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tomriddleslove · 4 months

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Pt 2 - The one that you want.

✩Theodore Nott x Reader

Pt 2 to Hey, trouble (DELETED)

Summary: The one where just as things are beginning to look up, everything comes crashing down. Alternatively: Tension, Fluff, Angst.

A/N: This fic was written very sleep deprived so I ask you to bear with me. The second part is my favourite so just stick with it.

Songs: The Way - Mac Miller, Ariana Grande

Lover, you should have come over - Jeff Buckley

Promise - Laufey

NOTE: I accidentally deleted my account and did not have the first part of this mini series saved! I will probably rewrite it but there is some context you should know, so i’ll try summarise it as concisely as possible:

You and Theodore used to be really good friends when you first joined Hogwarts. Naturally, as you both got older, you changed slightly. Theodore came back one summer and he seemed completely different, he was not only incredibly handsome but he had generally flourished as a person. The girls all loved him and he found a new set of friends, essentially forgetting about you. Time skip a few years and you become friends with Pansy, and the rest of the group. Theodore greets you as though nothing has changed. You habour a lot of resentment to him initially, but realise you really do love chilling with the group and so you set it to the side. In the fic, you’re at a party and you head up to the roof. Theodore appears and you chat for the first time in ages. It gets a bit tense when you subtly call him out but you try brush it off as a joke. He noticed you at their quidditch practice earlier on in the day with mattheos number painted on your face, and he sounds a bit jealous. You assure him it was only for jokes, though you’re confused as to why he’d be upset. Theodore (internally ) alludes to loving you and you’re both emotionally stunted idiots in love.

AND that brings us back to now. Enjoy xx

Friday had finally come, and you couldn't think of a word that could place just how relieved you were feeling. Don't get it wrong, you hugely valued your education, and took pride in working hard, but at the end of the day, there's only so much history of magic one could tolerate before their brain tuned out. The surprise quiz you took in class today told you that you had reached that point many months ago. But it was ok, that was an issue for the future.

You click open the door to your dorm room, tossing your bag haphazardly to the side as you undo your tie, pulling it loose with a groan of relief. Pansy is sprawled out comfortably on your bed because apparently, yours was comfier (they were the exact same thing, she just couldn't be bothered to make hers in the morning.)

You flick a strand of hair that fell in front of your face with a dramatic sigh as you flop down onto the bed, lying perpendicular to Pansy as you rest your head on her lap. She has a half smile of amusement as her hand comes down to pat your head, eyes trained on her book. You raise a brow and shuffle up slightly to catch a glimpse of what she was reading.

You see the word ‘shaft’ once and that's all you need to see as you gasp with fake indignation.

“Pansy… Whilst I'm sitting here?” You groan and she grins, her face slightly red as she shrugs, shameless.

I mean, come on. You weren't a stranger to smut, but right in front of you? You grab the book from her hand and toss it across the room.

“None of that whilst I'm here. Your amazing and beautiful friend is vying for attention so focus on me.’ You say and she playfully rolls her eyes as she lies back on her bed.

“It's disgustingly hot. I can't be bothered for this year anymore. The days are as hot as hell depths and the evening has me freezing my nonexistent balls off.” Pansy moans, and you hum in agreement.

You’re grateful for your friend and her seemingly never-ending talent of speaking because you currently couldn't even muster the energy to speak.

“Do we have to go watch the boys today? Lila told me Madam Pince has charmed the library with a cooling spell. We could go there instead.” Pansy says, sitting up, and the idea is incredibly tempting. You live for nothing more than to get out of this dastardly heat, especially in the comfort of the library (Pansy and yourself had mastered the art of smuggling snacks in. The key was in making sure you triple-checked what you bought in, which you learnt after Pansy had accidentally sat on a Fizzlebees Exploding Sherbet last winter. The poor 1st year who had sat next to you was sure that there was some kind of attack and leapt under the nearest table.)

The mention of practice has your mind thinking back to your most recent encounter with Theodore. Just thinking about it again elicited that strange feeling in your stomach. You were, perhaps, close to a path of redemption (though it was more Theodore redeeming himself.)

With a sigh, you shake your head.

“We promised them we'd come. Besides, imagine the absolute havoc Mattheo will cause when he finds out we ditched for the library of all places. He would get us banned for a month, at the very least.” You say, and Pansy grumbles but ultimately knows you’re right. She sighs, muttering.

“Yes yes, I suppose you're right.” She begrudgingly admits and you grin, sitting up. You walk over to your closet, looking for something else to wear as you felt as though you were positively melting in your uniform. You flick through your closet, cursing the endless void that conveniently was full of sweaters and thick jumpers now summer has come. You dig around and find a pair of black denim shorts towards the back. You don't even know when you got them, but they fit and they'll do the job. You're thankful for the fact that you love the feeling of freshly shaven legs on your bedsheets, because heaven knows you would not bother to shave your legs for a man. You manage to find a green shirt, and you slip it on. It's nothing special really, but you weren't dressing up for anyone. You were long past those days now, you found that it was lovely not giving two shits. Pansy called it alarming, but you liked to think of it as… eclectic.

Pansy brings over her signature red lipstick (which you're sure only she can pull off) and holds your cheek in place to draw a number 10 on it, as standard practice. You reach up to grab her hand.

“Wait. Do 7 instead.” You say. She widens her eyes slightly and wiggles her brows as she looks at you.

“Oh? And why is that?” She probes and you playfully swat her, rolling your eyes.

“Theodore just asked me to. Besides we shouldn't inflate Mattheo's ego too much.” You respond a bit too quickly, and she has a shit-eating grin on her face. Pansy knows you well though, and she knows probing any further will only give her a stinging hex and nothing more, so she simply looks at you with a pointed look as she draws the 7 on instead. You watch as she traces the number 7 on her face too, adjusting her hair as she pouts and blows a kiss at herself in the mirror. You pointedly roll your eyes to tease her and she throws a pillow at you.

“Alright alright, you humble lady. Let's go.” You muse, holding your arm out. The two of you link arms as you descend down to the quidditch pitch. The sun is shining blazing down on you, and you feel uncomfortably hot and sticky within a few seconds of being outside. You truly weren't built for warm weather.

The grass on the pitch is a beautiful rich green and the sky is so picturesquely blue that it seems more like a postcard as opposed to real life. You imagine that this must be their favourite season; you had entertained the idea of watching one match in the winter season and immediately stopped after a gust of wind sent a bird flying into the girl sitting above you (You were sure it had given her that scratch on her cheek.) You couldn't cope with watching a match in such harsh weather, and you couldn't even begin to imagine how it must be to play in such conditions.

Idiots, really. They brought it on themselves. They definitely came to that realisation when they would be dragged out of bed at 5:00 am to go play in the freezing cold whilst you remained blissfully asleep under your warm covers.

You clamber up the stairs of the stands and curse under your breath. For all the beauty and wonders the wizarding world had, was it really that damn hard to have a few escalators here and there? You wanted to watch a practice game, not train to have the thighs of Hercules. You finally reach the top and shimmy down the benches with Pansy, leaning against the railing, The team was already up in the air, circling around whilst tossing the ball to one another. For all the grace and elegance Draco exuded on the ground, you couldn’t help but snicker when you catch the sight of him looking like he had slathered himself in red paint, all sweaty and grimacing; strands of his blonde hair clinging to his face.

“You alright up there Draco? Mummy forget to send you some sun cream?” You call out teasingly, and he sneers at you as Mattheo cackles, swooping down on his broom to greet you and Pansy.

“There they are!” Blaise says, a small grin on his face as he flies down to your level, joining Mattheo. You don’t even have the time to greet him because a loud gasp escapes Mattheo's lips, his hand coming out to grip your chin, tilting your face to the side.

“Traitors!” Mattheo says, eyes flickering between Pansy and yourself. You can't keep the grin off your face as you pry your face out of Mattheo's hands.

“Oh come on Mattheo. We love you all equally and need to express that love as such.” Pansy drawls, a taunting grin on her face.

“Fuck off, I'm the only important one,” Mattheo responds, puffing out his chest as he points to himself.

Blaise has to hold back from rolling his eyes, looking over at you exasperatedly. You exchange a glance with him and you feel your lips curl up into a small smile as you stifle a laugh.

“This was your doing! What did you do to them? Now I'm going to play like shit!” Mattheo whines, as he turns to look up at Theodore.

Theodore.

Your eyes flicker up and sure enough there he is. And god, how dare he look so good in this disgusting heat. His eyes are (and you have the feeling they were like that for quite a bit) trained on you, an unreadable expression on his face. He keeps his gaze on you, and you're sure at that moment he was trying to seduce your soul or play some stupid kind of mind tricks on you to have you thinking of him all day (it was working.)

His lips curl up into that godforsaken smile that borders on a smug little smirk. It has you embarrassingly weak in the knees and suddenly you're very glad it's hot, for you could blame your red cheeks on the heat. He flies down, tearing his gaze away from you as he comes close to Mattheo.

“Come on Mattheo, I’ve got an audience so I need to make sure I beat you embarrassingly quickly today,” Theodore says, egging his friend on.

“Yeah fucking right,” Mattheo says, turning to Theodore as the two engage in the most awful, embarrassing trash talk. You and Pansy exchange a glance and the two of you side-eye them with disdain.

The simple mind of boys managed to amaze you every time. Their attention span was impressively short.

Proving your point, Mattheo flies up to poke fun at Draco and Lorenzo, who both didn't seem to be holding up too well with the heat. You lean your elbows on the railing and stiffen slightly when Theodore flies up next to you. He hovers on his broom mid-air, resting his elbow on the railing in front of you. His face is incredibly close to yours, analysing your face with those sinful eyes of him which should be illegal because

Fuck, you were deprived.

“You wore it.” He says, and he sounds oddly breathless. You were assured by Blaise mere minutes ago that they had barely started practising.

Why did it seem so hard to speak? Why did Theodore seem so surprised? Why did you feel so bashful?

“You asked.” You respond, and his eyes search yours for a second before a smile tugs at his lips. His hand reaches out to cup your face, tilting it to the side as he looks at the 7 on your cheek.

Was this all it took for Theodore to touch you?

You’d have to start drawing 7 everywhere.

His fingers brush against your jaw, and you let out a shaky breath as his thumb runs along your cheek.

His touch leaves a fiery trail in its wake, and you are sure he has to be doing some sort of nonverbal magic because you feel as though you are going crazy. You resist the urge to let your eyes flutter shut because Theodore Nott simply has that effect.

He turns your head back and you stare at one another for a second more before he pulls back, and your mouth feels awfully dry.

“Mattheo smudged it.” He says, and his voice sounds slightly strained as he says so. You can't keep the corners of your lips from lifting slightly as you nod.

“Right.” You breathe out, looking at him. He grins, and this time you have to be sure you have not secured yourself a one-way ticket to the Janus Thickey Ward of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, because you swear his eyes flicker down to your lips for a brief second before he leans back like he's been forced to do so, wordlessly looking at you once more before he grips the broom with one hand, effortlessly flying up to start practice.

You don’t even have the time to process whatever that was because your ever-eloquent and insightful friend speaks the very thoughts running through your head.

“What in the ever-loving fuck was that?” Pansy utters, eyes wide as she stares at the spot where Theodore was standing.

Amen to that, Pansy. What in the ever-loving fuck was that?

Your hand hovers over your cheek, ghosting over the place Theodore had just touched.

You part your lips to say something, but can't even formulate the words, and Pansy recognises that.

“Holy Shit! He- That-” She says, hands grabbing your shoulders as she shakes you. You're ashamed to say you needed it because you were sure you were dreaming.

“What's going on between you two? First, you’re wearing his number to the match. Then he's practically eye fucking you and you're both literally about to make out.” Pansy babbles and you roll your eyes at her dramatics.

“Oh calm down, Pansy. He barely looked at me, and he was just fixing it because Mattheo had smudged it. There's nothing going on.” She says and Pansy narrows her eyes.

“Oh yes, and I’m fucking straight. We both know that's a lie.” She deadpans, and you shake your head with an exasperated smile.

You couldn't tell whether you wanted to crack up with laughter or strangle the shit out of her. With Pansy, the line blurred more often than not. It’s why you loved her so dearly.

“Genuinely Pansy, nothing’s going on between Theodore and me. We used to be really good friends. That's all.” You say, with a tone of finality. She sighs, mumbling under her breath.

“….Painfully obvious”

“Both know that's a lie…..”

“Hopeless idiot…”

You shoot her a glare at her mumbling and she returns the sentiment with a pointed smile, enough to make you roll your eyes with amusement. You rest your head on her shoulder as the two of you watch the match.

The day Theodore had walked past you like you simply didn't exist was the day you swore to yourself you'd never, EVER, let yourself be good friends with him again. You stuck to your word always, yet this was proving to be one time where you didn't.

You prayed you wouldn't regret this, but alas, the universe is cruel at times.

The news of Draco’s father cancelling their annual summer holiday trip came surprisingly as great news to your groups as you all lounged in the library (which was as packed as it had ever been thanks to Madam Pince’s cooling charm. You all begged her to teach you the spell but she refused, and you were sure she kept it hidden to make sure people came to the library. Luckily for the group, you were one of the most conscientious students in your year, so you'd all get away with things due to the teachers favouring you greatly. A few other groups were kicked out immediately.)You all sat in a cosy arrangement in the far back end of the library. Pansy sat on the floor beside you, whilst you lounged in an armchair, feet thrown over one arm. Blaise sat on the other arm of the chair, with Draco and Theodore sitting opposite you. Between the armchair and sofa facing one another was a third sofa and a small round table. Mattheo and Lorenzo sat on that third sofa. Lorenzo stretches, sprawled out as he props his feet up on the table. You reach out and slap him with the book you were reading, and he cowers sheepishly as he puts his feet down.

“I was looking forward to summer in Versailles,” Draco complains, and you sigh. Would be nice to be able to go on such trips.

“Actually…” Pansy says, sitting up as though she’s just had an idea. Knowing your friend, you can't help but feel terrified about what's about to come out of her mouth.

“My parents have a beautiful holiday home down in France and they're going to Australia this year, so it's not being used. Why don't we all spend a week there?” Pansy says.

It's actually a very clever Idea, and a chorus of murmurs of agreement and nods echo throughout the group.

“That actually sounds good” Lorenzo says, and Blaise hums in agreement.

“I have family who live in France so they could sort out travel for us when we are there. I'm sure I can go.” Baise says and Pansy claps her hands excitedly, rubbing them together like some kind of evil genius (sometimes you were sure she was.)

“Draco, Theo?” Pansy says, and the mention of Theo's name has your eyes flickering up from your book. He's looking at you but the second your eyes meet he quickly looks at Pansy and nods, clearing his throat.

“Huh? Oh, uh- yeah.Sounds good.” He says. You lightly smile to yourself as you look down at your book.

“ I suppose I’ll tolerate it.” Draco sighs, and a chorus of groans escapes the group at his melodramatic behaviour.

“Oh piss off Draco, just admit you like us,” Mattheo says and Draco scoffs.

The boys very quickly once again get into a semi-play fight, and a stern hush from Madam Pince as she glares at the group of you sends them both sheepishly quiet. She walks away and it’s your turn to glare at the two boys.

“She may like me now, but if you two don't shut up she sure as fuck won't, and ill set your robes on fire if you force me to get through the summer whilst being banned from the library.” You spit, scolding them.

Mattheo and Draco both look down like children being chastised and Blaise has to hide his amusement as he nudges your shoulder, getting up.

“Right well, that's our cue to leave anyway. Have the real match tomorrow so we need an early night.” Blaise says. One by one everyone gets up, Pansy pushing off the floor with a sigh as she dusts down her skirt.

She turns to you, raising a brow.

“You coming?” She asks, holding a hand out and you look up, shaking your head.

“Nah. Gonna stay here for a while. Finish reading this.” You say, holding up your book with a weak smile. Pansy shakes her head with a smile, ruffling your hair (much to your dismay).

“My little neek. Have fun!” She says, and you flip her off at the comment. She grins, blowing a fake kiss back at you as she manoeuvres past the wooden bookshelves and out of the library.

You sigh and feel as though you're sinking further into the plush armchair, a pillow held to your chest as you read your book. Everything about the library was so pleasantly calming. The dim lights that cast dancing shadows of the book spines across the wall. The bibliosmia that you inhaled deeply as you lay for what felt like hours, reading whatever you could get your hands on. You’re so caught up in the allure of the library (Pansy might have a point, you definitely were a neek), that you don't even notice the presence of someone coming to sit down on the sofa next to you until the sound of the leather cushions sagging under weight draws your attention up from the pages of the book.

Seriously? Were you actually that oblivious? It was extremely alarming if you were.

You look up and see Theodore moving to take a seat on the sofa next to you. He stretches out his legs, his large frame suddenly making the space seem a lot smaller.

“Hey.” He says, and your lips quirk up in a smile as you speak.

“Hey,” You respond, folding the corner of your book.

“What are you reading?” Theodore asks, and you raise a brow.

Did he really have an interest in the book you were reading? A few years ago the Theodore you knew would never touch a book (though he would listen to you ramble on about them for an hour.)

But Theodore has changed, And so have you. He’s no longer the Theodore you knew, and the reminder turns the feeling in your stomach unpleasant.

You hold up your book, weakly smiling as you show him the cover. It was rather beaten and bruised, but you had owned this copy since your first year. You’ve reread it more times than you can count.

“Little women,” Theodore says, a small smile of recognition on his face. He remembered you, always walking around with that book. Theodore couldn’t comprehend what half the words in the book meant, but he remembered hearing you talk about it and thinking you were truly the most incredible person he had ever met.

That hadn't really changed.

“Mhmm. Must be my 5th time rereading it this year.” You say, with a small smile, and Theodore lets out a low laugh.

He's looking down at the table, and you admire the way the dim light dances along his features, making them look surprisingly soft.

“Love Jo all your days, if you choose, but don't let it spoil you, for it's wicked to throw away so many good gifts…” Theodore starts, gaze trained ahead.

“......because you can't have the one you want” You finish, quietly.

Theodore's gaze drops to his hands, fiddling with the threads on his bag. The air is thick with unspoken words. A quiet dance of regrets lingers in the spaces between your words.

"Little Women," Theodore repeats, his fingers tracing the zip on his bag. "I remember how you used to quote passages from that book like they were sacred verses. It was almost like a religion for you."

You can sense the undertone in his words—the acknowledgement of a shared past that now exists as a distant echo.

The silence that follows hangs heavy.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, the worn pages of the book suddenly feeling like a fragile shield against the currents of emotion. Theodore's eyes, once familiar and comforting, now carry a hint of regret and a touch of something unsaid.

"Jo March was always your favourite," he continues, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

“Still is,” you say, and he nods, looking up at you. His smile is tight-lipped, and you fight the urge to reach forward and massage the furrow of his brow. He reaches into the side pocket of his bag, pulling out a book.

Little women.

You frown as you take the copy from him, flicking through it. There are scribbles and annotations all over the pages.

You hate the way you instantly recognise his handwriting - another testament as to how Theodore was weaved into everything you did.

Theodore takes the book back, his fingers lingering on the worn cover. He opens the book, thumbing through the pages, his eyes fixing on the annotations.

"I've been reading it," he admits, his voice a low murmur. "Annotating it. I wanted to see it through your eyes, to understand why it meant so much to you."

You watch him, and your heart clenches at his voice. At his eyes, At the way he speaks, and the way he keeps his head down. The realisation that he held onto this piece of you, even as you both drifted apart, is enough to send you into a spiral.

"I see you in these pages," Theodore continues, his gaze locking onto the annotated paragraphs. "I see you in between the lines, and in the words. I see you in Jo, I see you in the witty comments. Every time I read this, It's like a piece of you is still here with me."

A lump forms in your throat, and you swallow hard, trying to push back the tears that threaten to spill over.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry

“Every time I read these words, I feel like I'm back with you, even if just for a moment." He admits, looking up at you.

The devastation in his eyes is surely mirrored in your own.

You want to cry. You want to shout, because how dare he sit here, and speak of you with such reverence, and act like he cares for you when he had forgotten about you so easily? How dare he say he sees you in everything he does when he looked right past you when you stood in front of him?

How dare he act like he missed you when he didn’t?

You can't say anything. You physically can't, because every time you open your mouth it hurts. Grief clings to the pipes, scratching at your throat. It restricts your breathing, it gnaws at you.

Theodore looks at you and clears his throat, quickly looking down. You fail to make out the fact that his own eyes are threatening to spill with tears, as your own teary eyes cloud your vision.

It was always like that with you and Theodore.

Amid your shared tears, the unspoken suddenly becomes the unsayable.

He gets up, and he can't bear to look at your face because every glance of those tears in your eyes eats away at his heart. He grabs his bag and throws it over his shoulder, rushing out for fear of what you might say.

“See you” He murmurs, walking away. You can’t tear your gaze away from where he walks away even as his form disappears, and you swear the boy had taken part of your heart with him.

The quote “Fate was a cruel mistress” Never made much sense to you. Fate was beautiful even in its destructive nature. Fate was unstoppable, she didn't wait for anyone or veer away. You used to admire that about her. You found it to be a beautiful thing. Of course, it's because you also believe that fate would only wait for you. Wait that one extra second. Then, perhaps, Theodore and you would be on the same path. Instead, you were two, walking the same path only a heartbeat apart. As if time itself conspires to teach that love can occur in the same book, but pages apart.

You cannot love the beauty of her tenacity and cower from it too.

#harry potter #slytherin #tom riddle #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott fic #lorenzo berkshire #mattheo riddle #draco malfoy #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #slytherin boys fic #slytherin boys #theodore nott angst

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undercoverpena · 1 year

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the games we play

Javier Peña x F!Reader

wc: 4k warnings: angst, ex-lovers back to lovers, one bed trope, alludes to smut, but no actual smut, set in narcos season two. summary: He welcomes every touch, every dig of your nail and every placement of your palm. He takes every minute you give him as they turn into hours. written for @wildemaven and @wildemaven-prompts week 8 [this was meant to be short, i don't know what happened] javier peña masterlist

Sometimes, the heat in Colombia is gentle.

He has found there can be a breeze, a small break from the sun’s touch. It blows against his shirt and swings against the skirts of dresses.

Other times, it’s not so gentle. It can be stifling, and suffocating. It lays itself thickly on top of the weight of catching Escobar, bearing down on the uncomfortable tension from being beside someone he’s trying to avoid.

It makes things worse.

Tense. Unbearable.

Like it is today, where the heat and the day have been testing him. Hanging over them, making even breathing strenuous, not allowing him to think straight, and causing his logic and reason to be difficult to grasp.

But then, being around you makes holding onto many things difficult. Made worse by the fact you’re only speaking to him when necessary. Memories of their argument flitting in and out, a constant reminder like a foot on his neck—pressing its weight down more and more.

Boni— Do not touch me, do not look at me. Actually. Keep out of my way, Peña. I don’t… I don’t want to see you, never mind hear you.

He’s frustrated—angry. The lead they’d been sent for had fizzled into dust and ash by the time the plane had even lifted off. Leaving them with nothing when they landed. Just some files, misty assumptions and corruption—things he could have examined behind his desk on base.

Now, the two of you are stuck here.

The storm brewing in the sky, darkening in the distance—ruining his chance of getting home, away from you.

It’s why he’s been running his thumb over his two fingers—the other hand massaging the side of his skull. Desperate to ease the tension in his head, the dull ache he has from fighting all his normal reactions.

Your perfume has been wearing him down further. Intensifying in the heat and humidity the storm is causing, all prickling and ready to crash over the city.

It’s not that one he’s worried about, it’s the one crackling between the two of you.

It takes more than what he has left, to block it out, to pretend he’s unfazed.

Normally, he’s happy to be off base. To be in any bed that isn’t that one. But, it’s needling him that he’s here for another night, sitting in failure, knowing there’s nothing he can do about it. From all angles, he is confronted with his mistakes—the dwindling leads, the choices he’s made, and the way he’s hurt you.

Each time you allow your eyes to meet his, he sees it. Dancing, ever so gently in your irises, even if you try to blink them away.

He hears you sigh. Hears it over his thoughts, his faux ignorance and forced focus. Having spent more energy than he likes on trying to keep cool, avoid what you’re saying—very quickly, and very fucking loudly—and the feeling of the beads of sweat which pool at the base of his spine.

If he’s uncomfortable, he can’t envision you are faring much better. Your trousers are tightly fitted, cupping your curves to the point it’s been distracting. Your blouse, though elegant and flowing in places, is also long-sleeved—as if by covering as much skin as possible, he wouldn’t want to look at you.

Not realising it’s your eyes and smile he fell for first.

Not that you’re talking to him. In a way, it’s a blessing. He doesn’t need to scramble for an answer, bathe it in politeness before he shoots it your way. He can be sharp and bitter in his mind. Like he had been when you’d mentioned finding a motel to stay the night in.

You’d apologised to him in English—as if all of this had been your fault—that he would have to stay around you for another day. Something knotting inside of him, desperately wanting to claw out and tell you that he likes being around you, and doesn’t want your apologies.

He doesn’t say that. He said nothing.

Now you’re trying to find them a room. Lifting his head, allowing himself a glance at you through his brows, watching as your hand lands on your hip as you continue to question and plead.

Occasionally, he lets himself hone in on the odd word. Spanish rolling from your tongue with such ease. On any other day, he’d hang off your every word. Now, he tries to block you out as much as possible, fearing the way his mind conjures memories of sounds you made. The sweet ones only he pulled from you.

The ones he no longer deserves.

It’s why he hides from you, and buries himself away in a cave of his own making to keep a handle on himself and not ruin whatever is left between you both.

He’s only just got you back as his colleague. Only just being able to talk to him about work without looking like you’re about to implode.

Again, not that he blames you. He replays it, turning it over the fight. It flashes like lightning across his thunderous thoughts, clouded images of your sad face that twisted into fury, how your words slowly began to cut, laced with blades.

Fuck you, Peña. I didn’t ask for this—I knew, I knew you’d do this. And you promised me you wouldn’t hurt me, and yet… you did, you have.

His thumb slides over the pads of his fingers, catching the calluses and the healed scars. He keeps going, churning your words, over and over, not sure if he’ll be ever able to burn them from his mi—

“Javi…”

Opening his eyes, he finds you.

Your fingers holding his arm, his own slowly unpeeling themselves from his skull.

“I… I’ve been calling you for a minute.”

Javi. You haven’t called him that for a while. Having chosen to call him Peña or fucker—and if necessary, Javier. Javi is what you called him before. When the two of you blurred the lines of colleagues and stepped close to being something more.

Something he couldn’t give you. Something he tore in two because, of course, he did.

Tilting your head, you frown, little creases in an otherwise smooth pool. “You good?”

He drops his hand, half expecting your fingers to fall from him. But they remain.

Not on the part covered by his short sleeve, but his skin. Skin that he is sure is already warm, but with you touching him, feels like an inferno. Your little prints burning into him, reminding him you’re solid, real—not a fantasy his mind had cruelly conjured to taunt him.

Rubbing his arm, you offer a smile. “We’re both tired—our flight isn’t for a while, and this place has one room. So.”

You’re too fucking good for me, Bonita. Yeah, Peña. I fucking am. Yet, here I am and here you are. I shouldn’t be. Javi, what is going off… why are you here, why are you picking a fight with me, why are you hurting me for the sake of hurting me?

His silence is making it worse.

He can feel it, see it. How there’s ripples under your mask. Concern bubbling to the surface, making things for him also float to the top. The need to make you smile, to make you laugh—to put you at ease and keep you safe.

Javi has had those thoughts since the moment he first talked to you. Your spark and fire caught him by surprise, the way you wiggled your hips as you left him at the coffee machine rendering him more than useless.

If they’re going to be able to survive the night, he has to bury it all. Stuff it so far down, swallowing back everything. It takes a lot to fill his lungs because of it, the air burning his throat as does so, keeping his eyes on you.

Forcing a twist of his lips, he stares into your eyes. Boldly. Maybe too boldly. “You trying to get me to bed, Bonita?”

You scoff, slowly dropping your hand from his skin, holding the key up in the other. “No. But, knowing you, I know that wouldn’t be hard.”

He feels the space before he truly notices it. How you’d taken a step back, allowing air to flood between you both like a barricade. Then you turn, giving him your back as you jolt your head in the direction of the room.

He’d looked past the bright pink, looked past the rusting railings because he had envisioned there would be two beds.

Not exactly imagining in all the Spanish you’d been spitting that you’d have asked for one bed.

But, there wasn’t. There wasn’t even a couch. Nothing. Just one double bed, two puffed pillows and a folded towel swan at the bottom.

The room itself isn’t nice either. Bright shades and fuchsia pinks, all matching the chipped wooden door and the horrid railings outside. A part of him wonders why he thought it would be better inside.

You brush past him, placing your bag down on the end of the bed. If you mind about the room, you say nothing.

Not about the soaring heat, the one bed or that you’re now sharing a room with him. He wants to ask, ensure you’re comfortable—that you don’t mind him being here.

Not entirely sure what he’d do if you said no.

You’ve only just begun talking to him directly, and not through Steve. Steve who had warned him and he hadn’t listened. “She’s good, Javi. Don’t fuckin’ ruin it by being you”. And he had. Trapping Steve in the middle until you begun to wear thin with Chinese whispers. It took so long, he almost forgot how to speak when you finally were able to string a sentence together without looking close to stabbing him.

Javi knows he only has himself to blame. He’s aware of it—feeling it thrumming around him, whether or not your eyes cut into him.

Look, you don’t want me, that’s fine. I’m a big fucking girl. But you don’t get to sniff around like some wounded fuck because someone else does. You don’t get to turn up when I’m enjoying myself and ruin it.

If anything, Javi is used to making things worse in his personal life. He knows that he’s good with his hands, but not his words. That if you asked he could build you furniture, or put up a shelf; he knows how to please you, pull noises and expressions from you with his tongue alone. If he wasn’t so broken, he could be good for you. Not good enough, but be good.

But, he isn’t.

“You need the bathroom?”

He looks up, finding you holding a smaller bag. “N-no. You go ahead.”

You nod, motioning past him as he clears his throat. Wiping his bottom lip, he adds, “Look, tonight you have the bed—“

“Or, we can be adults and you can share a bed with me…”

He swallows, watching you pause at the bathroom door, standing a little taller.

Something he’s noticed you do more and more, having not been able to take his eyes off you. Not that he ever really has, since he met you. Watching the way you move around, the way you purposefully avoid even the space he’s in.

Fuck, you were maddening. Beautifully maddening to the point now, when he couldn’t have you, you have consumed everything.

He deserves it, deserves worse—he deserves poisonous words and sharper glares.

Now, though, you aren’t giving him that. Your look is more gentle. One he used to get, before…

“Peña, do you want this to be even more unbearable… and if you want to punish yourself, fine, sleep on the floor,” you sigh, swallowing the rest of your words as you lift your shoulders. “But, I’m not asking you to. If you want to be an adult, share the damn bed with me.”

His lips twitch, his hands moving to his hips. “You sure… about sharing the bed?”

You offer a small smile, one that’s forced, but still there. “You know I don’t bite.”

“You do kick, though.”

You laugh, sharp—almost blending perfectly with a puff of air. “Don’t you forget it, either.”

“Wouldn’t dare, Bon…”

He lets the words trail off. The pet name he calls you comes too easily to his tongue. Dissolving into the air, feeling your eyes wash over him before the click of the bathroom door sounds.

He can smell your shampoo. It’s that which stirs him from his sleep.

He peers from the corner of his eyes, noticing the room is still smothered in half-darkness—the motel lighting blaring through the shit, thin curtains.

The scent continues to tickle his nose. It’s a small respite from the smell of spice from the room service hours ago. The food hanging as heavy in the air as it made him feel when he consumed it.

It takes a second, maybe a second too long, to realise you’re curled into him. He feels your breath dancing along his chest, realising his arm is around you, keeping you in place—chin on top of your head, just like the two of you have done with ease before.

Just like the first time, your bodies betrayed you both then, as they are now.

You stained him, imprinted on him. Made it easier to sleep, your warmth has never been too much, but always the perfect amount. Your head is never too heavy, but a weight he welcomes. And has missed.

Get in the car. No, fuck you. You’re the one who said this wasn’t serious. Bonita, get in the— You have no right, Javi. Take your chivalry and your car, and go fuck yourself.

He feels you move your hips closer, brushing over his other hand. It allows him, without trying, to fan his fingers more over your hip. Feeling the softness of your skin, the curve of you—his fingers lightly, and gently squeezing.

It’s experimental, full of unsureness. Something he’s never known for, but you make him a wreck.

Make him question things. Make him want things he’s not craved in a long time.

So he begins sliding his fingers over your hip, unsure if you’re awake. The thin oversized tee you’re sporting is the only barrier from your chest being flush against his, raised above your hip, his fingers catching the hem of it occasionally.

He should put space between the two of you. Should unfurl himself from you before you wake and realise what is happening.

Before he sees that look in your eye. The one a perfect blend of ice and betrayal—topped off with a slice of hurt. He breaks good things, he’s realised. He doesn’t deserve nice souls and a person waiting for him. He’s impatient, selfish and… making so many wrong decisions.

It’s why he hasn’t challenged it, your decision.

Why he stood and said nothing when you hurled abuse at him in the street. He took each verbal punching, knowing the things he’s doing—knowing the danger he’d have been putting you in.

That night, when you didn’t answer. You weren’t at Steve’s were you? Were you? No.

He’s been haunted by you outside of work, not just in it. Images of you, scarlet staining your clothes, limbs bent in ways they should never be. Either that or you appear in his head when he’s in the shower, when his hand is on someone else’s bare hip, frustrated they don’t feel or sound like you, frustrated he can’t finish because he misses you. Misses how good you feel, how you make him feel.

Javi has spent more energy trying to fuck you from his system than he had done trying to keep you in it originally. Something he is more aware of right now, than he was on all the other lonely nights.

It’s why he doesn’t dare move, almost afraid as to what he’ll be confronted with if he wakes you. If your eyes would be murderous, burning a new print for him to hang in the misery museum he’s forged in his head.

Whether they’d be soft… almost worrying if they’d be welcoming, not sure he’ll be able to be selfless and noble again.

He should remove his hand. He should place the blanket, which neither of you wants to have over you, firmly between you. Barricade himself from you, stop you from falling and him being unable to catch you.

Your breath dances over his chest, and he strokes ever so slightly on your hip.

“Is now when you’d want me to bite, Javi?”

Your voice is a whisper.

But he hears them as clear as if you’d shouted them.

You let them land before you lift your face from his neck. You’re so close, the gap so minimal, so easy to close.

He tenses, for the briefest moment, because of it.

“Bonita…”

“Kiss me, Javi.”

He has you on your back before his name is even in the air, crashing his lips against yours, hearing the surprised muffled sound bleeding out from between both of your mouths.

It unlocks it, everything he’s stuffed into the box in his chest. His hand sliding up your neck to grip your jaw, the bed groaning as he leans down over you, kissing you desperately—needing to make up for all the minutes he didn’t. He devours, he thirsts, and he wants all at once as he slides his hand up your thigh, lifting it over his hip.

Thankfully you pull him close, tight—leaving no space for question or doubt. Your hands loop around the back of his neck, nails scratching at the base of his hair as your thighs press against his hips.

His teeth run along your jaw, the tip of his tongue leaving evidence of his path. Your soft murmurs, pleases and Javi’s circling around the two of you.

All he can think is: you taste like sweet, sugar and goodness. It’s a juxtaposition to his smokes, to the liquor normally on his tongue. Another reminder of how good you are, the cracks you proclaim you have so minimal, he barely sees them.

He just sees you.

Strong, beautiful you, who has a sharper tongue than most suits; a hook that forces blue and black to spread before someone even knows they’ve been hit. You’re all brains and strategy, and yet you’re also the most intoxicating thing he’s ever undressed.

And so, he cages you in, unwilling, and unwanting to ever let someone else taste what he gets to. Keeping you close right now as though it can undo all the times he’s taken you for granted.

“Mine,” he whispers against your neck.

Unmeaning to. The word escaping. Making him freeze and you tense. He’s nervous, for the billionth time when he’s with you, he’s nervous as he meets your gaze.

What he finds isn’t shock, but slight narrowed eyes and twisted swollen lips all illuminated in a reddish-pink hue from the outside.

Tracing your knuckles down his cheek, your back arches into him, tracing your bottom lip with your tongue. “Prove it then.”

And he does.

His mouth tastes every inch of you, his ears take in every noise he hadn’t been sure he’d ever hear again. He welcomes every touch, every dig of your nail and every placement of your palm. He takes every minute you give him as they turn into hours.

But, what he savours is the way you beg for more, how you chant his name. How your hand holds his jaw, muffling your moans against his lips as he fills you—feeling pride ballooning in his chest as you moan his name over and over again.

Javi isn’t sure how much sleep the two of you manage. Not that he cares, and not that you’re complaining either. He groans when you slide from his arms, the sun rearing its ugly head through the curtains.

You smirk, and it does something to him as you begin getting ready. Something which makes him want to throw back the sheets and put you on your back again.

But you must read him—see right into his head. Not that he fights you to stay out.

“We have a flight to catch.”

“We still have time.”

“Not the way we do it, we don’t.”

So he relents. Choosing instead to watch you. Take in every glimpse of you he can get. Watching as you style and dress in the mirror, eyes occasionally meeting him as he feels himself smile.

He wants to suggest not leaving, for a moment not wanting to entertain what goes off outside of these walls. He could rip up the tickets for their flights and keep the room for another night. Avoid the issues back where they work. The pressure, Escobar… Los Pepes.

Javi doesn’t do that. Moving closer to you, half-wanting to just pull you close. Feel the way you fit against him, how perfect you do.

He runs his hand down your wrist, wrapping his fingers around the strap of your bag. Lingering in your space, watching your lips curl, seeing the outline of himself in your lusting eyes as he presses you against the wall.

“Javi…”

“We have time, Bonita. I promise,” he whispers in Spanish, dropping your bag softly as he slides his hands around your hips.

You don’t fight him.

Sliding your arms around his neck, lips ghosting over his before you blink—and something shifts.

“Javi… Look, before we get back and things… get complicated. I don’t want more from you than we can both give. My job, I love my job, Javi. I know you do too, I know you need to catch him...”

It’s changing, switching up in front of him.

“What are you saying?”

It comes out more defensive—tense. Suddenly feeling you're slipping through his fingers, for reasons far out of his control. For reasons he hasn't even caused.

He watches as you bite the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to bring me coffee, I don't want dinners and... I just want the us we were before, without the…”

You’re stressed. He can feel it. It vibrates in the air until he smooths his fingers over your cheek, soothing you in the only way he can.

“It’s okay…”

“I want to be yours, Javi. But, I don’t want us to change, not while we have things to do.”

Placing his hand on your hip, he watches as your lips twitch.

His pulse quickens, watching you take a heavy breath. “I know we don’t have more to give one another until he’s caught. And I’m okay with that. As long as…”

It trails off, your words. Your eyes glare as if you can burn the unspoken words in without needing to say them.

He make you feel good, Bonita? Did he— You don’t get to act jealous when you were cock deep in a whore when I needed you, Javier.

“Long as, what, Bonita?”

You avert your eyes.

And he knows before you ask. He remembers it. Recalls seeing the number of missed calls and realising that you’d needed him. The hurt on your face, the look in your eyes.

“Please don’t fuck any more whores. You called me yours last night, Javi. So don’t—“

“Only if you don’t go on any more dates with fuckers who don’t deserve you,” he says, fingers under your chin as he lifts your eyes back.

Please. He adds with his eyes.

You hold his gaze, slowly nodding before you softly smile. One he likes to think is all his. It holds his attention when it’s there, lighting him up, and spreading warmth through him.

Both sitting in silent agreement, his fingers softening on your chin as he draws a line with his thumb.

“If we do this, you and me, there can’t be secrets between us. Not like before.”

Something twists inside of him.

“I was the one who stole your cigarettes,” you confess, his eyes narrowing teasingly, as you pout.

He kisses you, soft, and gentle. “I’ll forgive you.”

“Your turn, is there anything you need to tell me before we leave?”

His face blanks—empties. The bundle of secrets swirl in his stomach, knotting around organs and guilt and the salty chips and chocolate from last night.

For a moment, he thinks about it. Spilling all of it out, poisoning the moment and ruining what the two of you have only just managed to rebuild. His lips part ever so slightly, almost allowing the acidic ball in his throat to escape. It's all set to slip out and greet your ears.

But he swallows it. Hides it.

Shaking his head, he leans his forehead against yours. “Only that I’ve missed you, Bonita.”

Your hand clutches his cheek, cupping him gently. “I’ve missed you too, Javi.”

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gtgbabie0 · 9 months

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-Spencer Reid x reader

{Spencer is there for you even on your worst days}

Hope you enjoy lovelies! 💕

cw// Alludes to the reader having depression// mentions of food// Spencer washes the reader's hair.

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You don't think you've moved much from your spot on the bed since the sun rose, tucked away within the comfort of the soft blankets as time passed, not that you were paying much mind to it. You didn’t really have the energy to care and before you knew it Spencer was coming back home.

You hear him as he closes the door before walking through the apartment, softly calling out your name and it’s only then you’re hit with the guilt of not doing anything productive today.

Spencer opens the bedroom door with a gentle smile and it doesn’t falter, not once, despite the fact you probably look very pitiful, curled up into a ball trying to nurse the dull ache that seizes your body.

He sits down next to you, “How was work?” You whisper tone heavy with tiredness and you didn’t realise just how dry your throat was until now. He tucks your hair behind your ear, his fingertips are so gentle as they graze against your skin.

“It was okay, mostly just paperwork so nothing too bad,” he says keeping the same hushed tone as you before leaning down slightly to press a kiss against your forehead, a feeling that sends a shiver through your body, almost bringing you back to life.

You nod your head with a small, “Good, that’s good” enjoying the way his hand soothes against your back, the warmth of his presence seems to lift your spirits and that ache in your heart doesn’t seem so heavy.

Spencer hates seeing you like this, so defeated. He tries to think of things, anything that might make you feel just a little better than right now and he silently curses himself for not having the power to take all the pain away, the pain that is obvious in your eyes.

He knows it’s not his fault, that realistically he can’t do anything to erase these feelings you have, but reality isn’t always the easiest to accept. What he can do however is be there for you, to make you as comfortable as possible.

You look up at him with a strained smile as he brings the back of his hand to caress your warm cheek, “Do you want me to run you a bath?” He asks in such a gentle tone it almost makes you flinch.

Spencer watches as you contemplate his question, “Do you still have that candle Penelope brought?” You wonder, leaning into his hand enjoying the way it feels against your cheek, ever so slightly gun calloused.

“Yeah of course, as well as the soaps” he smiles, shuffling to make space for you as you sit up.

“A bath would be nice” you whisper as he nods, standing from his place on the bed.

There’s a feeling that captures you and suddenly you’re missing the warmth of his hand against your face. “I’ll go run it. You go get something to drink, yeah?” He holds his hand out for you as he helps pull you up from the bed and onto your feet.

“Okay” you sigh and he presses another soft kiss to your forehead before he walks into the bathroom, and you find yourself thinking just how fortunate you are.

The bathroom is pleasantly warm, not too stuffy or steamy. It’s nice and cosy with the sweet-scented candle that brings a comforting atmosphere and somehow it all makes it a lot easier to actually enjoy the bath.

The water envelopes your body, the bubbles surrounding you as you bring your knees to your chest. “Is it okay Angel?” Spencer asks as he pops his head around the door.

You look over at him with a great full smile, “It’s perfect- thank you” you whisper, trying to ignore the guilt that suddenly barges through your chest settling within your heart. He’s always been so caring and loving despite how tiring his job is. He makes time for you. And sometimes when you’re deep within your own self-sabotage, you can’t help but wonder if you really deserve him.

“Of course” he says and the love that bleeds into his tone seems to nurture the doubt you have.

Spencer is so gentle, so gentle that it almost makes you cry. His delicate fingers brush your wet hair away from your eyes, tucking the strands behind your ear as he leans against the dark marble of the bathtub.

He’d offered to wash your hair, a request you turned down at first. Not wanting to burden him any further. But he insisted and you couldn’t find the energy to fight him on it and in all honesty you’re glad you didn’t because you swear you haven’t felt so at peace than what you do right now.

He peppers your shoulders with gentle kisses trailing along your dewy skin up to your cheek enjoying the breathless giggles that leave your lips, a sound he could never get bored of. “I was thinking, maybe we could cook dinner together?” He says, knowing you enjoyed the last time you cooked together.

You nod your head, “I’d like that actually” You say and your heart warms at the excitement that flashes through his eyes. He presses one last kiss to your forehead before leaving you to prepare the ingredients.

You finish drying your hair before slipping on one of Spencer's cardigans. You walk out into the kitchen watching as he carefully reads the instructions following them with such precision that it makes him look like a professional chef, the thought makes you chuckle.

He turns around, opening his arms out for you. “How are you feeling?” He asks, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as he brings you into his chest making you feel all giddy.

“A lot better. I think you might be magic” he lets out a soft chuckle as his hands soothe against your back. The guilt is still harsh in your heart, a heavy feeling that doesn’t seem to budge, “I’m sorry. You come home from work and you haven’t even had time to sit down” you mumble into his shirt.

There's something in your tone that strikes him, a pang of hurt through his chest, it makes him pull back slightly as he holds your face in his hands. "That doesn't bother me, angel. You had a bad day of course I'll be there for you" he says as his thumb gently caresses your cheek.

"Nothing bad actually happened" you sigh trying to ignore the blocky feeling that wedges in the back of your throat.

"And sometimes those can be worst days," he says, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose and the ticklish feeling makes you laugh. "You're always there for me, I want to be here for you too" The sincerity in his tone almost breaks you completely, and the way he looks at you with nothing but pure love with those wonderful hazel eyes of his.

You can't seem to find the words to say, so instead, you whisper a soft, "I love you." The heaviness in your chest that's been plaguing you all day, seems to lighten and in its place takes a much more welcomed feeling, it's warm and homely.

"I love you too" he smiles as you lean to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, "Do you want to help me chop the vegetables?" he asks as you nod, walking over to the cutting board as you make a start on the carrots. He guides you through the rest of the steps, and you make a joke about how serious he gets when it comes to cooking, and you once again find yourself wondering just how lucky you really are.

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Tags- @violetrainbow412-blog

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starlightshadowsworld · 17 days

Text

My thoughts on Bsd Chapter 114.5

Spoilers below

I'm freaking out over Dazai freaking out.

So because the vampire was controlled by Bram and killed Fyodor, it was like if Bram himself killed Fyodor.

Which means that Fyodor can only take over that body.

Honestly I like it better than the if you can make him bleed shit it was being alluded too.

Calling it "The worst possible scenario" is absolutely terrifying.

Love that Dazai's first thought is shit I need to to tell Ranpo, I need to warn everyone.

Reminder that the entire reason Dazai did all of this was to protect the Agency.

.... Boy did that not work out.

I just know he and Ranpo are gonna feel awful knowing they orchastrated the helicopter shit to make this possible.

Chuuya is me this chapter, very fucking confused.

"Speak English" Chuuya you're Japanese and currently in France.

Braaaam!!! NOOOO not Bram!! Him calling Aya "my princess" and trying to get her to safety in his final moments....ahhhhh!!!

Oh shit I forgot Sigma was watching the memory of this too.

Notice how the scars(?) in his initial form don't carry over to the new version of him.

I just realised this is the first time anyone else has seen Fyodor in person.... What an entrance.

Godamnit you mean Fukuchi's still alive?

I hope this means he knew nothing about Fyodor's ability because "pay him no mind, strike him down" is the dumbest thing to say in this moment.

The fucking swords in this series be causing all the problems I swear.

Ranpo!!! I hope this means he got the intel from Dazai.

And as got another fucking singularity.

I wonder if that's the thing we see fighting Atsushi and Akutugawa in the anime epilogue.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd manga #bsd manga spoilers #bsd 114.5 #bsd dazai #bsd fyodor #bsd ranpo

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months

Text

Shameless

Sequel to Graceless

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, dejection, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The reader attempts to move past her ruination, but is reminded of her tarnish conscience at every turn. (Regency AU, tall!reader)

Character: Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson

Note: Here we are. The sequel but not the end.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love coffee and that’s a lot and probably unhealthy. Take care. 💖

The string of the glove’s seam trails loosely from the thumb. You twist the thread, playing with it, but doing little to mend it. Even with a needle in hand, you have no whim to darn. There are many things in life that cannot be repaired no matter how you try. Occurrences which cannot be taken back.

You pull at the seam until a hole forms in it. You poke your finger through with no heed for the glove’s integrity. You detest that pair anyhow. The very same you wore… that day.

Albina lays at the foot of the bed, her head bent back over the edge as she peruses one of her novellas. Hannah and Cora disappeared ages ago and you only just heard them through the windows. They are likely causing chaos in the gardens. You hope your mother finds them and issues a reprimand for their immaturity.

The autumn thins the air as it creeps in around the window frame and you smell that discerning scent of dirt and leaves. Only a week and it feels as if the whole world has changed seasons. Your world has transformed irrevocably.

There’s a clatter and you glance over as Albina rolls onto her side. She’s always hated to be disturbed amid her stories. She huffs and falls onto her back to begin again, but the door bursts open, your two other sisters tromping through with excitement.

Albina shuts her book loudly and sighs as she sits up. You go back to your exploration of the glove, watching the thread stretch along the seam as you tug. If only that were Cora. If only you could rent her pretty hair from her pretty head. Or in the least, swat the smug grin from her lips.

You can’t even look at her. It just makes you think of him. Of how stupid you’d been. You believed his promises were meant for you but it’s only as you relive that haunting episode every night that you realise, he never proclaimed his intent for you, only alluded to a vague offer. Another mean trick.

“Lord Rogers has sent a gift,” Cora trills as she stands at the vanity, shuffling something unseen before her. Hannah stands at her side, bouncing with anticipation.

“Oh, what do you think it is?” Hannah chimes.

“Could you not unveil it in the sunroom, where there is no one reading?” Albina says as she drags herself to the edge of the bed, resting her book on her skirts.

“Could you not get your head out of those ridiculous fancies,” Cora retorts over her shoulder, “if you ever do for long enough, you might just find a husband too.”

You don’t look up. You refuse to give her the satisfaction. You haven’t missed her wandering glances, how she taunts you without even a word. She turns back to her gift and rustles beneath the thick paper.

“Oh, heavens,” she swoons and spins, “isn’t it beautiful?”

“Are those rubies?” Hannah preens.

“I think.”

“Garnet?” Albina suggests.

“No, no, surely they are rubies,” Cora insists. “Do you see?” She swirls around the room closer to you, “I must find the perfect gown to wear with this. Oh, he would fawn to see me in his ribbon, wouldn’t he, sister?”

You grip the glove tight as her figure looms over you. With your other hand, you clutch the needle, letting it jab into your palm until your eyes prick. You nod, “very beautiful.”

You stand the moment you get the words free of your dry throat. You try to smile but can only muster a strained grimace. You try to step past Cora but she moves with you.

“You’ve not even looked,” she says, “how would know how beautiful it is?”

“Cora, please.”

“No, no, have a look. It’s so elegant, isn’t it?”

You clamp your lips together. Your insides tangle painfully. Even as the tenderness leaves the bruises in your thighs, you swear they hurt just as much as the day after. You sniff.

“Please, move out of my way,” you beg.

“Oh, sister, why must you be so dour? Is that jealousy I sense?”

“No,” you snarl. Jealousy. Oh, something much deeper, something agonizing. “I said move.”

“Move? Well, it looks like I am the first to wear a title so it is me who should be issuing the orders, don’t you think?”

“Oh, Cor, you are not duchess yet,” Albina reproaches, “let her pass.”

The heat rises up your back and crawls onto your neck. You feel like you’re suffocating. You feel like the walls are closer together, as if the world is hewn in fire. It is all burning down around you.

“She is being a sour little brat about it, Al,” Cora snaps, “it isn’t fair of her to ruin my engagement. I don’t know where she ever got the idea that Lord Rogers had any mind for h–”

You don’t think. You need to get out of here. You shove Cora out of your way and stomp past her as she gasps. You drop the glove as the needle sinks further into your palm. You sweep out of the door and hurry down the corridor. You hear her, whining pitifully as you flee.

“She shoved me! She–”

“Oh, you did goad her,” Albina’s quiet scolding follows you to the stairs, “put that ribbon away, you’ll only ruin it.”

Ruin…

The word clings to you as you barrel down the stairs, as if running from your own shame and anger. You love your sister, you would never wish anything horrid on her, but you can’t help that small whisper in your mind that suggests that Lord Rogers may just treat her as cruelly as he has done you.

💙

The autumn continues its slow advance, nipping in the air and at the foliage alike. You smell the crispness as it wafts through the open window of the carriage, cooling the cluster of bodies within. Your father rides with the driver, guffawing loudly with the clop of hooves. Your mother fans herself as she needles away with her relentless critique.

…Albina, push your shoulders back; Hannah, keep your lips shut tight, you don’t need horseflies wandering in; You, fix your bonnet, it is dipping at the front; Oh, Cora, isn’t that a lovely ribbon…

You try not to mope. The more you do, the more pleasure Cora takes in her victory. You will forget it, you will go on as you’ve ever done. Dejected. You fold one hand around the other, your palm tender from the bite of the needle still wrought into your flesh.

You look up as the carriage slows. The lush green of the promenade tinges with edges of russet and patches of goldenrod. Lords and ladies stroll along the brickwork walkway, skirts swishing around languid steps, arms hooked in one another, others perched upon benches or huddled around the grand fountain at the center.

Your father climbs down as the driver unlatches the door. Your mother emerges first, her fan clapping shut sharply and knocking against the frame. Cora is second, then Albina, Hannah, and yourself. You come out behind them and feel your height all the more. You hunch and grip your wrist tight.

“Do not slouch,” your mother looks back and raps your arm with her fan, “no lord wants to walk alongside a hobbling giant.”

“Yes, mother,” you correct yourself and let your vision drift off into a vacant blur.

“Ladies,” a familiar timbre approaches with a pair of footsteps, “you’ve arrived.”

You refuse to look at Lord Rogers as he stands just along your peripheral. He greets your mother with a cordial bow of his head and shakes your father’s hand. At last, he addresses his betrothed as she wiggles in her skirts and nearly squeaks.

“Lord Rogers,” she drawls, “I wore the rubies.”

“Beautiful,” he praises, “my lady, might I request a stroll upon the promenade?”

“Aye, you may,” your father answers, volunteering himself as escort.

“Sir,” Rogers accepts elegantly and offers his arm to Cora, “and perhaps a few more daughters might care to join us?”

“They will remain with me,” your mother insists, “we would like to see the roses.”

You wait until they’ve departed to dare a peek at them. Lord Rogers struts away confidently with his arm through Cora’s. Your father trails them with his brass-tipped cane. Your ribs rack as if they might collapse in on themselves.

“Come girls, the autumn will wilt away the roses,” your mother declares, “let us make our rounds, perhaps we might have two engagements this season, hm?”

You linger behind the others. You keep your head down as you watch the toes of your boots poke out from beneath your skirts with each step. Your led by the hem of your sisters ahead of you.

As you approach the hoop of rose bushes, there is an unexpected furor. Voices trill and flutter, a booming laugh that rolls like thunder. You raise your eyes and see a blond head above a cluster of hats. You don't recognise the lord amid the clan of amused men.

"How rowdy," your mother remarks in her curmudgeon way.

She ignores the pluck of glee for the thorny tangles. Hannah and Albina give longing looks to the uproar but dutifully accompany your mother to the hedges. The eldest of your quartet pets the paling pink petals and grieves the browning at the edges.

The dullness of that moment feels like a promise. This is how life will always be for someone like you. You will never know excitement, you will only ever be a witness, a scrap of collateral left to squander.

You pretend to admire the greenery. The colours are faded and worn. Just like everything since that night. As you are.

You smell the leaves and the pollen and you're taken back to that moonlit moment. The cool air on your skin, the friction of his figure, his weight trapping you on the stone.

The leaves mesh together in a tapestry of swirling hues. You quickly dab your eyes before your tears can spill over. Those bouts come suddenly and dry up just as soon. You cannot let it take you here.

An emptiness enshrines you and you peer over to find yourself all alone. Your sisters and your mother have left you, forgotten you. Not such an unexpected plight but painful nonetheless. You turn in search of them and nearly collide with another.

You press yourself to the bushes behind you and swallow a gasp, creaking out an apology.

"Apologies, my lord, I did not see you–"

"Lady," the man greets with a courteous dip of his chin, looking down at you. Down! He is even taller than you.

The same lord with the blond hair who had a crowd raucous. You do not know him. He is rather older than any courtly debut.

"You mustn't catch yourself," he reaches around you delicately and untangles a fold of your skirt from the thorny vines, "it is too fine a dress to tarnish."

"Thank you, sir, it seems I am a bit obtuse at the moment," you force a smile.

He is very handsome. He eyes a brighter shade than even Lord Rogers and his hair even more golden. That comparison urges you back to the ground. You are still you and you cannot be so foolish as to let yourself believe contrary ever again.

"Might I–"

"I spy–"

You speak at the same time and both correct yourself. You defer and touch your lips in embarrassment, "apologies, once more, I keep treading on your toes."

"I have tough toes," he japes, "I meant to ask if I might have your name."

"Oh, yes, sir," you give him your name, "I admit I am ignorant of your own identity."

"Ah, yes, I have come from far," he grins, "Lord Thor Odinson, of Asgard."

"Asgard, why that is very far," you comment, "well, sir, it was a delight to meet you. Welcome to our homeland."

"A privilege," he returns, "if I might be so forward, as I am a stranger to this land, I would extend to you an invitation to dinner as I acquaint myself with your country. Would that be too improper?"

"Sir," you flutter your fingers at your side as you stand awkwardly before him, "I would needs ask my father."

"Yes, certainly you would, as you are unwed," he says as if untwining a riddle, "I do hope you will be permitted."

"My lord," you bow your head, "my mother…"

You look past him to your mother's fan as she beckons to you with it. Lord Odinson steps aside and extends his arm in gallant dismissal. You shift to move past him.

"Thank you, my lord."

"Allow me to thank you, lady, for entertaining my tedious conversation," he counters and you quickly flit away.

You near your mother as your other sisters crowd her. She is jibbering behind her fan, "...an ambassador," she says and snaps together the folds, "I hope you did not spoil our welcome."

"Mother?" You look at her in confusion, your cheek hot and tingling still.

"With that Lord, he did invite us to a dinner," she explains, "it would be very important for your father."

You shake your head. You don't argue. Ah, but the invitation was extended to all. Are you so foolish to think otherwise? You must shield yourself in the harsh lesson you've been taught. You are not and can never be special.

💙

The night of Lord Odinson's dinner arrives. You wear a gown of black patterned with deep green vines. Plain attire in contrast to Cora's shining scarlet silk, Alvina's buoyant blue bodice, and Hannah's deep rose sleeves. You add a simple beaded ribbon around your head, and a string of pearls around your neck.

"Dour," your mother remarks as she emerges in a tangerine satin, "ah, Cora, my darling, you look splendid. And to think, now that your engagement is public, you will be a pretty ornament on Lord Rogers' arm."

"Mother," she preens, averting her eyes in feigned modesty.

You clutch your reticule tight and glance over as you hear the approach of hooves. It is Lord Rogers' coach. The vehicle bustles towards the gates, open in expectation of him, and you look away. You can hardly bear the sight of red paint that decorates the doors.

His driver slows and breaks in the dirt. He greets your father as ever, gallant and proper. You put your teeth over your lower lip and peek up, catching the glint of Rogers' sapphire irises. His cheek dimples as his brows twitch. You swiftly rescind your gaze, favouring the dust on your slippers to him. He is as handsome as ever but to you, he is a vile cad. A demon clothed in cravat and vest.

He helps your mother first into the coach, then Cora, Hannah, Alvina, and finally yourself. He extends his gloved hand to you and you stare at his palm with disgust. You put your hand in his and step up into the vehicle. He squeezes before he lets go, a subtle tug on your skirt as you duck inside.

You sit on the bench between Albina and Hannah. You play with the strap of your reticule, focusing on it as you coil it like a snake. You only need to survive the journey to lord's manor. You've survived worse, and all at his hand.

💙

The manor is called The Nine Pillars, a rather strange name for a house, but referenced by the columns set into the stone walls. Each is topped with the facsimile of a different beast's head; a lion, a boar, a bear, a wolf, a falcon, a stallion, a bull, a viper, and an elephant. You lean over Albina to take it in, only to be nudged back to the middle.

You sigh and trail the part from the court. Attendants await your arrival at the broad steps of the manor house, the style much unlike that of the other courtly homes. The peak of the house resembles a warship overturned and the walls are without the typical white wash. It is very antiquated yet refined.

You enter the glowing hall, the glass lamps hung from the walls lit in an illuminating speckle. Voices carry from the drawing room where other guests gather and the bustle of the house staff flutters around the corridors and clamours from the kitchen. Your stole is taken by a groom and you nod in acknowledgement at his diligence. Your stomach swirls nervously.

The drawing room is a cluster of swishing skirts, flapping fans, and waggling coat tails. Your mother and father greet another older couple as your sisters disperse; Cora to show off her betrothed, Albina to whisper to Maria about her novels, and Hannah to gossip about the newest debuts. You find yourself lost before the sea of elegant figures.

You wade towards them, weaving between the bodies, looking around for any sense of welcome. Those who do see you, turn away quickly, as others pretend not to notice your towering form. You will find a place on the wall as you ever do.

"Lady," a deep voice calls but you don't bother to hear it. It cannot possibly be directed at you. It calls again, several times, before pronouncing your name. You spin to face Lord Odinson before you can retreat to your setinel against the wallpaper.

"My Lord," you greet him, "pardon me, there is much going on, I mustn't have heard you calling."

"Ah, but forgive me, it is rather uncouth to be shouting," he stops before you, "my mother always said I did blow in like a storm."

"Oh," you nod politely. You're not used to someone looking you in the eye, not without having to awkwardly contort your posture.

"She would like you, very much, I think."

"Why would you think that, my lord? You hardly know me."

"But I see you, a strong woman, built like a valkyrie. You are resilient and might I so forwardly say, resplendent."

"Sir?" You peer around, looking for an audience, for someone in collusion taking amusement from his false interest. It is always a trick.

"Again, I am the tempest, I cannot be subtle, not with a lady so stunning. Awe-inspiring. If I am the storm, you must be the sky," he remarks boldly.

You face him, a frown.

"Lady, it is a compliment," his face turns sober, "I hope I didn't overstep--"

"It is a joke. Who do you make laugh? For who am I the farce tonight?"

"Joke? Not at all. Never," he glances around the room. He is quiet as he takes in those around him. As he sees their elusive eyes and cold shoulders. "They cannot see what is right in front of them. A goddess--"

"No," you nearly sob, "no. I am not goddess." You bow your head, as you hear that same word from enough, a memory; Athena. "No sir," you put your chin up defiantly, "I will not be fooled by you."

"Fooled, my lady--"

"Excuse me," you shuffle away from him, "I need air..."

"Lady," he calls again but you elude him, delving into the crowd, marching away with head and shoulders down.

As you near the door, you hear a familiar laugh. You look to find Lord Rogers with Cora on his arm, his golden hair shining, her locks perfectly spiraled and set. He tilts his head towards her, "I call her my Athena," he says loudly, as if he knows you are listening, "for I worship her."

His eyes flick up and meet yours. You recoil and spin on your heel. Scalded, you flee into the hall and huddle into an alcove. No one would notice if you stayed out here all night.

💙

You sit among the guests at the table. The women chatter as the men speak in low voices about their business or some writ tabled in session that morning. You do neither as you're isolated in the fervor. As sherry and wine flows generously, you partake only of lemon water and loneliness.

You peer down the table and find yourself drawn to a pair of eyes. Lord Odinson. Where you expect tension or disappointment, you find only an amiable smile. He is almost dreamy as he watches you. You turn in your seat and look at Albina next to you, she's bent so far toward Hannah in her whispering that he likely cannot even see you.

You keep your gaze on the table. You will not encourage him. Lord Rogers taught you caution, he taught you your worth and not to think yourself above it. You feel suddenly sick, as if you could spew onto the table.

There is the clink of glass and someone clears their throat. The buzz around you hushes and all turn to the head of the table. You look over reluctantly. It is Lord Odinson, the host, about to make his toast. He stands, a crystal glass in hand.

"Welcome and thank you all for attending. You've all made me feel rather at home," he raises his glass and the guests mirror him. You lift yours a few seconds too late. He sets down the flute and continues, "and while you've all ingratiated me so kindly, I hope you might tolerate a little piece of my homeland."

He pauses and gestures to someone you can't see. A servant comes forward, holding a wooden box carved with symbols you don't recognise. Runes, perhaps.

"In my faith, there are the Valkyrie. They are the embodiment of female power and prestige and thus they are the keeper of our culture, of our ways. They are fertile and beautiful. So it is that each season, one lady is crowned as Valkyrie. I understand that I've come late but I am honoured to spend the season here, in your society. Thus, tonight has been more than a dinner..."

He stops as the servant opens the box. He takes out a crown of daisies wrought in gold and silver. He presents it to the room with a smile.

Cora leans forward as her eyes round in greed and the other women sit up, admiring the piece of jewelry and peeking at each other. You don't move, you stare at the wall and wait. You wonder who it will be. Maybe Cora or Maybelle and her doe eyes.

There is another lull, swollen with anticipation and intrigue. Lord Odinson gives a soft chuckle before he declares his valkyrie. No one speaks, none says a word. You blink. He speaks again.

You feel a nudge on your elbow as Albina leans towards you and whispers, "it's you."

You glance at her, then along the table. Cora's eyes are narrowed at you and Lord Rogers looks like he's chewing his own tongue. You turn your attention to Lord Odinson, trapped in surprise and disbelief.

"Yes, lady, please, come and claim your crown."

You grasp the arms of the chair and push it out as you rise. You walk stiffly, keenly aware of those watching you. You stride down the long table and near Lord Odinson. He faces you and hovers the crown over your head. You bow and he lowers it on, wiggling it to be sure it's firmly in place.

"It is I who shoulder defer to you, sweet lady," he lowers himself to a knee and bows his head, "our valkyrie."

The silence looms. You refuse to look back. You feel the stare, the disapproval, and disappointment. There's a clap and you flinch. Then another, and slowly the applause build.

Lord Odinson stands again and takes your hand, placing a kiss on your fingers. You meet his eyes, so intense you could melt.

"As I said," he keeps his timbre low, "it was not a joke."

💙

"Can I see it?" Albina asks as you go to set the crown on the narrow table.

"Oh, certainly," you turn to her. You're still burning with excitement. It's only one night, it doesn't mean anything, but it is a good night.

You hand her the crown and she takes it, admiring the craftwork with aw and showing it to Hannah as she nears. She places it on her head and rocks her shoulders.

"I am the valkyrie," she japes.

"No, I am the valkyrie," Hannah snatches the crown and dawns it.

"You are both children," Cora sneers as she shoves her ribbon of rubies into her jewelry box, "please, that lord is only here to pander to our king on his family's behalf. Nothing else."

"You're only jealous," Hannah rebukes.

"Am not," Cora stomps up and swipes the crown of daisies, "what would I need with a meaningless thing like this. Queen of what? The chimera? You don't even know what a valkyrie is."

"Nor do you," Hannah retorts.

"I do," Albina asserts, "they are an army of female warriors who lead the dead--"

"I do not give a fig," Cora flings the crown so it hits the bedframe and bounces off, "we don't believe in them here. That man is a fool."

"Oh, I saw you fawning over him, Cor," Albina goads, "don't lie. Rogers himself looked concerned."

"Fawning? Don't be silly."

You don't say a word as you go to fetch the crown from where it's fallen. You notice that one of the petals is bent out of shape. Oh, no.

"It's fine. She's right, it's just a silly crown."

"You all need to grow up," Cora insists, "as a woman soon to be married, I can see now how juvenile you lot are."

"Not married yet," Hannah snaps, "sooner the better if it means you're off."

"Charming, Hannah, I wonder why you've not had a proposal yet?"

Hannah waves her off with her hand and goes to Albina, "I'm tired. Help me out of my dress."

You turn away and set the crown on top of your own jewelry box. You take your time undoing the ribbon on your head and unclasping your pearls. You peel off your gloves and as you face the bed, you see Cora's hot glare.

"You'll see. That Lord Odinson will leave you behind and next season, you'll be on your way to a convent."

You swallow down her bitter words. Deep down, you don't doubt it. She is likely right but less than clairvoyant. You know better than any what your fate will be.

💙

You watch from the window as Cora walks in the gardens with Lord Rogers. Albina is in bed, moaning and rubbing her pelvis, as Hannah is downstairs with your mother stitching at her frame. The winds of autumn rattle the window frame and you back away, nervous to be caught observing.

You sit on the mattress and lean back against the pillow. Albina curls up on her side and faces you. You offer your hand and she latches on, squeezing. Her cramps have struck and she's already stained several shifts. Her blood has her in agony.

You don't mind keeping her company. Your own was due a week ago. You know because you've not stopped counting the days since... since Lord Rogers' proposal.

"I should hate to miss the promenade..." she mourns.

"You shouldn't miss very much," you assure her.

"Yes, but it will be cold soon. Too cold and it will snow and I will hate to go," she utters, "will you go?"

"Perhaps," you answer.

"And walk with Lord Odinson again?"

"If he wishes."

"I am certain he does. He is very friendly. Last night, when he told us of his families stronghold. About the mountains and the crossing rivers..."

"He has many stories," you agree, "and he tells them well."

"Oh, he does. He tells them for you."

"Pardon?" You nearly laugh.

"Sister, don't act clueless. He gave you his crown--"

"It was only a game."

"I do not think he plays."

"Why..."

"He always finds us on the promenade, doesn't he?"

"He is polite."

"Oh, you are stubborn."

You puff but don't argue further. She's wrong but she can't realise she is. She doesn't know what's happened, how you know for certain that he has no true intentions. That he cannot be any different than Lord Rogers.

💙

The hedges along the promenade are thinning. The roses have wilted away and the greenery curls and recedes. You wear a pair of lambskin gloves and an unlined cloak. It isn’t cold enough yet for fur.

As he does most days, Lord Rogers approaches to greet your family. Your mother and father bow to him briefly and bid their best before strolling off to meet with their peers. The betrothed couple will lead the way, as you walk behind with Hannah. Albina remains abed at home, her presence sorely missed as Hannah yawns and makes faces at the duke and his engaged.

You resist the urge to look around, to search for the man who crowned you valkyrie, the same who appeared at your side nearly every day. You restrained yourself from depending on his presence, from longing for it. He is a fleeting acquaintance, destined to return to Asgard one day. You shouldn't think so much of him.

“I wish we could have a summer wedding,” Lord Rogers declares, his voice raised loud enough for you to hear.

“But, my lord, that is so far away,” Cora protests, “so long as we wed before the snows, I will be content.”

“You, content. I am not mistaken, I know the sort of wife I’ve chosen,” he chides, “you only relish in that you might wear velvet.”

“Not at all my lord. I relish that I should marry you,” she preens, her arm hooked in his firmly.

You stare at the linking of their bodies. You remember the way he held you down, the way he cooed and coaxed, how he so softly coerced you. You should fear for your own sister, yet their misconceptions may be mutual.

“My ladies,” Lord Odinson’s voice precedes him and he steps up beside you, “and my lord. You are ashen, does the cold not agree with you?”

Lord Rogers glances over his shoulder, an edge in his jaw, “I handle it finely.”

You don’t mention he was only just longing for the summer. It isn’t any of your concern and you don’t very much care. Or you try not to.

“In Asgard, the winters, ah, they are splendid,” Odinson begins vibrantly, “there are days when the snow builds walls on its own and the next, they blow over to rippling oceans of frost. Endless and powdery.”

“Oh, we do not get so much snow here,” Hannah comments, “I don’t think I would survive such winters.”

You nod, listening intently as you picture the swirling snow and white dunes. It reminds you of a fairytale or a scene from one of Albina’s novels. Otherworldly and fantastical. Something entirely new and wonderful, but terrifying.

“And you, my valkyrie, would you face the blizzards?” Odinson challenges.

You hum thoughtfully. You know he is looking at you but you are too shy, too wary to return his gaze.

“I suppose with the proper cloak and a thick pair of boots, I might make it through, sir.”

“A coach and a horse, and any lady would say the same,” Rogers scoffs back at you, “girls hardly know the truth in matters of spirit. They can be overly presumptuous upon their own abilities.”

Odinson pushes his jacket back, hooking his finger in the pocket of his vest, “women are strong in ways men can never be. They carry lives, they bear the burden of the world, they maintain a grace lost on most men.”

“And the demure to the strength of men, to the wisdom they can never possess,” Rogers snaps back, laughing cruelly, “it is in the vows they take, is it not?”

“Only the strongest man can see the strength of women,” Odinson dismisses calmly, “my own mother keeps a pack of snow wolves. She goes out in the winter storms and reins her own sleigh. All while my father sits warm before his hearth. Her victories are not his losses.”

“Sounds rather quaint, Lord Odinson,” Rogers clucks, “your country strikes me as lacking civility.”

“Uncivil is a boring way of saying lively, and I promise, my home is much and more,” Odinson affirms, “but I think that fate has a way of placing us all where we belong, wouldn’t you agree?”

Rogers is quiet for a moment, his steps heavy as he strides on. He turns his head, his eye flicking between Odinson and yourself. He snorts and turns forward again.

“We must all take as we earn, accept what we do and do not get,” he says tritely, speaking animatedly with his hand in the air, “more often than not, we have only ourselves to thank… or blame.”

As cryptic as his words are, they are plain to you. That night with him was not unearned. Your foolishness bought your destruction. You must now live out your sentence of watching him walk arm in arm with another woman, your sister, everyday. You must accept that what he took can never be reclaimed.

💙

You sit in the garden, wrapped in a shawl as autumn breezes around the table. Your mother has a fur on her shoulders and your sisters chatter their teeth as they sip their tea. You rub your hands together, your gloves doing little against the crisp air. You suspect the days of dining without are close to done.

As you watch a leaf drift down from a branch, the hinges whine, and your father emerges from within. He gives an emphatic shiver as he claps his hands together. He seems rather pleases as he has his shoulders pushed back and his hat on a tilt.

"Daughters, my lovely wife, it is a beautiful day, is it not?"

You wonder at his uncharacteristic glee. Your father is ever practical and serious, on all matters. More so, he confounds as through the mutter of responses, he looks to you. You nod and agree with his sentiment softly.

"My daughter, my eldest, you... have a visitor."

You blink and withhold a grimace. He hates when you make faces. You force a smile and your voice crackles as you muster your voice.

"A visitor, father?"

"He is inside, he cannot have his tea alone," he says as if you should know who he alludes to.

You stand as Cora rolls her eyes, "who could be here for her?"

You notice how Albina and Hannah share a look. You cannot determine whether it is at your expense or Cora's.

"Daughter," your father drawls, "do not be sour that your betrothed eludes you."

"He does not--"

"So be happy for your sister and enjoy your tea."

She huffs and reaches for her cup. You step around her chair and approach your father. He smiles and as you near, he puts his hands on your arms. He is smiling. Genuinely.

"He has my blessing, of course, I will need accompany you to maintain propriety," he speaks quietly, "come."

You dip your chin down and meekly follow him inside. A servant pulls the door closed behind you. Your steps echo down the corridor as your father leads you to the sunroom. As you enter, there is some rustling and a subtle creak.

You peek up to find Lord Odinson standing with a hand on his vest. He bows to you and your father. You stop in the archway.

Your father proceeds, unaffected, and sits in the cushioned chair nearest the fireplace. He slaps his thighs as he splays his legs and grunts.

"Well, then, get on with it," your father grumbles.

Lord Odinson straightens his posture and gulps. He reaches up and toys with his cravat, the starch fabric already askew. He smiles, his cheeks reddening. He sways and looks between your father and yourself.

"I thought it very difficult to put this in ink but now I am here, I find the same is true of words," he says, laughing at his own joke, "so, lady, I trust this isn't very surprising to you. I've made my intentions clear and I've made your father a proposal, which he has graciously approved. Thus I put to you the question..." he twists his cravat, stops himself, then grips his jacket lapel, "would I be a fair husband to you? Er, or rather, would you... would you... honour me as a wife?"

The air stills and the chill that trailed you in dissipates. You blink dumbly and let your mouth fall open. You glance at your father. You understand his happiness now and yet you cannot believe it.

Your stomach churns and you clamp your mouth shut. The silence turns unbearable. You notice how Lord Odinson's cheek spasms and his complexion drains.

"Yes, sir, I... suppose... rather, I would..." you feel as if you're choking, "is it true? A marriage?"

"You wouldn't have to leave your homeland forever. I have some months ahead of me and my holdings here. We could visit--"

"Yes, yes, I will marry you," you murmur.

You hold your breath. Waiting. For one of them to break. For a peel of laughter between them. For it all to be another trick.

"Glory," Odinson exclaims as he proffers his hand, "shall we sit for tea, then, my valkyrie?"

You nod, unable to speak for fear of croaking. It is real. This man is real but you worry, his attention may yet prove false.

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nightendale · 1 year

Text

Bad liar | Yellowjackets natalie scatorccio x reader

Words: 1k

Based of this prompt

I wrote reader with a girl in mind but it can be read as a nb reader, there’s no mentions of gender or anything alluding to the gender of reader.

Warnings: cheating, swearing, natalie being a shithead, mentions of sex, angst

For an hour of the three they had been gone you’d propped yourself on the single arm chair of the cabin just waiting out the window, the other girls were confused in your anxiousness over the two and you let them stay in the unknown about ur reasons.

Truth be told though it wasn’t the both of them that you were worried about, it was just Natalie, you and the other girl had just made the next step in your relationship going from friendship to a somewhat relationship something that now has you insecure around Travis, knowing deep down he’d be the better option.

You try to push your insecure thoughts away and continue to watch out the window ignoring the other girls whines about you not helping out.

After around two hours later you awoke to Jackie slamming the cabin door open, sitting up confused you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and got up seeing that not only was Jackie out the front of the cabin, but the rest of you team was, including Travis and nat.

You were about to run up to Nat all bad feelings vanishing upon the sight of the other girl, that was until you started really taking in what was in front of you, Natalie and Travis both had flushed cheeks, no it’s probably from the weather you thought, until your eyes trail up a bit more to see the state of their hair.

That’s also when you finally came to what Jackie was saying to them, “glad to know why we don’t get any food is because you’re trying to become mayor of bone town.”

She wouldn’t would she ?

Just a day ago she was kissing me and laughing about our future out of the Forrest.

You hoped, you hoped Jackie was wrong, you hoped they had a good reason, you hoped, you hoped your heart wasn’t about to get broken, until Travis and Natalie stayed quiet no denying of Jackie’s accusations.

You’re gonna be sick.

You turn around not wanting to hear anymore, not wanting to see her anymore, fuck them fuck this cabin fuck it all, you run inside not caring how crazy you look, you’re heart was just shattered into a million little pieces.

Running inside you slam the door behind you and run straight upstairs to the attic, your emotional state not caring how scared you normally are of it and taking comfort in being alone.

You lay down in the pile of blankets left up there by one of the many other girls, and sob.

You awake to the feeling of someone pushing your hair out of your face, realising you must’ve cried yourself to sleep you groggily sit up and wipe the sleep out of your eyes, about to say hi to the mystery person until your eyes adjusted, Natalie, Natalie was sat in front of you looking distraught, her eyes and lips were puffy looking like it was most likely from crying and her eyes looked so dull, she was just staring at you with the most guilt wenched look making you remember what had happened.

The memories flushed through you, making you swat her hand away, not missing the hurt that flashed across her face.

“What are you doing up here Natalie.” You basically spit at her, pushing your body backwards trying to get away from her as much as possible.

“I wanted to see you.”

“What, you bored of Travis already?” You say moving to get up, you didn’t want to be in this attic at all let alone with her right now.

She follows your movements, “I swear (y/n) it wasn’t like that at all.”

“What was it then Natalie?, we get together and then you ho and screw the first guy that’ll give you attention?” You say turning to face her moving closer to her anger taking over every part of your body.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen.” She says tears starting to pool in her eyes, she moves her hands to try and grab yours, making you move them like she had just burnt you.

You start laughing dryly “you’re telling me you didn’t mean to fuck someone else mere days after we had gotten together?” You shake your head, moving to leave the attic “I can’t believe I thought you’d be any different with me.”

Natalie reaches out pulling you back so you can’t leave, “please (y/n), it was a mistake I promise it won’t happen again, please can we work this out, i will change I’ll change for you.” She pleads to you holding onto your wrist.

You release yourself from her grasp and move so your chest to chest, “you’re a bad liar scatorccio, we’re done.” You say lowly in her face, you then walk past her hitting her shoulder on the way out.

As you leave you can hear her break out in a sob, you just shake your head, she won’t change, she can’t handle loving without pain and you were tired of hurting.

Note: thank you for the love on the killing moon !!! Another chapter for it should be out sometime this week but until then I’ll be writing some mini fics, my request are open btw so if you’d like to see something request away :)

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thesherrinfordfacility · 11 months

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i'm going into blathering oaf mode which i need to type out because otherwise i will literally sit and stare at a blank wall full monkey cymbals instead of doing work that, ya know, pays the bills

buckle up, i think ur going to want to read this one (and if not obvious by the Read More, spoilers ahead)

right im watching s1 again because it is literally my comfort show and i will have it on in the background whilst im working

and im on Hard Times (ep3) and it's just got to the You Go Too Fast for me Crowley scene which obviously HEARTBREAKING

but it just suddenly occurred to me - when we leave the 1941 scene, it feels like the metaphorical ice has been broken and they've like non-verbally agreed to let go of the Holy Water Tantrum

and on top of that we see aziraphale realise he's in love with crowley, and THEN we see the dinner scene in the s2 trailer like solidifies that theyre all cosy and bashful and intimate and seem to have certainly forgotten the whole argument

BUT THEN we get to the 60s scene. and suddenly there's atmosphere. there's suddenly tension. it's awkward and cold and almost a bit nasty. and there is absolutely no reason for it, if you judge only on the linear events given to us in ep3

(EDIT: i watched it again last night and the only other reason i can think of for az being such an arse is that he found out about the robbery by hearsay and not directly from crowley which ok yeah is plausible absolutely and probably the reason for all of it but sOMETHING in my hind brain is just nagging at me that it's more than that so i stand by the following musing....... you may proceed)

what the fuCK happens in that dinner scene??? what in the last circle of hELL prompts az to come up with the "you go too fast for me Crowley" line????

because im telling ya, im betting my last vestige of sanity, that it is NOT the holy water thing

im fairly certain that there's going to be a discussion of the holy water thing in the dinner scene, i think that's a given - when you take into account that az's gut reaction to Crowley asking for holy water was to refuse him because ✨IT WOULD KILL CROWLEY✨, i think that is going to be discussed in that dinner scene

but

BUT.

ahem

i full pussy, honestly and truly (but absolutely fine if im proven wrong), will die by this BELIEVE that there's going to be an a love confession of Some Sort from one of them

Let's face it ---- probably from crowley ("why did you save my books?" "...")

in this scene.

going a step beyond that, i even think there might be a move made from crowley (not The Kiss, mainly because the costume/hair doesn't match but also doesn't seem like the right one) but like maybe he leans in or crowds into az a little too close in this dinner scene and it's going to absolutely scare the beejesus out of az

HE. 💔 GOES. 💔 TOO. 💔 FAST. 💔

like az has literally just realised he feels something that, let's be real, he SHOULD NOT feel bc a) he's an angel and b) crowley is a demon.

but then crowley alludes to having feelings for az? possibly suggest to him that he has for ThousANDS of years???? and that he saved his books because he knew it was important to az????????

nopenopenope toO FAST BOY

az is an angel. opposite side to crowley. literally challenges everything az believes about being an angel and belonging to heaven. this could mean he falls. nopenopenope. too fast.

this is literally the onLY reason i can think of that would result in what appears to be a lovely cute scene, where az is quite blatantly moon eyeing crowley over a bottle of chateau, but immediately swings 30 years later to being cold and distant and "You Go Too Fast for me Crowley"

i will live and die by this, so help me god

and now....... discuss

#good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #ineffable husbands #azicrow #like the tone difference between the nazis and the 70s scene always irked me before #and now the s2 trailer has come out it was a veritable light bulb moment #as for the other Kiss i think thats when az finally confesses to crowley #it just has to be im not accepting anything else #good omens speculation

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noodyl-blasstal · 6 months

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Piano Man

Big thanks to @ceilingfan5 who sang "pretty lizard" to the tune of "pretty woman" this morning, it got stuck in my head, morphed into "pretty wizard" and now we're here. Enjoy below or on Ao3.

Kravitz is tired. Kravitz is tireder than tired. Not in body, his hands would keep skimming the keys forever and always if he doesn’t occasionally put them away, and he can’t ever resist singing along to something whether he knows the words or not. No, what Kravitz is tired of is fancy people parties and all the fancy people nonsense that comes along with it.

The pay is good enough, that’s how he knows he won’t walk out, no matter how bad it gets - someone has to keep his apartment paid for - but these parties are always full of the most obnoxious people. His mouth is dry and his back is sore and Lydia, sorry, Ms Adventurezone, because ‘we don’t use first names, darling, it’s uncouth’ has been promising him a break for the last 23 minutes, but every time he winds down she suddenly appears to ask him for just one more song. It looks like she’s on her way to derail his break for the seventh time when someone, a glorious, perfect, wonderful man in a huge elaborate hat steps into her path, blocking her from Kravitz’s view which definitely means she also can’t see him!

Kravitz mentally beams gratitude at his saviour and respectfully doesn’t notice exactly how fantastic the guy’s arse looks in those silky trousers as he finishes up the song. The man is probably just intervening by accident, Kravitz needs to reign in his impulse to romanticise. There’s no deeper plot to rescue him from Lydia’s clutches, but he definitely needs to take advantage and escape while he still can - in fact, it looks like Edward, sorry, Mr Adventurezone, is headed his way. Kravitz will commando roll under this piano to escape if it comes to it. It doesn’t. He cuts the song a few bars early, pretends not to see Edward (ha, take that!) and beelines for the bar.

“Hey Krav, you sound great!” Ren waves in greeting.

“Thanks.” He croaks slightly.

“Say no more.” She laughs as she hands over a glass of water. “I’ll be back with your tea in a tick. Have this in the meantime.” She nudges a plate his way too.

Kravitz smiles his thanks and is already shoving the lemon-y mousse topped biscuit into his mouth. He needs to start eating before he comes to these things. They always say they’ll feed him and it’s rare they bother. Praise the lady for Ren, her fancy cocktail bar for hire tends to mean they coincide at a lot of these events. They very quickly worked out that they had allies in each other and used it to their advantage whenever possible.

“Anyone sat here, handsome?” Asks a voice over his shoulder.

Kravitz prepares to turn away whichever entitled prick is trying to ruin his break, but clamps his mouth shut when he realises it’s his saviour.

“No, no one is, that’s good, that’s fine, it’s free.” Kravitz intends to pat the seat invitingly, panics, withdraws his hand, and ends up caressing it instead. Perfect. An incredibly normal gesture. Maybe the guy will just turn and leave, spare Kravitz from any other awful attempts to flirt.

The man sits down instead.

“Thank you.” Kravitz says, realising slightly too late that the guy probably doesn’t have any idea what he’s thanking him for.

“No problem, I figured you were due a break. I used to work these things before, well, you know.” He waves a hand as if whatever incomprehensible thing he’s alluding to is obvious. “She hates that she has to invite me instead of hiring me. The handle’s Taako, by the way, what’s yours?” He crosses one knee over the other and his trouser leg parts to show a length of dark skin. Kravitz wants desperately to find out exactly how high the split in the thigh goes.

“Kravitz.” Says Kravitz. Focusing on doing anything that isn’t staring intently at Taako’s thigh. Not that Taako seemed to mind, he definitely grinned when he noticed Kravitz go slack jawed. But still, he could have misinterpreted, easier to stick to small talk. “What did you use to do at these things?”

“Steal, mostly, you know, light pick pocketing here, grand theft auto there… the usual stuff.”

Kravitz’s eyes widen. Fuck. He couldn’t tell Sloane about this one, she was already keeping the list of ‘reasons Kravitz isn’t allowed to pick his own men’ and ‘being immediately attracted to possibly a mob boss’ was likely to make it into the top 3.

“I’m joking, Krav.” Taako takes a sip of his drink, swallows slowly, eyeing Kravitz as he does.

Kravitz’s stomach clenches, he likes this, he likes this a lot. Taako’s welcome to observe him as much as he wants, preferably when he’s wearing less.

“Of course. Yes. You got me!” Kravitz manages a short laugh, it’s breathier than he intended it to be.

“Good to see you, Taako!” Ren greets Taako, plonks a cup down in front of Kravitz, winks, and leaves to attend to the disorderly queue because none of these people knew how to wait their turn.

“Do you like these things?” He asks Taako, then sips gently at the tea. It’s sweet, honeyed and fiery with ginger. Ren’s good to him.

“Nope.” Taako says passionately, looks like he means it. “They’re boring as all hell, my guy. No one is any fun.”

“You seem fun, the hat’s definitely fun.” Kravitz points at the spangled monstrosity atop Taako’s head.

“I’m a wizard and a genius, obviously I’m a delight. I meant the rest of them.”

“No one else is worth it?”

“You think Lydia’s fun?”

“I thought she might be if she respects you.”

Taako snorts. “I’ll let you know if that ever happens, but I wouldn’t hold out hope… fuck, speak of the devil.”

Kravitz turns to see Lydia stomping over. By the time he turns back, Taako’s gone.

“Kravitz! There you are.” The vulgarity of first names didn’t extend to talking to ‘the help’ clearly. “You need to be very careful about overdoing your breaks, you were supposed to take 15 at 9 and it’s already half past. You wouldn’t want me to review you badly would you?” She smiles her awful poisonous smile and eyes him with undisguised glee.

Thankfully he knows this dance. There’s no point in arguing. He’s only had 5 minutes and the reason he didn’t go at 9 was because of her, but she’ll just use any rebellion against him. He just nods demurely, finishes his tea in a long gulp, and says. “Of course.”

She looks disappointed about the lack of fight in him, which is exactly what he was hoping for. He leaves without another word.

–

The first few times he thinks he might have imagined it, but Taako is definitely gravitating closer to the piano. Kravitz didn’t notice him at all before, but he’s danced by, walked past, or stopped to look on appreciatively. Kravitz smiles every time he catches his eye and Taako’s even winked back at him a few times, but he needs to do something to show he can be the fun person Taako’s nights are lacking.

Lydia doesn’t seem to notice the Thong Song instrumental he works into the rotation, Taako spits champagne through his nose and claps so hard Kravitz can hear it over the general smattering of applause when he finishes a piece. It emboldens him enough to try something, he just needs to wait for the perfect moment.

Taako finally does a walk by, flicking his gaze to Kravitz as he finishes a song and transitions into Roy Orbison.

“Pretty wizard, walkin’ right past me”

Taako pauses.

“Pretty wizard, the kind I liked to meet Pretty wizard, I don't believe you You're not the truth No one could look as good as you Mercy!”

Taako turns, wide eyed. Points to himself, innocently.

“Pretty wizard, won't you pardon me? Pretty wizard, I couldn't help but see Pretty wizard, that you look lovely as can be Are you lonely just like me? Rwar-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r”

Kravitz gives it beans with the roar, if there’s a bit, he will commit to it. Taako laughs delightedly, it’s worth it.

“Pretty wizard, stop a while Pretty wizard, talk a while Pretty wizard, give your smile to me..eeeeee Pretty wizard, hey hey hey Pretty wizard, saw you look my way Pretty wizard, say you'll stay with me 'Cause I need you, I'll treat you right Will you maybe, dance with me tonight?”

Kravitz wiggles his eyebrows alluringly. Taako laughs, not unkindly, eyes soft, the corners crinkled with mirth. Lydia’s aggressively trying to catch Kravitz’s eye but he resolutely refuses to look away from Taako.

“Pretty wizard, can we go for coffee? Pretty wizard, just you and me? Pretty wizard, I’ll even spring for the whipped cre-eeeaaam”

Taako’s laughing so hard that he’s dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief, trying desperately not to smudge his eye make up.

“Okay I see you’re dairy free, okay I guess I’ll get the coconut cream, but wait I could get you some lactaaaaaaaaaid A scone, or two, or three? I can do that for you, you’ll see! If you’ll just go out with me, Oh, oh, pretty wizard”

Kravitz plunks out the last notes and laughs at Taako lounging dramatically on the front of the piano.

“Here’s Taako’s number, handsome, cha’boy can do dairy and he’s absolutely going to need those three scones tomorrow.”

“Kravitz!” Lydia yells.

He starts playing a jazzy version of Ace of Spades.

“Kravitz! I know you can hear me. We didn’t discuss any deviations from the playlist or the lyrics.” Kravitz nods as if he’s listening to everything she’s saying, and not staring at Taako.

“If you like to eat scones, I tell you I’m your man. Plain, fruit, cherry, they’re not all the same to me. The pleasure is to spread, jam, butter, or cream instead, If a scone is what you need, the only place you should be’s, Paloma’s Bakes, (Paloma’s Bakes)”

#They go on a date and Taako has four scones and Kravitz doesn't complain or resent him for it #It's three months in before Kravitz gets a straight answer about what Taako does #Surprise! He's a super famous chef now #Taakitz #Noodyl Writes #TW alcohol mention #It's just a mention of a place that serves it but I didn't want to jumpscare anyone with the implication.

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myfanstories · 1 year

Text

Where's Bob?! (part 1)

read part 2 here

Read part 3 here

Pairing: Bradley (Rooster) Bradshaw x fem!reader, Dagger Squad x platonic!reader

Summary: A very unexpected night takes a very unexpected twist when your ever so loving boyfriend convinces you to go out with him. The next day some of the dagger squad wake up in a hotelroom with little to no memory of the night before. But they soon realise they’re missing a man… because where the hell is Bob??!!!

A/N: my first series iiii I'm excited! I've had this idea for a while now so let me know what you guys think! The italics are referencing to the past :) reader is also an aviator but I havent decided on her callsign yet but I will next chapter! Enjoy and feedback is always welcome xx

Trigger warning for alcohol, some swear words, alluding to smut, smoking // English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes

“Lets just go out for one drink and call it a night, what could go wrong?”

The loud pounding in your head was a quick reminder that if you ever heard Rooster speak those words again, you should turn around and run. A light groan escaped your lips as you tried to open your eyes, the mascara from the night before sticking them together making it harder for you to do so. Once you got them open you blinked rapidly, scanning your surroundings which made you realise…. you did not recognize the bed you were currently laying in. Your brain was doing overtime as you tried to figure out where the hell you were as something moved at the bottom of your feet “what the-“ you whispered, up until that moment you didnt even realize you were laying in between two people until the person on your left softly groaned “ShhhHHH” the person to your right whisper-yelled “Brad?” You questioned, voice very hoarse “Why are you so loud” he mumbled as you started sitting up straight, you stomach protesting with every movement and it was then you saw the person laying at the bottom of your feet “Jake...I’m so confused?” the room was spinning with every little movement as you moved to lay on your back again “Did we die? Am I dead? Is this hell? I’m in so much pain” Coyote - the person you realised was on your left side - said and you swallowed hard, clearing your throat “I need water” Rooster reached over to the bedside table “I gotchu” but missed the glass full of water by an inch making it fall to the floor “No-ah son of a bitch I’m sorry” he whimpered, eyes still closed. A person emerged from the floor which you quickly recognized as Phoenix as she stumbled to the bathroom mumbling a “I’m gonna throw up” under her breath and loudly closing the door behind her. A soft handed landed on your head, patting it “Baby” Rooster mumbled “Baby?” He asked again and you groaned “Baby help me up” you pushed him with all the strength you could possibly muster, but failing miserably as Rooster made no attempt to get up himself and you quickly gave up "Get up by yourself"

Suddenly a phone rang, very loudly, making the squad in the room groan and Jake shot up from the end of the bed “Make it stop” Coyote yelled “I’m still drunk” Jake yelled as he reached for his phone with shaky hands “I’m still so drunk-hello?” His voice barely above a whisper “Hangman? Where are you guys?” Payback’s voice echoed through the phone “We’re in uh, we’re in… where are we?” Jake questioned, finally looking around to his surroundings “Baby” Rooster whined and you groaned “what?!” You snapped “where are we?” “Rooster I dont fucking know” you covered your face with the blanket as you tried to make yourself as small as possible, hitting Coyote in the process, he groaned and Brad spoke up “Coyote if you touch my girlfriend you’ll catch these hands” he said raising his fists, voice slurred “I aint afraid of you” Coyote slurred back and suddenly a hand flung over your body, a weak slap landing on Coyote’s face “I’m gonna hit you back so hard watch me” Coyote managed to have his eyes closed for the entire altercation as he too slapped Rooster in the face “Oh its on” and before you knew it you were in the center of a very weak, kinda pathetic bitch slap fight “Oh my-guys, why are we in the Gran Miramar Hotel?” this made the two boys next to you pause their bitch fight and Jake looked up at Phoenix and her extremely pale exterior while still on the phone with Payback “What did we do last night?” He questioned “Oh god…Where’s BOB?!”

The evening started of slow. It was Phoenix who send a last minute text in the dagger squad groupchat asking if anyone was up for a drink. Coyote and Jake quickly agreed, Bob also replying he down but you on the otherhand weren’t really feeling it. Your boyfriend on the otherhand, who surprisingly still had a lot of energy at this hour, wanted to go “Babe just go” you smiled “Not without you” he pouted as he made its way over to you since you were already in bed, a book open in your lap. He crawled into the bed with you as you moved your book to the side, making room for him as he planted himself right on top of you. Head on your chest, his arms snaked its way around your waist, reaching under your back to pull you closer to him “We see each other at work almost everyday and if we dont, we see each other outside of work also almost everyday.. one evening without me wont kill you” you said as you played with his hair “It will” he replied and you soon realized he wasnt taking no for an answer “Lets just go out for one drink and call it a night, what could go wrong?” You sighed and paused, really thinking about it before speaking up “Fine, let me get dressed”

“How do you lose Bob?!” As the gang was very slowly starting to come back alive again, panic was starting to set in regarding the Bob situation “Nix, have you met the guy?! He’s like a Ninja” Coyote argued, struggling to put on his button up shirt “And why is my shirt wet?”You looked over at him and noticed he completely missed 2 buttons in the middle making it fit weird and you pointed at it wordlessly, a chuckle leaving your lips “Guys, why am I the only one freaking out about this?! We lost Bob” Phoenix’s attempts to get a reaction from the group went unnoticed by you as you were looking for your shirt since you woke up in your bra and boxer shorts that definitely belonged to your boyfriend. You quickly realized they were his when he stood up and gave a full peep show in the process. “Y/N” you looked up to see Rooster holding your shirt and threw it at you. You quickly put it on and felt a wave of emotions hit you all at once “Baby no” Rooster warned but the lip quivering already started “I would have never found my shirt without you” you sniffed and Jake looked at you with a confused look on his face “What’s happening right now” you sniffed, covering your face “She gets very emotional when extremely hungover” Rooster said, making its way over to you. Just as he was about to reach you he felt something crack under his foot. He looked down, picking up the item he just stepped up and paled at the sight of it “Oh god” “Are those-“ You felt the tears fall on your cheeks as the emotional hangover reached a high “Bob’s glasses”

Soft laughs echoed at the bar as Penny approached the group of slightly intoxicated Aviators “Guys, I love you… you know that but this is last call” She patted Jake’s shoulder as he boo’d lightly making Penny roll her eyes in amusement “I have to say, I didn’t really wanna go out tonight but I’m glad I did” You spoke, Roosters arm locked firmly around your waist “I agree, it was a very good night” Phoenix leaned against the pool table behind her, her head tilted slightly to the side with a smile on her face “Guys, who said the evening has to come to an end already? Lets go downtown, see what the youths are up to at this hour” it might have been the alcohol coursing through everyone’s veins at the moment, but nobody seemed to disagree at the idea. Coyote scanned everyone’s faces, waiting for someone to protest and when nobody did he clapped his hand “Lets go then!”

“Whats the last thing you guys remember?” Ever since finding Bobs - now broken - glasses panic was starting to set in with the group “Nothing, literally nothing” You said, taking a sip from your much needed coffee as your left leg bounced up and down “There must be something! Guys think” Coyote’s head suddenly shot up and he walked towards a bag on the bed “We went to La Bamba first” he said, pulling out a funky looking cocktail glass from the bag as a memory suddenly flooted into your brain “Oh my god, I stole that” you laughed softly

The sound of Beyonce’s voice filled the room as you grinded your ass on Phoenix who had her hands on your waist. Laughing loudly you looked at your boyfriend who was currently so low to the ground you thought he might not be able to get back up again. Bob was sipping from his drink, eyes closed swaying his head to the beat of the song as Jake and Javy made their way through the crowd to you guys holding new drinks from the bar. “Here” Javy yelled as he handed you your drink, you gasped looking at the funky glass in your hand as you thought of one thing and one thing only… that glass was going home with you. After you quickly downed the cocktail you swiftly looked around before opening the tote bag you were supporting around your shoulder and dropping the glass in there “What are you doing?” Rooster yelled with an amused tone as he watched the whole thing play out in front of him “I’m thinking ahead” you yelled back, pointing to the side of your head “When we move in together we need to have cool drinking glasses you know” his right hand made its way around your neck as the other was placed around your waist and he pulled you close “You wanna move in together?” He asked and you looked into his eyes, a tiny blush forming on your cheek as his eyes roamed your face. Even after 2 years of dating, he never felt to make you blush with just a simple look “I mean yeah, we spend basically everyday together already.. why not make it official” Rooster’s smile grew wide “I would love that” As he leaned in to kiss you, Jake threw his hands around the both of you “Guys lets move! The club next door is doing free shots right now”

Phoenix was walking back and forth in the room, making you nauseous just looking at her “Nix, sit down or I will throw up on you” Jake commented while rubbing his head and supporting your sunglasses he stole from you bag to cover his eyes. Phoenix sighed, sitting down on the bed. Coyote sipped from his water bottle, hands shaking as he looked at you “I also remember me and you wrestling in the parking lot of a McDonalds because I said you couldnt fight me if you tried” looking down at your open and scraped up kneecaps you chuckled “So thats why they’re bleeding. I cant remember tho, who won?” Coyote laughed, seemingly unsure of himself “I did“ “No he didnt, I remember and you dragged him to the ground first try” Phoenix said and the guys in the room let out a low whistle and clapped for you as Coyote rolled his eyes “Okay okay, back to the Bob situation please.. has anyone tried calling him?” He asked and you perked up, grabbing your phone “Why didnt we think of that?” Unlocking your phone, you quickly pressed Bob’s contact and waited for it to ring “Its going” you said, but what you didnt expect was a loud ringing noise filling the room the second you pressed ‘call’ on your phone “No way” Rooster mumbled and the squad quickly stood up, trying to figure out where the noise was coming from. The ringing kept going, but nobody seemed to find where it was coming from until Rooster paused in front of the mini refrigerator under the TV. Opening it slowly, he felt as if his eyes were betraying him. He picked up the phone which was still ringing and showed it to the rest of the squad. “Guys… I’m starting to think we actually fucked up. Like fucked up real bad”

To be continued...

#rooster imagine #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #top gun imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #jake seresin imagine #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd imagine #rooster bradshaw fic

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some-of-us-watch-the-sunset-too · 11 months

Note

if the color prompts are open still, could i get green 2 with twobit :)

Prompt list: Green #2.

“you’re safe here, i promise”

A/N: AAAH two my boy! ugh i love him so this was so fun to write. also two does call the reader “cowboy” but i feel like he calls everyone that, no matter their gender.

Tags: you could say angsty but not full on angst, same as nearly everything i write.

Warnings: there’s a line that when i wrote it was supposed to allude to SA but it’s not that obvious, y/n gets into a big fight so violence ig? maybe a bit of blood.

Two-bit woke up with a start to someone banging on his door and yelling his name. He realised within a few seconds that it was Y/N, and that they sounded annoyed, or was it scared? he couldn’t really tell if he was being honest. either way he got to the door as soon as possible. he opened it and Y/N fell inside. The grey-eyed greaser caught them and helped steady them. They were shaking and their eyes darted around the room. “woah cowboy, calm down. You’re safe here with me. i promise.” He paused and took a deep breath with Y/N to try calm them. “What happened to spook you so bad?” Before he could properly finish his sentence Y/N replied no louder than a whisper “Shepard. Tim. Got into a fight.” Two sighed, he realised that Y/N was too panicked to tell him the story. Instead of asking any further questions he sat them down at the kitchen table and made some tea for them both. After about 5 minutes he saw Y/N relax a little. They took a deep breath and started to talk.

“I got into a fight with shepard. He tried to get me to do somethin and i told him no so he got angry. yknow how tim is. i don’t know what it was, but i realised i didn’t have my blade. after a few minutes of fighting tim had me on the ground and it occurred to me that he could kill me, and he nearly did, ‘pulled his blade and well..” Y/N paused and moved their jacket to show their white t-shirt was stained a crimson colour. “oh my god Y/N! why didn’t you say anything??” Two-bit jumped up and grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet. he instructed Y/N to lift their shirt just high enough that he could put a few stitches into the stab wound and then put a bandage on it. “his blade was pretty dull, i should be fine.” Y/N sighed. “can i..stay with you? i don’t really think i’m able to face leavin right now. tim won’t be happy he didn’t do worse to me. he’ll have his whole gang out for my blood now.” Two smiled warmly. “sure thing, are you comfortable sharin the bed or d’you want me to sleep on the sofa? you ain’t takin the sofa in that state.” Y/N returned a soft smile. “i don’t mind sharin.”

The two went to Two-Bits room and climbed into bed, Two gave Y/N a spare t-shirt and shorts. they were a little big but it was better than a bloody shirt and jeans, the jeans were probably bloody too. Y/N curled up close to two, they were understandably still pretty shaken up by what happened. the greaser put an arm around them and held them close. “you’ll be ok, you’re safe here.” he held Y/N close until they both fell asleep.

#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #dallas winston #darry curtis #sodapop curtis #johnny cade #steve randle #two-bit mathews #dallas winston x reader #ponyboy x reader #johnny cade x reader #steve randle x reader #darry curtis x reader #sodapop x reader #two bit x reader #darry x reader #sodapop curtis x reader

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foodsies4me · 2 months

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Omg if one of the Bridges rookies gets wind of what Magnus did to make Alec sad (taking him away from his life, family etc) it is soooooo gonna be over for him! Magnus gonna have SO MUCH grovelling to do. Like Madzie not letting him into blanket time kinda bad.

Another thing that was kinda hilarious to me is imagining the trainees tracking Magnus in NY and waiting until he’s doing something mundane (like getting a coffee) to confront him about stealing Alec away from them. They all frowning faces and glares and Magnus thinks it cause he a warlock but really they just miss their favourite leader. Magnus especially taken back when Steph comment on how cool his sparks are and Arjun asks him what his favourite spell is. aka Magnus realising that Alec may pack light but he always travels heavy 🥹 (and his little armies are always so cute but so deadly 😇)

Also scratch the Spiral being obsessed with Alec cause now i’m thinking it’s Magnus magic and that kinda lingering oath that almost knocked them both sideways. Ooo you must get so many cool theories.

The rookies will find out about what happened and they will be very Not Amused. There will even be some screaming coming from Ali though it happens off-script and will only be alluded to in Alec’s POV. (Might write it as a short one-shot from Magnus’ POV after the fact though. Still to be seen)

I am going to be evil and not reveal anything about the possibly spiral possibly something else obsession with Alec. Just know that there is a LOT that has already happened plot wise even though it doesn’t look like it at the moment.😇

#Foodsies rambles #Bridges #also this next chapter is making peogress #But it is also angstier in some spots than I expected it to be #But also fluffier

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blamemma · 7 months

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Emma, I'm worried about what Joe Saward said????????? Alonso to Red Bull is real?

right before anyone PANICS let's break this down. now my delivery of this is going to sound condescending because i'm gunna break it down bit by bit, but what i can understand and respect is not everyone is a native english speaker, so some of the nuance of what Joe is saying can be lost in translation.

"it did not take long to hear from spain" - spain, the country alonso is from, the country that reps him, took a hold of what albert fabrega said and decided to push the alonso -> red bull agenda with little to no evidence apart from a few paddock photos. "The word is he could pop up next year at Red Bull." tag on to the end of this sentence, 'from Spain' and that alleviates the worry. Spanish media saw Fabrega say that and pushed a media cycle that suggested that Alonso was going to Red Bull, that he could POP UP at Red Bull. Joe isn't saying here that he is going to. He's saying that's the rumour.

you've also gotta realise, Joe Saward has never been favourable towards Daniel. His words towards Daniel have usually been quite scathing, and although he tries to remain neutral, you can tell it from the undertones of his writing (again, I think this is sometimes more obvious when you are a Native English speaker, so I can understand and respect why some people miss this).

What Joe is presenting in that Notebook is the rumours that have been built from Albert Fabrega's tweet. Joe never alludes that he actually knows what the rumour is. He just discusses the discussions that emerged from that tweet?

Now this tweet.

What he's saying here is yes, it's possible. it is possible. it is something that could happen. it's possible. just as possible as me getting hit by a bus tomorrow, or winning the lottery. in the realm of possibility, si, it is something that could happen. again, nothing confirmed, nothing denied. like albert, like will buxton, like what every other f1 journalist is currently doing, joe is shit stirring to get engagement because engagement = money.

this isn't something to panic about. this isn't happening. remain calm. it will come to us eventually x

#anon #asks #daniel ricciardo #<- sorry putting it in the main tag cause i just cba with any discourse surrounding this #please don't give joe saward the attention he so desperately craves xx

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chaosintheavenue · 1 month

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Miscellaneous and completely unordered thoughts from the first episode of the Fallout TV show:

Spoilers below

All in all, I feel like the first episode went well? I did enjoy that it opened with a 'The End' title card like the end of an old-timey movie

So far, I like Lucy more than I expected

Not quite sure what to make of the other two yet. I don't feel like we saw much of Cooper

His daughter had freaking better have survived, or else

Obsessed with Dane!

This episode was fairly on-the-nose with gameplay mechanic references

Honestly, my main takeaway from the BoS stuff was 'Trin, Kay, are you okay?'. They've both long since 'told' me that their upbringing in the BoS was a fustercluck, particularly where their peers were concerned, but I'm not familiar enough with the lore there to really elaborate or delve too deep into that period of backstory. It almost feels like I've now had a small peek at what they meant

I spent most of the first Maximus segment vaguely confused as to what was supposed to be going on (it's entirely possible that this was on me, rather than the actual flow of the show). Took me a shamefully long time to realise that the base we see most likely wasn't intended to be a nameless analogue to Lost Hills

Just as I was starting to get to grips with BoS ranks and their responsibilities, progression pathways etc, it all gets utterly upended

Sounds like BoS-Enclave conflict is back again. Not a premise I would have gone with personally, but it's about in line with what I expected

Why that yodelling? XD

The guy drowning in the pickle water was peak comedy to my very tired brain

My overall approach to any further new lore added by the show in my OCs' Fallout universe will be as it has always been to the series as a whole: If I like it, it can stay. If I don't like it, I'll either spitefully ignore or overwrite it. If I can bend it juuust enough so that in certain light it could be alluding to a glimmer of a Van Buren reference, I will

Unless I was completely addled by sleep deprivation and missed it, there wasn't a single 'war never changes'

Overall opinion so far: This episode was a fun start, but I'm withholding comment on specific plot threads for now until I see where they're leading

#fallout tv spoilers #I haven't yet seen any further than the first episode #I have Heard Some Things but I'm aggressively stashing that away right in the vestiges of my brain until I experience it as nature intended

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offshore-brinicle · 1 month

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That was one hell of a part 2 good lordy. I have SO many thoughts but I cannot put all into words for now, here's some though.

Dante is being real quiet [sus especially after how much they talked in canto 5, plus how they seemed seemed realise that they need to actually take part in helping the sinners proper] and they are [seemingly] the only sinner one could connect to Carmen [literally all of the chirstian symbolism, the way the static on her appearances was similar to the static Dante has seen on AFD and their overheating, the fact she seemed to speak through them at that point]. I am probably just reading into things but after the whiplash of how much they usually talk - internally and externally - I am very much getting a sinking feeling something's wrong.

Basements are evil. Hong Lu is rich enough to have a basement in his houses. He will probably have an evil basement. I would bet money on this, especially if its a sort of 'other world' as alluded to in his book (that I have not read. It does mention a Land of Illusion if i recall, however, so possibly a door to that). Bonus points if it ends up being upside down or smth.

Would the 'chaotic' part of the golden bough ( of 'em at least) have any sorta relation to why we Heath's E.G.O seemed unstable? I know most of the other distortions/E.G.O awakenings happened near boughs - which connects to the theory that they are directly related to Carmen and thus allow her to talk to people more easily like with the monolith - either Dante's fragment or a full one, but the specific mention of a chaotic one could mean it's responsible for Bodysack seeming to have corroded, as one can see the warning labels typical of a corroding E.G.O.

Given Faust's change in behaviour - namely stuttering for what I believe to be the first time - regarding the conversations around the 'creation of humans' I do believe this was how she was made. Yi Sang did say he made the tech used within the pods in that very basement, and the fact that he was the first recruit could mean that the Faust who approached him is not the same Faust on the bus. The idea of her being a metric fucktonna ID's layered on top of each other firstly explains the Council of Fausts theory, wherein she is able to talk to other versions of herself, in this case because that's what she is, as well as what Dante says about her looking somewhere else before answering. Mirrors alter perception, so her looking at a different Faust for answers could explain that as well. Work's too with her base E.G.O, wherein three shadows seem to point out an answer on her wall of notes. She has all the knowledge, she just needs her other selves to point it out when needed - thus her evasive attitude when it comes to answers, she needs time to get it pointed out.

On that note, do you think her attitude in Selva Obscura is a reflection of og!Faust, but she drops the act later on once Dante has fully forgotten their past? She doesn't really get that jokey after that.

Like how the middle seemed to be the antithesis of Ishmael in C5 part 2, the ring seems to be Heath's. The middle represented how Ishy as a person was mostly incompatibility with 'the bit', in the form of a situation that is remarkably silly on paper but ended up in near total annihilation of the group. The ring may represent how some may look for deeper meanings in all things from arts to people, which clashes wickedly against Heathcliff's more straightforward approach when it comes to handling situations. The dredges of the ring are those parts of him that overthink and he solves the problem as simply as he's been solving many others.

Cathy in a Coffin reminds me of when Carmen was content enough to haunt the narrative from her Bucket. Nothing else to say here except for the fact it's funny.

But back to Carmen, and more particularly 'fate' regarding distortions. The theme of denying of what 'should've happened' is a decently big theme of limbus - from the rewinding death to even subverting what happens from any literary source material - so if they end up going 'Carmen no Carming' to her later on, defying someone who seems to be as much of a god-like entity as the Head in some ways, I would not be surprised if we either get a visit from Iori, one of Demian's lot or another Lo9 member - x or current. Additionally, defying fate may just be what brings back Heathcliff from the edge, keeping Cathy alive in this mirror world but presumably in a weird weirdass way. My guess is that she distorts and gets nabbed by LCD - but I also just wanna see Moses so.

Also hey what happened to the seven strikes of lightning. Are they gonna be in Heath's distortion dungeon or something? No clue.

And I think that's it. Gonna stare at a wall for a while now methinks

OK SO FIRST UP THERE ARE A LOT OF THINGS HERE SO I'LL TRY TO ANSWER TO THESE CONCISELY

Now that you mentioned it, it was always very strange how Faust is Number 2 despite being there first and her mugshot having already been in uniform, so now that you mention her different attitude in the Prologue I honestly see a lot to what you are bringing up here. It was always a personal theory of mine that Faust's real "Mephistopheles" was Sang Yi or Yi Sang somehow, since Sang Yi still to seems to be a rather...odd entity that doesn't correspond to any particular mirror world and is implied by Yi Sang to have some degree of omniscience (and there's also that marked part in the dungeon where he "mysteriously dissapeared" for some time with no explanation), so she might have gotten Yi Sang to do the procedure that would give her this infinite knowledge, specially since even Yi Sang himself emphasizes on her having been "gifted" with omniscience, I Highly doubt he's being figurative here, even more with her EGO's background being the shadows of multiple people.

In regards to Dante not speaking I think it's simply because of the difference in situation, unlike Ishmael who was very clearly out of control due to her own mindset, Heathcliff is being driven over the edge by circumstance -- and some quite insane circumstances at that, so it might be why they could not intervene, but hopefully they'll step up when we get to the next part, specially since we'll be dealing with Distorted Heathcliff....and also, it's very interesting that we actually got Heathcliff's POV on how it felt to Distort. It might be Dante's connection to Carmen and The Sinners aligning at once.

And also, Catherine is def a Carmen expy (I actually did my own analysis some time ago in similarities Kromer, Ahab and Dongbaek had with Carmen too but this one is the most. Insanely explicit similarity) and the fact that she speaks to "Welcome Heathcliff home" at the very end in her own voice alongside Carmen...I can't help but feel she might have been planning to get Heathcliff to Distort all along as part of her personal plan that they can be together happy in Hell. The Overclocking symptoms seem to have been an indicator of Heathcliff approaching Distortion, I really like how...drastically different it feels from the awakened Crow's Eye View and Snagharpoon, and just in general how they completely threw the formula that had been built up until now out of the window (heh)

Either way, thanks for shooting me a message! It's always fun to get to hear other people's observations and theories and share my own two cents along the way

Edit: I forgor but frankly if Hong Lu has yet another Creepy Rich Person basement I think I'll bash my head against the wall. The real moral of Limbus is that basements are bad and evil. Sorry there are just So many good observations here and I'm a bit scatterbrained at times shfhh

In regards to the "fate" thing, I feel like that will be a big part of dealing with Heathcliff next part, Limbus Company as a game and story is built on the reimaginings or "what ifs" or classics, and we've seen it with Yi Sang that his ending was changed in the end; the original Yi Sang died and the protagonist of The Wings commits suicide, but he rejected all of that, while Ishmael was on her path to repeat the cycle of the story of Moby Dick but thanks to Dante and Heathcliff she rejected that as well. And the title of "Clear All Cathy" really establishes from the first moment the goal this time. We'll have to wait another week to see how it rolls.

#answers #project moon #limbus company #lcb Yi Sang #lcb Faust #lcb Dante #lcb Heathcliff #lcb Carmen #Carmen ProjMoon #Canto VI spoilers

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