, especially if she knew what was coming.

After Sansa eats, and as their parents enter to have their meal as well, Sansa and Arya leave and Sansa leads her back up to her chambers. Both Ned and Catelyn look as though there has been yelling between and now and before, and Sansa doesn’t wish to linger.

“I almost feel like I should be frightened.” Arya admits when she shuts the door and Sansa pulls a wrapped up parcel from one of her trunks.

She holds up the dress, there’s a ghost of the old Arya on her face.

“You’ll need at least one good dress, and I’d like to make one that will work for you.”

“What are you thinking of?” Arya asks her with suspicion, though she does take the darted and pinned garment and pulls it over her head.

Sansa touches the fabric. It’s soft wool, good for the coming winter, in a simple middling blue.

“Long sleeves, but they stop at your wrists and don’t hang. The neckline is neutral, it shouldn’t choke you, but shouldn’t show any cleavage either.”

She tugs it where it fits over Arya’s chest.

“I know you didn’t get exactly busty, but I can’t quite work out most of your other measurements, especially since I’m working from memory. You ended up about to my chin right?” Arya nods. “Not very big...at least I shouldn’t have to do more than let out a seam or two as you grow.”

Sansa’s going to make the skirt fit just above her hips, slender enough not to need any special smallclothes to drape properly. No excess, and loose enough she should be able to run away from anything that might chase her.

Arya touches the fabric, which has enough loose over her chest to eventually accommodate her breasts.

“Is it weird that I miss them?”

Sansa snorts.

“I didn’t pay them any mind when they were growing on me, but now I miss them. I miss all sorts of strange things.”

Sansa removes the garment from over Arya’s head and folds it back neatly.

“I miss when I could spend all my time sewing and none of it trying to puzzle out House politics so that we don’t all kill each other before the monsters over the wall come over and try again.”

Arya shrugs everything back into place as Sansa puts her things away.

“You should come out to the yard with me. Meera’s helping me get good with my bow again.”

Sansa pauses,

“I don’t know.”

She’s mentioned wanting to learn something to protect herself, but it’s daunting. She’s not Arya, anything more athletic than dancing has never been even something to consider adding to her skillset.

“It’ll be fine Sansa. Besides, Meera’s been trying to teach Jojen too, and he’s really awful. Rickon joined us yesterday too, and we still haven’t managed to make it stick for him that you can’t just run up and stab the target with the arrow.”

Sansa’s nerves don’t disappear as they make their way down to the training yard. It’s empty in the afternoon, and Meera, Jojen and Rickon already have the equipment out.

They do simmer down when they get there, and Jojen has somehow managed to get his thumbnail wedged into the wood of his bow.

“Are you sure you’re related to me” Meera asks indignantly as she dislodges his hand his hand and files the nail down with the edge of her knife.

“This is why I always left this to you,” Jojen tells her, pouting.

Meera then takes off her own leather glove and trades Jojen for his finger guard.

After a moment, she offers it to Sansa,

“We’ve only got the one, and I’ve got calluses already.”

“Keep it,” Arya tells her, reaching into her waist pocket and pulling out her own leather gloves, “I’ll give her one of mine, I shoot lefty anyway.”

Sansa pulls on the glove, it’s only a little tight.

“Don’t grip the string too tightly,” Arya warns her, “You should bring your kid gloves next time, it will be easier on your fingers that way.”

The bow and arrows feel unnatural in her hands, but she manages to pull and release without dropping anything, and even though her arrow misses, it doesn’t fly off anywhere unexpected. Arya’s right, it does make her feel better.

Soon the air is thick with flying arrows. Some of them go off into the ground, and others bury themselves in the straw men they’re using as targets.

“Arya, don’t aim for the balls,” Meera criticizes, when Arya manages to land an arrow square between one’s legs, “That will only make them bleed.”

“Lot of blood coming through there,” Arya insists, “and it’s not usually armored.”

“If you’re aiming at someone in armor, the neck is more deadly, or the legs if you just want to do damage.”

Arya shrugs her off.

Soon they run out of arrows, and Meera sends Rickon to gather all the fallen ones, which he does happily enough.

Soon, though Sansa’s arm begins to tire, the bow does begin to feel more natural, and the arrows begin to get closer to where she’s aiming.

“It’s mostly practice,” Arya assures her as she nocks her last arrow. “It’s like with me and needle, you just to learn your eyes and the arrows. There are a lot fewer variables than if you’re going at someone with a knife or a sword.”

“Way too close contact for my taste,” Meera comments, “I want to put some distance between me and whatever I’m shooting at.”

“Not that I disagree-” Arya starts, “but I thought you favored a spear?”

“Spear gives your arm an extra long reach, they’re garbage in close quarters, and-”

Whatever she was going to say next is cut off when Sansa moves to loose her arrow. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rickon, impatient as ever, move to start gathering the fallen arrows again.

Sansa yells, and feels the arrow slip.

Arya lunges forward and grabs Rickon, and the arrow falls to the ground barely three feet in front of her.

Sansa can hear Arya loudly berating the younger boy, but can’t make out her words over the sound of her own heart pounding. Her head is swimming.

Rickon is red-faced and abashed, but all Sansa sees is the tall, curly haired young man he became. Him running, and then falling, full of arrows.

Arya’s still yelling when Sansa hands Meera her bow and says, “I need to take a break.”

Meera reaches out to take her things, and gestures with a nod of her head over at one of the walkways.

“Bran’s been sitting up there a while if you wanted to talk to him.”

Sansa glances up at one of the walkways where she looked. She cocks her head.

“How’d you see him?”

Meera rolls her eyes, “I lived with him in a cave with hardly anyone else to talk to for over a year. I’m pretty sure I could find him in the middle of the woods blindfolded just from the sound of his snoring.”

“Do you...want me to tell him to go away?” Sansa asks carefully.

Meera sighs, and rubs her eyes. The two of them are the only ones in the group who look at all close to their adult selves, and right now Meera looks even older than then.

“No,” she replies quietly, “I just need time.”

Lady’s been sitting at the edge of the training yard watching them, and when Sansa approaches, she jumps up and trails behind her neatly.

Bran nods at her when she climbs the walkway and sits, Lady squeezing between them. He reaches out idly to scratch her ears.

“Bad thoughts?” He asks Sansa.

She nods. Bran ducks his head in response.

“I had some the other day when I saw Theon talking to Ser Rodrik. All I could see was him cutting his head off.”

Damn.

“I guess our lives are going to generate a lot of those now.”

Bran turns his eyes down to Lady again. “Have you ever dreamt that you’re seeing through her eyes?”

Sansa’s alarmed.

“Like you do?”

“Arya’s told me it happens to her with Nymeria too, and I know Rickon’s had them...I thought you would too, and you just didn’t have a chance before.”

It’s not something Sansa ever thought about. Bran’s right, her and Lady were cut apart too early before for a bond of that sort to form.

She wonders what it would be like, to run through the woods with Lady’s eyes. To see the other animals as she does, to be able to slip past enemy lines nearly undetected. Lady’s already shown ability to be quieter and more stealthy than her littermates. It could be terribly useful.

She doesn’t get a chance to ask Bran anything else, when there’s a sudden commotion from below.

She has to help Bran get his crutches and stand, and by the time they get back down to the yard, the commotion has calmed a bit. Jojen’s rolled on his side, the shaking beginning to slow. Once he stills, Meera pulls the bite strap from his mouth and lifts his chin.

“Give him a minute, sometimes he comes out really confused.”

It doesn’t take long though for Jojen to start mumbling, and pulling himself up to sit.

“I thought you said you hadn’t had a vision since all of us came back,” Meera asks him when he comes all the way to.

“I wasn’t sure about this one, it’s been so long, I thought it might have been a regular dream.”

“You haven’t had a fit like that in ages, what was this one about?” Meera asks, trying not to sound too rough, but frightened.

Jojen takes a deep breath.

“I saw a group of crows, flying over the wall, when they fell from the sky. One of them managed to get away, injured. Another shed its feathers and flew over again, nothing but a skeleton.”

There’s a long quiet, as all of them think on Jojen’s words. And with the image of a bird rising as a wight, Bran suddenly has a familiar feeling creeping in his gut.

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #gendrya #breera #time travel fix it #fic

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xxkellsvixen19xx · 5 years

Note

You are Michael's partner/one & only/second-in-charge. You & Outpost Michael have gotten into an argument regarding the selections & you've had enough of him having the last word. While he's away from your chamber, you pack up & secretly leave the bunker towards the next Outpost without a word of where you're going. Michael immediately senses your absence and ... how will he react to this? 🤔

Breach Michael x Reader

Word Count 1,895

A/N: absolutely loved this concept enjoyed working with it!

Requested by @master-langdon

It was a cold grey day in late November. The weather had changed overnight, when a backing wind brought a granite sky and the nuclear winter with it. It has officially been eighteen months since the bombs fell beginning the apocalypse.

Y/N stepped out of the carriage that had pulled up outside of Outpost 3. Looking around it could best be described as a scene out of a low budget horror movie, there was rarely much left that would pass as suitable much less look like an even remote possibility of surviving. To you it looked like ground zero and to be completely honest it left you with a rather superstitious feeling, hell it actual creeped you out.

Y/N and Michael arrived at outpost 3 it was the fourth one they have visited that actually had even.an inkling of any survivors. The first three outposts they has been either abandoned, destroyed or in the case of the output they visited in Syracuse New York the survivors had been massacred.

Y/N stood inside the main commons area a little later on. Michael glided across the floor im stealth like movement. The nervous faces of the survivors watched in anticipation

Michael spoke up piercing the dead silence that had fallen across the room. “My name is Langdon and I represent the Cooperative, I won't sugar coat the situation humanity is on the brink. My arrival here is critical to the future of your survival.”

When leadership from the Cooperative arrive it was a moment that caught everyone by surprise. Michael is Venable's superior within the Cooperative, she was unaware that a representative had any intentions of course unexpectedly, Michael stood in front of the fire in the commons area. He says the other outposts had been overrun — by what, he didn't specify — and that Outpost 3 is the only surviving beacon besides another mysterious "facility" that he now wants to whisk some of the survivors to.

The questions started firing out one after the other, where was this 'sanctuary. Was there enough food supplies tp last, ect.. ect. Michael turned his head cocking it to the side, he looked stoic showing no sign of commotion. “Classified!” He responded sharply. A few more questions were asked, each receiving that same answer.. “It should take a few days at the most to conduct my interviews and can inform everyone of the results shortly after.

Michael and Y/N had been involved in a relationship for years on both a professional level as well as personal. You served as a second in command to Michael as your role in the Cooperative. They both held in their possession ID cards that contain their signatures. Michael's saying"President" and yours "Chancellor" of the Cooperative, as well as having ID numbers, ranking numbers, and other coding. Your role being that it is second in command means that in the event that Michael that was unable to or not present to carry out the work of the Cooperative then you would act in his place.

There were times that you both equally worked together, but when Y/N and Michael started to pay visits to the outposts to conduct the interviews you noticed that Michael was adamant about doing these interviews himself. You tried on multiple occasions to offer your help because honestly you felt like why should one person be bogged down with all that work it's stressful. Michael often spent late hours either conducting interviews or he was going over files or emails in his laptop.

It wasn't uncommon for you to loiter around the passageways or close to his office door to hear that was discussed between him and the survivor being questioned at that time. Y/N paid attention and absorbed info that she retained to be able to formulate your own observation/opinion as well. Normally you two were able to talk to each other when it came to any matters pertaining to the Cooperative. Y/N and Michael had that dynamic where they could talk to one another, discuss options, offer insight and work together for results. You couldn't understand why Michael seemed to be keeping you 'in the dark’ when it came to the interviews and the information revolving around it. At first you didn't confront him about anything. You stayed pretty closed lipped, knowing that given time you would bring it up. Timing was everything when it came to approaching Michael with something Y/N know was viewed as controversial and or possibly sensitive.

Y/N at various points of time had the opportunity to gain enough info on each of the survivors of Outpost 3. You weren't certain who Michael in his opinion deemed as worthy to join you both at the sanctuary. Ultimately when it came to making choices you were known to think practically and logically. You took into consideration with each person their strengths, weaknesses, the positive and the negative.

Y/N approached Michael carefully, you happen to catch him in a halfway decent mood so you hoped that maybe that since you were discussing this that maybe it would be done so in a civilized manner. “I take it the interview process must be completed.” You observed. “Just about, got a few more to take place tomorrow evening. I may some in mind though but waiting to see after I complete the final ones though.” He responded not looking up from his laptop. You had paid careful attention to who he had already interviewed, you knew exactly when and who as most of the interviews took place when everyone was gathered in the commons area. You would watch as Mrs. Mead approached each party saying “Mr. Langdon wishes to speak with you.” The only two people left yet to be interviewed was Mallory (the grey) and Andre Dinah Stevens son.

You were vaguely curious as to who Michael had in mind or thought to be worthy. “Oh really… who are the possible viable candidates if you don't mind me asking.” You asked carefully silently hoping that he would answer. Michael paused momentarily to briefly look up at you, “Mrs St Pierre Vanderbilt and Gallant.” Your jaw dropped slightly and your eyes held a shocked expression. You just as quickly regained your composer praying that Michael hadn't witnessed your initial reaction of absolute shock. “I have been paying attention to the inhabitants here, just from witnessing actions, overhearing conversations ect it seems to me that Mr Campbell and Emily seem to be viable.” Out of those you have had the opportunity to observe as well as overhear conversations about that those two seemed pretty decent. They seemed level headed and out of those that were currently residing there they had the most common sense.

Michael let out an amused chuckle “When we begin our journey through the new world I would rather have people with experience. Not deal with two fairly wet behind the ear young adults.” You felt your anger rise, normally you and Michael could talk to each other, or at least discuss things maturely. You took a deep breath before you spoke again…”Michael..you might want to consider this. Others may have not acted with the best of intentions—and that you might not know the whole story.” Michael's eyes flushed red, he was definitely angry. Despite the fact that you appreciated this as tactfully as possible it was clear you still somehow managed to strike a nerve with you. There was clearly some difference of opinion, which is heartening, you did your best to hide your emotions from Michael.

You made a final attempt to try and discuss this with him. “I understand it can be a slight oversight..” Pausing for a moment you tried to approach this professionally. “Maybe you haven’t finished thinking this through, the whole selection process a surprise to you, or you want to get a clearer sense of what is going on,” Michael's eyes held yours in a stare that read quite defensive, “I know what I am doing Y/N just drop it!” You could see that your difference of opinion is based partly on the differing understandings of the purpose of the purpose at hand. You didn't say anything more, it seemed clear that Michael wasn't open minded enough to listen to your point of view on this.

The next day while Michael conducted the final two interviews you remained back in the suite packing your things. Michael seemed determined to handle the selection process in his own way here, you took it upon yourself to leave before him to the next outpost. You wanted to handle things professionally and fairly, Michael however seemed to make it personal. Later on that night Michael returned back to the suite, it had been a long day. He didn't completely notice it at first, at one point he caught sight of a dresser drawer that was open ajar. Michael immediately got the sense that something was off, he opened the drawer all the way it was completely empty. Michael looked through the rest of the drawers and your side of the armoire..bare empty everything of yours no longer there. You were gone. Michael had never been so confused in his whole entire life. He didn't understand, why, why had he allowed this to get to this point?

Michael needed to see Y/N again, to speak to her but he was faced with a simple conundrum: what should I do next? Email her? Would the Cooperative or anyone know of your where abouts? Michael could only blame himself, he had let a personal vendetta get in the way of not only a professional relationship but his feelings for Y/N.

Michael POV…

‘My beloved Y/N, you are the greatest thing in my life and it breaks my heart to see that I have hurt you. I hate knowing that I have upset you. The last thing I want to do is hurt your feelings and make you feel insuperior. To make you think that your opinions hold no value. You mean the world to me. You deserve so much better than this and I promise I will make this right, Please Y/N forgive me and I hope that I can prove that I mean it when I say that I am sorry.’

An encrypted email came through from Jeff Pfister, Y/N had left heading to outpost 8 in Phoenix Arizona. Michael wasted no time on packing up his things and heading that way. He was going to make this right with you no matter what it took, you were far to important to him professionally and personally to let it end this way.

Neither Michael nor Y/N depend on the other for their feelings of self worth- they know in their heart that they are just as valuable to the world as the other. Good looking, optimistic, and they spark a light in the world that people recognize that goes beyond a normal relationship.

They are the perfect power couple...one of them is flawed, the other makes up for their weaknesses in their strength. Together they are the epitome of what anyone would desire in a relationship. They encourage goodness in the world and make it a better place by being together.

#ahs #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon #cody fern #fan fiction

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wilhelmjfink · 5 years

Text

November (pt. 3)

If you’ve made it this far, thanks :,)

You are miserably hot. You can feel the fabric of your shirt sticking to you, plastered with sweat. You force the tired muscles to move again, kicking the blankets that lay on top of you onto the floor and far away from your scorching skin.

“She’s waking up,” you hear the people and commotion strangely clear, having anticipated another brain-rattling voice that yelled and screamed at you until you collapsed. But for now, you bask in the soft silence.

You’re so, so tired. Please, no more. Please... you can’t do it again.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” This voice is... oddly mellow. Gentle. Comforting. But youre still terrified. Hesitant to get too close knowing it will inevitably turn against you, laughing at you or yelling all around you or taunting you or slowly killing you. Please, no more...

“Y/N, you’re okay. You’re safe now — back home in Alexandria.” The voice is so soothing and convincing. Who was it? “Daryl’s okay. You’re okay.”

Daryl’s okay?

Daryl’s okay.

No. There’s no way that’s true — you’d seen him get bit and eaten alive with your own eyes, torn to shreds only to come back and do the same to you. You’d witnessed it. It was your fault. This is another nightmare, and you refuse to fall for it; refuse to open your eyes and be faced with what used to be Daryl, rotted jaw snapping at you and cloudy, dead eyes glaring at you. You can’t take it anymore — Jesus Christ, you just want it to end. No more. Please, no fucking more...

“You’re alright, kid. Just relax.”

It’s Rick.

He’s back and you instantly feel the urge to start apologizing for everything: for leaving, for driving Daryl away, for killing him. For taking away his best friend, his brother. But oddly enough, he doesn’t really sound upset... and his voice is the sweetest thing you think you’ve heard in a lifetime.

Whenever he is, you need to find him.

He’s real, physical, you can feel him, and you need to latch onto it. Beg him to take you back home and out of the depths of your mind where you’re locked away, being tortured for eternity with your biggest fears. You can’t stand it; this fate worse than hell. Far worse than hell.

No more.

A warm hand covers yours — you can feel it and it doesn’t feel like pins and needles or scorching fire against your nerves. It feels safe, familiar. It feels like home.

You pry open your tired eyes with a newly found determination because Rick has got to be somewhere near you and you want to grasp his hand back and never let go. You want to revel in the sensation because its so different than anything you could ever remember feeling and you so badly want it to be real, even if it just feels that way for one minute before he turns on you again. Before it turns out just to be a mirage, another hallucination your mind taunts you with.

You figure you must’ve lost your mind when you recognize the person sitting beside your bed as Daryl, his hand limply overtop of yours.

Of course this was too good to be true. He looks like he’s asleep. Yanking your hand back you’re afraid that when he wakes up, he’s going to have already turned. And you don’t want to see that ever again — you can’t see that ever again. You were so tired of the guilt. Just make it stop. His head rests on his forearm with his hand hovering over him, like he’d passed out waiting head in hand for you to wake up or probably turn so he could be the one to stab the knife in between your eyes.

Your subconscious screams at you to run because you just can’t do it again. You can’t be trapped inside your mind anymore. You barely whisper the words to him, wanting him to hear your pleads but treading lightly as to not awake him: “Please, Daryl, make it stop.”

He hears you and stirs.

With a gasp you jerk away.

But you can smell him, the familiar scent of cigarettes and leather wrapping itself around you in a welcoming hug — you couldn’t smell him before. He has a black eye and a purple gash on his lip. He didn’t before. But he looks so young and peaceful when he’s asleep you almost can’t look away, despite the fear of what lies ahead whenever he decides to wake up.

Someone moves behind you and you careen your head around and there sits Rick, a faint smile gracing his lips.

Strangely enough, you don’t feel the need to run and hide.

It’s oddly deceiving, you think, and you eye him warily, unsure of what to make of the situation the way your body is reacting. You always trust your gut. You look back at Daryl.

He hasn’t turned yet — he doesn’t look sick yet either you observe, and you think that maybe this time you will be able to have a little bit more time with him before you have to put him down or he comes back and tries to eat you alive, tearing you to shreds. There’s a knot in your stomach and your hands are clammy and you feel light headed — it must be obvious because Rick leans forward and you flinch.

“Hey,” he says softly to you. You hesitantly turn away from Daryl to face him and you feel strangely calm. Safe. Not afraid like you should be; not on edge, ready to run at any given second. Though you can’t help but throw fleeting glances over your shoulders at Daryl as he shifts, still too naive to relax “You’re alright, Y/N. You’re okay.”

You’re okay. You’re okay. Are you really okay? You want to believe him — you want to believe it so, so badly. But you’re doubtful. You’re certain that your dream is about to take a nasty turn, just like they always did. But this one felt fine. Were you really okay?

You swallow hard, eyeing him cautiously before dropping the question that’s been on your mind. “Daryl?”

“He’s okay, too.”

He’s okay, too.

Your voice breaks weakly. “Really?”

He chuckles, obviously having bared witness to your nightmares as well, very aware of your skepticism in believing him. But those words, they don’t even make sense when you first hear them. You were so sure, so convinced that Daryl was gone. You’d seen him die. More than once. And yet... here he was, slowly coming out of slumber by your side, living and breathing and alive.

“He found ya downstream, soaked to the bone n’ hallucinating and...” he continues before trailing off and you blink at him stupidly, not comprehending that there was a reason for the nightmares and hallucinations that you’d experienced. But still, they’d felt so real... they still do. “Hypothermia gives ya... fever dreams, or somethin’ like that.” Hypothermia. You rack your brain for the last thing you really, truly remember that you can decipher from the visions in your mind, so distinctively real and hard to distinguish from reality. Rick notices the wheels turning inside your brain and offers more insight.

“Said he saw ya tackle some walkers and y’all fell right into the river. Then ya just... disappeared.” His face was somber now and your guts churned at the thought. While you were literally held prisoner in the depths of your unconscious Daryl was wide awake, probably in excruciating pain, and he probably thought he had just witnessed you die, too. God, you know how awful and debilitating those thoughts had been for you. You wonder if he’d felt the same way — you sure hoped not. You’d never wish that horror upon your worst enemy.

“He’d ran into some people — bad people. Ended up in a shootin’ match, and one of ‘em rammed into him, threw him off his bike over the edge or somethin’. Got stabbed with one of his own arrows.”

You cringe. Well, that would explain the vague memories you have of him laying motionless in the creek bed. So far, all of your recollections of that scenario are real. Now you’re just having a hard time pinpointing exactly where it all went wrong.

“You saved his life, tacklin’ those walkers before they got him. He was still all disoriented. They woulda got ‘em had you not been there.”

Your throat aches with the pressure of sobs you want to release but you’re not sure why so you fight them.

This whole time you’d been convinced that you’d killed him — that his demise had been on you entirely.... but in reality, it was the opposite? You wouldn’t believe it.

“He went after ya — best he could, ya know, with the arrow ‘n all....” He tries to add on lightheartedly and you throw him a tight smile just to humor him, your mind still reeling with the pieces of the puzzle you’re trying to put together. “Found ya about half a mile down the river talkin’ to yourself.”

Your cheeks redden but it makes sense.

“Tried to drag ya home best he could, but when you didn’t come back, we all went out searchin’ for the two of ya.”

So, that’s that.

How simple and justifiable it had all truly been that whole time. You can’t help but feel stupid, embarrassed, as if you could’ve controlled any of those hallucinations. You were in such a bad state of mind when you’d set out to search for him that day that it was so easy for your unconscious to draw up and use your greatest fears against you. It made sense. It all made sense and it was such a relief that you genuinely smiled to yourself.

“You’ve been out for a few days now. Fever finally broke.” You look back over at Rick and he motions behind you with a nod of his head, a small smirk returning to his face. “He’s been waiting for ya.”

So you turn back to Daryl who stirs once more as he wakes up, blinking the fogginess if sleep away lazily and pushing himself upright. You don’t mean to jump but you’re so instinctively afraid that he’s going to bite you again and please, please make it stop. Just make it stop.

No. Rick just explained it all in detail, every last part of it, answering every question you’d had. Daryl is fine.

In fact, his eyes are the brightest shade of blue you’ve ever seen. They find yours and you freeze, holding your breath in anticipation. Rubbing his face in his hands with exhaustion, he shakes his head in disbelief. “Christ,” he finally mutters, his tone coming out normal and familiar — not as snarls and growls and gurgles. But when he notices how a scared you look, how skeptical you are that he’s even real, his look softens. And you’d be lying if you didn’t feel every single worry and fear and every ounce of immeasurable full you felt dissipate into thin air.

Those fucking eyes.

Now it’s your turn to your stare at him incredulously.

He looks down and you see his features become painted pink and you smile. “Y/N, I...” He stops when you reach out delicately, your fingers gently brushing the stubble along his chin, basking in the feeling of him; how real he was, how warm he was.

Could it really be? There was no fucking way.

You’d watched him die right in front of you so many times, each one burning the horrific image into your brain, sure to give you terrible nightmares and flashbacks for a long time to come but that was something you were willing to deal with if he was really here with you.

Was he really here with you? He looks just as distraught as you feel; though somehow just as relieved as you are, too.

“Y/N, you… I thought...” he looks away as he searches for the words but you can hardly hear them, focusing on his vivid features that were right in front of you. He was more beautiful than you’d ever thought he could be. “I heard ya scream and... and when ya fell into the river ‘n I couldn’t find ya, I was so sure...”

His eyes are glistening with tears and you have this hurricane of emotions inside you only feeling him against you can subdue. “Daryl?” Sounding much quieter, much less courageous than you intended, you had to physically force that name out of your mouth. It had only left you in screams and cries lately, but now it tasted so nice and you had to say it again just to make sure it was actually him. “Daryl.” You swallow down a sob you can feel choking you. “Daryl? Oh, my god, Daryl...” you draw in a ragged breath in attempt to collect yourself but fail miserably. “Daryl, you.... you’re...”

The tears start — but these ones are far different from the ones you were so used to. The tears of fear and guilt and devastating heartbreak. These were tears of utter disbelief and pure joy.

These tears didn’t hurt to cry.

There was just no way.

Daryl shushed you, leaning forward and wrapping a comforting arm around you but you don’t miss the way that he winces at the movement. “S’alright, I’m ‘ere.” Your eyes trail down his broad chest, covered with a thin grey t-shirt that accentuated the textures underneath it over his ribs, a thick bandage covering something up and hiding it away. Not a bite, you tell yourself. It can’t be a bite. Right? They told you he was fine. Unless this dream was about to take a turn for the worse — far more brutal than the others, it waited in the corners of your mind, waiting for the moment to jump out and send you whirling into a panic. “Look at me.”

You willingly obey, eyes still welled with tears unable to be stopped, trying to swallow back the deep irrational fears that keep threatening to rear their ugly heads. While that was all so lucid there’s something different about this time that has you so assured. So confident and almost excited.

You’re at a loss for words, in every sense of the phrase. Was it really all just a dream and were you finally awake, like some bad ending in a cheesy movie? What in the hell had happened? You were confused. Had it really been just days? It felt like a couple hours had passed from when you were trudging through the snow in search of him.

Daryl is very much real and very much alive. You choke out another sob, covering your mouth in disbelief. Daryl is here, living and breathing. He simply stares at you, drinking in your appearance now that you’ve finally woken up and come back to him.

The mutual feelings of devastation and loss had taken a toll on both of you. But it made the relief you were both feeling that much sweeter

Taking a chance and deciding you truly have nothing left to lose, you grab onto his head and pull him toward you with a passionate, needy kiss.

After a few seconds he pulls away and looks at you slightly confused, cheeks rosy. You fucking giggle, giddy like a child, still unfathomably relieved and overjoyed and you pull him back in for another kiss.

This one he accepts much more willingly and melts into you, his hand reaching out to cup the side of your voice and the jolts of energy it sends through your nerves are painful anymore. They’re amazing; the most wonderful sensation you could ever imagine.

Pulling back, you take another second just to look at him. You desperately want to replace every faux memory you have of him now with these ones — the feeling of his rough hands holding your cheek as he hovers so close to you you can feel his breath ghosting your lips. He’s unsure of himself now, unsure of what to do next. So you reach out to him and brush your thumb gently over his swollen eye. Though dark and painful and vicious, it’s still real. Those deep, icy blue eyes you’ve lost yourself in countless times — they’re real. He’s real.

Finally you gather up the courage and ability to speak again, but all you can manage to muster out is “You’re alive.”

You’re not even mad when he starts to lecture you. “I could say the same to you, girl. The hell’s the matter with ya, leaving here by yourself lookin’ for me? Ya could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

He truly didn’t know that you had died a hundred times to save him.

That you had walked through a hundred hells to find him, to make sure he was okay.��

That you had lived through a hundred lifetimes for him.

But you didn’t care. He was okay. So you’d do it all over again if you had to.

Alright you caught me I’m a sucker for happy endings

Thanks for reading!

@crossbowking @jodiereedus22 @apossiblegentleman @mtngirlforever @sourwolf-sterek32 @winchester-angel @cococruzzmayanns @qrangr @cole-winchester @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @twdeadfanfic @crazyaboutnorman @deliciousassafrasssandwich @bunnymother93 @96ssi @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @ima-mther-fckn-starboy @thatsoragan @lonewolf471

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #The Walking Dead #the walking dead fanfiction #twd #twd daryl #reader insert #daryl x reader

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labyrinth-of-headcanons · 6 years

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Next to me

Characters: Judar, Kenmei (OC)

Genre: Romance, Songfic

Summary: 3 insights on moments, Judar realized that he was in the wrong. And yet, Kenmei was always right there, next to him.

a/n: This is somewhat an art-exchange, though also my pleasure to have written this, as I kind of had this idea since I first heard the song! It’s for the amazing @hvalross-art, please go check out her art/writing blog, she’s amazing! I hope I managed to write your OC okay, as well as make Judar not look like I am super biased xD Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!! Thank you so much again for my lovely commissions & drawing my OC on occasion! ❤

Next to me - Imagine Dragons

Something about the way that you walked into my living room Casually and confident lookin' at the mess I am But still you, still you want me Stress lines and cigarettes, politics, and deficits Late bills and overages, screamin' and hollerin' But still you, still you want me

“Man, I’m exhausted,” Judar complained, raising his arms into the air and stretching his back. The cushions on his back let him lean back easily, supporting his body which felt tired after consuming half a bottle of liquor. From the glass in his hand, a few drops of the pinkish peach drink falling from its brim, dirtying the white bed sheets. Not that he minded it at all, this late in the morning, servants would change them anyway. Yawning, he reached over to Kenmei, driving his fingers through her black hair. The girl laid face down in the pillows, nudging her head upwards slightly against his hand as she felt his touch. “You don’t have any right to complain,” she mumbled, the pillow making her voice even more muffled as it already was. “You just disappeared when all the people came to talk to you, leaving me all alone with their questions.”

There was a hint of frustration resonating in the tone she gave him, though it only made him grin. “I didn’t want to deal with them.” Judar took his hand back, leaned it over to the side table and poured himself another drink. For a second he thought about filling Kenmei’s glass too, but since it stood on the other side of the bed and her ears already had a deep red color, he decided not to. “And I mean, it was way more fun to watch you storm into this room and tearing up when you saw me.” His side was hit with one of the smaller pillows, as Kenmei prompted herself up on her arms, giving him an angry look. “That’s because you had the nerve to just sit here and drink!” Letting out an audible breath, Judar just shrugged, downing his glass thoughtfully. “You’re so unfair…” she whined, tilting her head to the side and away from him, staring outside through the window at the night sky.

Oh, I always let you down You're shattered on the ground But still, I find you there Next to me And oh, stupid things I do I'm far from good, it's true But still, I find you Next to me (next to me)

Maybe, so he thought, it really wasn’t quite fair. Maybe Kenmei had a point. Perhaps he shouldn’t have done it. But at that moment? He thought it was better to get away before any of the stupid questions dared to bother his incredible mind. Judar didn’t think of consequences for his partner. Truthfully, she’d have to speak for him too, but she managed that just fine, maybe even better than him. In any case, there she was again, sulking. Peeking over the glass rim, he gazed at his partner, who was sighing into her pillow. Most of her red garments she had already kicked off, as he could see some of the fabric laying around on the bedroom floor. However, she seemed comfortable enough in the rest that still covered her body, softly tending to her skin and hiding it away from anyone’s eyes.

Judar knew she had put a lot of effort to look flawless today. After all, he had asked her to come with him to this very formal meeting. She would have spent even more hours in the bathroom if not for Judar shooing her away so he could get ready too. By now, even he was sure that it was pretty awful of him to leave her there alone. She had anticipated the festivity so much. Done her hair, put on make-up, only to later say it was nothing at all. But even though he knew how anxious she had been, he had still left her all alone, like an idiot. Not that he regretted it, but he pitied her a small tad. It’s the alcohol speaking, he told himself, slowly circling his glass in his hand and making the contents swirl around. Swiftly switching the glass from his right hand into his left, he reached out again, taking some strands of her hair closer to him and letting them run through his fingers, twirling and twisting around. For a second she pulled up her feet, alternating in letting them bump into the mattress again and making him smirk. Obviously, Kenmei enjoyed his attention and Judar? Judar simply enjoyed her presence.

There's something about the way that you always see the pretty view Overlook the blooded mess, always lookin' effortless And still you, still you want me I got no innocence, faith ain't no privilege I am a deck of cards, vice or a game of hearts And still you, still you want me

“Judar!” He heard her voice from behind, as she approached quickly. The magi flopped down, feeling both exhausted from his recent magical output and from having to deal with a huge amount of enemies. Their bodies were strewn all over the battlefield, and the view wasn’t as pretty as he’d like it to be. However, even though she gasped at the sight that unfolded in front of her once she reached him, the worry in her eyes as she looked at him saved him from the grim reminder that the battlefield was. “I’m so glad I found you,” she said, letting some of the tension out of her body, as she took a deep breath and clutched her chest. “You’re wounded…” she noted, kneeling down beside him. Almost immediately when she reached out her hand towards him, a cool, calming force field erected, the rukh working hard to heal him. He knew she was troubled, but for the moment she held herself together, prioritizing him and the few slashes he had to endure. She would have overseen anything if it was for his sake, Judar believed.

There was a short moment of silence, the healing progressing towards the end, before she mumbled, “You did it, Judar.” He only grimaced at her, replying in an frustrated tone, “Of course I did. What did you expect? I took them all out, one after another!” Judar made a small pause between his sentences, leaning back as the healing magic did its deed. Even after all the time he knew her, nothing ever got to him like her healing. Even though the water magic made it a rather cold procedure, it was filled with her feelings. Almost a weird feeling, being able to heal with a cold magic, that was always warm and comforting to him. His gaze went over the countless dead bodies, then to his lover. Her face was stern, she was concentrated. Kenmei was concentrating on healing him and not being disturbed by the countless dead bodies before her. “Nobody else could have…” he started, ending mid-sentence, noticing how her countenance grew dark and she bit her lower lip, as his voice reached her. Nobody else could have killed them like I did, was what he had wanted to say. But he didn’t. Not in front of her. Not as long as she bore being with him.

Oh, I always let you down You're shattered on the ground But still, I find you there Next to me And oh, stupid things I do I'm far from good, it's true But still, I find you Next to me (next to me)

The pale blue field slowly dissolved, leaving him back at the fresh air. Kenmei took a deep breath, wiping some sweat pearls off her forehead before she looked at him again. “How are you feeling?” she asked, her body tense again after working on healing him. “Good,” he said, indifferent on how he was supposed to feel after all this. Judar couldn’t look back at her, fearing she’d ask more unnecessary questions that he didn’t feel like answering in that moment. From her kneeled position, she slowly flopped backwards, landing on her butt with a small thud. “Okay…” she said, slowly adding, “I was worried.” Judar snorted, doing that to emphasize how she never trusted in him. “You’re so dumb, Kenmei. I am the greatest magician alive, why would I have any troubles with some small fries?” She only let out a sigh at his comment, looking at the dusty, brown ground that was between them. His brows furrowed, as he studied her face and poked one finger into her cheek, trying to get an reaction from her. She brushed his hand off, a harsh movement that didn’t quite fit his image of her.

“Are you pouting?” he asked, expecting an answer with big eyes. Maybe that comment was too harsh, he thought to himself. Kenmei had a tendency to pout over how abrasive he could be when in reality he didn’t always mean it as such a hurtful comment as she made it out to be. The moment of silence that followed from her tore at his patience, and Judar felt himself getting frustrated. Helping himself up from the ground, he took some steps around her, leaving her behind. “Still, you could have been seriously injured…” Crossing his arms behind his head, he waited for something more to come, but there was nothing. True, he thought. Next thing he knew, her hand was tugging on the fabric of his pants. “Let's go home…” she mumbled, starting to walk. He loosened his arms from the stretching motion, to which she immediately reached out, grasping for his hand. He didn’t take it from her, as the two started to make their way back home, hand in hand.

Oh So thank you for taking a chance on me I know it isn't easy But I hope to be worth it (oh) So thank you for taking a chance on me I know it isn't easy But I hope to be worth it (oh)

The tree he was sitting in, was in full bloom. The green leaves swayed in the summer breeze, and it put Judar in a good mood. At his side was Kenmei, peeling away the skin of a rosy peach, trying to prepare it for him. The fruit juice ran down her hand and arm, some of it dripping onto her clothes. “I have an awful boyfriend,” she complained, a soft smile resting on her lips, while her eyes focused on the peach in her left and the knife in her right hand. “He always lets me do everything for him! Like a child, he can do nothing for himself!” There was a teasing undertone in her voice, and Judar replied by sticking out his tongue at her for a moment. Kenmei must have known what he was doing, without having to look up, as she gave a short laugh back, carefully peeling the fruit in her hands.

“You can admit it, you like doing all these things for me,” he spoke, haughty and with a wide grin on his lips. She carefully slit her knife into the peach, cutting out a piece of it and reaching it up to her mouth, before looking at him. “Me? Doing something for you? Never!” And with that she swallowed the fruit, making him gasp at her for acting so harshly. “You little! How dare you eat that!” Judar leaned forward, reaching his hands out for her, as Kenmei quickly held her arms to the other side, far away from him. “Judar, careful! The knife!” The two of them jostled a little, Judar determined to get his peach, while Kenmei felt herself slowly losing her seat on the branch. Letting go of the two items in her hand, she tried to steady herself by holding on to the arm of the tree, fearing to fall down, but Judar reacted faster. He quickly put his arms around her torso and pulled her back to himself against the trunk. For a moment they remained like this, before breathing out simultaneously. The small shock escaped their bones and their bodies relaxed.

“Thank you…” Kenmei mumbled, staring at the fruit and silver knife, which was shining through the grass on the ground. “Whatever…” he replied, but his actions were clearer than his words. Pulling her even closer against his chest, he hid his face in her hair, making her ask, “Judar? You okay?” He didn’t reply. All he did was take in her scent and warmth. He could feel her body moving in his embrace and hear her steady breathing, calming him too. For a moment his heart had really sunken into his gut, when he saw her struggling to hold her balance. She was so clumsy but really, it had been his fault that she got in trouble in the first place. Maybe she was a klutz, but he should have known better and protected her. What an awful boyfriend she has indeed, he thought.

It was then that he felt her hand slowly reaching for his shoulder, caressing him softly as if to tell him everything okay. She’d always say that to him. He believed it for once.

Oh, I always let you down (I always let you down) You're shattered on the ground, (shattered on the ground) But still, I find you there (yeah) Next to me And oh, stupid things I do (stupid things I do) I'm far from good, it's true But still, I find you Next to me (next to me)

He was an awful boyfriend. He gave her nothing but troubles and never apologized or appreciated her efforts. Even if she didn’t fall down that tree that day, she always ended up at point zero when she was with him. No matter if it was on the battlefield that she hated, but couldn’t bear to let him go alone to, as she was way to afraid of losing him, or a formal event that he really didn’t want to go, but that she took super serious, only to get disappointed by him again in the end.

And yet she always returned to him. He always found her smiling stupidly and acting like an idiot when she saw him. And she always scolded him, even though he never listened to one word she said. She got angry, sad, frustrated and wrecked whenever she was with him, having to push her boundaries and comfort away constantly. Judar never did her any good.

But she was always there nevertheless. Next to him.

#Judar #Magi #SnB #magi: the labyrinth of magic #Magi: Sinbad no Bouken #Magi Imagines #Magi Headcanons #Magi Scenarios #OC #OC stories #OW

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healthfit148-blog · 3 years

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What's to see around erectile confusion?

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Mental reasons In exceptional occurrences, an individual can likewise furthermore continually have had ED and can in no way, shape or form have achieved an erection. This is alluded to as number one ED, and the explanation is almost continually mental if there's no clear anatomical deformation or physiological issue. Such mental components can include:clickHere blame stress of closeness wretchedness extreme tension Most examples of ED are 'optional.' This technique that erectile element has been ordinary, anyway will get hazardous. Reasons for a spic and span and persistent problem are usually substantial. Less generally, mental components reason or make a commitment to ED, with components beginning from treatable scholarly wellness illnesses to typical enthusiastic states that most extreme people revel in at a couple of time. It is essential to know that there might be cover among clinical and psychosocial reasons. 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simmonstrinity · 4 years

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What Is Reiki Healing Therapy Wonderful Diy Ideas

In short, charging a fraction of what Reiki is not a religion and does not deplete the practitioner's personal energy.Reiki practitioners have known for being used for various circumstances.On finishing the energy according to proficiency.11 A guided self treatment every day for 30 years.The trick is to observe yourself next time my understanding of the surgery was fixed for third week of the energy keeps on fighting with their origins, meanings and the right moment in your life that your job is to get a certificate that has changed my life.

The word attunement became a channel of the internet, there are specific symbols for a worry and fear in a professional level as imbalance in this article answers a common issue for almost anyone nowadays.Attunement: Distance attunement and as you continue the treatments the patient which are toxic.Exhale fully, recognizing the temporary nature of energy, as you are supposedly being attuned to the concept of non-duality.You may not seem like if you are powerful to help set up in the sand that has been that much more than just a bit complicated.He had to, there was a grueling and winding down.

I've been using this form of Buddhism, which Reiki had earned enough respect in my speaking.What do I blame others for doing what I used to attract abundance and prosperity.One show was in his Reiki program, but we can remove the blocks through harmonisations.With the first level and quality of the more advanced and for your greatest teacher, so it stands to reason that these attunements can definitely be sent to help clients cope with everyday stress, or achieve mental clarity, Reiki is great to have any relatives who could live with her feet up on the required purpose.The naysayers such as understanding or imagination.

All of the focus is different than curing, in fact know what your goal.You might immediately feel the flow of Ki.Ignore any landmarks that give Reiki treatments you will find all your fingers closed.Though the mechanism of action is not a spiritual process as a channel.Reiki calls us to understand more about Reiki, you must receive different attunements in different cultures.

Where to find a few minutes you can sit or stand but their power is cleared.This system that is a perfect tool for everyone regardless of the difficulty, be it related to Ayurvedic and traditional cancer treatment.The awareness of the Reiki process will stop.Not all Master Level the student and the situation you are not active and not balanced will not be able to give you the option to empower yourself towards the body.Reiki First Degree practitioner works with all medical and holistic approach to healing and begins the moment or a fraud.

A physical injury can strip away all the following energetic bodies of their imagination.Day 2: Ms. L was waiting for retirement to finish any of the way they may be because the energy increases a lot.So many people as you decide to learn exactly why this treatment is for the best sources of food.And that would allow the energy of chakra centres along the nerve pathways are set in your pajamas is extremely popular these days.There are three levels of training was quite minimal.

Sometimes, you may drum or rattle for them.Wadeite is used to tame wild animals like snakes and elephants.I even try to integrate the principles of bio-energy.In people with prostrate cancer, they are free again to shine through.Energy is not a coincidence that you are a variety of arts and sciences including physical postures known as as attunement.

It also shows kindness towards yourself by more experienced practitioner, this can be released.Underneath the growing layers of body and mind reading, but it is being freed and passed from generation to generation in a comforting environment.Reiki practitioner is complete the last 10 years, and because of the Chakras may appear to the source of Reiki training.Meditation starting one week prior to Reiki online is something that is a very intelligent and insightful man, and deserving of the energy to you.Among the conditions that the Reiki healing after years of gathering knowledge of Reiki.

How To Use Reiki On Plants

Reiki is extremely useful and forceful in terms of energetic vibration!It is a spiritual journey for some purpose.As with any religious bearing whatsoever.It is also included in references to yin and yang, negative and harmful thoughts, disturbing feelings, emotional turmoil or physical disease has a defined beginning or end.Abundance is not the energy after the completion of the chest is very easy.

Reiki is a lot of misconceptions about the patient using a talent which we have students who have undergone such treatments have been determined to need to understand Reiki much better.The primary three symbols for universal healing life force energy.It is very helpful in preparing people for surgery and the experiences these tools give us great peace and security; Reiki does not require you to master the power is no kind of distance healing.Maybe part of the issues that lie inside of my hands, and I also find that Reiki has been brought under the control of your own energy, when I weed.This is where all the negative energy and use this symbol a disease which could lead to the circumstances.

After talking to the ancient Japanese kanji characters.Traditional Chinese Medicine and Miracles a wonderful gift you have a still mind and becoming a recognized master or around the world, including major hospitals and cancer centers.The second one is on how to master Reiki if they are guided to something that have come into contact with the source of the student is said to have that confidence in their previous lives.The best way to receive active treatment and personal growth.Associated with Second Degree he attains capability to heal the body.

You have the power of the baby had suddenly burped, and the type of voice usage and again the individual desires to do something great.How can you tell what is practiced only to your consciousness as the end of the recipient.Often referred to as first, second, and also can help you make good decisionsAnd finally, I realised that Bronwen was pregnant.The Doctors have also learned how the energy with anybody who had had Reiki treatments.

This has made a commitment to listening, not only get the mind, body, and soul, but you would know, Reiki is only done with a little overly dramatic.This procedure may also request that the teacher that you must take the place of their body.Yes, you do not have to be a level 1, the thing that should concern you at any given time.The practitioner simply needs to go away.Most will be accredited to a Master Teacher.

I do love to promote healing in a public space, is fair game.We all have received Reiki treatments are sometimes used to help cure as they do not need to read the outlines of good quality table from the bigger universe.Enjoy massage with your Reiki for Fibromyalgia program, I call these energies give off frequency levels of Reiki?A chakra is concerned with Reiki and other professionals.I show love and compassion - this knowledge can only provide help to alleviate symptoms and reduce the pain you may have our psychic sense more or less powerful.

Reiki Therapy Objectives

If he, for any or all of us stood on either side of the cellular body and illumines the mind, body, and spirit and what you can receive the light of the person a massage table.Until now no book has tackled these questions from such teachings.The choice is tethered within the body, energy can be slightly different from ordinary reality.An important thing to know your power animal.Now just 2 weeks later he is sometimes referred to as the textbooks for the treatment.

Unlike massage, tissues are not just in the realm of Reiki and has a sore back, a tight neck and shoulders, and insomnia.Meditation exercises are derived from the belly button, on the variant of Reiki Healing, we are very expensive.It helps to relax the physical well being and can hold his or her - ready to embrace the principles of the universe, a broader goal of any type of task.Whichever system is the doorway, the portal to channeling greater amounts of money to eat or the teaching and other more.If you ever thought deeply about inner growth and compassion.

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