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Right now, I'm decently sure that Galadriel is somehow going to succumb to Sauron's temptation at the end of Season 2.
I've been listening to the Season 2 track on repeat for pretty much the last 24 hours (and loving it) and the Last Temptation track has me thinking thoughts.
First, we know that there is going to be a confrontation between Galadriel and Sauron in the S2 finale, and Charlie has indicated in interviews that Sauron still thinks he can win Galadriel over and he hasn't given up on pitching his King and Queen idea to her. So, there's definitely going to be some sort of Temptation 2.0.
Second, I think whatever Galadriel is going to face is going to be ten times harder for her to resist than the S1 finale. I think this for two reasons. Firstly, in S1, Galadriel in a way had surprise and rage on her side. The fresh feeling of betrayal, the horror of the realization of what she's done, and her long-festering pure hatred for Sauron were all present and, in a way, I think made it easier for her to turn him down in the moment (though I still think she was tempted). This season however, she's going to have the entire season to marinate in all her feelings and the memories of how Halbrand made her feel seen and appreciated and her connection with him. She's going to have the whole season to miss it (and him) and yearn for it (and him).
The other reason is that Sauron will have more time to prepare to make his pitch Even Better. It's very obvious that he had already been planning his S1 finale pitch to her as Halbrand, but I think she figured him out sooner than he'd planned, and while he went along with it, he wasn't as prepared as he could have been. This time, however, he's going to have more time to prepare and he's seen what DIDN'T work already, so he can try a pitch that is more crafted to Galadriel's weaknesses. We also know there is going to be something going on all season with their psychic connection, so he's also had all season to play with her mind before their final confrontation assumedly.
So, from a character and plot standpoint, I think Galadriel is going to face something a lot harder for her to resist.
Now, from a narrative standpoint, I think it makes a ton of sense for the plot and for Galadriel's character arc and the structure of a TV show for Galadriel to succumb to Sauron's temptation (though I'm not sure what that will look like).
If they do go that route, I'm sure it's something all the lore purists will froth and foam over, but it just makes so much sense for the story that ROP is telling, particularly with Galadriel. From a storytelling perspective, it doesn't make sense to show a replay of the scene from the S1 finale. We've already seen her resist him, so it makes sense that if we get a similar scene in this season, it'll have a different outcome that shows us new aspects of the characters.
They've told us that Galadriel and Sauron's relationship and connection will remain central to the entire show for all five seasons. If that's the case, it wouldn't make sense for them to place the highest note of their relationship at the end of S1 and to merely show Galadriel rejecting him in various ways throughout the rest of the series. There's the challenge of finding new ways to explore different aspects of the characters, and having Galadriel resist in S1 only to succumb in S2 and then come back from it in S3-5 would be very narratively pleasing. Static characters aren't interesting to watch, especially over the course of a TV series, while characters who have rises and falls are much more riveting. Now, I do think there are other ways they could accomplish it, but having Galadriel fall would be a big, big way to do it.
They've also been pitching S2 as "the villain season." It's about the villains and about the darkness in each of the characters. We're going to be watching the fall of Celebrimbor and the fall of Eregion at the very least. We are most likely going to start seeing the fall of Numenor and Khazad-dum as well. It would be deeply thematically satisfying for the season to end on the note of our main heroine also falling and succumbing to the darkness that we've been watching creep over and consume everything else in Middle-earth.
Finally, it makes sense for the story they seem to be telling with Galadriel. We're seeing her growth from an ambitious, revenge-driven, impetuous warrior to become the wise, powerful, but also kinda scary elf sorceress and queen from LOTR. Given that arc and the darkness we've already gotten hints about in Galadriel, it makes sense for her arc for her to get a tiny taste of what falling would mean for both her and for everyone she loves. I could absolutely see her succumbing to her own darkness and accepting Sauron's temptation only to see the ramifications and pull away as a wiser person who carries the grief and burden of knowing what darkness does to her. I could see it fitting with that intangible grief and pain that Galadriel seems to carry in LOTR. And I think a part of her could like how she feels after succumbing to Sauron, and that feeling is something she would carry on, even after she ultimately rejects her darkness and Sauron. It would fit well with that incredible yearning and desire that we see in Galadriel when Frodo offers her the Ring years and years later, because she knows how good it feels, but ultimately she also knows the ruin it would bring because she's seen a glimpse of it.
Anyway, I'm prepared to be wrong, but right now, I'm really thinking this is the direction Season 2 is going to go (and maybe hoping just a little because it would be horrifying and gut-wrenching and amazing and awesome).
#rop#trop#rings of power#rop season 2#trop season 2#rings of power season 2#rop spoilers#rings of power spoilers#galadriel#sauron#rop galadriel#rop sauron#morfydd clark#charlie vickers#I'm having all the ROP thoughts so I don't go crazy waiting for Thursday
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CORRESPONDENCE 1031 – THIRD QUADRANT 6 > NEVADA CENTRAL DISPATCH ~092338 RE: ASSESSMENT REPORT - Officer Yuki de Witt
OFFICER’S NOTES: 3Q6 is one of the more efficient quadrants within the Mining Division. All of Sectors 5 through 9 have consistently run at full or double quota for the last season. CIRCUMSTANTIAL: Successful liaison with 3Q6 Board of Captains (Cpt. SPIEGEL, absent) regarding the sudden death of Unit 23 Cpt. SILTSMEAR from 4Q6. Decision pending. Further info required. INCIDENT REPORT: n/a WORKER MORALE: Moderate
~RESPONSE: Received (211)
DIGGING CORPS - LOG 081/- Hey. I know you’ll never read this, but I guess I don’t need you to. Was only supposed to stay a few days, write up my assessment for Dispatch and then leave, but then one of the captains in a neighboring quadrant fucking died. Nothing nefarious mind you, just dust pneumonia. Certainly, more paperwork than it was worth. Sounds like a lot of weird shit’s been going on over there, so one of the captains went over to assist with the transitional period, and I agreed to stay here at Third Q6 to cover until he could be replaced. That was over a month ago now, and I miss the fucking sun! Never thought I’d say that. Had a few reservations about being stuck underground this long as the only woman for miles in any direction, but so far, apart from the odd leer in the mess hall, I have remained “unharassed”. The worst of it would be one particularly cantankerous geezer called Ira Trask, Foreman of 9C, who insisted on addressing me by my first name until I referred him to the NCD handbook on worksite professionalism, and he relented. I assumed he just wanted to be friendly so I'd help get him promoted, but now I think it was something deeper, more sad and nostalgic. There’s a lock on my door at least, and being exceptionally tall seems to give them second thoughts. But as you’d imagine, height’s not generally an advantage in tight, enclosed spaces with low ceilings. Most shovelmen develop a stooped physique during their time in the corps. Fucked if I’m gonna stay that long.
Yuk
DIGGING CORPS – LOG 94/- Decided if I have to be stuck down here in Satan’s ass crack, twiddling my thumbs, I might as well spend the time processing some individual Worker Profiles. The shovelmen generally alternate between reticent, awkward, sullen or befuddled by the concept of being personally assessed, but if me doing their interview gets them a few minutes to slack off their shifts, they’re happy enough for the distraction. Foreman Trask is displeased by the interruption, but he is welcome to sit on it.
Names seem to be taboo here. I know all the workers’ names of course, because it’s on their file, but that really freaks them out and there’s no point in using them. Share anything of your backstory with your fellow shovelmen, anything that they can tie back to you, and that’s a power they now hold over you. It's like some kind of deep occult shit, but for fucking miners. Everyone gets a new name here, bestowed upon you by your peers. And you only get that so you can tell whose shovel you’re holding.
Met a greenie from Unit 9A named Theodore today. The others call him ‘Mouse’ which he seems to prefer. Whether it’s for his demeanor, his silky brown hair, or, I don’t know, maybe he just likes cheese, he won’t answer to anything else despite having only been here two months. I asked him and a few others what they knew about the late Captain from 4Q6. Common sentiment seems to be that he was mad as a balloon.
Yuk
DIGGING CORPS - LOG 113/- Had a dream about the swing mom never built us. The big tire swing that wasn’t in the apple orchard. I know you don’t remember it, because, well, it never existed, but I feel like I’ve mentioned it before. Anyway, in the dream, I was swinging in the orchard at night time. And the sky was so pitch black, because there weren’t any stars at all. Just a void. Like, the dream was set after the sun had just died, and there was nothing left. Or maybe it wasn’t night. Maybe the orchard was inside a cave. It doesn’t matter. So, the swing was just a regular car tire, but then as I swung higher, I looked down and it was suddenly bigger. Stretching out to the size of a tractor tire. Or something off a monster truck. Then, I swung higher, and the tire grew again, too big for any actual vehicle, and now I could easily fit inside the trough of the tire itself and lie in it like a big hammock. But I couldn’t do that, because the trough was full of apples. Hundreds of these squishy brown apples in various states of decay. And the apples were growing too. Larger and larger, bustling and toppling over each other until they were the size of bowling balls, and then beach balls, and I was sort of half-drowning, half-swimming in these apples. And then I realized. They weren’t growing. I was shrinking. So, I climbed inside of an apple where the pip should be, because I knew deep down that was the logical place to go to die, and then I woke up. I’m pretty sure I know what it means, even if you don’t.
Yuk
DIGGING CORPS – LOG 115/- Random insights gleaned from Unit 9 Review a.k.a. ‘Operation: Peanut Gallery’:
Shovelman ‘Wiles’ - Appears to be the closest thing Sector 9 has to a medic. At least, he says he knows how to saw a man’s leg off without killing him, which is good enough here apparently. I didn’t ask for specifics. There is a constant film of dust covering his glasses, which he seems unaware of.
Shovelman ‘Twoshort’- Tried to convince me it’s common practice for the men to eat handfuls of dirt as a snack, given it’s more nutritious than whatever they were being served in the mess hall. I offered to immediately lodge a formal complaint with Captain Spiegel and the Food Prep team on his behalf, and he backpedaled comically fast, and then tripped on his way out because his foot was asleep.
Shovelman ‘Basher’ – Built like a shuttle truck and functionally deaf after an incident with a stick of dynamite last year. Uses a form of abridged sign language that he and a few others in his unit invented specifically for him. Extremely introverted at first until Wiles came to interpret for me, then he wouldn't shut up.
Shovelman ‘Blessed’ - Recently discovered an injured bat, which he has taken it upon himself to nurse back to health against NCD regulation 58N. He also appears to be deathly allergic to said bat, as his face and hands had swollen incredibly within minutes of handling the thing. A persistent sneezing has overtaken him, but apparently that’s normal and unrelated to the bat. Also allergic to dirt?
Regardless, get me the fuck out of here. Yuk
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Under Pressure (Alexia Putellas x reader)
A/N: Chapter 5 of The Legacy Series. I apologise in advance, it can’t all be sunshine and rainbows.
The biggest thing you feared was that you wouldn’t be able to feel at home in Barcelona but it turns out you had nothing to worry out. After the WICC cup there was two weeks of preseason training and after a day or two you had figured out how to play for the team. Sometimes you would watch from the sidelines during certain plays then go out onto the field and play them like you had been at the club your whole life. It’s safe to say you had settled in well.
When the first game of the season came, you were calm and ready to play as many minutes as Lluis would allow. Alexia had insisted that she picked you up so you two could go over any concerns you had. The woman had been your saving grace since moving to Barcelona. She could pick up when you were starting to get in your own head and managed to pull you out before you went too deep. She understood you as if she had known you your whole life when in reality it had been just over a 8 weeks since you first official meeting.
You had gotten to the ground a little bit earlier than everyone else; the team and fans included. You followed Alexia as you walked through the building but are confused when she walks straight passed the locker room.
“Let’s go the pitch” she suggests.
Now it wasn’t your first time being on this pitch as the team trained here a couple of times but today was different, today you would make your debut for Barcelona.
Alexia let you have your moment as you walked to the centre circle of the pitch. The energy was different today and it was the type you, as a football player, lived for. You take a few minutes to yourself before hearing Alexia calling your name.
“Time to get ready”
This time she does lead you into the changing rooms and you can see most of the team have arrived. All eyes are on you but you don’t think anything of it, that is until you see your locker. There hanging in the middle of your cubby was your shirt but what came as a shock is the number that was below your name. 14.
“Aitana” you turn you face her “I can’t accept this. I told you I wouldn’t come in here and take your number”
“You’re not taking it. I’m giving it to you. This is your number”
It wasn’t your number it was his and everyone knew that. Sure part of you wanted to wear your father’s number at this club but it’s is Aitana’s or at least it was.
You watch the game from the subs bench until the 65th minute mark. Lluis’ right hand man tells you to get ready as you had already warmed up. As you stand on the sidelines you make the mistake of looking back at the stand behind you. Everybody had their phone out ready to document the moment you step foot on the pitch. It only added to the pressure you were already feeling.
When the final whistle is blown you have to take a moment to gather your emotions. You join the team in the lap around the field and stop near the ultras stand. The fans soon stop shouting your name when they realise what you are doing. There above them sits ‘Estadi Johan Cruyff’.
“He’s be proud of you” Lieke joins you and looks up. She sees the direction of you gaze change as you look up to the sky.
“Lieke is right. You made him proud today” Alexia joins in.
You didn’t know what to do so you patted them both on the back and carried on with your lap. The fans had showed you constant support since your arrival so you stop to greet as many as you can before leaving the pitch.
You had survived game number 1.
The months that followed proved to be more difficult that your first. The fans, media and the rest of the world were quick to pick up on the fact that you were yet to score. This is a stat you were well aware of and you kicked yourself every time you left the pitch without having your name on the scoresheet. You have several assists to your name but none of them seemed to matter. Your job was to score and assist. You weren’t doing what the club brought you here to do and it was eating away at you.
“Sandra” you pull the goalkeeper aside one day after training “Would you mind staying back so I can practice my shots some more. It won’t be for long, maybe half an hour”
“Claro”
“Muchas Gracias”
Alexia noticed your absence in the locker room, of course she did. It was almost an hour later when you walked into the locker room where much to your surprise Alexia had been waiting.
“What are you still doing here? Do you have media or something?” You ask.
“I was waiting for you” She has no problem with admitting her reason.
“You want to join me in the ice baths?” You already know your answer. Alexia’s Spanish blood had a strong hatred for the cold.
In an attempt to change her mind, despite her not giving an answer, you take off your shirt and throw it at her before sending her a daring look.
“C’mon Ale, I dare you”
You walk away knowing that Alexia won’t back down to a dare. You are in the ice bath all but 2 minutes before she joins you. Albeit she enters much slower than you which if you ask any athlete only prolongs the discomfort that comes with ice.
“Now that I have joined you in this hell, care to tell me why you stayed back an extra hour?”
“I haven’t scored” you ego took a hit as you muttered the words.
“You scored loads today”
“Not today, in games”
The disappointment you are feeling doesn’t come as a shock to Alexia. She first noticed it after the second game when you had 5 shots on target and none of them went it.
“They are expecting me to score”
“Who is?”
“The club, the fans, the team, you”
“This team is a hard one to settle in to, just ask Lieke. All you need is a little bit of time”
“I don’t have time. Everyone’s eyes are on me and each game that passes is proving that I’m not good enough to play here”
Up until this point, Alexia was stuck in her place. The more she moved the more the freezing cold water touched fresh skin but seeing you down on yourself made her forget about the ice as she walks towards you, slowly.
“I know you’ve been feeling the pressure Y/N and I know it’s different to the kind I get. You leave for international duty tomorrow. Take this time to reset and come back with a clear head”
Although she wasn’t ready to admit, Alexia was dreading the day you leave and go to Zeist for camp.
“I’m going to miss you Alexia” you don’t hesitate to be honest with your team mate.
“You’re going to miss the team”
“Yes, I will but I will miss you in a different way. I spend more time with you than anyone else and you’re the one I call when I have my…” you want to say episodes but it sounds too dramatic.
Just as you had thought, being in Barcelona caused feelings you once buried deep down to come to the surface. Alexia found you one day after training when you were feeling too much and she stayed with you until you had calmed down. Since then she was the one you called.
“You have your friends and I’m sure you’ll see your family but if you do need me then i’m only a phone call away”
The timer you had set on your phone goes off and you and Alexia are quick to jump out of the ice bath.
“Promise?” You ask her as you get changed.
“I do and Y/N” you turn to face her “I’ll miss you too”
You were gone for ten days and you only had one episode but you called Alexia more than once. In fact you were in constant communication with her. Whoever got up first would text the other good morning and the day would go on from there. Even in different cities, Alexia played a huge part in your day.
Whilst in The Netherlands you did as she suggested, you used the time to clear your head and it worked. You played 90 minutes in both friendlies, one against Sweden, the only against Italy and you managed to score three goals in total. You hadn’t lost your touch but you did learn that the pressure in Barcelona had taken the fun out of the game or at least that is the reason you came up with. It wasn’t until the post match press conference that you realised it could be something bigger and much worse.
“Y/N you have played outstanding in these past two games yet your performances in Barcelona seem to lack the flair that we are used to seeing you play with. You are 9 games into the season and you still haven’t scored. We are so used to seeing you on the scoresheet and this stretch is the longest in your career without hitting the back of the net”
“Is there a question in there or are you simply reminding me of my failures” your tone is emotionless but that is far from how you are feeling.
“I didn’t mean to step out of line. It’s just you come here and put on a world class performance but fail to do so there. I think the question everybody want to know is why. What is the difference between here and there?”
The journalist’s words were running on a loop ‘what is the difference between here and there’.
You hadn’t asked yourself this question but the answer wasn’t hard to come up with. You always put your career first and your personal life second. You wouldn’t answer the journalist’s question as it was clearly rhetorical but you knew the answer. The difference was Alexia.
Sure she had been a positive impact on your mental health but should you have been training more instead of exploring the city with her? Should you have been getting more sleep instead of staying up to talk to her? Should you be more focused at training instead of stealing glances at her whenever you could? These are all questions that you needed to know the answer to for the sake of your career.
On the flight back to Barcelona you make the foolish mistake of searching your name on twitter. The fans had started to come up with theories as to why you weren’t playing like you normal do in Barcelona. One article popped up and it mentioned both your name and Alexia’s. She has taken part in two press conference whilst on international duty with Spain and your name had being brought up multiple times despite it not being relevant at the time. Maybe you had become a distraction for Alexia too. Sure she was scoring but it wasn’t as much as last year.
When you landed you saw that Alexia had texted you and asked you to come round to her apartment once you had unpacked the little suitcase you took home with you. Now was the time and as you drove over to her place you started to feel guilty about the decision you had to make.
“Y/N” The brunette pulls you in for a hug, once which you wished would never end.
“Hi Ale. Did you enjoy camp?” You pull away before her warmth makes you change your mind.
“We did ok, a win and draw wasn’t what we wanted but we move on. Did you? I watched your games you played amazing” Alexia walk through her apartment towards her kitchen. It was the area that hosted company the best.
“About that. There’s something I need to te—“
“So I was thinking” Alexia says and you know that she put not have heard you “There’s a new seafood restaurant that’s just opened by the marina. I know we have been spending a lot of time together as friends but I was hoping to take you here as something more. I want to take you on a date”
“Alexia I need some space”
Those four words had hurt her, the look on her face proved that.
“Did I do something wrong?” She asked.
“No. It’s me and what I am facing. You know about the pressure but the light that has been shone on me needs to stay on me. I won’t bring you into the media scuritiny that I am facing. Everyone is questioning my ability on the pitch and I need to prove them wrong. I need to prove to the club that signing me wasn’t a mistake. I have loved spending time with you Alexia but I need to focus on my performance. I cannot be a failure”
“I can help you” Alexia tries to bargain but you have already made up your mind.
“Ale, I need to do this alone” you take a couple of steps closer to her but she holds out her hand to stop you. You deserve it but it didn’t mean you had to like it “het spijt me”
Training doesn’t start for another three days due to the club wanting their players to recover from international duty. During this time you workout out 3 times a day; a run as the sun rises, a pitch session in the morning and a weights session in the late afternoon. You kept you body busy but Alexia still remained at the forefront of your mind. You began to think that you made a mistake in asking for space.
The first day back at Johan Camper is weird. For what could only be the 4th or 5th time since the season started, you had driven yourself to training. Upon arriving there were two people you didn’t want to see each for two different reasons. One of them just so happened to arrive at the same time as you.
“What you’re not riding with Alexia anymore?” Lieke questions as the two of you walk into the facility.
“I’m going to be driving myself for a while” you didn’t look at her, you couldn’t.
“Y/N what have you done?”
Lieke saw the way your behaviour change after the press conference but only now did she realise how much that man had gotten to you.
“I did what is best”
Sensing that now isn’t the time for an interrogation, Lieke drops the subject and the two of you walk in a comfortable silence.
“Ah dios miso, Alexia. I was only asking if you has anything planned this weekend. There’s no need to snap at me” Patri slightly scolds her team mate.
You know what she had planned this weekend and it included the two of you sitting at a candlelit dinner over looking the water but you had ruined that.
“I just want to focus on training. You understand that don’t you Y/N?”
She doesn’t give you a chance to answer as she walks out onto the field.
“So that’s what you did” Lieke whispers as the two of you begin lacing up your boots.
“You’ve seen what they’re saying. I won’t bring her into this media shit show, you know she hates it and I won’t be the reason for them going after her. I never wanted this for her but I was too late”
“You’re not telling me everything” Lieke knew you too well.
“I need to focus on my career. I can’t fail this club and I can’t tarnish his legacy”
“Y/N” Lieke reaches out to comfort you but you pull away.
“You think I want this? Of course I don’t” Your raised voice gains the attention of the other players in the room but you don’t care.
During training you stick to the players that won’t ask questions which is Lieke and Aitana but Jenni does make the effort to work with you as well even though she is one of Alexia’s best friends.
You try your best to focus on the drills that Lluis sets and it seems to work. You play very well and even the coach tells you that he is impressed, so much so that he is going to start you against Real Madrid at the weekend. This was your chance to prove the media wrong and rid the fans of any doubt. You had to score and score you did, twice in fact and you were able to assist one of Alexia’s goals.
This is how you were suppose to play at Barcelona yet you didn’t enjoy it in the slightest. You dreamed of how you’d celebrate your first goal and you wanted to do so with Alexia but because of your stupidity and need to please people who didn’t matter, you ruined that chance.
Your good form continued game after game and you could have sworn that things between you and Alexia were starting to return to normal. Of course this was only during training or playing because she was respecting your wishes.
“Y/N can I talk to you for a second?” Alexia asks one evening after a game review session.
“Let’s grab a coffee”
When the two of you arrive in the canteen, Alexia goes to the table and you get the coffees. This is how is was before and you loved that it was happening again.
“How long will you need this space? I talked to Lieke and she helped me understand your reasoning, I wished you would have told me but I know now. It wasn’t in my head, I know we had a connection and I need to know if there’s a chance of rebuilding that or if I need to move on”
“Alexia I chose my career over you”
“No you didn’t and we both know it. You needed to beat the pressure and you have. You have been amazing these past couple of months but I have hated not having you around, not even as a friend”
“Alexia we haven’t been just friends for a while and you know it”
“I do. It’s why I wanted to take you on a date, I still do by the way”
“I hurt you and I want to re earn your trust. How about we start with coffee on Sunday after the game”
“It’s a date” the smirk on her face was contagious.
“Alexia” you could tell she playing but you weren’t.
“What” she says innocently “it’s a date between friends”
#alexia putellas x reader#alexia putellas imagine#alexia putellas one shot#woso x reader#woso one shot#woso imagine#barcelona femeni x reader#Barcelona femeni one shot#Barcelona femeni imagine#espwnt x reader#espwnt one shot#espwnt imagine
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Bridge Over Troubled Water
Dean Winchester, Reaper!Reader
Dean Winchester didn't want to know what life was going to be like without his brother, and he didn't intend to learn
Word Count: 2.5k
Tags: Suicide attempt, angst, major character death, minor injury, typical cannon violence, angst with a happy ending
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reaper!Reader
Read it on AO3!
A/N: Simon & Garfunkel title. This has been stewing in my drafts since August, so I'm very happy I was able to finally finish it! This is set around season 5 (Dean is 30 and Sam is 26). PLEASE heed the warnings, and please don't read further if this story will make you uncomfortable. Unbeta'd and every single mistake is mine :)
Dean Winchester Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist
Rain clung to a man as he peered over the rails of a bridge he couldn’t name. It was big enough to have a name, he was sure of that, but not big enough for people to be driving by at three in the morning.
His hands wrapped around the steel beams meant to keep cars from tipping over into the rushing waters below. They were cold to the touch, but he didn’t feel that. He could barely place one foot in front of the other, let alone feel anything besides the hollowed-out hole in his chest.
His car was parked just off the side of the road less than half a mile away, keys still in the ignition, lights blaring onto the tree trunks that ran on for as far as the eye could see. There was no one for miles, the only souls accompanying him in those moments being those of the rodents scattering into crooks and crannies to hide from the rain.
A heavy weight shifted in his pocket, nudging against his thigh, reminding him why he was standing alone in the rain. He couldn’t comprehend that in the morning, people would come looking for him, that he would be missed; that he would be mourned. He only knew the pain that was engulfing his very being, pushing him closer and closer to life’s edge.
He wanted to compare it to Hell, but he knew that in Hell he’d at least pay for what he’d done in the form of flames and pure, unimaginable agony, like he’d experienced all those years ago. Here, he could only wallow in the fact that he was alive, and the only person he’d give his life for wasn’t.
The first time he tried to pitch himself over the rails, his foot slipped and his head collided with the metal. Blood trickled down his forehead as he remained on the ground. Any other time, he’d be able to climb anything, anywhere; but now all he could hear was the sound of the river below calling for him.
Join me. It said, beckoning him to his feet once again.
Though he couldn’t see me, I was there watching him as he tried to will himself to take his own life. Standing a mere ten feet from him, leaning on the opposing set of rails, I watched as he clambered upright. In complete honesty, I didn’t know if he’d do it or not. I did, however, know that he wasn’t meant to be there. He was meant to pass in a horrible accident three weeks before at his own hands, leaving his brother the only survivor. His name was in my book, and I was meant to take him to the great hereafter, only to find him standing over his brother’s body.
The man didn’t know it, but his brother was there too, watching him on that bridge. He tried to get his brother to hear his pleas, but he couldn’t, so he turned to me.
He begged me and begged me to not let his brother take his life. This had happened many times since I started my life’s work, people trying to offer me their souls in place of a loved one’s, but my duties remained as they were. I’m a pathway to the afterlife. No more, no less. Never once had I prevented someone from dying, never once had someone slipped between my fingers, and never once had I stuck myself in Earthly affairs.
I leaned into the rails silently, letting the rain fall onto my bare skin. I could imagine how cold it was for him, shivering and bleeding as his world seemed to crumble.
His brother clung to my side, clawing and tearing at my skin as he wailed for me to let his brother live, that his soul should be enough for me to have.
I turned to him and looked into his widened eyes, and all I could do was wonder. Wonder why such a young man was content in his own death, and why he didn’t want his brother to die as he did.
“You Winchesters and your family bond. You know Samuel, there aren’t many people out there who aren’t pissed at the person who killed them.” I said as I acknowledged the youngest Winchester for the first time since he started our conversation.
“He didn’t-” Sam looked to his older brother, still oblivious to my presence, “-my death wasn’t his fault. You got your soul, now you can report back to your big boss and just leave Dean alone, please.”
I turned to him, ready to tell him that my kind didn’t deal in souls, but was interrupted when the click of a handgun made Sam and I turn our heads.
“Are you my reaper?” He asked, matter-of-factually, poorly aiming his pistol in my general direction. I took a step toward him, the rain beginning to fall more violently.
“We both know you’re smart enough than to try and use that on me, Dean,” I said, ignoring his question as I took more steps toward him.
“Answer-” Dean readjusted his slipping grip on the gun, eyes wearily trained at me. “-answer me.”
“I was your reaper, yes,” I answered, closing the distance between us, cool metal pressed against my chest.
His eyes were green and sunken; packed with tears, veins, and blood. His pupils darted around my face expectantly, begging me to do something, make his pain simply go away.
I felt a heavy pang in my chest, that hooked onto my heart and sunk to my feet.
I reached up to his face, gently cupping as I skimmed my fingers over untrimmed facial hair. He flinched as my hand made contact, probably expecting to get ripped from his body.
“Don’t be afraid, Dean. He’s safe.” I said gently. His eyes closed, and he leaned into my palm as he let out a heavy breath.
“He isn’t angry at you. You know, he practically begged me to come stop you.” I smiled, smoothing over the gash on his forehead. The deep cut disappeared as my fingers skimmed over it, offering him some relief.
“It’s not fair-” Dean choked out, coughing as the weather around us began to take its toll on his body. “-Sammy, he’s got a whole life ahead of him. College, a big lawyer job, a normal life. All I’ve got is hunting, and waiting to run into someone sharp enough to finally get me.”
His teeth chattered in his mouth, and the metal against my chest disappeared as he let his arms drop to his sides.
“Big talk coming from someone who’s barely thirty,” I said, watching as Dean pulled away from my hands, and returned to leaning on the rails.
“It’s the-” Dean starts.
“-the life, yes. So I’ve heard from a great number of hunters.” I finished his thought as I joined him on the rails. “Why is it that all of you think your lifespans are so short? Hunters back in, I don’t know,” I wave my hand as I’m trying to come up with the words, “the seventeen hundreds still lived longer than a lot your folk do nowadays.”
He creased his eyebrows, his eyes flickering over my face.
“All I’m saying,” I take a long look at the sun starting to crawl its way over the horizon, “is that ‘the life’ doesn’t have to be your life, Dean. I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but you don’t have to die in some horrific fight that finally puts you down. Hunters have died of old age, you know.”
He looked at me, the freckles on his face more visible now that the rain was calming down, “but Sammy… he deserved his happy ending more than I ever will. He got out. Got a full-ride scholarship to freakin’ Stanford. Had a girl. I didn’t even have the guts to tell him how proud I was. I’d stand outside his dorm room for hours, trying to figure out a way to come see him without Dad, or without him hating me. I shouldn’t have dragged him back into this, and now he’s dead. In my place.”
“It’s the natural order of things, Dean. If not him, then you, and if not you, then some other person had to die that day.”
“But it didn’t have to be Sam. I would’ve gone just the same way as he did, but at least he’d have something dragging him forward, to move on.” He looked at me again with those tired eyes, letting out a sharp breath as his hands clung to the railing again, leaning his torso off halfway.
“Dean,” I said cautiously, watching his knuckles turn white as his heart quickened and eyes shut, “Dean.”
His feet were moving fast, and in one swift moment, he was off the bridge. His body flung over almost effortlessly and catapulted him down to the rocky waters below.
I turned away, expecting him to appear next to me in a moment, but his voice rose through the air instead.
“What…?”
I looked over the railing, only to see Sam was holding his forearms, holding him from his forearms before he could drop.
I turned to the younger Winchester brother, who was solely focused on trying to save his brother’s life, his spectral hands losing their grip the longer he held on.
“Dean, hold on, please. Please, man, just hold on. Don’t give up on me.”
Dean’s head snapped up, looking straight at his brother.
“Sammy?” Dean choked out, his legs starting to kick frantically as if he were trying to walk on air.
“Help me, help me get him up. Please.” Sam turned to me, struggling to hold onto his brother.
I blinked and I was beside him, yanking up on an almost-limp Dean, and throwing him onto the road of the bridge.
Dean lay on the ground, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. Sam knelt beside him, his eyes filled with remorse.
“I didn’t want to give up on you, Sammy,” Dean whispered, his voice barely audible over the gentle rustle of the damp morning breeze.
Sam’s heart clenched at the sound of his brother’s voice, filled with a mixture of pain and regret. “I know, Dean,” he replied, his voice choked with emotion. “It’s not your fault. You never gave up on me. You took all of dad’s crap, and I mean all of it. The yelling. The hunting. The abuse.”
Dean looked at his brother before he went still, not saying a word as he clutched his chest with pale blue hands. His breaths grew shallower, his body beginning to tremble from the exertion and the cold rain that drenched him throughout the night. Sam glanced around frantically, feeling helpless in the face of his brother’s suffering.
“He needs help. Help him,” Sam said, his voice urgent as he looked up at me, desperation clear in his eyes.
I nodded, my heart heavy with the weight of the situation. “I’ll do what I can,” I replied, my voice solemn. “But I can’t interfere with the natural order of things.”
Sam’s shoulders sagged in defeat, but he refused to give up. “There has to be something you can do,” he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please, just help him.”
I hesitated, the pull that the Winchester seemed to have with the universe was something even Death couldn’t withstand; but who was I to interfere? As I looked down at Dean, lying battered and broken on the ground, I could hear the cracking of his ribs drowning out my thoughts.
With a heavy sigh, I knelt beside Sam and Dean, moving Dean’s hands away from his chest with little force. “I’ll do what I can,” I said, my voice softer.
I laid my hands on Dean’s chest, warmth spread through his body, chasing away the chill of the rain and easing his pain. His breaths grew steadier, his trembling subsiding as color started returning to his hands.
Sam looked on in awe, tears welling in his eyes as he watched his brother’s condition improve before his very eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice filled with gratitude.
I nodded, a small smile touching my lips. “Take care of him,” Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper, and I nodded. “He’s gotta lot of fight left in him, and someone has to keep him up and running.”
I chuckled, moving to the side of Sam as I waited for him to pull away from Dean. The two of them sat there in perfect silence, staring into the blankness in front of them. I could barely hear Dean’s breath through the wind that curved between the air around us.
“I have to go, Dean,” Sam said, turning to face them as they both sat on the edge of the empty road.
“I can’t do this without you Sammy, I don’t want to,” Dean said, catching stray tears with the back of his hand. He took his brother into a firm hug; it was as if he was holding him to Earth, and to life itself.
“I love you so much,” Sam said as he rested his head on Dean’s shoulder, Dean taking in a shuddered breath. Sam slowly pulled away from him, and stood beside me, trying his best to smile, “bye, Dean.”
Dean looked up at his brother, nose red and raw from the tears that coated his face, hiccuping as he failed to drown his emotions with a weak smile, not saying a word. He scooted away from the road, sitting himself up against the rails as he watched me and Sam walk down the bridge, and out of view.
I can’t say that I forgot that day, especially when I was called again for Dean. He lay on a hospital bed, his once dirty blonde hair replaced with silver tufts, complemented by wrinkles brought on from years of stories to tell, and different kinds of scars in new places.
He looked just as he did that day on the bridge when he came to stand by me, watching the woman beside him, hair just as gray as his, holding onto his hand. An anti-possession tattoo peaked out from under her long sleeve as she reached over to plant a kiss on his forehead, watching as his heart monitor ran flat. After a few moments of silence, nurses came into the room, looking over Dean’s body as the woman shuffled out of the room and walked through Dean and me with a shudder.
“Hello, Dean,” I said, smiling gently, preparing to lead him out of the room when there was a laugh from behind us. Two hands were placed firmly around Dean before I could realize who it was.
“You ready? We’ve got a lot to catch up on, you know.” Sam said as he pulled away from his brother, the both of them smiling like I’d never seen before.
#supernatural#spn#dean winchester#sam winchester#castiel#cannon divergence#au#alternative universe#supernatural au#dean winchester x you#dean winchester x reader#destiel#dean and cas#deancas#Dean Winchester angst#angst#hurt/comfort#angst with a happy ending#angst with reassurance#dean winchester fanfiction
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If you're a bit confused about Rusty Quill or what's been happening, hopefully this will be a handy guide.
Hello everyone, especially all newbies to the Rusty Quill family! I thought I'd talk a little bit about the company. There's a lot of information out there, some of which may be contradictory or difficult to find, and so I compiled it into what I think is a decent timeline. I've also included some of my thoughts on what Rusty Quill has been through, and where it's going.
(check the end for associated footnotes!)
A Brief And Mostly Objective Timeline For Rusty Quill Ltd.
Alexander J. Newall wanted to start a company for creatives. His father (presumably) laid down the starting capital and Rusty Quill was founded 29th June 2015. Alex owned 99% of the company, John Newall, 1%. (1)
Alex reached out to a bunch of his improv friends and asked if they would participate in an actual-play podcast. Alex hadn't seen a fully produced actual-play with sound effects and background music and he wanted to fill that niche in the market. James Ross, Bryn Monroe, and Lydia Nicholas all agreed. Tim Meredith was otherwise engaged, but said his brother Ben would be up for it. Rusty Quill Gaming (RQG) was born and started airing episodes in June 2015.
Meanwhile, besides running, editing, producing, directing, and mastering RQG, Alex also worked nights at an extremely boring data entry job James Ross set up for him. James also helped Jonny Sims get that same job (2). At the time, Jonny was playing gigs with his band The Mechanisms, but his passion was for writing. The Mechanisms were a folk band that reimagined classic stories/myths to music with hefty narrative pieces, which has obvious applicability to a podcast company. Because of this fortuitousness, sometime in 2013-14, Alex and Jonny met and found that they were both highly creative people who desperately wanted out of this job. Jonny invited Alex to a Mechanisms show at the Edinburgh Fringe.
Alex loved The Mechs show. He was convinced he must work with Jonny on something. Jonny had a few ideas and pitched what would become The Magnus Archives, though it was first more of a Twilight Zone anthology, which is why the "narrator" had Jonny's name. Alex wanted to add more of a narrative framework and they shaped it together, all five seasons, so that it was cohesive the whole way through. Some things did, organically, pop up later. For instance, Martin started mainly as a foil to Jon, and only became the love interest after a bit of writing.
Around 2018, Patreon funding eventually allowed RQ to build a studio in Rusty Towers that enabled them to record their high-quality audio (3). Before that, they were - at various times - recording in a ‘yurt’ made of blankets and duvets for most of season one (usually at James Ross’ house or Martyn’s hallway, since Alex was - at that point - intermittently homeless due to asbestos problems).(4)
In 2016, RQ set up the Rusty Quill Forums, an official RQ fan-space where fans could interact with each other and RQ members. (5) This early arena for interaction would precipitate the more immediate (and much larger) Discord, Rusty Quill Official. Anil Godigamuwe, Community Manager, was the main force behind running and moderating the forums.
2016 was also the year that Mike Lebeau decided to gather a few people to play games and raise money for charity in what would become the predecessor to Rusty Quill Giving and Gaming. This event involved only Mike, Bryn, Ben, Anil, and Martyn Pratt (Chief Technology Officer). It only lasted twelve hours and they raised £700. (6)
Late 2017, Rusty Quill, in association with Historic Royal Palaces, released Outliers, a historical fiction podcast. Probably the least known of RQ’s podcasts, but very good and well-done. (Yes, this is a plug for Outliers. Go listen! It's great!)
In 2018, the Rusty Quill Official Discord server (RQO) went live and most of the fans from the forums moved there. (7)
February 15, 2019, Stellar Firma, the improv comedy sci-fi show starring Tim and Ben Meredith, began airing.
Mike wanted to explore more of the video side of creating. On January 25, 2020, RQ Streams launched, and soon there was a decent amount of content generated on RQ’s Twitch channel. Video content would gain traction in the form of New Player Challenge (NPC). Many RQ members would stream, including Anil, Autumn, several editors, and Helen Gould (member of Rusty Quill Gaming and later promoted to Head of Inclusion). The streams would get big enough that RQ would eventually hire a few mods specifically for the streams (30). RQ Streams wasn't fiscally sound as a primary source of income, but streaming helped encourage community engagement.
In February 2020, Alex gave an interview to Haggis and Dragons at PodUK. The host asked why, despite their success, Rusty Quill hadn't been present at many events such as PodUK before. Alex responded that the company was dedicated to making sure they took care of their people first, but now that all the finicky backend admin stuff was finished, they could do fun things like conventions. (8)
A month later, COVID-19 shut down the world.
At this point, TMA had been running for four years, and - while relatively successful and critically admired- was still a smallish podcast, especially when measured against engagement levels of other fiction podcasts at the time. Whether COVID, the whim of Tumblr, or a spark that refused dim, the fuse on TMA had been lit. It would jump sharply with the season four finale in Halloween 2019, but when season five premiered on April 2, 2020, TMA was at its second highest peak in popularity , its highest only a month away. It would maintain a high level of engagement until the series finale in March 2021. (9) Whatever the reason, TMA had exploded, and no one could've predicted it.
In July 2020, Hannah Brankin, Chief Operations Officer and spouse of Alex Newall, became a director in the Rusty Quill company. (10)
In August 2020, Autumn Jarvis (longtime fan of RQ) with a history of convention organization came on as Community Assistant. (11) This role promoted her to Head Moderator of the Discord (RQO), coordinating communication between the Discord mods and RQ admin. RQ hired her to help Anil, as at this point, RQO had nearly 8000 members.
The official Rusty Quill Discord server (RQO) went from a reasonable 1000 participants to nearly 14,000 before its shutdown in September 2021. In August 2020 (a few days after Autumn took over), a group raided RQO, proclaiming issues of racism, ableism, and other accusations directed at Rusty Quill, but also at the volunteer mods. It was the only major attack, but from time to time small incursions would occur thereafter. RQO’s many mods (at least 11, at one point) were unpaid. Whether or not that was a good business decision is debatable, but mods were responsible for monitoring content that was Patreon-exclusive, so one might think a Patreon subscription should’ve been included.
April 2, 2021, Patreon-exclusive Inexplicables began airing. The show was initially met with a lot of positive feedback and excitement. The RQO channels were full of theorizing and chat, which Alex could be seen reading. While Inexplicables seemed ripe for a sequel, there have been no indications of future content.
In May of 2021, Rusty Quill launched the Rusty Quill Network. Many felt the network wasn’t explained sufficiently, but subsequent clarification from Autumn verified that RQ was not doing any of the following for the new shows that would be included under the network’s umbrella: producing, funding, editing, or creating. Apparently, the RQN was designed to act as a distribution and collective bargaining service. Unfortunately, this aspect was never made explicit to the fans by official RQ channels.
In September of 2021, Autumn was terminated. While Autumn has stated the reason she was terminated, it was on a private server and because RQ has made no official statement regarding the termination, I won’t share that information. RQ did ask if she would like to appeal the decision, but Autumn declined. Later, the mods organized a walkout in protest and quit. Only the mod known as Crunchy remained, and was the last one to close out the server. Later, he would admit that the mods actively decided not to include him in this decision. (12) While there were RQ Streams mods, they, unfortunately, didn’t have as much power as the Discord mods and were unable to assist much (30). RQ released a statement on September 15, 2021 regarding the closing of the Discord and the mod walk-out, and RQO has been dark ever since. (13)
RQ Streams, it’s worth mentioning at this point, had some mods specifically for streams, but also relied on the Discord mods to moderate the chat during streams (30). Ultimately, when the mods walked out, RQ Streams was also forced to stop.
Since the mod walkout, any events run and sponsored by RQ have been modded by volunteers, and usually small enough that it hasn’t become an issue (RQGG21 being modded by some Discord mods, with other Gather events modded mostly by RQ employees) (30).
April 26, 2022, Chapter and Multiverse, the analogous successor to Rusty Quill Gaming run by Maddy Searle, the former lead editor of Stellar Firma, began airing. It would conclude its first season in August. While RQ has indicated that C&M will continue, it has been postponed until 2023. However, Maddy Searle posted a tweet (since deleted) indicating she is no longer employed at Rusty Quill. After claims that Maddy was reprimanded and forced to take down the tweet, RQ would later clarify that they have a 48 hour confidentiality policy regarding things like that, and that's why they requested the removal of the tweet for that time. Maddy hasn't reposted the tweet, or commented publicly on her reasons for doing so.
On June 10, 2022, Mike announced he was leaving Rusty Quill. (14) Although others had also streamed on RQ’s Twitch in the past, he was the primary force driving its relevance and the channel has remained mostly unused since the aforementioned Discord mod walkout, most likely citing lack of moderation as a main concern.
August 2, 2022, the original RQ production Trice Forgotten premiered. Trice Forgotten continues to update.
As per the September 21, 2022 Patreon email, Cry Havoc! and Neon Inkwell, the other RQ original productions, have been postponed to 2023. (29)
With their three original podcasts completed and many future projects postponed, Rusty Quill had reached a quiescent stage. Patreon emails were sparse and while RQ maintained a loyal base, activity around the company had slowed.
Then -
October 10th, 2022 a string of strange letters appeared in a Patreon email. (15) Fandom quickly deduced that it wasn't a mistake, but rather a cipher. A Discord server dedicated to cracking the code sprang up almost immediately and fandom deciphered the cryptic letters in a few hours. This began a mini-ARG leading to the announcement of a Magnus Archives "side-quel": The Magnus Protocol. On a subsequent livestream, Alex confirmed the sequel and announced that the project would be fully funded by a Kickstarter. No money would be taken from Patreon, current or proposed shows, income generated through ads, agreements, merch, RQN residuals, etc. (16)
The Magnus Protocol Kickstarter launched November 22. It was fully funded in less than one minute, and as-of publishing this post is currently at £ 624,268, 4162% of their original goal. Release for the project is expected in October 2023 and is said to follow two British civil servants, Alice and Sam, as they deal with the legacy of the burned-down Magnus Institute of Manchester. Curious, as the Magnus Institute from the original series was very much based in London. (17)
On December 12, 2022, Newt Schottelkotte - marketing director for the Fable and Folly podcast network - released an opinion article on Medium detailing several allegations against Rusty Quill. (18) Schottelkotte submitted the article to several publications that declined to publish it. They decided to self-publish on Medium, which allows for independent publication. In good faith, I won’t presume this was a targeted attack by another network, but rather the opinion of a contingent of industry professionals who tried to represent those allegedly wronged by Rusty Quill as a production company (perhaps taking advantage of the timing of the new Kickstarter to gain traction for their post - but that one can only leave to speculation). The testimonies were anonymous.
December 13, 2022, after a resulting influx of polarizing social media posts, RQ released an official response to the Medium article, refuting most points raised. (19)
Now, before I get into less fact-based territory, and knowing RQ intends to announce a more recent Operations Update in the new year, I feel it's relevant going forward to mention that for all the talk surrounding both sides of the story, the composition of Rusty Quill is not as large as some might think, considering the assumptions of some of the claims. In 2021 the company conducted a voluntary internal census on company makeup and satisfaction. (20) At the time they had 28 employees. 23 responded, and here are a few interesting tidbits they had to say:
91% identify as Neurodivergent
30% identify as non-cisgender; 48% identify as female, 26% as male, and 26% as not exclusively one of those categories
30% are people of color
30% identify as bisexual, 9% pansexual, & 9% queer. 26% identify as heterosexual. These numbers may or may not include the 17% who identify as asexual.
This census doesn’t include individual contractors (which comprises most of their editors and voice actors). In the census, RQ recognized their huge deficit in hiring people of color. RQ maintains a flat pay structure across all departments (including leadership), which - thanks to Patreon funding - stands above the London cost of living rate. (21)
The Less Than Objective Part
Rusty Quill is a small company. The average number of employees for 2022 was 21. (22) This number doesn't reflect possible layoffs/terminations since then. Most of its voice actors and editors are contracted. This is intended partially to allow flexibility on both RQ and the contractors’ part as well as enable RQ to diversify their talent without the contractual obligation of employment (the UK doesn’t recognize ‘at-will’ employment; termination must be for a cause). Meaning that even if the company finds itself in the position of having to terminate employees, it maintains the possibility of working with those same people as contractors to help out RQ financially, but also to allow those employees to find more stable or long term jobs in the interim.
However, holding onto only an essential team of staff (as you find in any small company, but especially in an industry without historical regulation - often relying on a presumed integrity of nebulous industry standards, as opposed to codified protections) employees are often forced to wear many hats. Most often voluntarily, but often to their detriment. This manifested in such things as Autumn transcribing Stellar Firma, without any transcription experience, or the continual mishap of Alex or Hannah responding to delicate situations with off-the-cuff inexpertise (generally sweet and earnest, but not as diplomatic or clear as needed - something that larger companies potentially avoid with dedicated teams regarding media training), but is perhaps most apparent in the early stages of RQG and TMA where Alex, in addition to being a primary player/voice actor, did the majority of the editing and mastering until Lowri Ann Davies joined halfway through RQG. Based exclusively on the runtimes of RQG episodes/specials (not including how long it actually took to edit down recorded footage to what we hear), Alex edited a total of 217 hours of RQG, over 9 whole days, or nearly 83% of the content. (23) Early specials, behind the scenes specials, and Q&As often contain jokes about Alex needing to sleep. This sort of work-life balance should not be necessary for success, but many creatives know that it’s the unfortunate reality for many startups without the resources of a major media network backing them.
And, as evidenced here, despite its exposure and popularity Rusty Quill’s resources were limited from the start. Alex and Hannah, as directors and main shareholders in the company, are solely responsible for the company’s fiscal viability. As such, I think this has led to some decisions where one or both of them have taken over projects or refused to delegate when it would have better served that project or even themselves. But there’s also something to be said for a duty of care, and the difficulty of giving that up.
In such an environment, it’s not surprising that a large part of smaller podcasting companies’ revenue is generated through fan-funding. The grassroots organization of a devoted fanbase can help grow a company without access to other funds or a robust marketing budget. Steady patreon subscriptions can make up for periods of instability in advertising returns, but issues begin to arise when companies encounter something like RQ did: an explosion in popularity that lacked sustainability, and the contingencies and strategies to deal with that. However, it’s a double-edged sword. The importance of Patreon and fan goodwill can help create the mentality that RQ owes the fans something. Nothing in Patreon's TOS requires artists to offer rewards; the idea behind Patreon - at least to me - is that in exchange of supporting someone making art you enjoy, you occasionally get glimpses into the creative process behind that art. This idea has evolved over the years, but I think Patreon has become, to some people, more transactional: I pay you five dollars, you give me one piece of art. This more give-take mentality can lead to feelings of ownership; fans pay for RQ to exist, therefore they should have a say in how RQ conducts its business. Whether RQ views it that way or not.
RQ has begun to diversify their income, however, with the creation of the RQN, where they get fees from providing marketing and distribution services for other podcasts. Although RQ has experienced a drop in Patrons, it has returned to subscription levels similar to those before the meteoric rise of TMA and is hopefully navigating towards finding a balance between delivering what fans want without enabling an unhealthy relationship of catering to what’s profitable instead of what they want and are excited about making. (24)
Fandom and The Illusion of Closeness
There’s no denying that many creatives have an intimate relationship with their audience, especially smaller and/or newer ventures. RQ had, for a long time, quite a close relationship with its fans. It’s still visible in the old forums, where Alex, Mike, and Anil could be seen posting with regularity. There are many images from past RQGGs (even up to RQGG19) where RQ staff and fans casually mingled.
However, there is an issue with something like Discord where the immediacy of contact creates the illusion of intimacy. The ability to ping a creator facilitates the idea that the creator is therefore available and willing to be pinged. It’s not so much an issue when there are 1000 people on a server with only a hundred or so active, and only a fraction of them irregularly contacting creatives. When that number goes up, even proportionally, it results in a huge uptick in forced contact. It’s been theorized that both Jonny Sims and Ben Meredith stepped back from the Discord server because of crossed boundaries. Another staff member had a fan harass them to the point of needing to block said fan and the fan was eventually banned from RQO by the mods.
On the other hand, Community Manager Anil continued to always be available and Alex & Hannah would occasionally hop on and respond when they were active. This apparent ease of access can trick people into believing that they are close to the creators, and the illusion of this perceived relationship can be problematic for both parties.
In these circumstances it’s natural for creators to develop a persona to protect themselves. There’s nothing wrong with this and it is, in fact, a healthy and smart thing to do; the person fans interact with is not, exactly, who that person is. Not to say they’re fake or lying, but that creators deserve a degree of privacy that comes from concealing certain things about themselves that fans aren’t - and shouldn’t be - privy to. Fans’ insistence on access to creators and their secrets can be extremely difficult and exhausting, especially for creators who don’t have a publicity or security team. For instance, Jonny was forced to reveal his past with drug abuse when people incessantly questioned and berated him about his portrayal of drug abuse in "Strung Out," a season five episode of TMA (notably also when the fandom had exploded beyond the comfortable community of its earlier seasons). Fan entitlement to knowledge about creators and access to them can be particularly egregious in this sort of setting where the creators are trying to maintain the intimate community they used to enjoy, one that (at least in the initial stages) they relied on financially, while dealing with a huge influx of new fans. Even Critical Role, arguably the largest podcast in the actual-play genre, has suffered from a similar issue, though the actors in CR have much more experience than RQ.
Rusty Quill is a business and their dealings are of proprietary interest. Like any other entertainment company, they produce a product for consumption but the way they run internally isn’t something consumers are (or should be) privy to - barring gross mistreatment which, despite claims, hasn’t been proven. When Autumn was terminated, RQ didn’t release an official statement on what led to the termination. While many fans wanted to know, RQ has no obligation to reveal internal processes like hiring/firing, especially if details of such could affect an employee’s future employment. Identifying particular employees as responsible for certain policies or potentially upsetting updates could open that employee to threats or harassment (which RQ experienced before).
The Disproportionate Critique of Small Creators
It would be ridiculous to assert that Rusty Quill has never made a mistake - sometimes repeatedly - or a misstep. They’ve issued an apology multiple times for the lack of sensitivity in their content or a miscommunication on their end. Miscommunication was, in fact, a key factor in why the Discord mods left. RQ tried to preemptively combat these issues by hiring Helen Gould as a sensitivity director to ensure their content had been looked over for things that could be harmful. Given their company makeup and the composition of their talent - both writing and on-air - RQ has tried to diversify itself so that their content doesn’t come solely from the perspective of cishet white male. Stellar Firma would be the only show to suffer from this, however, it’s worth mentioning that on the production side Maddy Searle and Katie Seaton seem to have been brought on intentionally to avoid, or at least ameliorate this issue.
There is a pervasive issue with fandom as a whole to apply a more rigorous rubric against smaller and/or indie companies producing entertainment because they’re accessible. It’s easy to see why this phenomenon exists; when a person sees that they can speak to a creator directly, that the creator might respond specifically to those critiques. It can feel as if the consumer has more power in the relationship. Complaining about Disney cutting out a lesbian kiss in Star Wars, for example, will never reach Bob Iger, but if you want to talk to James D’Amato about a choice he made in the most recent Skyjacks episodes, he’s almost certainly going to respond. By feeling more intimately connected to creators, fans can feel empowered to be more aggressive in their criticisms.
A sustainable medium must exist between the two extremes of critique. A small indie company like Rusty Quill cannot be above criticism because of its size or its intention to do better - at some point, it must actually be doing better (which, I believe, it has and is consistently endeavoring to). Conversely, it can’t be upheld to a stricter standard than a larger company purely because its creators are accessible and will directly encounter the critique aimed at them. Rusty Quill has expanded their base of collaborators - which includes having an open pitch form to allow anyone to submit ideas - and made headway on wider and more accurate representation in their shows. There are certainly other shows and companies tackling and portraying difficult issues and diversity with a better outcome than Rusty Quill. That doesn't detract from the efforts RQ is making and shouldn't invite a disproportionate level of critique.
So What Now?
While it is fair to offer critique aimed at Rusty Quill and what it does, I think the benefits of this coming from a large audience diminish due to a few factors: quantity with no control for quality, purity culture, and entitlement. These things could comprise a much much longer essay, but I’ll be brief.
One of the huge benefits RQ got out of early Patreon release on the Discord was a limited quantity of feedback. Alex would show up to ask about the sound quality: if anything seemed off or if we had comments or noticed something. Anil would collect extra content warnings if needed, and some titles even changed when fans pointed out redundancies. Both Alex and (to a much stronger degree) Helen interacted with patrons about Inexplicables, including thoughts and theories. At one point, RQ created a gaming system called Ensemble and elicited feedback from people, encouraging them to play. These comments and critique are very helpful for RQ because of their pointedness. Contrast this to the response to the s5 TMA episode “Strung Out" - or the controversy surrounding a later episode’s perceived insensitivity to current events, necessitating a warning and apology before the usual opening theme (a perception generated before the public launch of the episode, stoked by assumptions and Twitter discourse).
Fandom as a whole has veered bizarrely into an obsession with purity - if something isn’t perfect, then it shouldn’t exist. RQ will not and cannot get everything right. It’s not a format made for easy editing and revision after the fact. It can be lauded for its achievements and persuaded to do better in a way that isn’t overly aggressive or hyperbolic. People tend to forgive mistakes if they like something and focus on them if they don’t, but it’s better to avoid assigning a moral value to something like representation - the effort and commitment is important. (For clarity - I believe it is moral and ethical to do everything you can to achieve accurate and diverse representation. The morality I reference here is more in regards to labeling something, irredeemably, as bad just because it doesn’t live up to your expectations).
Not to be repetitive, but fans in smaller fandoms often feel a sense of entitlement because of their ease of access to creators. If Alex is right there talking about the Trice Forgotten schedule, why shouldn’t he answer a prod about the continuation of Chapter & Multiverse??? The answer is that he’s updating you on Trice - not Chapter. Fans are not, and shouldn’t be, part of the internal machinations of a company, however close they feel, and why certain things happen or when isn’t always going to be obvious. RQ has varying degrees of success when it comes to updating their fans about timelines or happenings in the company, and while there is definitely room for improvement, overall, it shouldn’t be a requirement or expectation. That is to say - the relentless inundation of tangential comments or questions offers no benefit and can impose an increasing feeling of frustration: for the company, for the fan asking, and for the fans witnessing. Not even mentioning the personel issue. RQ has shown a willingness to acknowledge, apologize, and modify their content when there are complaints made against it. Because RQ has acted this way, it might invite the idea that they should have the same transparency and openness to comment about the way their business runs; of which they have no obligation to do so, and in many instances, definitely should not.
For instance, several people may have been let go from Rusty Quill recently, probably because of financial issues due to the downturn in the UK economy (see RQ’s statement for more specific reasoning). Although it is tempting to be angry or upset about it, businesses make decisions involving structure and the reorganization of employees in their company all the time. For a variety of reasons. Lay-offs or terminations may be needed in order to keep a company afloat. Often these legal reasons and internal processes cannot be disclosed, and barring that the individuals involved may not have consented to their information becoming public - despite audiences wanting to see corporate due diligence. The point is that while it might be comforting to know why things happened, ultimately it isn’t reasonable to expect a company to share those details or any others that have to do with its internal running or function.
Moving Forward
Rusty Quill is in a precarious position. The unexpected juggernaut of The Magnus Archives turned them from a small, emergent company to a well-known name in the podcast community. They were unprepared for it, very few people could be, and nearly three years later they’re still struggling to find a sustainable balance. RQ has had to adjust to the influx of fans, fan opinions, money, and the resulting issues of accountability. And now that TMA is over, they’ve had some time to try to adjust to not having that same monetary inflow. Whatever outward critique can be placed on them for how they’ve handled the transition, the formation of Rusty Quill Network seems to have leveled out their income in a way that will enable them to stay solvent, even if it means occasionally stopping to restructure and reorient. There is no provable model for success.
While some detractors may claim that the Magnus sequel Kickstarter is a huge windfall, it isn't necessarily so. Money made from a Kickstarter must go toward what is promised - hence the use of clearly stated stretch goals. It is against Kickstarter policy to give funds to charity, so the KS money will be used solely for projects relating to TMP. That money is spent and should be treated as thus and not a surge of new money into RQ’s coffers. It’s not a bail out. (25)
RQ has a brand that people trust and they should lean into that reputation, heavily promoting their new shows and focusing on getting those running. RQN seems instrumental in keeping the company afloat and therefore it’s understandable that so much time is spent introducing and promoting the shows taken under that umbrella (that’s part of the incentivizing service they offer RQN shows anyway), But RQ cannot expect the ad revenue from their new shows like they did with TMA and have to adjust accordingly. I hope RQ recognizes that they’re still mostly a small indie company with a surprise hit and allow themselves the restrictions - and responsibilities - of that.
As for fans, I think RQ should capitalize on the good favor they have and reengage the fandom in an appropriate manner. Livestreams are wonderful, but should automatically have slowmode to at least 30 seconds on any stream, 60 on a huge one (like the KS promotion livestream). It not only allows the on-air talent to catch some messages, but it allows the mods to filter easier. How they reestablish a team of mods is theirs to outline, but with better communication and potential benefits (i.e. a patreon subscription) it’s likely folks would be willing.
Secondly, I believe RQ should reinstate the forums. The benefit to something more static like forums (or reddit threads or whatever is similar) is the ease of moderation and the forced expansion of time. Without the instant chat function of Discord, it isn’t as overwhelming to participate in forums or threads. These should be official RQ forums and moderated (which won’t be as difficult as a Discord). As mentioned, compensation is a tricky subject because when you start paying ‘volunteers’ they can claim employment and it opens up RQ to a whole swath of responsibilities. A “Mod Team” shirt or pin, a patreon subscription, maybe some mod-creator meetups could be provided for services rendered.
RQ could possibly look into reopening the Discord, perhaps limiting it to patrons. While that would make it more manageable, it potentially leads to issues involving classism or elitism. It could also exacerbate the earlier issue of fan entitlement. If RQ decides to reopen the Discord, they should do so with a lot of consideration.
I'm a huge fan of Rusty Quill. There are plenty of times I’ve been frustrated or disappointed with them, but at its heart, it tries to accomplish what I think to be a noble and admirable goal. Rusty Quill seeks to create good art with an emphasis on highlighting diverse voices that might not otherwise get a chance to perform. And, from what I’ve seen despite some ups and downs, tries to do their best to create sustainable income for those they bring along as collaborators. The love the team has for storycrafting is obvious and that - along with their community - is where they should focus.
EDIT:
I started this post about three weeks ago, so the Medium article was a big surprise. I won’t dissect the article because that’s not my goal, but I do have a few thoughts.
So, let's address the article on Medium.
Here is the article so you can read it for yourself. https://medium.com/@newtschott/whos-afraid-of-alex-j-newall-ae3a67f3a5e1
Here is Rusty Quill's response: https://rustyquill.com/2022/12/13/public-response-to-an-opinion-piece/
This tumblr post speaks about an inaccurate quote that the article mentions, and I think is relevant: https://www.tumblr.com/dadhuddle/703488191401984000/journalistic-integrity-re-newt-schottelkottes-rq?source=share.
Here is a link to a tumblr post from Harlan Guthrie, creator of the Malevolent podcast, which is part of the RQN. I felt it important to get a point of view of someone involved in the network. https://www.tumblr.com/malevolentcast/703493906802868224/you-probably-already-know-about-this-but-an?source=share
The issues the article raises are very important. If these allegations are true, they need to be addressed. Newt being the marketing director of a rival podcast company and failing to disclose this for several hours casts the entire article in doubt because the conflict of interest is something ethical journalists would've avoided. (26) Newt also favorably compared RQ's practices to Fable and Folly. (27) Newt and the other two editors of the piece also provided their contact information to provide help with "research, job searches, and more" to former/current employees of RQ. (28) Neither of these things are inherently wrong, but Newt's connection to F&F casts them in a different light. This could possibly be construed as encouragement for current RQ employees or network shows to leave RQ for F&F. It's unfortunate, because this conversation needed to happen, especially if the purported issues are factual. Now there is a haze over the veracity of this article because of this lack of disclosure and the conflicts of interest from the author.
There has been some talk stating that podcast networks are not rivals. They can be friendly, they can share actors, they can share spaces. They almost certainly don't share profits. Every show added to a network brings in income for that network. If one of these networks dissolves, then the shows under its umbrella can move to one of the other networks, raising its profits. It's difficult to deny that one podcast network would benefit from the dissolution of another. I would identify that as rivals, even if they're friendly.
I don't believe that Fable and Folly had anything to do with this article. I don't even think Newt intended for them to be involved at all or for people to make that connection. It's the appearance of bias that muddies the waters. Most journalistic codes of ethics tell journalists to avoid conflicts of interest, real or perceived. If it seems a journalist has a stake in the outcome of a story, it compromises the neutrality and the authenticity of the piece.
And unfortunately, despite Newt's claims of a background in journalism (unverifiable at the time of posting this blog outside of editorial publications), the necessary practices to lend credence towards these allegations weren't followed.
This post represents my own opinions, based in my involvement in the community. I've tried to provide sources whenever I could, though much of it was lost when the RQ Discord shut down, or mired in the sheer breadth of content. If there's a blatant untruth, please let me know with supporting evidence so I can correct it.
Footnotes:
1. Establishment of the company and ownership as per the foundation documents.
2. Alex & Jonny working the same job James Ross gave them (160 Q&A)
3. Patreon funding builds new studio via Studio tour video: (the video is patron-only, so here is a screencap of Alex stating that Patreon funded the studio)
4. Alex was homeless for a while, retrospective 189.5 (amongst others)
5. Rusty Quill Forums https://rustyquill.proboards.com/board/1/general-board
6. RQ Forums post celebrating the first RQGG
7. Rusty Quill Official Discord goes live, via RQ Forums.
8. Haggis and Dragons interview https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HkYsA50Ts9M&list=FLaf41raWk5sb2VhQcEcPpsg&index=27
(Alex talking about the company stepping back from the public 12:30)
9. Popularity of the term “the magnus archives” from Google Analytics
10. Hannah becomes director, via RQ filing documentation
11. Autumn becomes Community Assistant, via Patreon email
12. Rusty Quill’s official statement about mods walkout.
Announcement - plain text 15-09-21.pdf
13. Crunchy's tweet
14. Mike LeBeau leaves RQ, via his twitter
15. The first Magnus sequel ARG prompt, via Patreon email
16. Oct 24 Pre-Kickstarter Announcement Livestream https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bLOj5JKq-QU&t
17. The Magnus Protocol Kickstarter launch livestream https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Xk1hgVY2cc&t
18 Newt Schottelkotte's Medium piece: https://medium.com/@newtschott/whos-afraid-of-alex-j-newall-ae3a67f3a5e1
19 Rusty Quill's response to the Schottelkotte piece: https://rustyquill.com/2022/12/13/public-response-to-an-opinion-piece/
20. Rusty Quill internal census
21 The end of the RQ census summary:
22. Average number of employees at RQ in 2022, via RQ filing documentation
23. RQG editing stats, courtesy of the LOLOMG: A performance review by Oscar Wilde team (the team theorizes that Alex was still mastering during that early gap, but forgot to credit himself) [additional note: LOLOMG was a fan project to celebrate the end of Rusty Quill Gaming] note added 10am - incorrectly attributed, my deepest apologies to Straw and their team
24. Patreon retention stats, via Graphetron
25. Kickstarter use policy
26 The lack of disclosure on the initial posting of the Schottelkotte article.
27 Comparison of Fable and Folly's practices to Rusty Quill's.
28 Contact information for the writer and two editors given to current and ex Rusty Quill employees and network shows.
29 Patreon announcement of Cry Havoc! and Neon Inkwell postponement (I knew I had this lying around somewhere!)
30 Some additional information from Crunchy (thanks Crunchy!). sorry for the awful paint edit job (added 16/12/22 7pm)
#rusty quill#rusty quill drama#the magnus archives#rusty quill network#the magnus protocol#that's like just your opinion man
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cowboy like me
Natasha Romanoff x Reader
Summary: As a part-time criminal and a full-time escape artist your first priority was always to keep people at arm's length. When you meet someone who also knows what it's like to live from day to day, you're not so sure you want to let her slip away.
Foreword: Title taken from the Taylor Swift song cause it’s evermore season y’all
The first time you met the Black Widow was aboard a train heading south toward London.
You sat, facing the window and watching the people mill about the terminal outside. Your cheeks were still red and wind bitten from your commute to the station. The car was almost full now, most everyone dressed in Manchester United jerseys and hats and the like. You blended in just fine among them. Another fan headed home after the match with a scarf and an old pair of trainers.
You rehashed the details of your current mark in your head like a mantra. Jameson Harris. 42 Malcolm Rd. Wife was Anna Harris. Two children, Marcus and Emily.
“All aboard. The 5:00 train from Manchester to London is off in three minutes,” the conductor announced from a speaker overhead. You could barely hear it over the excitement of the crowd. A little boy ran screaming down the aisle, his mother giving a futile chase.
In the set of seats facing you two men about your age sat down. They were clearly drunk, laughing like hyenas and shoving each other in a manner that bordered on real anger. At least one of them smelled like heavy smoke.
“Hey, mate,” the tall, lanky one with a bad neck tattoo waved at you. “How about that game, eh?”
You grinned widely as if you had one too many drinks coursing through your veins. “Fucking wild.” You stumbled over the words as if your tongue didn’t sit correctly in your mouth. “Best match of the season, if you ask me.”
The other guy, fitter and dark-haired took out a lighter and a cigarette. He lit it and pulled a huge drag. The exhaled smoke blew right into the face of a passing attendant.
She coughed stiffly into her hand. “Sir, there is no smoking allowed onboard. I am going to have to ask you to step out or please put it out.”
“Are you talking to me, sweetheart?” You averted your gaze, scrolling mindlessly through the contacts in your phone. If the woman was looking for a hero, you were a false beacon of hope.
“Yes. Now, please. There is truly no smoking allowed in the car.” The acrid stench of nicotine once more assaulted everyone misfortunate enough to be in the general vicinity.
The man took a deep breath and stood. Elaborately he stubbed the cigarette out on the back of his seat, little bits of ash flaking into the air. The attendant moved on and he dropped back into the chair. “Fucking cunt,” he swore loud enough to cut through the din.
You closed your eyes to shut out the cloudy winter light intent on piercing your retinas and the jerky movements of the other passengers, high off the energy from the match. You swore you would take a break after this job. You had made that exact same promise to yourself last week in Bogota, and the time before in Cairo. No, you wouldn’t stop. Just as relentless as the blood rushing through your veins, stopping would be tantamount to death.
“Excuse me.” A voice caused your train of thought to come to a screeching halt. Innocence dripped from the words like honey, and you could tell the woman’s voice was pitched up from her normal tone. “Is anyone sitting here?” A slender hand gestured at the seat next to yours.
You pushed yourself up from the slouch you had been lounging in, feeling self-conscious. “No. Go right ahead,” you answered, cockney accent shining right through. She was pretty, you noted; about your age as well. A hitch tugged at the back of your brain. An evolutionary alarm from living your entire life on the move. This woman was not to be trusted. Underneath the wide eyes and the girlish smile was a viper coiled to strike.
“Thank you,” she said, looking quite small against the backdrop of the raucous train car.
A wolf whistle pierced the air, looking for trouble. The bloke who had been smoking flashed a predator’s grin at the blonde beside you. “Where are you traveling to all alone now, girlie?”
You watched the exchange from the corner of your eye. Why did conflict seem to follow wherever you stepped foot? The woman merely glanced up from her book, unwilling to feed the fire.
“Oi. Why don’t you go ahead and look at me when I’m talking to you? I know you can hear me.” The train had begun to depart, ushering in a wave of quiet to the car as passengers settled down. The demand was impossible to ignore. Even as parents hushed children and drunkards passed out in increasing numbers, his voice only gained intensity.
“This train is headed for London, is it not?” She asked, face as innocent as a blank sheet of paper.
“Hey Jack. She’s a witty one,” he said, slapping his friend on the chest. The woman flicked her gaze at you. Your attention wandered to her like a moth to a flame. You stomped down on any inclination to help her. You weren’t going to lose this game of chicken.
“Sweetheart.” The man so called Jack joined in the instigating. “How about you come home with us, eh? I’ve got a real nice flat. I bet you’d like the bedroom.”
“No, I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you come with me to the bathroom right now?” The dark-haired one surged forward, grimy hand outstretched toward the woman. Caution gone with the wind, your arm darted out on its own accord. You intercepted his wrist, tugging harshly enough for him to stumble closer to you.
The blonde’s eyes widened and she shrank in on herself in her seat. You saw right through the act. An elderly man with a newsboy cap across the aisle watched the altercation like a deer caught in headlights. You prayed he wouldn’t call for help.
The entire damn point was to not draw attention to yourself. Today though, electricity charged the air with biting energy. The presence of the mystery-shrouded person beside you drove you past the gates of reason.
You squeezed the man’s pinky until you heard the crunch of bone pushed too far. He screeched like a cat. “Go and find yourself another seat. I don’t care if the car is full. You’ll throw yourself out the rear if you have to. Don’t let me see your fucking face again,” you whispered in his ear. The words leapt flaming from your tongue.
Eyes wild with adrenaline and the courage of alcohol, he swung at you with his free fist. You caught the clumsy punch, seized the man by the wrist, and snapped it clean. He screamed, turning the heads of the other passengers. Your gaze swept like a searchlight through the crowd, promising more hurt to anyone who might even think about interfering.
He crashed back into his friend’s lap before staggering to his feet. His sniffles and shuffling footsteps echoed through the silent traincar. “Go on,” you directed his buddy, who wasted no time before similarly scrambling from his seat. A final burst of dauntlessness flared up your throat. “What the fuck are you all staring at me for?” You broadcasted to the intrigued onlookers.
Half of these people weren’t sober enough to remember this in the morning. For those who did, you would be a completely different person the second you stepped foot off this godforsaken vehicle.
“Thank you,” the woman said, sickly sweet.
“Don’t mention it.” You admitted beating up assholes wasn’t an entirely cumbersome task.
“I feel obliged now to ask what your name is,” she continued.
You raised your eyebrows, turning in her direction. “What about stranger danger? How do you know I didn’t just stop them so I could be alone with you?”
“How do you know I needed your help?” She batted the question back at you.
“Touche.” You knew she didn’t. But she had indeed wanted to keep her cards close to her chest at the expense of you revealing yours. You offered a hand. “I’m Sam.”
“Nadia,” she replied, conceding the handshake. Her palms and fingers were lined with ridges of calluses.
“That’s a pretty name.” But not one that belonged to her, you thought.
She was so close now. The setting sunlight streamed through the window and coaxed the vibrance from the green of her irises. You stopped yourself from lingering there too long. You imagined all the people who had lost to her siren’s call before.
You cleared your throat and broke off the staring match. “Can I ask what you’re doing in England? Excuse me assuming that you’re not from around here.” If she wanted to play this game, you didn’t see the harm in joining in.
“I’m visiting a friend.” Her American accent drew attention. Odd for a thief or a spy or whoever she was to forgo language assimilation. “What about you, Sam? Did you grow up here?”
“I did. Never been out of the country meself.” Lies to you, but truths for Sam the football fan.
“Got anyone special at home?” She smirked, looking up at you from a downturned face.
You scoffed. She was messing with you. “No. Not for me. I like to keep available. You never know when an opportunity might come around. I’m not usually one to let a good thing pass me by.”
“And what makes a special opportunity? How do you know one when you see it?” How fitting that smoke still lingered in the air.
“I guess,” you started slowly. “Some people just have this spark about them.”
She wet her lips. “Do you think I have it?” If some people sparked with electricity, she certainly blazed with the sun’s heat.
The corner of your mouth lifted in a smile. You rolled your eyes with playful mirth. That was all the answer she needed.
Good thing as soon as the train pulled into the station in London you would get your ass as far away from her as possible. And with any luck, as the moon eclipses the sun your paths would cease to cross for a very long time.
—
Prime Minister Jameson Harris had an expensive taste in liquor. You were alone in his house, save for a half dozen security agents scattered about various entryways. Tonight you doubled as the man himself while he and his family had been whisked away to another secure location. You owed a friend in MI6 a favor, so you played the sitting duck amidst rumors of an assassination plot. Just another average night.
You snagged a crystal bottle of mystery alcohol from the shelf. Twisting the cork off with a pop you smelled it experimentally before taking a swig straight from the jug. Mister Harris had a fine taste in whiskey indeed. You rounded a giant mahogany table and sat, polished leather squeaking in protest.
The study lights weren’t overwhelming thanks to the dimmers you had spent way too long fiddling with. In addition you had lit a couple of candles. The room had smelled too much like mothballs and stale paper for your taste.
You raised the whiskey bottle in a toast to an imaginary gathering. “Long live the United Kingdom. To the prosperity of humankind. May all mutant scum drop dead,” you pronounced with the fanfare of a juvenile king. No one had stuck around to tell you your birthday, but you still had a good year or two before you were of drinking age. That much at least, you knew.
You didn’t follow politics, not keen on allying yourself with a particular nation, but the anti-mutant sentiment reached you anyhow. Hate and fear for you and your kind served as a rallying point for human leaders. They ceased pointing their guns at each other and instead set their targets on you.
Bottle in hand, you stood abruptly and turned toward the giant bookshelf behind you. Classic novels, history collections, and political theory publications lined the entire wall. You traced your fingers down their spines. You had to stay the night here, but thought it may be wiser to resist the call of sleep lest you don’t wake in the morning.
You pulled a relatively thin volume down. Between the stealing and fleeing and occasional strong-arming you didn’t have a lot of time to read. Tonight, you could start playing catch up with The Scarlet Letter.
You meandered back toward the desk. Glancing up, a cool breeze rushed at you from an open window. Your stomach dropped, heavy with an iron pit. The curtains flapped in the wind, taunting you for letting your guard down.
You set the whiskey and the book down on the desk and instead wrapped your hand around the slick steel of a pistol hidden beneath. “Show yourself,” you called in the voice of Jameson Harris. “Don’t think I won’t shoot you for breaking and entering.”
The study was by no means cramped for room, but even still there were few places to hide. You cleared the room in less than a second before realizing the door was ajar too.
You stalked out into the hall, only to find a guard passed out on the floor. You dug your fingers into your temple. Someone was clearly amusing themselves with the game they were playing. Even so, a chill ran down your spine. You weren’t used to being the rat in the maze in these situations.
Outside the study, the rest of the house was blanketed in darkness. For you, the absence of light made no difference. You could see just fine with the barest hint of sunshine. From above the bannister, you peered down the sight of the gun at the foyer. The ground floor lay still, as if holding its breath. The security guard posted at the front door sat slumped against the wall. You couldn’t tell if the dark spot pooling beneath his body was born of shadow or something much more sinister.
A cold hand on your shoulder jolted you from your search. Before you could turn around, meticulously sharpened steel carved a grinning line across your throat. You clamped a hand around the wound, panic fluttering in your chest like a trapped canary. From the corner of your warping vision you saw a figure, wrapped in a shawl of shadows. The light from their eyes waited eagerly for the one in yours to wink out.
You stumbled, choking on your own blood. Pink froth bubbled from your mouth, burning with the chase of death. Your attention slipped and you shifted from the body of Jameson Harris and back into yourself. Well, almost. What you imagined you might look like without the lizard eyes and cobalt blue skin of a freak.
Beneath your palm your skin grew unnaturally warm. The waterfall of blood ceased its torrential flow. Slowly your skin sewed itself back together. You sighed in relief. You knew you could heal, but had never tested your powers to this extreme.
Behind you a voice muttered in Russian, “What the fuck?”
You stood straight up, flicking blood absentmindedly from your hand. Surprise gripped your heart. Standing in the corner, as still as a statue was the girl from the train that had brought you here. Nadia no longer looked the picturesque part of a wonderstruck American teenager visiting London. Blonde hair, that you now decided had definitely been dyed, lay neatly down her back in an intricate braid. She wore a black form-fitting tactical suit. Not military issued, you thought.
You blinked and found yourself staring down the muzzle of a pistol. You raised your hands in surrender, assuming the form you had been posing as on the train. A familiar rush raced from the top of your head to the ends of your limbs as your skin reformed itself. “Remember me?” You asked, spitting out a glob of blood and exposing red-stained teeth.
She cocked her head ever so slightly and just a moment of opportunity presented itself. You lunged for the gun while she grappled with the fact you’d been three completely different people in less than a minute. You let yourself shift back to your common appearance and vaulted across the floor. Muscles wound tight, you straightened your torso and kicked at the weapon.
Snapping back to reality she snatched the gun away just in time. You stood before she could re-aim and cut at her wrist. The gun clattered to the floor and you kicked it further down the hall.
You craned your head to avoid a viscous elbow to the nose. Sweat began to build along your hairline and drip down the back of your neck. You didn’t fight often, preferring to run into the foliage rather than confront the enemy and run the risk of being caught. You missed the rush.
She fought like a dancer. Momentum built from a lunge forward charged a stinging jab at your ribs. You pushed her two steps back and she went for a low sweep at your legs. You moved so fast you could hear the rush of cloth through the air, the sound of a fist soaring at your gut. A knife appeared in her hand, opening a surgical gash along the length of your tricep.
Hot blood ran down your arm. You weren’t sure what the limit of your healing factor was, but as the cut refused to close, you realized you might have spent it for tonight.
Your heart thundered in your chest. You couldn’t lose, no doubt that if she caught you she wouldn’t hesitate to snap your neck and unload an entire round into your head, just in case. But you had to think five steps ahead even as a boot came flying hairwidths from your face and lightning fast slashes struck at any spot you left unprotected.
She flipped herself and suddenly you were flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling. You pulled air back into your spent lungs, gasping as your fingers dug into the floorboards. From the corner of your vision you saw her bolt for the discarded gun. Panic flared through you and you sprung yourself up, tackling her off course.
The both of you crashed through the bannister and went soaring onto the ground floor. She managed to maneuver herself midair so that she would land on top of you. The impact shot up the knobs of your spine, your head whipping painfully against the cool floor. Her shoulder dug into your collarbone, breaths coming in steady little exhales. You lost your focus for a split second, the pain radiating from the back of your skull overwhelming everything else.
Involuntarily you transformed into your natural appearance, attention split in so many ways you couldn’t hold onto maintaining your looks. You grit your teeth and shoved the woman off of you with all the strength you could muster, which admittedly beat the strongest of humans even on your worst days. She flew back and smashed into a side table, residing lamp tumbling down and shattering on the floor.
You hurdled over the staircase railing at the halfway point and cleared the rest of the steps in one bound. You normalized your complexion, hoping the dark had shielded you from her seeing the momentary exposure.
You scooped a gun up from the ground and whipped around, catching her at the top of the staircase. Strangling the grip, you tensed the muscles in your forearms and leveled it at her chest.
“Where’s Harris?” She asked, voice as harsh as the blade caught in her fist, still drip, drip, dripping with your blood.
“A safe place. Somewhere far away from pretty women with sharp objects.” Your pointer finger ghosted over the trigger. A voice in the back of your mind urged you to pull it. Return the favor.
She arched one eyebrow. “You think I’m pretty?”
“I think you’re good.” You’d never tell her, but even with your enhanced strength and agility she’d had you on the ropes the entire fight. If you had so much as breathed differently you were sure the roles would be reversed right now.
“But not good enough for you,” she finished. Even as she bowed completely at your mercy her expression gave nothing away. A long time ago, you thought, she sculpted her face from marble, and the mask had been cemented in place since.
You lowered the gun. You weren’t a killer anyhow.
Blood crusted under your fingernails and in the lines of your palms, your shirt was starting to stick to your skin. You slid it over your head and tossed it on the floor, well aware of the woman’s lingering gaze.
You turned your back on her and strode into the bedroom, stealing a new shirt before locking yourself in the bathroom.
With a sigh you stopped holding a normal appearance and shifted back into your innate form. Staying in shape had become easier as you’d grown and fully navigated your powers but the process still ate up much of your concentration. Exhaustion slogged endlessly at your mind.
You eyed your arm which had thankfully stopped actively bleeding, but the flesh still gaped open in a deep red valley. You pulled all the cabinets open, coming up with a roll of gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Catching your lip between your teeth you washed the stinging wound, a hiss escaping as you flushed it out. You wrapped the bandage tight around your arm, ripping the extra with your teeth.
Methodically you cleaned yourself up. Filling your mouth with cold water from the tap, the sour coppery taste flushed away from your tongue. Then you scrubbed at your face, neck, and chest, trying hard to ignore the blue ridged flesh of an aberration. As the adrenaline started to drain from your system, the realization that death had been seconds away from stealing your life weighed on your mind like a wet blanket.
You scrubbed harshly at your hands until the water ran clear and then some. Staring at your reflection you slowly recomposed yourself. Freakishly red hair gave way to a more muted color, the yellow in your eyes faded to white, and bit by bit, the blue scales that cursed you with this power overturned into ordinary skin.
You curled your lips into a careless grin lined with a protective amount of cockiness. The great Mystique smiled back at you.
There you are, you thought.
The first time you had ever lied you were small and alone and desperately hungry for food. You had stolen a loaf of bread from a baker’s cart and bolted around a corner before shifting into someone else. When the seller asked you if you had seen a child run off, you looked him in the eye and told him no.
You weren’t sure how that one little lie had consumed you until there was no you left. Every morning you woke up and put on a charming show at the cost of further warping the person you ought to be. You’d die in your castle of lies, alone and bitter.
You walked back out into the hall, finding your attacker right where you left her. She stared down at the pool of blood staining the wood floor as if maybe she had imagined the entire ordeal.
“Unfortunately for you, I am still here,” you said. Unease churned in your stomach. Perhaps she was simply lying in wait, like a predator crouching in the tall yellow grass. “Made quite the mess though, don’t you think? The Prime Minister might have to look at new flooring.” You cringed as you stepped over the dark, coppery smelling spot. The warm light from the study spilled out into the hall. You walked into it, boldly turning your back on the woman. “Come on. I know you have questions.”
You leaned against the desk, next to a little bobble head of a dog. She walked in a few moments later, looking infinitely more at ease than she had in the hall. The knife had disappeared from her grasp. You saw right through the veil, having constructed a similar one in the privacy of the bathroom.
“So you’re not Jameson Harris, and you’re not Sam from London’s east end.” You shook your head, flicking at the toy. “Then who are you?” She stopped a respectable distance away, standing with her shoulders back and chin high.
You told her your name. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d done that truthfully. Yet this stranger managed to coax it out of you with one question. Faith was a funny thing. “And you?” You asked, tracing the curve of her jaw with your eyes.
“Romanova. Natalia.” She told you so almost robotically, as if the name was reserved for other people to use against her. As if she did not have the right to define herself.
“Nice to meet you, Natalia.” You took another sip of the whiskey before offering her the bottle. She eyed it suspiciously. “It’s not poisoned, I promise. It’ll get you damn drunk though.”
She took the bottle, fingers brushing yours momentarily. “I prefer vodka,” she said, drinking as if she’d been denied water for the past week. She passed it back, staring at you as if searching for something. “How?” She asked, your expression denying her any plausible answer.
“How what?” You asked, failing to suppress a growing smirk.
“The disguises.” The firm line of her lips told you she wasn’t entertained by your antics. “You’re wearing some kind of suit, are you not?” You could imagine the gears turning in her head, trying to explain the impossible.
You slid yourself back until you sat fully on the desktop. “Nope. Fanciest piece of technology I own is a little flip phone,” you said, tracing the smooth lip of the desk with your fingertips. “And I don’t wear tacky suits.”
“I’m offended,” she said lowly, not sounding the slightest bit bothered.
“Don’t be. The whole dark assassin thing suits you,” you said, waving your hand. “Not me though. I mean, could you imagine me in a skin tight suit?”
“I wouldn’t sell yourself short. I think you could pull it off.” She raked her gaze over you and heat rose to your cheeks.
You transformed into an exact copy of her, inspecting your hands in wonder as if she wasn’t standing an arm’s length away. “You’re right,” you said in her voice. “I do look good.” You threw a toothy grin her way before shifting back with a woosh.
Realization dawned on her, green eyes brightening. “You’re one of them,” she said.
“Yep.” You swirled the alcohol around, watching how the light played off the bottle. “One of them.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just I’ve never—I’ve never met a mutant before.” She seemed awestruck at the revelation. You were so used to being met with fear and disgust.
“I’m sure you have. Especially with all of the traveling you do,” you said. You remembered the window, still propped open from earlier. “Those of us that can try to blend in with everyone else. Take any street in a big city, for example. If you walked around for a little I guarantee you’d pass at least one of us.” You gazed up at the night sky, dotted with a billion brilliant stars. The estate sat well removed from the city and its hungry lights. “Most of us learned pretty quickly how to adapt, how to stay safe and hidden in the crowd,” you explained.
“And those of you who can’t?” You looked over your shoulder at Natalia, so curious yet so far from innocent herself.
“We go underground to survive. Or run the risk of being killed, or worse.” You’d heard the rumors. Missing mutants spawned stories. Stories of various governments and other organizations abducting your kind for experimentation. A shiver crawled down your spine.
“Sounds like a lonely way to live.”
You slammed the window shut with more force than necessary. “Takes one to know one.” You guessed people in her life were nothing more than fleeting moments either. “My turn,” you said. “What’s got you sneaking around in the middle of the night, attempting murder on the British prime minister?”
“That’s none of your business,” she said as if speaking to a child. She took another long drink, fingers twitching at her side as a nervous tic. “What’s got you sitting in his house playing body double?” Her voice had taken on a defensive edge.
“A friend,” you replied smoothly. “And money, of course. Turns out protecting politicians pays almost as well as stealing from them.”
“Well I’m not a sellout.”
You narrowed your gaze. “No, you just slit throats because you’re told to, then.” Natalia furrowed her brow. “Unless you’re telling me you got bored and picked up a new hobby.” She stayed quiet, your words seemingly falling on deaf ears. “What?” You asked. Her lips were slightly parted. She stalked closer, eyes flickering over your face. “Hey, hey,” you stuttered, tripping over your feet as you backpedaled.
You huffed as you slammed into the wall. She reached out, so close now you could feel her breath on your face. You froze, heart thundering in your chest. She cupped your cheek tenderly, thumb brushing your flaming skin.
“Your eye,” she whispered as if it were something holy.
You blinked, taken aback. “What?”
“It’s yellow. They weren’t different colors before.”
You broke out of her hold, forcing yourself not to run to the mirror on the wall. The frame was a golden oval, hung in between a family portrait and a pair of framed university degrees. Sure enough your right eye had slipped back. You blinked and it fixed itself, but the damage was done.
“I should go,” you muttered, staring at the floor and beelining for the door. Too much alcohol and too little sleep and this was what you wound up with.
Natalia snagged your wrist and held you from taking off. You knew if you pulled away she’d let you go. You untensed the muscles in your back and let her spin you around.
You tilted your head down and met her in a slow kiss. She had you hooked and you didn’t care. You couldn’t think straight, the taste of her lips clouded your head like a powerful drug.
You threaded your fingers through her hair and undid her braid while her hand wandered down to your belt. You pulled back, breathless. “I’m not looking for nothing here,” you insisted, even if only to try to convince yourself.
“Me neither,” she agreed. “One night.” She kissed your neck and a low grunt wound its way up from the back of your throat. “You’ll never have to see me again.”
You didn’t know why a pang wracked your chest still her words. That was the plan, after all. You knew you weren’t cut out for more than tonight. And with the way Natalia dragged her nails down your back, you guessed she wasn’t either.
“Bedroom,” you demanded, stepping out of your pants that now lay pooled around your ankles. You stumbled down the hall, blinded by her body as she lost her suit, and deafened by the way she panted your name between desperate kisses.
God, you were screwed.
—
You didn’t sleep, knowing you’d lose grip on your appearance if you did, but with each passing minute you found it harder and harder to stay awake. Natalia lay pressed into your side, so close that you could feel her heartbeat in your ribcage. Her body radiated heat, not the kind that made your face flush with infatuation, but the kind that felt like finally finding shelter after an eternity in the freezing rain. Her breaths wound in and out as if she were sleeping, but you knew she couldn’t. No. Someone who led her life had to be hardwired to never let their guard down.
Finally, after catching yourself almost dozing off for the tenth time you peeled back the covers and forced yourself to leave the confines of the mattress that seemed intent on sucking you back down. Goosebumps immediately rose along your skin, but you didn’t dare to glance back at bed and the woman feigning slumber. You stood and stretched, working the stiff muscles in your back and shoulders. Don’t look back. You followed the trail of hastily removed clothing down the dark hall and back to the study, candles still alight.
You buckled your jeans and grabbed your bag, lingering by the door. Don’t go back. Hastily you rummaged through the desk drawers, finding a pen and pad of paper. You scribbled down the address of a PO box that you checked quarterly along with a note that read, For another one night.
A/N
If you didn't catch it, R is a shapeshifter like Mystique from the X-Men. I wrote this piece with the intent of having it serve as the first chapter in a longer story. I wasn't certain of the amount of interest in a series though... I fear Tumblr may be drying up some.
Let me know if you'd like to see more and I can post up the second chapter, otherwise I'll leave it be as a one-shot.
As always, thanks for reading and just a reminder, my requests are open.
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Desert Rose
Chapter 61 ~ White Crosses
✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Rose
✧ Era : Season 5
✧ Word Count : 8k
In this chapter ~ In an effort to save Beth, Daryl and Rose take off after the car that heads straight into the city of Atlanta. As they navigate through the abandoned city, they somehow manage to find a clue at where she's being held, along with the help from an unexpected stranger.
The roads were pitch black, the only light source coming from the moon above as we followed behind the car for what felt like forever, but really it had only been an hour judging by the blinking red numbers that flashed on the dashboard. My leg hadn't stopped bouncing since I first sat down, too anxious as I pondered the unknown. Neither one of us knew where she was or what was happening to her, and it was slowly starting to torture me.
Daryl explained vaguely a little while ago how he knew they were the same people, the bright white cross painted on the back window being a dead giveaway. He talked throughout the whole ride, explaining everything to me, but I couldn't find the words. I just stayed completely silent as he spoke, nodding along occasionally to show that I was still listening, though my mind was racing. I just prayed that wherever she was, whoever she was with, that she was okay and they hadn't hurt her.
But suddenly the car became dead silent, glancing over at Daryl to see that he had stopped talking completely, now only focusing on the road. I could tell by the way he was chewing on his thumb nail, his other hand gripping the wheel harshly, he was silently blaming himself for the situation we were placed in. Overthinking every little thing as the reminder of the vehicle in front of us was only making it worse.
I studied his side profile for a long moment before gently placing my hand on his knee so he would look at me, and when he did, I could see the guilt filling his eyes like tears.
"It's not your fault, love." I said softly.
He shook his head, "I shoulda been there with her...never shoulda told her to run."
"You couldn't have known; you just wanted her safe." I gently reminded him, "That could've happened no matter who she was with, this isn't on you...you hear me?" I asked.
"Yes ma'am." he muttered softly, his lip quirking up the smallest bit.
I knew with that little comment and the slight smile he seemed to muster, I somehow got his mind to ease at least a bit. Though no matter what I said to him, I knew he would still blame himself. But at least this was a start.
He took my hand from off his knee and kissed my knuckles softly, moving to rest our intertwined hands on the center counsel, "Rick's gonna wonder where we went." he said suddenly.
"I know," I nodded, "But hopefully they'll stay put for the next few days until we come back. He wouldn't leave us behind like that." I assured.
He nodded, "Tank's runnin low."
"Maybe we could end this now...just run them off the road." I suggested.
"Nah, we're good for a bit." he spoke.
I began to feel myself get more antsy as I sat uselessly in my seat, glancing over at the red gaslight that suddenly flashed on, "If they're holding her somewhere, we can get it out of the driver."
"Yeah, but if he don't talk we're back to square one. Right now, we got the advantage. We'll see who they are, if they're a group we'll see what they can do. And we do what we gotta do to get her back."
I nodded slowly, knowing he was right as we couldn't waste this opportunity. But still, it felt like this drive was never ending. His eyes panned off the road for a short moment, noticing my knee still bouncing up and down rapidly. His thumb rubbed softly on the back of my hand to grab my attention once more.
"We're gettin her back." he said confidently.
I nodded my head again, "I know."
My attention was then pulled to straight ahead of us, not taking my eyes off the vehicle as we followed the two red lights while it swerved through lanes. They only seemed to be going deeper and deeper out of town, not stopping once for anything, before finally taking an onramp to head towards Atlanta.
Another thirty minutes passed by and we had managed to follow them all the way into the large city, now surrounded by many street signs and tall buildings. But my heart stopped in my chest as the car finally stopped moving, their taillights lighting up as the driver then put it in park on the side of the road. Daryl slowed our car down to a stop, a good distance away from them so they still wouldn't notice our presence, watching, waiting silently to see what they would do next. Though the car stayed perfectly still and unmoving, no one making an attempt to get out as it just sat there in the dead of night, confusion consuming me as my eyes never moved away.
"What the hell is he waiting for?" I muttered.
Right as my voice broke the silence, the brake lights suddenly went out as the person inside shut the car completely off, causing me to tense as little as the anticipation was now killing me. Finally after what felt like years, two people stepped outside, both wearing some kind of cop uniforms as they scanned the empty area around them.
It was hard to tell what the hell they were doing from the darkness that consumed the streets, but it also didn't help that we were parked a good seventy yards away from them. I squinted as I tried to follow their slightly moving figures, quietly moving to take out my handgun that was still secured in my belt. My eyes glanced down briefly, checking to see how many bullets I had left just in case.
I then looked back up just in time to see the two walking away from the car, towards the right into an alley behind one of the buildings, disappearing where we could no longer see them. I sighed in annoyance as I slowly leaned more into Daryl's side of the car, seeing if I could get a better look at where they vanished to, hearing him scoff from right next to my face.
"Woman, I can't see 'em either."
I rolled my eyes as I scooted back, "Well, it was worth a shot."
Our eyes stayed glued to the windshield as an agonizing silence settled in the air, staring at the same spot for what felt like hours, before there was a sudden loud thud against my window. I yelped loudly in surprise, jumping out of my seat as I whipped my head in the direction to see the source of the noise, coming face to face with a walker. A sigh left my lips as I placed a hand over my chest, glaring at the dead thing as it desperately tried to get in, clawing desperately at the glass.
Though I could hear my heart beating rapidly in my ears from the slight heart attack, I could still manage to catch the soft sounds of Daryl chuckling to himself, causing my head to turn back over in his direction. "What?" I asked defensively.
It took him a moment to collect himself as he attempted to control his laughs, "Ya jumped outta yer damn skin." he muttered before laughing again.
I scoffed, "Yeah, got it, hilarious."
"It was." he confirmed once his laughs finally died down.
My eyes narrowed at him, watching as he brought my hand back up to trail a few soft kisses on my skin as some kind of apology. I scoffed to myself as I looked away, knowing damn well I couldn't stay annoyed with this man for very long even if I tried.
The corpse outside continued to snarl as it pounded on the outside of the car, the two strangers finally emerging back into view again. I leaned forward a bit to see what they had done, but from what I could tell, it only looked like they moved some large pieces of scrap and metal from the alley so they were able to drive through. Potentially to take a short cut to their final destination.
As they moved to get back into their car, the driver stopped short with his hand on the handle of the door, looking right in our direction to the walker who was bringing attention to our vehicle. He seemed to stare almost directly at us for a few seconds, before quickly getting back in the car of his own, not hesitating to take off again as if he somehow knew we were watching.
Daryl quickly reached forward to turn the key again, but all it did was sputter. His eyes widened a fraction, trying again and again as he cursed under his breath, though it only seemed to be getting worse. "Shit, the tank's tapped. They gotta be holed up in the city somewhere, they'd have taken the bypass if they weren't."
I let my back hit the cushioned seat in slight defeat that we couldn't follow them further, seeing walkers beginning to emerge from the darkness upon hearing all the noise. "We'll need to find a place to stay until tomorrow morning."
He nodded in agreement as I rolled down my window a crack, sticking the mouth of my gun out the window to shoot the walker in the head. We then didn't hesitate to get out of the car, moving quickly as we scanned each building we passed to try and find some place safe. We ducked and dodged the oncoming walkers that seemed to follow us, killing a few of them off as we began to jog away from the small herd that followed.
Finally, we maneuvered in between two buildings, finding a back door that led into an older abandoned structure that hardly looked like it had been touched. Daryl rushed up to the metal door, beginning to pry it open as I silently watched his back, firing a few bullets at the lone walkers that caught up to us at a slow pace.
He finally pried it open after only a few tries, signaling me inside to follow him before slamming the door shut behind us, easily blocking it off with some furniture inside. The two of us then trailed down the long hallways ahead, finding it hard to see as the only light we had was a small flashlight Daryl carried, pointing towards which direction to go.
The whole space seemed like it had a very eerie and uncomfortable vibe to it, not liking the feeling it gave me from the moment we stepped in here. Although it was completely silent, no type of real threat to come across, just a feeling I couldn't ignore.
Eventually we made it further down to a room on our right, wanting to be a good distance away from the door we broke down in case anything were to happen; we could make a faster getaway through the other side. I reached to open the door in front of me, Daryl shining the light from just over my shoulder as it revealed a small room with a small bunkbed, a desk tucked in the corner, and a giant window straight ahead.
Daryl shut the door quietly behind him as we silently put our things down, "You sleep, I'll take first watch." I spoke, rubbing his shoulder lightly as I passed.
"This place is locked up tight." he voiced.
I slowly moved up to the window, staring out at almost the entire city as I shook my head, "No, it's okay. I'm not that tired anyway."
The truth was I was exhausted, but then again, I had too much on my mind to actually get a decent amount of sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about Beth, how she was somewhere close yet so incredibly far as we would no doubt be looking for hours on end before being able to track her down. And then who knows what we would have to do once we found her, the things we would have to do to get her back.
But another part of my mind was stuck on the scare I had just a few hours ago, how easily I began to panic like the same incident was going to happen to me all over again. It terrified me, so badly that I truly didn't know how I would someday get over the images I continued to see. Being in a strange new area didn't help with it either, in fact it only made it worse. How we didn't know the types of people that could be lingering here, a strong possibility that they could be similar to the men from that night.
All these thoughts just left my mind in a whirlwind of emotions, not being able to stop my racing heart enough to settle down.
I thought that Daryl had laid down to get some rest, not wanting to question the fact that I was insistent on staying awake. But then I felt his arms slowly wrap around my waist from behind me as he rested his head in the crook of my neck. I instantly melted into his touch, feeling him start to trail soft kisses on the side of my neck, lingering down towards my shoulder.
"What's on yer mind, pretty girl?" he asked in between kisses.
I rested my head against his, "Everything." I sighed, "Beth, the others..." I paused for a moment to the point where he caught on, "That night in the woods." I admitted.
He stopped immediately what he was doing, pulling away to turn me around so we were face to face, "Yer safe." he assured softly, "I ain't lettin anythin bad happen to ya ever again."
I couldn't find my voice to say anything, so I just settled on nodding my head, showing I heard every word. He brought his hand up to my face and stroked my cheek lightly, "Ya don't have to put on a brave face. What ya went through was somethin traumatic, and ya don't have to pretend it didn't affect ya...I know it did. M' so sorry I wasn't there to protect ya."
"Stop. Stop apologizing like it was your fault." I whispered while shaking my head, "I just- I can't seem to let it go...but I want to. I want to so bad but- I just can't stop thinking about it- I can't-"
My voice broke towards the end of my sentence and my vision started to blur with tears. He shushed me quietly as he brought me into his embrace, trying desperately to control my breathing to prevent a panic attack that felt as though it was rising up my throat. His body tensed a bit at my sudden shift of emotions, his hands instantly moving soothingly along my back.
"Shh, Rosie breathe." he spoke softly.
I gripped onto him tightly as I desperately tried to calm myself, closing my eyes to try and think of something else besides the man looming over me with the knife in his hand. My body was running on overdrive as I couldn't find the strength to calm down, but I tried to remind myself that I was safe here with him. Nothing would happen as long as he was right here. And I knew in the back of my mind he would put himself in immense danger if it meant that I was safe. It was just so hard to forget something like that, especially when the man left a constant reminder every time I'd look at my reflection.
As the minutes passed and I finally calmed down enough, I peered up to glance at his face, "I'm sorry." I whispered.
He looked almost hurt that I had said that, cupping my face delicately in his hands, "Ya don't ever have to say yer sorry, darlin. Not ever."
"I don't deserve you."
He shook his head, "Nah, m' the one who doesn't deserve you." he assured, placing a delicate kiss on my lips before I even had the chance to argue.
A weight was lifted from me as I stayed in his arms for far longer than necessary, leading to him eventually convince me to try and get some rest. It was hard to fall asleep at first, but feeling his presence right next to me helped more than he would ever realize.
The next morning came quickly as we devised a plan even quicker, wanting to pinpoint where they were keeping Beth. Ultimately we decided we would head out to try and find a building that loomed over the entire city, wanting to get a better view of where the cars with the white crosses could've gone. I grew nervous the longer we were outside, now being light enough for us to see the number of walkers that still scattered around the Atlanta streets. There were small herds everywhere we went, causing us to be completely silent as we tried to slip past them.
My steps were light and quiet while I followed behind Daryl as he guided us through, slowly coming to a stop when we hit a crossroad. I peered around him silently, seeing there was a much bigger group of them in the middle of the street, seeming to block the building we had been heading towards.
But Daryl thought fast. He crouched down to the ground to grab a few pieces of newspaper that seemed to be littered everywhere across the sidewalk, grabbing a glass bottle right along with it as he dug around in his pocket. He then pulled out his lighter, stuffing the paper inside the bottle before lighting a flame to it, throwing it across the way so the walkers could see it out in the open.
We sat and waited for a moment before they finally turned towards the light source, moving just far enough from the entrance where we were able to run towards without being spotted. The two of us jogged through the parking garage that was attached to the skyscraper, prying one of the doors open to finally make it inside.
Daryl led the way through the giant office building, attempting to climb up as many stairs as we could so we could easily have a bird's eye view of everything around the area. We followed the signs until we came across a large hallway, seeing clothes and useless supplies all over the ground as we slowly stepped around them, seeing a few tents standing in the way of the door on the other end.
The snarls that were coming from behind the fabric was a dead giveaway that there were walkers still alive inside, but we paid it no mind as we kept moving through the trashed area, avoiding their outstretched hands through the material. Though we noticed quickly the double doors ahead were chained together, only being able to open it so much to get to the other side.
Thankfully though it wasn't as much of a struggle as I originally assumed, helping each other out as we individually managed to maneuver through the tight space. And after what felt like ages, we finally came across a huge room that could've easily been used for important corporate meetings, giant windows covering almost every inch of the walls and giving us a perfect view of the city.
The moment Daryl shut the door behind us, I felt myself release some tension from my body. "Finally, I feel like I can actually breathe without drawing attention to us." I spoke.
He chuckled, "Dunno what yer on bout. It was nice not having ya talk my ear off." he obviously teased.
"Shut up." I huffed, brushing past him to move closer towards the glass.
From what I could see, the city looked burnt up and destroyed, finding it almost amazing that some people still lived here when there were walkers all over the place. It made me wonder how they survived for so long. I scanned the area for any kind of clue, any indication of where the familiar cars could be hidden amongst the ruins.
Daryl eventually made his way over to stand next to me, squinting through the window just as I was for a few seconds before letting out a breath.
"See anything?" I asked.
"I dunno...hand me that riffle?" he asked.
I picked it up from right by my feet and handed it over to him so he could look through the scope, zooming in on our surroundings. Once he held it up to his face, it didn't take long for him to spot something, watching as he slowly lowered it from his vision to hand it over to me.
"Right there." he pointed.
I adjusted the gun in my grasp, holding it up to my eye to see where his finger was pointing, spotting a white van on the bridge not too far from here, with white crosses sloppily painted on the windows.
"No shit." I muttered in disbelief, lowering the gun once more.
"Gotta be some kinda lead." he said.
I silently nodded as I began to gather our things so we could move again, check out the van to see if it gave any indication on where they were hunkered down. Though when I looked back up to see if Daryl was following me towards the exit, he hadn't seemed to move. He stood there still, intently looking at a painting that hung slightly crooked up on one of the walls.
He never seemed like the type to just sit and admire a painting, so I knew something else was on his mind. Probably something assholey.
"What?" I asked.
He never took his eyes off the piece as he gestured to it, "I bet this cost a rich prick a lotta money." he voiced out loud, "It looks like a dog sat in paint, and whipped it's ass all over the place."
I tilted my head to the side to try and see what he was talking about with my arms folded over my chest, "I don't know...I kinda like it." I admitted.
He scoffed, "Stop."
"I'm serious, it's abstract...unique. I like these kinds of things." I defended, "You clearly don't know me at all." I spoke sarcastically as I sent him a wink.
"Mhm," he muttered with a gruff chuckle as he began to follow me out the room, "Keep tellin yerself that."
The two of us then retraced our steps back toward the double doors we once came through, Daryl moving forward to slide a few guns through the small space before we made our way out. He helped me first as I slipped off my weapon from my back, placing them on the other side as I slowly squeezed myself through the gap.
When I had successfully made it to the other side, I leaned down to pick up my bow I placed on the floor, before freezing suddenly when I heard shuffling from behind me. Quickly looking over my shoulder, I was met with a younger man holding up one of our guns, aiming it right at my head without saying a word.
My eyes widened slightly as I stared at him, hearing Daryl slowly start to maneuver past the doors, "Daryl, stop." I said quickly.
But he was already halfway through, causing the kid to quickly load a bullet into the chamber as his aim didn't falter, "Get up...hands up both of you." he demanded shakily.
My hands slowly raised as I glared at the man before me, standing up to my full height to face him. Daryl scoffed as he leisurely got out from behind the door, following my actions as anger blew off of him like steam.
"Lay down your crossbow," the kid said, "And the bow with the arrows."
"Ya got some sack on ya." Daryl practically growled.
"Look nobody has to get hurt, I just need weapons that's it." he spoke, "So, please just lay them down."
My eyes slowly panned over to Daryl who was already looking at me, hesitantly nodding my head to just do what he wanted, not wanting to take the risk of getting shot if we didn't comply. He sighed heavily before laying it down a good distance in front of him, the kid watching carefully as I did the same.
He then demanded us to back up in a stern voice, though the assertiveness didn't quite match the hesitant look on his face. Daryl took about two baby steps backward, but I didn't move at all, I didn't even budge as I watched him hesitantly step forward to steal our shit from off the ground.
His gun never moved away from me as he adjusted all the weapons securely on his back, "Sorry about this. You look tough, you'll be alright." he said, before taking out a knife and cutting through the material of one of the tents so the walkers inside could come crawling out.
He took off in a sprint the second the dead began to shove themselves out of the tent, causing both of us to quickly spring into action with our knives. We took care of them effortlessly, only four emerging from the small space before we both took off after the man, following the sound of his loud footsteps down the narrow halls. My eyes just barely caught a glimpse of him disappearing behind a door, pushing myself to run faster to try and catch him.
My body practically slammed into the entrance once I reached it, twisting the knob aggressively to try and open it as fast as I could, but the son of a bitch already locked it from the other side. I sighed as I hit the door once again in frustration before cursing under my breath, running my fingers through my hair.
"Ya alright?" Daryl asked.
I nodded before letting out a bitter scoff, "What an asshole."
He nodded in silent agreement, nudging my arm to follow him through the parking garage we once came through so we could keep moving. Clearly, we were both on the same page about what was more important. Though I realized quickly as we walked that our weapons had dwindled down significantly, leaving us with only a few knives and a handgun. But Daryl practically had nothing which made my frustration grow, but mostly I was worried that he wouldn't have enough to defend himself if things went south. So, as we continued to walk side by side, I wordlessly handed him my gun.
He glanced back at me and quickly shook his head, "Nah, keep it."
I gave him a look, "You don't have anything left."
He stopped walking and pulled out his knife from his holster, dangling it in front of my face to prove some kind of point. I rolled my eyes and pushed the knife away, holding the gun further out to him stubbornly.
"Ya need it more than I do, just watch my back." he winked.
"I always have your back." I assured.
He shrugged as he moved to place his knife back, "Then I don't need the gun, do I?"
I scoffed at his persistence but didn't push him any further as I put the gun back behind me with a heavy sigh. Even if I did have his back, he couldn't at least take the gun to give me a little peace of mind?
It was a long and painful walk all the way to buttfuck Egypt, but we finally managed to make it onto the bridge, coming closer and closer to the van Daryl spotted. Though I think what made the walk more torturous was the fact that he walked too damn fast for me to keep up gracefully. I practically jogged the whole way while he looked like he was taking a Sunday stroll.
As we made our way closer to the vehicle, I noticed the number of walkers we had caught the attention of slowly trailing behind, knowing that we would have to be fast before they eventually reached us. Not only that, but as we approached the van further, we both saw that the front end of it was almost completely dangling off the side of the bridge. Fantastic.
Daryl walked over to the back and opened the doors hesitantly, "Alright, let's get this done." he said as he went to take a step inside.
But I was already shaking my head before he even got the chance, "Nope, back up. I'll go, I'm lighter." I protested.
He raised an eyebrow at me, "Ya callin me fat?"
"Are you serious? No, I'm not calling you fat, I'm saying I'm shorter so I'm lighter. Now you and your long ass legs can wait right here while I go in." I said as I attempted to push past him.
But without a word, he jumped into the van instead and my eyes widened watching the van rock back and forth unsteadily, "Daryl Dixon!" I said through gritted teeth.
"Yes, sweetheart?" he called back sweetly.
I shook my head, "Get out of there."
"Nah." was all I heard him grumble before he moved deeper towards the front of the vehicle, the thing shaking wildly as he did so.
My mouth dropped a little and I looked around anxiously to see the walkers that were still following us, raising my hands up like I didn't know what the hell to do. I glanced back in the van and saw that he made it to the driver's seat, looking around for any kind of clue as he picked through some papers on the dash. My eyes narrowed a bit, who was he to tell me I couldn't go in there? Fuck him.
I shook my head and slowly lifted myself into the van, surprising myself when it didn't move too much as I took very delicate steps. My feet moved slowly, anxious that I would put the thing completely over the edge, before I finally made it to the front, sitting down carefully in the passenger seat. Though his head whipped toward me the second he noticed my presence, giving me a look as if I were insane.
"What the hell are ya doin, woman?!" he asked.
I gave him a pointed look, "I wasn't going to let you come in here by yourself, that's stupid. If you think the van can't support both of us, you're more than welcome to get out, but I'm staying right here."
"Yer crazy sometimes, ya know that?" he asked.
I raised my eyebrows, "Says the man who wiped his ass with poison ivy." I clapped back.
He was stunned for a moment before just nodding his head with a shrug like he was telling me I had a point, before we continued quickly searching through the van. I didn't know how much time passed where we had been scanning through every nook and cranny, but when I finally looked up again through the window, I spotted another small herd of walkers making their way towards us from the other side of the bridge.
I breathed out in a slight panic as I frantically looked through the many pieces of paper, none of them having any indication of where this place was. In my mind I knew we couldn't stay for much longer, not when we were about to be surrounded by the dead.
My head snapped back up towards the window to see how close they were now, "There's more coming, we have to go." I said frantically.
He nodded out of the corner of my eye, "Yeah, I see 'em."
We didn't hesitate to move out quickly, feeling his hand on my back guiding me out first as we were mindful of our steps. Though right as I was about to fully jump out onto the concrete, I saw out of the corner of my eye that he flipped over a medical bed that was laying in the back, scanning the initials printed on it.
"GMH, what is that? A hospital?" he asked.
I looked back at him, "I don't know, Grady Memorial maybe?"
"Grady, the white crosses- that might be where they're holdin up."
I didn't get a chance to respond before we were practically thrown into the lions den, the many walkers closing in on us. We both quickly took out our knives and started to kill the ones closest to us. I harshly stabbed them one by one, ducking out of the way from their reaching hands, glancing back over occasionally to make sure he was still okay.
I watched as he kicked one away from him before reaching around to puncture another, not noticing the one coming up behind him. I exhaled sharply as I stabbed the one right at my face, taking one of my hands to get the gun from my belt, turning my head momentarily to fire at the walker just about to grab his shoulders.
He looked behind him at the sound of the gunshot, his head turning back to me in an instant as he nodded thankfully before quickly killing another, shoving it to the ground. I turned to follow his lead, but I seemed to falter when I slowly started to realize the amount that were still coming at us, not even making a dent.
"Daryl!" I yelled.
"Go!" he shouted back at me, and I didn't hesitate then to get back inside the van.
I practically jumped into the vehicle, turning around to see him sit up on the edge, kicking a lone walker back before slamming the double doors shut. My eyes darted around the small space to try and see if there was anything that could remotely help us, but there was nothing. Nothing that could save us from this.
"What do we do?" I asked him.
His eyes moved around frantically like mine were just moments ago, before they lingered towards the front as he nodded his head for me to move, "Buckle up."
My eyes widened, "Are you crazy?"
"It's either we fall off and have a chance, or we die because of them pricks right there." he said bluntly.
"The key word is chance, we have a chance at making it." I spoke.
"And it's a damn good chance m' willin to take." he said, his eyes serious and pleading.
I stared at him for a moment in disbelief, before cursing under my breath, quickly making my way to the front to sit on the passenger side and tugging the seatbelt across my body securely. I glanced down through the windshield to try and see how far of a drop we would have to take, though from the looks of it I didn't like my odds.
I tensed when the van started to shake violently, and I knew that it was going to give and fall over any minute now with the number of walkers pushing. They all shoved their way forward, jerking the van with their dead cold hands as I found myself holding my breath in anticipation. I quickly took Daryl's hand again, feeling him intertwine our fingers together as soon as he felt my hand in his.
He looked back over at me, "You hold on."
I nodded shakily and closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable to hit me. I tensed again when we were practically dangling from the edge, squeezing my eyes shut even tighter as I felt the sudden last push it needed, before we were tumbling down the side. We felt the van completely flip over and all the blood rushed to my head. I squeezed Daryl's hand painfully in my own, preparing for the impact that could easily break us.
We hit the ground with a loud crash, the windshield shattering immediately while my body physically jerked forward, so hard that my spine felt as if it almost broke. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, my brain starting to pound in my skull. But we were alive. And surprisingly upright.
Seconds passed as the initial shock wore off, feeling Daryl turn over to gently touch the back of my head, "You okay? Talk to me."
I nodded, "I'm okay...I'm okay." I breathed, "Are you?"
"Yeah," he said as his hand moved to gently squeeze the back of my neck, "M' okay."
However, we both seemed to jump at the sudden loud noise that hit the car, realizing it was just a few walkers tumbling down as well from being too close to the edge. Their bodies landed on the front of the van, their blood splattering everywhere in the cracks of the windshield. We waited for the noise to die down before slowly turning to get out of the van, not realizing how much pain I was in until I tried to move.
A groan left my lips the second my feet hit the ground, trying to take another step as I held my lower back. Everything was sore, and Daryl was at my side in a flash to help me the moment he saw me struggling.
"Ya okay?" he asked again, holding his hand out to me.
"Just sore." I nodded, taking the support he offered as I knew we needed to get out of here.
I wrapped my arm around his shoulders, feeling his secure around my waist as we slowly moved from the bridge. We walked as far away as possible, knowing all the noise would only draw more toward us. And now that we had a lead of where Beth might be, I was feeling more confident, and the fall we took wasn't for nothing.
The two of us eventually came through an alley away from the streets, and I moved over to take a seat on the ground, needing some kind of breather before we kept going. Trying to regain myself, Daryl couldn't help but pace around anxiously as he watched me with worry.
"Are ya sure yer okay?" he asked yet again.
I looked up at him with a tried smile, "Never better, babe."
He took a second before nodding his head, sitting down next to me, kissing my lips briefly as a silent apology for all the things we had to go through. And though it felt like one terrible turn of event after another, I still somehow grew hopeful. Knowing that we were just a few miles away from where Beth was being held, filled me with a sense of determination despite my growing exhaustion. I knew I had to keep pushing.
I was too anxious to sit and rest for very long, practically jogging over to the closest structure to Grady Memorial so we were able to watch them for a while, see where their blind spots were. Knowing that we needed to see what their people could do, if they had anyone guarding the place, before we just went waltzing in there. We had to be smart and careful about the following moves we made.
The two of us silently made our way through the darkened building, wanting to find a room we could hole up in and keep an eye on the hospital for a while, but we stopped dead in our tracks when we heard the sound of a door being shut with a slam. Someone else was in here. We stood still for only a moment, before rushing towards the sound, watching as Daryl signaled me to stay close as we approached the door.
He opened it quietly, stepping into a hallway where we heard the sounds of a walker from what seemed to be just around the corner. His pace picked up a bit as he took out his knife with the intention to kill it, but upon seeing it, he stopped.
My eyes narrowed as I stood right next to him, seeing the walker being held up against the wall, with a bolt piercing through its throat.
"That's yours." I stated as I eyed the black and green color.
"Yeah." he confirmed.
I then moved around him to yank the bolt out of its throat, quickly plunging it back down into its head before ripping it out of its flesh again. It fell to the ground with a thud as I handed the weapon back to him, before sudden automatic gunfire was heard from another room nearby.
Without a second thought, we both took off in a sprint, knowing in the back of our minds that we had somehow by the grace of God caught up to the same kid that took our shit. And it was obvious we were itching to get it back. As the sounds of shuffling and struggling grew near, we turned the corner to see the very same man wrestling with yet another walker, seemingly between a rock and a hard place.
Somehow he sensed our presence within seconds, glancing over his shoulder with widened eyes as he recognized our faces, wheels beginning to turn in his head. Before either one of us could even take another step closer, he suddenly threw the walker right in my direction, seeing its snapping jaw coming right towards me. I pulled out my knife as I attempted to push it back, but with my weakened arms it only fell straight on top of me, giving the kid his chance to take off.
Daryl crouched down to my side in an instant, attempting to help me as I raised my weapon up to silence its snarls. I took a breath as the weight was suddenly lifted off me, Daryl extending his hand out to pull me back up to my feet gently.
And before he could even ask, I beat him to the punch, "I'm okay."
That's all he needed to know before he suddenly took off again down the hall, not willing to let the kid go this time after the things he had done. I pathetically jogged behind him, trying to catch up although every part of my body was only screaming at me to stop. Everything ached and twitched with pain, but the sounds of crashing ahead only caused me to speed up.
I passed through the threshold Daryl disappeared through just in time to see him ram into the kid and knock him into a bookshelf, causing it to fall down on top of him with a loud slam, crushing his body underneath. He struggled from under the large piece furniture, seeing now that the bookshelf was blocking off another door, a walker inside trying to make through the small gap.
Daryl wasted no time as he began to grab our weapons from the ground, hearing the kid suddenly speak, "Please, I- I had to protect myself."
"Why ya followin us?!" Daryl yelled at him.
"I-I didn't, I swear. I thought you followed me!" he defended.
Daryl glared at him, "Bullshit," he muttered, moving back towards me with my bow and quiver, extending them out to my reach.
I took them from his grasp as I eyed the kid, "Please, please don't do this." he begged, the walker only inching closer to his face.
Daryl pulled out a carton of cigarettes as he watched him struggle, placing one in between his teeth, "Nah, I already helped you once. It ain't happenin again." he said as he lit up the smoke. "Have fun with hoss over there." he grumbled before making his way back over to me.
I snapped out of it when the kid started to become more desperate and begged for his life as the walker was successfully freeing itself from the door. I stood in place as I thought about what to do, I didn't know him at all, he threatened us more than once, but I still felt guilty for some reason. Like something was telling me to help him.
"Come on." Daryl muttered, a gentle hand on my arm as he attempted to nudge me to leave the room.
My eyes trailed between him and the kid, the inner debate settled in my head, "We can't." I said just above a whisper.
"Rosie, ya almost died cause of him." he spoke lowly.
"But I didn't." I pointed out, "He's just a kid."
He scoffed as he took a drag, "Nah, leave him be." he spoke bitterly, exhaling the smoke through his nose as he turned to leave the room.
I followed his retreating figure for only a moment as I was left conflicted once more, watching as the walker as only freeing itself even further, nearly biting at his cheek with how close it had gotten now. His cries were desperate as he attempted to lift the bookshelf off of him himself, gasping and struggling as his eyes were wide with fear. It was then I found myself groaning in frustration as I quickly made a beeline over to help him.
But as I pulled my knife out to stab the walker in the head, I never got the chance, as a bolt whipped past my arm to pierce through the walker's skull. He apparently had a change of heart, glancing back at him with a small smile. He, however, still looked pissed, questioning instantly why he did what he did. But it was too late to back out now.
I moved forward to get the walker's body out of the way, shoving it further behind the door as I tried to lift the bookshelf off of him, feeling him helping me by pushing it up from the underneath. Daryl then came over as we continued to struggle, stepping in on the other side as he lifted the weight with almost complete ease.
Finally the kid was able to squeeze though the space we provided, scrambling up to his feet as we let the bookshelf go again with a slam. He quickly recovered, though it looked like he had hurt his leg in the process, rushing over towards the window to look out as if he expected something terrible to happen.
But I didn't have time to question it as I felt Daryl tug a little at my sleeve, getting me to turn and face him again as his annoyance was quickly replaced with concern, "You okay?" he asked softly.
I scoffed lightheartedly, "If I had a dollar for every time you've asked me that today-"
He cut me off, "You'd probably be a millionaire, I know." he said with a chuckle, my eyes slightly widening as he knew exactly what I was going to say.
"I gotta go...I gotta go. They're gonna come, they probably heard the shot." the kid started muttering to himself.
My head snapped back over to him, "Who?"
"Them, the people at the hospital." he said.
My eyes widened as I quickly stepped around Daryl, "You've been in the hospital? Is there a blonde girl there?" I asked frantically.
"Beth?" he questioned.
Goosebumps rose on my skin, and I felt my blood run cold at the name that became all too familiar to me. The very girl we had been searching for this entire time, he knew her. This kid knew her, that's why I couldn't let him go.
"You know her?" he asked.
"She's my sister." I spoke.
He nodded, "She helped me escape, we were supposed to leave together, but she didn't make it out. We can get her."
My mouth parted to answer him, but I was cut off by the sounds of cars rumbling down the street, seeming start to circle around the place as they were drawn to all the noise we made, "They're coming." the kid whispered.
He then ushered us out of the room, wanting us to follow close behind him as we made some kind of getaway from these people, explaining what he could along the way. He informed us that we could hide in the building next door, allowing us some safety until they moved on. We stopped and waited as he gathered his remaining things in the hallway, giving me a chance to look back at Daryl tearfully, almost not believing the things I was hearing.
"We're going to find her...we're going to see her again." I said in disbelief.
He nodded as he gave my shoulders a squeeze, "We're gonna get her." he said confidently, guiding me along as the kid began to move again toward the exit.
We followed behind him quickly all the way up until we came across the glass doors that would lead us to freedom. But he tripped over his own feet right before we could make it, his leg really messed up from everything that happened back there. Daryl reached down to attempt to help him back up, waving me on to keep going.
"Go, I got him. We're right behind ya." he said, and I quickly nodded in return.
I pushed open the doors with caution, looking around briefly before I began to pick up my pace and cross the empty street to the building that was just out of reach. But the sound of a car speeding towards me from my left is what caused me to look over in a panic, not having enough time to react before it hit me harshly from the side, darkness suddenly clouding over my vision.
~ Thanks for reading!
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||Mind Over Matter|| Part Thirteen
Summary: Evelyn is Penelope Garcia’s protégé. She is a tech wiz, and knows her way around any kind of security and just like her mentor knows how to dig deep and get into the past of anyone and has a knack for anything with a chip in it. Including potato chips. The one thing she fails at is figuring out is the mind and how it works.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Evelyn Richardson(OC)
Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure. Family. Some language, blood and violence in later installments.
Previously - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve
A/N: Well what do you know! Heres another chapter. Random moments happening in between episode really. And please lemme know what you think! Hope you enjoy this chapter!
Takes place during Season 2 Episodes 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 & 8
A low humming sound filled the air as Evelyn put away the last of her files, having gone through them already. They were the files for the Team's most recent case. And Evelyn was of course, in charge of putting them away. One of her minor duties as part of the BAU Team along with being assistant techie. A position that hadn't been randomly made up by her mentor. Stepping out of the room and locking the door behind her, she very nearly bumped into the figure that was rushing by. Rather she did bump into them and instantly started to apologize.
"I'm sorry, I didn't see where I was-"
"Evelyn? What're you doing down here?" The red head blinked, finally catching on who she'd bumped into.
"Spencer?" Her instant reaction was curiosity as she stared at her team member, trying to figure out what was new with him. Spencer stared back at her quizzically and questioningly, raising an eyebrow at her. Realization dawned and the red head grinned.
"You got a hair cut!" Instantly his hand went up to run his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit, Evelyn had noted long ago. "Yeah, I figured it was time to get a new look." The genius replied with a shrug. "So what're you doing here?" He asked, coming back to his previous question.
"I had to box away a few files." She responded with a small smile. "It is part of my job to clean after you guys." She added with a teasing tone, prompting him to smile back at her. Blue eyes flickered to his newly cut hair.
And unable to resist Evelyn reached out to gently run her fingers through the ends of his hair, having pushed herself up to the toes of her shoes so she could reach easily. The position pressed her a little close to him, but neither of them seemed to notice as she smiled at him. "I like it. You look cute."
Cute.
She'd just called him cute!
As if the realization of her words just hit her, Evelyn stepped back, cheeks flushing, a nervous smile playing at her lips as she avoided Spencer's gaze who only looked back at her which she found more cuter then his haircut. Like that of a confused puppy. The red head however did make the mistake of looking at him, and instantly regretted it as her heart sped up and her voice reached new levels of high pitch as she quickly managed to squeak out a goodbye before dashing past him, leaving a slightly confused Spencer, who was confused by her behavior to say the least, yet none the less pleased at her words.
Evelyn for her part avoided Spencer for the entire day.
Of course they were both back to discussing(arguing) over a new theory the very next day.
Though Evelyn still felt that strange warmth in her cheeks any time their eyes would accidentally meet and she would be reminded of the little run in a few days ago.
So embarrassing!
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JJ traced the tip of her finger along the rim of her coffee mug. She was sitting on a stool in a little café a few miles from the office and was waiting for Evelyn to show up. Said red head was making her way towards her friend, holding her own coffee mug and setting it on the small table between them, before hoping onto the stool as well. Outside rain splattered against the glass window of the café, the coldness of it seeping through the window, one that both women felt, yet neither minded. They had their coffees to help keep them warm.
"So how did the assignment go?" JJ asked, once she'd taken a small sip of her beverage.
Evelyn gave a small nod. "It went well. And that is all I can tell you." She said with a slightly pointed look to which JJ chuckled.
"Right! Top secret, I know." The red head gave a low chuckle, before taking a sip of her own drink, frowning as the steam from the coffee fogged up her glasses. Handing her friend a tissue with a smile of sympathy she watched as she wiped the glasses clean.
"So what was it you wanted to tell me?" JJ asked. Evelyn sighed before reaching into her bag and pulling out a magazine from her bag and placing it in front of the blonde. JJ pulled the magazine closer, frowning at the bold title that greeted her in big bold letters.
NEW YORK SOCIALITE EXPECTING.
"After five years of marriage." JJ glanced up at the red head sitting across from her, who had her lips pursed as she stared at the image of the smiling woman on the cover. Along with a man, who was obviously her husband, going by the way they had their arms wrapped around each other. JJ bit her bottom lip before she sighed and reached out to lay a hand atop Evelyn's in a gentle grip.
"I've tried everything I could JJ. But she still refuses to listen to me. Even Gideon has tried to help but she's just so stubborn." Evelyn sounded almost heartbroken as she spoke, finally raising her eyes to meet JJ's gaze.
"I don't know what I did to her JJ, but I wish there was some way I could find out." Her friend sighed.
"I know you're trying Evelyn, but sometimes one person's effort isn't enough. The other party has to put in some effort as well." The younger woman sighed before nodding. "I know, but I was just hoping if I did my best it would get something out of her."
Her gaze, which she now focused on JJ was desperate and hopeless. "Why are people so hard to figure out JJ?" The other woman sighed and shook her head, squeezing the hand she held.
"It's a good thing that we have the BAU then isn't it?" The small joke prompted a smile out of Evelyn. "I wish I could ask their help but I don't want this turning into a professional thing. Its why I've only ever talked to Gideon about it. Penelope doesn't know either, and she's my mentor."
JJ frowned. "Then why tell me?" Blue eyes blinked as they caught JJ's. "Because you asked." The response had a wry smile pulling at JJ's lips, which had Evelyn smiling back and shaking her head.
"I don't know JJ. I'm still surprised I even told you about all of it. But I'm glad I did. It doesn't seem as much of a burden as it did before." JJ smiled at the response. "And I will gladly help wherever and whenever I can."
The smile she was given, sent a surge of affection and protectiveness through the older woman. She understood what Morgan had meant when she spoke to him about Evelyn. There was something so….pure about the red head that a person wanted nothing more then to protect her. Or as Penelope said, wrap her up in a bubble sheet and store her away someplace safe.
"Now! On to other topics, is there anyone you're seeing these days?" The groan of dismal she was rewarded prompted her to laugh loudly, one which Evelyn joined in soon after.
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Morgan suddenly slammed his file shut a thought occurring to him. The motion caused Penelope to look away from her screen and frown at him. "What?" The blonde asked. Though he turned his head towards her, his eyes were still trained towards the floor, though they were unseeing.
"Have you ever realized that Reid and Evelyn have the same glass frames?" Penelope looked taken aback at the question. She opened her mouth to say something but then closed it as Morgan finally met her gaze and raised an eyebrow as if questioning her.
"Coincidence?" The blonde suggested, looking and feeling uncertain.
"More like unconscious retention?" The confused look had him explaining further. "Basically he picked them out unconsciously because he's seen Evelyn wear them all the time." Penelope frowned. "He sees me wearing glasses all the time." Her hand raised to touch the side of her own glasses which were a bright orange that day. Morgan nodded.
"Yeah, but you change them all the time. Evelyn never did." Penelope sighed before shrugging and turning back to her computers.
"Unconscious retention it is then." She muttered under her breath before starting to type away on her keyboard. Morgan went back to his own files, pushing the observation to the back of his head.
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Cupping her hands around the paper cup she watched it scrunch between her fingers. It was more out of worry and sadness then anything else.
"I take it you heard." Evelyn glanced up just in time to see Gideon take Spencer's unaccompanied desk chair and turn it towards her. The red head shrugged.
"More like saw." Both their gaze turned towards the desk that had been previously taken by Elle. It was completely clear now.
"Its for the best." Evelyn's gaze snapped to look at Gideon. "She knew she couldn't handle the pressure any longer." She only nodded in agreement her face grim.
"Still, doesn't make it any easier does it?" Her superior shook his head at her question.
"Leaving is never easy. Neither is letting go." At that he gave her a slightly pointed look which she countered with a sad smile.
"No. Its never easy."
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Hotch glanced up from where he had been signing up the last of his papers to see his wife enter the bullpen. Pushing Jack's pram in front of her. He frowned. Hailey was meant to take Jack to her mother's for the night so that the two of them could go on a date. Quickly standing up he met his wife midway as she walked to his office. "Hailey? Is everything alright?" He asked, once he'd greeted her hello and smiled at his son who made delighted sounds at the sight of his father.
His wife nodded. "Yes, only my mom won't be able to look after Jack for the night. She has a cold, and Jack might catch it." Hotch sighed at the news, looking disappointed. "Great, now what?" He grumbled to which his wife shrugged helplessly. "I called the babysitter, but she's out too." The night was getting better and better with each second.
"Agent Hotch! I managed to scrounge up those reports you asked for. Who in their right mind would file them under X instead of Y when clearly it's a Z and-oh hello Mrs Hotchner! I didn't see you there! Is everything alright?" The woman only ever came when there was something going on, and for a minute Evelyn's heart stopped out of terror. But then restarted once the older woman smiled at her.
"Everything is fine Evelyn. Aaron and I just hit a bit of a snag, since we can't go on our date." The red head frowned, even as Hotch pursed his lips, thinking of the reservations that he would have to cancel.
"Oh? Why is that?" Seemingly catching sight of Jack the red head was quick to move forward and wave at the baby, who seemed fixated on Evelyn's hair. "No babysitter." At the answer Evelyn shrugged.
"I can look after him for a few hours. I used to babysit around the neighborhood when I was a teen."
And that was how Evelyn found herself holding a baby in one arm, the other holding up two baby bags. She turned her head to look at Jack who was looking right back with a fistful of her hair in his chubby fingers.
"That went well didn't it?" The baby only responded with a giggle before proceeding to pull at her hair, making her wince.
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For once the Team had the chance to eat together in their little conference room. Chinese take out boxes were set atop the table while they all assembled chairs around it. "I love take out with you guys. Its always so much fun." Penelope said with a grin as she settled into her chair and reached for her box.
"Hey, where're the other three?" Morgan asked, glancing up from his box of chicken. Spencer shrugged through his mouthful of rice. JJ answered for him.
"Gideon had someplace to go, Hotch had a dinner date with Hailey, and Evelyn is-"
"And this is where your Daddy and the rest of the Team are briefed about the cases." The four of them stared as Evelyn entered the room with an inquisitive baby Jack, staring around with wide eyes. The woman holding him looked as if she'd been through some kind of storm that had knocked her glasses askew and her hair to be completely frizzy and her pony tail lopsided and barely holding up.
"Look Jack! Dinner! Excellent! Because I am starving!" So saying she dropped into a chair, and started to drop the two baby bags that were weighing her down onto the floor.
"Jesus! How much stuff does one baby need?" She grumbled to herself as she held Jack around the waist, having set him down on her thigh. The baby had his head turned to look up at her. Evelyn met his gaze and the two had an intense stare down. Which was broken when Evelyn made a face and the baby giggled loudly.
Morgan smirked. "Pint-size? Mind explaining what you're doing with Hotch's kid?" He asked the question that was on everyone's mind. Evelyn grunted as she picked up one of the bags and placed it on the table, doing her best to use only one hand while her other was occupied with keeping Jack secure.
"Babysitting Morgan. Something I happen to be good at. And Spencer? Help a girl out. I can't make his formula without some help." She'd already taken out the thermos with the water and the bottle which already had the formula in it. Jack was starting to fuss so she quickly stood up and cradling the baby to her chest starting to walk around while bouncing him a little. Spencer quickly stood up to do Evelyn's bidding, pouring the water into the bottle. JJ met Penelope's gaze and the two of them smiled at the sight of Spencer standing in front of Evelyn with the bottle in hand. She raised an eyebrow at him.
"Did you check the temperature of the bottle?" Spencer frowned. "No." The two of them were oblivious to the other three members of their team looking at them.
Evelyn sighed. "All those random facts and you didn't read about babies? Honestly Spence, what're you going to do when a case calls for a random baby fact?" She asked, her tone dry, wincing slightly as Jack pulled at her hair yet again.
"Just squeeze a bit out on your arm. If it burns, obviously we wouldn't give it to him." Rolling his eyes Spencer sighed before moving to unbutton his cuff and pulling up the sleeve. A few seconds later, little Jack was greedily drinking from his bottle while Evelyn cradled him, slowly walking around.
"Why don't you sit down honey?" Penelope said, pulling a chair next to her, if only to coo at the baby. Evelyn shook her head. "Can't. Hailey said he likes to drink while walking around."
"So much fuss over a baby." Spencer grumbled as he munched on a piece of carrot, prompting Evelyn to glare at him. "Oh, and aren't you particular about your eating habits Dr. Reid." She only ever called him that when she was especially ticked off. And Morgan had to say, seeing Evelyn jump to defend Jack was hilarious. Especially when Spencer pursed his lips in response, licking them before speaking.
"Aren't you?" The words had the red head glaring at him even more. "I'm not the one calling a baby out on his eating habits." Morgan laughed loudly. "Alright you two. Reid, leave them alone." The man chided earning a look of triumph from Evelyn who turned her attention back to the baby.
"Spencer is just being mean Jack, don't mind him." Of course, Spencer had to ruin her little bubble.
"I doubt he understands you Evelyn." This time it was JJ who chuckled reaching out to pat his shoulder in a reassuring manner. "Let it go Reid. I know you're jealous, but you'll have Evelyn's undivided attention soon enough." The words only reached Reid's ears who turned to stare at his friend, cheeks flushed and mouth agape.
"Why would I be jealous?" He managed to say quietly, despite having the urge to shout the words in surprise. JJ only gave him an amused look before she turned her attention back to her food. Reid glanced at Evelyn, who was now setting the baby on the floor after spreading a small blanket and placing his various toys around him to play with while sneaking in bites of food for herself here and there. "I was just teasing Spence." The blonde beside him spoke up, knowing he would most likely beat himself black and blue trying to find out why JJ would think he was jealous, when he wasn't.
After eating the four of them left to finish up their tasks for the night. While getting ready to go home, Spencer realized he'd forgotten his bag in the conference room. Quickly walking in he very nearly missed the sight of Evelyn and Jack on the floor. Jack was sound asleep, laid out on his back, one hand still clutching his toy. Evelyn was curled around the baby in what Spencer could only describe as a protective manner. She was asleep as well, her hair falling over her face, her glasses placed beside her head. She'd shed her cardigan to drape it over Jack so he wouldn't get cold and she was on the floor while Jack was on the blanket.
Spencer didn't know how long he stood there. Simply watching the two of them sleep. It was strange how the simple sight of Evelyn sleeping so peacefully had him feeling peaceful and somewhat calm. The notion had him frowning in confusion, yet he still didn't walk away. Not until Hotch arrived with his wife after their night out and the scene was disturbed by Hailey waking up Evelyn. At Hotch's questioning look he simply held up his bag and left without glancing at Evelyn, trying to ignore the flush on his cheeks and the calmness that stayed with him every time he'd think of his red haired friend.
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Tag List - @cillsnostalgia @kathaaaaaaa @lovelyygirl8
#spencer reid#dr spencer reid#spencer reid x oc#spencer x oc#spencer reid x reader#dr spencer reid x reader#dr spencer reid x oc#dr spencer reid x y/n#criminal minds imagine#Criminal Minds
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Rules
Pets of the Silver Screen masterlist
Taglist: @maracujatangerine @clairelsonao3 @whumplr-reader @whumpinggrounds @bbu-on-the-side
Multiple times over the years, Agatha learns the rules.
2.1k
CWs: BBU, pet whump, kidnapping, collar, beating, stress positions, dehumanisation, non-con nudity (non sexual)
Agatha juts her chin out, poise perfect despite the tip-toe position she's been forced into.
"My name is Miss Agatha Stanbury, daughter of Lord Kenneth Stanbury. Let me go and you may get out of this alive."
Foster Montgomery smirks, pressing his knife into her neck, blood beading along its edge.
"I think I'd rather keep you. Nobody's going to find you, certainly not after I'm finished with you." He drags his knife down her front, slitting her clothes. They mostly stay on, but it must be a very sharp knife to manage that. "Take them off."
"No."
He holds up the knife, reminding her. "What did you say?"
Agatha swallows but keeps her poise. She's going to be an actress, she can pretend she has nothing to fear.
"I said no. You have given me nothing to wear afterwards and I will not follow your disgusting commands."
"I have more suitable clothing for you later, if you earn it. But if you won't obey willingly I'll have to do it for you."
Agatha's barely had a chance to process the statement when she's slammed to the ground. All her bones are jarred and her nose explodes with agony. A boot seems to grind her into the floor as Montgomery removes her clothing piece by piece.
She hates herself for thinking it, but at least he lets her keep her knickers.
He grunts in satisfaction, and hauls her to her knees. She shoves his hands away and stands, but is back on her knees in less than a second.
"Stay." He reaches behind him and picks up a leather collar complete with tag.
Agatha doesn't move when he reaches out and buckles the suffocating leather around her throat, but not out of obedience. She just doesn't think she can.
She reaches up to touch it, but Montgomery smacks away her hand before she can.
"Don't even think about it. I'll only ever remove it if you need a punishment that might interfere with the collar somehow, so if you do so yourself I'll assume that's what you're after. But you do still deserve a punishment. Bend over."
Agatha swallows hard, the soft leather and cold metal buckle pressing against her throat. She doesn't move. She only came down for the season, she's not going to obey a kidnapper who's apparently obsessed with turning her into a pet.
He couldn't find a volunteer? There's enough of them.
She pitches forward onto her hands and knees as he pushes her over, pulling her knickers down.
"Bare flesh is best for this. Pets obey. They don't say no. They don't talk back. You need to learn this."
Agatha has never had such a thrashing in her life as she receives then. No-one's ever drawn blood before. She's not passed out enough by the end to receive a reprieve though – he orders her to clean the house, and woe betide her if he finds a speck of dust or blood.
She experiences it all as if from miles away. As if from the gathering she's supposed to be at right now, with entirely different rules. She's not in her body, most of the time, and that's probably for the best.
That day and the next, she learns the rules of being Foster Montgomery's captive.
1) Don't say no.
2) Only speak when spoken to.
3) Don't talk back.
4) Address other people as sir or ma'am.
5) Always obey immediately.
6) Don't remove your collar.
7) Punishments are always deserved, always hard, and given at the slightest provocation.
She adds an extra one from herself, too, which she knows is true. Montgomery giving her a collar is not just him being a sick bastard, it's theatre, another part of the pretense. Because even if he were to parade her in front of those she loves, everyone knows that only pets wear collars.
8) No-one's coming to my rescue. I'm not getting out of here unless I do it myself.
Over the next few months, the rules don't change. The chores are hard, and the punishments harsh, and a lot more of her is scarred now. Very little of what Montgomery does has any logic to it.
But she still can't find an escape. She fears she's sinking into it.
_
When she's hired by Hayes Fletcher, more rules are added to the list.
9) Don't talk to the other pet.
10) If you disobey, it won't just be you who's punished.
Eloise won't receive whippings, of course, and no canings during the shoot, but she can be put in stress positions, or starved, or have a bucket of water dumped over her head before being left in the unheated studio overnight. And Agatha has absolutely no desire to subject her to anything other than a good hot meal and somewhere better to sleep.
_
Rule 7 is underlined dramatically by the inspector's visit. In the aftermath, Agatha's arm and back throbbing, blood pooling on the frozen stone floor that her toes are just able to touch, Eloise whimpering from her own position, Agatha makes sure to add another two rules to herself (though the second is altered after Eloise's angry objections).
11) Don't talk about the situation to outsiders. It will only make things worse.
12) Don't break the rules. Even Only if Eloise agrees to do so.
_
Agatha could possibly escape during the transatlantic crossing. She thinks about it. Even jumping overboard might be better. But she needs to see Eloise again. Be sure that she's alive and physically unhurt (from the sinking at least, Agatha has no doubt she'll have been hurt since). Tell her that she's brave, and a hero, because if it had been anyone but fellow pets she'd saved, if she was anyone but a pet herself, her actions would've been lauded, but instead it's Hayes Fletcher who's being praised for having such a good pet. Which isn't right, it isn't fair, and Agatha can't leave Eloise on her own.
That's when Agatha solidifies the last rule for herself, that's been brewing since she first met Eloise but she's never stopped to think about it before.
13) Her and Eloise only have each other, and will always have each other.
_
Then the Great War comes.
Foster Montgomery signs up to fight. He leaves Agatha in Hayes Fletcher's care, who lends her to the munitions factory, for good publicity and probably money (money for Fletcher? Money for Montgomery? She doesn't know. But neither man is big into philanthropy). Eloise isn't there. Agatha follows the rules Montgomery has already given her, hating the fact that they keep her alive.
Another few rules are added.
14) Don't become emotional.
15) Never make a sound.
16) Just because you're working alongside people, doesn't mean you are one.
That last is... profoundly obvious, at times. When the rest of the workers get to go home at the end of their shifts and she is kept working, or if there's no-one else at all, locked in the breakroom until morning. When she's fed less than the others, or when she's beaten, or–
It's so obvious, even more so than when she was hired by Hayes Fletcher. She hates it. And she's so alone here.
The war will be over by Christmas, right?
_
1915. Foster Montgomery is dead, and Agatha desperately wishes she could thank his killer, if anybody even knows. She gets a new tattoo, signifying her ownership by Hayes Fletcher (luckily, she knows his rules, there's no new ones to learn there). The Munitions Act comes into force, and the regular bombing raids start.
Monkey's paw. She's not alone anymore, but it means that Eloise, and several other pets, have joined her in the munitions factory.
She teaches Eloise what she's learned about staying out of trouble where possible. They have a dedicated bunkroom now, pets crammed in on old bedding on the floors of the worst-maintained rooms. They learn that only a few owners have paid for their pets to be taken to air raid shelters.
Hayes Fletcher hasn't.
Night after night they spend, trying to stay calm as bombs rain down around them. Occasionally they're still chained or tied up at night, for punishments, and when that happens Agatha worries the most.
She learns one more rule.
17) Sometimes all you can do is pray.
_
The war ends. By a miracle, her and Eloise are both still alive. Hayes Fletcher goes back to producing films, albeit with less success. Agatha watches as pet liberation campaigns grow, and the next decade approaches with force. The world seems a little more hopeful, things seem to be changing.
Except for her and Eloise. Stuck with the horrible, spiteful little man, punishments getting worse as he gets more frustrated and blames them for it (or maybe he simply has nowhere else to put his anger). The world's moving on, votes for women are coming, and she can't help but think of what her life might be like if she hadn't been kidnapped all those years ago.
She remembers rule 7. And the last time was dreadful, and another attempt could get them both killed, but she mentions her rule to Eloise one night and Eloise agrees. They have to try, don't they? Sometimes, it's the only thing you can do.
A week later, the film studio burns down in the middle of the night. Arson, probably. By the time the fire brigade arrive to the burnt out husk Agatha and Eloise are already sneaking onto a train to London.
_
"If the both of you want rules, I can give you some," says Ira, clearly reluctant, "as long as we can go through the ones you already have first. Is that all right?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Ira nods. "Why don't you write me a list then? We can go through them while Eloise is busy."
Agatha takes the paper and pen she offers, wincing as she sits down, heart skipping a beat. She's still not used to it.
At the end of the session, her list reads:
1) Don't say no.
2) Only speak when spoken to.
3) Don't talk back.
4) Address people as sir or ma'am.
5) Always obey immediately.
6) Don't remove your collar.
7) Punishments are always deserved, always hard, and given at the slightest provocation.
8) No-one's coming to my rescue. I'm not getting out of here unless I do it myself.
9) Don't talk to the other pets.
10) If you disobey, it won't be just you who's punished.
11) Don't talk about the situation to outsiders. It will only make things worse.
12) Don't break the rules. Only if Eloise agrees to do so.
13) You and Eloise only have each other, and will always have each other. (Ira says she can get rid of this one partially too, but she's not so sure. Not yet)
14) Don't become emotional.
15) Never make a sound.
16) Just because you're working alongside people, doesn't mean you are one.
17) Sometimes all you can do is pray.
The new rules are easy, and straightforward, and Agatha doesn't entirely trust them. The list now reads:
1) You belong to yourself.
2) You will never be punished, no matter what you do.
3) You and Eloise only have each other, and will always have each other.
4) Sometimes all you can do is pray.
_
Agatha kneels on the floorboards, trembling. It's her turn today, Ira asked her to clean and she said yes, she's not sure why except she's so used to not being allowed to say no.
She hopes she's done well. She hopes she's done well. She hopes she won't be punished.
Ira doesn't do punishments. But all the same, she hopes she won't be punished.
There's footsteps, then they stop.
"Agatha?"
"I've finished cleaning, ma'am."
A hand on her shoulder. "Agatha, please look at me. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Come on, look up."
Agatha obeys hesitantly. And gasps. Ira's eyes are dark and warm and how could Agatha ever have thought otherwise? Ira gets down to her level as Agatha grasps her hands tightly, pulling her into a rare hug.
"Rules one and two, Agatha."
"I belong to myself," whispers Agatha, still clutching Ira tightly, "and I will not be punished."
Ira's two rules. The only two she'll ever make.
1) I belong to myself.
2) I will never be punished, no matter what I do.
And there's a third, that Agatha has added herself, that she thinks she probably can after so long. Rule number 5, now Ira has been proven correct and number 3 has been partially removed (Agatha does not only have Eloise now).
5) Ira keeps her promises.
#whump#whump writing#bbu community#bbu#box boy universe#box babe#multiple whumpees#pet whump#kidnapping#lady whump#whumpee and whumper#whumpee and caretaker#pets of the silver screen#agatha stanbury#foster montgomery#ira waterhouse#not happy with the list formatting but nvm#historical whump
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Just tell her! ・ Clàudia Pina
Request: "Hey, if you're taking requests, could you maybe do an Aitana or Alexia (whoever you prefer or someone from Barca) x Reader where R joins mid season from a top European team in a shocking transfer? Really just Barca team getting to know R & devolping a relationship along the way. Please & thanks. Love your work BTW."
Hope I this turned out better than I think it did, but enjoy!
Word count: 1,5k
Your transfer from the top women’s football team in Italy to Barcelona was shocking to say the least. Fans and players collectively were surprised and confused at the news, especially after your phenomenal 2020/21 season.
The whole Barca team was astounded by your signing, but they couldn’t help but feel excited at the prospect of having you on their team. They’ve seen how good you are.
Your first training session with your new team was at the very beginning of the 2022 year and you felt good as you pulled the Barca training top over your head.
You had met the team a couple of times since you’ve signed, but they were yet to learn your reasoning for the sudden transfer. Yes, they believed that you’ve always been a Barca fan, but many of them felt like that wasn’t the full extent of your story.
As you tie your boots you feel a nudge to your leg and you look up at the person.
“Aitana was asking you why you signed with us.” Claudia repeats the question and you look at Aitana confused.
“I’ve told you guys already, I’ve always wanted to play for Barca.”
“But is that all to it?” Aitana questions carefully and she studies your face for a second. Your expression falters at her heavy gaze. “We’re just curious and want to get to know you Y/N, but if you’re not comfortable you don’t have to.”
Taking a look at the rest of your teammates who all nod at the girl’s words and you take a deep breath, readying yourself.
“The coach didn’t like me, I was constantly benched from the bigger games. Barely brought on for the last 20 minutes.” you start explaining and suddenly the floor becomes very interesting to look at. “He said I wasn’t playing good enough, wasn’t fast enough and that he couldn’t risk bringing me on for the more important matches.”
The girls around you share a look and you feel a hand on your shoulders, Claudia smiles at you softly.
Your training session soon begins after your talk and as you near the end of it, you’re put into groups of 5, an end of session scrimmage 5vs5.
The players currently standing at the side, those who aren’t playing at the moment, watch dumbfounded as you dribble up the field with insane speed, nutmegging and outsmarting the opposing team before you cross the ball to Patri for a tap-in.
“How the fuck?” is heard from Jenni and Alexia smacks her in the arm for her use of language.
“No, but seriously, how the hell did her coach think she wasn’t good enough?” Claudia also comments and yelps as she gets smacked in the back of the head.
“Language!”
For the remaining 15 minutes of your scrimmage, the ten Barcelona players watch stunned as you manage to pull tricks on every single one of their teammates and your team eventually wins the game.
This wasn’t the first time they’ve seen you play, they've watched plenty of your games before, all of them big fans of the energy you brought with you every time you stepped foot on a pitch. But seeing your magic right in front of them was a whole different experience.
They couldn't be happier to get to call you their teammate and they’d make sure you’d never get disrespected by anyone ever again.
As the months passed by, you formed a close bond with most of the girls on the team and you were performing better than ever, Joanatan actually put you in for the majority of the games you’ve played so far.
There was one person in particular who you got extremely close with.
Claudia and yourself have been named the most iconic youngster duo at Barcelona. The two of you spent every waking moment together, becoming bus buddies not long after you joined, rooming together at away games and always reserving a seat for the other during team lunches.
It didn’t take you long to realize your feelings for the shorter girl went beyond those you were supposed to have for a friend.
With the Spanish already being a very affectionate bunch, you relished in the feel of Claudia’s soft skin on yours every time the girl would scoot closer to you.
Those not so subtle touches the girl sent your way wasn’t missed by your teammates who were counting down the days to when the two of you would finally admit your feelings.
Patri and Leila have already approached you on more than one occasion as they tried to convince you that your best friend did have feelings for you. You denied their claims though, you didn’t want to believe them, to have false hope.
It wasn’t until the Barca team went to the beach on a random weekend towards the end of the season that things changed.
You were currently wrestling with both Leila and Mapi in the sand, hair full of sand as the three of you laughed your asses off over nothing.
Claudia watches as your arms flex when you flip Leila over, her heart fluttering at how you still make sure she lands softly on the sand before you get knocked over by Mapi who laughs at the two of you.
Patri and Alexia sit on each side of her and she already knows what they’re going to say. You weren’t the only one who was constantly pestered by your friends.
“Come on, just tell her! This is becoming pathetic!” Patri exhales loudly as she throws her hands up frustratedly.
“Patri!” Alexia scolds the younger girl who just raises her hands innocently. “It’s not pathetic..you just, you have to admit it Claudia. Go up to her and be brave.”
Contrary to you, Claudia was aware of your feelings, but she didn’t know how to approach you. You were her best friend and even though she knew her feelings were reciprocated, she couldn’t help but be afraid of actually having to confess to you.
A not so gentle push to her shoulder brings her out of her thoughts and she looks at Patri confused. Her friend just nods towards where you are making your way towards the water, presumably to wash the sand off you.
She takes this as her chance and as she stands up she’s again encouragingly nudged, this time by Alexia. She takes a deep breath when she nears the water, seeing your head reemerge from the water, she starts swimming towards you.
The giggle you let out when she finally reaches you is music to Claudia’s ears and she grins back at you before her expression becomes nervous.
“What’s wrong Pina?” you ask concerned. She holds onto one of your shoulders as the waves seem to want to pull her under and you quickly follow by placing your arms around her waist.
She blushes at the contact and circles her own arms behind your neck as you hold her above the water. She realizes that she hasn't yet responded to your question and clears her throat.
“So uh I actually wanted to tell you something?” she starts “No, I need to tell you something. I erm..well you see..I-” she stammers nervously and you look at her, patiently waiting for her to finish.
She soon gets frustrated at not knowing how to confess and as she sighs, she momentarily closes her eyes.
You lean your forehead against hers, hoping your touch would calm her enough so she could say whatever she wanted.
Your thumbs rub circles into her skin soothingly and when she next opens her eyes she has this look in them, one that you can’t describe but it makes the butterflies go wild in your stomach.
Claudia opens her mouth again, seemingly wanting to speak again before she abruptly closes it. Her eyes bounce across your face as she stares at you before her gaze settles on your lips.
Your mouth grows dry at that and your breath hitches as she starts leaning in.
You close the distance between the two of you as your lips hug hers and the both of you sigh into the feeling of being so close.
She pulls you closer as she enjoys the softness of your lips and it’s only when you hear loud wolf whistling from the shore that you pull away and look towards your teammates.
They’re cheering, many of them have their phones out and Patri is standing with a huge grin on her face as she shows you two a thumbs up.
You giggle at the girls, pulling Claudia out of the water with you and pressing a kiss to her cheeks as the two of you get wrapped in a big towel.
#Clàudia Pina x reader#claudia pina x reader#barca femeni x reader#woso x reader#woso imagine#woso one shot#futbol16
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Todays rip: 11/04/2024
I will Never be a Redneck
Season 7 Featured on: SiIvaGunner's Highest Quality Rips: Volume Sapphire
Ripped by Madinstance
youtube
Requested by Corb and uwustepanne! (Discord, Request Form) (@uwustepanne)
"I'm just kidding, this isn't a blue balls rip. However, you're going to wish it was. I warned you."
Can you IMAGINE being 601billionlazer and getting this rip for Secret SiIva 5?? You hear the silly blue balls and go oh, haha what fun, what a great little bit Madinstance, you always outdo yourself so its fun to see you've taken a funny step back here - only for the truth to be revealed and all hell to break loose? You hear the backing change and think, I swear I recognize that, there's no way he actually did it - the banjo comes in with a gleefully sinister pluck and reaffirms your suspicions. Madinstance fucking did it. The first proper rip uploaded as part of Season 7 introduced the year with a fucking bomb. I will Never be a Redneck.
And look, I've covered some One-Winged Angel rips on here already, One Winged PSYcho - V.S. Sepsyrop and Hen'yoku no Piraman - the latter even being made by Madinstance as well - but I feel like it needs to be stressed how thoroughly deranged this rip in particular is. We ALL know Cotton-Eye Joe, if not the original American country song then ABSOLUTELY the world-famous 1994 Eurodance version - one that, funny enough, was recorded by a Swedish band. Indeeds, its oddly befitting: A culture clash between my homeland, and the nation where a majority of SiIvaGunner's own audience and contributors live - the result is that ALL of us knew well what Cotton-Eye Joe was, a piece of our childhoods for some, or at least for me. Yet its prevalence on SiIvaGunner had been comparatively tame in comparison to that popularity, only appearing in some modest mashups and melodyswaps in Season 1 - seven whole years before Madinstance deployed the nuclear option. Realizing that this overplayed icon of a song even had the ability to be remixed in such a fashion positively blew my mind - I won't sugarcoat it, I will Never be a Redneck completely floored me.
And like, in some ways its to be expected, right? Madinstance is incredible, he continues to show up on here with rips like Initial Deluxe (I've Just Raced on this Course Before) and Fell From a High Place (Reprise) for a reason - his prowess for these large-scale projects feels like it shouldn't even be humanly possible. I remarked back in Hen'yoku no Piraman just how much the recent trend of One Winged Angel rips impresses me, how each one feels as if the ripper is truly showcasing their worth whilst dedicating it all to the glory of a single meme. That still stands, yes, but to apply it to a song that otherwise had near-no prevalence on SiIvaGunner, no standard set for how remixing it ought to go: To have my FIRST ever time hearing Cotton-Eye Joe pitch shifted be in this absolute behemoth feels downright criminal. And its even crazier how it WORKS the whole way through.
The amount of touches present to make this feel as cohesive as it does is staggering. The chorus' titular line of "Cotton-Eye Joe" replaces the use of "Sephiroth!" in the base track perfectly, the original song's violin instrumental breaks between the chorus and verses are pitch shifted into the ominous tone of One Winged Angel's equivalent instrumental breaks, the banjo going off the shits in the longer break from the main melody midway through the track...really, its incredible how much of the original track's excitement and danceable fun suddenly sound so ominous, with changes so deliberate, substantial yet conservative enough to not lose the Cotton-Eye Joe feel - this ALWAYS sounds like the right amount of both tracks in balance. I love how the song's chanting "Hey-hey-hey-heyys" suddenly sound akin to One Winged Angel's latin choir song, how the vocals of the chorus repeat in a somewhat staggered, haunting way near the rip's end - like Beautiful Dreamer or My Dr. Eggman Can't Be This Evil!, its remarkable just how drastic the change of tone becomes through rips like this.
Most of all though, it is that gradual realization of what you're listening to that has made I will Never be a Redneck such a classic for me - NOBODY could've anticipated it based on the channel's past history, and nobody would've expected THIS would be the way that Season 7 would officially "start". Yet its the kind of rip you can send to anyone - both songs are immediately recognizable, and the effort put in to making the two work in tandem is unmistakably impressive. uwustepanne, who wrote in to request this be covered, included a short anecdote with her write-in, about how this rip showing up in her YouTube feed was what made her realize the channel hadn't ended with Season 6's finale, that I will Never be a Redneck in a way represents everything she loves about the channel, the impact its had on her. And yeah - isn't it crazy how a rip as cracked as this one, still wound up facing incredibly stiff competition for rip of the Season?? 2023 was one of SiIvaGunner's greatest-ever years, and seeing a rip like I will Never be a Redneck uploaded at its very start felt almost like they'd set the bar far too high for the rest of the team. Yet somehow, someway, everyone else was up to the challenge and continued making absolutely incredible rips throughout the entire year. Madinstance continues to raise the bar of quality on the channel at almost every turn, and having him do it at the Season's very start - with a rip as out-of-this-world as I will Never be a Redneck to boot - remains as an absolute power move.
#todays siivagunner#season 7#siivagunner#siiva#Madinstance#final fantasy 7#ff7#ffvii#final fantasy#ffvii remake#ffvii rebirth#ff7 remake#ff7 rebirth#ff7 cloud#ffvii cloud#ffvii crisis core#ff7 crisis core#ff7 sephiroth#sephiroth#crisis core#cotton eye joe#rednex#eurodance#mashups#one winged angel#jenova#professor hojo#hojo
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Hi, I'd like to request something if that's okay. Which litg athletes do you see competing in olympics this year or maybe next four years? And which ones do you NOT see competing? I hate sports but I have a weakness for athletes, especially certain litg ones.
I can see Levi doing it this year, maybe Jamal (my baby daddy) this or next one. And I think Dylan and Arlo would be too cancelled to participate. What do you think?
Hi Anon! I'm not sure I'm the best person to answer this but I'll give it my best shot! I am not well-versed in sports so hahaha I kind of got a little unserious in some parts.
These are the Islanders that I came up with that are athletes (in some form or it is their job): Levi, Reese, Rahim, Henrik, Jakub, Jo, AJ, Tai, Dylan, Arlo, Pete, Jamal, Lewie, Chloe, Hazel, Logan, Jack, Sophie and Jude. Yes, Kat is a club dancer but I wasn't sure if I could count that with Chloe and Hazel, but I guess on a technicality she could be here, too.
Below the cut this is so long haha
Season 1
Levi - Would probably more likely be coaching at this point in his career. He'd be 32 and had made a name for himself, but ultimately stepped down to further himself in coaching. Could also see him being a commentator, too.
Reese - That mf isn't retiring until they say he's not allowed on the team anymore. Sadly, I don't think wrestling is too popular but I could be wrong. Like he'd pitch a fit and claim they were just against him or something. He'd be there (unfortunately for us).
Season 2
Rahim - Might be out of his prime now. I mean, we know he's good at what he does and all, but this is a pretty competitive sport and when newbies come in, they tend to take it by storm for a while. He's probably just playing the circuit.
Henrik - Yeah, he was a climbing instructor but there's sport climbing. I don't see him doing the Olympics though. He's pretty down to earth, probably not interested in making it his job in this way. He'd rather spread knowledge and love of climbing to others through teaching.
Jakub - lmao as if this big-headed buffoon would miss out on weightlifting or something. Like he's too stupid to be cut from the team anyway. Send him an email and he still flies to the Olympics because he can't read idk
Jo - She would qualify under Cycling BMX Racing and I think she would have done it before. I'm not sure if I'd believe that she's at this one though. She's older, probably settled down or at least doing something related and not racing as seriously anymore?
Season 3
AJ - Definitely there. Loves competition, a great team player. She's 100% playing Field Hockey at the Olympics and I love that for her.
Tai - So technically I think Tai is a rugby coach not a player? Maybe I'm not remembering that though. I think he would be more likely a coach than a player for this Olympics though personally. He has the personality to be tough but also inspirational.
Season 4
Dylan - Definitely did not make the roster after his S4 mishaps. They were so embarrassed that they ghosted him. Left him on read when he asked about how to put in an expense report to get money back for his flight and whatever because no one contacted him about flying with the team. His teammates all blocked him on social media except one, and they didn't only so they could see his profile and laugh about what a loser he is :)
Season 5
Arlo - I mean, I don't know if she got canceled sadly. She was doing what everyone on Love Island does and I can't really blame her. I think she was probably given the opportunity to try out for the team, but that doesn't exactly mean she made it. She was Semi Pro, which means she wasn't the best out there anyway.
Pete - Tried out to be on the sport climbing team, fell on his ass and still has a bruise on his tailbone eight months later. BYE.
Season 6
Jamal - Please, they probably invited him personally to be on the team. He's got such a great energy and he's funny. He'll be there for sure and is definitely medaling.
Lewie - I mean this is a big sport. Did he try out? Sure. Did he make it? Maybe. Football is a massive sport and you're going up against the best in the entire league. I'm going to stick him in the maybe but probably not.
Season 8
Logan - Does anyone even remember this guy? I mean, like, I picked him at the last recoupling and I still forget his ass exists. That's probably what happened if I'm honest. He tried out, the coaches forgot that he had and he never got a call. Aw, poor Logan. Maybe he should try being more memorable next time.
Jack - Oh, he tried. He tried and failed. They laughed and were like, no this is serious not just a hobby. But they invited him to be a Physio for the team so all in all, a win for Jack. (He fangirls over the cyclists when he sees them).
Sophie - I think she tried out and as annoying as she was, she may have made the cut for Acrobatic Gymnastics (is that a thing still? idk). Kinda hope she sprains her ankle as she walks up to the mat or whatever, but I'm kind of a terrible person so.
Season 9
Hamish - yes. If being annoying and obnoxious was a sport. I love him, but he would win the gold. No competition. Though he does play golf now......damn, is there anything he can't do????
Jude - Okay yeah he would be there but the last time it was held was 2021 so I guess it would be next year if it was every 4? Not sure on this but there is a Motor Sports category. You go, Jude! Even though you're kind of a dick and weirdly obsessed with Kat in my game.
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nandi mokena headcanons/rewriting/etc.
(june/11/1999)
gemini sun | taurus moon | scorpio rising
ENFP (Ne-Fi-Te-Si) - 6w5 - so/sp - 793 - Sanguine [Dominant]
general headcanons:
• either ace-het or ace-bi, cis, she/her,
• i think this is canon, but she is a gifted child in the family. she was in top 5 of the class and popular as hell,
• she is that mf of friend group that will always bring up snacks and drinks with yourself,
• her love language is making edits of funny/embarrassing photos of others with music that totally don't match vibe with anything included in edit,
• her tiktok and instagram likes are full of some people talking gibberish and cringe compilations, so if u want to get her joke you at least need to know lore of all of this people and incidents that happened x years ago,
• when we talking about memes, she loves absurdism humor, so when shakes send something to her that he thinks is funny, her face is like: 😐 how are we even related?,
• i also think she is reading the most surreal literature (franz kafka is her beloved),
• skarra pierced her ears for the first time,
• she is very loyal,
• her notes are full of stickers, adhesive gems and drawings. some of things are even written in glitter gel pen,
• her channel is pretty much all things mixed up. there is commentary, there is gaming, there is some art projects and video blogs, everybody can find something for themselfves,
• she goes to film school.
through the series (og tv show, rewriting)
SEASON 1:
• for me, season 1 starts at the time when shakes is 20 years old, so by this logic nandi is 17,
• there is no physical apperance of her, she is just mentioned by (mainly) shakes.
SEASON 2:
• at the beginning of the season her and shakes are talking about the fact that nandi moved to college (they have their little family bonding time),
• in s2e5 (el sound of silencio) spenz calls her to help him and fran, but she just listened to all of this shit and was like: ok bro 🧍🏾♀️*disconnects*,
• in s2e13 she tracked down skarra before this big "all stars vs supa strikas match" and interviewed him about this fucked up rivarly that him and shakes have (she saw both of them in tv last night), and why they even decided to have a bet of the pitch where they had great time together in past (like hell, nandi knew that this friendship was homoerotic, holy shit). ofc nandi "as annoying as the little shit she was" (skarra's words, not mine), she didn't take any type of crap from him about this whole situation. after this, she called shakes out on his stupid ass actions, in his apartament, and just left him with: you both are total blockheads. and shakes was like: both? who is both? wtf.
SEASON 3
• in season 3 nandi and shakes have this conversation about what nandi meant, when she literally lit into him in his own apartament before super league final. to which nandi,, replied with: ahh yeah. but this doesn't matter. at least this debt of yours and skarra's was dissolved :D. after, they had honest conversation and disscus about childhood and how this can't be put before good of the team (nandi wanted to argue with this, but then she quickly give up. all the stress that the shakes' finale cost her was enough for her),
• at this season we see more of nandi as a future filmmaker, because she trolls everyone on twitter with uploading this type of videos like fake interviews with celebrities (and with some footballers ;)),
• in college, she met woman from completely other school (remember this. i probably make headcanons for this semi canon character so wink wink) and became friends with her,
SEASONS 4-7:
• all of her story arcs focus on her career and school and on a few other events that will be described by me as i write about other women from strikas universe.
relationships with (disclaimer: i do not include her relarionship with shakes and their mom, bc it was pretty well managed in rookie season. i will probably make another post but about whole mokena's family dynamic):
• skarra: writers rotally fucked up. WASTED POTENTIAL.
their relationship definitely started as: you are my brother's (boy)friend/you are shakes' sister. and then, they became partners in crimes. when shakes, skarra and nandi went to school nandi always pulled out a card titled: don't talk to me like that, or i'm gonna call my brother and my brother's best friend. in othet occasions, skarra went to nandi and asked some stupid questions like: ey, nandi you have ruler to lend 🧍♂️?? (,,yo, nandi you want some hotdogs?", ,,nandi, we are going to shopping mall", ,,hey, nandi you have some time to hide a body----?"). why writers of rookie season acted like nandi wouldn't care that much about skarra, like he literally used to call nandi's mom 'auntie' wtf wtf wtf.
• klaus: YOU CAN'T TELL ME HE WOULDN'T BE HER FAV OUT OF SHAKES' TEAMMATES. nandi and klaus definitely have long conversations about shows that they watched, about ships, about premieres. they are just two little nerds with heads full of ideas <33333
• mara: me and @strudelbbg once talked about mara and nandi's possible relation and we decided that mara, when nandi was younger, probably carried her on her back and stuff. tldr mara sees nandi as "little sis 💞💞💞💞",
• others: ?
fashion headcanons
• i think she would wear these "crazy" make-ups like:
(i also think that people, who would be her fans and shakes' fans would create threads on twitter titled: nandi's makeups as team colors of supa strikas rivals')
(and nandi would reblog these posts🥰)
• has 3 pairs of dungarees,
• a lot of fandom t-shirts but not ones designed in "tomboy" way but in "girly" way, shirts with strawberry shortcake, winx club, princess peach from mario, destiny's child members etc.,
• HANDMADE RINGS, BRACELETS, NECKLACES, EARRINGS EVERYTHING,
• she is fan of crocheted clothes (especially sweaters, tank tops, knee socks),
• even tho she is popular, she wears second hand clothing and buys from smaller companies (rich people clothing ugly and she don't want to be one of them),
• wears bralettes as form of a lingerie,
• when she wears dress she NEEDS to have tights under,
• when it comes to shoes she likes: new balance, converses, CROCKS and mary janes but on a small heel.
music headcanons
• definitely had nightcore phase when she was younger,
• hates slow music,
• like i said destiny's child fan, probably likes also avril lavigne and mariah carey, and maybe blackpink.
#supa strikas#supa strikas women#supa strikas nandi#headcanon: supa strikas#supa strikas shakes#supa strikas skarra#implied sharra#supa strikas rewriting
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Hakim Ziyech Imagine
Author’s note: This is a request from Wattpad. They wanted something where the reader is married to Hakim and they have a little boy called Nahil. He only has eyes for his dad and constantly wants to be with him, which makes the reader sulk. Hope you like it and thank you for reading! 💜
Masterlist
"Dada!"
"Come here, little man!" Hakim smiles, picking up our son Nahil and lifting him in the air.
"Please be careful. He just had lunch and I don't want him throwing up all over your Chelsea tracksuit."
"Oh, sorry" he chuckles. "Did you eat everything?" he asks, kissing Nahil's cheek.
"All of it. Physically he may be your carbon copy, but he's got his mama's appetite."
"He also looks like you."
"He does not and you know it" I chuckle. "Anyway, shouldn't you get going?"
"I should, yes. But you are coming to the game, aren't you? It is the last one of the season, you can’t miss it."
"That's the plan. But mini you has to go have his nap, and it will probably take me ages. You know how he gets every time his dada leaves" I say, rolling my eyes.
"He loves you too."
"Does he? Because it feels like he only cares about me to feed him, and not always. It's always dada dada dada."
"He loves you. Don't you, little man?"
"Dada!" Nahil says.
"Now say mama. Ma… ma. C'mon, you can do it. Ma… ma. Mama."
"Prrrr."
"See? Nothing. He doesn't even try!"
"He'll say it when you least expect it, you'll see" Hakim says, caressing my cheek. "This is just a phase, the book I read when you were pregnant said it."
"I know, all the other mums I’ve asked say the same. But it still hurts, you know? I carried him inside me for 9 months, gave birth to him, and now that he finally starts running around and talking, I want to see him clumsily running towards me saying mama or asking me to give him cuddles. But he only cares about you. About his dada."
"You'll get to do all that, you'll see. You just need to be patient" Hakim says. "I'm sure that when the day comes and he doesn't want to leave your side, you'll complain about it."
"I won't."
"We'll see" he chuckles. "Should we put him to bed? You can't miss the game, I want to do the walk around the pitch with both of you."
"Won’t you be late?"
"I'll tell them it was the traffic if that’s the case” he shrugs.
"They won't believe you."
"This is London. They will" he laughs. "Should we?"
"Ok, fine. Come, Nahil. Nap time" I say, stretching my arms towards him.
"Dada!" he replies, hugging Hakim's neck.
"See? Just you!"
"Give him time, trust me" he smiles before taking my hand and giving it an encouraging squeeze.
━━━━━━❃━━━━━━
"5 minutes. It took him 5 minutes to fall asleep" I say as we leave Nahil's room. "If it had been just me and him, he would have cried for an hour while screaming dada, and then fell asleep just because he was tired."
"Then lucky you I was here to help you" Hakim says. "And now that the season is over, I will be here to help you all the time. I should do everything and let you rest, to be honest. Maybe that way he will start missing you."
"Or completely forget about me" I snort.
"He will never forget about you. You are his mum, he's here because of you" he says, hugging me from behind and kissing my neck.
"You also had something to do with it" I smirk.
"I did. But you deserve all the credit."
"Aww, thank you" I say, turning around to look at him and wrapping my arms around his neck.
"You're welcome" he smiles. "And because you deserve the world, I've booked us a little holiday just for the two of us now that I’ll be free."
"Really?"
"It'll be just you and me and the most romantic and relaxing getaway. No diaper changes, food flying, or babies crying."
"Or screaming dada, dada" I chuckle.
"Nothing. My mum will take care of all that while we just chill and enjoy each other's company. How does that sound?"
"Perfect" I smile.
"Perfect" he smiles back. "And now I should probably get going. See you at the game, ok? Don't forget to wear your shirts."
"We won't, I promise."
"I can't wait to have my little family walk with me around Stamford Bridge."
"Neither can we. I love you, Hakim."
"I love you too" he says before kissing me.
#hakim ziyech#hakim ziyech imagine#hakim ziyech fanfic#hakim ziyech x reader#football fanfic#football imagine
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One of the things Jared mentioned as hindering a SPN revival is availability, and in the KSite interview he spoke about hoping for another season of Walker, or as many as possible. It’s possible to shoot multiple shows a year, especially when Walker is already filming its season 4 finale, but then will Jensen be available? He has his Amazon deal and most likely The Boys season 5 this year. Maybe they’ll be able to work it out for 2025. I can see them wanting to do something for the 20th anniversary.
I appreciate your optimism, anon, but when actors talk about availability being an issue, it means they're not really planning on doing something in the near future. Not to mention, they'd need to secure funding, put together an entire production staff, and get scripts and casting rolling before it ever happened. The fact that it's still just in the idea stage and hasn't even been pitched as a tv show means that any reboot, if it happens, is at least two years away. Hollywood works a lot slower than people think.
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*its pitch black* *suddenly a beam of light and i appear* TIS I HERE FOR YOUR FAVOURITE PART OF THE DAY *stage starts to glow*
Addy!!
How are you today? Its the weekend yay!!!
would you prefer to go frolicking in the fields with a picnic or have morning tea (is that a thing where you are?) in a cafe on a rainy day?
If you could have only three foods for the rest of your life what would they be? (idk if we've done this one lol)
ALSO im changing my theme soon any ideas on what i should do?
and im currently on the episode where ross and rachel take a break. AND ALL ROSS NEEDED TO DO WAS STAY IN THE FREAKING ROOM AND TALK TO RACHEL AHHHH
*smoke comes pouring in the room* *lights start flickering* *i appear on stage with you!!* *the audience goes wild* (this might be my fav intro so far, but the phoenix one was pretty funny) (waiiiitttt could i do tomorrows i have a good idea!)
Emma!!
im doing alright today!!! and yesssss weekend!!! i went skiing with my family earlier today but now im just watching friends :)) how are you?
oooohhhh hardest choice ever!!!! but i think i have to go with the first one cause it seems like a more unique experience? idk. (yeah id say its a thing? at least for some people, my sister is obsessed with tea and she has like 4 cups a day) which one would you choose??
heres a question for you: would you rather live in this cottage, or one of these windmills? (yes i put links 😭)
hmm probably pasta, subway sandwiches, and crepes!! (no i dont think we've done this one before!) what about you?
oohhh!!! okie!! honored you asked for my opinion! do you have any ideas in mind yet? with a quick look around my pin i can find a lot haha 😭 but you could do a reddish white one like this, or maybe that? and i could always look for some other ones too!!
random question, but what time is it where you are?
AHHH HES SO OBNOXIOUS!!! i just finished season 5!!
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