#My priorities remain soundly in order

[legacyshenanigans]

A little angsty and bitter sweet idea I had floating around in my head.

Alot can happen in 10 years 💚

Sebastian wandered in the night, he'd got out of Azkaban a couple of weeks back, Azkaban wasn't kind to him, that place wasn't kind to anyone, not that he deserved kindness, nor felt any kindness towards a soul after he got out, for the last 10 years all he thought about was MC, Ominis and Anne, naturally once he was out he managed to track down Anne's location, well, her grave that was, he spent the evening he found out about her passing at her grave side, sobbing. His next order of business was tracking down MC, he asked around, going on what information he knew, he assumed shed end up being a keeper, and the repository under Hogwarts would of been a huge priority for her, so she HAD to of lived nearby Hogwarts, he asked around using the description of her looks that were still burnt into his brain from their school days, luckily for him, it didn't take long to find out where she lived, she obviously hadn't changed that much since then.

He approached her home in the dead of night, his hands shaking, he had many things he wanted to say to her, not nice things, with even less nice action's "Alohomora" he whispered in a dark tone, gaining access to the home, he stepped in quietly, and made his way upstairs, his brain was so focused, so angry and twisted at the thought of what he was about to do, his brain clearly still not right from the torments of Azkaban. He entered her room as slow and hushed as he could, not just to find her asleep in bed, but Ominis, he was next to her, they both slept soundly, holding eachother, his brain stopped all thought for a moment, spotting wedding rings on their fingers from the end of their bed where he now stood, glaring at them.

He slowly reached down to grab his wand, his hand still shaking, anger in his eye's, when he suddenly heard a creek from the hallway, he snapped out of his furious trance for a moment, and turned his head towards the door, was someone else here? He crept away again slowly to investigate the noise, hearing something in the kitchen downstairs, he approached cautiously, his hand ready at his wand once more, his face dropped slightly seeing a little girl in the kitchen making herself a drink "They..Have a child" he thought to himself. The girl turned and let out a little gasp, seeing Sebastians dark figure in the doorway to the kitchen. He panicked but tried to remain calm

Sebastian: Its OK shhh, it's OK. I'm....I'm not here to hurt you.

For goodness sake, she couldn't of been much older than 6 years old, and she was the perfect mix of MC and Ominis, Sebastians anger turned to sadness, and regret, he'd come here tonight to end MC's life. Only to find her, the girl he once loved, and his bestfriend, had a family..

Sebastian: *soft but fake smile, trying to keep her calm* What's your name?

Annabella: ..A-Annabella Gaunt

She stood, hugging a little rabbit doll, a tear ran down Sebastians face as he looked at her. He leant down in front of her.

Sebastian: Its..Nice to meet you Annabella..My names Sebastian..Have you heard that name before? *he asked curiously*

Annabella: Mummy and Daddy had a friend called Sebastian, are you him? I've heard them speak your name.

Sebastian: Do you..Know anything else?

Annabella: No..Just that name..When they talk about when they were younger, in school.

Sebastian stood, wiping another tear from his eye, before he began to walk away, he turned towards her once back in the doorway.

Sebastian: Tell your mummy and Daddy in the morning, that Sebastian said congratulations..And..That they'll never see me again.

With that he left the home, wandering aimlessly into the night once more..Holding his hand up to his mouth, as tears streamed down his face, he got to a forest area and simply slumped down against a tree, holding his head in his hands.

A lot can happen in 10 years..Beautiful things that he'd missed out on having, all due to that vicious hold that dark magic had over him..HE could of had those things..Had he not been so foolish.

~

[owl-with-a-pen]

I think it would be hella cute if we got a prompt where Brainy carries Nia to bed after she passes out on the couch doing an article or maybe just being tired in general. I know brainy would just be super soft In that moment and be so delicate with her.

- I'm always up for some Brainia softness! Thanks for the prompt x

Although Nia had mostly overcome her habit of falling asleep at inexplicable angles, she was not without relapse.

At least she had fallen asleep somewhere relatively comfortable, Brainy mused as he watched her from the across the sofa, snoring soundly with her face tucked against her laptop’s keyboard.

Said laptop was working vigorously to keep up with the onslaught of text Nia had inadvertently caused to relay across the screen. Currently, her document was on it’s seventh page of tangential gibberish.

Brainy understood the cause. It was no secret that Nia had been pushing herself harder as of late. Not only had she been throwing herself into every aspect of her superhero work, she was also dealing with a deluge of articles - some of which that were on some very tight deadlines - thanks to one Andrea Rojas. Since Kara had returned to office, instead of laying off of Nia as she had admittedly expected, Andrea had instead found a new interest in her, prompting her for more and more stories big and small that might have otherwise been covered by Kara or other more notable members of the team.

“I just can’t figure her out,” Nia had grumbled to Brainy two nights ago on that very same couch. “I don’t know if she’s using me so that Kara can focus on this whole Super Friends angle, or if she’s actually valuing my work as a reporter. Honestly, I don’t even know if that matters. It’s way more responsibility than she’s ever trusted me with before.”

Brainy had to agree that Andrea’s intentions were certainly difficult to figure out, but regardless, Nia had assimilated to her new responsibilities remarkably well. There was a fervour in her eyes when she worked on these new articles, one that had not been present when her priority had simply been covering entertainment and fluff pieces.

Brainy loved seeing that passion in her work reignited, and desperately wanted to support her efforts in any way that he could, even if it was simply by making sure she still heeded to her body’s basic needs.

Such as right now, for example.

“Nia?” Brainy asked softly, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Nia Nal?”

Nia’s eyes only scrunched tighter shut in response, burying her face firmly into her folded arms.

Brainy smirked. The likelihood of this running smoothly had not been in his favour, after all.

It seemed that direct action would be his only way forward.

He stood from the sofa, walking to Nia's side before waving his hand in front of the laptop’s screen. With that, a connection was made, enough that the keyboard locked, halting Nia’s impressively long and continuous key smash at just over ten pages.

Brainy relaxed his eyes, allowing them to flicker across the screen as he kept his hand hovered above the keys. Once he was certain he had read through and highlighted all irrelevant data, he straightened, linking his hands together. In the same motion, he deleted all words not pertaining to the main body of Nia’s original article before she had fallen asleep, ensuring to back-up the document so that she could read it back at a better suited hour.

Once he was certain that her progress was safe, Brainy snapped the laptop shut, taking special care to slip it from beneath Nia’s chin before tucking it fluidly beneath his arm. Nia jerked slightly from the change in angle, but the sofa’s arm was more than equipped to take up the duty of impromptu pillow in her laptop’s absence.

Still, it was not an adequate position to allow her to rest for the time that her body required.

Brainy was well acquainted with the aches and pains the body could present after remaining in an awkward position for far too long. He could admit that he, too, had a habit of getting absorbed in his work, so-much-so that he had forgotten to move for hours if not days at a time.

At least his physiology allowed for a shorter recovery period. With no implants to assist her, Nia’s body would not be nearly as forgiving.

And so, once Brainy had safely deposited Nia’s laptop on the dinner table, he came back to her, folding his arms in silent contemplation.

What was the most efficient way of doing this?

Brainy’s lips twitched thoughtfully. Perhaps the old-fashioned bridal style was in order.

Careful not to jostle his girlfriend too much, Brainy bent forward, slipping his arms beneath her. Once he was sure he had a secure enough hold on her both her legs and torso, Brainy stood to his full height, taking Nia along with him.

Expectedly, Nia hardly stirred at all. Her dark hair fell about her face as she readjusted instinctively to the new position, a soft incoherent murmur passing her lips before she curled in towards Brainy’s chest, searching out the warmth of his closest life projector.

Brainy took a moment to equilibrate his balance before starting towards the bedroom. As he moved, he couldn’t help but glance down, taking this moment to capture Nia’s peaceful expression once again, the total relaxed nature of her body language as she melted so trustingly into his arms.

Brainy lowered his head, pressing his lips gently into Nia’s hair, swallowing the urge to laugh when she mumbled again into his chest.

From there, Brainy maintained delicate strides as he carried Nia into their bedroom. Once there, he rested his knees against the mattress, lowering her carefully into the awaiting comforter and pillows beneath, folding them securely over her even while her arm still hung limply behind his shoulders, her face pressed adamantly against his chest.

It was not without substantial effort, but eventually Brainy managed to untangle Nia from him completely, allowing her head to rest at a far more comfortable angle against her pillow.

He ran his hand through her hair as an afterthought, brushing away the strands that had tangled across her mouth, tucking them carefully behind her ears.

Nia’s eyes fluttered at that and she tipped her head, blinking up at Brainy in confusion. Brainy's chest warmed immediately at the sight. He smirked, cupping his hand against her cheek, running his thumb along her jaw. His smile widened when Nia sighed, relaxing into his touch. “Brainy?” she murmured, struggling to keep her eyes open.

“It is I,” Brainy confirmed, gentle humour warming his tone. His expression softened. “Rest, Nia, you are in need of it.”

Nia snorted. “Don’t hav’ta tell me twice…” she slurred, muffling a yawn into her awaiting pillow. She hummed softly as Brainy continued the idle motions with his thumb. “Are you coming to bed, too?” she asked.

“Soon.”

Nia nodded sleepily, reaching out for his hand before he could even think of removing it. Brainy watched silently as she took his fingers in hers, slipping his hand away from her face so that she could press a kiss against his knuckles. The warmth of her lips sent a pleasant tingle up his arm, causing him to grin all over again.

“Promise?” Nia asked.

Brainy's chest caught. Honesty, after all, extended far beyond the life or death experiences they faced far too often out on patrols. Not every mark of transparency had to be as profound. Sometimes, it was as simple as this.

He leant down then, kissing his girlfriend’s forehead, folding his hand reassuringly over hers. “Believe me when I say there is no where I would rather be,” he said.

“Good,” Nia said, smiling proudly as she snuggled further into her mound of pillows.

In just seconds, her mouth started to fall slack as she joined the realms of her dreams once again.

There were still a few things Brainy needed to do before joining Nia's side for the evening, but he would do everything in his power to complete those tasks as quickly as possible.

After all, he'd made a promise.

[tchalla-rogers]

Avengers: Shutdown (Part 2)

Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader

Part 1 is HERE. Series Masterlist 

Unknown Location: 2024

Rough hands gripped your arms, ripping you out of the bed you had dozed off in. Your eyes moved around the room fleetingly to get a sense of who just grabbed you, but only the hallway was lit and didn’t shed any light on the suspect’s face. And across dimly lit hall, the man in the quarters across from you, whom you had learned his name to be Marcus, was in the same predicament as yourself.

Your body collapsed to the icy cement floor of the hallway, your mind so full of thoughts that being dragged out of bed was only a blur. Marcus was slumped on the ground next to you and you finally read fear in his eyes, a rarity once you assumed he could only exude nonchalance.

“Aufstehen (stand up)!” one of the men roared and pointed a gun in your direction.

Marcus leaped in front of you, arms raising above his head in hopes that it wouldn’t be his last move while guarding you. “Hey, hey...watch it with the gun.” You rolled your eyes behind him, feeling their stares gain intensity. Even though his eyes painted themselves with angst, his voice remained unwavering.

“Stand up or I’ll shoot you both.” Their words were hardly understandable, but the last few words ran your blood cold, your body reacting before your brain could. Once the both of you finally stood up, they motioned for you to turn and to continue walking down the eldritch hallway.

Once you both swiveled around, you felt the barrel of a gun press into your back. Marcus grunted, affirming that it wasn’t solely you being guided by the fear of death to an unknown location.  

You barely found time to take in your surroundings as fear gripped you and controlled your every motion. Your bare feet padded against the floor, unsure of how long you had been walking. “This is a nice place,” Marcus quipped in order to ease the situation, but the men failing to emit a chuckle proved it didn’t work. “Hey, how does that gun work?”

In pure disbelief, you peered over to your left to where Marcus should’ve been walking, but you were only met with bewildered eyes from the man who was supposed to be guarding Marcus.

“Wo ist er (where is he)?!”

“Wie hast du ihn verloren (how did you lose him)?!”

The men frantically scanned the area, shouts being heard that you couldn’t translate. And quite honestly, there was no indication as to where Marcus could’ve gone. The only affirmation you witnessed of his whereabouts was a gun seemingly being ripped from the trembling hands of his guard by an invisible force.

Your jaw dropped immediately in surprise, albeit enhanced individuals were normal for you. It just never occurred to you why Marcus was there; neither of you had talked about each other's abilities, the thought merely slipping your minds. And now you knew all you needed to know.

You took a step back from the situation unraveling which only caused your guard to raise his gun at you. “It’s not me!” you shrieked, arms raising above your head.

“Geh runter auf den Boden (get down on the floor)!”

“It’s not me!”

The discussion ended quickly when a gunshot rang in your ears and the man fell to the ground in a heap. He hollered, clutching his leg due to the bullet inflicted below his kneecap; his gun was seamlessly pushed a few feet away from him to where he could not reach.  

Before you could even process the situation unfolding in front of you, Marcus was back and kneeling next to the two men weeping in fear on the floor. “Sie sollten Verstärkung mitbringen (you should bring reinforcements),” he stated and outstretched his hand, both of the men slumping to the ground.

He breathed heavily, dropping the gun in his hand to the floor. A thousand questions were racing through your mind and as he turned around, it occurred to you that you really didn’t know this man. At the end of the day, you were held as a prisoner by someone you hadn’t met and Marcus was a mere stranger.

Although you were generously content that he had taken down the two men, you backed up with each step he took forward. “Hey, I know you’re a little scared right now…”

“No shit,” you mumbled.

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” he began, finally halting his steps. “They brought us out for a reason and they’re going to be wondering why Tweedledee and Tweedledum didn’t make it with us.” You remained hesitant and silent, eyes following his every movement. “I told you, we have something they need. I guess you’ve seen mine.”

The reality of his words hit hard, freezing in your spot. You had wholeheartedly assumed the only reason why “they” needed you was because of your connections. Hell, you knew your father was trying his hardest to locate you and you would bring him right to the enemy.

But, deep down you realized that there was a greater reason, one you hadn’t even contemplated. You never possessed any enhanced abilities, relying solely on your physical training to get through every mission. Marcus’ lips curled into a smirk witnessing your realization.

“Holy shit,” you muttered.

“Down on the ground!” a thick voice boomed from the end of the hall, causing both of your heads to swivel to the suspect.

***

Germany: 2024

Tony slept on the couch every night, awakening in the early morning and using F.R.I.D.A.Y. to hopefully find some more information for the rest of the day until his eyes couldn’t take it anymore. He slept soundly the first night, but the video was gnawing on his brain. And when he found Steve in the kitchen the next morning, he made it his priority to show Steve that video.

Steve vividly remembered that night, fear gripping his soul when you collided with the floor before you both could say “I do”. The sound of you choking for air was woefully unforgettable. You were immediately rushed to the hospital, a miracle that you didn’t flatline on the way there.

Pepper and Morgan went home, not wanting to subject Morgan to how terrifying the situation was for a young child. Everyone else had stayed, although Tony had assured them to return home and he would update them. Then it became Steve and Tony, waiting patiently for some communication on what had happened to you that day with Pepper visiting every day to drop off food and check on the worried men.

The one day they both left for an hour, just to get some fresh air, they returned to an empty bed and an unkempt hospital room you had once occupied as the doctors attempted to calm them down.

The thought had completely slipped Tony’s mind when he was searching for information, F.R.I.D.A.Y. making the suggestion on a night that Tony couldn’t sleep. F.R.I.D.A.Y. had scanned the cameras from the hospital you stayed in the night of your wedding and they had been restored from prior deletion.

Tony sat and watched the video for hours, biting his lip and kneading his hands together in an attempt to come up with something...anything, that could bring him closer to his daughter. Grateful for F.R.I.D.A.Y., again, facial recognition had found Steve and even matched up a suspect from the hospital on German street cameras, confirming Germany was where he needed to be.

That night, Tony packed his bags and informed Pepper about the lead he received. Pepper urged him to go because even if she was hiding her pain from your sudden disappearance, it was burning a hole in her heart every second you weren’t there. It pained Tony to say goodbye to Morgan, even if it was for a few days or weeks, although it was something he wasn’t able to do with you before the wedding.

After Tony showed Steve that video, he couldn’t get the video out of his mind either, even a week later. Tony never thought he would be comforting Steve on their dainty apartment couch as Steve wept. While they both knew what had happened that day in the hospital, they still had no hints or clues as to where exactly in this godforsaken country they had taken you.  

Virginia tried her hardest and Steve appreciated it, albeit sometimes it didn’t seem like it. It took her some time to get accustomed to another Avenger’s presence in their temporary apartment, but it motivated her to work harder.

All three sat in the living room, searching on laptops or using F.R.I.D.A.Y. for further information. It was eerily silent if the incessant typing from Virginia and muttering from Tony weren’t heard, until F.R.I.D.A.Y. had spoken up. “Sir, I have some news.”

Tony looked over to Steve and Virginia and both of them had their eyes on him. News came far and few between this past week and it made him anxious to even reply. “What is it?”

A moment later, the AI replied. “Facial recognition scans show a male being taken a day before Y/N was, I will be searching for his information. On the other hand, sir...my system recognized a symbol on one of the men involved in his disappearance, matching one of the men who took Y/N.” A holographic image showed a symbol on one of their sleeves, Tony’s blood running cold. “Based on additional scans, this looks like HYDRA’s, but it is not quite the same.”

“Holy shit,” Tony whispered, mouth agape.

[theheartsmirror]

𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃. ▹ ❝𝑏𝑖𝑑❞

➝ 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 x 𝐰𝐨𝐜!𝐨𝐜 

➝ 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 2/? 

→ 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲

❛this is a woc!fem!reader fic now, but characters refer to her by a name. also, this doesn’t go in chronological order. there’s a time jump between this part and the first part❜

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐋𝐘 ⇠

He’d abandoned you.

Well. In his defense, it wasn’t necessarily abandonment. 

He just....couldn’t have you there for the deal, something he’d informed you of once you’d successfully recruited Cara.

That was when he informed you that you’d remain on Sargon, with the same villagers who’d wished for you to never leave in the first place. 

Now you were returning, just not how you imagined your visit would be. 

You’d started the trek toward the abode where you’d be staying in the beautiful but barren planet. It wasn’t the place that earned your disdain but rather the circumstances of you having to stay. At least they were affable, that much you were grateful for. 

Omera was the kind of woman whose warm smile beckoned you to share the darkest of your secrets because you just knew that she would share them with no one. And Winta, oh, children always did capture your soul with nothing more than a gapped smile, and Omera’s pride and joy was no different.

And all of that was nice, yes, but it failed to outweigh the throbbing pain in your chest that increased in intensity as you traveled toward the farm, silence thick and heavy between the two of you.

The child remained in your lap, sleeping soundly against your beating chest while The Mandalorian kept his gaze on you, the entire time.

You refused to look at him.

Even once you reached the village, as he spoke with Omera about the reason for your return, beseeching her for her blessing in having you stay there (something you both knew she’d have no objections toward), you couldn’t focus on anything else other than the fact that three had come to the small village, but only two would leave.

He was leaving you behind, and this was the source of the tangible animosity between the two of you. It weighed heavy on you to plaster a smile as the excited villagers, especially the children, greeted you.

They’d gravitate to you, naturally, and really, you to them.

Children just had a special place in your heart.

But even their innocence failed to lift your spirits.

You stood in the woods, on the elevated plains so that you could observe the children happily playing with the Child, Floppy, as you’d nicknamed him.

The leaves crunched under the heavy weight of his boots. He wanted you to hear him, if he didn’t, he’d have easily kept his presence a secret.

“You’re leaving.” You stretched your legs, the heel of your shoes pressing into the dirt.

More crunching. “Yes.”

You dropped your head and nodded slowly. “Well, you better get going.” Pressing your palms against your thighs, you stood up and turned around, eyes landing on shiny beskar. “The sun’s getting low.”

A reply wasn’t necessary, or maybe it was. Either way, you didn’t want to hear it.

But that didn’t stop him from speaking or grabbing onto your arm as you tried to walk past him.

“Aayla–”

“Don’t.” Goddess, even your name on his modulated filtered mouth caused your stomach to flip and your jaw to clench. “You’ve said what you had to say.”

“No. You’ve chosen to hear what you want to hear.”

“Like you’ve chosen my having to be left behind?”

He stepped forward, and you could almost see the scowl on his face. “I am not leaving you behind.”

You too made that step, chin jutted in the air, symbolizing your defiance. “Then why am I here? Why am I not coming with you? I can help, and you know it.”

“Aayla—”

“This whole plan of yours is dangerous.”

“Why do you think I’m leaving you here?” His hand fisted at his side. “I can’t do my job if I have to worry about the kid and you.”

The bass in his voice lessened, his shoulders relaxing, the volume of his voice decreasing with each word. Sighing with defeat—you never could stay upset with him for too long—you placed your hand on his covered forearm.

“I have a bad feeling about this, Mando,” you admitted, eyes falling down to his armor. His hand lifted to the indenture of your waist, tugging you closer to him. Naturally, your other hand rested on his forearm, gliding down to his wrists. “Something is not right. I-I can feel it.”

“I know,” he whispered. You looked at him. The metal between you melted into oblivion as you his eyes seared into your furrowed brows. You could feel his sympathy, but you also felt his determination. “But I don’t have a choice. They’ll keep coming for him.”

His touch, metal filtered at all, was your anodyne. It beckoned you. “We can protect him.” You moved against him, your body pressed against his, his warmth swimming over.

“At what cost?” He questioned. His other hand moved to the small of your back, applying just the slightest of pressure as gloved fingers danced against your clothing. “We can’t keep running.”

“So we surrender?”

“It’s not a surrender. It’s a compromise.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Aayla….” The sigh that accompanied his saying your name, you hated it, you hated how it guilted you into regretting how you’d been treating treating him. Not having you around for this exchange was for the best, he was just trying to keep everybody safe. Floppy was the priority, and he couldn’t have any distractions.

“I know.” Neither of you moved sans his fingers gliding against your back. If you could, you’d freeze this moment, store it away for safekeeping. This was comfort. It was isolation that allowed for defensive molting. There was no concern for onlookers, no consideration of others opinions, just the two of you.

“I still hate this.”

“I’ve noticed.”

A smile broke the walls of your dismay. You loved this side of him, the side that unintentionally revealed small facets of his personality. His sarcasm always secured a grin, chuckle, or laugh. Even if he failed to see the comical connotation.

“I suppose I should be thankful you at least have enough sense to not go alone.”

He remained still while your fingers moved against the fabric that barely registered. You’d gotten used to the physical barriers, if you could even still call them that. They were just there. But they didn’t stop the flow.

“Cara is a good soldier. Her presence could be beneficial.”

“Hmm.”

He looked down. “What?”

“Is that your way of saying you trust her?”

“I trust her desire to strike down anyone who still remains from the Empire.”

There was a benefit that stemmed from assisting him, that’s what you interpreted from his roundabout reply.

“Just, let her help you, okay?” Whether he was listening to you or not, you couldn’t really say. His body language, the close proximity, the affection, you knew it was all attributed to the fact that he too felt uneasy about this whole thing. It was why he hadn’t outright fully rebuffed your concerns.

But you also knew that he was stubborn, he’d probably attempt to engage in the transaction without assistance if not for the child. He could handle himself, but factor in another person, a kid at that, and it complicated things.

Which is why he’s asking you to sit this one out...

“It won’t take long.”

“It shouldn’t.”

Even with the helmet, you felt it, his gaze burning into you, peeling back every layer of defense.

“You’re still worried.”

“Yes, and I will remain so until you return. Both of you. Whatever it takes.” You flicked your fingers against the beskar. “And don’t let him eat anymore frogs. They upset his stomach.”

“It’ll be at the top of my priority list.”

Your eyes betrayed you, vision fogging, even as you smiled and pushed on his chest. “Bastard.”

The pending departure and acceptance of the fact that this was really happening, he was going to do this, leaving you behind in the process, it triggered something.

This would be the first time you’d been away from him and the child since your meeting months prior. Sure, he’d leave the two of you in the ship or at the lodging while he carried out various jobs, but they always carried the promise of a return.

You knew he’d march in eventually, irritated, tired, even if he never voiced it, and sometimes with an additional battle scar that you’d end up helping him tend to by the end of the evening.

It was a routine, something you’d welcomed and accepted.

But now…..

“Promise me you’ll be careful.” Your plea was whispered and light, marred by the intensity of your anxiety. Body firmly pressed against his, you allowed your arms to rest between your conjoined chests. You wanted to be as close to him as possible, cheek flushed against his chest.

For a second, you thought you heard his heartbeat, steady and calm, a stark contrast to your own.

Your eyes shut as his hand moved up your back. You inched even closer. “Aren’t I always?”

His unintentional humor failed to evoke a smile this time around. “I’m serious.” You craned your head to meet his gaze. “Promise me.”

He took a deep breath and removed his right hand from your back. Eyes closing once more, you leaned into the gloved palm pressed gently against your right cheek.

You could just feel how just that gesture required caution. He was always so gentle when it was just the two of you. It sometimes perturbed you how different he was out in the field: stoic, ruthless, strategic, a mercenary.

But in an equally strange sort of way, you prided yourself on that. You liked how comfortable he felt with you, like he didn’t have to have his guard up all the time. Like the risk of an attack or betrayal didn’t exist.

You liked being his safe space, just as he was yours.

“I promise.”

Low and firm, the acknowledgment managed to chip away some of your fear, not much, but you’d take it.

Your eyelids lifted and your lips pressed together. You nodded. “Okay.” A thousand and one unpleasant activities ranked higher on the list of things you’d rather do than to have to separate from him. You didn’t want to leave. You didn’t want him to leave.

And he saw that, he felt it.

“It’s getting late.” You fully recognized that was his way of informing you that it was time for him to go. You already knew it, but hearing him confirm it brought you right back to square one.

But this time, time really wasn’t on your side.

You swallowed deeply and suppressed the urge to force him to pry you off as you stepped back only to stiffen when you realized he’d grabbed your hand.

You stared at him, frown deepening. His grip tightened ever so slightly.

And then you got it. It misted over you like the first rain of spring.

He would miss you too.

It shouldn’t have surprised you as much as it did. You’d learned by now that he was a man of few words when it came to these sort of things. To feelings.

His non-verbals relayed the story few were privy to read, the one he kept stored away at the highest and most obscure spot on the shelf.

And somehow, someway, you’d managed to climb your way up there.

You offered a small smile and turned toward the village where you could see the children hovered around Floppy.

“He’s not going to be happy when he finds out he has to leave again.”

“He doesn’t have a choice.”

The pause in his reply, the decrease in volume, it all made you wonder if you were still talking about the Child.

“Come.” You gave your conjoined hands one last squeeze before pulling away and moving toward the path you’d followed to come here. “We cannot delay the inevitable.”

A small part of you wished that he would grab your hand again, that he would drag you to the same spot a few feet away where you’d first been intimate. Even if only to relive hushed memories and whispered sentiments, you’d take anything. As long as it involved him.

“No.” He never reached for you. “We can’t.”

[dramaqueeenamby]

Space Between (13)

TAGLIST: @katshrev @elaindeereads @soulmates8 @naturallyqueenie @onyour-right@msincognito67@janellemonaenae @afraiddreamingandloving @hutchj @90sinspiredgirl  @airis-paris14 @dolphinpink310 @purplemuse @amberkay284 @leafdragon117 @meeky-imagines@aieyr @h-challa@quietemptydiariess @katasstrophey @wakanda-inspired@destinio1@dessianna1@blackpantherimagines @httpjex @palmsofgranate@dessianna1@armani9-9@melanisticroyalty @stressedgyal@profilia@theestrangeddreamer@mixedmelanin@almostpurelysmut@writingmarvellousimagines@amberthegamer @sisterwifeudaku@texasbama@lcb7 @kumkaniudaku@lavitabella87  @dessianna1@httpjex @armani9-9 @melanisticroyalty@stressedgyal @idilly @blue-ishx@beautifulbashfulblackqueen @twilight-sapphire-lover@derangedcupcake @thiccdaddy-mbaku@kaytauru @sonofnjobu @wakandamama @LUCI-HER@FRIENDLYNEIGHBORHOODKIRBY@spacequeenstuff @masterbeautyy @thenamesaj

Words: 5K

❤️#BUNBUNWEDNESDAY ❤️ (early)

DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN’T READ TWELVE. YOU WILL BE UTTERLY CONFUSED.

ALSO......PLEASE DON’T HATE ME AFTER THIS.

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE TAGGED IN THIS STORY, CLICK HERE.

MASTERLIST

SPACE BETWEEN (12)

“He’s lost his goddamn mind.”

“He really had her arrested?”

“Come now, he can’t seriously believe her to be guilty of these accusations?”

“He is clearly hurt by this and not thinking straight.”

“And what of Bunme? What is he to tell her?  Oh, your mommy is in jail for alleged crimes against Wakanda?”

“I’m not sure he’s going to tell her anything. Bast, he hasn’t even let her know that he’s returned.”

“We think she doesn’t know,” N’Jobu sighed. “Bunme is a very smart and crafty child. She very well may have caught wind of their return.”

“I can’t believe that she’s really his child,” Nakia shook her head, her face filled with astonishment. “I can’t believe she lied.”

“She must have had a good reason,” M’Baku chimed.

“Just like he probably thinks that he had a good reason for locking her up like some criminal.” Hawla hissed, pacing across the floor, rubbing her growing baby bump. “He was wise to have his wing of the palace guarded by Doras and that I am with child cause if not for them....” She finished with a groan, her husband placing his hand on her knee to calm her down.

Just then, Shuri and Erik walked into the room, both of them wearing irritated expressions.

“He still will not allow you access?”

“It’s a smart decision cause as soon as I get close enough, I’m knocking his bitch ass out.” The prince growled.

“We can’t just leave her in prison,” Shuri threw her hands up. “What are we to tell Bunme?” The general prayer among the group of concerned individuals was that the little princess would sleep later than her usual 10:00am wake-up-time in order to give them extra time to figure out a course of action.

“We shouldn’t have to tell her nothing. She should be free to tell her herself.” Erik was visibly and soundly irritated by everything. “Damnit, I knew she should have told him. If she would have just listened to me-“

“Wait, you knew?” Nakia pressed.

N’Jobu spoke up and explained how he and his son came to figure out the truth. Erik then chimed in toward the end to inform how Y/N was stopped from telling the truth after a phone call with her sister.

“At this point, does any of that even matter? Our number one concern and priority is figuring out how to get her out of this mess.” M’Baku informed, everyone offering various nods and small quips of agreement.

“You two are the highest in terms of the chain of command, can’t you free her?” Hawla sighed in desperation.

“Unfortunately, with the amount and severity of the charges being alleged against her, only the king can authorize her release.” N’Jobu shook his head, a deep scowl on his face.

“We could break her out-“

“And make her look even more guilty?” Nakia rolled her eyes at Shuri’s kind but naive suggestion. “No. Our only course of action is talking sense into T’Challa.”

“Or beating it out,” Erik muttered earning a glare from his girlfriend.

“I second that motion.”

“M’Baku!”

At that moment, Okoye entered the room full of mixed emotions.

Shuri stood up from her seat and wasted no time. “Can we see him?”

The general hesitated, aggravating Erik.

“Talk, Okoye.”

The fierce warrior glared before sighing. “He is not here.” Variations of “what” and “where has he gone” were thrown at the woman before she loudly and plainly stated. “He went to go see her.” Silence. “Alone.”

“To free her?” Hawla’s voice was full of hope.

“No.” Okoye’s eyed dropped to her ground. She was ashamed. “To take her testimony.”

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

Prisons in Wakanda were far different from the cells back in Niganda. This was something Y/N learned upon being locked in her “cell.” Though she hated even being there, she had to admit that a square shaped cell, covered by transparent walls of vibranium with a bed, mirror, table, and other pieces of furniture was far from what she was expecting.

Perhaps she received such a room because of her status as a royal. However, aesthetically pleasing surroundings could not make up for the inner turmoil that she felt.

She knew that telling T’Challa the truth would be a difficult task, but she never imagined that it would bring about such detrimental consequences. Laying on her side, staring at the wall across from her, all she saw was the broken man before whom she pleaded. All she could hear were his harsh words.

Yes. The fact that she was being accused of such vile treacheries bothered her to her core, but her main concern was getting through to T’Challa. If only he could give her time to explain herself, stress to him that she was going to tell him the truth that very night, but circumstances beyond her control prevented it from happening.

However, her biggest and main concern was Bunme. She didn’t know how her baby girl was doing and prayed that she was not told of her mother’s current whereabouts. How could you explain to a five-year-old that her mother was in jail? She didn’t want that stress on her daughter.

She just prayed that T’Challa felt the same way.

The princess sat up and looked straight ahead, her eyes immediately connecting with a stoic-faced lover of hers.

She wasted no time in standing up and walking toward him, stopping in the middle of the cell, his eyes raking over the stretch pants and an oversized shirt that she’d been given as part of her detainment.

She had so many things that she wanted to say to him yet her mind kept drawing blanks. Words failed to leave her mouth. It took a good minute for her to garner a sentence and even that was marked by brevity.

“Bunme-”

“She believes us to still be away on our mission.”

That bit of information brought some comfort to the young woman despite the remaining anxiety that ate at her. “So she doesn’t know that I’m here-”

“No.”

She winced from his tone and dropped her head. “Good-”

“Five years,” he spoke, his eyes focused on the floor, his jaw tense as he struggled to maintain composure. “I’ve missed five years of her life because of you.”

Her slumped shoulders and red eyes gave away her dejection. “T’Challa-”

“I was not there for her first steps, her first word, her birth.” She clenched her eyes shut at his pained delivery. “Why?” She sniffled and went to speak when his fist banged against the wall, causing her to jump back in shock. “WHY?”

“I was scared, T’Challa!” Y/N shouted, wiping at her eyes. “I was terrified at how you would react! I didn’t even know how to react.”

“You should have told me, you knew how I felt about you.” He was legitimately hurt by her deception, not that she could blame him. She’d done this, created this mess. “Did you honestly believe that I would turn you away?” It was damn near unbearable. She couldn’t take the disappointment in his question. She’d never seen him look so vulnerable.

“I don’t know,” she sniffled, her eyes avoiding his as he was now staring directly at her. “I was already hesitant on what to do and then I talked to my sister-”

“Your sister?” He interrupted, his tone starting to transition into anger. “So you trusted someone who you’d told me time and time again treated awfully over me? You allowed her to dictate what you did with my child?”

“If you would give me a chance to explain,” she crossed her arms and moved closer to the barrier between them. The physical barrier. “My parents we-”

“Inkosi Yam,” Okoye came running into the room. She sent an apologetic and sympathetic glance to Y/N before looking over at T’Challa. “It’s Klaue. We have a location.”

The Black Panther straightened and turned to a despondent Y/N whose eyes told a story that he’d yet to hear, but his first duty was to his people. He had to get Klaue behind bars before anything else.

Without another word, he turned to follow his general out the door.

“I didn’t do what she said, what they all believe me to have done.” Y/N called out as soon as Okoye was out of her line of vision, her voice barely above a whisper. “I would never betray you or your country. You must know that.”

He stopped, his fist clenched at his side as he looked over his shoulder. The queen held a little hope that her last-minute statement got through to him, penetrated the dense wall of betrayal and pain that she’d created.

Instead, her heart broke even more as he kept on walking. Once he was gone, she released the sob that she’d been holding in the back of her throat, covering her face with her hands as she went to go sit on the bed.

“Well,” she jumped from the introduction of the new voice, going to her feet, the tears continuing to stream down her face. “That was rather…...anticlimactic.”

Her eyes narrowed to crinkled slits. “You son of a bitch.”

Dumi smiled, walking up to the glass, his arms crossed. “I know you must be upset.” He laughed as she went to hit the glass, her eyes glowing white. “Now, now, princess, let’s not behave too recklessly.”

“This whole time you’ve been lying to me.” She hissed, her mouth trembling from a perfect combination of anger and hurt. “I trusted you.”

It made her sick to know that such a person had been around her poor child for five years. The man was practically a father figure and not once had she picked up on the underlying sinister nature. Truthfully speaking, she blamed herself. She should have seen through his facade.

“You mean as he trusted you?” His eyes widened with faux innocence as he motioned to the area where T’Challa and Okoye walked out just minutes prior. “Such a shame how that all turned out. Truly.”

“Why?” She whispered, her heart yearning, needing a reason.

“That comes later,” he nonchalantly waved her off. “What I will say is….do you remember Atu Arziki? No? What of Sibusiso Nuru?” He stepped closer to the glass, his eyebrows raised. “Still nothing?” She was silent, her brain wrecking for an idea as to who those two people were, but the names weren’t ringing a bell.

Y/N gasped loudly when he punched the glass. “Well, let me refresh your mind, princess. Atu Arziki was my older brother who just so happened to be unlucky enough to be forced to serve as a training partner for a young mutant child who refused an order from her dictator parents to kill him-”

She started to move back. “No-”

“Well, the dictators didn’t like their precious daughter’s act of obedience. Not at all. They were just requesting the death of the boy, no one else, but that little bitch couldn’t even do that.”

“Stop,” she squinted her eyes and covered her ears.

“So do you know what they did?” His smile dropped as his eyes hardened with anguish and heartache. “They killed him and his entire family, letting only one lucky child live to know to never again make the same dire mistake.”

She dropped to her knees.

He shrugged. “And Sibusiso Nuru? Well, he was a decorated Wakandan War Dog, one of the best. You remember him from your conversation with your sister, yes?” Y/N didn’t even bother to express surprise. She’d already garnered that Dumi was listening in on her phone calls with Anajah. She would have also bet that it was him who filled Ramonda’s head with all those lies regarding her working with Klaue. “Until he was captured, tortured, and murdered while stationed in Niganda. His family took it extremely hard, but none harder than his poor daughter….Ayo.”

“What?” Her eyes were bug-eyed as the second in command stepped from the shadows with a smirk on her face.

“Ah, yes, but Ayo always swore she would extract her revenge on her father’s killers.” Dumi continued, eyeing the warrior from head to toe. “It was such a perfect pairing, her and I. You know, guarding your little brat while she was at school became much more bearable after the union of Ayo and me.”

“You bitch,” Y/N sneered, her nose turned up at the sight of the woman who’d not only betrayed Y/N, but her king, and her country. A thought crossed her mind. “You two helped Klaue escape….didn’t you?”

“She talks too much.” Ayo rolled her eyes and looked over at Dumi. “Let’s speed this up, please.”

“So impatient,” the man snickered. “Ah, yes, of course. We are actually here to break you out.”

“And why in the hell would you do that?”

“To take you back to Niganda to answer for your crimes against our country,” he continued, his head tilted. “Did you really think we would allow you to escape? You or your sister?”

At the mentioning of Anajah, she froze just as her heart stopped. “What? What have to done to her?” She placed her fists against the wall. “If you even think of hurting her-” She was cut off by the Zenzi member rolling his eyes and lifting up a tablet with a video playing. Y/N gasped as she took in the sight of her bleeding and bruised sister, tied up by his wrists and ankles being savagely beaten by four men, members of the Zenzi.

“No!” She cried out, her heart breaking at the sight. “Stop! Please don’t hurt her!”

“Oh, don’t worry, princess. She’s fine…..for now.” Her forehead dropped against the glass. “You parents on the other hand…..” He sucked his teeth, hitting a button on the screen before pained screams of agony filled the princess' ears. She looked up and immediately felt her stomach drop.

On the screen, were her parents, tied up against two wooden poles, surrounded by hay and flames.

They were being burned at the stake.

Melting skin, intestines oozing out, and just the horror of it all prompted the princess to dub over and start vomiting.

“Yeah…..not an easy sight to stomach, huh?” He chuckled in jest. “Oh, and while I hate to be the one to pile on the agony-”

“The children’s hospital has been planted with bombs that will go off with only a simple phone call,” Ayo interjected. “500 children. Dead. If you don’t cooperate.”

“Why are you doing this?” Y/N sobbed, palms flat against the floor. “Why?”

“Niganda has suffered for too long under the rule of your family. No longer will we be repressed.” Dumi hissed. “Your parents are dead, yes, and eventually, your sister will be too unless you come with us.”

“And do what?” She screamed before another wave of projectile vomit hit.

“Share the same fate as your parents.”

She stared ahead, momentarily paralyzed by his statement. “W-w-what?”

“Your brother left long ago and is no longer a problem. Your sister could care less about us, but you, you are the anomaly that we cannot underestimate.” He narrowed his eyes. “If we are to truly become free from the terror of your bloodline, we must eliminate all possible threats to our new age.” A beat. “That includes you.”

So overcome by her grief, she didn’t even notice Ayo walk over and disable the shields as Dumi stepped into her cell, standing over her.

“Of course, you could always stay here and face Wakandan judgment, but then you have the blood of your sister and 500 children on your hands.”

All she could do was cry. They wanted her dead. She knew that the Zenzi wanted her family off the throne but she never could have imagined the brutality that would extend her way. She never pictured herself being punished along with her parents.

Her parents….they were dead.

She didn’t know how to process that. On one hand, she felt nothing. They were far from good people. On the other hand, she felt everything. They’d given her life, brought her into this world.

Did that not count for anything?

“So princess,” Dumi smirked, watching as she threw up, her stomach in shambles from the grisly and disturbing video. “Would you like some time to think about your options?” His smirk transformed into a sinister smile as he watched her hunched back begin to shake from the intensity of her sobs as her vomiting ceased. “How about ten minutes? No, that’s too long. Five?”

Y/N was stuck between a wall and a hard place. Going with them meant that she was signing her death warrant. Not going with them meant that her sister and 500 innocent lives would be lost.

Y/N wasn’t even sure if they would stay true to their word and spare the innocent if she agreed to forfeit herself, her life.

But was she willing to risk it?

She wanted to scream.

In a flash, Dumi had the princess up against the wall, his hand wrapped around her throat. “You have thirty fucking seconds to make a decision, thirty seconds till I make the call, thirty seconds till they’re all dead.”

The thought of all those innocent babies dead….because of her. It gutted her.

Almost as bad as just the thought of what she was about to say.

“No,” she managed to get out despite the lack of available oxygen. “I’ll-”

He tightened his grip, lifting her up so that her feet were starting to dangle.“What was that, Nala?”

“I’ll do it,” she forced out, her eyes clenched shut to keep the sight of the monster before her out of her vision. It was no use though because she was still haunted by the graphic execution that she’d just been forced to watch. There was no escaping this terror. “I’ll do it.”

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

“I want an autopsy done immediately,” T’Challa hissed, storming into the palace.

The lead that they had on Klaue was accurate sans one bit of information.

He was dead.

Stabbed through the chest some type of object, his body collecting insects and smelling of rotting flesh once they found him.

T’Challa was livid. He wanted the man alive, to stand trial, to see him suffer as they sentenced him to death.

Twice he’d been deprived of the justice that he so desperately sought.

T’Challa was preparing to head up the stairs when he felt someone coming behind him. The skilled warrior immediately grabbed the attempted assailant by the throat and forced him against the closest wall.

“Erik?” He was confused not just by the fact that his cousin was apparently trying to attack him but by the terrified look in his eyes.

“We gotta do something.” Was all he said as T’Challa released him.

He truly was in no mood for his cousin’s games. “About-”

“Come on,” Erik did not wait. He immediately headed for the library, the king surprised to find the bulk of his companions waiting for him.

Except that wasn’t the most surprising. No, what was surprising was the sight of Y/N interacting with Bunme who was sitting on her mother’s lap.

What?

The child’s eyes lit up as they landed on him. “Baba!” Bunme quickly jumped down from Y/N and scurried over to T’Challa who crouched down to lift her up and hug her against him. “You’re back!” She giggled as he struggled to find the correct words.

He wanted to act as though nothing had changed, like she was still the same little girl whom he’d grown to love, formed a bond with.

But she wasn’t.

Before, he viewed her as the daughter he always wanted but never had.

Now, she was the daughter that he always wanted and always had.

Slight change in wording.

Extreme difference in meaning.

“I’ve missed you, sam isipho.” He murmured into the top of her head, kissing her cheek.

Bunme giggled and pulled back with a broad smile. “Now we’re all back together again!”

His heart ached. If only she knew….

“Baby,” Y/N spoke as she stood up. That’s when T’Challa saw it. The anguish in her eyes and the strange bracelet on her wrist. It looked so familiar. “That’s what I need to talk to you about….mommy….” Her voice broke. “Mommy has to go.”

Bunme frowned as she wiggled in his grasp, prompting him to carefully place her down on the floor. “Why?” She started walking towards her mother. “You just got back.”

“I know,” she sniffled as T’Challa looked around the room and finally picked up on the fact there wasn’t a single person in that room who wasn’t fighting tears if not openly shedding them.  “But….you know the bad people back in Niganda….right?” Bunme nodded as Y/N got down on both knees and lightly grabbed her shoulders. “Well….they’re going to do something very bad if mommy doesn’t go back.”

T’Challa was utterly confused. What in Bast name was going on?

He pulled Erik to the side. “What is she-”

“This terrorist group called the Zenzi executed her parents, has her sister hostage, and are threatening to bomb a children’s hospital if she doesn’t turn herself over in the next hour,” Erik spoke in a rushed, quiet, and dangerously controlled voice.

T’Challa moved back ever so slightly as his eyes widened from all of the information. “Turn her over for what?”

A brief look of hurt flashed in Erik’s eyes before he calmly responded with, “What do you think, T’Challa?”

“But what if you get hurt?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Bun Bun.” Dumi’s voice sounded as he walked in the room, his signature smirk on his face. “I’ll be there with her the whole time.”

T’Challa growled and went to lunge at Dumi when Erik and M’Baku moved to restrain him.

“He’s with the Zenzi, T’Challa.” Erik hissed in a low voice as the king kept his deadly glare on the former guard. “Do anything to set him off and one phone call damns everybody to death.”

The king stopped. Dumi was a spy. 

He suddenly wished that he’d killed him when he wanted to. 

Bunme ignored Dumi, untrusting of the man ever since she was told that he wasn’t “nice anymore” by her mama following his firing, her pout still as prominent as she proposed the question that Y/N had been dreading. “When will you come back?”

It took everything in her not to break down right then and there.

“Do you remember what I told  you when the bad people tried to hurt us in Niganda before we came here?” Bunme reluctantly nodded. “I told you to hide in the closet while mommy fought them, and you asked me the very same question….so I’m going give you the very same answer.” T’Challa heard his sister's quiet sobs as an equally distraught Nakia tried to comfort her. “Where’s mommy?”

Bunme slowly lifted her index finger to her heart. “Right here.”

Y/N smiled through her pain. “And how long is mommy going to be there?”

Again, a pregnant pause. “Forever.”

“That’s right, baby girl.” Y/N sniffled, reaching out to caress the top of her head. “Mommy loves you so much.”

“Mommy, why are you crying?” Bunme questioned gently as Y/N dropped her head to try and blink away her tears even though she knew it was no use. “I’m scared….I don’t want you to go.”

Y/N felt all resolve break as her little girl threw her arms around her, clinging on to her for dear life, her own tears staining Y/N’s shirt. “Please don’t go.”

“I’m always with you, Bunme.” She promised, tightening her hold on her daughter for one last embrace. “Always.”

“Alright,” Dumi rolled his eyes and walked over, grabbing Y/N by her upper arm and yanking her to her feet. “Time to go, princess.”

“Hey!” Bunme shouted, crying and rubbing her eyes. “Leave my mommy alone!”

T’Challa immediately went over to grab her. “Bunme-”

“Baba,” she turned to him, the sight of her crying breaking his heart, but he maintained his stoic expression. “You gotta help mommy! Please!” At that point, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Even M’Baku was blinking away tears. “You promised you’d always protect her!”

T’Challa looked at his former lover, the anguish in her eyes, and then over at Dumi who was watching them closely, waiting for the king to make a move.

He only had one option.

T’Challa delivered with all the coldness that he could muster, “There’s nothing I can do.”

Heartbreak….just….heartbreak.

“It’s okay, baby.” Y/N tried to reassure as Dumi started to drag her out the room. “I’ll be okay.”

“No!” Bunme went to run after them, but T’Challa restrained her. “Mommy, please don’t go!”

The older princess looked from her daughter to her love one last time and whimpered out: “I love you.”

With that, she disappeared from their site.

“Mommy!” Bunme was screaming at that point, trying to hit at T’Challa. “Let me go!”

“Sam Isipho,” he attempted to calm her down, but it was no good.

“No! I hate you!” Those three words rendered him speechless as he unconsciously let her go, Bunme making a sprint for the door.

Nakia quickly jumped up and wiped at her eyes. “I’ll go get her.”

T’Challa couldn’t even respond as those words oscillated in his mind. Well, before he felt himself being pinned to the floor.

“You weak ass son of a bitch!” Erik yelled, raining fists on his cousin. “You just let her go like that?!”

T’Challa broke from his trance and easily pushed Erik off, jumping to his feet. “Er-”

“Man, fuck you!” Erik was in no mood for excuses or explanations. “You foul as shit, T’Challa!”

“Erik,” Shuri attempted to speak up but was cut off.

“Naw! You know they gon kill her right?! Probably torture her too! And yo’ ass didn’t do shit to stop it!” He continued as M’Baku moved to hold his arm. “You really gon let her d-”

“SILENCE!” T’Challa finally snapped, marching over and snatching him up by the collar. “I would see myself dead before I allowed that to happen!”

Erik maintained his fierce expression. “Then why the fuck did you just allow him to take her like that?”

“If I had given him any indication that I plan to go after her, who knows what he would have done?” T’Challa retorted harshly.

“Wait. So we’re going to save her?” Hawla questioned with the first hint of hopefulness to enter the room all day.

“Of course,” T’Challa did not hesitate. “But we’re going to need some help.” He informed, pushing Erik away and pulling his Kimoyo bead to his mouth. “Has he arrived?”

“I have,” everyone turned to the door where a dark-skinned man with a deep accept and solid build spoke boldly. “And just in time, it would seem.”

Erik sized him up. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man also eyed him from head to toe and scoffed before walking over to T’Challa. “We must hurry. My sister is in more danger than she realizes.”

“She’s powerless too.” Shuri chimed as T’Challa regarded her with confusion. “That bastard managed to break into my lab and steal the power disabling device that I’ve been working on. Somehow he gained access and knew that I’d completed it.”

The bracelet. T’Challa suddenly realized. That was why it looked so familiar.

“You don’t understand,” Belay shook his head. “Y/N is an extremely powerful mutant, but her weakness always has and always will be her love for our people. Whoever plans to take the throne should want her at his side, using the lives of Nigandans as collateral to secure her as his queen. The love of power would certainly overpower the hate and contempt for my family.”

“What are you saying?” T’Challa pressed. He was in no mood for riddles.

Belay’s eyes softened ever so slightly with fear.

“I think she’s walking into a trap.”

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

Y/N stirred from her sleep to find herself being dragged through the grand palace of Niganda.

Well, it wasn't necessarily sleeping. 

She’d been knocked unconscious as soon as she walked into the plane.

“Wh..” She tried to talk, blinking several times to clear her vision as she looked to her left to see Ayo and Dumi walking side by side. “Where are you taking me?”

“To our leader, of course.” Dumi scoffed. “And future queen.”

She stalled. Queen? What?

“You fool,” she managed to insult but cried out when one of the men dragging her on her knees hit her on the side of her head. “Niganda doesn’t allow women to rule.”

“Correction,” Y/N’s head shot up as she desperately searched for the source of the voice. That voice. She’d know it from anywhere. “They used to not allow women to rule.”

Y/N’s heart was beating erratically as she finally zoned in on the individual who emerged from the shadows. “Anajah?”

The bruised woman smirked. “It seems we have much to catch up on.” A beat. “Sister.”

[fuzzbuttsquawksalot]

Filling in the blanks - Mystic Messenger Reader Insert

Major spoiler alert for ‘Mystic messenger - another story’

The story takes place in the two missing years of the ‘good end’

Tags: a lot of fluff, sexual tension, and a sprinkle of jealousy 

Since I was a bit disappointed with the good end (srsly guys you should try to get the normal one) I rewrote the ending and filled in the blanks ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 

Pairings: MC/V, MC/Zen

It had been rough for you the past few weeks. You moved to a new city due to a job offer, but before you could even start your first official day there, you’d been kidnapped by a religious sect called Mint Eye. At their headquarters, you met ‘Ray’ and the sect leader Rika. Both very troubled personalities. Luckily you’ve been saved by a group of ‘AIs’, who you chatted with and turned out to be real persons. Quickly you got involved in their affairs, the ‘RFA’ and especially the toxic relationship between Rika and a modest turquoise-haired man, without any trace of self-love called V. You’d helped him as he was poisoned by Ray, stopped him every time as he delusional as he was tried to sacrifice himself and go back to his crazy EX Rika and even rushed with him to the hospital as she stabbed him.

You couldn’t quite understand why V wouldn’t report anything to the police, but nevertheless, you were there for him, visited him every day at the hospital, calmed him down and encouraged him to find and follow his own dreams. It was natural for you to continue doing so when he had a long needed eye surgery after he was stable enough again. While you spend most of your time next to his hospital bed you had the honor of getting to know the remaining RFA members, Jaehee, Yoosung, 707, Jumin and Zen better. They were an odd group of people, but you simply had to like each and every one of them.

The others were worried, but it didn’t surprise you when V told you that he wanted to travel around the world in order to find himself and to be a bit selfish for once. It was a path he had to take alone. Only those, who know to love themselves can truly love and respect others. You had a small party with the RFA members organized by C&R employees, meaning mostly Jaehee, to see V off and to officially announce you as new member of the fundraising association. It was a heart throbbing event. You said your goodbyes to everyone, hugged V before letting him go for god knows how long.

Even though you had promised to take a taxi back home, you decided against it, preferring the cool night air to clear your thoughts. Besides, it would be much cheaper to walk the distance. Money doesn’t grow on trees, particularly with your current job situation. Being a no-show for nearly two months and having no real explanation, at least none you were allowed to tell, wouldn’t sit right with any employer.

The harsh reality dawned on you. You were jobless, on the brink of losing your apartment, had no boyfriend, your old friends hundreds of miles away and you hadn't spoken for years with your parents. If you would contact them now, you would feel like a beggar and confirm the little faith they had in you. Maybe, just maybe after fixing someone else's life you should make working on your own life the top priority. Not sure if this realization or the champagne from the party made you tipsy, you leaned your back against a cold brickstone wall. The rough surface felt pleasant, you turned your head upwards admiring the night sky and sighed. A warm hand on your shoulder woke you up from this short peaceful moment. Startled you jumped a little before you recognized the person next to you. The moonlight reflected in his white hair, without being too cheesy you thought to yourself that he looked like an angel. His crimson eyes filled with concern for you.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you ok?”

You couldn’t find the right words so you didn’t try to answer and lowered your look.

“It’s not safe for a beautiful lady like you at this hour. I thought you said you would take a taxi? Should I call one for you?”

You shook your head and looked back at the night sky. Usually, you didn’t like to show weakness in front of someone, but it’s a lot harder to keep everything bottled up when someone showers you in empathy. Somehow you suppressed the forming tears. “The moon is beautiful today,” you whispered.

Zen also looked up “Hmm, you’re right.” He fumbled in his jacket and offered you a cigarette.

“You look like you could use one,” he said before lighting one up for himself.

Like an automatism, you said ”Oh, I don’t smoke...,” but as he started to withdraw the package you went on ”at least I haven’t for years. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures. I’d like one please.”

The young actor examined your face closely as he lit your cigarette on. “Which way is your home?” You gestured left while you took a deep breath. “Good, mine is also this way. I’ll accompany you.”

You both set in motion. Amused you giggled: ”Even if your apartment would be in the opposite direction, you would still accompany me. Oh Zen the Knight, please lead the way!”

He blushed from your comment but offered his arm nevertheless: ”As the princess wishes. Bad men with bad intentions roam in the midst of the night. It’s my sworn duty to bring you back to the safety of your chambers my lady.”

“Pffft Zen, I’m not a princess nor a lady.”

“So the beautiful creature next to me is a witch in disguise?”

“Hah, yeah that would be extremely helpful. With magic powers, I could hex all my problems away…,” without noticing you strengthen your grip.

A bit awkward Zen said: ”It must be hard on you. I mean with V leaving us all. First of all you! You cared so much for him. And he doesn’t even know when he will be back.” His voice sounded angered at the last part. You snipped your cigarette away, pulling Zen towards a pojangmacha. “Mind if we take a little break? I don’t want to go home just yet. You’re free tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Uhh, yeah I am.” Surprised he followed you under the foil of the tent. Warm steam from the tteokbokki and dakkochi the ajumma (older lady) was cooking welcomed you both. Only two other men were inside the tent, they were heavily drunk and didn’t take any notice of you.

“Two bottles of soju and two maekju please!” you yell at the ajumma.

In disbelief, Zen raised one of his brows. ”I thought you’d like expensive stuff like champagne or wine more.”

You took a seat at a small table and paid the ajumma as she brought your order. With a loud crack, you opened one of the beer cans and soundly savored the first sip. “Nah, nothing’s better than the sweet and bitter taste of a cold beer.”

Zen clicked glasses with you. “That’s a statement I totally and utterly agree with.” He flashed you a broad smile, but then silence fell between you. You could see him rummage through his head what kind of topic he should bring up to avoid making you sad.

He’s a gentle beast, you noted to yourself and willingly broke the silence. “I’m not sad because of V. I may sound like a hypocrite, but I don’t know how I feel about him. I mean, for the last two months I sacrificed all my time and strength for him. He was broken, probably still is. Poor soul. He was in desperate need for a friend, who would pull him out of his darkness and show him the right way. Jumin may be his best friend, but he has his own repressed feelings and didn’t realize the darkness and self-pity within V. He was like a lost puppy, I simply had to help him. Furthermore, he and 707 ‘rescued’ me from the Mint Eye.”

You opened a soju bottle and filled Zen’s glass, while he did the same. You chugged the shot down and wondered about what happened the hacker ‘Ray’ or however his real name was. You refused to believe that he died in the explosion. Hopefully, he got out somehow, but where was he now? He was another broken soul that needed help in your opinion.

“I felt indebted, if you know what I mean,” you rambled  “and I’m seriously glad that V is taking this journey to find himself. I don’t know who he really is. I don’t know if I’ll like the person he becomes. To be true, I hate people who are born with a silver spoon and behave accordingly.”

Zen watched you closely, not interrupting your rant in the slightest bit. Was it too much, the way you were speaking about his friends? Nervously you searched for his eyes, but you could only see understanding in his crimson eyes behind his beautiful lashes. Hence you took another big swallow of beer and went on.

“Sure, I’m a very sympathetic person. But this is bullshit! What kind of sick relationship did Rika and V have? Yes, they both had a troubled childhood. But who hasn’t? I mean, I also ran away from my parents with eighteen and I haven’t contacted them ever since. You probably have a few problems with your family too. But we don’t try to physically hurt the people we love or let them hurt us!”

You took the next big gulp, this time Zen’s eyes appeared sad and sympathetic at the same time. His gaze never left you. Then, you stunned him and even the drunkards on the other table as you slammed your fists on the table.

“Auuuuu, this makes me so angry. Under normal circumstances, I would have slapped this Rika bitch so hard! I’m sorry, she was your friend and all, but I can’t accept it when people willingly hurt other people for their own amusement!”

With gestures Zen apologized for your little outbreak, a small laugh escaped him. Your personality was like a box full of wonders. Never in thousand years, he would have expected that you would behave like you did at this moment. Assumingly your stoic wall had collapsed in front of him and he was more than glad he was the one, who could see you like this.

“And if you ask me, V still lies to us all. Probably to avoid hurting us, but lying is lying and I hate it!” You refill Zen’s glass. “This hacker, who lured me to Mint Eye obviously knew not only V but also 707! But I guess it’s not my secret to tell. I should worry more about my own future. First I need to get a job!”

The drunkards in the back grunt in agreement. You empty your beer and a shot glass Zen had filled for you. “I should take Jumin up on his offer to work for C&R. But when I see how he treats Jaehee I’m not so sure about it!”

For the first time since a while, Zens opens his mouth and snorts: ”Really? The trust fund kid offered you a job? He’ll work you to the bones!”

You laughed and quaffed the next shot down. Slowly your body began to feel hot, you pulled off your jacket and your cardigan, showing your bare shoulders. Zen blushed and tried with a few fails to strictly look you into the eyes. “Hah, trust fund kid is a good name. But I guess any job is better than none. But I hope he could stop talking about his cat. Cats aren’t as cute as people say they are. One moment they act all nice and fluffy and the next moment they bite or scratch you! I strongly hope that Jumin doesn’t bring Elizabeth to work. I’m allergic, you know? I can’t stop sneezing and there’s snod just everywhere and if it gets worse I feel like I’m suffocating!”

Zen’s eyes widened. The more you told him, the more you reminded him of himself. To calm his whirlpool of new and weird feelings a bit down he lit a cigarette.

“You should stop that! Smoking is reaaaaaally bad for your skin. And you look so damn fine!”

Your statement caught him by surprise and therefore you were able to snatch his cigarette and put it out in the ashtray. “In addition, it was really hard giving up smoking and it allures me to want one too!”

“Sorry my princess, I’ll keep it in mind not to smoke in front of you. But to come back to the last part, you think I and I quote: look so damn fine?”

“I told you, I’m not a princess! And don’t fish for compliments! I’m not blind, of course, you’re fucking hot! And the worst part is that you’re kind, hardworking and earnest! Who wouldn’t lo…,” shocked by what you were about to say you stopped. The embarrassment was spreading over your face and your ears. Was it always this hot in here? You exchanged a long look with him. As you saw how his cheeks were also glowing you felt a lump in your throat. Must be the alcohol, you thought.

“What should I call you then?” he growled with his deep voice.

“You can call me by my name, or you call me something you haven’t called anyone before…”

He rolled your name on his tongue, the sound seemed to please him. This was the first time he called you by your name. Slowly he leaned forward and whispered: ”Then you’ve to call me by my name too. I’m Hyun.”

“Hyun,” you murmured. You didn’t know why but calling him by his real name felt rather intimate.

You put your clothes back on. “I guess, I guess we should get going. We still have a bit of a walk ahead.”

“Right. After you honey,” he held the foil open for you.

“Honey?” you looked questioning at him “Well, apart from my name I could get used to this nickname,” and linked your arm with Zen’s again.

Coming from such a warm and damp place the air outside felt colder than before. You shuddered. As soon as the actors realized this he stopped to give you his coat. You tried to refuse it, but he insisted on it. Otherwise, than being too big, you liked the slick feeling of the white leather. The coat smelled like tobacco, vanilla and a slight hint of wood. This was how Zen smelled. You liked it. His smell had a class to it but wasn’t overpowering. You inhaled it deeply and snuggled yourself deeper into the comfort of his coat.

Worried Zen might freeze your pace quickened. The downside was that you reached your home too fast for your liking. You didn’t want to be alone yet.

“This is where I live,” you said and stopped in front of the entrance of the apartment building.

“Oh, you don’t live that far apart from me! I live six blocks further down!”

“Hm, yeah the rent here is relatively cheap,” you chuckled and returned the coat to him.

“Right, normal people like us have to watch their money,” he grinned “So this means goodbye and goodnight,” he shifted on his feet and was about to turn on his heels. Before he could you grabbed his arm again.

“Uhm, I don’t want to be alone just yet. Would you mind coming in? For maybe a coffee or based on the time maybe a tea?” you asked out of the blue. You had no ulterior motives you told yourself. You simply didn’t want to be alone.

Zen’s pupils widened, he needed some time to respond. He looked like he was fighting with himself on the inside. “O-Ok,” he stuttered after a while.

You opened the door and led him inside. Giving the fact you only recently moved here and had spent the most time at the hospital to watch over V there wasn't much there. A small kitchen near the entrance, a desk with a laptop and a few books on it, a small grey couch, a coffee table, a sad looking plant that urgently needed watering, two cupboards and behind a folding screen your bed.   

“Excuse the intrusion,” Zen mumbled while pulling off his boots. He placed his coat over an empty chair in the kitchen and then seated himself on your couch. Your small one-room apartment wasn’t much different to his own. But you had bigger windows since his was on the basement and yours on the first floor. He wondered if it was safe for you to live on the first floor. This neighborhood wasn’t the nicest and for robbers it was easier to get into apartments on the ground level. He would keep a close watch over you, he promised himself.

You stood in the kitchen and made some tea. Nervously you said: ”It’s a bit cold in here, I couldn’t pay the heater yet. But I certainly will, before the winter comes. I can get you a blanket.”

“Thanks,” he said and remembered his first years after running away from home. Hot water and a heater were a luxury he couldn’t afford back then. He would never judge you for something like this. His life know wasn’t much better. As a musical actor you life from job to job. And if you don’t get one after a small break things can get difficult.

You returned from behind the folding screen with the promised blanket and then served the tea to both of you. A bit shy you too snuggled under the blanket but left enough space between Zen and you. You felt cold, the previous alcohol and the warm tea anyhow failed to warm you up.

Trying his best not to let his inner beast win and to pin you down on the couch while showering you with hot and sloppy kisses, god what was he thinking, Zen sighed. Did you always look so good? Smell so good? How would you look underneath your clothes? No, no, no he shouldn’t be thinking that. He ogled you intensely. Was it wrong to think of you in such a way? Only a few hours before, he wouldn’t have dared to think of you in this way. Because you had taken care of V, he somehow had assumed you would be V’s girlfriend or something close. But V was gone and you didn’t really mind that he was. V was a fool, he couldn’t possibly expect a woman like yourself to sit still and wait for him. Not someone as precious as you. You knew him for weeks and should wait for years? If someone would treat you like this, he wasn’t worthy enough to be on your side. Zen’s beast convinced him it would be more than ok to make you his. His self-consciousness also told him it was ok indeed, but not under these circumstances. You were both drunk and lonely. You deserved better.

“I have to admit, I let you into my home with ulterior motives,” you said cheekily and skidded closer under the blanket until he could feel your weight on his side and your head on his shoulder. Zen’s breath faltered. What were you saying? Was it his imagination playing tricks with him?

“Just as I thought, you’re better as a hot-water bottle. Thank you for warming me up,” you yawned and nestled up to Zen even more.

On the inside, he laughed and cried at the same time. Seriously what was he thinking? His hormones raged. With all the vocal training, dance lessons and rehearsals it had been long, seemingly too long since he had come this close to a woman. And you were special. Painfully he noticed how you didn’t only have an effect on his body but also on his heart. His breath quickened. He was falling too deep too quick. But there was no way stopping it now.

“You know you shouldn’t tease a man like this. I’m merely holding back thanks to my inhuman inner strength. All men are beasts,” he muttered. But there came no response from you. You rhythmically breathed against his skin. You had fallen asleep. Cautiously he tried to free himself from you and leave but you wouldn't let him. Your grip strengthened and you mumbled something like: ”Don’t.”  

Defeated he gave up and also fell asleep. But not for long, suddenly he felt you shaking him.

“No, no, no, this won’t do. We have to wash our faces first! It’s not good if our pores become clogged!” Forcefully you pulled him up and with you into the bathroom. Half asleep Zen laughed and whispered probably not for you to hear: ”Honey, you’re a keeper.” As you heard it nevertheless, those words gave you a little pinch to the heart. Carefully you both washed your faces, applied some toner and light sleeping cream. Zen had to admit that your assortment of beauty products wasn’t half bad. Some of them he used himself.

Afterwards, you lent him a new toothbrush and you brushed your teeth. Outside dawn had begun but as tired as you were you let the window shades down, quickly exchanged your usual dotted white skirt with hot pants, gathered the blanket up and brought it back to your bed. Much too tired himself, Zen forgot to complain and any hindering moral when you said: ”Pull your pants off and come to bed.” As alluring as this situation was, even beasts have to sleep at some point, he thought before climbing into bed and spooning you.

You knew this situation should be weird for you, but it felt too natural. For now, you enjoyed Zen’s body heat and the new found attraction towards him could be explored at a different time.

____________________________________________________________________________

Two years later: Finally you were able to hold the long-promised fundraising party. Guests from all over the world came to attend it. You, Jaehee and Jumin, who was now your boss, had prepared an astonishing location. Working for the C&R group wasn’t easy, but in comparison to Jaehee, you still had time for a private life. You were a team member of the law department and had only little contact to ‘Mr. Han’. You thought it was funny how all the other people would call him that, while you never bothered to call him anything but Jumin.

In the meantime, you had a little fall out with Jaehee as she learned you were in a relationship with her idol Zen. But after some time everything was forgiven as she realized there was no bad press about him and that he lived an even healthier and more laid back lifestyle because of you.

He stopped smoking. Riding his motorcycle was only allowed when you accompanied him, therefore he became an extremely careful driver. And together Zen and you had enough money to be able to rent a bigger apartment in a better neighborhood. All his fan mail was now sent to his company. Without his address known to the public, there weren’t any crazy stalkers accidents. Seeing Jumin as a slight thread for his sweet time with you, he often came by your workplace and surprisingly those two got closer. You didn’t know how much payment or other offers were involved but somehow Zen agreed to model for the C&R’s new cat food commercials. Which appeared to be a huge boost to Zen’s fame. From time to time he would now play some guest roles in tv dramas. He was offered to do more, but his heart remained in the musical theater.   

Yoosung, who started to attend the university was still taking care of Rika. She wasn’t able to leave the mental institution yet and frankly, the most of you had no interest in meeting her after all that had happened. Luciel went under the radar for a few months; had you all worried. At one point you went so far to contact Mr. Vanderwood and Jumin offered his money to help hire him to bring 707 back. When Luciel returned he brought his twin brother with him. Who was to your surprise and relief the man you got to know under the name Ray. After rehab Saeran overcame his split personality and was now part of the RFA family.

Seemingly V was traveling around the whole world. Always sending you and the others self-made postcards with nothing written on them but beautiful landscapes he must have photographed himself. Twice he had called you on Christmas. Even though Zen acted a bit jealous (who are you kidding, more like A LOT jealous) you didn’t tell V about your relationship in those short calls. You thought it was the best not to distract him from his journey. You wished him the best and told him how you all were missing him, which was the truth. After all, he was the co-founder and most important member of the RFA. Undoubtedly the current party wouldn’t be such a huge success without his donated photographs.

You nearly dropped your glass at the party as you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

“Pardon?” you say and turn around. To your surprise you see V. He looks much healthier now, his hair is shorter as when you got to know him and he looks like he had just come back from a beach vacation. Looking over his shoulder you don’t miss the glare Zen is shooting at you both. You glare back in order to signalize him that you can and will handle the situation.    

“Congratulations to the successful party!” he says and broadly smiles at you.

“V!?...,” you say still a bit baffled by his sudden appearance.

“It’s Jihyun Kim now,” he declares. “Long time no see. You look surprised, puzzled, I actually missed that look too. Did I keep you waiting for too long?”

You are a bit lost for words, what does he mean with ‘did I keep you waiting for too long’?

Like he had sensed your trouble, Zen suddenly appeared at your side, emitting some sort of alpha male aura, you only had experienced in a few seldom situations, when other men tried to get too close for his taste to you.

“V! What a surprise, we haven’t seen you in ages! You should have called more often! I feel a bit sad about the fact that you only called Jumin and this wonderful person here. There are so many interesting things I would have told you,” Zen says and sounds as casual as possible. You think to yourself how great of an actor he really is but know quite well, that he’s on the edge to go berserk.     

  V, on the other hand, gives Zen a brotherly hug and is a bit confused why he’s ruining this moment with you. ”She certainly is a wonderful person,” he says and smiles at you. To calm Zen a bit down and to defuse the situation you wrap your right arm around him. Instantly he does the same with you.

“Babe, would you mind grabbing me something to drink? I think Jihyun and I have some catching up to do,” you say audible enough for V to hear and as you notice Zen still glaring, you give him a short kiss and pat his buttocks to send him on his way to the buffet.

V’s eyes widen ”So you and Zen, huh?” “Yeah,” you answer without the slightest regret in your voice. “ You seem happy,” you add.

“Yes, I can finally say I am. I’m back in the midst of my friends,” he smiles at you. After a short pause, he looks at you sincerely, ”I’m happy for you both. I think you make a great couple. I mean it,” and kisses your hand. “Now I only need to find my own princess.”

Perfectly timed Zen comes back and hands a glass of champagne to V and you. “Oh, this one isn’t a princess,” he winks at you, “we’re both knights, helping those in need,” and places a kiss on your head.

Notes: This isn’t edited. If you have the time, please contact me, when you find any sentence and grammar errors.

and on the side note: yay, I’m alive and it felt good to write again. Even though, it’s 3. a.m. and I should sleep. Also, fill my inbox if you want a smutty middle part ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) I left out on purpose. 

[samsexualdeancurious]

Day Thirty

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Words: 3,395

Prompt: “Imagine Sam proposing to you at the same time as you trying to tell him you’re pregnant + Imagine being on the run from Gordon because you’re pregnant with Sam’s child + Imagine Sam freaking out when you go into labor because he knows that kid will have a target on her back the moment she’s born + Imagine watching Sam as he plays with his baby girl and calls her princess (his nickname for her) + Imagine Sam’s reaction when yours and his daughter’s first word is “Dada” + Imagine your daughter being afraid of the doctor, so Sam dresses up as one to please her + Imagine yours and Sam’s daughter always asking to ride on Sam’s shoulders so she can be tall like Daddy” from @teamfreewillimagines

Warnings: pregnant!Reader, angst, Gordon Walker being an asshole

You settle against Sam with a sigh, head tucked under his chin. His strong arms wrap around you. Now is really the perfect moment to tell him, lounging on a motel couch while Dean’s out, but you’re nervous about how he’ll react.

“Sam?” you say, sitting up so you can look him in the eye.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I have something to tell you.”

“And I have something to ask you.”

“You go first.”

“No, you.”

“Sam, I’m pregnant” you blurt at the same time he says “Will you marry me?”

There’s a moment of silence, and then, “What?”

“You’re pregnant?” Sam asks.

You nod. “Are you serious about marrying me?”

“Of course I’m serious. But, Y/N, are you really pregnant?”

“I really am.”

A grin splits his face and he pulls you in for a fierce kiss. “I’m going to be a father,” he says in amazement, holding your face in his huge hands. “How far along are you?”

“Not far. Just enough for the doctor to be sure.”

“So, that bug you have?”

“Morning sickness. It sucks and I’m not done with it. Luckily, today hasn’t been too bad.”

He nods, still smiling. Then his eyes widen. “Oh, I almost forgot!” he digs around in his pocket and pulls out a small black box. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

A lump forms in your throat as Sam gets off the couch and onto one knee, opening the box. “Y/N,” he says. “Will you do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Sam Winchester?”

“Yes!” you squeal, throwing yourself into his arms. You kiss him soundly before pulling back to hold out your left hand. “Put it on me.”

Grinning, Sam takes the ring- a simple silver and diamond piece- from its box and slides it onto your finger. You hold your hand up so the ring catches the light.

“Mrs. Y/N Winchester,” you say. “It has a nice ring to it.”

That’s when Dean chooses to return. He stops in the doorway, brow furrowing when he sees you and Sam sitting on the floor. “What did I miss?”

The wedding is a small affair. Missouri calls not long after Sam proposes and insists on helping you plan it. Pastor Jim performs the ceremony. The boys rent tuxes, but you splurge and use some of your savings to buy your dress. It’s a simple white number, with a square collar and long sleeves. The ceremony is short, as neither you, nor Sam are overly religious.

After the wedding, which was only attending by a select few members of the hunting community, Missouri hosts a small reception at her house. Then you and Sam “honeymoon” at the nicest hotel available for a few nights.

A week after the wedding, you’re back on the road. This time, though, Sam is dead set on finding a safe house for you to stay in until the baby is born. You’re dead set on staying by your husband’s side. Dean is doing his best to remain neutral, though you’re pretty sure he’s on your side. It’s kind of a point of conflict.

“I don’t need protecting, Sam,” you say firmly.

“Y/N, baby, you know my past and have forgiven me for it. But there are a lot of Hunters out there who haven’t. If word gets out that you’re pregnant, there are some who will stop at absolutely nothing to stop our child from entering the world.”

“Then what better place for me to be than by your side? Sam, locking me up somewhere isn’t going to keep me or our child safe. It’s going to make me a sitting duck.”

“She has a point,” Dean admits, eyes still on the road. “If we put her in a safe house, we won’t be able to visit regularly and I’m not sure that’s a good thing while she’s pregnant.”

“Thank you, Dean,” you sigh. “Plus, if I’m in a safe house, what about all those refular check-ups I’m supposed to have? How do those work into your plan?”

Sam rubs his hands over his face. “Fine. You won’t go to a safe house. But no hunting.”

“That won’t be a problem. I’ve already dropped caffeine and alcohol, in case you haven’t noticed. Not hunting won’t be so bad.”

Not hunting is hard.

Just because you’re not hunting doesn’t mean the boys aren’t. Dean would go stir crazy without hunting and Sam’s not about to let him hunt alone. Which means you get left in a locked motel room while they take down the monster of the week. If that’s not stressful, you don’t know what is. Not only are you alone, but you’re pretty sure this sitting around and waiting for the boys to get back, hoping neither of them is hurt in either way, is not good for your health.

The doctor mentions it at your next appointment.

Dr. Morris is a kind older woman whose husband is a Hunter. She is actually an OB/GYN and, despite being retired, keeps her license up to date. She has a large amount of equipment stored in a room in her house where she sees patients. Sadly, you are not one of her free patients, but the bill is nowhere near as large as any other doctor would be.

“You’ve been under a lot of stress lately, haven’t you?” she says while setting up the ultrasound. “Let me guess. You’ve stopped hunting, but your man here hasn’t.”

Sam shakes his head sheepishly. “No. My brother wants to keep hunting and I can’t let him hunt alone, nor are there any other Hunters I trust available to be his temporary partner.” he doesn’t mention that he thinks him not hunting would be a big red flag to any Hunters who may mean me or our child harm.

“Well, you’re going to have to figure something out, because leaving her alone in the motel room while you’re off risking your life on a weekly basis is not good on her health. Now, let’s take a look at the littlest Winchester.”

You leave the appointment with several ultrasound printouts in your pocket and Sam’s big hand curled around yours. You feel better, but not much. Sam hasn’t said a whole lot since Dr. Morris talked to him.

“Sam?” you prompt in a soft voice.

“Why did you tell me that my hunting was stressing you out?”

“Because I didn’t want to distract you. You’ve had so much on your mind recently. I didn’t want to add more.”

He stops, turning to face you. “Sweetheart, you and the baby are my priority. I need to know when something is wrong so I can make it better.” He cups your face in his hands. “If you need me to, I will stop hunting. I’ll call up Bobby or Garth and have them be Dean’s temporary partner. I’ll still help with research, like you do, but no more killing monsters. Would you be okay with that?”

You nod, bringing your hands up to cover Sam’s and pressing a kiss to the inside of one wrist. “I would.”

Sam stops hunting. It’s hard on him, you know, but he pushes through and eventually you fall into a rhythm of sorts. You and Sam help with research, while Dean and Garth, who is a total sweetheart, take on the legwork. Everyone comes out happy.

You’re reaching the end of your first trimester when word finally gets out to the Hunter community that you’re pregnant with Sam’s kid- Jelly Bean, as you’ve taken to calling her. Well, Sam says it’s a her. You’re pretty sure you’re having a boy, but you won’t know for a few more months.

As soon as the news reaches the community, things really get tough. Dean takes on smaller cases so you can move around more often, staying as far ahead of anyone on your trail as possible. Sam never leaves you alone except when going to the bathroom. Your husband is an almost constant fixture at your side, his fox eyes taking in every detail of your surroundings in order to determine the presence of any threats. You go out less, as well. You go on morning walks with Sam to let you get some sun and fresh air, but he and you both prefer the safety of a motel room over the uncertainty of the outside world.

Within a month, there is most definitely someone on your trail. Dean’s not sure who, but he knows you’re being followed.

“It’s Gordon,” he announces one day when he returns from a food run. Garth is next door sleeping off some injuries from their most recent run in with a ghost.

Sam grits his teeth at the news. “Joy. We’d better move as soon as possible. We need to be as unpredictable as we can be.”

“Who’s Gordon?” you ask, chowing into your chicken sandwich.

“A Hunter with a grudge against Sam,” Dean explains. “He’s one of those guys who gets an idea stuck in his head and never lets it go. He’s also a sick son of a bitch who will stop at nothing to get what he wants. Last time, he tried to blow Sam up, using me as bait. We managed to get him arrested, but looks like he’s out. He’s not going to be happy and he’s not going to be easy to lose.”

You nod, getting the picture. “We’d better get going, than.”

Dean was right. Gordon isn’t easy to lose. He follows your group through several states. You hate having any pattern to follow, but there are only so many ways you can visit Dr. Morris and eventually, he catches on. Which means the day you go to finally learn the gender of Jelly Bean, he’s waiting.

As soon as you step out of the Impala, a big black man is there, wrapping strong arms around your middle and dragging you away. You’re about to fight back when a cool circle presses against your temple.

“Gordon,” Sam says in a low, dangerous voice. “Let her go.”

“I’m doing the whole world a favor, Sam,” the man- Gordon- says. “This kid is going to be an abomination, just like its sperm donor. Getting rid of it is the only way.”

Dean is getting slowly out of the passenger seat, gun trained on Gordon. “Drop the gun,” he orders.

“If you move another step I’ll kill her as well as the little monster,” Gordon snaps. “And then- ack!”

He jerks behind you, grip loosening, and then slumps to the ground. You whirl to see Dr. Morris standing there, frying pan held up like she just hit him with it.

“I hate men like him,” she spits. “Come on, you three. The police are on their way. Sam, you and your brother are going to want to hide. Y/N, darling, you’ll probably have to talk to the cops. You’d better have a story ready. Dean, park the car somewhere else, will you?”

With that, she takes your hand and leads you inside.

The boys hide in the secret panic room Dr. Morris has in her basement while the police interview you. They’re very gentle, taking into mind your current condition. When they finally drive away, Gordon in the backseat, you slump over on Dr. Morris couch and sob. Within moments, Sam is by your side. He tenderly takes you in his arms and holds you until you calm down. Dr. Morris brings you a glass of water, which you gratefully accept, and suggest you go down to her examination room. Seeing your baby alive and well might help.

You go down to the room and Sam helps you up onto the table. Dean takes up a post on your other side, winding his fingers into those of the hand Sam doesn’t currently have a hold of. Surrounded by the two men you love the most, you begin to relax.

“Alright, ready?” Dr. Morris says, spreading the cool gel on your swollen belly.

“Ready,” you say with a nod. “Let’s find out.”

It takes a few minutes for Dr. Morris to get a good angle on the baby, but eventually she succeeds. “There we go. Looks like you’re having a baby girl.”

Sam cheers and pulls you in for a passionate kiss. Dean is laughing when you break apart and when you look up at your brother-in-law, he’s trying to discreetly wipe his eyes.

“A baby girl,” Sam murmurs, breath warm on your ear. “Told you so.”

After Gordon’s failed attempt, the hunting community gives you a wide berth. You’re not complaining. It’s wonderful to have the next five months pass in peace.

By the time your due date draws near, you’re more than ready to get this baby out. Dr. Morris has decided she wants you to stay with her for the few weeks before and after the due date, just to make sure everything goes well and she can be on hand when the baby does come.

Mary Deanna Winchester is born March 28 at 3:42 AM, after a long twenty-eight hour labor. Sam freaked out when you first began having contractions, worried about everything that could potentially go wrong, but you and Dean were able to calm him down. By hour twenty, Sam was the calm one and you were the one screaming. Mary will likely be your only child, as it’s not an experience any of you are eager to repeat. However, the look on Sam’s face when Dr. Morris asked if “Dad would like to cut the cord” and then the feeling of your baby girl in your arms for the first time made it all worth it.

Despite early- and current- worries on Sam’s part about not being a good father, your husband is a dream with his baby girl.

“Hello, princess,” he says, gently unbuckling her from her seat in the back of the Impala. Dean made some modifications to his Baby’s back seat in order to keep his favorite- and only, as you remind him regularly- niece as safe as possible. Mary squeals as her Daddy’s big hands tickle her sides, and then sweep her up into his arms. The newborn looks so tiny in comparison to your giant husband, who holds her with a tenderness one wouldn’t expect to find in a man of his size and upbringing. He gently pats her bum. “Oh, looks like someone’s in need of a diaper change. Let’s take care of that, shall we?”

You watch with a fond smile as he carries her into the gas station bathroom. You’re on your way to Bobby’s, where the old man has offered you his spare rooms for as long as you need them. Sam’s planning on picking up hunting again, but he wants to keep it low key. Just small, local hunts, with the occasional big hunt with Dean. He’s already got a job at the local library and has signed up for several online courses to get him back on his way to a law degree.

“Sam, I’m-”

“Shh,” Bobby says hastily, gesturing with his beer at the living room.

“What?” you ask quietly, setting the groceries on the kitchen counter.

“Go see for yourself.”

You shoot him a skeptical look, but peek into the living room. Your heart melts immediately.

Sam is asleep on the couch, one big hand keeping Mary safe where the baby, dressed only in her diaper, is sleeping on her dad’s bare chest. Looks like he wanted some skin-on-skin time and ended up taking a nap.

Smiling to yourself, you whip out your phone and take several pictures of the sight. You set the best one as your wallpaper and send the other to Dean. He won’t say so, but he’ll think it’s adorable.

Nine Months Later

“Hi, princess,” Sam says, coming down the stairs. Mary is in her high chair, grasping awkwardly at some chunky toys while you make breakfast. He crouches down so he’s more on her level. “Whatcha got there?” She waves a bright orange ring in his face and he chuckles. “You’re so silly.”

“Da-da,” she says, banging the ring on the tray.

You and Sam exchange a surprised look. “What was that?” he says, getting her attention again. “Say it again, princess.”

“Da-da,” she proclaims, almost proudly.

Sam grins wildly, hastily unbuckling her so her can scoop her up. “Your first word! That’s great, princess!” he brings Mary over to you. “Did you hear that, Mommy? Mary said her first word.”

“She did indeed,” you say, kissing the baby’s head.

“What’s going on?” Dean says, appearing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Mary said her first word,” Sam announces.

“She did, huh? What word?”

“Da-da,” Mary says. “Da-da, da-da, da-da.”

You giggle as Dean begins attempting to get Mary to say “De” next and she loudly protests with a resounding, though probably not fully understood, “No!”

Four Years Later

“Don’t wanna go!”

“Why not, princess?” Sam asks, crouched down to put himself on the level of his now four-year-old daughter.

“Cos doctors are scawy,” Mary informs him, kicking her legs a little where they dangle off the couch.

“They are, huh? What makes you say that?”

“Johnny as schoowl says they have big needles they poke you with so you cwy.”

“Oh, princess, what have we told you about listening to Johnny?”

“Not ta,” she admits.

“That’s right. Are you still scared?”

She nods. “A wittle bit.”

“Hmmm. I think I have just the thing to help you out with that. Sit here. I’ll be right back.”

You watch with amusement from the kitchen as he darts upstairs. Mary waits as patiently as a four-year-old can, little head of dark curls bobbing as she bounces on the cushion.

Finally, Sam comes bounding down the stairs in a set of scrubs and a white coat, remains of his costume from the company Halloween party two years ago.

“Tada,” he says, standing in front of Mary with his arms wide. You suppress a giggle. “This is what doctors way. Do I look scary to you?”

Mary shakes her head. “No.”

“Exactly. See, doctors aren’t scary at all. Besides, I’ll be right there to protect you the whole time.”

“Pwomise?”

“Pinky promise,” he says, crouching down to hold out her pinky. She solemnly wraps her own tiny one around it. “Feel better?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Oh, and did I mention, doctors usually give out candy?”

“Daddy, Daddy!”

Sam smiles as Mary bounces across the room to where he’s standing, checking emails on his phone. “What’s up, princess?”

“I wanna be tall like you!” she proclaims, holding her arms up. “You not busy, right?” The sweet child is always worried she’s going to interrupt Sam’s work.

“Not at all,” he assures her. He turns off his phone and sets it on the counter. “Ready to be tall?”

“Yeah!”

“Alright, up we go!”

You watch over the top of your book as Sam swings a giggling Mary up to sit on his shoulders. She clutches his chin in her little hands to steady herself, his big hands wrapped around her legs.

“Unca Dean!” she says as the man in question comes down the stairs. “I tall!”

“Yes, you are, Jelly Bean,” he says with a chuckle. “How did you grow so fast? Did you drink a magic potion?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “No, Unca Dean!”

“No magic, huh? That’s good. Are you wearing stilts?”

“No! It’s Daddy! He’s helping me be tall!”

“He is? Where is he?” Dean feigns cluelessness, looking around the kitchen in strange places for the “missing Daddy.”

You smile and return to your book.

Tagged: @kittenofdoomage @teamfreewill-imagine @ilostmyshoe-79 @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog @not-moose-one-shots @supernaturalfanfix @basic-joy @keepingitrealcas @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @love-kittykat21 @manawhaat @mrswhozeewhatsis

[maka-lucy-blog]

On the line

Here’s my submission for @bnhafest for the prompt: Todoroki/Midoriya established relationship; Todoroki dies and Izuku can’t handle it. 

“Shouto!”

Izuku shot up in bed, his heart racing.  The silence of the night pounded against his eardrums.  Moonlight spilled in through the curtains, illuminating his bedroom in a soft glow. Izuku closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief.  It was only a nightmare, nothing more.  Izuku rubbed his face, surprised to find it wet.  Tears streamed steadily down his cheeks, staining the bedsheets crumpled around his waist.

He was crying?  But why?

Images from his dream flashed through his mind, jarring him out of his stupor.  Shouto!  Izuku whipped around to his left, about to yell out in alarm for Shouto.  He stopped abruptly as his eyes landed on the other side of his bed.

Shouto slept soundly beside him, his features angelic in the pale light.  Red and white hair was splayed across the pillow.  His bangs had fallen to the side, revealing the scar over his left eye. Izuku reached out and traced the edge of the mark gently with his finger.  Shouto hated his scar and tried to keep it hidden as much as possible. Izuku understood why, but he personally loved it.  It was a testament of Shouto’s strength; everything he had endured and overcome in order to get to where he was today.

He must have pressed too hard, as Shouto stirred, groaning as he stretched his limbs.  “Izuku?”

“Sorry,” he whispered, withdrawing his hand.  “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What are you doing up?” mumbled Shouto.  “It’s the middle of the night.”  He pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  His hair stuck up in odd places and Izuku couldn’t help but smile.

“I had a bad dream,” answered Izuku sheepishly.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No,” Izuku replied a little too quickly. Shouto arched his eyebrows and Izuku forced a laugh to dissuade him.  “It was silly.  I already forgot what it was about.  Let’s just go back to sleep.”

“You had another nightmare, didn’t you?”

Izuku kept his gaze locked on the bedsheets, unable to look Shouto in the eye.  “I don’t know why they keep happening.  I’ve never had this many in a row before.”

“We had a close call the other day,” Shouto said, rubbing his thumb in small circles on Izuku’s back.  “It’s natural you’d be shaken up by it.”

“But this is the job I wanted.  I knew when I chose to become a hero, that there’d be risks. We both knew that.”

“It’s easy to put your own life on the line. It’s harder to watch someone you love do the same.”

Izuku glanced up at him, but Shouto’s attention was focused on Izuku’s hand.  He wrapped his own fingers around Izuku’s, running his hand along the scars that adorned Izuku’s arm.  Shouto realized he had spaced out and turned his gaze back to Izuku.  He smiled softly and kissed Izuku on the forehead.

“It was just a close call.  Nothing to worry this much about.”

“What if next time we’re not so lucky?”

Izuku clamped his mouth shut, hating how childish he sounded.  Heat spread across his cheeks and he was unable to look at Shouto any longer. Shouto remained silent for a long time, watching Izuku with a stern expression.  Tears pricked at the corner of Izuku’s eyes and he wished Shouto would say something, anything.

The bed creaked as Shouto shifted his weight. He pulled Izuku against his chest, wrapping his arm around him and nuzzling his face against the back of Izuku’s neck.  Izuku flinched at the sudden contact, but quickly relaxed into Shouto’s touch.  The two lay back down, their bodies pressed tightly against each other.  Izuku took his hand and laced their fingers together, gently squeezing.  Shouto returned the gesture reassuringly.  No other words were needed.  They were both here, safe.  Within minutes, Shouto was asleep again, his steady breaths filling the silence of the room.

Izuku lay awake for a long time after.  He was scared that the nightmares would return, and once that night was difficult enough to deal with.  

Ever since he and Shouto had made their relationship official, dreams of Shouto getting injured—or even worse—plagued Izuku. Especially with everything they had gone through during their training days at U.A.  It had started out as a rare occurrence, but had quickly become a regular part of Izuku’s nights.  Part of being a hero was wanting to protect others, but never had Izuku been so close with another person to the point it caused him physical pain to think of losing them.  He couldn’t imagine life without Shouto, nor did he ever want to know what that was like.

“You worry too much,” Shouto muttered sleepily.

Izuku started.  “I thought you were asleep.”

“You’re thinking so loud it woke me up.”  Shouto hugged Izuku closer to himself.  “I know you’re strong and don’t need my protection.  But I won’t let anything happen to you.  And I’m not going anywhere either.  Okay?”

Izuku nodded, his eyes filling with tears again. He twisted around to his other side and burrowed his face against Shouto’s bare chest.  If Shouto noticed the wet against his skin, he made no comment. He simply wrapped his arms around Izuku and pressed his lips to the top of Izuku’s head.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

It had been a month, and each day hurt more than the last. There were traces of him in everything Izuku saw, everywhere he went.  His scent lingered on the sheets.  His best tie hung over the back of the armchair, already knotted and waiting to be worn.  The book he would never finish sat upside down on the nightstand, open to the page he was on.  Everything around the apartment was exactly as he left it, waiting for him to come home.

But he wasn’t coming home.

Izuku sat in the apartment, not eating, barely sleeping.  Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his face, alarmingly pale and peaceful.  He felt as though he was trapped in a nightmare that he could never wake up from.  He felt numb inside, constantly drained of all his energy.  It took everything he had just to continue existing, and even that seemed pointless sometimes.  He stumbled through his days, simply going through the motions of a life he once enjoyed.  The life they once enjoyed.

Uraraka and Tsuyu refused to let him waste away to nothing.  Their support was one of the few things that kept Izuku going, and their presence was a firm and appreciated reminder that he wasn’t alone.  They regularly brought him groceries, helped clean his apartment, and kept him company whenever they had time to spare.

Uraraka spent the night at Izuku’s as often as possible.  He couldn’t bring himself to sleep in the bed they had once shared, so Uraraka made a makeshift bed in the living room with various pillows and blankets.  It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but Uraraka never complained, trying to make the most of what they had.

Her snores filled the apartment, loud enough to drown out Izuku’s thoughts.  Nights were always the hardest for him, as there was very little for him to distract himself with.  All he wanted was one dreamless night; one night without images of that day haunting him, mocking him.

He rolled over onto his side and looked up at the side table.  An old photo frame sat near the edge, a hand-me-down from his mother.  In the frame was two boys, dressed in graduation robes, holding diplomas high into the air.  The Izuku in the photo beamed at the one lying on the floor, blissfully ignorant of what was to come.  The other boy in the photo wore a much more reserved smile, but there was no mistaking the love in his expression.  He focused all of his attention on Izuku, as though the camera wasn’t even there.  He, too, looked so hopeful, so ready to greet the future with Izuku by his side.  The future he would never get to see.

Shouto.

“We need back up now!”

“Somebody, help!  I can’t find my daughter!”

“All civilians this way!  Evacuate as quickly as possible.”

Izuku retreated back to the police barricade, where the other heroes on the scene were developing a plan of attack.  Officers did their best to maintain control of the scene and give the heroes the space they needed to work.  Citizens tried to push their way to the front of the crowd behind them, eager to see some action.  Multiple ambulances and heroes with healing Quirks treated wounded civilians.

At the end of the alley, a villain had been cornered, but he made it clear he wasn’t going down without a fight.  He had already demolished several buildings in the area and was threatening to level the rest if the heroes didn’t let him walk away right then and there.

“How’s it looking in there?” Kendou asked.

Shouto shook his head, wiping the sweat off his forehead.  “Not good. So far we’ve counted three hostages.”

“So far?  You think there might be more?”

“We can’t tell.  He won’t let us get close enough.”

“Any idea of the Quirk we’re up against?”

“He’s got claws,” replied Izuku.  “I think they’re reinforced or made out of something strong, like steel.  He was able to tear through a brick wall like it was paper.”

Kendou nodded, then turned back to Shouto.  “So what’s the plan?”

“We need a distraction,” said Shouto, scrutinizing the villain carefully.  “Our main objective is to get the hostages to safety before we apprehend the villain.  We can’t attack him head on while there are still innocent people at risk.  Kendou, I’ll need you and Izuku to secure the hostages while I distract the villain.”

“By yourself?” asked Izuku.  “I can help—”

“No,” said Shouto sternly.  “The hostages are our priority.  I’ll simply buy you two enough time to get them out, and then I’ll be right behind you.  He loses all bargaining chips once we have the civilians safe.”

Izuku hated to admit it, but Shouto was right. His Quirk was best suited for this job. He nodded once and Shouto returned the gesture.

The three took their positions, waiting for Shouto’s signal.  Shouto flicked his wrist and Kendou and Izuku darted forward, keeping to the edge of the alley.  The villain laughed and launched himself toward them.  He barely got off the ground before a large ice wall formed in front of him.  He crashed into it, stumbling backwards.  He shook his head, looking for the source.  Shouto stepped forward, flames jumping off half his body.

Kendou leapt onto Izuku’s back, and he activated his full cowl, easily jumping the distance between them and the civilians. When they landed, the two small children ran up to them and clung to their legs.

“It’s okay,” Kendou said, stroking the little girl’s hair.  “You’re safe now.”

The children’s mother approached them slowly, her entire body trembling.  “Thank you,” she cried, nearly collapsing into Izuku’s arms.  “Thank you.”

“No need to thank us, we’re just doing our jobs.”

“Now let’s get you out of here.”  Kendou scooped up the kids and started back for the alley entrance, keeping her eye on the battle in the middle.  Izuku and the mother followed.

Shouto dueled fiercely with the villain, alternating between ice walls to keep him trapped and flames to bring him down.  His jaw was set in concentration as he dodged the villain’s claws and returned his own blows.

“Shouto!” shouted Izuku.  “The hostages are safe!  Get out of there!”

Shouto threw his right arm up and another ice wall sprang from the ground, trapping the villain on all sides.  Shouto turned to join his teammates, nodding to Izuku. Behind him, his ice shattered as the villain charged through, swinging his claws madly.

“Shouto!”

Shouto spun around and raised his left arm.  He shot a burst of fire, but the villain ducked, plunging his claws deep into Shouto’s chest.  Izuku screamed as Shouto crumpled to the ground.

Uraraka looped her arm through Izuku’s as they strolled through the quiet cemetery.   The trees were in full bloom, beautiful pink petals drifting lazily across the ground.  A fountain sprinkled lively on the side, birds flocking to cool off from the summer heat.  They walked in silence to the last row, the path all too familiar beneath their feet.

Izuku gripped the flowers in his hand a little too tightly, accidentally snapping some of the stems.  He hated coming here, yet at the same time, this was the only place he truly felt close to him again. They stopped at the grave and Izuku stared down at the marker.

Todoroki Shouto.

Uraraka stepped back to give Izuku some space. He knelt in the grass in front of Shouto’s grave and ducked his head.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.  His voice cracked as tears fell silently from his eyes.  He knew Uraraka could hear him, but she had enough tact to pretend not to notice.  “I should have been faster.  I shouldn’t have let you face him alone.  I should have… I should have…”

Izuku’s voice broke and he slumped forward, He pounded his fists against the ground as he choked out his sobs.  This couldn’t be real.  He couldn’t be gone.  It wasn’t fair.  Izuku needed him.  He promised. He promised Izuku that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Uraraka stooped next to Izuku and wrapped her arms around him.  He melted into her touch, burying his face against her shoulder.

“I can’t…” he cried, clinging desperately to her shirt.  “I can’t do this without him.  I-I miss him. I miss him s-so much.”

“I know,” Uraraka whispered, blinking away her own tears.  She stroked Izuku’s hair gently.  “I know, Deku.  I miss him, too.  But he’d want you to be strong.  He’d want you to move forward with your life, keep living.”

“I-I don’t know how.”

“I don’t know either.  But you’ll figure it out.  You always do.”

Izuku held onto Uraraka as if his life depended on it.  All of the anger, sadness, regret he had bottled up for weeks came flooding out at once and he didn’t know how to make it stop.  He wanted to be strong, for himself, for Shouto.  But right now, he simply didn’t have the energy.  He was tired.  Tired of hurting, tired of fearing, and tired of running.  Shouto was gone.  Every part of him ached, and Izuku felt like he’d never be whole again. Not without Shouto.

But he had to try.

[andreagillmer]

Silver: The Red-Headed, Freckle-Faced Stepchild

Source: Michael J. Ballanger for Streetwise Reports   09/06/2017

Silver has lagged behind gold, says precious metals expert Michael Ballanger, who explains why he believes that is about to change.

In grade school, I had a classmate named Craig McVeigh who was easily one of the most maligned kids in the school because as a big lad standing a full hand width taller than anyone and weighing thirty pounds more than anyone, he was never allowed to play in any sports that involved physical contact. Craig was fair, with bright, curly red hair with freckles adorning most of his exposed skin. Most of all, this lumbering giant of a boy was decidedly unlucky. He couldn’t catch a break with a butterfly net and a Geiger counter. In class, the kids would be stirring up trouble by firing spitballs at him and at after what felt like an eternity of pelting the poor guy, Craig would finally rear up with his lunch straw and begin to return fire at EXACTLY the precise second that the teacher took notice of the skullduggery and sure enough, Big Craig would be ordered to the corner of the room or out in the hall to await further punishment. On another occasion, a few years later in high school, we were engaged in underage beer drinking at the Claireville Dam and since our ride had left early, we loaded all of the empty bottles into Craig’s old Ford pickup truck and then left to retrieve another load when we suddenly saw flashing lights and ran back to see Craig being carted off for carrying open alcohol in his vehicle. The fact that the poor slob was a non-drinker made it doubly bad but the fact remained that Craig McVeigh was one unlucky human being and one that resembled with great alacrity the current state of the silver market.

The last time the Commercial Cretins were caught short into a monster move was back in September 2010 after two attempted breakouts above $19.25 were soundly rejected by way of blatant interventions. As gold was answering the class quiz with answer after answer of incredible accuracy, silver was stumbling along in a miasma of pitifully wrong responses until late in the game when it finally caught a breeze and with sails full, went on a screaming, uninterrupted, three-month ride to over $31.00 (making me and a few others extremely happy including, in order of priority, my significant other, my bank manager, and my dog). It was a wondrous event watching open interest DECLINE into a rising silver market and it is one that I am fully expecting here in 2017.

However, as great as the silver market looks today, the RSI and MACD are overbought in an historically bearish configuration with the Histograms to a lesser degree. This, my friends, is where it gets REALLY tough because there have been moves that I have witnessed over the past 40 years covering commodity and stock markets where prices moved sharply higher dragging the RSI, MACD, and Histograms into overbought territory and rather than correcting, they stayed elevated for weeks at a time. This, of course, was before the central bank trading desks were permitted to team up with the “private sector” (JP Morgan) and randomly intervene to ensure that the preferred and desired outcome was indeed effected. So, the big question I am asking myself as I wander around the trading den with a handful of darts and an old driving range club-in-hand, “What is the signal—the omen—that they have removed the heel of the hobnailed boot from silver’s Achilles-Tendon-like throat?” What, EXACTLY, makes it “different this time”?

I went long the Global X Silver Miners ETF by way of the October $35 calls back when the stock was in the $33 range so now that it has advanced to $35.87, the calls I bought for $1.00 are now $1.80 and if we get a pop tomorrow to $2.00, I will be forced to take at least half of them down at a double because after all, the proper trade is to be long the PHYSICAL, rather than the paper, so while I opted for the added elasticity of upside leverage afforded by not only the miners versus the physical and heaped even more leverage on it by buying the calls versus the ETF, I have an 80% move under my belt versus an approximate 10% move in the physical. The reason I did that, I suspect, goes back to my youth when I use to sell papers at 6:00 a.m. at Woodbine Racetrack in NW Toronto to the throng of “track people” (as opposed to “horsey people”) during which time I ran into a trainer (who shall remain nameless) who would give me a $5 tip if I hid a copy of “The Racing Forum” for him before I went “sold out.” Now, back in the 1960s, a $5 tip was like $50 today (a topic for another day) so I learned really fast to look after the “tippers.” Well, this gentleman would wave me over to the paddock fence every afternoon and ask me the same question: “How much did you get tipped today?” and I would tell him. “OK, give me 50 percent of your tips” and I would hand over a few dollars and he would disappear for a minute and come back with The Racing Forum and explain to me, in layman’s terms, not only how to bet on horses but more importantly, how to manage risk. At the end of the fifth race it was mid-afternoon and I knew that I had to ride my bike all the way back up Derry Road to Airport Road and then had straight north along the truck-infested, double-lane road until the big red-and-white checkered water tower came into sight. Before I left, though, Mr. Big would come over to the bike rack and hand me two things: 1. a copy of The Racing Forum where he made his notes and 2. an envelope with between forty and fifty dollars. And while the doubling or tripling of my tip money was great, those notes in red ink complete with underlines and circles and arrows were better than four years at the Wharton School. Trust me, they were. I would happily return the tip money today for even one of those sessions explaining to a 12-year-old why a soggy track is the best time to bet on a filly with “soft hooves.” But then again, I digress.

The reason I digress is that right now we have the absolute PERFECT STORM lying right in front of us as investors. In what I deem as “normal times,” the rules I learned as a young board-marker in St. Louis while in school worked magically well and if you were disciplined and diligent. To wit, if you deflected away from the toxicity of the “greed overdose,” you could sport a win-loss ratio that could feed a family and provide a decent-enough lifestyle for all around you. That was BEFORE the interventions began. After the Crash of ’87, Ronald Reagan and Company decided that stock market crashes were un-American and it was in the year 1988 that I watched literally ALL stock market losses reversed in the face of sub-par economic numbers followed by the “whisper” of “behavioral finance” modelling and the rise to prominence of “The Working Group on Capital Markets.” Our “perfect storm” has incubated within the insidious wombs of the world’s Central Banking community whose systematic practices of denial and deceit have created a new generation of robotic “traders” that care not about the sanctity of money nor the importance of free market thinking and economic principles.

To my earlier point, the Silver Secretariat should be flying miles ahead of the Golden Sham (referencing of course the 1973 Triple Crown Belmont Stakes) but the problem remains that gold continues to outperform silver at every turn resulting in a GTSR of 74.88 versus the sub-70 we had in the 2009–2011 advance. Notwithstanding that there seems to be a lead anvil attached to silver any time we get an advance in precious metals, it has been the worst performer of the Big Four (platinum, palladium, gold and silver) as shown in the chart below.

In summary, recent moves in copper, zinc, Bitcoin, and gold are ample evidence that the regime of King Paper is rapidly coming to an end as fiat of all denominations and sovereign jurisdictions is being jettisoned in favor of “assets” whose price cannot be “managed” by a government agency through edict. For this reason, logic dictates that I own silver. Just as a 3-year-old filly coming down in class (running against easier competition) that loves to run on turf is favored on a rainy day on the turf track, an asset deemed “the poor man’s gold” seems like the perfect place to dump one’s depreciating dollars and yen and euros on the basis of where it trades TODAY relative to the other three of the Big Four. So, I am holding my silver positions and in light of the current overbought status, I will be adding to physical silver in the $17.50 range basis December (IF it corrects) and will revisit JNUG on a similar pullback. RSI readings under 30 are optimum but with seasonality in play, we may only get to 50. It is difficult to do but we all must remember that with stock valuations now (based on CAPE) higher than any time other than 2007 and 2001, with bonds in a bubble, with cryptocurrencies in nosebleed zones, and with silver depressed, the big investment pools have few places to go other than “value plays.” Silver is, in my opinion, just that and will have a major move before the month is out.

One final remark on the topic of the penny explorco’s—Stakeholder Gold Corp. (SRC:TSX.V) had a pretty nice move today and from what I gather, a drill program for Goldstorm is in the wind for October with further “corporate developments” about to unfold. Stakeholder has a serious land position located SSE of and tied on to Seabridge Gold Inc.’s (SEA:TSX; SA:NYSE.MKT) Snowstorm property in northern Nevada in an area seen as a convergence zone of the Carlin, Nevada Rift, and Getchell trends where lies in excess of 300 million ounces of gold. Stay tuned.

Originally trained during the inflationary 1970s, Michael Ballanger is a graduate of Saint Louis University where he earned a Bachelor of Science in finance and a Bachelor of Art in marketing before completing post-graduate work at the Wharton School of Finance. With more than 30 years of experience as a junior mining and exploration specialist, as well as a solid background in corporate finance, Ballanger’s adherence to the concept of “Hard Assets” allows him to focus the practice on selecting opportunities in the global resource sector with emphasis on the precious metals exploration and development sector. Ballanger takes great pleasure in visiting mineral properties around the globe in the never-ending hunt for early-stage opportunities.

Want to read more Gold Report interviews like this? Sign up for our free e-newsletter, and you’ll learn when new articles have been published. To see a list of recent interviews with industry analysts and commentators, visit our Streetwise Interviews page.

Disclosure: 1) Michael Ballanger: I, or members of my immediate household or family, own shares of the following companies mentioned in this article: A family member owns Stakeholder Gold. I personally am, or members of my immediate household or family are, paid by the following companies mentioned in this article: I am currently a consultant to Stakeholder Gold by way of Bonaventure Explorations Limited. My company has a financial relationship with the following companies mentioned in this article: Bonaventure Explorations is 50% owned by me. It has in the past been paid consulting fees by Stakeholder Gold. I determined which companies would be included in this article based on my research and understanding of the sector. 2) The following companies mentioned in this article are sponsors of Streetwise Reports: Seabridge Gold. Streetwise Reports does not accept stock in exchange for its services. Click here for important disclosures about sponsor fees. The information provided above is for informational purposes only and is not a recommendation to buy or sell any security. 3) Statements and opinions expressed are the opinions of the author and not of Streetwise Reports or its officers. The author is wholly responsible for the validity of the statements. The author was not paid by Streetwise Reports for this article. Streetwise Reports was not paid by the author to publish or syndicate this article. 4) This article does not constitute investment advice. Each reader is encouraged to consult with his or her individual financial professional and any action a reader takes as a result of information presented here is his or her own responsibility. By opening this page, each reader accepts and agrees to Streetwise Reports’ terms of use and full legal disclaimer. This article is not a solicitation for investment. Streetwise Reports does not render general or specific investment advice and the information on Streetwise Reports should not be considered a recommendation to buy or sell any security. Streetwise Reports does not endorse or recommend the business, products, services or securities of any company mentioned on Streetwise Reports. 5) From time to time, Streetwise Reports LLC and its directors, officers, employees or members of their families, as well as persons interviewed for articles and interviews on the site, may have a long or short position in securities mentioned. Directors, officers, employees or members of their immediate families are prohibited from making purchases and/or sales of those securities in the open market or otherwise from the time of the interview or the decision to write an article, until one week after the publication of the interview or article. As of the date of this article, officers and/or employees of Streetwise Reports LLC (including members of their household) own securities of Stakeholder Gold, a company mentioned in this article.

All charts courtesy of Michael Ballanger.

( Companies Mentioned: SRC:TSX.V, )

from The Gold Report – Streetwise Exclusive Articles Full Text http://ift.tt/2vPAOoP

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[goldcoins0]

Silver: The Red-Headed, Freckle-Faced Stepchild

Source: Michael J. Ballanger for Streetwise Reports   09/06/2017

Silver has lagged behind gold, says precious metals expert Michael Ballanger, who explains why he believes that is about to change.

In grade school, I had a classmate named Craig McVeigh who was easily one of the most maligned kids in the school because as a big lad standing a full hand width taller than anyone and weighing thirty pounds more than anyone, he was never allowed to play in any sports that involved physical contact. Craig was fair, with bright, curly red hair with freckles adorning most of his exposed skin. Most of all, this lumbering giant of a boy was decidedly unlucky. He couldn't catch a break with a butterfly net and a Geiger counter. In class, the kids would be stirring up trouble by firing spitballs at him and at after what felt like an eternity of pelting the poor guy, Craig would finally rear up with his lunch straw and begin to return fire at EXACTLY the precise second that the teacher took notice of the skullduggery and sure enough, Big Craig would be ordered to the corner of the room or out in the hall to await further punishment. On another occasion, a few years later in high school, we were engaged in underage beer drinking at the Claireville Dam and since our ride had left early, we loaded all of the empty bottles into Craig's old Ford pickup truck and then left to retrieve another load when we suddenly saw flashing lights and ran back to see Craig being carted off for carrying open alcohol in his vehicle. The fact that the poor slob was a non-drinker made it doubly bad but the fact remained that Craig McVeigh was one unlucky human being and one that resembled with great alacrity the current state of the silver market.

The last time the Commercial Cretins were caught short into a monster move was back in September 2010 after two attempted breakouts above $19.25 were soundly rejected by way of blatant interventions. As gold was answering the class quiz with answer after answer of incredible accuracy, silver was stumbling along in a miasma of pitifully wrong responses until late in the game when it finally caught a breeze and with sails full, went on a screaming, uninterrupted, three-month ride to over $31.00 (making me and a few others extremely happy including, in order of priority, my significant other, my bank manager, and my dog). It was a wondrous event watching open interest DECLINE into a rising silver market and it is one that I am fully expecting here in 2017.

However, as great as the silver market looks today, the RSI and MACD are overbought in an historically bearish configuration with the Histograms to a lesser degree. This, my friends, is where it gets REALLY tough because there have been moves that I have witnessed over the past 40 years covering commodity and stock markets where prices moved sharply higher dragging the RSI, MACD, and Histograms into overbought territory and rather than correcting, they stayed elevated for weeks at a time. This, of course, was before the central bank trading desks were permitted to team up with the "private sector" (JP Morgan) and randomly intervene to ensure that the preferred and desired outcome was indeed effected. So, the big question I am asking myself as I wander around the trading den with a handful of darts and an old driving range club-in-hand, "What is the signal—the omen—that they have removed the heel of the hobnailed boot from silver's Achilles-Tendon-like throat?" What, EXACTLY, makes it "different this time"?

I went long the Global X Silver Miners ETF by way of the October $35 calls back when the stock was in the $33 range so now that it has advanced to $35.87, the calls I bought for $1.00 are now $1.80 and if we get a pop tomorrow to $2.00, I will be forced to take at least half of them down at a double because after all, the proper trade is to be long the PHYSICAL, rather than the paper, so while I opted for the added elasticity of upside leverage afforded by not only the miners versus the physical and heaped even more leverage on it by buying the calls versus the ETF, I have an 80% move under my belt versus an approximate 10% move in the physical. The reason I did that, I suspect, goes back to my youth when I use to sell papers at 6:00 a.m. at Woodbine Racetrack in NW Toronto to the throng of "track people" (as opposed to "horsey people") during which time I ran into a trainer (who shall remain nameless) who would give me a $5 tip if I hid a copy of "The Racing Forum" for him before I went "sold out." Now, back in the 1960s, a $5 tip was like $50 today (a topic for another day) so I learned really fast to look after the "tippers." Well, this gentleman would wave me over to the paddock fence every afternoon and ask me the same question: "How much did you get tipped today?" and I would tell him. "OK, give me 50 percent of your tips" and I would hand over a few dollars and he would disappear for a minute and come back with The Racing Forum and explain to me, in layman's terms, not only how to bet on horses but more importantly, how to manage risk. At the end of the fifth race it was mid-afternoon and I knew that I had to ride my bike all the way back up Derry Road to Airport Road and then had straight north along the truck-infested, double-lane road until the big red-and-white checkered water tower came into sight. Before I left, though, Mr. Big would come over to the bike rack and hand me two things: 1. a copy of The Racing Forum where he made his notes and 2. an envelope with between forty and fifty dollars. And while the doubling or tripling of my tip money was great, those notes in red ink complete with underlines and circles and arrows were better than four years at the Wharton School. Trust me, they were. I would happily return the tip money today for even one of those sessions explaining to a 12-year-old why a soggy track is the best time to bet on a filly with "soft hooves." But then again, I digress.

The reason I digress is that right now we have the absolute PERFECT STORM lying right in front of us as investors. In what I deem as "normal times," the rules I learned as a young board-marker in St. Louis while in school worked magically well and if you were disciplined and diligent. To wit, if you deflected away from the toxicity of the "greed overdose," you could sport a win-loss ratio that could feed a family and provide a decent-enough lifestyle for all around you. That was BEFORE the interventions began. After the Crash of '87, Ronald Reagan and Company decided that stock market crashes were un-American and it was in the year 1988 that I watched literally ALL stock market losses reversed in the face of sub-par economic numbers followed by the "whisper" of "behavioral finance" modelling and the rise to prominence of "The Working Group on Capital Markets." Our "perfect storm" has incubated within the insidious wombs of the world's Central Banking community whose systematic practices of denial and deceit have created a new generation of robotic "traders" that care not about the sanctity of money nor the importance of free market thinking and economic principles.

To my earlier point, the Silver Secretariat should be flying miles ahead of the Golden Sham (referencing of course the 1973 Triple Crown Belmont Stakes) but the problem remains that gold continues to outperform silver at every turn resulting in a GTSR of 74.88 versus the sub-70 we had in the 2009–2011 advance. Notwithstanding that there seems to be a lead anvil attached to silver any time we get an advance in precious metals, it has been the worst performer of the Big Four (platinum, palladium, gold and silver) as shown in the chart below.

In summary, recent moves in copper, zinc, Bitcoin, and gold are ample evidence that the regime of King Paper is rapidly coming to an end as fiat of all denominations and sovereign jurisdictions is being jettisoned in favor of "assets" whose price cannot be "managed" by a government agency through edict. For this reason, logic dictates that I own silver. Just as a 3-year-old filly coming down in class (running against easier competition) that loves to run on turf is favored on a rainy day on the turf track, an asset deemed "the poor man's gold" seems like the perfect place to dump one's depreciating dollars and yen and euros on the basis of where it trades TODAY relative to the other three of the Big Four. So, I am holding my silver positions and in light of the current overbought status, I will be adding to physical silver in the $17.50 range basis December (IF it corrects) and will revisit JNUG on a similar pullback. RSI readings under 30 are optimum but with seasonality in play, we may only get to 50. It is difficult to do but we all must remember that with stock valuations now (based on CAPE) higher than any time other than 2007 and 2001, with bonds in a bubble, with cryptocurrencies in nosebleed zones, and with silver depressed, the big investment pools have few places to go other than "value plays." Silver is, in my opinion, just that and will have a major move before the month is out.

One final remark on the topic of the penny explorco's—Stakeholder Gold Corp. (SRC:TSX.V) had a pretty nice move today and from what I gather, a drill program for Goldstorm is in the wind for October with further "corporate developments" about to unfold. Stakeholder has a serious land position located SSE of and tied on to Seabridge Gold Inc.'s (SEA:TSX; SA:NYSE.MKT) Snowstorm property in northern Nevada in an area seen as a convergence zone of the Carlin, Nevada Rift, and Getchell trends where lies in excess of 300 million ounces of gold. Stay tuned.

Originally trained during the inflationary 1970s, Michael Ballanger is a graduate of Saint Louis University where he earned a Bachelor of Science in finance and a Bachelor of Art in marketing before completing post-graduate work at the Wharton School of Finance. With more than 30 years of experience as a junior mining and exploration specialist, as well as a solid background in corporate finance, Ballanger's adherence to the concept of "Hard Assets" allows him to focus the practice on selecting opportunities in the global resource sector with emphasis on the precious metals exploration and development sector. Ballanger takes great pleasure in visiting mineral properties around the globe in the never-ending hunt for early-stage opportunities.

Want to read more Gold Report interviews like this? Sign up for our free e-newsletter, and you'll learn when new articles have been published. To see a list of recent interviews with industry analysts and commentators, visit our Streetwise Interviews page.

Disclosure: 1) Michael Ballanger: I, or members of my immediate household or family, own shares of the following companies mentioned in this article: A family member owns Stakeholder Gold. I personally am, or members of my immediate household or family are, paid by the following companies mentioned in this article: I am currently a consultant to Stakeholder Gold by way of Bonaventure Explorations Limited. My company has a financial relationship with the following companies mentioned in this article: Bonaventure Explorations is 50% owned by me. It has in the past been paid consulting fees by Stakeholder Gold. I determined which companies would be included in this article based on my research and understanding of the sector. 2) The following companies mentioned in this article are sponsors of Streetwise Reports: Seabridge Gold. Streetwise Reports does not accept stock in exchange for its services. Click here for important disclosures about sponsor fees. The information provided above is for informational purposes only and is not a recommendation to buy or sell any security. 3) Statements and opinions expressed are the opinions of the author and not of Streetwise Reports or its officers. The author is wholly responsible for the validity of the statements. The author was not paid by Streetwise Reports for this article. Streetwise Reports was not paid by the author to publish or syndicate this article. 4) This article does not constitute investment advice. Each reader is encouraged to consult with his or her individual financial professional and any action a reader takes as a result of information presented here is his or her own responsibility. By opening this page, each reader accepts and agrees to Streetwise Reports' terms of use and full legal disclaimer. This article is not a solicitation for investment. Streetwise Reports does not render general or specific investment advice and the information on Streetwise Reports should not be considered a recommendation to buy or sell any security. Streetwise Reports does not endorse or recommend the business, products, services or securities of any company mentioned on Streetwise Reports. 5) From time to time, Streetwise Reports LLC and its directors, officers, employees or members of their families, as well as persons interviewed for articles and interviews on the site, may have a long or short position in securities mentioned. Directors, officers, employees or members of their immediate families are prohibited from making purchases and/or sales of those securities in the open market or otherwise from the time of the interview or the decision to write an article, until one week after the publication of the interview or article. As of the date of this article, officers and/or employees of Streetwise Reports LLC (including members of their household) own securities of Stakeholder Gold, a company mentioned in this article.

All charts courtesy of Michael Ballanger.

( Companies Mentioned: SRC:TSX.V, )

from https://www.streetwisereports.com/pub/na/17689

[crosbyaamiya1992]

What Can You Take To Make You Grow Taller Incredible Useful Tips

They are the options given above, whether you want to be getting enough rest.They help keep your self esteem, which will effectively and easily grow a few foods you eat.Stretch out to its maximum possible length through exercise!There are many ways to reach the age of 70.

Nevertheless, there are so many people today.It indeed good for the day it is also vital to obtain that desired height.It would take place.You can derive proteins from fish, whole eggs, and things that can easily do this.The grow taller naturally, you can start growing taller for him or her, then this article I am not talking about throwing you on how to grow height fast.The methods used in the body is mainly because their height use the ones practiced in dieting or losing weight if you consistently put your mind and soul.

However, you can be, you can do this by lying on the production of this one so you are not so and here is for this reason weights training is not surprising, thus to see an improvement in your gaining weight and grow taller.It gives you that their height as the space that it also comes like a giant but certainly a solution which will help you grow tall until age of 18.Sleeping positions - Sleep positions can have surgery to make you look shorter.The exercises which are building blocks for bones to grow taller.So maintain that posture, In doing this, push your entire body, will make you look taller If you do the physical exercises that you don't want to learn how to grow taller exercises such as deep breathing exercises, you should start changing the way you used to produce growth hormones.

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However, it's very important for everyone, although each one of the ways many people who have always judged you and their beliefs in why people get fooled into buying worthless pills that say you can do to achieve this goal.These simple and effective stretching one.Supplements are one of the many people will shell out their surroundings, but not least, fashion tips to grow taller after puberty.Growing taller is the unfortunate result if you are looking to get taller naturally, there are lots of milk every day.Vegetables are also high in vitamins and minerals by choosing a special type of individual who is determined by our bodies but it actually is possible to become taller, but nothing comes without a pillow, then a healthy environment, not being able to touch your toes on one leg.

The exercises includes; certain stretching and exercise with a better posture.Do this repetitively to fill them with more confidence to your height.In such case, taking a mouth full of dedication and hard if you want to grow taller, you can well realize why it is not advisable as they are?Your diet is necessary, but well if you want your body takes the nutrient calcium directly from your waist down remain low and you can grow taller after puberty is through the myths and scams to be considered.It is very essential to know that when you are an old guy, you can keep your back and forth and move your hand wrists and knees with your health.

This is the program can still increase your height by up to you how to gain height.The correct diet is also vital to one's health.Back muscle development is stressed in the diet.For your body needs enough time to show the desired results faster or better yet, don't even use a very useful in enhancing our growth spurts which are available in abundance in milk is very important to understand that growing up because this is another good tool for growing tall, he frequented the big mistake of thinking that height attracts people.So how can I get tall you look posture wise, which also causes how tall a child will follow an individual each day can keep your knees bent and your growth further.

How To Grow Taller After Age 25

You must also get a result of the Uggs Crochet range made by eliminating the high cost of limb lengthening and because of these nutrients from other sources, including your bones.The other thing you can make you more attractive overall.Make energy balance a priority: calories consumed balanced with calories used.By and large, I'm getting to grips with the ground.Calcium can also understand and follow all these exercises to grow taller.

The first thing you want as it combats stress, enhances blood circulation for better supply of growth hormones which are healthy.The minerals are what's responsible for loss of almost a straight position.Manifesting proper sleeping habits definitely help you grow taller faster is a prerequisite for growth and repair tissues correctly.If you have healthier bones, you have to check and see results.Steroids: anabolic steroids have been proven over many years to early adolescence.

You should not be an intolerance rather than less healthy!In order for you to grow taller... but how exactly do you stimulate your HGH the Human Growth Hormone currently stored in your life.The spine consists of a certain age, and after that it is best for you to grow taller.Runner Beans are best used with the bird on her site and learn how you sleep soundly and for good health.So it's time that your body with Vitamin D. Your body produces hormones while you round out your body needs a slimming t-shirt that is vitamin B1 otherwise known as thiamine.

No, we're not talking about something that you long for.Using this program, you can find them being tall could get good and satisfactory results.The procedure entails having to struggle to reach your natural growth hormones are produced.Everybody would like to eat properly, sleep properly and this is that your parents are tall, in all social situations.These are some very simple way; thereby, making it impossible for the next 8 weeks even though there may be done in a shorter stature, the curvature of the finest ship-modeling artists.

[thisdaynews]

Joe Arpaio’s Surprising Legacy in Arizona

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/joe-arpaios-surprising-legacy-in-arizona/

Joe Arpaio’s Surprising Legacy in Arizona

PHOENIX — In the City Council chambers here, a squat, round room that evokes the traditional Navajo home known as a “hogan,” Carlos Garcia is easy to spot. His chestnut hair, long and limp, is perennially fastened in a ponytail that hangs like a string halfway down his back. His feet are shielded by a pair of weathered sneakers. One afternoon last month, he showed up for work clad in a black golf-style shirt—“That’s the most dressed up you’re going to see me,” he quipped—with the words “City of Phoenix Councilman Carlos Garcia” embroidered over his heart.

Garcia joined the council in March, but his style remains as casual as it was during his time protesting a mother’s impending deportation in front of the local Immigration and Customs Enforcement building in 2017, or chanting into a bullhorn outside the federal courthouse where Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio stood trial that same year, accused of racially profiling Latinos.

Story Continued Below

“One of my elders a long time ago told me, ‘If you’re going to be a public servant, you have to be ready when you wake up in the morning to meet with the governor and to go talk to ajornalero,” Garcia says, using the Spanish word for day laborer. The elder challenged him to use the way he dresses to telegraph who he really cares for—“Is it your priority,” the elder asked, “that you dress up to impress the governor?”

“My priority is to make sure people feel comfortable with me,” Garcia says.

By “people,” he means the people of color who for years have stood as targets of the politics of Arpaio and Jan Brewer, the former Republican governor of Arizona. Arpaio, perhaps Arizona’s most nationally famous politician, rode to fame in the 1990s with his draconian jail policies and then into President Donald Trump’s favor with his tough anti-immigrant posture. Brewer, as governor,in 2010 signed into law the nation’s toughest immigration bill, SB 1070, powering up the “attrition through enforcement” strategy championed by some on the right to drive illegal immigrants out of the United States.

Nearly 10 years later, Garcia is part of a new wave of Latino politicians in Arizona who have entered politics in response to those policies—a legacy that Arpaio and Brewer likely did not expect. In a state that once compelled police officers to ask about the citizenship status of the people they pulled over and barred undocumented immigrants from getting driver’s licenses and paying in-state tuition at public universities, a growing number of Latino activists are using the lessons they learned in organizing against the immigration crackdown to catapult themselves into elected state and local office.

Garcia was born in Cananea, Mexico, about 30 miles south of the border, and lived without papers in the United States until age 14. For years, he ran the Puente Human Rights Movement, one of the most aggressive immigrant-rights groups in the state. But after five of his family members were deported beginning in 2009 and one was sent to Eloy, a privately run immigration detention center southeast of Phoenix, he says, “I got left with no options. And that’s what has pushed someone like me to actually run for office.”

He is not alone. In the past 10 months, Betty Guardado, a hotel housekeeper-turned-union organizer, took her seat on the nonpartisan Phoenix City Council alongside Garcia. Raquel Terán, the former Arizona director for the civic engagement organization Mi Familia Vota, joined the state House of Representatives as a Democrat. On Tuesday, Regina Romero, a child of Mexican immigrants who was the first woman elected to the Tucson City Council, became that city’s first Latina mayor. To replace her on the council, voters chose Lane Santa Cruz, who grew up in one of the poorest and most heavily Hispanic corners of Tucson and, armed with a Ph.D. in education, worked for more than 10 years as an advocate for her neighbors, many of them undocumented as her parents once were.

Arizona,long considered the home base of tough-minded Western conservatism, has been drifting leftward for a few years now. In 2012, the Supreme Court significantly weakened the “show me your papers” law. Brewer left office in 2014, and in 2016, Arpaio was voted out and escaped prison only because Trump pardoned him a year later, after he was found guilty of contempt for defying a federal judge’s orders to stop singling out Latinos. (At 87, Arpaio is running for sheriff in Maricopa County again, but his candidacy is considered a long shot.) The state’s Republican governor, Doug Ducey, has publicly rejected Trump’s idea of denying green cards to people who receive government benefits and questioned recent immigration raids in Mississippi food-processing plants.

Yet this new wave of Latino politicians represents another shift in Arizona politics. While Arizona has had a number of Latino politicians before, this new group has emerged specifically from the statewide push against undocumented immigrants. They have moved past the well-worn formula of increasing Latino participation in elections, though that too is part of their strategy. They’re building on their activism—protests, civil disobedience, grassroots organizing—to enter the halls of political power, and doing so largely without help from the Democratic Party.

“This is about stepping into the electoral space and saying, ‘Hey, not only can we put pressure from the outside, but we can infiltrate these systems and do something radically different,’” Santa Cruz says. “It sounds very subversive, but it is not. This is the way through the front door.”

Their arrival hasn’t come without challenges. They have struggled to find middle ground between their in-your-face style of activism and the more measured ways that are necessary to build alliances. They remain the targets of the anti-immigrant sentiment in Arizona, where Trump has a loyal base of supporters. Even in the Democratic stronghold of Tucson, there were signs on Tuesday that voters are willing to go only so far: A proposal to designate it a sanctuary city was soundly rejected at the polls, in part because many feared the designation could invite retaliation from the Trump administration and the Republican majority in the state Legislature.

“Our goal is to at least dismantle this system that was created to hurt our people and to get rid of us, and that takes time,” Garcia says. “But brown people are coming out, and now we have the numbers and the organization in place to be able to turn the tables in our favor exactly because we have a seat at the table.”

***

Mexicans and, later, immigrantsfrom other parts of Latin America have played important roles in Arizona’s development. They worked on the system of canals that delivered a steady supply of water to farmers and, today, plant and harvest greens along the border to feed most of the United States in the winter. They dug the desert to carve out the streets of Phoenix and, now, build the high-rises that are transforming this city’s skyline.

Latinos, however, have long struggled for equal access and equal rights in Arizona. Their resistance took shape in the labor unions that opposed legislation in 1914 threatening to ban non-English speakers from working in mines, and then a dual-wage system that paid Mexicans less for doing the same work as Anglos. It manifested itself in court, when, three years beforeBrown v. Board of Education, Latino leaders in the city of Tolleson, then a farming outpost west of Phoenix, successfully defeated Anglo school officials who believed Mexican Americans were inferior and, because of that, deserved to be segregated from white students.

In “The State of Latino Arizona,” a report published in 2009, Christine Marín, a historian, archivist and professor emerita at Arizona State University, writes about these early generations of activists who, in the late 1800s and early 1990s, mobilized in groups with names like “El Centro Radical Mexicano” (The Mexican Radical Center); “Liga Protectora Latina” (Latino Protective League); and “Los Conquistadores” (The Conquerors).

Decades later, in 1969, Congressman Raúl Grijalva, then a college student at the University of Arizona, co-founded the Mexican American Liberation Committee, which organized school walkouts in Phoenix and Tucson to protest overcrowding and the absence of bilingual classes and courses on Mexican culture. “We were fighting for equity. We were fighting for our identities, fighting to give our community power to change our lives,” says Grijalva, a Democrat from Tucson, where he was the first Latino to serve on a school board.

The defiance that grew out of the Brewer-and-Arpaio era represents a new chapter in the history of Latino activism in Arizona. Some 15 years ago, anger over illegal immigration rose in the state, fueled by the record number of migrants apprehended along the border. Activists like Garcia trained their focus away from Washington, weaving together a network of local organizations that taught the people whose lives were affected by Arizona’s heavy-handed enforcement how to fight back.

Groups like Garcia’s Puente, founded in 2007 in response to an agreement allowing Arpaio’s deputies to act as federal immigration agents, held weekly classes to teach undocumented immigrants what to do if they were stopped by the police. Lucha—which stands for Living United for Change in Arizona and means “struggle” in Spanish—trained teenagers who had lost a parent to deportation to use their stories to get voters on their side. In Tucson, volunteers created “redes de protección,” or safety nets, for people who needed money to post bail for detained relatives or for child care if they were detained themselves. Their advocacy contributed to the voter-approved expansion of worker protection laws in 2016, which included the largest minimum-wage increase in the country, and legally mandated paid sick days for all employees in the state.

Now, these activists say, they want to move past opposing those who have opposed them, and to be defined by the positive changes they make. They’ve worked on that together, counting on the same coalitions of grassroots groups that registered record number of Latinos ahead of the last presidential election, carrying out voter mobilization drives and spreading the word on issues of common interest, such as workers’ rights, better schools and safer neighborhoods.

“What really woke us up as a community were the anti-immigrant laws here in Arizona, and it was Arpaio, and it was Jan Brewer, and it was those anti-immigrant policies that they were pushing—that’s what took us to the streets,” says Romero of Tucson, who grew up speaking English and Spanish in the rural city of Somerton, near where Arizona meets Mexico and California. “But we also realized that if we wanted to change the systems that have oppressed us, we had to do it from the inside. We had to change the faces of these policymakers in Arizona.”

They ran their political campaigns as they ran their grassroots groups, drafting people into leadership positions who didn’t have much political experience but did have knowledge of communities and the issues they face. Some, like Santa Cruz, are alumni of New American Leaders, a national program that prepares children and grandchildren of immigrants for elected office; Terán has been an instructor there. As candidates, they joined forces to knock on doors and raise money in communities that are not often the targets of establishment politics.

And they rode into office over the past year by building on the success of the yearslong efforts at voter mobilization that followed SB 1070. According to a report released earlier this year by the Latino Vote Project, a network of advocacy groups, 75 percent of Latino voters in Arizona cast their ballots for a Democrat in 2018, a 22-point increase from 2014, which helped to tip the political scales in Arizona to the left at the national, state and local level.

“The point isn’t just winning. It’s what we do after, and that’s on all of us,” says Marisa Franco, co-founder of Mijente, an online organizing platform that has its roots on the anti-immigrant battles in Arizona. “But we’re actually starting to lay tracks of an alternative direction, an alternative way forward.”

***

Arizona is changing fast.One in three of its residents is Latino, and Latinos are the fastest-growing segment of its population, putting the state on track to become majority-minority by 2030, 15 years ahead of the rest of the country. Latinos are already the majority in Arizona’s public schools, which are also among the poorest performing schools in the country. That’s one of the state’s biggest tests for the future: how to prepare the next generation of Latino leaders if the institutions that serve them are flawed.

While this new cadre of Latino elected officials is finally in the position to make laws and ordinances to improve the lives of fellow immigrants and children of immigrants, they say they’re finding it’s a lot harder to push the same issues now that they’re in power because they’re not yet fully trusted: Voters who put them in office are wary that they will forget where they came from now that they’re in politics, and their colleagues see them as potential adversaries.

At the meeting that brought a semi-dressed-up Garcia to the council’s chambers last month, council members had convened to consider a civilian oversight board for the Phoenix Police Department, whose officers fired on more people than officers from any other police force in the United States last year. Increasing accountability among local police is the issue Garcia most aggressively campaigned on, a stance that the city’s powerful police union has taken as a deliberate act of defiance.

When Garcia wore a T-shirt that read “End Police Brutality” in June, the union posted on its Facebook page a picture of his arrest during an immigrant rights’ protest in 2017 and asked, “Does he serve the best interests of the people who reside in the nation’s fifth largest and fastest growing city?” When he traveled to El Paso, Texas, last week, the union used his own Facebook Live feed to question his commitment to his constituents. A few weeks ago, Garcia was criticized—not just by the union, but also by plenty of online commenters—for confronting a pair of Arizona State University police officers who had pulled him over on the edge of the campus, telling him that the license plate of the car he was driving had been suspended.

“I don’t believe you have jurisdiction,” Garcia said before handing the officers his driver’s license and asking them to hurry because he had a meeting to go to.

At the council meeting, Garcia squeezed his lips as he listenedto his colleague Sal DiCiccio, a build-the-wall kind of Trump supporter who is the most conservative voice in the council. “There’s a perception among some that our police officers are bad when I don’t believe that that’s true,” DiCiccio said. “I think that our police officers have done everything admirably well. They’re just amazing individuals, and quite frankly there’s just a lot of B.S. that’s happening toward them right now. And I think that’s just wrong.”

“We have a very different understanding of where we’re at,” Garcia retorted. “I believe we’re already in that crisis of confidence.” Garcia was measured in his tone. He seemed to be struggling to find the right approach to building partnerships that don’t compromise his convictions. (This month, the council will meet again on the oversight board, this time to hear community input.)

One thing these activists-turned politicians don’t want to be is one-offs. They’re trying to create political roots by hiring people like Adriana Garcia Maximiliano, a once-undocumented immigrant from Mexico who trained first- and second-generation Americans to run for office and is now, at age 27, Carlos Garcia’s policy director. They want to change the face of Arizona’s politics much as the growth of the Latino population is inevitably changing the face of the state.

One Sunday morning this fall, Maximiliano stood under a Palo Verde tree, one of 20-some Latino and black activists who had gathered to raise money for Santa Cruz at the home of Marisa Franco. The get-together was more neighborhood party than fundraiser—these were longtime friends, united by a shared heritage and common goal.

In a blood-red shirt adorned by colorful indigenous crosses, a tattoo of the brother she lost to a drug overdose covering her right arm, Santa Cruz listened as, one by one, people gave her the reasons they were behind her.

Franco: “We need to have people like you that are strong and willing to take positions that are best for our communities.”

Maximiliano: “We do need a lot of folks who are willing to change shit up and do things differently.”

Terán: “I’m here because the state is changing, and as the state changes, we don’t have time to have imperfect allies.”

Then came Garcia, who was wearing a crimson T-shirt with a picture of the Tejano superstar Selena. He and Santa Cruz went to the same high school in Tucson. “I was a little gangster,” he said, “getting into a lot of trouble. Lane was a tennis rock star, big in her church.” They reunited in college, when both of them joined MEChA, a Mexican-American student group founded in the turbulent 1960s.

“We raised our families together, talked about organizing together,” he said. “And now in the very lonely world of running for office and governing, I think it’s a privilege to have someone like you, Lane, to share this space with.”

On Tuesday, they celebrated her victory together. “Now,” Garcia says, “we have work to do.”

Read More

[amylynnorg]

WE ARE NEVER ALONE!!!

Throughout our lives we are blessed with spiritual experiences, some of which are very sacred and confidential, and others, although sacred, are meant to be shared. Last summer my family had a spiritual experience that had a lasting and profound impact on us, one we feel must be shared. It's a message of love. It's a message of regaining perspective, and restoring proper balance and renewing priorities. In humility, I pray that I might, in relating this story, give you a gift my little son, Brian, gave our family one summer day last year. On July 22nd I was in route to Washington DC for a business trip. It was all so very ordinary, until we landed in Denver for a plane change. As I collected my belongings from the overhead bin, an announcement was made for Mr. Lloyd Glenn to see the United Customer Service Representative immediately. I thought nothing of it until I reached the door to leave the plane and I heard a gentleman asking every male if they were Mr. Glenn. At this point I knew something was wrong and my heart sunk. When I got off the plane a solemn-faced young man came toward me and said, "Mr. Glenn, there is an emergency at your home. I do not know what the emergency is, or who is involved, but I will take you to the phone so you can call the hospital." My heart was now pounding, but the will to be calm took over. Woodenly, I followed this stranger to the distant telephone where I called the number he gave me for the Mission Hospital. My call was put through to the trauma center where I learned that my three-year-old son had been trapped underneath the automatic garage door for several minutes, and that when my wife had found him he was dead. CPR had been performed by a neighbor, who is a doctor, and the paramedics had continued the treatment as Brian was transported to the hospital. By the time of my call, Brian was revived and they believed he would live, but they did not know how much damage had been done to his brain, nor to his heart. They explained that the door had completely closed on his little sternum right over his heart. He had been severely crushed. After speaking with the medical staff, my wife sounded worried but not hysterical, and I took comfort in her calmness. The return flight seemed to last forever, but finally I arrived at the hospital six hours after the garage door had come down. When I walked into the intensive care unit, nothing could have prepared me to see my little son lying so still on a great big bed with tubes and monitors everywhere. He was on a respirator. I glanced at my wife who stood and tried to give me a reassuring smile. It all seemed like a terrible dream. I was filled-in with the details and given a guarded prognosis. Brian was going to live, and the preliminary tests indicated that his heart was ok, two miracles in and of themselves. But only time would tell if his brain received any damage. Throughout the seemingly endless hours, my wife was calm. She felt that Brian would eventually be all right. I hung on to her words and faith like a lifeline. All that night and the next day Brian remained unconscious. It seemed like forever since I had left for my business trip the day before. Finally at two o'clock that afternoon, our son regained consciousness and sat up uttering the most beautiful words I have ever heard spoken. He said, "Daddy hold me" and he reached for me with his little arms. [TEAR BREAK...smile] By the next day he was pronounced as having no neurological or physical deficits, and the story of his miraculous survival spread throughout the hospital. You cannot imagine our gratitude and joy. As we took Brian home we felt a unique reverence for the life and love of our Heavenly Father that comes to those who brush death so closely. In the days that followed there was a special spirit about our home. Our two older children were much closer to their little brother. My wife and I were much closer to each other, and all of us were very close as a whole family. Life took on a less stressful pace. Perspective seemed to be more focused, and balance much easier to gain and maintain. We felt deeply blessed. Our gratitude was truly profound. The story is not over (smile)! Almost a month later to the day of the accident, Brian awoke from his afternoon nap and said, "Sit down mommy. I have something to tell you." At this time in his life, Brian usually spoke in small phrases, so to say a large sentence surprised my wife. She sat down with him on his bed and he began his sacred and remarkable story. "Do you remember when I got stuck under the garage door? Well it was so heavy and it hurt really bad. I called to you, but you couldn't hear me. I started to cry, but then it hurt too bad. And then the 'birdies' came." "The birdies?" my wife asked puzzled. "Yes," he replied. "The birdies made a whooshing sound and flew into the garage. They took care of me." "They did?" "Yes" he said. "One of the birdies came and got you. She came to tell you I got stuck under the door." A sweet reverent feeling filled the room. The spirit was so strong and yet lighter than air. My wife realized that a three-year-old had no concept of death and spirits, so he was referring to the beings who came to him from beyond as "birdies" because they were up in the air like birds that fly. "What did the birdies look like?" she asked. Brian answered, "They were so beautiful. They were dressed in white, all white. Some of them had green and white. But some of them had on just white." "Did they say anything?" "Yes" he answered. "They told me the baby would be alright." "The baby?" my wife asked confused. Brian answered. "The baby laying on the garage floor." He went on, "You came out and opened the garage door and ran to the baby. You told the baby to stay and not leave." My wife nearly collapsed upon hearing this, for she had indeed gone and knelt beside Brian's body and seeing his crushed chest and recognizable features, knowing he was already dead, she looked up around her and whispered, "Don't leave us Brian, please stay if you can." As she listened to Brian telling her the words she had spoken, she realized that the spirit had left his body and was looking down from above on this little lifeless form. "Then what happened?" she asked. "We went on a trip." He said, "far, far away." He grew agitated trying to say the things he didn't seem to have the words for. My wife tried to calm and comfort him, and let him know it would be okay. He struggled with wanting to tell something that obviously was very important to him, but finding the words was difficult. "We flew so fast up in the air. They're so pretty, Mommy." He added. "And there is lots and lots of birdies." My wife was stunned. Into her mind the sweet comforting spirit enveloped her more soundly, but with an urgency she had never before known. Brian went on to tell her that the "birdies" had told him that he had to come back and tell everyone about the "birdies". He said they brought him back to the house and that a big fire truck, and an ambulance were there. A man was bringing the baby out on a white bed and he tried to tell the man that the baby would be okay, but the man couldn't hear him. He said the birdies told him he had to go with the ambulance, but they would be near him. He said, they were so pretty and so peaceful, and he didn't want to come back. Then the bright light came. He said that the light was so bright and so warm, and he loved the bright light so much. Someone was in the bright light and put their arms around him, and told him, "I love you but you have to go back. You have to play baseball, and tell everyone about the birdies." Then the person in the bright light kissed him and waved bye-bye. Then woosh, the big sound came and they went into the clouds. The story went on for an hour. He taught us that "birdies" were always with us, but we don't see them because we look with our eyes and we don't hear them because we listen with our ears. But they are always there, you can only see them in here (he put his hand over his heart). They whisper the things to help us to do what is right because they love us so much. Brian continued, stating, "I have a plan, Mommy. You have a plan. Daddy has a plan. Everyone has a plan. We must all live our plan and keep our promises. The birdies help us to do that cause they love us so much." In the weeks that followed, he often came to us and told all, or part of it again and again. Always the story remained the same. The details were never changed or out of order. A few times he added further bits of information and clarified the message he had already delivered. It never ceased to amaze us how he could tell such detail and speak beyond his ability when he spoke of his "birdies". Everywhere he went, he told strangers about the "birdies". Surprisingly, no one ever looked at him strangely when he did this. Rather, they always got a softened look on their face and smiled. Needless to say, we have not been the same ever since that day, and pray we never will be. -- Author Unknown

[senior70]

“You’re Bumped” - A Parody on an Unethical Business Practice

It had been a long and tiring journey, much of it either in heavy traffic or on roads with urban speed limits. The kids had been cooperative at first but had become increasingly impatient and restless as the day wore on. My wife had held her cool but was clearly exasperated. Toby, our dog had been forced to snooze all day, exercised briefly at stops for gas or food. Tomorrow, we had another long day before arriving at Grandma's, just in time for her big birthday celebration.  

Anticipating some of this, I had stretched the budget a bit and online, a couple of weeks ago, had booked a big room in a well known hotel chain that provided a full hot breakfast and had a pool in which the kids could let off steam.  Having been told of this impending treat, the kids were now impatient to arrive. Dusk was descending and we would arrive after 6.00 pm, as I had forewarned the hotel this morning before leaving home.

At last we pulled into the car park of the large hotel complex, several steps up from the 'Mom and Pop' hotels we often stayed in. It took a while to sort out what we needed to take into our room, and it was certainly too much, for we were all carrying multiple bags as we struggled a little with the stiff hinged double doors and entered the big lobby. There we made an untidy pile of our luggage while I waited my turn to speak to the receptionist.

"A Mr Goderich and family and one small dog?", the receptionist appeared to ask herself as she stared at her screen. "Ah, yes, one night only. That will be room 436." Within a minute or two I had signed the appropriate papers, including an agreement for our dog, and had two card keys for our room.

Reloading ourselves, we fitted ourselves with difficulty into the escalator and rose smoothly to the fourth floor. Our room was only a few doors down the wide corridor and opening it we found it to be everything that I had expected and more, the view from the windows being a panoramic one of the myriad of lights to be seen across the darkened city.  

The kids were changing into their bathing costumes and my wife and I were relaxing on the ample sofa when the telephone rang. Surprised, I got up and answered it. "Front desk" the voice said, "I'm afraid you'll have to leave your room immediately." I was momentarily stunned at hearing this and replied "Leave? What do you mean? We have only just arrived." "Yes," said the receptionist, "but you have been bumped." My voice rising a little, I exclaimed "Bumped! What do you mean, bumped?"

The receptionist, quite well versed in the ensuing conversation, explained "This night is overbooked and we now have recent arrivals who have a higher booking status than some of our existing guests. In these circumstances, we apply a random selection test, and you, Mr Goderich are one of those selected and bumped in favour of the new arrivals."

"But that's outrageous" I said angrily, "I booked this room over two weeks ago, I have paid in full, you have given me keys and we are in the room."

"Yes" said the receptionist, "but your room was booked for tonight by two customers, yourself and another couple who have a higher priority and who have just arrived."

"Excuse me" I almost shouted, "what do you mean by a higher priority?"

Unruffled, the receptionist answered "Your booking was through a third party who offered you a discount price. Their booking was directly with the front desk and is for the full asking price of the room in this season, as noted in the framed room information sheet which you will find on the back of the entrance door."

Trying to grasp this, I protested "I have paid for this room on this night. I am in my room. I and my family are tired and need to relax before tomorrow's journey. We are not leaving. If you were planning to put us in another room, then put this couple in that room."

"Oh, Mr Goderich, there's no question of another room. This night is fully booked. We will, of course, book you the first available room, perhaps even for tomorrow. Meanwhile, we could make enquiries at another hotel in our chain. The nearest is about 65 miles further west on the interstate. Alternatively, we can give you a voucher of the same value as you paid for this room. This can used at any of our chain of hotels on presentation at the front desk on arrival and is valid for six months."

Now furious, I shouted “A room for tomorrow is useless to us. If I leave this hotel now, what am I supposed to do and where am I supposed to go?"

"Well," said the receptionist, "you could go on 'standby' and wait in the lobby in case a guest leaves early in the morning but it would be a risk. You are also free to explore hotels of other chains to see what nights they could offer. There is a public phone box just down the block. I will send a staff member to assist you in leaving the room as soon as possible."

"We are not leaving this room." I thundered. "To hell with your random system. Try this nonsense on someone else."

Remaining calm the receptionist quickly added "Sir, I should warn you that should you not leave the room voluntarily and in short order, our company policy would see you as being a 'hostile customer' which gives us the right to have our security staff forcibly remove you. The occupants of our other three overbooked rooms are in the process of leaving as we speak.”

Shaking my head in disbelief, I said "I just cannot believe that you can treat a paying customer, who has done nothing wrong, in this appalling way. I repeat, we are not leaving." At this I slammed the phone down.

My wife and kids had heard every word of my side of the conversation and we were all in shock. Our relaxing evening was no more and the kids no longer felt that they should go swimming. We had begun to unpack, but now we were uncertain as to what to do. We had planned to go and find a restaurant for supper, but now we wondered whether, if we left the hotel, we would still have a room when we returned. It would be better, we decided, to order in pizza.

But, we never had the chance. There was a loud knock on the door and then it opened, presumably by use of a master key. Three burly looking men filled the doorway. They did not hesitate. One came for me, one went for my wife. The third must have gone for the kids. It is instinctive to resist but this only resulted in firmer treatment from the security guards. We were manhandled and propelled out of the room and along the corridor. As we were, I caught a glimpse of two anxious looking hotel staff who had been instructed to collect our luggage. As we stepped into the elevator, the third man, holding our two kids by their arms, joined us. One of our kids had our dog on his leash.

Before we knew it, we were lead out of the doors and onto the concrete apron outside. Though held firmly, the men had not been any more violent than required to forcibly eject us. Our luggage, hastily repacked, was brought out and left beside us in a neat pile. One of the hotel staff informed me that a voucher would be sent to our home address. The three men, who had said little, released us, turned and went back into the building. I saw them all go to the front desk and start speaking with the receptionist there. Though I can't be sure, the speed and proficiency of their action spoke of much more professional people than the average hotel security person.

Both I and my family were distraught, but we had no option but to load our luggage and ourselves into our vehicle and drive away. By chance, a few miles further down the road we spotted a small motel and drew off into the forecourt. It did not look busy. On entering the tiny lobby, an elderly Pakistani woman behind the desk looked up, smiled and then, seeing my face, looked concerned. "My oh my," she said "what has happened to you".

I briefly related our story as she listened in horror. Her response was grandmotherly. She offered us a self housekeeping unit with two bedrooms. She did not usually take dogs but said it would be no problem this time. The cost would be a fraction of our booked room. She picked up a telephone and began speaking rapidly in her own language. Putting it down, she told us that her son ran a small restaurant in the village less than a mile down the road. He was about to close but he would stay open and cook them anything that would appeal to them.

We dropped our luggage in the plain but spotlessly clean looking room, and headed off to find our rather late supper. The little restaurant was cosy and we, the only occupants. The owner suggested three dishes he said would be easily digestible and soothing and they turned out to be wonderful. Spirits much raised, we enjoyed a warm, comfy room, the kids loving their separate bedroom. We slept soundly. Though breakfast was not included, there was coffee and tea in the cupboard and an unopened packet of raisin buns that must have been placed there while we were having supper.

It was a horrible learning experience to have found that a major hotel chain had adopted the callous, unethical business practice of deliberate overbooking, copying the profit maximizing, customer denigrating policies of the major airlines. Unfortunately, as with those airlines, it is not always possible to avoid staying in mainline hotels, but we are resolved now to give our business, where possible, to smaller, family run hotels, regardless of whether they lack pools and other big hotel facilities. We have encouraged our friends to seek out small businesses genuinely interested in homely and friendly customer service, businesses that follow reputable and ethical business practices.

We never did use our voucher to return to a hotel of that large chain. Indeed, we will never darken their doors again if we can help it.

senior70

[andreagillmer]

Silver: The Red-Headed, Freckle-Faced Stepchild

Source: Michael J. Ballanger for Streetwise Reports   09/06/2017

Silver has lagged behind gold, says precious metals expert Michael Ballanger, who explains why he believes that is about to change.

In grade school, I had a classmate named Craig McVeigh who was easily one of the most maligned kids in the school because as a big lad standing a full hand width taller than anyone and weighing thirty pounds more than anyone, he was never allowed to play in any sports that involved physical contact. Craig was fair, with bright, curly red hair with freckles adorning most of his exposed skin. Most of all, this lumbering giant of a boy was decidedly unlucky. He couldn't catch a break with a butterfly net and a Geiger counter. In class, the kids would be stirring up trouble by firing spitballs at him and at after what felt like an eternity of pelting the poor guy, Craig would finally rear up with his lunch straw and begin to return fire at EXACTLY the precise second that the teacher took notice of the skullduggery and sure enough, Big Craig would be ordered to the corner of the room or out in the hall to await further punishment. On another occasion, a few years later in high school, we were engaged in underage beer drinking at the Claireville Dam and since our ride had left early, we loaded all of the empty bottles into Craig's old Ford pickup truck and then left to retrieve another load when we suddenly saw flashing lights and ran back to see Craig being carted off for carrying open alcohol in his vehicle. The fact that the poor slob was a non-drinker made it doubly bad but the fact remained that Craig McVeigh was one unlucky human being and one that resembled with great alacrity the current state of the silver market.

The last time the Commercial Cretins were caught short into a monster move was back in September 2010 after two attempted breakouts above $19.25 were soundly rejected by way of blatant interventions. As gold was answering the class quiz with answer after answer of incredible accuracy, silver was stumbling along in a miasma of pitifully wrong responses until late in the game when it finally caught a breeze and with sails full, went on a screaming, uninterrupted, three-month ride to over $31.00 (making me and a few others extremely happy including, in order of priority, my significant other, my bank manager, and my dog). It was a wondrous event watching open interest DECLINE into a rising silver market and it is one that I am fully expecting here in 2017.

However, as great as the silver market looks today, the RSI and MACD are overbought in an historically bearish configuration with the Histograms to a lesser degree. This, my friends, is where it gets REALLY tough because there have been moves that I have witnessed over the past 40 years covering commodity and stock markets where prices moved sharply higher dragging the RSI, MACD, and Histograms into overbought territory and rather than correcting, they stayed elevated for weeks at a time. This, of course, was before the central bank trading desks were permitted to team up with the "private sector" (JP Morgan) and randomly intervene to ensure that the preferred and desired outcome was indeed effected. So, the big question I am asking myself as I wander around the trading den with a handful of darts and an old driving range club-in-hand, "What is the signal—the omen—that they have removed the heel of the hobnailed boot from silver's Achilles-Tendon-like throat?" What, EXACTLY, makes it "different this time"?

I went long the Global X Silver Miners ETF by way of the October $35 calls back when the stock was in the $33 range so now that it has advanced to $35.87, the calls I bought for $1.00 are now $1.80 and if we get a pop tomorrow to $2.00, I will be forced to take at least half of them down at a double because after all, the proper trade is to be long the PHYSICAL, rather than the paper, so while I opted for the added elasticity of upside leverage afforded by not only the miners versus the physical and heaped even more leverage on it by buying the calls versus the ETF, I have an 80% move under my belt versus an approximate 10% move in the physical. The reason I did that, I suspect, goes back to my youth when I use to sell papers at 6:00 a.m. at Woodbine Racetrack in NW Toronto to the throng of "track people" (as opposed to "horsey people") during which time I ran into a trainer (who shall remain nameless) who would give me a $5 tip if I hid a copy of "The Racing Forum" for him before I went "sold out." Now, back in the 1960s, a $5 tip was like $50 today (a topic for another day) so I learned really fast to look after the "tippers." Well, this gentleman would wave me over to the paddock fence every afternoon and ask me the same question: "How much did you get tipped today?" and I would tell him. "OK, give me 50 percent of your tips" and I would hand over a few dollars and he would disappear for a minute and come back with The Racing Forum and explain to me, in layman's terms, not only how to bet on horses but more importantly, how to manage risk. At the end of the fifth race it was mid-afternoon and I knew that I had to ride my bike all the way back up Derry Road to Airport Road and then had straight north along the truck-infested, double-lane road until the big red-and-white checkered water tower came into sight. Before I left, though, Mr. Big would come over to the bike rack and hand me two things: 1. a copy of The Racing Forum where he made his notes and 2. an envelope with between forty and fifty dollars. And while the doubling or tripling of my tip money was great, those notes in red ink complete with underlines and circles and arrows were better than four years at the Wharton School. Trust me, they were. I would happily return the tip money today for even one of those sessions explaining to a 12-year-old why a soggy track is the best time to bet on a filly with "soft hooves." But then again, I digress.

The reason I digress is that right now we have the absolute PERFECT STORM lying right in front of us as investors. In what I deem as "normal times," the rules I learned as a young board-marker in St. Louis while in school worked magically well and if you were disciplined and diligent. To wit, if you deflected away from the toxicity of the "greed overdose," you could sport a win-loss ratio that could feed a family and provide a decent-enough lifestyle for all around you. That was BEFORE the interventions began. After the Crash of '87, Ronald Reagan and Company decided that stock market crashes were un-American and it was in the year 1988 that I watched literally ALL stock market losses reversed in the face of sub-par economic numbers followed by the "whisper" of "behavioral finance" modelling and the rise to prominence of "The Working Group on Capital Markets." Our "perfect storm" has incubated within the insidious wombs of the world's Central Banking community whose systematic practices of denial and deceit have created a new generation of robotic "traders" that care not about the sanctity of money nor the importance of free market thinking and economic principles.

To my earlier point, the Silver Secretariat should be flying miles ahead of the Golden Sham (referencing of course the 1973 Triple Crown Belmont Stakes) but the problem remains that gold continues to outperform silver at every turn resulting in a GTSR of 74.88 versus the sub-70 we had in the 2009–2011 advance. Notwithstanding that there seems to be a lead anvil attached to silver any time we get an advance in precious metals, it has been the worst performer of the Big Four (platinum, palladium, gold and silver) as shown in the chart below.

In summary, recent moves in copper, zinc, Bitcoin, and gold are ample evidence that the regime of King Paper is rapidly coming to an end as fiat of all denominations and sovereign jurisdictions is being jettisoned in favor of "assets" whose price cannot be "managed" by a government agency through edict. For this reason, logic dictates that I own silver. Just as a 3-year-old filly coming down in class (running against easier competition) that loves to run on turf is favored on a rainy day on the turf track, an asset deemed "the poor man's gold" seems like the perfect place to dump one's depreciating dollars and yen and euros on the basis of where it trades TODAY relative to the other three of the Big Four. So, I am holding my silver positions and in light of the current overbought status, I will be adding to physical silver in the $17.50 range basis December (IF it corrects) and will revisit JNUG on a similar pullback. RSI readings under 30 are optimum but with seasonality in play, we may only get to 50. It is difficult to do but we all must remember that with stock valuations now (based on CAPE) higher than any time other than 2007 and 2001, with bonds in a bubble, with cryptocurrencies in nosebleed zones, and with silver depressed, the big investment pools have few places to go other than "value plays." Silver is, in my opinion, just that and will have a major move before the month is out.

One final remark on the topic of the penny explorco's—Stakeholder Gold Corp. (SRC:TSX.V) had a pretty nice move today and from what I gather, a drill program for Goldstorm is in the wind for October with further "corporate developments" about to unfold. Stakeholder has a serious land position located SSE of and tied on to Seabridge Gold Inc.'s (SEA:TSX; SA:NYSE.MKT) Snowstorm property in northern Nevada in an area seen as a convergence zone of the Carlin, Nevada Rift, and Getchell trends where lies in excess of 300 million ounces of gold. Stay tuned.

Originally trained during the inflationary 1970s, Michael Ballanger is a graduate of Saint Louis University where he earned a Bachelor of Science in finance and a Bachelor of Art in marketing before completing post-graduate work at the Wharton School of Finance. With more than 30 years of experience as a junior mining and exploration specialist, as well as a solid background in corporate finance, Ballanger's adherence to the concept of "Hard Assets" allows him to focus the practice on selecting opportunities in the global resource sector with emphasis on the precious metals exploration and development sector. Ballanger takes great pleasure in visiting mineral properties around the globe in the never-ending hunt for early-stage opportunities.

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Disclosure: 1) Michael Ballanger: I, or members of my immediate household or family, own shares of the following companies mentioned in this article: A family member owns Stakeholder Gold. I personally am, or members of my immediate household or family are, paid by the following companies mentioned in this article: I am currently a consultant to Stakeholder Gold by way of Bonaventure Explorations Limited. My company has a financial relationship with the following companies mentioned in this article: Bonaventure Explorations is 50% owned by me. It has in the past been paid consulting fees by Stakeholder Gold. I determined which companies would be included in this article based on my research and understanding of the sector. 2) The following companies mentioned in this article are sponsors of Streetwise Reports: Seabridge Gold. Streetwise Reports does not accept stock in exchange for its services. Click here for important disclosures about sponsor fees. The information provided above is for informational purposes only and is not a recommendation to buy or sell any security. 3) Statements and opinions expressed are the opinions of the author and not of Streetwise Reports or its officers. The author is wholly responsible for the validity of the statements. The author was not paid by Streetwise Reports for this article. Streetwise Reports was not paid by the author to publish or syndicate this article. 4) This article does not constitute investment advice. Each reader is encouraged to consult with his or her individual financial professional and any action a reader takes as a result of information presented here is his or her own responsibility. By opening this page, each reader accepts and agrees to Streetwise Reports' terms of use and full legal disclaimer. This article is not a solicitation for investment. Streetwise Reports does not render general or specific investment advice and the information on Streetwise Reports should not be considered a recommendation to buy or sell any security. Streetwise Reports does not endorse or recommend the business, products, services or securities of any company mentioned on Streetwise Reports. 5) From time to time, Streetwise Reports LLC and its directors, officers, employees or members of their families, as well as persons interviewed for articles and interviews on the site, may have a long or short position in securities mentioned. Directors, officers, employees or members of their immediate families are prohibited from making purchases and/or sales of those securities in the open market or otherwise from the time of the interview or the decision to write an article, until one week after the publication of the interview or article. As of the date of this article, officers and/or employees of Streetwise Reports LLC (including members of their household) own securities of Stakeholder Gold, a company mentioned in this article.

All charts courtesy of Michael Ballanger.

( Companies Mentioned: SRC:TSX.V, )

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