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dreamingofaizawa · 4 years ago

Text

Obedient (Rewritten)

Soft! Yandere! Erasermic x Chubby! Fem! Reader

***18+ Fic***

You must be 18 years old or older to participate in this reading. If you are not, please remove yourself from the line and find another piece. Thank you.

Warnings: Yandere, stalking, implied drugging, kidnapping, reader is way too fucking calm with the situation, Stockholm Syndrome, BDSM themes, a collar, body worship, the word Daddy once, smut, double penetration (diff. holes), anal, unprotected sex, overstimulation, aftercare.

Word Count: 6.6 k

Author's Note: Alright. I've been wanting to rewrite this for a while now. Obedient was the very first fic I'd ever written and posted back in September, and my writing has changed A LOT since then. Reading the original, I realized there's a lot that I can change and tweak, and a lot that wasn't very clearly or well written (in my opinion). So, here it is!

You can find the original here.

Enjoy~

“Happy birthday to me.” The words tumble loosely from your lips on a heaved breath, your fingers curled lazily around a cold glass of whiskey.

It isn’t a rare occurrence to see you perched atop a stool at the edge of the bar, nursing your third glass at 2am on a Friday night. Or rather Saturday morning. It’s one of the only places you can find solace, away from nosy coworkers and nosier acquaintances. The loneliness is soberingly blissful. You never cared much for social interaction.

At this point the bar is emptying, only a handful of bodies sticking around in the early hours. In the reflections of the rows of glass liquor bottles you see them again. Two lanky figures sitting in the corner booth at the back of the establishment. Any normal person would see them and think nothing. But you know better. When you first walked into the bar six months ago they were in that exact spot, and every time afterward they’d be there when you walked in and stayed after you left.

You, being observant as you are, always watched everything from your spot at the bar, the slightly warped images in the glass serving as your eyes for the night. It didn’t take long for you to figure the two were watching you every time you stepped inside. The blonde one always sat with his back to you, and his head would occasionally turn in the reflection. You’d alternate seats to make sure you weren’t imagining things, but it only confirmed what you’d suspected.

Not that you cared enough to do anything about it.

As long as they keep their distance you’re perfectly content letting them look. And they did keep their distance. They’d never even come within 5 feet of you, seemingly happy with just lingering glances. Of course, tonight would be a different story.

You watch as their glassy reflections stand up, the distance between you and them shrinking with each of their long strides. You let your eyes fall to the amber liquid in your hands, praying they’d only pass you by on their way out. Two sets of footsteps approached, two bodies popped up on either side of you, and a deep, silky smooth voice sounded on your right.

“Mind if we take a seat?” A glance to your right revealed a rugged, yet handsome man peering down at you with his deep, tired onyx eyes. Long raven hair spilled over his shoulders, framing his chiseled jaw peppered with barely tamed scruff and a scar curved along his cheekbone. You turn to look at his friend, long blonde hair pulled up into a high bun and hypnotic green eyes focused on you behind orange tinted sunglasses despite being indoors past midnight. He is handsome as well, a small mustache on his smiling lips, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline drawing you in.

You couldn’t help but feel they look familiar, somehow. You’d seen their faces before, somewhere, but you pushed that to the back of your mind for now.

It wouldn’t hurt to let them sit with you, right? They seem friendly enough, and it’s better to entertain them in case things go south should you reject their request. With a small, tired smile, you nod.

“Sure thing, fellas.” They both plop down on either side of you and the blonde immediately gets talking.

“So what’s the occasion, little listener?” Two thoughts came to mind. One, how did he know there was any occasion, two, what kind of pet name is ‘little listener’? Your confusion must have shown on your face, because the raven haired man spoke up.

“You’re pretty dolled up for a night at the bar, kitten.” Ah. So they had been watching you. You aren’t wearing anything that would normally be considered ‘dolled up’. Your tan sweater and black skirt are relatively plain, and the platform boots you’re wearing accompanied by your thigh-high socks are something you’re experimenting with.

But usually you entered the bar with a white button-up and black slacks from your job as a waitress. Today you had time to go home and pamper yourself a bit before heading to your usual drinking spot. Evidently, they noticed. You bring your glass up to your lips and gulp down the remaining liquid before entertaining the question.

“Nothing special. Call it a birthday party.” And hey, you mean it when you say it isn’t special. Your birthday only marks yet another routine year on this earth. The blonde nudges your shoulder with his own.

“I’d say that’s pretty special, sunshine!” The alcohol must be affecting you, because you chuckle a bit at his enthusiasm.

“Just another year gone by, you know?” You’re never this talkative sober. The man on your right rapped his knuckles on the bartop, the barkeep making his way over with a tired smile.

“One more glass for this pretty kitty here.” The name had your eyebrows raising.

“This one’s on me.” As the fresh glass was sat on the bartop you scoffed quietly.

“Kitty?” A deep hum came from the man.

“Well how would you describe yourself, kitten?” Somewhere in your muddled brain you warned yourself not to be self-deprecating on your 25th birthday. You didn’t listen.

“Definitely not feline. I’m short and chunky and the only thing cat-like about me is my posture and eyeliner,” you stated, matter-of-factly. As a waitress at an esteemed high-end restaurant, you had to learn to be quick on your feet, agile, and most importantly, poised. A hum comes from the blonde, a muttered ‘pretty and humble’ floating on his breath. You force a chuckle at the statement.

“Pretty is also a word I wouldn’t use to describe myself.” A short silence falls between the three of you, and you take the time to study their faces. Where had you seen them before? You’re certain if you’d met them before you’d remember them, you don’t tend to forget attractive people.

They’re oddly patient as they watch the cogs in your brain turn, your eyes taking in every detail of every feature. Your breath caught and your eyes went wide when you’d finally placed their faces.

“Present Mic and Eraserhead. You’re pro heroes.” The words are quiet, nearly imperceptible as you breathe them, but they’re close enough to hear. Present Mic beams at the recognition.

“In the flesh, sunshine. But we’d prefer you use our names.” Eraserhead leans away and sticks a hand out for a handshake.

“Shouta Aizawa.” You shake his hand and turn to the blonde, who similarly has his hand held out.

“Hizashi Yamada.” You introduce yourself, a bit shaky and only slightly starstruck. What in the world are two pro heroes doing talking to you? As you regain your composure you excuse yourself to the restroom. You weren’t prepared to talk to heroes tonight. A glance in the mirror has you sobering yourself, rationalizing their strange behavior. These two are pro heroes. They were clearly only worried about your safety, a woman all alone in a bar till the earliest hours of the morning. ‘That’s why they were watching me’, you muse. You quickly fix yourself, then step back out to the two heroes.

The three of you pass another hour of time before you decide it’s time for you to head home. They offer to give you a lift, but you politely decline. You can't intrude on them any more than you already had. Hizashi insists otherwise.

“Please Sunshine? If something were to happen to you we’d never forgive ourselves!” It made sense to you. They’re pro heroes after all, it’s in their nature to worry. So you oblige to ease their anxieties.

Since Shouta hadn’t touched any alcohol, he’s driving, and you punch your address into the GPS system of their very expensive looking car. As you sit back, Hizashi holds a bottle over his head.

“Water?” You thank him and drain the bottle, realizing you’re a bit more dehydrated than you initially thought. In your semi-drunk haze you fail to notice that the bottle had already been opened, and you miss Shouta’s eyes watching you down the beverage through the rearview mirror.

It’s only five minutes later you feel drowsy, your head lolling to the side and eyelids drooping. You don’t quite register the question Hizashi asks you, and when you don’t answer he turns around to look at you.

“You seem tired, Sunshine. Take a nap, we’ll wake you up when we get there.” Your exhaustion takes hold over any rational thoughts, and with a sleepy nod, you stretch out over the backseat and let your mind slip into unconsciousness, blissfully unaware you’ll never see your apartment again.

The first thing you notice as you wake up is how stiff and sore your muscles are. It takes you a moment to realize you aren’t in your clothes from last night, nor are you in your own bed. Your eyes snap open and you sit up, taking in the unfamiliar room. With a curse under your breath you scour your memory for anything, checking if you’d gone home with anyone or gotten yourself in a tight situation. The last thing you remember is being driven home by the two pros, then passing out in their backseat.

Questions began forming in your mind. ‘Where am I? How did I get here? Where had the two heroes gone?’ In an attempt to think clearer, you try crossing your legs, but your ankle is stopped short by something heavy. Throwing off the blanket, a thick metal cuff glinted in the light of the room, an equally thick chain leading somewhere over the side of the bed.

When your breathing begins to quicken, you settle your mind, refusing to panic. Willing yourself to relax, you begin to think about how you can get out of this situation. ‘Today should be Saturday. Assuming this room is part of a house, someone would most likely still be here’. With a small breath, you speak, hopefully loud enough for someone to hear you.

“H-hello? Is someone there?” It only takes a few seconds for footsteps to reach your ears, and the door opens to the last person you’re expecting to see. A ruggedly handsome Shouta Aizawa stands in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with a small smirk on his lips.

“Good morning, Kitty.” As endearing as the pet name is, the only emotion you feel right now is confusion. Your mind is drifting to all the fanfiction you’d read online, piecing together the events of last night like a puzzle. ‘The bottle of water was already open’. In your defense, they’re pro heroes, it’s only natural for you-- or anyone, really-- to let your guard down. A large hand on your shoulder jolts you back to reality, your eyes wide as you stare up at Shouta like a deer in headlights.

“You okay Kitten?” All you can manage as you settle your thoughts is to blink up at the man, swallowing down the lump in your throat before letting out a shaky breath.

“Let me guess. I’m home now, aren’t I?” The man stares back down at you with subtly raised eyebrows before chuckling softly.

“That’s not the reaction I was expecting, but I can’t say I’m mad about it. You’re a smart little kitty, aren’t you.” He leaves you to your thoughts and your mind begins reeling once again. You understand this is wrong, that you shouldn’t be so willing, so obedient. You also know how boring your life has been up until now. How mundane and lonely you’d been for as long as you can remember.

You’d cut ties with your family long ago, and ‘friend’ is a very loose term. Most of the people you called friends are acquaintances at best, your antisociality and trust issues meant ‘making friends’ is not on your life agenda. Somehow you knew, deep down, you wanted something like this to happen. You longed to give up control, to let someone else string you along and take the reins and let you relax, not have to worry about anything anymore. That side of you tended to make itself known through your explorative late teen years.

You’d had romantic partners before, though once anything intimate came up they all refused to associate with you anymore. They couldn’t understand your want to give up control, your need to submit. They refused to collar you ‘like an animal’. None of your partners ever understood the weight behind such a garment. This may be your chance at the relationship you’d always craved, regardless of its twisted nature.

Then there’s the logical side, the chances of you actually escaping. As a quirkless human in the presence of two trained pro heroes (assuming Hizashi is also in on this), the likelihood of you making it out is slim to nonexistent. If you somehow manage to get out, the two could easily track you down and just as easily drag you back. So, as wrong as it seems, you don’t fight it.

Shouta returns with a tray of breakfast, setting it down on your lap after you’d adjusted yourself to lean against the headboard. As he pulls back you mumble a ‘thank you’ and begin to eat, acknowledging the pang of hunger in your belly. As weird as it seems to say ‘thank you’ to your captor, you find it could be helpful even if only a little. Being polite is automatic, but it’s also a great way to make sure you don’t end up injured, or worse, dead somewhere, so for once in a long time your manners are intended. You’d gotten halfway through your meal when Shouta speaks up.

“You’re taking this really well.” He almost seems skeptical. You peer up at him as you finish the food in your mouth.

“There isn’t much use panicking. I’d only end up hurting myself. Besides, it’s not like I can get out.” You motion to the cuff around your ankle and he gives a small chuckle.

“You’re not wrong, kitten.” He leaves to let you finish breakfast, returning ten minutes later and taking your empty tray. He comes back right after, a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold in hand.

“I’m sure you need to use the bathroom.” You give a small nod, acknowledging the pressure in your bladder for the first time since you woke up. Gently, he takes your wrists and locks the cuffs around them, then holds up the blindfold before going to tie it around your head.

“These are just a precaution.” Soon you feel the cuff on your ankle fall away, and Shouta’s strong arms loop under your knees and back as he lifts you off the bed.You’re both surprised and not that he can lift you with relative ease. He is a pro hero after all. It takes less than 30 seconds for him to stop and gently place you down, taking the blindfold and cuffs off.

“I’ll be waiting just outside the door. Once you’re done, knock and I’ll take you back to bed.” You nod and he leaves, locking the door once he’s outside. Of course it locks from the outside. You take a moment to just think about your current predicament. Currently you’re locked in the house of a pro hero, being kept against your will (sort of). Your life had just taken an unexpected turn.

You knock on the door like Shouta said, and it isn’t long before you’re back on the bed with the cuff around your ankle. As he turns to leave you stop him, and he turns back to you with a quirked eyebrow.

“Can I...draw?” You didn’t know if he’d actually let you have anything, but it was worth a shot. If you were to be cooped up here you need to keep yourself occupied. With a low hum, he leaves the room and comes back with a sketch pad, pencil, and eraser.

Days come and go with either of the pros serving you three meals a day. They begin questioning your obedience, especially Hizashi. He questioned your lack of panic and how you never seemed to try to escape. Even he knows this isn’t normal. Shouta seems less skeptical, like he’d expected less of a fight than any normal, sane person would give. When Hizashi asked questions you answered truthfully. Lying is of no use to you.

“Really, I don’t mind it here. So far my life has been pretty shitty and boring, so this turn of events is mildly appreciated. Besides, you treat me relatively well, considering I’m being held captive, so I can’t say I’m upset.” You’d guessed from both your reading and their actions that they truly believed they cared about you. The chances of them hurting you are slim, so you’re able to live with them without fear.

The cuff around your ankle came off about a week in, and Shouta gave you the freedom to roam the house, though it wasn’t without warning. He held his hand out to you, an offer to help you stand, and you took it. Slowly, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and shift your weight to your feet. Your legs shake like a newborn fawn, but Shouta held you to let you stretch your legs and get comfortable walking again.

He led you out to what you assume is the dining table and sat you down, Shouta taking the seat on your right. You assume Hizashi is in the kitchen, what with the clatter and smell of food. Shouta asked what you’d been drawing, which caught you a bit off guard, but you answered anyway.

“Koi fish.” He hummed, focused on you.

“Any particular reason why?” You take a moment to think about your answer, it’s not a question you’re used to responding to.

“Well they’re gorgeous creatures. Elegant, sleek and graceful. The way they move is so mesmerizing, smooth and flawless like a flowing creek. I’ve always loved drawing koi.”

The conversation lapses into your fascination with the fish, how they somehow remind you of dragons and how the fantastical creature’s existence isn’t as far-fetched as it’s made out to be. Hizashi joins soon enough, serving dinner and listening in on the conversation.

Once you all finish eating you get comfortable on the couch, nestled between the two men. It isn’t long before you drift off to sleep, their body heat lulling you into dreamland. Shouta carries you to bed, carefully laying you down and pressing a light kiss to your temple. He stands above you, admiring your features as you sleep.

You’re gorgeous to him, a goddess in your own right. He and his blonde counterpart had started watching you mainly because you were a woman, completely alone and seemingly unarmed in a bar until the earliest hours of the morning. Neither of them could tell if you were quirkless or not, and as heroes they made sure to keep an eye on you during their weekly trip to the bar should you get into any trouble.

But eventually it became a habit to look for you, and the more they looked the farther they fell. You looked as exhausted as Shouta every time you stepped through the doors, hair just beginning to lose its style and shoulders sagged. But you were so beautiful, even in your exhausted state. Hizashi was the first to mention his infatuation to Shouta, but the raven-haired man had already figured the blonde was into you.

Soon enough they began to get antsy, constantly watching you walk out the door into the dead of night all alone. You’re just too trusting of the world outside, not taking enough precautions for a woman of your caliber. They made it their mission to make sure you were safe, and one day, take you back home where they could protect you.

Now that you’re here, it’s like a dream. Even as you sleep you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. How your lashes flutter against your cheeks, the way your lips softly part with every breath, how your chest gently rises and falls, it all makes him stare down at you in complete awe. It takes a great deal of willpower for him to tear his eyes away from you and join Hizashi in their room.

***3 months later***

A couple months have passed since you’d...moved in with the two men, and you can’t say you hate it. They’ve respected your privacy, allowing you to stay in your own room and letting you bathe yourself after refusing their attempts at persuading you to join them. Honestly it’s been nice living with them.

Though, the longer you’re with them the more thoughts begin gathering and swirling in your head. Caring thoughts, how their days progress, how they’re feeling at any point in time. And needy, dirty thoughts. Any time those pop up you make it a point to push them deep down into the farthest recesses of your brain, refusing to fuel those pesky embers.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you know what’s happening, what’s been happening. You’re no stranger to Stockholm Syndrome, having done your own minimal research on the subject a few years back. You constantly tell yourself this isn’t normal, nor is it healthy, to enjoy the company of your captors. You have to remind yourself that they had taken you from everything you knew, and even though there wasn’t much for you to love, they’d taken you from that as well.

But soon enough the illogical prevailed, because despite all of that, the two have been nothing but good to you.

In no time at all the days you spend alone in the large house are the days you find yourself missing their company, hoping they’d return sooner. You managed to dig through their clothes and pick out some of their older t-shirts, and began wearing them around the house. Their lingering scents have been a comfort as you patiently wait for them to come back. They don’t seem to mind at all, so you’re content.

As time passes you get closer with them, gravitating toward them and snuggling into either of their sides, letting them wrap an arm around you and tug you into them. You began giving kisses when they left and returned, a small peck on the cheek at the door. The first time you had engaged a kiss was a shock to both of them.

You had tugged Shouta’s sleeve and when he turned you silently grabbed his collar and yanked him down, leaving a small peck on his cheek, doing the same with Hizashi. They barely had the time to react before you dashed to your room and curled under the blankets, face heated and heart pounding like some schoolgirl who had confessed to her crush and got a positive response. That night you’d received more cuddles and kisses than normal.

The kisses became routine, and before long you all slept in the same bed. Strangely enough, life began to feel somewhat normal. The house began to feel like home.

And soon enough that schoolgirl crush manifested into something dirty, something lustful and carnal. Just as much as you long to be around them, you want desperately to feel their hands on your bare skin, mapping out the curves of your body as you writhe beneath them. You crave them and their touch. But of course you still have your pride. Dropping hints would have to suffice.

Slowly, subtly, you dress lighter, more scantily. No shorts under their t-shirts that barely cover your ass, allowing the stretched collars to drop and expose the slightest peek of skin. After a shower you walk back to the room in nothing but a towel, allowing the edge to ride up your thighs. Your tactics seemed to work, their eyes glued to the newly exposed skin, soaking in your plush thighs and soft skin. Their stares make you ache, but after weeks of nothing but lingering glances you decide to toss your pride out the window.

You have dinner ready when they walk in the door, and after everyone had eaten and showered you usher them both to the couch while you sit facing them from the coffee table. Their confusion is evident on their faces, your nervous fidgeting and reluctance to look them in the eyes didn’t help. What you’re about to bring up is embarrassing to say the least, but staying silent would be a detriment to your sanity. With a steadying breath, you meet their gaze and quietly force out your seemingly ridiculous request.

“So… I enjoy being here with you,” your fingers twist into the hem of your shirt and you swallow down the lump in your throat, “and I really appreciate that you’ve given me anything I asked for-”

“No.” Shouta’s voice suddenly cuts off your sentence.

“You can’t go outside, Kitten. I’m sorry, but that’s non-negotiable right now.” You blink dumbly at him, completely thrown off balance by his statement before you catch yourself, waving your hands frantically in front of you.

“No! Oh god, that’s not…um…. I wasn’t asking to go outside. I love being here, with you, and doing whatever but...it’s what we don’t do...that’s bothering me...just a little bit…” By now your voice is so quiet and high-pitched you wonder if they can even hear you. Hizashi, bless his heart, is just as confused as before the conversation started.

“Sunshine, you aren’t making much sense. If you think about it, there’s actually a lot we don’t do.” Shouta holds a hand up, silencing the blonde. His dark eyes drag over your body, watching the way your thighs almost imperceptibly rub together and you can’t meet his gaze. You squirm, the intensity in his eyes something you aren’t used to but it makes you hot all over. His hand comes down on his thigh twice.

“Come here, Kitty.” Slowly, you stand and walk to him, letting his hands grab your hips and pull you down to straddle his lap. A finger curls under your chin, angling your head to look Shouta in the eyes. A small smirk pulls the corner of his mouth, a moment of realization flashing across his face.

“Our little Kitty is getting needy ‘Zashi. Isn’t that right, Kitten?” Heat flooded your face, your embarrassment and arousal sending hot blood to your face and chest. You squeeze your eyes shut and nod, hoping they’d do something about the very horny state you’re in. Shouta’s hand moves to your hip again, lifting you and placing you in Hizashi’s lap before standing and walking away.

The blonde cooed at the surprised squeak you let out at the sudden movement, and you open your eyes to his wide grin. Leaning forward, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. It feels nice, and you let your body melt into him and his warmth, his long fingers digging into the flesh of your lower back as he tugs you closer and a pleasant haze settles over your mind.

It’s a blissful moment shared between you, and Shouta returns just as Hizashi pulls away from the kiss. They share a look you can’t place before the former raises a hand to gently stroke your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He seems conflicted, trying to mull over some sort of decision in his brain, his brows just barely drawn and jaw set. When his eyes dropped to his other hand, yours followed, to find he held a long thin black velvet box. Clearly it holds some sort of jewelry.

After a few moments he turns it to you and lifts the lid, and your heart damn near stops beating. Whether it’s from excitement or a brief flash of fear, you don’t know. These two have been watching you for much longer than just at the bar. Those few months are only the tip of the iceberg, but how they’d come to notice you would probably forever remain a mystery to you.

Right now, all that matters is that they know everything. From your failed relationships to the reason they’d all ended. They had to know, that’s the only explanation. There’s no possible way it’s pure coincidence that you now gaze down at a beautifully crafted leather collar. It’s simple, thin, black dotted sparsely with sparkling gems and a dainty metal ring centered at the front. Tentatively, you reach out and trace the leather with your fingers.

“Is this...for me?” A deep hum sounds in Shouta’s chest, and that’s answer enough for you. Shouta plucks the garment from its seat and moves behind you. The cool leather feels heavenly as he loops it around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin. Everything seemed to go quiet as you waited for something, anything, to solidify this moment.

Click.

You shudder out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Shouta tilts your head and presses his lips to yours, looping a finger through the collar and giving a gentle tug. It makes you mewl, allowing him space to slip his tongue behind your teeth. He can see your pupils dilate when he pulls away, plush lips slick with saliva, lust invading your mind. You look so needy and desperate for them, so fucking gorgeous.

Hizashi leaves a kiss on your cheek then picks you up and places you on your feet. Both men grab either of your hands, lacing their fingers with yours, and gently pull you with them to the bedroom. Hizashi begins undressing first, and you can only let your eyes drag over his bare upper body for a moment before Shouta grabs your chin and distracts you with another kiss. This one is more passionate, heated, rough as his tongue effortlessly invades and dominates your mouth. Hizashi’s voice permeates your lust-filled haze.

“Come here, baby.” Shouta pulls away and allows you to walk over to where the blonde sits naked on the edge of the bed. He motions for you to turn around and you oblige, then he grabs your hips and pulls you back to sit in his lap, your back pressed to his chest. You watch as Shouta undresses, baring his skin to you as Hizashi tasks himself with undressing you.

Your shirt is the first to be removed, a groan spilling from the blonde when he discovers you aren’t wearing a bra. He pulls you flush against his chest, peppering wet kisses down your neck and shoulders as your eyes roam over Shouta’s sculpted frame. The raven haired man makes his way over, kneeling down between your legs and reaching up to toy with your breasts, rough fingers working your nipples until they peak. Hizashi’s hands find their way down to the pouch of your stomach, grabbing at the soft pliant flesh and squishing the fat there.

You let out a low whine, feeling extremely self-conscious with his hands working at the parts of your body you hate the most. You grab at his wrists in an attempt to pull him away, but he hushes you and whispers into your ear, his breath hot on your neck.

“It’s okay, pretty baby. Let me feel you.” You will yourself to let him go, let his hands explore your body the way he wants. He keeps his hands on your belly, long fingers massaging into your skin.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He’s nipping and kissing at your neck, whispering praises into your ear as he fondles all the fatty parts of you.

Shouta’s hands reach up and tug your panties down, then grip your thighs and pull them apart, exposing you to his hungry eyes. You can’t help but feel exposed, uncomfortable, as they touch and gaze at every part of yourself you had always despised. A whimper builds in your chest, tears beginning to sting your eyes and your breath shaking. Hizashi leans over and kisses your tears away as Shouta leans forward and kisses at your belly and thighs, hands working at whatever flesh he couldn’t get his lips on.

“Let us love you. All of you. You’re such a pretty kitty.” You let yourself relax, let yourself relish in the fact that these two gorgeous men are doting over your body like you’re a goddess, like they couldn’t live if they didn’t worship every one of your perfect imperfections. Though you’re far from comfortable, the initial fear subsides, allowing them full access to you.

“Good girl kitty, good girl.” Shouta whispers as he nips at your thighs, sucking little red marks into your skin. He hooks your legs over Hizashi’s, and the blonde’s fingers dip down to tease your folds, barely breaching your little hole and making you buck for more friction. A soft moan slips from your lips as he pushes two long fingers into your soaked pussy.

You rock your hips into his hand, his palm barely brushing against your clit making you mewl. Shouta focuses his attention on your breasts and belly where Hizashi left bare, kneading and kissing and licking, leaving blooming marks all over your skin. Soon you feel a knot form in your stomach, tightening and burning impossibly hot. Hizashi feels your pussy clenching around his fingers and quickens his pace, grinding his palm down against your clit hard and curling his fingers to hit that spot that has you seeing stars.

When the knot snaps you’re falling apart on Hizashi’s lap, back arched and legs shaking. You throw your head back against his shoulder and cry out, pleasure racking your body in intense waves. Hizashi keeps moving his fingers inside you, letting you ride out your high, legs trembling and toes curling with the continued stimulation.

After your release you relax back down, chest heaving with every breath. Hizashi lifts you up and lays you down on the bed, Shouta crawling up over you and kissing you sweetly. He grabs your legs and wraps them around his waist, lining up his painfully hard erection with your throbbing pussy.

“Are you ready for me kitty?” You look up at him through your lashes and nod fervently, needing him desperately despite the sensitivity. He tugs at your collar gently.

“Use your words kitty cat. Are you ready for me?” Your eyes widen slightly and you answer without any real thought.

“Yes Daddy.” Shouta growls at the name and swears under his breath, thrusting his hips forward and bottoming out all at once. The air is punched from your lungs, the stretch around his thick length almost enough to make you cum a second time. Shouta leans down and kisses at the bruises Hizashi had left on your neck, giving you some time to adjust. It only takes a few moments for your walls to stop clamping down on him.

“I’m going to move now kitty. Relax for me.” He starts slow, groaning as he watches his length slide in and out of you.

Your warmth feels so good around his cock, and he moves faster, driving his cock so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Hizashi lays down next to you and puts two fingers into your mouth, your tongue sliding over them, coating them in your saliva.

He pulls them out and goes to rub your clit, leaning over and placing open mouth kisses along your collarbone, sucking new bruises onto your skin. Your legs quake with the quick building pleasure, your second orgasm creeping up fast. Suddenly both men stop their movements, Shouta pulling your body flush against him and sitting up.

Lithe, cold fingers suddenly dance around your back entrance, toying with your puckered hole. A single finger pushes in and you mewl and squirm at the new sensation. A second finger works its way in, the two digits working to stretch you gently. Soon there’s a third, and when you’re relaxed the fingers are gone and replaced by the thick head of Hizashi’s cock.

“You ready, sweet thing?” You nod and whine, a little weary but ready to be full of the two men. He slowly inches his way inside, shallow thrusts sinking him deeper until his hips are flush with your ass. Both men pepper wet kisses along your shoulders, giving you time to relax, but you don’t need it. You whine, wiggle your hips in an attempt to get them to move, and they oblige.

Their initial pace is slow, letting you feel every ridge and vein as they slip in and out of you. They build up a rhythm, when one is bottomed out the other has only the tip in, and soon you’re drooling from the amount of stimulation you’re getting. Hizashi’s fingers move down to work at your clit, and just the slightest touch has you trembling. The stimulation shoves you over the edge and has you cumming hard around them, your slick dripping down your thighs. They slow their pace slightly, your holes clamping down on them and attempting to milk them dry. Hizashi’s fingers rub your clit harder, overstimulating you.

“Do you have one more for us baby? I know you can cum one more time for us.” You whine, thrashing in their arms trying to simultaneously get away and tug them closer. Tears fall down your cheeks and a familiar tension fills the pit of your stomach and Shouta leans over and bites down on your shoulder. The pain pulls you over, crying out as you clamp down on their lengths hard. Their hips stutter as they chase their own release, and they shoot rope after rope of cum into you as you ride out your own high.

They still their movements, holding you and each other close. After a few moments they pull out together, the movement making you moan and tremble. Your body goes limp and Shouta pulls you to lean against him, stroking your hair and back. You’re sobbing softly into Shouta’s shoulder, your last release washing over your body almost painfully, your bones already beginning to ache. Shouta rubs your back softly and Hizashi peppers soft kisses along your shoulders, both cooing praises in your ears.

Shouta picks you up and the three of you go over to the bathroom, where Hizashi plugs the drain and turns on the tap to fill the large tub with hot water. Shouta climbs in and sits down, still cradling you, and the slowly rising water begins to soothe you. Hizashi pulls out a tube of ointment and rubs it onto Shouta’s back, relieving the scratch marks you left on him. After tending to Shouta he unlocks your collar and sinks into the tub, leaning against you. You let the two massage you and wash you, bringing you back from the intense scene.

“You okay kitten?” Shouta rumbles into your ear, petting your hair. You nod into his shoulder and grab Hizashi’s hand, wanting to be close to the both of them. The hot water and the care of the two bring you back down to earth, and you start to feel fatigue pulling at your consciousness. Hizashi notices you drifting off and takes you from Shouta. He dries you off with a towel and locks your collar back around your neck.

“Sho, I’m going to take her to bed. When you’re ready come join us.” Shouta hums and Hizashi carries you to bed.

You lay with Hizashi and cuddle into his chest, letting him hold you and rock you as you drift off. After a few minutes you feel the bed behind you dip and look up at Shouta with half lidded eyes. He gives you a peck on the lips before nuzzling against your back. With a long, soft sigh you melt into their arms, content with the new life you’d been brought into.

#erasermic #yandere erasermic #erasermic x reader #yandere erasermic x reader #erasermic smut #erasermic mha #erasermic bnha #shouta aizawa #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa smut #hizashi yamada #hizashi yamada x reader #hizashi yamada smut #shouta aizawa mha #shouta aizawa bnha #hizashi yamada mha #hizashi yamada bnha

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sukirichi · 4 years ago

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Like, what happens to Mia? How does Gojo end up picking us? Naoya? How about Naoya? 😭😭😭🙏🏼😔

Omggg if you’re not going to continue reckless, can you please please please tell us how it ends? 😭😭😭 I don’t think I can bear living not knowing how it ends 😭 please? 😔😢🙏🏼😭

okay well here’s how it was gonna go, pls keep in mind my storytelling in asks and in writing are diff so this might be explained crappily HAHAHAHA but basically in reckless...

gojo gets shot in the head by his abusive dad bcos he finally stood up against him, but that backfired. his father is really adamant on control, and gojo loses his memories at the same time y/n gave birth. she decided to keep the baby after deciding that she wants a family after all, but when gojo woke up with mixed and lost memories, he only remembers mia and everything after her accident was gone. gojo becomes distorted and even becomes harsh sometimes, especially when y/n said they had a baby and she was his friend, bcos gojo’s mindset was from way back to six years ago, where he had lots of issues with his family and mia’s that he was wary who to trust.

so,,, they didn’t want gojo to hurt y/n bcos he’s such in an emotional mess that he has no control of himself. eventually, y/n decides to stay away but the baby is adopted by gojo and mia, who gets married for the sake of business and gojo’s current situation. truthfully, mia doesn’t want to marry him bcos it would hurt y/n and she’s not that awful. mia and y/n become friends after realizing they’re pretty similar and actually find genuine friendship with one another. she doesn’t have a choice tho and gojo, mia, along with gojo’s mom who divorced her husband for his abuse move to the states where they raised y/n and gojo’s daughter, sayori, leaving y/n all alone in tokyo who then becomes vice president of kamo enterprises. basically, it shows the repeated history of y/n’s father choosing to hide her from her real parents, and she begins to understand why he did that bcos she also has not really met her own daughter. y/n knows mia and gojo could take care of sayori better than she could, especially with the fact that gojo’s memories are mixed and transfixed on the timeline of him dating mia, mia giving birth to sayori, then them getting married. y/n is not present at all in his memories. gojo thinks he was the one in a car accident, not mia.

sayori is about four years old when gojo decides to come back to tokyo. now that he’s disowned and his mother has also left, gojo becomes a successful model in the states. he comes home bcos he remembers geto and wants to start their own agency (gojo as a model, geto as the photographer.) mia is wary at first for fear gojo might remember everything. she’s not being selfish; the doctors warned that anything that could potentially trigger gojo’s memories that his subconscious has erased could be detrimental to him. mia tries to hold it off but gojo insists, so the gojo/yamazaki family go back and that’s where gojo meets y/n, who he first thought was geto’s new wife.

in the reckless fanart, geto’s photo is like this.

geto’s ring is silver - it’s his dead wife’s ring. the hand caressing him is gold - it’s y/n wearing the ring of gojo’s mother, who by then has already apologized before they all left.

geto and y/n become best friends on the course of four years. missing her daughter, y/n becomes attached to mei (geto’s daughter) and acts more like a mom than an aunt. geto basks in this faux family they’ve built, though he makes sure mei is not too dependent or expecting that y/n would be her mom. he falls in love with y/n and he notices how after gojo left, she becomes softer and a lot sweeter. all the anger and hatred disappeared, all thanks to y/n finding peace with her new life and making up with her mother, Valeria, who once overdosed on drugs after it was exposed to the public that Y/N is a child she abandoned. y/n saved Valeria by rushing her to the hospital, which is also the same time that Y/N saw gojo being wheeled in the emergency room with a bullet in his head.

now that gojo is back, he can’t help but notice that y/n is avoiding him. she feels familiar but he plays it off over her being a close friend and possible lover of geto. meanwhile, y/n’s dedication to pretending he doesn’t exist breaks slowly when she sees sayori, a beautiful little girl who’s growing up, call mia as her “mommy.” it hurts her that she missed her first words, first steps, or that she’s being excluded in the family that is truly hers, but everyone is happy and doing great that she chooses to be the only who isn’t for the sake of everyone else.

in ch2, gojo goes to a carnival/amusement park and takes a polaroid photo with y/n. he finds them in one of the stuff he left behind in the penthouse he used to live in; shocked bcos y/n had been adamant they never met before. that’s when he begins to confront her on who she really is what they really used to be. he feels guilty that he can’t remember, but most of all, gojo is torn inside that y/n had been all alone the whole time when he promised he would be there.

its complicated for them since gojo x mia are already married, and sayori got her mom’s stubborness so its difficult for her to believe someone she never met before is her real mom and mia is...well, mia. mia actually helps sayori accept that she is not the real mom, apologizing to the child for lying to them and it ends up with sayori running away and getting lost for a few hours. sayori is scared since tokyo is alien to her and she doesn’t speak japanese, but when y/n finds her, she comes running to her arms and that is when she begins to soften up around her real mom.

this is where the slowburn with gojo and y/n begins. for them, getting to know each other once more on a clean slate is both refreshing yet scary, especially since one has erased the past in their mind and the other is desperately trying to forget it. the thing about the mia x gojo as a married couple and parents is that gojo deep down feels he does not love mia that way. he can’t explain why there’s just something missing or confusing in his life. he loves mia out of respect and friendship, but he would never admit that he is not in love with his wife. however, he plays it over the fact that its “just the broken memories” and lies to himself that he is very much in love with her. when he meets y/n again, however, it makes sense. he does love y/n and him forgetting her was a defense mechanism of his system to erase the most painful times of his life, and that included his guilt for hurting y/n with the abuse of his parents who controlled the way he acted around her. as for mia, she also does not love gojo and she probably never did, but for the sake of his well being and for sayori’s future (which was entrusted to her by y/n) she stayed with him. now though, mia knows its time to let go.

geto...it is not easy for geto. he loves y/n so much because of her tenacity and kindness, but he also loves her enough to know she is happier with someone else. to him, he’s content knowing that she felt less lonely when he was around and that he helped make her smile. in the end, geto has closure with y/n who apologizes for not returning his feelings.

NAOYAAAAA though...ofc i gave him a good ending 💕 after he was brutally rejected by Mia, y/n cheers him up by setting Naoya up with a law professor around his age, who is Ayame. Ayame is supposed to be named Suki tbh 😋 but I thought the self insert is a little too much so I changed it to Ayame. Ayame is pretty funny and even respects that Naoya is uncomfortable on the first date, telling him that it doesn’t have to be that kind of date and she doesn’t expect anything from him. Ayame’s bubbly yet blunt nature is a breath of fresh air from Mia’s secretive and perfectionist nature and the two become good friends. Naoya and Ayame end up hanging out a lot bcos “thats what friends do” but it doesn’t take long before they go out together. And ofc, Naoya is a little ashamed that Ayame was the first to confess and she beat him to it, but they get married and are happy nonetheless 💕 Mia ends up as a successful doctor who helps her family with the business, divorces Gojo, but she still has no plans to marry and is perfectly happy and content to focus on her career.

Eventually, Gojo and Y/N get married once everything is sorted out. Gojo becomes a well known model in Tokyo as well, and Gojo Group is absorbed by Y/N herself after proving Gojo’s father guilty of attempted murder. Gojo doesn’t want anything more to do with the corporate world though, but Y/N stays and kicks ass as a vice president to all the merged companies.

Y/N and Valeria also makes up after Valeria is indebted to Y/N who saved her life, and Valeria’s parents become more supportive and start to see Valeria more as a person than a child to inherit the business. Albeit being in her 40s, Valeria enjoys the youth she lost only now, but also enjoys being the grandmother to Sayori. Its a little awkward between Valeria and Y/N after everything that happened, but they’re trying and are even dubbed as the iconic motherly duo who is unbeatable in their games.

Gojo’s father is thrown into prison, and his main victim, his own wife, also shows recovery from the years of abuse. Although her obsessive control with Gojo and his sister (the eldest Gojo child) was not right, his mom was left with no choice but to keep them on close watch and control their lives because she was trying to keep them safe from their father’s wrath. In the end, Gojo’s mom makes up by being a better mother, and Gojo and his sister forgives her while also apologizing that both of them left home when they knew their mom always shouldered the abuse to protect her kids.

Overall, its a happy ending for most of the characters! the last chapter is Sayori’s wedding to Naoya and Ayame’s son, Naori, who is a few years younger than his bride. Gojo is grumbling to Y/N about how his little girl is all grown up now, and that their son, Shinichiro, who is 18 in that timeline is also maturing and would be leaving the nest soon. Y/N thinks its adorable and asks Gojo to just enjoy the union because its only one of the many great memories they would still have to make.

That’s how it would end! Gojo Best Dad and Gojo DILF. Everyone is happy!

Basically the theme of Reckless is that sometimes the most unexpected things we do out of character can end up as one of the greatest things to ever happen, which in their case was the suprise baby. They went through a lot and it has a lot of psychological themes, along with heavy family drama, but overall I wanted the series to be a heartwarming one by the end. I really would’ve loved to see it all happen but I am also happy to share it to you guys in this way.

So yeah, happy reading and thanks so much for supporting Reckless !! I was also thinking of doing maybe like a bonus chapter where the characters pretend it was all a movie and they’re actors that you can talk to, but that didn’t happen so :// anyways I hope you enjoyed this and thank you for reading up until here 💕

#asks with naoya's trophy wife #series: reckless #tw: abuse #sorry for the typos i wrote this on my phone without glasses lol

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nothoughtsonlystarker · 4 years ago

Text

untitled brothers starkercest

Warnings: dirty talk, cest, age diff (college!Tony/ high school!peter; peter’s 18 if anyone asks), smut, girlfriend bashing

Tony has a serious college girlfriend, much to his little brother’s Peter’s constant annoyance. He’s lucky enough that his older brother decided to go to a state school to save money and stay at home instead of dorming. Most nights Peter gets to enjoy sleeping in the same bed as Tony, if only to feel the heavy warmth of his strong body. But lately, he’s been forced to sleep in his own room.

No matter how many times that slut tells Peter how "cute" he is (Tony’s not that much older), he’ll resent her for stealing time away from his favorite person in the world.

One night, Peter happens to overhear them having a bit of an argument. Apparently she doesn’t feel "comfortable" having sex in Tony’s childhood bedroom, mostly because of his adorable little brother." He scoffs internally, then nearly sees red at her next suggestion.

"Why don’t you just move into campus housing?" She says casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "We’d have a lot more freedom to mess around."

"I really can’t," Tony sighs heavily, much to Peter’s relief. "No offense, but the only reason I didn’t go to a better school was because I can’t afford out-of-state tuition and dorming."

"Well then ask your parents to!" He can’t fathom why Tony would spend time with such a dumb bitch.

"They’re not made of money!" Peter notices his brother’s voice has a more frustrated edge to it. “I’m lucky enough to have my own room at all.

"Besides, I could never do that to Pete." That alone is enough to put his heart at ease, knowing he’ll always be number one in his brother’s mind. “He’d be devastated if I left him behind like that.” There’s a frustrated grumble that makes Peter smirk. What’s she gonna say? That she only said his brother was cute to get on Tony’s good side? "Let’s just go to sleep, we’ll talk more in the morning."

A plan starts to formulate in his mind. She’ll never get a chance to convince him of anything.

Peter knows his brother is a bit of an early riser; in more ways than one. Sometimes he wakes up to a firm hardness pressing on his backside, though Tony was still asleep. He’d never dared to press back, so maybe it was time to do something bold.

His girlfriend (whatever her name is, he still hasn’t learned it on purpose) is always due to sleep in for a few hours while Tony is up bright and early. Peter sneaks into his brother’s room a little before 7. Ever so carefully, he lifts the comforter on his side of the bed and sneaks underneath. Just as he predicted, an engorged cockhead pokes out of the front of his boxers.

Peter licks his lips and just goes for it. He laps at the head of Tony’s cock. At first, he only feels his brother shift around a little, so he takes a little more and latches his mouth around it to suck more firmly. He wants to prove how good he is, prove that his brother has more reason to stay at home than a cheaper living arrangement.

Suddenly, there’s a hand in his hair and a soft grunt. Peter’s own cock twitches in response.

"Mmm, damn, what did I do to deserve this?” Tony mutters. “Your mouth feels amazing this morning, babe." Peter doesn’t say anything, only sucks harder and more enthusiastically than she ever could.

"Fuck yeah, just take it," he growls, gripping tighter. Peter moans around his brother’s cock, careful to not make any recognizable sounds just yet. "Gonna shoot my load down your throat so hard you won’t even taste it—fuck!!" Sure enough Tony comes with a harsh grunt, with a stream that goes straight down Peter’s esophagus, who nearly chokes on it.

Then Peter feels Tony’s whole body go stiff when a voice cuts through their afterglow: "I'm still trying to sleep, keep it down." He wastes no time climbing up his brother like a tree so he can see who really gave him the best blowjob of his life.

"Pete?!" Tony tries pulling him off, but Peter has latched onto him with his mouth like a leech. "What the—what the fuck are you doing in my bed?" He whispers harshly.

Peter releases Tony's neck for a moment so he can tell him, "Sucking you off, duh," before going back to giving his older brother the biggest hickey he could imagine. He tries to push him off (the efforts feel half-hearted, Peter thinks), but eventually Tony just lets Peter keep going.

"Petey, that's not something little brothers are supposed to be doing. It's not...that's for adults to do." But Peter huffs indignantly, furrowing his brow in that way that he knows for a fact Tony has always found absolutely adorable.

"But it sounded like you really liked it," he whines, nuzzling into Tony's chin. "Did I not do a good job? Does this mean you won’t stay?" Peter looks up, giving his big brother those irresistible puppy dog eyes that get him his way every time.

Tony groans, perfectly aware he's being played, but starts petting Peter's hair before his brother can get upset. "I did like it but—"

"Can we do it again?" Tony glances at the other body next to him, but Peter can sense he’s won. His hand snakes down to his brother’s crotch, where he can feel he’s still half hard. Tony grips his wrist, but doesn’t move it away.

"Let’s go to your room."

#starker #starkercest #brothers #peter x tony #tony x peter #ironspider #dirty talk #age difference

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findingthespark · 3 years ago

Text

Pride’s Folly (Part 3)

Fiacha didn’t know how much longer she wandered in the Fade. She wasn’t even truly sure if it was the Fade, despite what Solas had told her. She was a hunter among her clan, no mage; she’d had no experience with the dreaming world except in her sleep. And it was nothing like what she saw before her. Usually, she had insensible dreams that involved talking halla.

Her unexpected visitor did not come to speak with her again, although there were moments when she swore she could feel the immense presence she had first felt when he arrived hovering nearby. But whenever she turned to look, she saw only the shifting forest. She wished he would come back and talk to her, explain more fully what was going on here. Though she had taken his lesson to heart and could now keep the nightmares at bay, it was awfully lonely here on her own, and his presence had been a comfort to her.

But musing on him gave her an idea.

She didn’t know if she had the ability to summon a fully realized being or spirit; truthfully, the thought of summoning a spirit unnerved her, but it seemed worth the effort. At the least, it would give her something to do. Finding a soft, mossy place under a tree, she settled down for a rest, crossing her legs and closing her eyes to concentrate. Unsure of what to imagine, she focused not so much on a face or a shape, but on the general feeling of companionship and the warmth and contentment that accompanied it.

She felt a shift of movement and heard the patter of wings setting a form on the ground in front of her. When she opened her eyes, a raven strutted the ground in front of her. It was big, even as ravens go, and it was slightly translucent with a greenish sheen to it. It paused in its strutting and peered at her with one of its eyes.

“Andaran atish’an,” she greeted it, dipping her head in respect.

The raven returned the motion, croaking a gravelly coo in the back of its throat, which sounded oddly affectionate for all its gruffness. She reached out and gave it a little rub underneath its beak. It responded with another gravelly coo. She smiled.

“Do you have a name?”

It cocked its head at her.

“Would you like a name?”

It bobbed its whole body up and down.

Fiacha took a moment to think, sifting through her vocabulary for an appropriate appellation. Then it occurred to her.

“What about Banal’ras? A shadow among shadows?” she inquired.

Her new friend pondered the suggestion. She could almost see it sounding out the syllables in its head, tasting the possibility of it.

“Ban..al..ras,” it slowly articulated. Then bobbed appreciatively and croaked twice.

Fiacha had difficulty restraining her astonishment, but she refrained from commenting on the raven’s ability for speech and smiled instead.

“I’m glad you like it.” She ran her fingers down along its back and then rubbed beneath its beak again.

“Do you know how I long I have been here?”

Banal’ras hummed uncertainly.

“Time in dreams...diff..er..ent...than in waking.”

Of course, she thought. It could be mere hours or it could be days, weeks even. But she had found no path or sign of any way out of this dreaming.

“I need to return to myself,” she murmured. “Something terrible has happened...although I can’t remember what.” She feared her body might be wasting away, too. “But how?”

The raven ruffled its feathers and then lifted itself into a nearby branch.

“Follow!” it croaked.

This time it was her turn to tilt her head at it in confusion.

Banal’ras flitted over to a tree several paces away.

“Follow!” it croaked again.

Fiacha rose to her feet.

“Alright, alright. Not like I have anything better to do. Lead the way.”

Banal’ras winged its way from branch to branch, sailing easily under the canopy of the trees. It paused every so often to make sure Fiacha was keeping up, and satisfied that she was still following its lead, it kept along. Any time the forest became murky with ill intent, the raven squawked in that direction, and the foliage shifted back to its natural state. The elf looked on in wonder.

Before long, they reached the edge of the trees. Beyond seemed to be a shifting light washing at the boundaries. The air smelled different here, crisp like the snow on a mountain, but smoky and sulfuric, too.

“That way,” Banal’ras barked.

“My world?”

The raven bobbed.

“Waking.”

What she would encounter ahead couldn’t be any worse than what she had endured so far. It was worth the chance to return to the world. Bowing to Banal’ras, she then took a step outside of the forest and into the shifting light.

Fiacha was relieved to open her eyes and see that she was in a dim room warmed by a crackling fire. Everything felt so...grounded, so static here. Without even realizing it, her time in the Fade was already slipping away from her memory. She tried to recall where it was she had been before she was knocked unconscious, since that information would no doubt become relevant very quickly.

There had been...trouble between mages and templars. Fighting. Bad fighting. And the conflict had begun to spill into the Dalish world. Clans had to keep moving even more than normal to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. Areas that were normally safe for longer settlements were being occupied by mages and sometimes templar camps. The Lavellan clan had grown concerned, especially since they treated more often with humans than other clans that roamed the Free Marches. Instability and unrest were no good for anyone, and it definitely made life that much harder for them. Thedas could barely be considered recovered from the Fifth Blight.

Word had reached them of the Conclave that the Chantry’s Divine had called together: a meeting to discuss a possible end to the destruction being wreaked in every country. Keeper Istimaethoriel wanted eyes on the proceedings and sent her along, one of their most capable hunters.

But anything to do with the Conclave remained fuzzy in Fiacha’s mind. She knew she had travelled down into Ferelden, had even made the approach to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, but nothing else came to mind.

Something horrific had to have happened.

A man suddenly came in, first looking worn, and then seeing her awake, became alarmed.

“Get the Lady Cassandra!” he called towards the door. “The elf is awake!”

Two armored helpers scrambled in, and before Fiacha had any time to try and rise from the bed or ask any question, they grasped at her arms to drag her up. In the confusion she was startled, and flailing a little under their attention, accidentally came into contact with one of the guards with the strange mark she had forgotten she had. It sent them flying across the room.

Everyone paused, stunned.

“Bring manacles!” the first man ran out of the room. “Quickly!”

Fiacha was too tired to protest, too tired to move. She waited, seemingly placid, for someone to bring the bindings. She did not protest. She was in over her depth, and she could only hope she would be given the time to explain her situation, such as she was able.

#solavellan #solas x inquisitor #solas #fiacha #lavellan #I was going to keep going with the scene #but it wasn't coming #so take this as it is please #I know it's a slow start #but I have something in mind that I think you will like #dragon age #inquisition #Pride's Folly #Part 3

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mggpleasedontlookhere · 5 years ago

Text

it should’ve been you pt. 2

summary: after getting suspended after the incident on the jet, y/n has a hard time dealing with the aftermath of the situation, only then she realizes that her and spencer are one and the same

word count: 3,825 reading time aprox: 14 mins

masterlist

part 1

3 months.

It has been 3 months since Spencer had been charged with suspension in participating in any cases. In regards to the reprimands brought upon me by Hotch, I had received a mere 1 month of suspension for my violent act on the jet.

Truth be told, the 1 month was worth it

The words that ardently escaped Spencer’s lips that day sat perpetually ingrained on my mind, next to the lingering memory of his belligerent eyes. Despite my indignation of Spencer’s behavior, his words added to the ever growing grief of Ryler’s death, self reproach fueling my mind.

But at the end of the day, some of the blame could be brought on Spencer. He should’ve spoke up sooner if he had clue that I wasn’t efficient in the field. He should’ve done something to prevent Ryler’s death.

Right?

I had just gotten back from my suspension, completing the final reports of a case and handling the tedious paper work that nobody wanted to deal with. I wasn’t permitted to investigate any cases with the team yet considering that I was still under surveillance. But I kept my distance from them, especially Hotch, knowing his attention would linger on me slightly longer than the other agents.

I sighed, finishing up the latter of reports and standing up to submit the files to Hotch. As I ventured through the lively commotion of agents and supervisors, I spotted the team near the kitchenette of the bullpen. They were all in a fit of laughter, a sight that was infrequent with the career we possessed. A bubbling sensation burned in my stomach as I watched their faces contort in bliss. I clenched my fingers around the reports, creating small indents on the corners of the files, while a grimace replaced the once nonchalant expression I displayed. I shook my head in disapproval, then trudged off to get my task over with.

They should be working, not fucking around. If only I were there, maybe things would get done faster

Barging into Hotch’s office, I discarded the work at the front of his desk, muttering a small sentence that indicated I was finished. I didn’t dare to entertain his unrelenting scrutiny, knowing well that he was already halfway into profiling my demeanor. “If that’s all, I can go back to my desk...” I said, the tone of my voice monotonous and lifeless. “Sir” I nodded, using his silent response as a signal to leave.

“Agent Y/L/N” He interrupted, setting the paper work I finished aside along with other files that camouflaged the surface of his oak desk. “Take a seat please” He suggested, gesturing to the two office chairs that faced him. I complied still not meeting his gaze, settling down in front of him, as I fiddled with the threads at the ends of my blazer.

“Y/L/N” He repeated, only this time I looked straight into his eyes. “We’re happy to have you back in our unit” He began, a sense of sternness in his voice, similar to one a parent would use to scold their child. “I hope you took this opportunity as a break away from all the chaos we deal with” He lightheartedly joked, an amiable smile apparent of his face.

Despite his change in demeanor, my feelings of resentment coexisted beside his expressions of colloquialism. “Me, taking a break from work or was it so the team can take a break from me and Dr. Reid?” I challenged, folding my hands on my lap.

“Y/L/N” He disrupted lifting an apprehensive hand. “I’m aware of the tension between you and Reid ever since what happened back in New York, so I made the decision to give you and him the opportunity to-” He justified.

“No sir, with all due respect, your agents are out there laughing their asses off instead of working. Yet I’m the one who’s being put under scrutiny for being human?” I asserted, standing up from where I sat. “Yes I made a mistake. But for months Reid has done nothing but bludgeon everything I work for in the bureau and none of you have ever done anything about it” I scoffed as I paced in front of his desk.

“Y/L/N I’d have you know that me and the team have had numerous conversations with Reid about what hap-”

“YES THAT’S MY POINT!” I exclaimed, raising my voice slightly, although that didn’t last long due to the cautious stare I received from Hotch. “You’ve always checked up on Reid, but what about me?” I spit, narrowing my eyes at Hotch, noticing the discernible silence I received as a response. “Aren’t I part of this team? Because frankly ever since that case in Manhattan it seems like everyone can’t decide whether to blame me or pity me” I admitted, looking over to the window where I had a clear view of the people of my unit.

“Y/L/N please take a seat” He commanded, but I declined standing my ground. He sighed, tucking in his blazer as he stared at me in disbelief. “Y/L/N I’m sorry if you’ve ever felt like that but you’re on this team as much as Reid is” He claimed, an empathetic tone surrounding each word that emitted from his lips. “You’ve made a mistake and yes, it’s affected a majority of the team, but take this opportunity to grow from that mistake” He consoled, his eyes softening back into a lamentable gaze. “Use this to be a better agent” He stood up, walking over to where I was positioned and placed an affable palm to my shoulder.

Vulnerability is often used as a bridge between the connection of others. It’s used to initiate an understanding bond, to break people down to their foundations, and to help one to recognize that people aren’t alone when it comes to implications in life. Although vulnerability wasn’t the theme of mine and Hotch’s interaction.

It was pity

“Is that what you think will make me feel better? T-to make me feel accepted into this team?” I ridiculed, snatching my shoulder away from his overbearing touch. Incredulity seemed to fuel the words leaving my mouth as my glare advertised bitterness. “Do you think I’m that incompetent? That a few appraising and heartfelt words are going to make me fall in line?” I challenged.

“Y/N, please don’t make this diff-”

“DON’T ‘Y/N’ ME, HOTCH” I warned, knowing I set off an alarm inside of him as he backed off in reluctance. I knew I had attracted a few curious ears from outside of the office, but I was too blinded by my oncoming emotions to act with clarity and reason.

“YOU K-KNEW” I stuttered, my hands beginning to tremble at my sides as I wiped the sweat accumulating on them. “You knew that I wasn’t r-ready. I WASN’T READY!”.

My mind had accelerated to a thousand miles per hour, I felt numb at every word I had verbalized as if my cerebrum had malfunctioned. I hadn’t even noticed the tears that had dampened the apples of my cheeks. “Y-you knew I-i wasn’t ready, a-and you...let me go in” I sucked in a staggered breath, feeling my esophagus cinch up at the sudden inhale. “You k-killed him” I whispered through my gritted teeth, feeling all loss of competence. At this point my hormones were driving my actions, “You KILLED him” I accused, flailing my hands at his direction.

“Y/L/N go home, you’re not stable enough to be back here yet” He stated monotonously, striding back to his chair in a collected manner.

“What?” I spewed.

“Y/L/N it’s obvious that you need more time. I’m giving you a 2-weeks-leave, and I suggest you take it” He replied, taking a moment to look up at me. “I can assign you the bureau’s therapist, Dr. Montgomery, if you would like”

“N-no Hotch, are you kidding me?” I scoffed in defiance.

“Y/L/N I will have you escorted out of the building if you don’t follow my direct orders, understood?” He threatened, peering into my eyes. “Now go home” He sighed, looking over some files without giving me a second glance.

I huffed in disbelief, pulling open his office door to make an exit, ready to dash out of the room, until his words broke my stride. “Oh and Y/L/N” He spoke up, making me spin around to look at him one last time.

“While you’re on that break...learn to forgive yourself too”

From the time that phrase came out of his mouth to where I stood now seemed like a blur. The autumn drizzle trickled from my forehead to the base of my chin as the sky darkened; an omen to the place where my feet had lead me.

Spencer’s apartment

Stepping a foot into the complex, the coldness of the water droplets on my skin masked the fear that hid behind the many layers of antipathy, turbulence, and helplessness.

I felt paralyzed, contrary to my feet that continued to venture through the halls to find Spencer’s residence, my unconscious mind remembering the very dinner party the team organized months ago to celebrate the new addition to the BAU: me.

My range of emotions had thrown me into a downward spiral, feeling everything then feeling nothing simultaneously. It was as if I was drowning then pulled up to be given air, only to repeat the process continuously. I knew to blame myself, but I couldn’t help but bear to place the accountability to the members of my team because the weight was too heavy for me to hoist.

I am selfish, I am weak, and I hate every part of that.

My anger became the device to alienate myself from others. My loss of control lead my impulsivity to fester and lash out on the ones who only wanted to help. Finally, my ignorance costed me my impartial and sensible mind. It allowed me to turn a blind eye to any impurities that didn’t corroborate with my narrative.

I twisted the facts to match the theories, rather than twist the theories to the facts.

At the foundation of it all, the matter derived from my inability to conquer my grief in a sufficient approach. Although at that affair, I remained alone...almost. The only other creature who had endured more than they can handle was Spencer.

Despite out disagreements, we held one thing in common: the event that defined our declarations of hate towards one another.

So here I have my feet planted complementary to his front door, my arms glued to my side, and my head hanging low as I raised a skeptical fist to knock.

With the first attempt to gather his attention, the was no response except the buzzing of the radiators that hummed throughout the building’s halls. With another set of knocks, scuffling feet could be heard coming closer to the entrance and every thud against the floor, elevated my heart rate. When the door had flung open, it wasn’t Spencer that I had witnessed.

It was a ghost of him.

At least that’s what it had looked like to me. Spencer sported his head of hair like a bird’s nest, his clothes looked besmirched, his silhouette appeared scraggy, but most of all his face looked inert and lacked pigment.

In spite of my initial impression, his emotion ridden expression gained it’s flare back at the acknowledgment of my appearance. He was about to turn away, pushing the door closed when I stuck a foot in the crevice of the door frame, causing me to wince in agony.

This caused Spencer to return his focus onto me, fixating at my foot that obstructed the door. “If you think that hurts, try getting stabbed” He mentioned maliciously, referring to the death of his comrade. I ignored his snarky comment, pushing the door ajar to face him. “What do you want Y/L/N?” He deadpanned, holding an emphatic countenance.

I composed myself, sighing as I explained that I wanted the opportunity to discuss the latter with him, and to my surprise he obliged, diffident to let me enter.

I took in the unveiling of his home. The walls were lined with bookshelves that contained a copious assortment of books that ranged from education to recreational. Renaissance art was found in between some of the shelving units, but the one thing that caught my attention were the various frames that surrounded Spencer’s childhood pictures. Although, the majority of the portraits were only of him and his mother; his father only making a debut in earlier pictures.

“I thought you were here to talk, not profile where I live” Spencer commented, interrupting the inquisitive observations I’ve made of his place. I mumbled a quaint apology, finding myself a chair to sit on as Spencer did the same.

Apprehension preoccupied the silence that followed after we took our seats. I fiddled with my hands, running over my lines and organizing my thoughts as I thought twice about my presentation.

“It wasn’t my fault”

“What?” Spencer spoke, tilting his head at me in bewilderment.

“It wasn’t my fault that Ryler died...It was my choice” I began, pushing the loose hairs behind my ears as I sat up straight. “I made that choice to follow through and go in, knowing I was going against Hotch’s warnings and that-” I paused, gazing into his emotionless stare.

“Killed Ryler” Spencer deadpanned, continuing off where I couldn’t finish. I nodded in compliance, the same feeling of dread creeping up my stomach, similar to how I felt on the crime scene.

“There’s no amount of ‘sorrys’ I can say that will ever fill that void that’s in-bedded in the team...but at the same time, th-there’s nothing I can do to bring him back, Reid” I declared.

He wore a tight-lipped grimace, staring at the wall behind me coldly. “Yeah, there’s nothing you can do to bring him back” He scoffed. “You’re wasting your time being here” He professed, shaking his head with hostility.

I pinched the bridge of my nose as I bent over to place my head on my hands, feeling the overbearing sensation of frustration bubble over the sentiment. “Yes I know Reid” I disclosed, animosity slowing slipping into the enunciation of my words. “I just- I don’t always want to be in quarrel with you whenever we’re at work” I confessed. “I just need you to-”

“To what?” Spencer cut me off mid sentence. “To forgive you?” He jeered, narrowing his eyes at me in vengeful amazement.

“Spencer-”

“You want me to FORGIVE you?” He stood up from his seat, walking over one of the bookshelves adjacent to the window. The faint sunset beamed an orange tinted glare through the drizzle and into the living room, giving pigment to Spencer’s skin as his back faced me. “Am I just supposed to forget about him like everyone has already, am I supposed to pretend that everything’s back to normal without him?” He questioned, running his finger along the spines of a select novels.

“I’m not telling you to forget Ryler, and it’s not like the team doesn’t honor-” I began, but was cut off abruptly by Spencer’s spiteful words.

“Are you fucking kidding me Y/N?!” He exclaimed, turning around to glare at me. “For the past couple of months, no one- and I mean NO ONE has mentioned Ryler. I-it’s as if NOBODY CARES” He shook his head in frustration, running his hand through his curls.

“That-s not tru-”

“THAT’S NOT TRUE!” He blurted out, an incredulous expression planted on his face. “Name one person, aside from me that had thought about Ryler in the past month” He challenged, making determined strides towards where I sat.

Veins began protruding on his forehead as he came closer, the wrinkles on his forehead became indistinguishable, despite the sun masking his face in an angelic light. “I- um” I gulped, unable to recall any mentions of the agent.

“Exactly” Spencer deadpanned, walking back over to the shelves.

“But that doesn’t give you an excuse to berate me” I uttered quietly, feigning a collected composure where the confidence lacked. I pushed myself up from my seat, promenading up to where he stood. “You can’t assume the future of my career based on a mistake I made” I stood parallel to his back, reaching a hand up to place on his shoulder, but proceeded to hesitate, leaving them at my sides. “You don’t have to forgive me Reid, but at least forgive yourself” I spoke, reiterating the same words Hotch passed onto me before leaving the office.

I saw his shoulders lose tension as he sucked in a breath, his fingers unraveled from his balled fists while he hung his head low. On the cue of his sedated composure, I placed a decided grasp on his shoulder in attempt to soothe the rigid atmosphere.

Unbeknownst to my perception of the situation, Spencer suddenly grabbed a hold of my wrist, flipping me over to where my back hit the bookshelves with immense force, sending a painful chill down my spine. I winced as the rivets of the metal screws scratched the soft skin of my lower back. Although this didn’t prevent Spencer from further pinning my body into the shelves while his firm fingers dug into my wrists. “What makes you think you can tell me what to do or what to feel” He whispered darkly, a menacing grimace taking it’s form on his mouth.

I resisted against his grip, but his strength proceeded to show itself through my inability to overpower him. Fueled with frustration, I bore at him with a vindictive sneer. “Reid, fucking let me go” I muttered through gritted teeth. “I swear to fucking god Reid, let me the FUCK GO!” I challenged, pushing harder against his tall frame.

He responded to my catty reactions with an arrogant smirk. “Look at you writhing under me” He patronized, his face shadowing over mine as his breath fanned over my own. “You’re a weak bitch Y/N” He continued, his eyes lingering on my bottom lip. “You’re an even worse agent” He inched closer at an achingly sluggish pace. I felt my lips twitch in anticipation as his mouth hovered over my own.

So, I took the opportunity to spit at him.

He stumbled back in surprise, wiping my saliva that landed inches away from the bridge of his nose. “What the fu-” He spewed, looking at me incredulously. But I took no hesitation to make determined strides at him.

“You have no right to call me a bad agent. You have no right to call me weak” I heaved, shoving him at his shoulders. “Especially when you can’t even face your own feelings” I verbalized, glaring at him. “You’re a coward” I muttered, glaring up at him as we were chest to chest.

Both of us stood in our own heated ambiance, the silence amplifying the intensity of the circumstances. I could feel the sweat dripping off of my forehead as I witnessed a crack in his arrogant countenance. His hard features relaxed into a woeful expression as the fight of reason in his mind intensified. But I didn’t have the time to wait on his judgement. So with a novel sanguine air, I began marching right up to his front door with the persistence to leave all the negative energy behind me.

That was until he spoke up

“Y/N I-”

I shook my head, resting my hand on his doorknob. “No Spencer, you listen” I turned around to face him, leaning my back on the oak surface of the door. “You don’t get to defame my career, I’ve worked too hard for this and out of all the people in the world, I thought you’d understand” I stated, pushing myself up the door so I was no longer leaning on it.

“Y/N-”

“I made a mistake, but that mistake’s going to make me a better agent. I can’t take back his death and I can’t make it up to you, but all I can do is make his death count” I persisted, my legs venturing back to where we stood prior to my attempted exit. He stared back at me with an afflicted gaze that hid behind a feigned emotionless expression. “I’ve spent months blaming myself for his death...” I positioned myself across from him, reciprocating a compassionate expression that contrasted from his own visage. “And I think you do the same too” I remarked, taking my bottom lip between my teeth as I expressed my concerns.

For the first time, Spencer didn’t know what to say. Not statistical fact or analytical approach would resolve the woman that stood confidently before him.

“You’re right” He admitted, sighing as he combed the back of his head. His eyes flickered to the prominent features of my face, then back to the apparently interesting view of the floor. He shut his eyes in defeat, dragging both of his hands over his face as if it was to bring clarity and closure swiftly to him. “I-i didn’t how to...th-then everyone started forgetting- and I couldn’t” He desperately was at a loss of words. “I’m sorry Y/N” He repented, laying a hesitant yet tender hand on the side of my arm.

“As much as I appreciate you apologizing to me Spencer-” I laid my hand over his own, clutching onto it in a solacing grasp. “You seriously need to figure yourself out first” I sighed, using my fingers to tilt his chin up to disrupt his forlorn expression. “You need to learn how to forgive yourself Spencer, and I’m not the one to say because I’m still figuring that out myself, but that’s the only way you’re ever going truly move forward”

He cringed at my mention of the future. I noticed the cogs running in that brain of his, unable to process his grief. I could tell he was still holding onto a lot of baggage, the pained look he wore revealing it all. “I shouldn’t have told you that it should’ve been you back there” He apologized, referring to the whole conflict that unfolded on the jet. “I don’t know how to do it Y/N” He confessed. “I c-can’t just move on like that”

“Nobody’s asking you to Spencer” I consoled. “We can never really be able to move on completely. But that’s a part of living, it’s remembering that gives our life meaning”

“Well actually, traumatic occurrences can actually be repressed by the unconscious mind in order to dissociate th-” He rambled, a faint smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

“Don’t ruin the sentiment Reid” I laughed, nudging him playfully. He reciprocated the same gesture, reverting back to a more relaxed visage.

“Thank you...Y/N” He spoke passionately, pulling me into an amicable embrace. I breathed into his shoulder, taking in the seldom occasion as all the hatred that existed in the room previously, dissipated.

“You’re always welcome...Spence”

A/N:

that’s a wrap, im actually really proud of this so i hope you all enjoy it. tell me whatcha think about it after :)

i honestly was struggling with how to end the whole thing, so i compromised on an angsty-fluff/platonic but not really ending, if that at all makes sense lmao, anyways have an amazing day

taglist: @a-dorky-book-keeper @ilovespencereid @fancystarlightpirate @aperrywilliams @liaabsurd @thatsonezesty13 @ashwarren32 @ithinkilovetruecrimetoomuch @yoongi-holland @guessthatswhyiliveinhell @peterspickledpepper @tiktokslut @britishspidey @marciscaspar @ tteessaa13 @marylanddgirly @todaynotseen

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motherstone · 5 years ago

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HEADCANONS ABOUT ELVES (that no one asked for)

Gulfen's culture is more or less can be divided by East and West: the former being more traditional, the West being more modern. Both still operate under the same government (located on the Westside, Valcor) but Elves on either side are distinct and frequently don't get along. This was due to the Civil war caused by King Levitas

The crowning ceremony usually requires a pilgrimage that needs Acknowledgement on the Eastern end, but since the separation, the pilgrimage isn't undertaken for several Kings. Thus, most kings crowned comes from the West. To get Acknowledgement from both sides is a testament to the worthiness of the ruler (because said pilgrimage has a test yooo)

The crowning ceremony takes place in the hour of balanced light and dark: so either dusk or dawn. Dusk if the new King is anointed after a particularly bad reign (to represent the "night ending") and Dawn if the anointed is going to usher a new era (to represent the "sun rising). Even better luck if it'd take place on an Equinox, or an eclipse. So if we're gonna go ahead with this headcanon, Trellis's crowning will take place at dusk.

Hair is an incredibly important part of Gulfen's culture, because it can indicate their tribe, their family, their rank, their experience etc. It's a sign of individuality. Elves entering the Army shave their hair to "remove" it and to act as "one" for the sake of the country. Also, a shaved or cut hair typically means of solidarity under hardship. To be able to keep one's hair while under service is typically a sign of privilege and power.

(tumblr veterans u kno this) also, an old Eastern tradition states that a ruler must cut their hair whenever they declare conflict. Thus a ruler with long hair is held in high esteem (THAT'S WHY I ALWAYS DRAW OLDER TRELLIS WITH LONGASS HAIR) for upholding the peace.

Some of the Eastern tribes are utterly pissed the army weaponizing the stormbirds on a widespread scale. Typically, they too also use it for combat, but the army has ceased seeing them as a fellow combatant but more of a weapon and that horrifies them. The stormbird is a pretty sacred animal, and would be usually be seen as a companion, rather than a pet or steed.

In the older times, there's two ways you can acquire a stormbird: either you catch one, or you raise one via egg stealing. They're usually not bred (until the war). Female stormbirds for combat (they're much larger), male for flight (they're small and fast). There are diff types of stormbirds still.

About stormbird culture. Catching one is usually a rite of passage for the youth. It is also an indication of being a warrior. Then you train alongside the bird, building a deep bond of trust and loyalty. To fully complete the passage, the rider and the stormbird must enter a free fall from a very VERY high altitude, then must take at least the very last second to mount the bird again before hitting the ground and die. It's a test of how far you and the bird are willing to go for one another. You mount too early, you're disloyal and a coward. You mount too late, you both die. The bird flies away, it means you sucked at forming a bond and gain its respect, so you die. It's a very dangerou practice, but also a very rewarding one.

Gulfen is actually the largest country, and has several timezones and climates. The desert is just the one shown on the map, but it has colder regions as well

Want a part 2?

#motherstone meta

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sabortooths-a · 7 years ago

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don’t reblog. i’ll make a detailed headcanon about this eventually, but here’s all the places trini’s lived in her life:

inglewood, california. ages 0 - 10

phoenix, arizona. ages 10 - 14.

honolulu, hawaii. ages 14 - 15.

dallas, texas. ages 15 - 16.

angel grove, california. ages 16 - present.

#don't ask me what job her dad has i have literally no idea #one day i'll decide...#anyway! inglewood because that's where becky's from...#also maybe a reason her family's stayed longer in angel grove is because? it's like.... Somewhat closer to other family members #hours away but... better than being in a diff state #maybe... ca is huge #anyway! arizona is... just random...#hawaii is because... her jacket says hawaii...#and if she's anything like me she stopped growing in like. 5th grade so #it would still fit even like 4 years later...#texas... is random too...#i had a reason but i can't remember it #anyway... here it is #why am i using so many ellipses am i a 50 year old texting #tbd.#headcanon.#OKAY ACTUALLY arizona might be closer to her family if... angel grove is in north cali #and inglewood is in south...#but whatever still keeping it?#maybe thats why they moved to arizona.. not Too far #i just checked and if angel grove is Very North... then it is a longer distance away than phoenix #why am i checking it doesn't matter that much #edit: when i say 16 i mean.... she was 16 for like. 2 months and then turned 17 in angel grove #i should've just done years?

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wonderlandmind4 · 7 years ago

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Delicate Stages Drabbles: Twelve

The One With the Feelings

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Summary: Drabbles following Delicate Stages. Looking into the life of Bucky and Ana.

Warnings: Language. Sadness (because someone misses people) fluff.

Words: 2.3k

A/N: These drabbles are starting to go somewhere now, catching up with the timeline….I’m posting drabbles for Delicate Stages here! (Do not read unless you’ve read Delicate Stages first)

The past several months has been a mixture of calm, lazy days, and frantic, sad ones. The frantic one comes with Ana nearly pulling her hair out because wedding planning is a dumb feat. Why can’t see just have a simple one, a small one with just a handful of important people in their lives as they exchange vows.

“We really appreciate it, Tony, honestly,” Ana sighs on day while on the phone. “But we don’t need a venue that…extravagant. We just want to it keep it rather simple.”

Tony finally relents but insists that he pay for the entire wedding. Ana playfully argues with him, having come to an agreement that she at least pay for the deposit on a place. However, their conversation sends Ana into an emotion filled fit at one point, because a glaring fact just hit her in the face.

The lights in their apartment begin to flicker, and things begin to shake, trembling along with Ana’s own hands. She doesn’t try to rein it in, but she ends up grabbing the box the energy rings are in and quickly shoves them on. She twists them, and immediately, the lights steady.

She ends up taking a walk, coming to a stop by the lake. She finds rocks and begins chucking them are far and as hard as hard as she can. They land in the water with a satisfying splash, and she makes a game out of it; how far can she out throw the others.

Ana doesn’t know how long she stands there, tossing rocks as her heart clenches with stinging, longing sadness. It’s not like she completely forgot about it, the thought being a forefront in her mind since Bucky asked her to marry him. But now, now she has to acknowledge it aloud.

“I knew we should’ve set up a punching bag in the living room,” Bucky’s voice comes from behind her, carrying in the wind.

Ana drops the rock in her hand. She can feel him coming closer, as if he’s reaching out his hand to comfort her.

“Don’t,” She warns, “I have the rings on.”

When Bucky is next to her, he picks up the rock she dropped. He pulls his arm back, then throws it as hard as he can. It takes a while for them to hear a faint splash. Ana glares out over the lake. Damn super strength.

“Annie,” He whispers. A gentle sound that reassures her that she isn’t alone.

She twists the rings off. “It’s not that I forgot or anything,” She begins, gasping in a breath. “But all this planning, all this happiness, it just makes the fact glaringly obvious.”

Bucky brushes her hair off her shoulder, tenderly swiping his thumb across her collarbone. It breaks her. She nearly collapses against his chest, pressing her face in his shirt, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. She cries. She sobs as he holds her just as tight.

“I just wish,” She heaves, “I- I wish they were here, Bucky. All of them. I-I…who…I can’t-“

Soothing coos sounds from above her, Bucky trying his best to calm her breathing. She feels him press his lips to the top of her head, and she tries to listen to the musical beating of his heart.

“I’m suppose to plan this with my mother. I’m supposed to be excited with my brother, ask him to be a man of honor. I-I’m supposed to have my father walk me down the aisle. But-…but…”

Her body shakes with more sobs. “I can’t-can’t share any-any of it w-with them.” Abruptly she pulls away, hastily wiping her tears away. Bucky looks baffled for a moment, before his eyes soften.

“Ana-“

“I’m so sorry, Buck. I, sorry. This is happy, I should be happy and excited, and I am because I get to marry you. Fuck, babe, I’m sorry about this, I-“

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky cups the sides of her jaws. “Don’t do that, don’t hide your sadness behind that wall. It’s okay, baby. You don’t need to apologize for anything. Just cry it out, be sad, it’s alright to miss them like this.”

Ana falls against his chest once more. She allows herself to cry, to release all the emotions of missing her family for this important even in her life to come out. Bucky stands here with her for god knows how long, rubbing his fingers up and down her spine. Softly humming familiar tunes under his breath and dropping random kisses along her head.

Later, once they’re back in their apartment, cuddling up on the couch with her head in Bucky’s lap, she lets his own feelings wash over her. Bucky is remitting comfort, love, support. His calm relaxed breathing lulls her into a daze, so she pulls his left hand from her hair and kisses each knuckle. She feels a little better now, being able to release everything.

“They would love you,” She tells him quietly, shifting so she’s looking up at him.

Bucky pulls his gaze away from the TV, smiling softly down at her. “As I would love them, too.”

“Bucky,” Ana breathes out, now kissing his palm. “I’m going to ask Tony if he would walk me down the aisle.”

“I think he’d take that as the highest, honor, Darling.”

They fall silent for a while. Ana ends up laughing eventually as they watch a program. Almost two hours pass before someone speaks again, and when they do, it’s with a nervous touch.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you something, Ana,” Bucky starts, shifting so Ana can sit up. “Do you…would you want to keep your last name? I will accept yours like your father did with your mother.”

If Ana wasn’t already engaged, she’d asked Bucky to marry her. She places her hand over her heart, simply because she’s so incredibly touched and a whole different wave of emotions curls through her.

“I love you.” She states simply, leaning to press a kiss to his cheek. “I really am so touched you would even ask that, Bucky. You’re wonderful. But, I’m really looking forward to taking your own name, if that’s alright. We can start our own family.”

Bucky’s breath hitches. “Our own family, as in…with me?”

“Nah, I was thinking of finding M’Baku and-“ Ana breaks out, laughing brightly. “Of course, with you, silly! We can talk about that later, although the way you’re turning white tells me diff-“

“No! No!” He says frantically, grabbing her face and kisses her sloppily. “Yes, I mean. We can start our own family.”

Ana scrunches her nose and tugs his hair as she wipes off the wet kiss from the corner of her mouth. “Besides,” She continues, going back to the name change. “I think Annie Barnes has a nice ring to it.”

When Bucky pulls her in again, it’s softer, gentler. “If we didn’t agree to that whole abstinence thing for the wedding, I’d start making a family right now.”

“That’s a stupid arrangement, let’s go!”

Ana straddles him on the couch as he laughs brightly into her mouth.

***

The whole ‘no sex before a wedding’ agreement took affect the month before. Considering they wanted it to be more special the night of, however Bucky thought it was going to be much more difficult than it is. Some days it was, others it wasn’t. Like the four days when Ana was sick with a nasty cold, and it was filled with Bucky making her soup and bringing her back medicine from the Healers and wrapping her up in fuzzy blankets.

It was hard when Ana found that black dress Bucky had mentioned that got him hot and bothered. She put it on, like the little minx she is, claiming she would wear it for the rehearsal dinner. He almost broke, but then Ana’s phone rang, and she chatted on the phone with Wanda for two hours.

Then they flew to New York, checking out a venue that Ana insisted they have. It’s the same place her parents got married, and Pepper was able to pull some strings, setting the date for their wedding along with it. Ana didn’t full on cry later that night, but she did shed some tears and all she wanted to do was snuggle up next to him.

The plans were falling together, and Bucky was becoming more nervous with each passing day. He was going to marry the love of his life, his girl he had given his heart too. On some nights, he would sneak away from her, leave her a note, and meet Steve outside of Tony’s place they were staying in.

He thought it strange they weren’t staying in the compound like last time, until Steve told him why. So, maybe that’s why Bucky is feel extra frustrated at this very moment, just days before their wedding. Steve had convinced him to go over to Sam’s new apartment in the city, so they could talk about it.

Bucky forces a slow, but hard breath through his nose, trying not to knock his fist up side anyone’s head. He keeps his arms crossed tightly across his chest, closing his eyes to block out the tense faces around him. He thinks, considers, the options they have in front of them, then quickly comes up with a solution. One he does not like.

“So,” He speaks up, breaking the long silence, heavy with tension. “Ana has absolutely no idea this has been going on? For the past three months. She has no idea that you’re all at each other’s throats because no one can agree on those goddamn Accords. Ana has no inkling of the Avengers, the people she considers family, are falling apart, and if said Avenger members refuse to sign, they will be considered criminals? Is that correct?”

Christ, he thought when they all fought before in Germany nearly two years ago that that was a shit show. Somehow this feels worse. Somehow, this is worse.

“We get it, Barnes,” Natasha snips from her place on the couch, but there’s a teasing twitch to her mouth. “We haven’t told her, when we should have.”

“Which is why,” Tony cuts in sharply, “we are considering telling her now.”

Bucky drops his arms in favor of pinching the bridge of his nose. “You want to tell her two days before our wedding?”

Sam snorts as a collective response. He gets it.

“What other choice do we have?” Steve questions, sounding defeated. Regretful.

Bucky eyes his friend. There’s a subtle twitch of his jaw, grinding his teeth. It’s always been a sign of Steve’s anger being held at bay. His eyes are hard, determined not to back down from his decision, from what he thinks is the right thing.

“You don’t tell Ana.” Bucky states firmly. “That’s what you’re all going to do, because none of you will add any stress to her. She’s happy, she’s excited, she’s…well. She has been extremely calm about the wedding for the past two weeks. You will not inform her of any of this, the Accords, the dumbass riff between you all, because then that’s all she will focus on.”

He shakes his head in frustration, wishing they hadn’t told him either. “She’ll want to fix everything, and as much as it sucks to hear, that is not her burden.”

“We know, Buck,” Steve assures quietly.

“Then we just don’t tell her at all?” Clint asks, his elbow resting on Natasha’s shoulders. “That doesn’t seem like a wise choice either.”

“Oh, you’ll tell her, because the longer she doesn’t know, the angrier she’ll be,” Bucky counters. “But after the wedding.” He pauses, considering something. He smirks. “Well, maybe an extra day after.”

Tony visibly blanches, rolling his eyes. “Great plan, genius. Good thing Ana won’t be able to feel the tension here. She’ll know something is up instantly.”

Shrugging, Bucky says, “Then rein it in. Can’t you all just ignore this shit for the sake of, not even for me, but for Ana? She just wants to be happy and celebrate with the people she loves. We both do. There’s going to be some repercussions of hiding it, but I’m asking you all as a favor. Please.”

Wanda, who has been standing quietly by the large window of the living room, finally speaks up. “Of course, Bucky. We just want to see you both happy. You both deserve it.”

The softness of her tone makes him walk over to her. While he was living in the compound with them during the Sessions, he had grown quiet a soft spot for the young woman. He wraps his left arm around her shoulders in a tight side hug.

“Thank you,” He expresses softly. He lifts his eyes to the rest of his friends. “I know it isn’t the greatest idea, but I really appreciate it.”

The halfhearted smiles he gets is enough for him. He nods once, then abruptly changes the subject. Bucky steps away from Wanda but grips her elbow and drags her over to Natasha.

“Now, Ana woke up an hour ago. She demanded that if I was going to have a bachelor night, which was not the case,” He gives a hard look to Steve who just shrugs. “She demanded both of you ladies to meet with her and Pepper at their house,” He tells them, now leading them towards another door. “Something about champagne and orange juice?”

“Mimosa’s, at this hour?” Natasha questions curiously. “It’s eleven at night.”

“Don’t question my bride, Natalia,” He responds flatly. He earns a sharp jab of his elbow in his ribs at her birth name.

“Just because you fully remember training me doesn’t mean you can call me by that name, Barnes.”

Wanda giggles next to them.

Bucky just rolls his eyes, fighting back a smug smile. He watches them go, chatting about picking up Sharon as well. Once they shut the door behind them, he turns back around and sighs, leaning against the door. It’s quiet, the room filled with tension for several moments. Then Tony breaks it.

“Well, if she thinks you’re having a bachelor night. Then lets make it happen!”

****************************************************

Drabbles Eleven Drabbles Thirteen

Tags: @kat-lives @justreadingfics @watchoutforfrostbite @stressedasalways

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lilbeankiddo · 6 years ago

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Cricket legends who played in the Indian Premier League

“It’s only a few people, administrators and umpires, who had some doubt,” Murali recalls about the controversy over his bowling action. “That is their opinion, but someone’s opinion can’t be the rule. Doubt is part of life, that’s fair enough. But there are two sides to every story. An Australian university proved me right, in the end.

“If you leave the decision to the umpire, though, I don’t think that is fair. Not on the umpire and defi nitely not on the player. How can you see from the eyes and say that this is not right? Two people might see it diff erently. When you’re bowling, your arms rotate quicker than anything and you can’t see properly. So use the technology, see if what you’re saying is right, and then come to a conclusion. And then you can tell the bowler to change their action. These rules have been brought in aft er my incident, so things are done in diff erent ways. Now a bowler has a fair chance.

Cricket boards get millions from TV rights, the ICC pay you a lot. And who wants to take that money? Not the cricketers. Everything is politicised. In the 1990s, nobody wants to come to develop the game, so honest people do the work. Aft er the World Cup win in 1996, money started coming in by 2000, and in ten years’ time, they spoil all the game.

“We have good youngsters, but confi dence levels are going down. We used to be very confi dent. The most important thing is to get them mentally right. They have all the shots, but they don’t know how to make fi ft y, hundred or even a partnership. Those are the things that are lacking in the national side.” Since retirement, Murali has gone into manufacturing – his father made biscuits, while he has gone into aluminium cans. He’s also heavily involved with former manager Kushil Gunasekera’s charity, Foundation of Goodness. “The foundation helps people in the poorer areas, those parts of Sri Lanka aff ected by the Civil War and the 2004 Tsunami. We also have built sports facilities and helped run sports tournaments. “I was fortunate to play cricket, to play for Sri Lanka. When I had my troubles in Australia in 1995, the Sri Lankan people stood by me, supported me during those diffi cult years, where I worked hard to prove myself innocent of the charges. The people of Sri Lanka helped me a great deal and I thought then that I would do something to help them, too.

“I was actually there when the tsunami hit southern Sri Lanka in 2004. I was visiting a village near the coast with my wife and mother-in-law, delivering books for school children. We saw the sea was high in the distance, but suddenly people were running towards us. They didn’t know anything about tsunami, so when we asked them what was happening, they just said ‘the sea has come to land’. We ran away quickly. If we’d been 20 minutes later, the tsunami would have got us.”

Bringing up bats in the IPL

The development of young Australian cricketers hasn’t been quarantined from a fast-changing world. The difference from the system in the 1950s is dramatic but in recent years it’s occurred at a much quicker pace. The last exceptional Australian side began to disband when Shane Warne and Glenn McGrath retired in 2007. The first World T20 event was held later that year and up until then the development system for young Australian cricketers was evolving gradually. With the widespread growth of T20 leagues, the players now have an extra choice when it comes to earning a living and this also means having to choose a development direction from a more cluttered path. A young player now comes through a system that includes many structured net sessions, hours facing bowling machines or a coach wielding a “whanger”. All these sessions are closely monitored by a coach who has various technology aids to emphasise his point.

The system I grew up in had few structured net sessions and many hours of playing matches, whether they were in the backyard against my brother or at one of the many venues where pick-up games were available. There were no bowling machines, unless you count the thousands of balls thrown by our father, Martin. There were no whangers – we didn’t throw balls to the dog, we hit them and Champ gleefully chased them, diligently returning the missile – saliva and all – to his master.

The hours of playing matches were crucial in the development process. Without knowing it at the time, all sorts of information was being embedded in my brain which stood me in good stead when I later faced first-class and international bowlers. The coaching was at the weekend and it was from an excellent tutor in Lynn Fuller. This experience has led me to the conclusion that it is best to have good coaching, or none at all. Not having formal coaching allows a young cricketer to spend hours honing his skills and better understanding his own game. The careers of great players such as Sir Donald Bradman, Bill O’Reilly and Doug Walters all began in the bush where they unearthed their own particular way of developing skills.

As the modern young cricketer progresses, he reaches the stage of playing various level under-age matches and attending an academy. My academy was the backyard and the local playing fields. Soon after playing in my only under-age competition – an under 14 state carnival – I entered the realm of senior cricket, competing against men. This was a critical part of my development and it undoubtedly hastened my cricket education. On leaving school, I graduated to A-grade cricket in Adelaide where I competed with and against Test and interstate cricketers.

When Dennis Lillee walked into the Kingston Hotel in October of 1995, it was as if Dennis Lillee himself had walked into the Kingston Hotel. It was, for a Canberra kid, flat-out unbelievable. Dennis Lillee! In the Kingo! Our local! Even 26 years old and six schooners deep, I was the fan kid in Almost Famous when he clocks David Bowie. Lillee! It’s Dennis Lillee! My mate Pagey didn’t care. He bounded straight over. “Oi! Dennis Lillee!” declared Pagey and began yapping away like they were pals. And DK laughed at some bit of nonsense, and at the front of the bloke, and soon enough I was over there, in the great man’s orbit, shaking hands, unable to speak.

And he smiled that lop-sided Dennis Lillee smile, the one you’d seen on the beer ads, and said, “How are ya, son?” And I smiled back like a shy kid with Santa, and said nothing lest it come out a squeak. Mike Veletta was there too, laughing along with Pagey’s babble. Lillee’s fellow man of the west was in town to captain-coach the ACT Comets, the local boys playing their first season in the domestic one-day comp, the Mercantile Mutual Cup. Veletta was 31 and had played Tests and ODIs for Australia, and would’ve been a big enough deal for we cricket-mad locals. Turn up with Dennis Lillee and he was Mick Jagger’s wingman. Safe to say we didn’t get a lot of cricket in Canberra. Not the top stuff, anyway. We did get the Prime Minister’s XI; Robert Menzies’ muse brought back to life by Bob Hawke because he knew Australians as John Singleton knew Australians. Singo knew what sold Winfield Blues and Tooheys Draught, and Hawkey knew what sold Hawkey. And in those days, as Kerry Packer would have attested with a vengeance, cricket sold. And those PM’s XI fixtures, for cricketstarved Canberrans, were magnificent.

The first one was against the mighty West Indies side of 1984. Viv Richards, Clive Lloyd, big Joel Garner, and all the rest of those ridiculous humans with their long limbs and languid moves, and other-worldly skill – they were so unbelievably cool. Their visit energised the town; the match was sold out. Three thousand people snuck in under the fence. Manuka Oval heaved. It was ridiculous: January day; hotter than hell. Man, it was good. Desmond Haynes fielded just in front of us, on the fence backward of square. He was our guy, diving around, smiling his head off. And every time he came back from some bit of adventure we’d cheer, “Dessie! You beauty!” And he’d laugh and wave, into it. It was so cool.

Kids were mad for those West Indians. For the Aussie team, too. A mate of a mate, Coyley, played locally for Easts and wore his cricket kit to the game: woolly jumper, thick white socks, Greg Chappell hat. And he stood outside the Australian team's dressing shed signing autographs. Quizzical kids lined up. Years later, a younger mate dug out his toy bat with all the autographs, and there between “Michael Holding” and “Greg Ritchie” was “Peter Coyle”. Out in the middle, another relatively anonymous cricketer, a squat Tasmanian called David Boon, was whacking big Joel down the ground on the way to 134. And in a summer in which the Windies’ quicks were more four-pronged killer attack squad than men, we bayed for this boy Boonie, and for the PM’s boys, and for Hawkey who’d made it happen. The great man took a walk inside the perimeter, lapping it up, a rubbery figure come to life, shamelessly in love with himself.

And we loved him for it. And Hawkey knew it. ScoMo? There can be only one. In 1990 came England, and mates and I had a gig selling ice creams at the PM’s XI. We worked out you could wedge a six-pack of VB in amongst the dry ice, and we’d sit there, watching cricket, selling Cornettos and sucking on VB stubbies. Now and again you’d chant “Ice cream!” and down they’d come, the people. And I got half-pissed watching Allan Border belt the Poms around Manuka. At stumps, I was paid 150 bucks cash. Still the greatest job I’ve ever had. Another was operating Manuka’s Jack Fingleton scoreboard. They’d brought it up from the MCG, plank by plank, this great, hulking old banger, heritage-listed. And mates and I would sit inside it, shirtless, sweating up a treat, drinking tinnies, watching cricket.

One day saw a young Michael Bevan belt a ton against Wayne “Cracker” Holdsworth, bowling heat for NSW seconds. Cracker was short, skiddy and rapid. He was Malcolm Marshall without the guile. And without the Malcolm Marshall. But he bolted in and let rip, Cracker. And he was quick. At least he was this day, bouncing Bevan and the Canberra boys. In the same match, Marty Haywood who’d taken plenty of Cracker because, truth be told, Bevo didn’t much fancy it – was run out in the shadows of stumps as Bevo scurried back to the non-striker’s end. And I can still hear Haywood’s bull moose roar of “craaaaap!” reverberating around the empty concrete stands of Manuka Oval. And I thought, “My but I love this game.” And I love this ground. And now Manuka’s got a Test match. Little Canberra has become.

Canberra has four distinct seasons. Autumn is dead leaves. Spring is blossoms. Winter is colder than Krakow by night. And summer is just hot. Broken Hill hot. It’s a dry, “bush” heat. It’s African savannah. It’s scorched earth. It’s stinkin’. And you played cricket in it because that’s just what you did. And you watched cricket. And you lived and loved it.

We played on “synthetic” wickets which were concrete strips overlaid by “AstroTurf” of various plumage. They could be bouncy as bejeezus. A top-edged cut shot would soar into space. Not a lot of seam. But bounce, baby, bounce. The turf wickets could be a bit how-you-goin’, as they say. Shades of the old MCG: shooters, bounders, rip-snorters. Ordinary, lot of ’em. And a lot of ordinary bowlers got wickets. Outfield grass was generally long because it was cold at night, and wouldn’t grow back if you cut it. Thus, batters did their best.

Yet a steady drip of first-class cricketers has come out of the joint, punctuated by the odd Michael Bevan and Brad Haddin. Greg Rowell bowled accurate fast-meds for NSW, Queensland and Tasmania. Wayne Andrews went to WA and played 91 Sheffield Shield games. Mark Higgs bowled left-arm wristspin and gave it a whack for the Blues, once belting 181 not against Queensland. Nathan Lyon came from Young to pilot Manuka’s mowers before doing the same at Adelaide after Les Burdett.

Largely, though, the very good ones stayed, big fish in a small pond. Few reasons: there were plenty of players like them in Sydney grade cricket; there wasn’t money enough to uproot a family to chase a dream; in Canberra there were public service jobs forever that gave you time off to play. And it was fun to play for the ACT.

Brad Bretland kept wicket for the ACT. You haven’t seen a bloke with quicker hands, whipping bails off standing up to the quicks. He played indoor cricket for Australia. Unbelievable eye, reflexes. Peter Solway holds the record for most games and runs for the ACT, and most games and runs in the ACT comp. He played in the PM’s XI of ’93-’94 alongside young guns Hayden, Langer, Ponting. Fellow local legend Greg Irvine played in the PM’s XI two days before Christmas 1987. Took 5/42 swinging the ball both ways before going down swinging in a run chase against Richard Hadlee, bookended in the batting order by ME Waugh, DW Hookes and AR Border. Solway says there were a couple of nibbles from Sydney but things were progressing nicely in Canberra. The Country Championships had kicked off. There were regular tours and second XI fixtures. And in ’95 came the Mercantile Mutual comp. “And I had a decent job, I was married,” he says. “It crossed my mind to move to Sydney. But I suppose I didn’t want it bad enough.” Was he good enough? Solway reckons he’d have backed himself. Yet the NSW team was a tough nut to crack. “The era I came through of under-17s and under-19s – and I don’t know if it put me off – but the NSW team was Taylor, Waugh, Waugh, McNamara and a heap of guys.

“I don’t regret [staying]. I’m happy with how things have panned out. Was I good enough? I dunno. I probably would’ve backed myself. But until you do, you don’t know.” Mike Veletta believes Solway was “easily” first-class level. “He was one of those great blokes who was happy doing what he was doing. He worked for the government, he was content, his family was entrenched in the community. There’s no doubt – temperament, nous, technique – he would’ve thrived at first-class level.” After Solway, Irvine and company, however, came a generation of cricketers for whom there was a genuine pathway and opportunity to play up. They were my generation – let’s call them the under-19s of ’89-’90. These talented ones could get amongst it at the AIS or the academy in Adelaide. Michael Bevan was of this generation. You played against Bevo, he was left-arm quick. Going across you, bending it back in – he was a bit bloody good, Bevo. Scary, even. A singular fellow, but a good fellah. He could bat, sure – but there were batters better.

One played in his own team – Huntley Armstrong, a Greg Ritchie-shaped belter with Shane Warne’s mullet. In a semi-final at Rivett Oval, my Woden Valley under-16s played Huntley’s Weston Creek. Bevo wasn’t playing, there was a soccer tournament on. But they still had plenty. Bunch of blokes would play U19s for ACT. But Huntley was the wicket.

On 20-odd on a ridiculously, freezing cold March day (truly, it was maybe six degrees, sleeting, wind-chill factor hideous), Huntley smashed our Laxman-wristed leg-spinner Michael Streat one thousand yards into space. I waited for it to come down. And waited. No-one thought I’d catch it – me included. Damn thing soared towards me like an ice comet. But I pouched it, somehow, and punched the air, and we knocked off the Creek, the hot faves. And all the dads said over again, “catches win matches”. And Huntley’s mum declared, “It’s all Michael Bevan’s fault!”

Week later in the grand final against St Edmund’s, another top player from that class of ’89, Marty Haywood, was on maybe 42 when he smashed Streaty high, and long, and way out to cow corner. And there waited I – The Hero of Rivett – underneath it. Beautiful day. Saw it all the way. Grassed the bastard. And watched our man Marty go on to plunder 157 not out and win the game. And that, as the cricket gods would tell you, is cricket.

Haywood went to Campbelltown and onwards to Mosman, where he captained the club for 20-some years. He would play 13 matches for NSW when the Waugh twins were playing for Australia. That was his competition in the Blues’ middle order: the bloody Waughs. Today, a good one would’ve gone to Tassie or somewhere. Haywood stayed and notched his highest score, 97, at the Junction Oval. And you play golf with him today and there’s longing behind his eyes. Huntley went to Adelaide and the academy there, and stayed on playing grade cricket. He played a couple of one-dayers for South hero of mine, David Hookes. Michael Bevan went to Sydney, and fashioned a fairly decent career in the game. Today there are several ex-Canberrans playing first-class cricket, such as Will Sheridan (Victoria), Jason Behrendorff (WA), Jason Floros (Queensland), Nick Winter (SA) and Tom Rogers (Tasmania). It’s always been the same – and it’s the same for those from Townsville, Geraldton, Innamincka – you want to be taken seriously, you leave. And until the ACT gets a Sheffield Shield team, that’s how it will stay. And that’s why they want one.

Mike Veletta had played 12 years of first-class cricket when it was put to him that he might like to captain-coach the fledgling one-day team called the ACT Comets in the Mercantile Mutual Cup. There was a job in property with a reputable firm. There was a chance to learn about coaching. It ticked a few boxes. But jeez, it was different to Perth. “They flew my wife and I over to Canberra in July, and you can imagine the weather,” Veletta remembers. “It was horrible. Four days later we got on the flight home, my wife said, ‘Thanks for that – I don’t need to see any more.’

“A month later we were there.” The move was still a punt for Veletta. The Comets were still an idea, there wasn’t actual confirmation that they’d be a firstclass entity. Yet he rocked up for pre-season training and learned things were done a little differently in the Bush Capital.

“I was told the first pre-season game was always against Manly, and they’d always stay at the Steyne Hotel,” says Veletta. “It wasn’t going to be a typical cricket tour. So we played against Manly and spent a long weekend at the pub! It was pointless going to bed early. It was a great way to get to know your team-mates and a great introduction to ACT cricket.”

Veletta was allocated a local club, Weston Creek, and was expected to dominate. Yet conditions were so different to Perth that he battled. “The pitches were average, really. Average bowlers could get wickets. It took me a while to work it out.” But he grew to love it. He was captaining guys for whom the interstate one-day competition would be the highlight of their careers. He found it refreshing that people played for love alone, and were proud to represent a tight-knit community.

Yet after three seasons and 18 one-day matches, the Comets were axed. Solway blames politics. And Cricket Australia. And a few other things. “Cricket Australia [then the Australian Cricket Board] showed a lack of vision,” Solway says. “It was shortsighted. It was voted on by states thinking about what they had to lose rather than the good of Australian cricket. Denis Rogers from Tasmania was chairman of the board. He drove it. Tasmania and South Australia were thinking about what they had to lose.

“We had players coming to Canberra to get an opportunity. Instead of going to Tassie, they were coming here. We were always keen to play first-class cricket. And I reckon it scared people. “But more teams wouldn’t weaken the standard. Australia’s had the same six state teams forever. Cricket’s set in its ways. And look how we’re going.” The Comets had their supporters. Alan Crompton was one. Geoff Lawson was coach of NSW and saw the ACT as a good destination for kids from his region of Wagga Wagga and the Riverina.

“I asked people on the cricket board why the team was axed and their responses were very political,” says Veletta. “It didn’t make sense. In regional cricket, the ACT could’ve played a huge role. I always thought for all the country guys between Sydney and Melbourne, the one-day comp would’ve been a great stepping stone.” In terms of cricket competition, though, the territory was, and remains, a fairly poor cousin to the metropolitan centres. It’s seen as a nudge above the comps in Newcastle, Ballarat, Sunshine Coast. Sydney boys will tell you Futures League games against the ACT are like hard first-grade games. Good cricket – nothing you can’t cop.

Today the Comets – which played its last, first-class 50-over matches in February of 2000 – are the ACT/NSW Country Comets and play List A Futures League fixtures against state second XIs, academies, and various mobs of young turks. Locals lament that the Comets are a de facto NSW side. Trent Copeland recently played “back”. There was a Comets teams that played recently, didn’t have any ACT players in it. And this when Sydney grade cricket’s yearning for their people. One assumes Pat Howard’s KPIs are being ticked. “It disappoints me that the Futures comp is ACT and NSW combined,” says Veletta.

More on IPL can be found on https://iplnewslatest.blogspot.com/

#cricket #ipl #ipl 2019

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chxronica · 7 years ago

Text

You are love

Pairing: Ryn x Maddie

Word count: 1674

Summary: Post 1x05 kiss from Maddie’s pov

Rating: General

ao3 link

Mystical eyes stared into deep brown ones as they air around them remained still. Maddie wasn’t sure what she had been expecting when Ryn had made her way toward her, small hands running across her tattooed body. Yet, she was still ready for the kiss almost instantly closing her eyes when she noticed the the mermaid was leaning in to kiss her.

She knew she should feel bad about kissing her back, but something felt so right about kissing Ryn she just couldn’t describe it. The feeling that she felt when their lips had meant. It was almost like an electric shock, but on that felt so good instead of being painful.

When her friend speaks again she is taken out of her dazed state of mind. “Oh, yeah okay.” A smile comes to her face as she tried to think of words to say, but comes short of them. Being flustered by a girl wasn’t a new thing, but this feeling definitely was without a doubt new. “Bye.”

Maddie stepped away from the much shorter girl and headed towards the exit. If she looked at Ryn any longer she was almost positive she would not be making it to that lunch with Ben’s mother, on time that was. The whole drive to that exact lunch is trying to push the thoughts of the mermaid away and actually let the feeling of nervousness take over her gut. It was odd, but there was no reason to overthink a kiss at a lunch with her boyfriend’s mother.

A part of her is glad when Ben calls her, taking her attention completely off the kiss for the time being. Although the place her mind goes from there isn’t much better than her previous thoughts, because all she was thinking about was all the horrible things that he could’ve figured out from his visit. There was so much that she had to worry about, but it was mostly all for Ryn and making sure that she was going to stay safe.

Pacing around the dock, which wasn’t far off from where she was at lunch, Maddie tried to be patience with Ben. Yet, it had only been six minutes and she was practically jumping out of her skin. Then it fifteen had past and she started to worry about everything more than she had been before. Some of it for Ben, but most of it still for Ryn; and her sister.

When he finally arrives the tall girl wants him to get to the point of what he was going to say right away, but that’s not what she get. Of course she should’ve been expecting that it was going to have to be a build up, it was Ben afterall. The one people who always seemed to make things a thousand times more dramatic when he told them then the had to be. Always one for build up and taking his time.

After she found out what they were using the fishing for, her heart almost fell out of her chest. They were the whole reason that Ryn had been put through so much in the last month and of course how inhumane that was. Mermaids might not be people but they were intelligent creatures and shouldn’t be used for testing and all of that awful stuff.

The worst part of that news was that she had to tell Ryn, who seemed so… conflicted about it. She just wanted to be safe and the navy was doing anything and everything in their power to capture her kind. Maddie’s heat honestly ached more at how her voice sounded. There was a way to it that just wasn’t the normal voice of the mermaid she had come to love?

Another thing that absolutely hurt her heart to the core was what Ryn did that night when they were all in bed. Ben had long gone to sleep when she walked over to the bed, not getting into it like she almost always did. Instead she stood of the sleepy girl with a blank look, almost as if she was waiting for her to say something.

Still before she can say something her friend, no family, was speaking to her. “Maddie,” There’s a pause as it seemed like she really struggled saying this next word, or request really. It was just what she needed to get out of the way and done with, “come.”

Confusion took over her features but she still pushed the blankets off her body and followed the mermaid back to her spot on the couch. Sitting down next to her she placed a gentle hand on her covered thigh, waiting for her to speak. “Hold me.” Ryn’s voice is quite as she speaks, already leaning into the anticipated touch of Maddie.

There bodies mold together perfectly as she wrapped her arms delicately around the much smaller girl. At some point during the embrace, silent tears started to stream down the dark haired beauty’s face. It only hurt her more, to feel the sharp breaths being taken as she held onto her tightly. “It’s alright, Ryn. We’ll make it safe.” She whispered softly in her ear, over and over again to provide some kind of comfort for her.

Eventually Ryn fell asleep right there in Maddie’s arm, so she gently laid them down her on the couch. A hand delicately went around the sleeping girls waist, trying her best to offer comfort even when she was asleep. She always believed that people could feel the love no matter what state they were in, sleeping or awake it didn’t matter to her.

The funny thing is, if you asked her a couple months ago if she would be spooning a human mermaid she would have told Jerry to go home for the day. Yet, for some unknown reason, it was happening and she could feel herself falling as it happened. Slowly falling for someone she should never even think about falling for.

In the morning, Ben is gone only leaving some not behind about something with his buddies. With a sigh she slipped out from Ryn, careful not to wake her up as she moved her hands to the side. They had to have a conversation, but that could wait until they had both eaten and her companion was actually awake.

Ryn doesn’t wake up for another half an hour, just enough time for Maddie to make some coffee and prepare breakfast for her. She took a long sip of her coffee she listened to the mermaid pad into the kitchen and tilt her head at her. “You left me.” The smaller girl said before walking over to stand next to the tall one.

“I had to make breakfast and have coffee before we have a serious talk.” Was her replied as she took another long sip of her coffee, pointing to the plate of fish on the table. The last month or two had been absolutely draining for her, so coffee was a vital part of almost every conversation she had at this point.

With a small, and admittedly cute, nod the mermaid walked over to the plate and began to devour it. It isn’t until she’s done the tall girl walked over to her, crouching about her. She knew that she had to teach her what a kiss meant, but that also meant she had to be a stop to possible future ones. Which, unfortunately, meant no more amazing kisses, by far one of the best Maddie has had, as goodbyes anymore.

“Do you know what it means to kiss someone?” She asked her after a few moments of silence between the two of them. Maddie blamed it all on the enrapturing eyes of Ryn as they stared into each other eyes. Yeah, this was going to absolutely destroy her to say but it was good that her friend, and her, had some sort of boundaries based on what Ben would say.

Ryn gave her a confused look before giving her another one of her adorable nods, but that was getting off topic. What she needed to focus on was the meaning behind her actions and not on how cute she looked when she was confused. Way off topic thought. “It means love.”

Her answer was technically right but she didn’t know how else she could describe it. “There are diffe-” Maddie’s words are cut off by Ryn jumping right back into the conversation.

“I know.”

“Then why did you kiss me?”

“You are love.”

“What do you mean by that?” She wanted so much to understand what Ryn meant when she told her that and a part of her knew, but the rest of her refused to admit what that part knew. Which was that her mermaid friend meant a different kind of love and actually understood that and meant it. That thought was so scary that she kept it locked away never to be thought of again.

With what seemed to be an annoyed huff, Ryn leaned in and connected her lips with the crouching girl’s soft one. This one was different from the first, but still sent that magical feeling through her body. This one seemed to last longer than the other one too, which was slightly odd for that to be happening. But Maddie couldn’t find it in her to pull away from the beautiful girl who had the softest lips for someone who spent so much time in the water. It was ridiculous how perfect it was.

Finally, the shorter girl pulled away and gently rested her forehead against Maddie’s, both of them attempting to catch their breath. It was a great feeling, nothing she knew compared to it. In hindsight she probably should feel bad about everything because she was still with Ben, but that could be figured some time when this wasn’t happening. Right now, she could just enjoy the feeling of Ryn’s head against her as they both breathe heavily.

“You are love… because I love you.”

#siren #maddie x ryn #raddie #ryn #maddie bishop #siren fic #one shot

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chaosbcrne · 7 years ago

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TAGGED BY: @blue-pincushion thank youuu TAGGING: @brokenweapon, @hcrwish, @bouncepads, @heartfelt-silver, @last-fxstbump

— BASICS.

▸ IS YOUR MUSE TALL / SHORT / AVERAGE ? ...he’s on the shorter side, though I guess not that far off average for mobians/hedgehogs. definitely short compared to humans though, and tiny for a Black Arms. he appears a bit taller than he actually is, though, because his shoes give him two inches. he’s 3′4″ with them on, 3′2″ without

▸ ARE THEY OKAY WITH THEIR HEIGHT ?

yea. i mean i feel like he’s been enduring a bit more teasing than usual lately because of it, but it’s not something that bugs him past that. he spent several years on the ARK where everything was built for humans so he got very used to dealing with his smaller size, climbing on counters and shelves to reach stuff, looking up at people, things like that. his size definitely doesn’t feel like a problem in human environments, let alone mobians’

▸ WHAT’S THEIR HAIR FUR LIKE ?

very versatile, much like his incessant quilling his fur is constantly adapting to change, mostly in temperature, growing longer when it’s cold, thicker when it’s rainy, shedding when it’s warm and so on. it always has a decent enough layer though, you can never see skin beneath his black fur unless it’s been ripped/burnt/cut off, so I guess in that sense its default state is considerably more furnished than that of the average hedgehog

his thicker white fur follows the same kind of behavior, it grows wider in winter to cover most of his upper body and throat and essentially serves as a natural scarf so he can breathe okay even when he’s dashing against sub-zero winds, and it sheds back down to a small patch that barely covers his chest in summer to reduce risks of overheating

▸ DO THEY SPEND A LOT OF TIME ON THEIR HAIR / GROOMING ?

not... really ? I’d say he settles for a quick but thorough daily shower, he’s not one for grooming much past that because he already sheds like crazy and that would speed up the process even more ? if anything, he might pat down his white fur a bit because it really fluffs up when it air-dries

▸ DOES YOUR MUSE CARE ABOUT THEIR APPEARANCE / WHAT OTHERS THINK ?

he didn’t for a long time, but I think learning his color scheme was due to Black Arms genes may have changed that a little; he doesn’t like the idea of being seen as one of them, that’s why he avoids taking his gloves off around others or show off his teeth much or doesn’t like eating in public, i could go on for a while but basically he didn’t mind his black and red colors and his threatening complex until he learned he got that from man-eating aliens,

over the years i think he’s come to terms with it for the most part because black is real useful on stealth missions and for getting that extra warmth on sunny days and claws can come in real handy sometimes when you’re missing certain tools, but, yeah i think there’s probably still a bit of lingering self-consciousness there

— PREFERENCES.

▸ INDOORS OR OUTDOORS ?

hmm I think he has a slight preference for outdoors just because it’s less confined and ever-changing, but he wouldn’t spit on indoors either you know sometimes you just need some place to take a break and where there’s a limited possibility of things that could happen

▸ RAIN OR SUNSHINE ? both. both are addictive when you spent your early life where you could experience neither of those, in fact i’d say those exact two things are responsible for shadow growing/shedding fur out of season because he’s the kind to just stand in the rain when it’s cold or in the sun when it’s hot just because the feeling of rain through his quills or sunshine in his fur will always be like a bit of a novelty to him ▸ FOREST OR BEACH ? hhh f...f.....beach probably. both are fine but i feel like the beach is one of those cliche things maria especially wanted to experience and talked about all the time so he just have a slightly better preconceived idea of it ▸ PRECIOUS METALS OR GEMS ? im just gonna link you to the lucky charm post that should give you a clear idea ▸ FLOWERS OR PERFUMES ? flowers hands down. they’re colorful and pretty and smell good and are natural. maria would have loved them and also earlier this year rouge decorated the whole observatory in the ARK with them to surprise shadow and it was Good ok ▸ PERSONALITY OR APPEARANCE ? personality. yeah people can be nice to look at but if that’s all they got going for them they’re not worth much ▸ BEING ALONE OR BEING IN A CROWD ? alone. i don’t think i have much explaining to do here lmao he’s just not a people person. small groups can be okay and so are a good few people, like, he can deal with a crowd or otherwise large number of people in one place but he’s definitely not gonna enjoy it as much as just being alone ▸ ORDER OR ANARCHY ? I think Gerald’s (and therefore his) idea of an ideal world was a place where they’re one and the same ? a world where people are free to do what makes them happy, to not be limited in any way shape or form but where such a freedom would lead to people being selfless and generous enough to not throw it all into chaos ? but given that’s not really something remotely feasible at this point order is probably the best options in his books given what he’s seen some people do once some of their restraints were removed ▸ PAINFUL TRUTHS OR WHITE LIES ?

painful truths. unless it concerns him revealing stuff about himself that he just doesn’t want people to know about, he’s always gonna be blunt with people and he expects the same courtesy in return. shadow’s sick of all the lies and insincerity a lot of people go to for no good reason and he’d rather you just tell him the truth head-on

▸ SCIENCE OR MAGIC ? chaos energy is where it’s at. i don’t know what it counts as, i’m assuming it’s something between the two ? gerald, tails, eggman and probably a whole lot of other people managed to harness it to create life or power machinery and such, so it can be useful in terms of science, but it’s also something so unstable and unquantifiable and tricky to control or even understand, and being able to do so is considered a power instead of knowledge - which makes it sound more like magic. either way, that’s what shadow believes in and relies on - not that i expect that to be a surprise to anyone, considering ▸ PEACE OR CONFLICT ? he strives for peace but i don’t think he’d know what to do with himself if that was ever achieved tbh ▸ NIGHT OR DAY ?

either. shadow’s not operating on a regular day/night cycle so the two are basically interchangeable to him, for better or worse. i wrote more about this over here

▸ DUSK OR DAWN ?

again, the two aren’t really different to him

▸ WARMTH OR COLD ?

hmm warmth probably. he’s definitely built to tolerate cold more than warmth but the general concept of warmth is just associated with more pleasant feelings in general

▸ MANY ACQUAINTANCES OR A FEW CLOSE FRIENDS ?

im gonna say like the bbff, points at team dark

▸ READING OR PLAYING A GAME ?

it really depends on the mood he’s in honestly. i’ve explained before(x) that shadow is actually quite fond of reading, but if he’s too restless for one reason or another some kind of game will be better for his nerves. or just, you know, if team dark is stuck on standby at HQ and they’re waiting around to be called in

— QUESTIONNAIRE.

▸ WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR MUSE’S BAD HABITS ? - letting people provoke him very easily - always talking down on people at first - pushing people away 24/7 - not having an established eating or sleeping schedule he can keep track of - crossing his arms all the damn time

▸ HAS YOUR MUSE LOST ANYONE CLOSE TO THEM ? HOW HAS IT AFFECTED THEM ?

hahahaha

oh boy

▸ WHAT ARE SOME FOND MEMORIES YOUR MUSE HAS ?

- the countless hours spent in the observatory with maria - early team dark times when he had good enough days to just focus on his goal and not worry about everything else, probably mostly around grand metropolis/casino park hours, when they were starting to be a proper team but things hadn’t gotten too serious/difficult yet - when a certain hedgehog came back to life and immediately turned to him and silver for additional help. i’ll go into this more some other time but let’s just say that meant a great deal to him - that crush 40 concert rouge took him and omega to - quite a few simple moments spent with his team that wouldn’t have looked like much to many others but that he remembers clearly feeling fulfilled and happy right then and there - a certain night when things felt Bad and a certain hedgehog showed up and made them feel good again - spraining zero’s wrist

▸ IS IT EASY FOR YOUR MUSE TO KILL ?

if we’re talking physically, yes. if we’re talking emotionally,

not as much as he makes it look like honestly. death is something very permanent that has been the cause of possibly the biggest trauma he’s experienced in his life - he does not take that lightly and does not inflict it when he sees an alternative. episode shadow in forces can go suck a lemon

▸ WHAT’S IT LIKE WHEN YOUR MUSE BREAKS DOWN ?

that’s happened once and that’s a drabble in the works so yall are just gonna have to be patient for this one

▸ IS YOUR MUSE CAPABLE OF TRUSTING SOMEONE WITH THEIR LIFE ?

hhh it’s. difficult. but it’s definitely something team dark has earned at this point. literally all three of them have explicitly proven that they would give up their lives for either of the others so it’s safe to say there’s absolute trust between them now

▸ WHAT’S YOUR MUSE LIKE WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE ?

oh boy it’s bad lmao

shadow is very unfamiliar with the concept of romantic love as a whole so he has no idea how he’s supposed to behave with the subject of his affection. remember that picture where he’s holding sonic’s hand and staring at it and presumably has been doing so for like ten minutes ? yeah

social norms aside what would come naturally to him is a very, very intense protectiveness - that’s his primary response when it comes to anyone he’s attached to and romantic ties would be no different. he would be very defensive of them verbally but also protective-bordering-on-possessive physically

he also pays very close attention, i’ve already said it countless times but he’s an amazing listener and whoever he’s smitten with would likely be someone he could watch and listen to intently for very long periods of time. he’ll never be the most talkative but don’t let that fool you into thinking he won’t enjoy engaging conversations with the person he’s interested in

aside from that i tend to think that shadow would be a very unintentional sap because, again, he’s not familiar with whatever’s considered normal in a relationship. so he’ll be the kind to let the other know he’s thinking of them in various ways or just show up and surprise them with something they might want, all completely shamelessly and like it’s no big deal because if it pleases them why should he hold back ? (of course that’s all in a hypothetical situation where it’s solely between him and his significant other-- if there’s other people involved he’s gonna be a lot more subtle/shy about it if he dares doing anything out of the ordinary at all)

his affection is hard to earn but once you have it he’ll be loyal to you for life honestly

#✮ ☾ there’s no time for games ☽ ↳ tag meme #✮ ☾ step inside and hold on for dear life ☽ ↳ headcanon #do i really need to go into details about gerald and marias death traumatizing him to the point where he hardly believes in kindness anymore #i dont think so

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ourdreamsrealized · 7 years ago

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Chapter Three: To Love a King

Chapter: 1 | 2 | 3

A/N: Wow…This was a long one, and I apologize for how much time it took me to get this out. School was very busy, and then once I had the time to work on this, I was experiencing writer’s block. It ended up being 16 and a ½ pages and 6625 words. I actually am quite proud of this chapter, and it will probably be the longest chapter in this series. I don’t think it’s the best I’ve written, but I am happy with it to post it here. I hope to have the next chapter for you guys sometime next week.

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Thor Odinson (God of Thunder) x Reader

Synopsis: When you meet Thor for the first time, he’s a happy-go-lucky hero in need of your help, but as more chance meetings happen and a relationship begins to blossom between the two of you, you begin to realize that there is a lot more to this amazing man than meets the eye.

Inspired by @champion-ofthe-sun‘s post: { x }.

Rated: R

Warnings: Sexual Themes, Mild Gore, Triggers (Such as War) & Language

“…and Mr. Lee in room 130 has been having some bowel issues. I got him up to the bathroom a few times, but I’m worried about how loose his stools are.”

You considered the nurse’s words, nodding your head as you looked over his chart. “Alright…I’ll have a stool culture ordered again. If it smells as bad as you’re suggesting, I want to make sure he doesn’t have C diff.” You shook your head with a sigh, handing her the manila folder and leaning back in the chair. “Until then, just as a precautionary measure, I want everyone wearing gloves when entering that room. I can’t put him on full contact precautions without a confirmed diagnosis.”

“Makes sense,” the nurse, Victoria, said, getting up from her chair. “Anything else?”

“No.” You chewed on your bottom lip, crossing your legs as you went over a few things in your mind.

“Well, then, get going. Don’t you have a date with Georgina’s son tonight?” Victoria asked, putting away Mr. Lee’s chart and pulling out another one from the cart.

“I do…” You got to your feet, placing your pen in your lab coat pocket. “It’s our third date, actually.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You shrugged your shoulders, lifting your arms from your sides for a moment before letting them fall back to place.

Victoria fixed you with one of the stares she usually reserved for a client or family member that was feeding her bullshit. A light, partially penciled brow was arched as she pursed her lips. “Liar. At this stage in the game, you’d be floating on air.”

“And who says I’m not?” you asked, coming to stand beside her, arms crossed over your chest.

“I do. I can tell just by looking at you that you’re not crazy about him, just like you weren’t crazy about Jeremy or Kevin or Peter or…”

“Okay. Okay.” You stopped her by lifting up a hand. You didn’t need everyone on the floor to know your history. “What’s your point?”

“Don’t lead the poor guy on, and take some time off dating. It’s clear you’re not over something or someone in your past.”

“You would have made a much better psych nurse. You know that, Victoria?” A chuckle escaped your lips as you turned your back on her and made your way towards the break room. You punched in the code, your left five digits wrapped around the door handle.

“Yes, but I like where I am now.”

“Oh? And why’s that?” You glanced over at her, using your foot to keep the heavy door open.

“Because you’re my boss.” She winked at you before heading over to one of her assigned patient rooms.

You grinned stupidly at her comment, and your steps became lighter as you grabbed your work bag and jacket before heading out of the unit and down to the lobby. Once out in the late afternoon air, you relaxed some. It had been a long day, and, honestly, the last thing you wanted to do was go on another date with a guy you knew you weren’t ever going to be serious about.

Such a shame, too. He was basically the perfect package: good-looking, smart, a gentleman, looking to settle down, makes decent money, has future plans…

But he’s not Thor.

You mentally scolded yourself for that comment because you really shouldn’t have been comparing a mortal man who worked with a banking company to an Avenger/god. Plus, you hardly knew Thor. You met him only twice before, so your feelings for him were completely founded in physical attraction.

It was superficial, so why hadn’t you gotten over him yet? It’s been two years, for heaven’s sake!

It must have been the thousandth sigh that left your lips that day, but this one didn’t help you any. Maybe Victoria was right…Maybe you should step out of the dating scene for a while, just until you moved on.

You pulled out your phone, unlocked it, and found Nick’s contact information. You called his cell number, placing your smartphone to your ear as you descended the stairs outside the hospital building to the sidewalk.

“Hello?” Came out in a friendly baritone two rings later.

“Nick?”

“Yes?”

“Hi. This is Y/N.” God, this was really hard. Always was, and you were pretty sure it would never get easier. “Listen, about our date tonight…”

“You want to cancel.”

His voice was laden with disappointment, and, in that moment, you wished you still didn’t carry a torch for Thor. You could have seen a future with Nick; if you liked him as much as he liked you, the two of you probably would have gone the distance.

“Yeah…I’m really sorry. I just am not in the right state of mind for anything serious right now…” you scoffed, waving down a taxi. “I really wish I was.”

“…I do, too. But, if you ever do feel you’re ready for something more, you have my number.”

“You’d be the first guy I’d call.” You tried offering some comfort with that statement because, really, Nick deserved it. He had been nothing but sweet to you.

His chuckle was half-hearted, but he genuinely thanked you anyway before you both bid each other goodbye and hung up.

You closed the door of the yellow cab, telling the driver your home address before sitting back against the seat. You looked from your phone to the city outside your window. A particular tower caught your attention, one you had spent a lot of time in just a few years ago. It was the last place you saw Thor, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he was up to now.

The Avengers was on its way to destruction; the cracks were plain to see even during the events of Sokovia. Tony and Steve never saw eye-to-eye, and since no one really took an official leadership position after S.H.I.E.L.D. left the picture, the two most likely in the group were constantly butting heads while the rest of the members watched on, picking their own sides. Because of the drama and without a solid organization like S.H.I.E.L.D. to be your employer, you decided it was time to move on.

Of course, you only moved passed your time with the Avengers. Not with Thor. Perhaps, if you had had the chance to say goodbye, things would be different now.

Dwelling on the possibilities and what ifs made you choke up, so you forced yourself to think of less heavy things, such as dinner plans for this evening now that you weren’t going out and the list of things you had to do this coming weekend. Groceries, laundry, bills…The menial tasks.

Occupied by such things, transit time sped by, and before you knew it, you were in front of your building and handing the cab driver a couple of bills. You thanked him before heading up the stone stairs to the front door, and you were in the middle of opening it when you heard someone calling your name.

“Y/N!”

You froze at the deepness of the voice, knowing its owner almost immediately. You turned your head towards the direction your name had carried from, eyes widening as you took in the sight of both Thor and Loki, in street clothes no less. Although, the new garb did nothing to help either of them blend in. Thor was in jeans and a sweatshirt, but his long blonde locks were unmistakable. And Loki wore a pitch-black suit, his dark curls free from any bindings as he watched his brother come over to you.

“Thor?” You let go of the door handle, descending a few steps as a smile stretched across your face. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for my father, Odin,” Thor replied, stopping on the sidewalk in front of your building. He pointed his umbrella at you. “Did you just come home?”

“Yes. I was working, but if you two need help…” you glanced at Loki, still a bit wary of him, before looking Thor in his beautiful blue eyes, “I would love to offer my services.”

And that was how you ended up here. The death of the king of Asgard, a long lost sister (that you knew about from mythology by the way), and a whole other realm away.

God, you hoped you would still have your job after this. When you agreed to help Thor find his father, you didn’t think it would take more than a couple of hours. Yet, here you were, months later in one of the most degrading outfits you had ever had the displeasure of wearing.

You honestly felt like princess Leia, with just a thin, gold-colored bra to cover your chest and a long skirt, in a similar fabric, that started at your hips and went down to your ankles. You’d think such a garment would offer some coverage, but, nope, both sides of the skirt had slits up to the waistband.

The Grandmaster had also insisted that your neck be exposed as well as your feet, so shoes and having your hair down was not allowed when you were in his presence. He also gifted you with gaudy, poorly made jewelry, such as large hoop earrings and a multitude of bracelets.

You spent most of your time with, surprisingly, Loki, with no hide or hair of Thor. It was disgusting watching the God of Mischief kiss up to the Grandmaster, but you couldn’t say you were doing much better. You remained mostly silent, deciding to pretend you were mute, when they first found you among the garbage.

You really didn’t know how you managed to avoid the orgy parties, but Loki had been kind enough to make up excuses for you. Although, there were a few times that you showed you outright refused to be involved in such behavior, especially with The Grandmaster, of all people.

Still, he was the least of your concerns. Bruce was on this planet, and had been for a while, long before you and Loki showed up. However, he was not himself. He was constantly in his Hulk form and was quite childish. He was the Grandmaster’s champion, and you had seen him in action; he was completely taken by the crowd. Hence, him being fine with staying here and obeying the Grandmaster.

Your other concern, which consumed most of your days, was Thor. Had Hela killed him? You hadn’t seen him anywhere on this miserable planet, and Loki had not gotten word from him either. The thought of him being dead was too much to bear, but you soon accepted that maybe that was what had happened. Why else would he not come for you or Loki?

“Mute! Drink!”

The Grandmaster’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you realized that he had been referring to you. The nickname, Mute, was given to you when you refused to give your actual name, and it stuck, unfortunately. Even Loki would call you by the name.

You moved from your spot, standing beside him, and poured some of the dark liquid from the pitcher you held into his gold gauntlet. He lifted his other hand to tell you to stop, and you did as he asked, moving back to your spot.

“Are you excited for this match, Mute?”

You nodded your head, suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. These competitions were getting rather mundane, considering you could always predict the outcome. If any contender even got close to defeating the Hulk, the Grandmaster would cheat.

“This one should be very interesting…” he smirked, sitting back in his seat as his giant hologram began to rile up the crowd.

You glanced at Loki, who sat across the box, leaning forward on his knees, elbows resting on them as he watched the challenger’s side intently. You wondered why he seemed so genuinely interested in this one; he usually only feigned enthusiasm.

Your gaze followed his to the contender’s door, seeing that it was now fully open. A small gasp blew passed your lips, and you brought up a hand to suppress anymore noise from your gaping mouth.

It was Thor. Even from all the way up above the colosseum, you knew it was him. Thor’s broad shoulders were unmistakable, and his muscular build was a dead give away. You had never seen anyone as big in stature as the God of Thunder.

But could he defeat the Hulk? Maybe, if it was a fair fight, but he wasn’t just dealing with the green mutant; he was dealing with the Grandmaster, who would not see his Champion lose.

You glanced at Loki again, and this time he caught you, nearly jumping when he saw your glare. He obviously knew that Thor was here, but he decided not to give you that tidbit of information. Why? Did he want his brother to be beaten to death?

What a stupid question. In the past, he would have done the honors, given the chance.

He would get an earful from you later.

Your attention turned back to the arena, where you saw Thor being booed relentlessly by the crowd. Above their negativity, the Grandmaster’s voice could be heard, announcing his champion.

You wondered how Thor would handle this. He did not know that he would be put up against a friend, but, somewhere in the Hulk, you knew Banner was there. Surely, he would recognize the Asgardian god, but then what? What would the Grandmaster do if his champion refused to fight?

Well–your eyes flickered to the Grandmaster for a moment before returning to the arena–you would soon find out.

The door that Hulk resided behind was torn to shreds as he entered the arena, his roar filling the air as he lifted his powerful arms. The war cry was followed by a shout of joy from the challenger, something no one was used to hearing.

You cracked a smile. Only Thor.

But your amusement was short lived as you watched the two converse. It was clear that the situation was escalating, but why? Didn’t Banner recognize Thor?

When Hulk rushed forward, his violent intent clear, you ran forward, placing your hands on the glass in front of you as you suppressed the urge to scream. You’ve seen what the Hulk could do, and even though Thor was his opponent, the Grandmaster would surely intervene if he got the upper hand.

This could only ever end one way.

Thor dodged his first attack, rolling to the side before bouncing to his feet. You bit your bottom lip, wincing from both the pain and how hard Thor was hit by the Hulk’s gigantic hammer. He skid across the ground, digging his weapon into the ground to eventually stop himself from flying further.

They then exchanged blows, Thor using twin blades, and Hulk still utilizing his supersized tools. You watched, holding your breath and nearly crying out when you saw Thor thrown into the colosseum wall, rock crumbling around him. He recovered, hitting his opponent back with a force much stronger, sending the green mutant through the colosseum wall.

The crowd went silent, and your heart stopped. As much as you worried for Thor, you did not wish harm on Bruce. He had always been kind to you, always inclusive of you.

Thor seemed to be as concerned as you, heading over to where Hulk had landed. You saw Bruce move, dazed and unsteady. You watched with bated breath as Thor held out a hand to him, an offer of truce, and you hoped the Hulk would accept it. He watched the blond god as he carefully approached, reaching out a hand…

For a moment, your racing heart slowed, and you felt joy, realizing that this must be it. This must be the end of the fight.

But it wasn’t.

Within the blink of an eye, Thor was being thrown around, the Hulk smashing him against the ground repeatedly. No mortal man would have survived the first blow to the head, even with the armor Thor sported.

Cheers erupted from the crowd as you looked on, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

Thor was sent flying, crashing to the ground with a horrible thud that you barely registered over the Hulk’s victorious roar. The spectators joined in, spurring him on, while the underdog got to his feet, now holding Hulk’s hammer.

The fight continued on, and it was a close one. There were times you were sure Thor would prevail, but then the Hulk would prove you wrong with a brutal attack. Eventually, it came down to just fists, no weapons, and when you saw him on top of the God of Thunder, repeatedly punching him, tears streamed down your face because you knew that had to hurt.

How could he bear it?

Then, just when you were about to give up completely, a bolt of lightening pushed the Champion off of his challenger. Now, it seemed Thor had the upper hand, and you had never seen such power before. He was a walking storm, each hit packing a punch that echoed like thunder.

The name being chanted from the stands switched. It was entertainment unlike any they had seen before. No one had given the Hulk such a hard time.

And that’s when the Grandmaster decided to do it.

In convulsions that made your own skin crawl to watch, Thor fell to the ground, and you couldn’t watch as the Champion took the opportunity and did what he did best: smash.

A sob escaped your throat as you turned from the glass. Almost immediately, you were in Loki’s arms, one of his palms on the back of your head, cradling it to his chest.

“Is he okay?” you whispered softly as the noise of victory died down.

“I can’t say, but I don’t think he’s dead,” Loki responded in a soft voice. “Not yet, anyways.”

Leisurely, deliberate claps reached your ears, and you lifted your head from under Loki’s chin to see the Grandmaster smirking at you. The expression on his face was enough to make you physically ill, but you held yourself back, pressing your lips together in a firm line.

“What a show, Mute,” he said, shaking his head as he stepped closer to you. “Were you really that taken with the Lord of Thunder?”

God. You wanted to correct him. God of Thunder. You clenched your fists.

“Well, I’ll be kind, then. Be grateful.” He laughed, folding his hands in front of him. “Since he and my champion are such good friends, I think I’ll allow them to be roommates. They can train together and give me more shows as good as this one. And, for providing such good entertainment, I’ll throw the Lord of Thunder a little bone…”

You narrowed your eyes at him, not sure you were following just what he intended to do with any of you, but you knew you didn’t have much of a choice.

“A bone?” Loki asked, a hint of malice in his tone as he tightened his hold on you.

“Why he no wake?”

You let out another sigh, reminding yourself to keep patient and calm, even if this was the twentieth time the Hulk had asked that question. “Because he was badly wounded, Hulk.”

“By me?” He almost seemed proud.

“Yes, by you,” you stated as you kept your eyes on Thor’s peaceful face. You moved carefully, so not to disturb him, as you dipped your cloth in a bowl of water the Grandmaster “oh so graciously” gifted to you. You wrung it out as best you could, keeping the lower half of your body still.

You had already examined most of Thor’s body earlier, looking for broken bones or any signs of internal bleeding. After the beating he went through, he should have had at least a few fractures, but there wasn’t a hint of swelling anywhere on his body, just a few minor cuts and bruises.

He really was a god.

“Why you hold him like that?”

Your cheeks flushed at the question. Why did the Hulk have to know why you were keeping Thor in your lap?

“It makes my job easier,” you answered. It wasn’t quite a lie. You could see a lot of his cuts closer up, and making sure you had cleaned them well enough was less difficult this way. “Plus, you won’t share your bed.”

Your green companion huffed at that, turning on the mattress to show you his back.

You shook your head at his childishness, wishing Banner would take over already. While Hulk did have his likeable moments, he had become quite the narcissist since becoming the Grandmaster’s Champion.

To say you were a little ticked off at him for treating Thor as an enemy was an understatement.

A groan from the person laying on your thighs made you still your hand, only gently dabbing at a particularly bad cut on his brow. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open only to be squeezed shut again as he lifted a palm to the top of his head. “Ow…”

“How are you feeling?” you asked, lowering the arm that was currently tending to his wound.

Thor opened his eyes again, gaze focusing on your face above his. “Y/N?”

“Yes?”

He shot up to a sitting position before groaning again, his body swaying slightly. You touched his shoulder, urging him to be more considerate of his condition.

Apparently, he was more concerned with your presence than his own well-being. He turned to face you completely, his legs crossed, blue orbs wide. “You ended up here, too?”

You nodded. “Loki arrived before me.”

“Wow…It is so good to see you!” he exclaimed, a boyish grin on his lips as he took in your appearance. “Are you okay? Did Loki look after you?” He paused, lifting an eyebrow. “Why are you dressed like that? That man…the Grandmaster? He didn’t lay a finger on you, did he? If he did, I swear to you, Y/N…”

You lifted your hands, attempting to calm him down. “I’m fine, Thor, really. Loki did watch over me…in his own way…And despite the get-up I am forced to wear, the Grandmaster has done nothing more than leer.” This knowledge seemed to placate the man before you, and he let out a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping.

His attention then shifted from you to the bowl and bloody rag next to it. “Were you caring for me?”

The way he phrased the question sent heat to your face, forcing you to bow your head. “Yes…Although, you did not need much first aid.”

“Regardless, I thank you for it.” He nodded, his calloused fingers brushing against your bare shoulder in a gesture of gratitude.

All was silent for a moment, save the Hulk’s snoring, until Thor parted his lips to speak again, his brows furrowed. “Your eyes are red. Were you crying?”

Slightly embarrassed that he had noticed, you chuckled nervously, still avoiding directly looking at him. “Oh…uh…I was at the match, and at the end, I thought you were, well…”

“Oh…You were watching the fight, then.” His baritone voice seemed flat. “It brings me great joy that you worried so much for me, but, as you can see, thanks to you, I am more than fine.”

“Yes. I seem to forget that you are a god.” You smile, trying not to dwell on his hand, which still rested on your left shoulder. It slid down to your palm, his fingers engulfing it as he brought your skin to his lips.

“Thank you, again. I seem to always find myself indebted to you.” His kiss lingered, and you knew you had to be red from head to toe because of it.

“It’s uh…no problem,” you replied, averting your gaze as his hands slipped from yours.

Thor got to his feet, turning as he took in his environment. “Where are we?”

“This is the Hulk’s room.” You stood, bending down to take the bowl of water from the floor. “He spends most of his time here or training.”

“I see…” he trailed off, heading towards the window. “Do you know how the Hulk got here?”

You met his gaze over his shoulder. “When I asked, he said he flew here.”

“Flew?” he whispered, mindful of the sleeping giant as he turned partially toward you, the sun illuminating the perplexed lines of his face. “How? He can’t fly.”

“I don’t know, honestly. I would assume the quinjet, but…” you shrugged, not quite confident in that assumption. You hadn’t thought to ask Hulk about it, and if it was on this planet, you weren’t sure it was in working conditions. Scavengers had probably dissembled most of it, selling or finding new use for its parts.

“That is very likely…” he said, falling silent as he looked over at Banner. He sighed after a few moments. “I’ll just ask when he wakes. We’ll need his help to escape.”

“He won’t want to,” you informed him, the corners of your mouth falling. “I already asked him if he would help me escape, but even when I begged, he absolutely refused to.”

“What? Why?” Thor’s brow knitted together.

“Well, I think he likes the attention he gets here. You’ve seen how they cheer for him in that coliseum.”

“I will talk to him,” Thor stated gravely, bringing a hand up to his face to stroke his beard. “We’ll need the help of the Valkyrie as well…”

“The Valkyrie?” Your face lit up like a Christmas tree, and you took a step closer to Thor. “They are here?”

He chuckled at your excitement. “One is. She’s actually the one that brought me here…But it won’t be easy to convince her…” His mood deflated as he said this. “She holds an immense amount of hatred towards me.”

“Why is that? From what I’ve read, they fight for Odin.” You shake your head, confused.

“They did…I don’t know what happened,” he exhaled, closing his eyes briefly. “This won’t be easy, but at least I have you on my side…” He trailed off, eyes narrowing as the focused on you.

Heat crawled up your neck as you withstood his intent stare, but it only got worse when he took long, deliberate strides to stand right before you, his hand lifting to touch the small, metal crater that was inserted into your skin. It matched his, and its purpose was no different. Should you act out, you would be punished.

You heard Thor’s sharp intake of breath, his lips pressing into a taut line. “Have they used this?” The tips of his digits caressed the skin near the obedience disk, causing you to unconsciously shiver. You prayed he didn’t notice.

“N-No…I haven’t given them a reason to.”

“Good.” His muscles relaxed, the severity of his expression disappearing some. “This complicates things. I have to find a way to get that off of you.” He withdrew his hand, backing away from you. “How long has he been asleep?”

“Huh? Oh…Hulk? He went to bed just before you woke up.” You blinked, cursing yourself internally for sounding like such a lovesick fool. You’d be beyond shocked if Thor didn’t know the effect he had on you and why.

“Shit…Okay. I’ll wait.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t want to get him any angrier.” He sat down by the window, resting his elbows on his knees. After a few seconds of silence, and you awkwardly standing after putting the bowl down on a table, Thor turned to you. “Come, sit. Tell me of your life since Ultron.”

You gave him a hint of a smile before moving to sit beside him, and he shifted in the seat to face you better. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

Since the Battle of New York, whenever Loki showed up, you weren’t the happiest of campers. You could tolerate him, but you didn’t trust him as far as you could throw him; for good reason, too, because he did try to betray both you and Thor during your escape from Sakaar, just as the God of Thunder had anticipated.

Now, however, as you were attempting to defend yourself against an undead army, you were the happiest you had ever been to see the God of Mischief. You were never a fighter, and maybe with a safe place for the Asgardians, you could actually begin to help those injured.

Loki spotted you immediately, yelling to his people to board the ship before making his way over to you. Once he reached you, he grabbed you by the shoulders. “Thor has told me that you have the power to heal.”

“Well, in a way…” You were about to explain how you had no magical abilities, that your methods were entirely based on medical science, but you decided that now was probably not the time.

“Come.” He wrapped an arm around your torso, fighting his way back to the ship. “I have found a healer!” Loki announced loudly over the sounds of frantic citizens. They made a path for you, allowing you to get aboard the spaceship ahead of many.

As soon as Loki had declared you someone that could help, people were rushing forward with friends and family members, asking for your help. It was very had to do with very limited supplies, but luckily, many were willing to offer up parts of their clothing as bandages. Quite a few people also had jugs of water, similar to canteens, while others had filled them with some form of alcohol.

Despite help from many, you were one woman, and it was very difficult to keep up with the number of patients you were receiving, some far more wounded than others. You tried to prioritize, and it became clear that this was also quite the task. You could not see all your patients at once, so it was hard to determine who was more in need of care than another. You tried your best to recall your training, including the ABCs of prioritization: Airway, Breathing, Circulation.

Finally, a brave Asgardian offered up her services, followed by a few others. You quickly explained what you needed them to do, giving them those that came in with less complicated injuries. With more people helping you out, you moved onto those that were hurt fighting the undead. And, god, you had never seen so much blood…You didn’t typically deal with stab wounds or missing limbs on your unit of the hospital, but, with your knowledge of how the body worked, you knew what you had to do.

The sounds of agonizing screams as you cleaned deep lesions or bound gaping holes would haunt you in your sleep. You were sure of it. Without access to painkillers, it was very difficult to care for those in writhing pain. You would have given them alcohol, and some did ask for it, but you were reserving it for sterilization because it did better than water.

What really killed you, though, was when you were unable to save someone. Their loved ones would be circled around you, and with one look at the patient, you knew, even as an Asgardian, they would not survive. You still did your best, but by then, those around you would realize it, too.

You didn’t have time to mourn with them, to exercise proper family-centered care, as you were taught to do.

Tears would stream down your face as you moved to the next person that needed you, and it didn’t sit well with you. Your own heart would tighten because you didn’t deal with death often–you were in the business of preventing death–and it meant you failed. While the more rationale side of you knew that there was nothing you could have done, your emotions refused to listen.

It made it hard to concentrate, especially with the sounds of war right outside. At some point, thunder had joined the cacophony, and you wondered if Thor had been victorious against Hela. But the fighting would of stopped right? The steady stream of patients would have stopped. It didn’t. You were still overwhelmed.

Why didn’t it stop?

The ship began to move, and your head cleared enough for you to focus again. You had all the time in the world to freak out later.

More people rushed in–the last, you thought and hoped–and you quickly urged a man close to you. “Keep the pressure on his elbow, please!” He just nodded numbly as you got to your feet, shouting above the screams. “If anyone needs medical attention, please come to me!”

And then you were flooded again. More volunteers came forward.

“What is your name?” A man with dark skin and eyes unlike any you had seen came forward, lowering a woman to the ground before you.

“I am Y/N.” The words were hurried from your throat as you ripped some of the woman’s cloak to wrap around the gash on her shoulder. “Hold my hand,” you told her, and she nodded, wrapping her fingers about yours. She squeezed, hard, when you doused her wound with alcohol and then drenched it with water to, hopefully, deaden the alcohol’s effect.

“So you are the one he spoke of,” the man whispered, helping the woman to her feet after you had wrapped her injury. She leaned on him as he stared at you, studying your features. “You are the Midgardian that lifted Thor’s hammer.”

“You know about that?” you asked, a bit breathless as you ripped more of your skirt for bandages.

“Yes. I am Heimdell,” he introduced himself with a small smile. “On behalf of all the Asgardians, I thank you for your help.”

“It is no trouble,” you said before seeing to a man who had lost his arm in battle. On your way to him, shots rang out, and you froze, eyes darting to the man who held two guns, similar to those that you had on Earth. You turned to Heimdell. “We are leaving Asgard?”

“Yes. Thor has asked that we do.”

“But he is still fighting?”

Heimdell gave you a look, one that answered all the questions you had lined up in your head. Your chest constricted, making it impossible to breathe, but you ignored the feeling and marched over to the man that was in need of care.

If Thor died, he would not die in vain. You would save as many of his people as you possibly could.

But, as fate would have it, Thor was on the ship with Valkyrie and the Hulk minutes later, making a ruckus as he called for you. When he saw you, he did not hesitate to take you from whoever you had just finished tending to and bring you into his arms.

“You are well,” he said, chest heaving as he pulled you in closer. He smelled of sweat and blood, but you didn’t care. His hug calmed you in ways you did not understand; after just being through a war, something you had never experienced before, you were moments from falling apart.

You peered up at him, choking on whatever words you had for him when you saw…

“What the fuck happened to your eye!?”

And the blond bastard just let his head fall back, his one remaining eye squeezing closed, as his booming laugh filled your ears.

“There.” You took a step back, exhaling softly as you lowered your arm to your side. “I’ve never had to patch up an eye, but I suppose there is a first time for everything.”

“Yes. I suppose so.” Thor’s lips stretched into a grin, but something about it was fake. How could he smile in such times, when he had been through so much?

You stared at him for a moment, and, evidently, your scrutiny was too much for the god. “What?”

Moving to sit beside him on the bed, you took his hand in both of yours, peering at his face. “How are you?”

“What do you–?”

“This couldn’t have been easy for you. Hell, I’m still having trouble with everything that happened, but you’ve just been through a lot more than I have, Thor. You lost a father, you killed your sister, and your home has been reduced to space dust. And that’s just the main stuff.”

Thor chuckled lightly, but there was nothing cheerful about it. He put his other hand on top of yours, patting it gently. “All that happened, yes, but those are matters I don’t really have the energy to think about. What is really bothering me, is the role I must assume. I have people I have to take care of.”

You nodded, swallowing thickly as his blue eyes captured you, making you unable to look away.

“How do you do it?”

You leaned back in shock, not having expected him to ask you that, of all things. You scoffed, pulling away from him slightly. “I…Wow. Um…Thor, being a king and being a nurse are very different things.”

He shook his head, the wrinkles accompanying his laugh genuine this time. “You are wrong, Y/N. Your training, while not inclusive of the aspects of governing a country, does include the basic thing that a king must have.”

“And what is that?”

“Compassion.”

You giggled despite his seriousness. “Then why are you asking me what you already know?”

And for the first time since he met Valkyrie, you experienced a sight that set your heart aflame: Thor being embarrassed. He bowed his head with a tint of pink to his face. “I suppose you are right…”

“Thor.” You scooted closer to him, meeting his gaze. “You will make a fine king.”

The corners of his mouth lifted as he moved his dominant hand from yours to slowly brush your cheek with his knuckles. “Thank you. For everything. And I am sorry…So very sorry…”

Your breath caught in your throat as Thor sincerely apologized to you, and water blurred your vision of him. “Don’t apologize.” You begged. “Please.”

“Oh, Y/N…” You felt him touch the side of your face, fingers brushing the soft curve of it. “Do not cry.” His voice cracked as he said this.

“You know…” you sniffled, lifting a hand. “I just…I saw a bit what war is like today as well as its casualties…And despite the fact I should have been focused on what I was doing, maybe I would have saved a few more people…”

Thor hushed you, cupping your face in both his large hands, thumbs swiping away the drops that spilled down your skin. “You did more than enough. Asgard thanks you for it.”

“But…all I could think about was how much I didn’t want to lose you…” you sobbed, closing your eyes to avoid seeing his reaction to your confession. “And I know it’s selfish, but I don’t want to go back to Earth and just go on living like this never happened because I won’t be able to…”

Thor’s fingers stilled long before you finished speaking, and when all was silent, save your staggered breathing and the pounding of your blood organ against your chest wall, you felt warmth upon your tear-stained cheeks. Strong arms pulled you into a body that radiated heat, and supple lips brushed against yours.

“I won’t be able to, either.” The words were soft against your mouth as a palm came up to run along your temple. “I need you, too.”

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healthcarefoundationus · 5 years ago

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Living with recurrent C. diff? 5 tips to enjoying the holidays

Just when we all thought it was still March, the holidays have crept up on us. Let’s face it, we could all use a little joy right now to brighten up our holidays. Although the holidays may look different this year, many of us are hoping to keep a few normal traditions. Whether it’s gathering safely with family or enjoying a special meal, if you’re suffering from a recurrent diarrheal condition like C. difficile infection, those things can be anything but normal. Here are 5 tips Dr. Paul Feuerstadt of the PACT Gastroenterology Center in Connecticut recommends to help people with C. diff enjoy the holiday season.

1) Try your best to decompress

The holidays come with their own set of stressors. Gathering for meals with loved ones shouldn’t be one of them. Feuerstadt explains that those living with recurrent C. diff often show greater signs of stress in general, and frequently when it comes to mealtime.

Many C. diff patients often suffer a range of increased emotions which can be further elevated during the holiday season. Whether it’s grief, anger, fear, depression or anxiety, remember the holidays are a time to be kind to one another, including yourself.1

Take some time for yourself. Each day take 10 minutes to relax. Close your eyes and try your best to clear your mind.

Find outlets to help manage your stress and anxiety, such as through yoga, listening to music, reading a good book or just by getting enough sleep (7-8 hours per night).1

Listen to your body. It will tell you when you may need to take a minute for yourself. If the feelings are more intense than you feel you can consistently handle, follow up with your healthcare provider.

2) Don’t try to do it all yourself

The holidays can be a busy time of year. From picking out gifts for loved ones, to decorating the house, those suffering from C. diff can feel overwhelmed easily.

Rather than trying to do everything this year, why not focus on a couple of fun holiday traditions you enjoy? Maybe your one big activity is family baking and you ask a family member to help you decorate cookies. Whatever it may be, remember you don’t need to do it all. Focus your attention on one or two holiday traditions so you’re able to enjoy them to the fullest.

3) Know what’s on the menu

Whether you’re the chef or guest at a holiday dinner, know what’s on the menu. If there are certain foods or ingredients you must avoid, let your host know.

Although no two people are alike, there are foods that C. diff patients should generally avoid, including dairy products with lactose, greasy foods and any foods that may cause bloating (e.g., broccoli, onions, beans).2

Knowing it’s never good to arrive at a holiday gathering empty-handed, consider bringing a dish that you know will keep your gut calm and that you can eat without repercussions.

Remember to consult your healthcare professional for more information on nutritional advice for foods that are best suited for your body type and C. diff infection.

4) Practice health and safety guidelines

Anyone living with recurrent C. diff knows how contagious it is. That’s why it’s important to ensure you maintain standard health and safety measures, such as frequent handwashing. When using the restroom, be sure to always wash your hands with soap and water before touching surfaces such as doorknobs. Please be aware that alcohol-based hand sanitizer will not kill C. diff spores.3,4

Although already top of mind for most, COVID-19 is still on the rise in many parts of the country. Proper handwashing, social distancing and wearing of face coverings is essential for everyone. Many people living with C. diff have already been practicing many of these universal hygiene measures before COVID-19 so this will be less of an adjustment.

COVID-19 has opened the doors to telehealth, making it even easier and more common for people with C. diff to connect with both their local medical providers but also experts across the country who might be able to help. If you feel that you are not well, you should feel free to utilize these modern tools to communicate with providers to get the proper care you need, when you need it.

5) Try a new tradition

2020 has been a year unlike any other. We’ve all had to reimagine the expectation of being “together” and perhaps this year is the time to try a new tradition — like a virtual meal with family and friends who are far away. If you’re a big football fan, you may consider a Zoom football watch party. Or how about a recipe and meal prep virtual gathering? It’s normal for people with C. diff to feel isolated, so try turning social distancing into an opportunity to be more connected without the stress of, “What if I need to get to the bathroom quickly?” Embrace technologies like Zoom to safely connect with loved ones and take this opportunity to spin this constraint into a positive.

Although the holidays this year will look a little different, consider these tips as a guide to safely connect with your loved ones and enjoy this special season. Above all, continue to talk to your healthcare provider about your symptoms, and potential treatments. There have been a number of important advancements in therapies for recurrent C. diff that may help people feel better and lead better lives.

About C. diff:

Clostridioides difficile (C. diff) is a type of bacteria that can cause diarrhea, fever, abdominal pain, nausea, colitis, and in more serious cases, shock and death. According to the CDC, it’s estimated to cause almost half a million illnesses in the United States each year.5 After initial C. diff infection, up to 35% of patients may experience symptoms again, also known as recurrent C. diff infection.6

To learn more about the power of the microbiome and if it can be unlocked to break the cycle of recurrent C. diff infection, visit http://www.powerofmicrobiome.com/ and on Twitter, follow @FerringUSA.

This piece is sponsored by Ferring Pharmaceuticals, a research-driven, specialty biopharmaceutical group committed to helping people around the world build families and live better lives.

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source https://healthcarefoundation.co.uk/living-with-recurrent-c-diff-5-tips-to-enjoying-the-holidays/

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daisy-chain-gardens · 8 years ago

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Exchange Romance - Part 4

Part 1: https://daisy-chain-gardens.tumblr.com/post/162913902685/exchange-romance

Part 2: https://daisy-chain-gardens.tumblr.com/post/162947052535/exchange-romance-part-2

Part 3: https://daisy-chain-gardens.tumblr.com/post/163574533070/exchange-romance-part-3

A/N: Hey guys! I had a lot of trouble writing this part and I’m not that happy with how it turned out but I hope you guys like it! A huge thanks to @marieherondalebookfangirl for being super supportive and enthusiastic about this story and also for giving me the song ideas for this part. The songs mentioned are ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go’ by Wham! and ‘Northern Wind’ by City and Colour. Please let me know what you think.

Summary: Betty and Jughead’s first school dance together

Word Count: 4450

As soon as Fred let him take a break from lifting rocks, Jughead all but ran into the break room to grab his phone and text hid doe eyed girlfriend an apology for disappearing so early that morning. He’d wanted to wake her up to say goodbye but he couldn’t do it. She’d looked so peaceful, such a contrast to how he’d found her the morning before. A small smile played on her lips and Jughead found himself wondering what dreams were gracing her with their presence at this time of the morning. He’d pushed a stray strand of her golden hair behind her ear before kissing her gently on the forehead, lips soft so as not to pull her away from her dreams. He had left her a note, explaining his mysterious absence, but he still felt bad. In true Betty fashion, she’d been the one to text him first. Thank you, Jughead. His whole being seemed brighter with his goofy smile. She’d read his letter.

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

The Saturday after Betty’s birthday, Betty and Jughead were sitting on an armchair in the Lodge’s library. The blonde was sitting on her boyfriend’s lap as his voice filled the cozy room. His arms were wrapped around her as he held the book in front of them, reading aloud from the ink covered pages as Betty played with the hair that had fallen from his beanie. They stayed that way for a long time, interrupted in the middle of the afternoon by the sound of a phone ringing. Betty pulled hers out of her pocket and answered the call before she realised who it was.

“Elizabeth! Nice of you to finally pick up.” The harsh sound of her mother’s voice pulled Betty out of the dream-like state that Jughead’s voice had lulled her into.

“Mum. I wasn’t expecting you to call. Is everything alright?” Betty sounded slightly concerned as she tried to move off of Jughead’s lap before her mother could see him.

“Everything is fine Elizabeth, why wouldn’t it be? I was just wondering what your plans were for this weekend. Hermione emailed me that there was some sort of school dance you were hoping to attend,” Alice’s eyebrows raised in question. Betty let out the breath she was holding when her mum didn’t ask who she was with.

“Yes, mum. I’m going with Ju-, I’m going with some friends.” She wasn’t technically lying since she was going to the dance with Ronnie and Archie as well. She didn’t want to tell her mother about Jughead because she knew exactly how she would react. She would start by talking about how disappointed she was in her youngest daughter, say something about how Betty was going to end up like Polly (not that Betty saw this as a bad thing), rant about how she was letting herself get distracted at such an important time of her life, and then threaten to get her sent back to New Zealand. Betty had heard this speech countless times; whenever she got a mark less than an excellence or was too busy to fulfill all of her commitments, her mother would bring out the speech. Betty would sit there quietly, pushing her nails into her palm to prevent her from yelling at her mother and making the situation worse. She didn’t want to have to deal with that over Skype, thousands of kilometers away from her sister, the only one who could make her feel better. Betty ignored the quizzical look that Jughead was giving her in favour of looking down at the rich carpet under her feet.

“Well be careful, Elizabeth. I don’t want you out too late, you know how difficult it is to hide the bags under your eyes when you don’t sleep for eight hours.” Betty tried not to roll her eyes at her mother’s comment. Jughead observed the conversation from the chair, not having moved since Betty left his lap minutes ago. Betty had told him that her mother was a bit overbearing at sometimes but he found himself oddly jealous. Here she was, on the other side of the world from her parents but they still made an effort to worry about her wellbeing. Sure, they may have gone slightly overboard but he would take more over less anyday. His Dad lived in the same town as him but Jughead couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a conversation with him, much less bugged him about his sleep patterns. Jughead stood up out of the chair and mimed to Betty that he was going to grab a drink of water as her mother babbled on about a new diet she had been researching.

“Is there someone there with you Elizabeth?” Betty’s eyes widened with shock and Jughead froze mid stride.

“Umm, yeah, mum. This is my um, this is my friend Jughead.”

“Hi Mrs. Cooper. It’s nice to meet you.” Jughead tried to put on his most charming smile as he walked over to Betty so he could be seen on the tiny screen. Betty could hear the discomfort in his voice and placed a hand on his back, moving it in small circles.

“Jughead? That’s an … interesting name. Are you going to be taking Betty to the school dance this weekend,” Alice asked, as if this was a normal thing to bring up in conversation.

“Yes Mrs. Cooper. Well, Veronica, Archie, Betty and I are all going together,” replied Jughead, remembering Betty’s response earlier. His girlfriend sent him a grateful smile as she continued to rub his back. He placed him hand on her thigh and squeezed gently.

“Elizabeth, you never told me you were going with boys. I’m not sure how I feel about this, maybe you should stay at home and work on that science project you told me you were struggling with.” Jughead had to fight back a laugh. Betty struggling with a project? Not only was that idea absurd, he happened to know that she’d finished that project a week ago, the day after it was assigned. He kept his mouth shut but made a mental note to ask her about her it later.

“Mum, really it’s fine. Archie is going out with V so there’s going to be absolutely no problem there and Jughead and I are … we’re just friends. I’m sure he’ll be the perfect gentlemen. “ She looked over at he boyfriend and had to refrain from kissing the shy smile right off his face.

“Yes, I’m sure he will be Elizabeth but you know how I feel about dances, especially after what happened to Polly.” Jughead noticed Betty’s hand holding the phone tightening, knuckles turning white. He squeezed her thigh again and she relaxed slightly. Jughead could tell that Betty was on edge and he wanted to comfort her, but he also didn’t want to piss off Alice. He found her intimidating enough as it is and he was pretty sure she was trying to be polite.

“It’ll be fine Mum. Besides, I thought that you wanted me to get the full american high school experience. This dance is just a part of that. I promise not to stay out late. I won’t drink or do drugs or whatever other wild things you seem to think happen at school dances. I’m going to this dance mother, with or without your permission.” Betty’s voice had started out a bit shaky after the mention of her sister but by the end of it, Alice’s mouth was open in shock.

“Elizabeth Cooper, that is no way to talk to your mother. You’re getting more and more like Po-”

“Gotta go mum, bye!” Betty said quickly while clicking that small red button. She let out a huge sigh before embracing Jughead in a tight hug. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” she whispered into his chest. Jughead wrapped his arm around his girlfriend, noting how small and tired she looked, a complete contrast to how she’d looked while he was reading. He scooped her up in his arms.

“Do you want me to keep reading?” he asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the tired atmosphere present in the large room. She nodded in response as he walked over to the chair and settling them into their previous position.

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

“B, you know I love you, but there's no way you’re wearing that to a school dance. Or anywhere. Ever.” Ronnie pulled the grey dress from Betty’s arms and threw it swiftly into the bin.

“I know but I wasn’t exactly thinking about school dances when I was packing my suitcase so now I have nothing to wear,” Betty groaned as she flopped onto her bed dramatically.

“You must have forgotten who you’re talking B. It’s lucky we’re almost the same size.” Betty opened her mouth to protest but her raven haired host sister was already out of the room. Veronica returned moments later, arms piled high with dresses of all shapes and colours. She couldn’t help herself, the blonde reached out a hand to touch the mountain of fabric.

“Oh my goodness, these are gorgeous V! I love them all but, knowing you, you’ve probably already picked one out for me,” she chuckled. Ronnie reached for a silvery blue dress that was hidden in the middle of the pile.

“Of course, I saw this in my wardrobe and instantly thought of you. Go try it on, I’ll wait here.” She took the dress from Ronnie’s grasp and walked into the bathroom. The fabric was soft under her fingers and seemed to sparkle under the fluorescent lights. She slipped it on before walking back into her room.

“Hey V can you help zi-” she didn’t even get the chance to finish her sentence before Veronica had jumped up from her spot on the bed.

“Oh my god! B! That dress looks like it was made for you. Jughead is going to have a heart attack when he sees you,” Ronnie gushed as she pulled the zip up Betty’s back, closing the dress while pushing her over towards the mirror. Betty gasped. She looked … elegant, sophisticated. She looked different. But she liked it.

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

On Saturday, Betty felt like a queen. She’d been to dances before but it had never felt like such a big deal. Various people were coming in and out of the apartment to help the girls get ready. Hermione was even present for a while to get her nails done for an event she was going to that night. Many hours later, the doorbell rang. Hermione floated over and opened the door.

“Hello boys, looking very handsome tonight,” she commented, stepping aside to allow the boys into the apartment.

“Thanks Mrs. Lodge. Are the girls ready?” Archie asked politely.

“They should be out in a minute. Now, Hiram and I are flying to New York for an event tonight so we won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be checking in with Veronica though and I expect her and Betty to be home at midnight, alright? Have a good night.” And with that she was gone, leaving the boys all alone in the large apartment, waiting for their girlfriends.

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

“I’m pretty sure I just heard the door.”

“It’ll just be the boys, Betty. Nobody ever got hurt from a little bit of suspense,” Ronnie smirked before fixing up her lipstick. While Veronica looked like the definition of confidence, Betty couldn’t sit still. Her knee was bouncing up and down impatiently while her long nails kept running through the ends of her wavy hair.

“Ok, perfect,” Ronnie said to her reflection. “You ready to knock ‘em dead?” She raised a perfect eyebrow after turning around to face the nervous blonde. “B, breathe. You look incredible and is Jughead’s jaw isn’t on the floor when he sees you I will personally kick his ass.” Betty smiled slightly at the thought of her host sister kicking anyone’s ass let alone Jughead’s. She stood up off the bed and followed Veronica into the living room.

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

The boys stood up off the couch at the sound of two sets of heels walking down the long hallway. The girls burst through the door in a fit of laughter, heads thrown back carelessly as if they were unaware that they had company. Ronnie strutted over to Archie, greeting him with a kiss and a flashy smile, wrapping her arms around his neck. Betty was stuck in the doorway. Her feet wouldn’t move. Jughead was breathtaking. His beanie was nowhere to be found and his dark hair hung messily around his face. His tie was made of the same silvery blue material of her dress but his smile was what really stopped her in her tracks. It was shy and sweet and so perfectly Jughead.

He’d noticed that she wasn’t moving but he couldn’t either. She always looked beautiful but tonight was something different. Her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders and her eyes looked more lighter than normal. She moved towards him and Jughead could have sworn she was walking in slow motion. When Betty finally reached him she kissed him softly on the cheek.

“Hi Juggie. You look really good,” she whispered in his ear, arms around his neck.

“You look gorgeous Betts,” he whispered back, feeling the heat of her blush against his cheek. Once again, Veronica’s voice interrupted them.

“Ok ok, we get it, you both look amazing but we need to go, Smithers is late,” she stated, turning on her heel and walking out the door.

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

Even though she knew that this was the same gym she had P.E in every day, Betty couldn’t help feeling like she’d walked onto a movie set. She’d helped organise dances for her school in New Zealand but they were never anything like this. Fairy lights were draped along the walls and the hung from the ceiling, making the gym feel soft and cozy. White flowers sat in the middle of the elegant tables as fake snow floated around the room. Jughead watched Betty’s awe with a smile on his face, her childish reaction reminding him of their snowball fight the week before.

“Do they always look like this?” Betty asked as she continued to look around the room.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never actually been to a school dance before,” Jughead answered with a shrug. “But Cheryl is always in charge of decorations so probably. She’s a bit of a perfectionist so everything she does is above and beyond.” He squeezes her hand and sends her a small smile.

“Well I think it looks incredible. School dances in New Zealand are a bit more about how many guys you can get with and who can sneak in the most alcohol. They definitely don’t look like this,” she giggled, still awestruck by her surroundings.

“Just because we’ve got fake snow doesn’t mean that people aren’t trying to get drunk,” Jughead smirked.

“Of course, silly me. Guess we won’t be drinking the punch then,” she said in mock disappointment.

“Haha, we’re not that cliche. Do you want to go and find Ron and Arch and grab a seat? I don’t really know how we’re supposed to act at these things.” A shy blush reddened his cheek. Betty reached over and grabbed his other hand, forcing him to face her. “Juggie, I don’t care that you’ve never been to a school dance before, although I don’t understand why if they all look like this,” she jokes. “Just try to relax and have fun, ok?” His small smile answers her question as she lets go of one of his hands, using the other one to drag him over to where Ronnie and Arch were jumping up and down in the middle of the gym.

“I think I see a spare table over there, want me to take you scarf?” Jughead yelled to be heard over the music. Betty nodded and passed him her scarf, wishing that he would stay and dance but understanding that this wasn’t really his scene. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before disappearing into the crowd of students.

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

Jughead had figured he would stay at the table for the rest of the night under the guise of watching his friend’s coats but once he’d walked over to the table, the only thing he wanted to do was go back and be with Betty. She looked so beautiful tonight and he didn’t want to be away from her for another second. He spotted the metallic fabric of her dress shining from the middle of the crowd, making her look like a real life snowflake among the fairy lights and the snow. He made his way through the mess of bodies singing Wham! off key.

Wake me up before you go-go

Don’t you dare to leave me hangin’ on like a yo-yo

The raven haired boy rolled his eyes and cringed simultaneously. Of course they’re playing this at a school dance. They couldn’t possibly play music that people can listen to without having to worry about their ear drums bursting. As he was pushing through the sea of limbs, the screeching faded out, replace by a slower melody which didn’t leave Jughead wanting to stab himself repeatedly.

You’re the Northern wind

Sending shivers down my spine

You’re like fallen leaves

In an autumn night

His eyes locked with Betty’s and he was frozen for the second time that night. Jughead swore she was even more breathtaking than she had been since she saw him five minutes ago. She was the first one to move, again, gliding towards him without breaking eye contact. Betty reached her boyfriend after what felt like a lifetime, stopping only inches away from him.

“May I have this dance?” Jughead questioned with a small bow, bringing his face right in front of hers, allowing Betty to get lost in his piercing blue eyes.

“I guess you may,” she giggled into a slow curtsy before standing up and wrapping her arms around his neck. He placed his hands gently on her hips, pulling her into his chest. They started swaying back and forth in time to the ballad, eyes saying all of the words they couldn’t.

You’re the lullaby

That’s singing me to sleep

You ar the other half

You’re like a missing piece

Betty let out a small sigh, causing Jughead to pull away slightly to look down at her angelic face.

“Everything alright Betts?” Jughead’s voice was laced with worry, his brow furrowing.

“Never been better,” she replied with a smile, pulling herself back towards her boyfriend before standing up on her toes to place a soft kiss on his lips.

Fireworks. As cliche as it sounds, that’s the only word that seems to come close to describing how Jughead felt when Betty kissed him. His hands move from her waist to cup her face before he could give a second thought to where they are. Her fingers start to play with the curly hairs on the back of his neck as her smile grows wider against his lips. Betty had only kissed a couple of boys before but none of them had ever made her feel like this. Her knees were going weak with pleasure as he deepened the kiss further, his thumb slowly rubbing along her cheekbone before running through her hair.

Oh my love

You don’t know

What you do to me

Someone bumped into Betty’s back, forcing her to jump away from Jughead in shock. She blinked a few times, eyes wide, almost as if she was waking up from a dream. Jughead’s face was still warped into a warm smile at the sight of her like this; hair tousled from his touch, lipstick smudged from his lips, and eyes dark with desire. She looked different, sexy.

“After that I don’t know why I haven’t come to more school dances,” he smirked, earning him a playful punch on the arm. He rubbed with a fake frown on his face, playing along with Betty’s games.

“Trust me, it’s not always like that,” her voice dripping with desire as she stepped back into her boyfriend's, arms returning to their position around his neck in an attempt to continue dancing.

You are all four seasons

Rolled into one

You're like the cold December snow

In the warm July sun

“You really are something else Betts, you know that?” Jughead whispered as they swayed to the beat. Betty let her head rest on his chest, smiling as she remembered the first time he said those words to her. It felt like yesterday and a lifetime ago all at the same time. So much had changed in such a short amount of time but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You wanna get out of here Juggie?” Betty asked, lifting her head from his chest to meet his eyes.

“There’s nothing I’d like more,” he grinned as he reached for her hand, slowly pulling her toward the open door.

Oh my love

You don’t know

What you do to me

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

The bell over the door rang softly throughout the diner, signalling the arrival of the two new customers. Veronica and Archie slid into their usual booth across from their friends, milkshake glasses and burger wrappers already empty.

“What caused you two lovebirds to leave so early?” Ronnie asked, eyebrows raised as she stole a fry from the basket in front of Betty.

“We just weren’t really in the mood,” the blonde replied nonchalantly, flashing a knowing grin at Jughead.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” Veronica said dramatically. “We’ll have girl talk later B.” Betty’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of red at what her host sister was inferring.

“Any chance you guys are in the mood for a movie?” Said Archie, changing the subject, causing Betty to send him a grateful look.

“Do you even need to ask?” Jughead replied, already standing up to help Betty climb out of the red booth.

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

Ronnie ended up choosing ‘The Notebook’ as the movie of the night, then falling asleep ten minutes in.

“Not only is she punishing us by making us watch this overworked cliche, she doesn’t even have enough decency to stay awake and listen to me complaining,” Jughead mumbled into Betty’s ear from where he was sitting beside her.

“I’m going to let Ronnie sleep in my bed because she’ll probably kill me if I let her sleep on the couch. Don’t stay up too late Jug,” Archie called out as he started carrying his girlfriend up the stairs.

“Oh how the tables turn,” Jughead quipped, his redheaded friend laughing as he walked out of view. “So Betts,” his grin widening, “whaddya wanna watch?” He changed his voice into the awful accent Betty had only had the displeasure of hearing once before. She cringed before replying.

“Really Jug? All of this time hanging out with me and you’re still doing that awful semi-australian accent. Guess we’ll just have to talk more,” Betty said in mock disappointment and she snuggled into Jughead’s side.

“Or we could do some not talking,” he suggested playfully, leaning down to plant soft kisses on her neck.

“Jug! Stop! That tickles!” She squealed, squirming under his mouth. His eyes twinkled as his long fingers danced across her sides, leaving her giggling and squealing under him. She quickly pressed her lips up to his, surprising him into stilling his fingers. She pushed him off her and kissed him again, this time lingering long enough to take in the sweet smell that could only be described as purely Jughead. “You want to keep watching this? I can’t be bothered moving,” Betty confessed, eyes already trained on the screen.

“Anything for you Betts,” Jughead whispered into her hair before leaving a soft kiss on the top of her head. “Only for you.”

The last thing remembers seeing is Noah and Ally rowing in the rain, before closing her eyes and eventually feeling heavy tears falling on her head.

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

Fred Andrews lumbered down the stairs early in the morning, far too early to be walking around without caffeine in his system. He’d done this so many times that he stumbled through the living room with his eyes closed, reaching the kitchen and blindly reaching for the on switch on the coffee machine. The beverage was eventually hot and Fred poured half of it into his mug, taking a giant gulp before finally opening his eyes and plodding back into the living room to watch the news before he had to head off to the construction site.

He stopped in the doorway before rubbing his eyes, hard, to make sure he wasn’t still asleep. There on the couch lay Betty and Jughead, sound asleep and wrapped up in each other’s arms, both still wearing their clothes from last night. Fred rolled his eyes before turning on the tTV at full volume. Betty jumped up at the noise, bumping her head on Jughead’s chin. His eyes eyes opened slowly until he saw Fred standing over them. Betty was already sitting up, hands smoothing the front of her dress and trying to tame her hair discreetly.

“Morning guys. How was the dance?” Fred asked the pair nonchalantly, taking another gulp of coffee from the steaming mug in his hand.

“It was um, it was good thanks.” Jughead said nervously, running a hand through his hair and wishing he was wearing his beanie. “Hey, um look, Fred, about all this-”

“Jug, calm down. I’m not gonna ground you or anything but just be careful ok? Don’t rush into anything you’re not ready for.” Betty’s face had turned the colour of Archie’s hair and Jughead was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Anyways, by the looks of you two that was punishment enough so I’m just gonna head off to work. Oh, and we’re out of milk.” Fred left his coffee mug on the coffee table and was grabbing his coat as the door opened slowly. Archie stepped through it, closing it softly to reduce the sound of the lock closing. He tiptoed towards the stairs as his dad turned the corner, slamming right into him. “Oh hey Dad, um , I was just, um, at the store, ah, getting some milk for breakfast.”

Jughead chuckled from his spot on the couch, noting how stupid Archie’s lie was considering it was five in the morning and he was still wearing his tuxedo from the night before. Fred obviously noted his son’s attire, and his lack of milk, before letting out a huge sigh and walking out the door. Archie looked at the giggling pair on the couch.

“What?”

#exchange romance #bughead fanfiction #bughead fluff #betty cooper #jughead jones #veronica lodge #archie andrews #fred andrews #cheryl blossom #hermione lodge #hiram lodge

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shatteredskies042 · 8 years ago

Text

NaNo Day 6: Ambush

“The Security Council will never go for it,” the general stated.

“Don’t need them to, you would be one of the people we’d be accountable to.”

“You are talking completely off the books then,” the general noticed, leaning back in his chair. “I assume you have the infrastructure to support them?”

Michael smiled, another part of the idea being tested and coming to fruition: “The hardware the teams carry is organic to them, they supply their own weapons and gear, I can arrange to get our hands on other pieces of equipment as needed. As for transport, I’m going to get our hands on some aircraft to leave at staging areas for the teams. As for pay, we can arrange extra on top of their duty and hazard pay.”

“How will they be deployed?” the general asked next, returning to his position leaned on the desk. “Rapid deployment was something that made BLACK so effective.”

“It was,” Michael agreed, “however, our setup wasn’t perfect with travel time. If we had a situation in the United States or Asia, it would be quite a while before we could get on the ground.” It had cost lives before, both knew. “So, we alleviate the problem by keeping teams staged all around the world.”

“Explain.”

“Say you give me a team, General,” he said, “after briefings, some special training, and the first operation we need to run, they return to Russia. We get an aircraft and stage it from a front company, the aircraft having a full kit for the team onboard, ready to go. Now, say we get a mission in this team’s AO. They mount their aircraft, and deploy to the area. Flight time to time on the ground, maybe five hours from the go order.”

“Opposed to BLACK based out of a single location and having to fly everywhere,” the Russian noted. “It works for rapid deployment.”

“It does,” Michael promised, “and we would rush other teams to the site, too. So, while they would be alone on the ground for a short while, they would not be without backup forever.”

“It is a good concept, Mister Haghn,” the general smiled. “What about practicalities of deployment in these countries, I’m certain quite a few governments would be opposed to having Russian-flagged troops on their soil.”

“I’ll be providing uniforms to the troops: Better than what you have, neutrally flagged and deniable,” he told the general. “As for countries, we’ll be asking for forgiveness rather than permission.”

The Russian laughed heartily, “Americans,” he shook his head good naturedly, “but, it worked with BLACK. What about intelligence and finding these threats?”

“I’ve got access to a fairly powerful intelligence network. Nothing like what SVR can offer, or the NSA and CIA. But we can establish backdoors into those agencies and hope they give us tips when asked. We’ll stop both conventional threats, and nonconventional ones, as well.”

“I do not want to know what an unconventional threat is, but I would trust you to deal with it,” the Russian smiled at his once protege. “What about the decision to act? Who decides what operations you take?”

“The command staff will,” he said smoothly, the command staff being just him and Ally for the time being. “And we’ll take it to the regional director for approval. So, say again you invest troops and resources in us, and because I trust you, sir. You’d be named the director of Eastern Europe, and you would be kept apprised of all situations in your area.”

“I would have to greenlight operations in my area?” The general asked.

“Yes, sir.”

The general nodded, looking to Michael. “I cannot officially dedicate the troops, materiel and assets of the Russian Federation to the control of a private citizen, less so to a suspected war criminal presumed dead,” he said with a note of sadness in his voice: “But, Team Zephyr could use a vacation,” he smiled slyly.

“Won’t be very relaxing,” Michael grinned, before he looked at one of the pictures on the general’s drink table. “I’ll give them a chance to walk away,” he said quietly. The picture his eyes bored into was taken in Chechnya, everyone in the group wearing a balaclava to hide their identities. Every face he remembered, every story: taken the night they had captured the Ayatollah of Iran, fleeing his ruined nation after starting a war with the West. “Some of the troops may have an ideological issue to what we’re doing, and I only want willing volunteers.”

“Understandable,” the general agreed: “who else are you going to visit? I’m certain you’ll need more than just one Spetsnaz team.”

“I’m going to visit a few other veterans from BLACK,” Michael stated, “my partner, Allyson, is also looking for allies.”

“Not telling me who you are going to be working with?” the general asked with a hint of amusement.

“Deniability.”

“I understand,” General Smirnov confirmed, standing and offering Michael his hand: “are we going to set up secure communications?”

“I’ll have it arranged,” he promised, taking the older man’s hand to shake. “Thank you for your support, comrade general.”

“Thank you for coming back from the dead,” the general replied. “This new force, what is it to be called?”

Michael smirked, “figuring out the logistics and deployments are much easier than figuring out a name,” he told the general.

The Russian laughed as he came around the desk, showing Michael to the trap door out of the office. “Lieutenant! Gather your team and meet me in the conference room,” he shouted into the empty office, leading Michael to the location. The general waved Michael to the head of the table, taking a seat at his right side.

The gesture was something unexpected, giving him the reins over the meeting and of the room. Unprecedented for the vaunted Russian leader. Michael accepted uneasily, sitting in the plush office chair and looking at the Russian operators as they all entered the room and sat down. The only one missing was the door guard. The team was almost exclusively male, except for the team leader sitting across from the general on Michael’s left. She had short red hair and blue eyes, possessing the same gaunt facial features as the weathered Russian general. Fitting, as the lieutenant was the daughter of General Smirnov.

Michael laid out the plan, and answered many of the same questions that the general had asked. Then from one of the team came the hard questions: “what is this first operation?”

Michael sighed deeply, putting his cards on the table: “I won’t bore you with the politics, but a war is going to come to me soon. The archangels have decided to eliminate someone very close to me, and they intend to bring an army to kill them and anyone in their way. I will not allow that to happen.”

“Sounds like a suicide mission,” the lieutenant noted, “sounds like fun.”

“This is your chance to back out,” Michael told them, dead serious: “before things get too serious, before the bullets start flying. The angels will want to kill you, and you will end up on Heaven’s shit list for standing with me.”

“Sounds like fun,” the younger Smirnov repeated: “I’m in.”

The sentiment around the table was similar, a handful refused on religious grounds, but he still had a team of Spetsnaz operators.

“Lieutenant Smirnov, gather your gear and troops,” Michael ordered at the end of the meeting. He gave the location of a city near Goddess Island they could fly to, and asked them to wait until he contacted them again.

The Russians seemed enthusiastic, it seemed. As Michael returned to his vehicle and started to drive back to the safehouse, he wondered about how Allyson was doing in her own negotiations for manpower. They had discussed something like this before, and now it was becoming a reality.

Mentally, he reached out over the bonds they shared to contact the blonde: How’s it going, Ally? Michael asked her.

The first group I met with flat out refused, I’m waiting to meet with the alphas of a few wolf packs now. They’re taking their sweet time.

Need me there? He offered, retracing his path back to the barn.

No, I don’t. How did things go in Moscow?

I have a team of Spetsnaz and intelligence support. General Smirnov is also willing to make introductions to a few trustworthy players in his inner circle to assist us further.

Just be careful with who you let in, fully.

Always, he promised as he spotted the barn. I’ve almost dropped the car off, mind if I get a portal to you? Michael asked, not wanting to waste any time and get to the next meeting.

If I’m not in the middle of meeting with the Alphas, sure.

Michael fell silent, knowing she would find him when ready. He pulled into the barn again, hid the keys, and recovered the vehicle with the cover he had found it with. He knew she could find him easy, the same bonds that allowed them to telepathically communicate would allow her to find him anywhere in the world with pinpoint precision. It had come in handy a few times, saved both of their lives. Leaning on the exterior wall of the barn, Michael waited for the portal to come. His air shimmered in the night air, and he looked out over the lights of Moscow in the distance.

“You’re not going to be able to save her.”

A voice rang out behind him, and in a blur Michael was on a knee with his weapon drawn and aimed at the threat. It was Gabriel again, standing between the farmhouse and the barn. “I beg to diff-”

Michael never got to finish his sentence. He was lurched into a portal, the sudden violence of it causing bile to rise in his throat as he fought to contain his nausea. Everything was black for a moment, until the world came back into view. He was kneeling in a forest now, the loud clang of metal on metal ringing through the woods. He looked around taking in his surroundings as everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Golden armored angels swung various weapons at humans or wolves, presumably lycans. His blue eyes traveled over and found Allyson, dodging attacks and kiting along a trio of angels intent on attacking her.

War was on, right now.

Time began to speed back up to normal, and Michael with it. He rose from his position and extended his arms, tracking his targets. He aligned the sights on one near Ally, and slowly stroked the trigger, sending a round into the back of his head. The aggressors did not seem to be wearing helmets, a critical factor that would have kept them alive. Traversing to a second targeting Ally, Michael shot him through the temple, before Ally cut down the third.

Footsteps to his left, and Michael rolled backwards quickly enough that the incoming spear only met soft dirt and grass instead of flesh. This one wore a helmet, but the seams of his armor could be seen and exploited. Michael stepped forward and fired, holding the weapon close to his chest, sending a round into the angel’s armored back. The force of the impact drove the being to the dirt, and Michael finished with a shot into the back of the neck.

“Michael, sword!” Ally called out, drawing his eyes up to her. A sword was in flight, headed for him. The soldier stepped over the body of his freshest kill, and fired over Allyson’s shoulder. She did not flinch as the pair of .45 rounds blazed over her shoulder and into the face of an angel approaching her back.

Michael reached out and wrapped his left hand around the hilt, the grip and weight familiar to him: the sword belonged to Ally, one of the three weapons bound to her. “What happened?” Michael asked, walking to her.

“Ambush. We were set up,” the blonde said, her own sword dissolving and her bow and quiver coming to her body. “We need to kill the rest, before they kill the alphas.”

In response, Michael turned and fired twice into the back of one attacking a wolf, staggering him. This allowed the werewolf to maul his aggressor, and Michael shifted to a new target. At least a dozen remained, in various stages of engagement with the others. A pair peeled off to run at Michael and Ally, one felled quickly by Ally’s archery talents.

Michael stepped forward to meet the other aggressor, bringing the sword up in his off hand to block the incoming strike. He deflected the attack, and spun into the angel’s chest, bringing his pistol up in the other and sticking it under the angel’s chin. A crack and wet splatter came when he squeezed the trigger, and the attacker fell, lifeless.

Michael looked to Allyson, engaging another pair of attackers at range with her bow, and behind her was another pair of angels fighting with a single lycan.

He took off in a sprint towards this pair, seeing how dire the fight was for the outnumbered lycan alpha. He raised his pistol as he ran, firing twice into the back of the closest angel. The impacts staggered him, and caused his partner to look towards the sound of gunfire. This opportunity allowed the lycan to attack the distracted one, and while Michael would have prefered that they retreat, that was the card being played.

Michael did not halt his charge as the angel he shot turned to him, counter charging the human. The soldier slowed, bringing his weapon back in and steadying his shot, taking the last shot in his magazine right into the right eye of the marauding angel. He looked over at the other angel and the lycan, embroiled in nail to fang combat, and it was quite obvious the lycan was losing. Michael dropped his pistol and charged, knowing that there werewolf would not appreciate his action, but thank him anyway.

He leaped into a tackle, and shouldered the sizable lycan out of the fight. The two rolled across the ground, and Michael recovered faster. The attacker stood, angel metal blade in hand as he approached and swung at Michael. The soldier swung the sword not to deflect the strike, but to sever the arm facilitating the attack. Allyson’s own angel metal-edged sword cut through the being like butter, the knife and a part of his arm falling to the ground as the angel fell to his stomach. Michael stepped away, and looked over to Allyson, who had an arrow knocked in her bow drawn on the wounded angel. He held up a hand, stopping her, “help them,” he told the blonde, pointing at the lycan.

Ally reluctantly lowered her weapon with a confused look, and on her approach walk picked up his pistol and returned it to him. Michael reloaded the weapon and crouched, rolling the angel moaning in pain over.

“Kill me,” he seethed through clenched teeth.

“I’ve got a better option,” Michael offered. “I won’t make it worse, but only if you return to Heaven and tell them exactly what happened here.”

“You should just kill me,” the angel stated, almost pleading.

“I probably should,” Michael agreed, “but I’m not. Go to Heaven, and tell everyone what happened here today. You’ll save quite a few angel lives, if you can get them to back down and back off their war on me and Allyson. You can do that, or,” Michael shrugged and stood. “You can bleed out and die here, and soon enough you’ll be joined by plenty of your brethren. We’re done here.” He walked away, joining Allyson. “How is everyone?”

“There were a few injuries when the ambush happened, I think one of the alphas is dead,” she shook her head. “One is missing.”

“The rat.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking,” the blonde agreed as she looked up at him, then at the others around them. “If you need to be convinced further, look around,” she told the others as she looked at each in turn. “If you want to stand against them, you know where to find me,” Ally stated, before lowering his voice privately to him, “let’s get out of here.”

A swirling portal opened, and both stepped through it to the living room of the Institute. In the quiet of their home, Ally turned and slipped her arms around his neck the moment the portal dissipated. “I was worried they went after you, too,” she whispered.

Michael returned the gesture and embraced the blonde, “Gabriel taunted me right before you used the tags,” he told her softly, “he can’t go after the team I recruited, not without exposing himself.”

“I already can’t wait for this war to be done,” she continued, holding to him.

“I know, Ally,” he whispered. “The next few, let’s go together?” He offered her. “If the angels want to make another move, they have to deal with the both of us,” he smirked.

She smiled to him, pulling away and looking up at him. “Sounds like a good idea,” she agreed.

“You’ll get to meet two of the people who trained me, back when I was in the military,” he promised her.

“Do you need anything from here?” she asked, still holding to his arms as she pulled back.

“I just want to grab a fresh mag to replace the one I shot off,” he told her, pulling away and running to the nearest armory. Michael returned a moment later with a loose round and a new magazine, feeding the round into a magazine after loading the first in the barrel of his USP. “Ready, who’s next?”

“We’re going to New York to pay a visit to the the highest coven of witches in America,” she told him, conjuring another portal. “After you,” she smirked.

The portal terminated in an alley, a light rain falling over the city as they emerged from the portal. Ally took his hand and lead him into the street, the two merging into the street traffic easily.

Words: 3,034

Total: 9,432

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