#lady the solution to me saying I'm pressed for time since I have so much other work to do

[practically-an-x-man]

dogsitting lady. is not listening to me

[cherrycola27]

false god

Series Warnings: Mythology!AU. Language, alcohol, drinking. Military inaccuracies. Mutual pining, unrequited love. Allusions to and full smut. Minors DNI. 18+. Individual chapter warnings will come as needed. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

...........................................

Chapter 18: Lose Control

The bed was cold without Bradley this morning. He'd left early to go to Maverick's workshop. The Bronco needed a few tune ups, and Maverick's shop had everything Bradley needed. He'd kissed you goodbye early this morning with a promise to be home by dinner. It had been a while since he'd been able to spend some time with his pseudo-father, and you encouraged him to have fun.

Resolving that you weren't going to get any more sleep, you rolled out of bed and stretched before meandering into the shower. Without Bradley in there with you, you felt the anxiety of being around water creeping in, causing you to spend less time in there than you would have liked.

You got out and dried yourself off before dragging your hand across the mirror to clear the steam.

You froze as you stared at your reflection.

There, looking back at you, was something you'd only see on other people. The neat row of numbers ticking away just above your head.

A lifetime counter.

How was this possible? You were a Goddess, never meant to die. But there, right above your brow, was the proof that you would. And what was worse is you didn't have much time. A few months. After doing the math, you realized your time would run out on your birthday. You'd barely get six months of marriage with Bradley.

You just didn't understand. It didn't make sense. But then you thought back to the cut from the mug at his aunts house. The soreness in your muscles. The fatigue you had. The bruises that seemed to come from nowhere that took ages to fade.

Something was wrong, and you needed answers.

You threw on some clothes and raced to your kitchen.

You grabbed a sprig of mint and quickly lit it. Moments later, Minthe appeared before you with worry written on her face.

"Hades." She breathed out as she took your hands. "I have horrible news, my lady."

"I'm dying." You say before she can speak again.

"How? How do you know?" Minthe asks. "I saw a lifetime counter above my head. I'm going to die on my birthday. But I don't understand. How is this possible? I thought I had one lifeline left." You say.

"Hecate and I weren't sure either. We were doing our regular check of the lifelines when we came across yours, and well—simply put, it's crumbling. It's very similar to when a mortal has a disease that kills them slowly rather than a fast snip of the line." Minthe explains to you.

"But I'm immune to mortal diseases." You insist. "Yes, we know that, which it was why we found it so strange. So we immediately consulted the Fates, and well—" Minthe sighs.

"What did they say?" You press her. "They said your lifeline is crumbling because you've spent too much time away from the Underworld and because—because you're married and tethered to a mortal." Minthe looks at you with sad eyes.

You swallow thickly. "So, if I go back to the Underworld, turn into my true form for a bit, that would help restore it?" You ask her.

"No!" She shouts at you. "Turning back into your true form takes so much of your strength. It would kill you!" She says. "The— for lack of a better term— best solution would be to ask Hera and Aphroditie to cut your tether with Bradley. That would give you enough time to complete your quest of worthiness."

"No." You state firmly. "I will not be doing that. Bradley is one of the few good things I have in my life. He is the first person to truly love me. He is my soulmates, and I will not cut our tether. If loving him means the end of my life, so be it." You tell Minthe.

"I understand, my lady. Hecate and I will see what we can do to help stop your line from crumbling. But for now, please he careful. I do not wish to see you back home unless you are sitting on your throne." Minthe says. She takes your hands and gives them a squeeze before hugging you and disappearing, leaving only the smell of mint behind.

The rest of the day, you wrestled your inner demons on whether or not you should tell Bradley. On one hand, he deserved to know. But on the other, him knowing that he was the reason you were dying, it would kill him. So, you decided not to tell him, at least not yet.

You'd give yourself a few weeks to figure it out.

.............

You could tell that someone was wrong the moment you and Bradley stepped onto base Monday morning. The air was charged with negativity.

You'd no sooner made it through the doors of the building before you were being pulled into a briefing room with Cyclone, Maverick, and Warlock.

"Gentleman," you began, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Commander Bradshaw," Cyclone cleared his throat, "we have credible intelligence that there is a cargo ship in the Pacific right now that is bringing a large amount of illegal weapons a bomb making materials to a nation that doesn't have our best interests at heart. It's currently being escorted by a foreign Naval aircraft carrier, which provides surveillance for it. We have been asked to take a small team out to destroy both the cargo ship and the carrier." He tells you.

"Admiral, when I came here, it was for a teaching position. I was brought here to train the next generation of aviators and to take the Daggers from good to the best. I did not come here to lead another death-wish mission." You say.

"Hades. We aren't asking you to lead the mission." Maverick chimes in. "Then what are you asking me?" You turn towards him.

"We are asking you how you would fly it. What would you do." Warlock tells you as he pulls up a graphic. You study the picture in go over the scenarios in your head.

"You're going to need five jets. Three singles and two doubles." You say after a long while. "Why?" Cyclone asks you.

A single and a double to drop a coordinated bomb strike on the cargo ship at the same time another pair strikes the aircraft carrier and then a single to provide back up in case you're spotted before taking them out and they launch their own airstrike." You reply.

They shake their heads, whispering amongst themselves.

"And of the Daggers, who would you pick to fly this?" Warlock asks you.

"Hangman, Coyote, Phoenix, Bob, Payback, and Fanboy. Rooster as mission leader." You tell them.

"And why Rooster for mission leader?" Cyclone asks you. "Because he listens. He cares. He looks out for the whole team." You tell them.

"Well then, who would fly as the spare?"

"Me. Obviously." You say without hesitation.

"Commander Bradshaw, I'm sure you're well aware of Navy regulations and why you can't do that." Cyclone sighs.

"Admiral, with all due respect, I don't give a fuck about the Navy regulations." You chuckle. Everyone's eyes go wide.

"With the information you've given me, there is no way that our planes aren't spotted before delivering the payload. The other carrier will have time to launch aircrafts. The Daggers are going to need a spare ready to launch and go straight into a dogfight or tactical position. Who else has more experience in that than me? Furthermore, there is not a pilot, living or dead, in the Navy that's better than me. I'm not sending my friends and my husband into a situation like this without the best possible backup." You state.

"Well, Hades. If you're the best pilot in the Navy, why are you not naming yourself as the mission leader?" Cyclone challenges you.

"For the same reason you never put your best batter first in the lineup, you need someone to clean up the mess everyone else makes." You lean back in your chair.

"Commander Bradshaw, while your reasoning is sound. I can not send you on a mission of this caliber with your husband. I'm already bending the rules by keeping you on the same squadron!" Cyclone tells you sternly.

"Then I guess you'll have to find another squadron to fly this mission, sir." You chuckle.

"Excuse me?" Cyclone grits out, surging forward in his chair.

"Admiral Simpson, as you know, I have thirteen confirmed kills and zero failed missions. Do you know what thirteen confirmed kills and no mission failures get you in the Navy?" You ask him as you cock you head to the side. The men across from you are silent, their eyes fixed on you.

"I'll tell you what it gets you. It gets you a lot of friends. Powerful friends who are grateful for your work and owe you a favor. And I won't hesitate to go to one of those friends who out ranks you cash in one of those favors. Face it, you need me and the Daggers to fly this mission because no one else is as good as we are. So, either you bend the rules even more, or we all walk away. Your choice, Simpy." You click your tongue before crossing your arms.

You can see the rage in Cyclone's eyes. He knows you're right. Everyone in the room knows you're right. Cyclone holds eye contact with you, waiting for you to break, to call your bluff. But you're a goddamm Goddess who has never bowed down to a mortal and you're not about to start now.

"Fine." Cyclone breathes out when he realizes you're not bluffing. "I thought you'd see it my way, Admiral. Now, when do we leave?" You ask the men in the room.

"Friday. We will tell the rest of the Daggers today. That means every moment from now until we ship out is spent training. Is that understood?" Admiral Bates says.

"Understood. Now, if there isn't nothing else, I'd like to be dismissed to regroup with the rest of my team." Bates nods his head once, and you get up and exit the room.

..............

The news of mission doesn't settle well with the Daggers. You can tell they feel under prepared and caught off guard. You sympathize with them. Being given a mission of this caliber on such short notice, it's scary.

The car ride home with Bradley is silent. Neither of you know what to say.

The rest of the week goes by in a blur.

Soon, you're standing in a parking lot holding your husband's hand as you watch the rest of the Daggers, and the crew say goodbye to their loved ones.

Reuben holds his wife close, and Bob kisses his wife while cradling his son in his arms. Mickey's mom and dad hug him while Nat and Javy say goodbye to both of their families. Jake's girlfriend Jasmine clings to him as he buries his face in her natural curls and kisses her head. Maverick and Penny whisper hushed and tearful goodbyes before breaking apart and boarding behind you and Bradley.

You wish you could go up to all of the families that your friends are leaving behind and tell them that they are all going to be okay. You've checked. You know. The only person who might not come back for this mission is you. You'll keep them safe. You vow that to yourself.

You've decided to still not tell Bradley about your impending death. He has enough on his plate. You know that you probably aren't supposed to, but the two of you share a bunk. And even though the bed inside it is barely big enough for Bradley, every night, you're crammed in there with him, practically on top of him, soaking in every moment the two of you have together.

The night before the misson, you and the rest of the Daggers gather in the mess hall. You eat and talk, and it's almost carefree. But you and everyone else no better than to let your guard down.

That night, in that shared, cramped bunk, Bradley makes love to you like it's the last time he will ever get to hold you, and you love him back just as hard and just as fierce and with every ounce of your soul.

It's the early hours of the morning when the two of you finish. You both know you should sleep, but neither of you can.

"Everyone is going to make it. Right?" Bradley asks you as the two of you lay naked in the dark. You turn on your side using his tattooed bicep as a pillow. He drapes your leg over his hip and begins to trace the lines and patterns of your tattoos that he knows so well. Including the rooster that now adorns your hip.

"Yes. I promise." You say trying to make eye contact with him. It's dark, but you can still see the lines of his face relax. "I wish we could tell them, tell their families." Bradley says. "I know, me too." You agree.

Bradley cups your chin and brings your lips to his, and kisses you tenderly. "Why'd you name me mission leader?" He asks you. You'd been waiting for that question. "Because you're the best person for the job. You'll take care of everyone." You tell him. He opens his mouth to speak, maybe to argue with you, but a yawn comes out instead.

You both agree that you should rest. You need to be sharp for tomorrow.

A few minutes later, Bradley is fast asleep. Soft snores fall from his lips. You lay there in the darkness, gently tracing over his features. His forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his lips, his scars. You're committing all of them to memory just in case. Your lifetime counter hasn't changed, but you can't shake the feeling in the pit of your stomach that this is the last time you'll hold Bradley in your arms.

..............

The salt air stings your face as you stand on the deck of the carrier with your helmet in your arms. The sea breeze whips the stray strands of hair that refuse to stay pulled back around your face.

You and the rest of the squad have gone over the plan and your planes more times than you can count.

You linger at the side of your jet, looking at your name, Cmdr. Y/N 'Hades' Bradshaw, in the thick, black, and blocky letters.

You hear a siren indicating that it's almost time. Everyone starts scrambling on deck. Bradley finds you and grabs you by the shoulders, forcing you to face him.

"We all come home." He says. "What?" You ask him, looking confused.

"We all come home." He emphasizes. You know exactly what he means when he says that. Bradley has your number. He knows that you wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice yourself for him or the others if it came down to it.

"Bradley—" You breathed out, but he cuts you off.

"No buts, Angel. We all come home. Six planes in, six planes out." He leaves no room for argument. "We are leaving this boat with eight souls. We are coming back with eight of them, too." Bradley says, as if speaking it into the universe will somehow make it true.

You check his counter. It's still got the same fifty years it had earlier today. You sigh and nod your head, trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of your stomach.

................

Sitting in your plane as you listened to what was happening in the mission was torture. So far, everything was going according to plan.

Overwatch hadn't picked up anything unusual, and the weather made flying smooth. Maybe you were wrong, and maybe you wouldn't even have to deploy, and everyone would land back on the carrier safely, and they would unload you out of the catapult and tonight you and Bradley would stay up having wild celebratory sex.

But the idea of all of that was soon banished from your mind as you heard Coyote call about a rouge strike team.

You lowered the canopy, ready to be launched at a moments notice.

Your heart thrummed in your chest, beating so loud it filled your ears to the point that you almost didn't hear Cyclone screaming for you to launch.

You did so quickly. Your F/A- 18 sliced through the air as you pushed the throttle forward on your way to rescue your team. You were a few minutes out, and you could hear them calling out moves and counter moves to help each other stay safe.

Hangman was out of out of flares, and you could hear Bradley saying that he was coming to cover him. The closer you got to the team, the more smoke and gunfire you could see.

You quickly lined up a shot before sending a missle through the plane of one of the bandits that was on Phoenix. She and Bob thanked you as you circled back around. You directed them to head back to the boat and for Coyote, Payback, and Fanboy to follow them. You would help Bradley and Jake. There was only one other plane and you knew you could take them.

Jake called out desperately that he was out of ammo and missiles, and Bradley was almost out of flares. Thankfully, you were able to force the pilot of the enemy plane near some cliffs of some tiny island that ran along the shores' edge.

It confused their navigation enough for you to take them out. Quickly, you, Bradley, and Jake all made your way back towards the safety of the carrier while breathing a sigh of relief.

Only, it was short-lived because moments later, another bandit was on Jake's tail.

Before you could do anything, Bradley swooped in to protect him, using the last of his flares to throw the missile attack of, giving Jake time to fly ahead to safety, leaving Bradley with the bandit on his tail.

You were out of missiles and down to a few rounds of ammo left, but them enemy was locked on and so close to Bradley that if you fired, you might risk taking out your husband. You didn't know what to do.

Then, before you could think of a plan, you hear Bradley cry out that the other pilot and missile lock on him, and he had no way to deflect it.

You told him to quickly get as much altitude as he could. Bradley listened and jetted back up towards the clouds, giving you a chance to fire at the other pilot.

But you weren't fast enough. The enemy pilot was able to fire a final shot before plummeting into the water below. The shot was just close enough to clip the tail of Bradley's plane causing him to lose control.

You screamed for him to eject, panic setting in because you couldn't see his lifetime counter. You had no clue if this was the end for him. All you could think about was how it wasn't supposed to be this way. It wasn't supposed to end like this.

Thankfully, you heard Bradley eject and saw him burst from his cockpit before seeing the bright orange of his chute open.

But as he fell, you realized he was falling too fast. His parachute was tangled. If you didn't do something, he would surely crash into the sea below and die.

So, you ignored the warning that Minthe gave you because you knew what you had to do. You didn't think. You acted as you let the fire of your true goddess form burn through your veins one final time.

Taglist: @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook02 @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @djs8891 @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @withahappyrefrain @lt-spork @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @roosterisdaddy36 @itsdesiree86 @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @asshlyyyy @inkandarsenic @tomanybandstolove @jiminie-08 @dingochef @skipchat @sunlightmurdock @princess76179 @schoollover @cheyrenee @briseisgone @angelbabyange @marvelouslyme96

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Thicker Than Blood (Chapter 1) Aemond x OC

word count: 1018 words

Last part —> next part

I am reading by the fireplace when I hear a knock on my door.

"Enter." I call out.

"Hello my love." My mother enters the room.

"Mother. Are we due to have tea already?" I ask with surprise. "The time must have escaped me."

"No, it has not. I am afraid I have a bit of pressing news."

I look at her, concerned. "What is it."

"Because of the condition of Lord Corlys. The Hand is taking petitions for the inheritance of Driftmark; it seems he does not see Luke as heir."

"That is absurd." I scoff.  "How dare they question our legitimacy so openly?"

"My thoughts exactly. But we must be calm, my sweet girl." Mother brings my hands up to her mouth and places a soft kiss upon them. "Do not let them invoke anger in you, it will bring you no good."

"Yes, Mother."

"You must have your maid begin packing for the trip, I expect we will leave quite soon. And maybe you could go look upon Jace, he has not taken this deceit too well."

"Of course, I will call on Myra right away and will go see Jace. I expect he is training?"

"Yes he is. Thank you my sweet girl." My mother offers me a smile and then takes her leave.

I called upon my handmaiden and had her dress me for training. Since we have moved to Dragonstone, mother has been kind enough to allow me to learn to defend myself with the sword because of my interest in it as a child. Even though it is not proper for a lady, she has allowed me to learn alongside my brothers albeit, not as much as they do.

"You must begin packing as well." I inform Myra. "We leave for King's Landing soon, likely in less than a fortnight."

"Yes, Princess." She nods. "You have not been back to King's Landing for quite some time. I expect that you are excited to see Prince Aemond again."

The mention of his name irks me. Aemond has not sent me a letter since his thirteenth nameday.

"You forget yourself." I say, curtly and brush her hands off to finish buttoning my tunic myself.

"My apologies, Princess. It was not my place."

"No, it wasn't." I say.

I grab my sword and walk out of my chambers, heading down to the beach. I will apologise later for snapping at her.

When I arrive at the beach, I see Lucerys and Jacaerys sparring. Jace not letting up as he relentlessly attacks Luke, letting out all his anger upon him.

"Maybe you could let up on him a little bit, brother?" I ask Jace as I approach them closer.

They both stop at the sound of my voice as their attentions fall upon me.

"Let up? Do you want me to go easy on him or something?" He asks in response.

"No, I just wish you would see when it's time to stop."

"I know when to stop."

I look to Lucerys.

"Could you please give us a moment Luke? You have trained well and must be tired."

"Yeah." He says and gives me a tight-lipped smile.

I watch him walk away and then turn back to Jace, who has a look of annoyance on his face.

"Stop being such a brat." I say as I lift up my sword to indicate that I am ready to go against him.

"I am not a brat." He retorts and swings his sword against mine.

"Then why do you act like one." He strikes at me again, glaring.

"I don't. If anyone is a brat it's you." I raise an eyebrow at him.

He continues to swing at me aggressively, leaving me on defence. I let him because I know his anger needs to be let out.

"They won't succeed. The greens I mean. Luke is heir and Mother will force them to see that."

"But just the entertaining of it leads to speculation of our lineage."

"Let them talk."

"That is your solution?" He swings so hard that the sword flies from my hand. "To let them spread filth about our family." He points the tip of his sword to my throat.

"I suppose. You will be the King one day, the most powerful man in the realm. Talk is only talk. You will know when it becomes more." I push the blade of his sword away with me hand and he seems to calm down.

"You're right, but i'm just so angry with them. They have no right to challenge us like this."

"You're allowed to be angry but don't allow it to eat you up inside. Thank you for at least speaking to me about it, it's good to express these feelings through words." I walk over to him and take his hands in mine.

"I'm sorry for how I spoke to you." He looks down so he will not meet my eyes.

I bring his hands up for a kiss, in mimic of how our mother does and he looks back up to me with a blush on his cheeks. I offer him a soft smile.

He will be a good king. One with the ability to rule with kindness.

"You're forgiven."

I take his arm and link it with mine so we can walk back inside. Our footsteps fall heavy as the sand slows us. He places a gentle kiss to my forehead.

It is typical in Targaryen custom to marry the firstborn daughter to the firstborn son and since we have left King's Landing, the idea of being wed to Jacaerys has become more and more real. I would be more than happy with him, my sweet, handsome, kind brother. It helps also that with him, I will be queen.

Aemond would not make me a queen.

I scold myself silently for even thinking of him. Why do I think of him when I hang on my near perfect brother's arm?

Mother must suggest it to us soon. I know she will because everyone expects it, our betrothal is all but official. That is what my future holds, a happy marriage with Jacaerys and the crown of a queen on my head.

"What are you thinking about? You look so lost in thought." He smiles down at me, softly.

"Nothing of importance." I say, smiling back at him and we leave it at that.

taglist: @valeskafics

[landinoandco]

|Shutter speed|

Chapter two : A New Beginning

{Lando Norris x Reader}

Summary: A photographer. A pair of F1 drivers. Triangles. A sticky situation of morals and fighting fate. What could go wrong?

Warnings: none :) apart from a mention of grief and passing of a loved one

Rating: teen and up

Word count: 2.9 k 

A/n: welcome to the second chapter of 'Shutter speed.'

I'm going to start a taglist so comment on this post or message me if you would like to be added :)

Previous chapters: Chapter one

Chapter two: A new beginning

By the time Georgie had raced home, it had stopped raining and the sun was beginning to fight its way through the mass of clouds that had filled the sky. The journey home had given Georgie plenty of time to think - to mull everything over about the crazy afternoon she had just endured. They had finally booked their first event since lockdown, the insanely attractive stranger she had met in the coffee shop but somehow it all ended back to a person she thought she had finished thinking about - not that you ever could. Her Theo. Her lovely Theo. 

Theodore was her childhood sweetheart. Theo was everything to her, llike Georgie was everything to him. They had their whole future planned out: travelling around the world and experiencing different cultures, photographing their entire experience and showcasing the beginning of their journey through life on an Instagram they had set up. Before settling down and starting a family of their own. Together. It was going to finish like all the fairy tales did...

And everybody lived happily ever after.

In hindsight, they had jinxed themselves before they had even started, not long after they had finished their A - levels and about to start their next chapter at Uni - Theo had fallen ill. Georgie refuses to acknowledge the illness for she believes it shouldn’t be the way he is remembered, instead reminiscing on the short but meaningful life he lived. Theo died not long after he was diagnosed, leaving Georgie behind with a new and tainted meaning to happily ever after because if it wasn’t with him then what did it truly mean? 

As they say hindsight is a wonderful thing.

Even now, 5 years on, 23 years of age, she is still plagued with the memories and the thoughts of everything they could have had but for some reason the universe was against it all. She hated to think of herself as unlucky because she was blessed to have met Theo in the first place. 

Shaking the memories from her head, she unlocked the apartment door and trudged through - hanging her coat and bag on the hooks then making her way over to the breakfast bar. On top was a fluorescent post-it note that read: “Popped into the city to pick up some new lenses for the cameras. Fill you in when I get back. Fancy getting a takeaway tonight to celebrate? Love you lots ~ Maisie.” 

A takeaway was exactly what was needed. She thought. And a nice warm shower. 

The thing Georgie loves about showers is that they give her the ability to find an answer and solution to pretty much everything and anything. She spent a lot of time in the shower after Theo passed, it was the only thing she could justify enjoying. Striping her clothes off and chucking them into a pile on the floor, she reached into the shower to turn it on - the water immediately rushing out and crashing loudly onto the floor. As soon as she was happy with the temperature, she stepped in - letting the warm water droplets wash all of her worries away. It was the only thing that she felt helped her relax; come to terms with everything she was feeling. 

Her first and main worry was what they were going to do after Goodwood. If they didn’t find consistent work soon they were going to run out of money - they were lucky to have made some good investments and savings leading up to this point to have coped through lockdown. 

Georgie grabbed the shampoo and rubbed it thoroughly through her long waves. She had been to Goodwood a few years back -  Theo had taken her. It was the best date she had ever been on - she remembered it as clear as day. They had found an empty bench to sit on next to the hill the cars climbed in the ever popular annual hill climb - it was there and then they had decided they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together and travel the world. 

Stepping back under the water, she let the water take the shampoo away, watching as the bubbles slipped through the drain. Theo had been a massive formula one fan - dragging Georgie into the sport as well. Jenson Button had been his favourite driver and McLaren his favourite team so naturally that was hers as well. As soon as he passed Georgie had nothing to do with the sport - she refused to watch it and stopped keeping up with the teams. 

She reached for the conditioner bottle, pressing her lips together in a tight line. All of this thought about Theo and the racing world she turned her back on - a slight regret forming in the pit of her stomach, was she ready to go back to it? She remembered the atmosphere of Goodwood when she had been, people from all over the world gathered to celebrate the one thing they had in common: their love for cars. She was slightly envious of the people who got to travel the world, following in the car's tyre tracks and capturing the moments you only get to experience once in a lifetime. 

Georgie paused and furrowed her eyebrows, she was struck with an idea. Whether it was absolutely brilliant or outright stupid and unrealistic, she was yet to find out. Hoping out of the shower and grabbing her towel, she made her way to her room. It was worth a look, she supposed, there was no harm in that. Once she was dressed, she sat at her desk and turned on her laptop; begging fate to be on her side today. 

“Honey, I’m home.” Called a voice from the kitchen. 

“Hey sweetie.” Georgie shouted back, “I’ll be with you in just a moment.” 

She pulled up the McLaren careers page, her mouse hovering over the view jobs link. Georgie was ready to travel the world. She was ready to experience life again - after all it was Theo’s dying wish that she completed everything they were setting out to do. Perhaps she was selfish for not coming to this conclusion sooner. 

She clicked. 

Taking one last deep breath, Georgie placed her hands to her forehead and moved her face closer to the screen as she read through the roles. Tyre performance engineer. No. Finance analyst - production. Definitely not. Hope was diminishing rapidly even though it was as she had expected. The chances of finding anything suitable were low. She was coming to the bottom of the list when a role jumped out at her. But not impossible apparently. 

Lead photographer - team. 

And the deadline was Tuesday at 11.59 pm. They had the best part of 6 hours to complete this application. It was going to be tight but possible. 

She jumped up and rubbed her hands over her face in disbelief. Running her hands through her hair, she sat back down - hardly being able to keep still. It was only an application advert - many people were going to be applying. She thought as she exhaled loudly. More experienced people. Skimming through the description and requirements, she almost felt like she was dreaming. It was perfect. The role was to travel with the whole team and capture every moment to later be used on social media and advertising. 

“Everything alright in here?” Maisie poked her head around the door. She was faced with an almost tearful Georige. Her words almost trailed off.

“Do you want to travel the world?” Georgie asked her, her voice wavering slightly.  Maisie seemed taken aback as she moved into the room and sat on Georgie’s bed. “I’m sorry - what? Have you forgotten what’s been going on recently?”

“With a formula one team, Mclaren to be precise.” Georgie corrected and moved aside so Maisie could see the screen. Silence fell between the pair as Maisie read on, Georgie’s leg had started bouncing in anticipation. Minutes later she was met with a frown. “That’s not quite how I had imagined you would react.” Georgia mumbled, sighing. She mirrored her friend's expression, chewing on her bottom lip. 

“Before we start fantasizing, I just want to make sure you’re ok with this.” Maisie said softly, taking one of Georgia’s hand in hers. Georgia nodded slowly, rubbing her thumb over her friend’s hand. “This would be his dream. I know he’s watching us - he really is looking out for us, Maise. I want to do it for him.”  

Maisie’s smile grew, “As long as you’re sure. Come, let’s discuss it over take away and I will explain how this weekend is going to work.” Georgie stood up, grabbing her laptop and a notebook, “One thing is for sure. We are going to need one hell of a portfolio.” 

It was now Sunday - the final day at Goodwood. 

To say the rest of their week leading up to this point went smoothly would be a lie. In the end it all got a bit complicated. They submitted their application at 10:58 pm that Tuesday evening - due to it only being a singular role they applied as their business in hope that the combined experience would set them apart from other candidates. Wednesday they spent the day prepping for Goodwood - trying out the new lenses and practising photographing cars they found around London. They were going to watch the Goodwood livestream on Youtube Thursday and Friday to see what they were going to be faced with that Saturday. Until Maisie received a call. It was Mclaren and they had gotten through to the interviews - all taking place that Thursday afternoon on teams. As it turns out, they wanted to have hired someone for the role by Friday in order to be ready for the British Grand Prix the following weekend. 

“I mean it makes sense,” Maisie said, blowing her coffee to cool it down before taking a long sip. “It is their home grand prix after all.” 

Georgie chuckled, “It’s just, I feel like if we were to explain to anyone they would think we were making this up. It’s all happening so quickly.” 

That Friday, ahead of their debut at Goodwood on the Saturday, they got the call. According to the lady Maisie spoke to, it was very close between them and another candidate but the fact they were working at Goodwood tipped the scales in their favour. 

“And.” Maisie started. “We are going to meet with a man called Zac Brown on Sunday, he is the CEO of McLaren Racing-” Georgie was very lucky to have Maisie as she was the businessman - or women in this case - out of the pair. Her people skills were unmatched, how she did it Georgie would never understand. 

Now on Sunday, Georgie was quite sad to see it coming to an end. The atmosphere was one that she had never quite experienced before - it was one that filled her with pride and adoration; something she hadn’t felt in a long time, not to this extent anyway. The whole weekend, a beaming smile had been plastered onto her face - so much so that her facial muscles were beginning to ache. The whole community of people were ecstatic to be there, watching on in excitement as a sport that had missed the company of their crowds opened its doors once again. It wasn’t long before she had agreed to meet with Maisie ahead of their meeting with Zac Brown that she found herself walking up the infamous hill. The loud buzz of conversation seemed to fade, instead the only sound she could hear was the rumble of engines as they came cruising by. She stopped at a clearing where a bench stood proudly, smiling softly to herself as she slung her camera strap over her shoulder, stuffing her hands into her trouser pockets. It hadn’t aged a day. 

Lando Norris had decided to take a break from the main McLaren marquee - he had just finished his final drive of the day and was looking for some time to reflect on the weekend he had just had after having the honour of driving the three cars that Aryton Senna won McLaren their championship titles. It had been a tough season leading up to this point - after Carlos left to join Ferrari he felt this year all eyes would be on him. Many expected Lando to fall into the shadow of his new teammate Daniel Ricciardo, everybody expected him to fade back into the background. Perhaps that was why he trained so hard during the winter break - he had pushed himself right up to the limit. Lando wanted to prove to himself more than anyone else that he was a good driver and he did have potential to fight those at the top, after the taste of a podium in Austria - he was hungry for more. Even as a young boy during his karting career, Lando put pressure on himself - to strive to be the best on the grid - sometimes it meant he forgot to enjoy himself because he was so worried about what other people thought about him. 

He had reached a clearing past the trees. All weekend he had kept half an eye out for the girl at the coffee shop. Part of him was disappointed not to have seen her, he really wanted that second chance. He came to a stop and checked his watch - it wasn’t long until Zac wanted him back; he mentioned briefly about a pair of photographers joining the team. They would be replacing his friend Jason after he decided that travelling just wasn’t practical anymore, who could blame him, his first child was on the way and he wanted to be there with his wife every step of the way. 

Lando brushed a hand through his curls, casting his gaze around before he would make his way back. When a bench caught his eye or more specifically the girl sitting on the bench. She sat with a content smile dancing on her lips, a reminiscent glaze coated her eyes. He took a step towards her, there was something familiar about her. It was like his feet were frozen in place - his brain was telling him to go back but his gut told him to stay put. He stood for a minute or two before it hit him - square in the face and quite frankly he couldn’t believe his luck. It was the girl from the coffee shop. Right in front of him. It was now or never. Lando took a calming breath before going and sitting next to her. 

Georgie was rudely pulled from her thoughts when a person sat down on the bench next to her. She moved her head slightly to see who the intruder was when her heart stopped. Recognition dawned on her face. Georgie knew instantly he had recognised her as the corners of his mouth twitched into a shy smile. “Hi.” His tone silvery and almost breathy. 

“Hey.” She beamed back, “I’m Georgie.” She said, gazing up at him, admiring the way the sun caught around his halo of curls giving them an almost angelic glow.

“Lando.” He told to her, the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly. Neither of them could quite believe that they were sitting with each other. 

“I - uh - It’s a wonderful day for it, isn’t it.” Georgie had panicked. She didn’t know what else to say and her mother used to always say:  ‘if in doubt talk about the weather.’ It was something along those lines anyway.  Silently cursing herself, she cringed at her awkwardness only to hear him chuckle at her comment. 

“It’s much better now the rain has cleared off.” Lando instantly felt relaxed around her, he didn’t know what it was. Perhaps it was that she seemed just as socially inadequate as he was. “So Georgie.” He savoured the way her name rolled off his tongue. “What brings you to Goodwood? I hope you don’t mind me saying this but I heard you talking about it before you rushed off the other day.” 

Georgie inched closer, almost leaning into the comfort and warmth he seemed to provide. “My friend and I are photographers and she somehow got us into working for the Goodwood Festival of Speed brand. I still don’t quite know how she did it, for some reason she didn’t want to talk about it.” She trailed off, a pink tinge creeping onto her cheeks as she had come to a rather astonishing conclusion. The corner of Lando’s mouth lifted at her innocence. “Anyway.” She moved on quickly. “As it turns out I am also here to meet my new boss.” 

“It’s almost like it was meant to be.” Lando quirked. “Who are you working for now?” 

“I’m the new photographer for the McLaren formula one team.” She explained, pride laced in her tone. Lando’s eyes widened, his mouth fell open in disbelief before he caught himself. Composed his expressions and stated very plainly...

“I’m Lando Norris. I drive for the McLaren formula one team. As it turns out you and I are about to attend the same meeting.” 

Taglist: (please message me or leave a comment if you would like to be added :))

@mjuikoli​ @httplayer​ @phatyak​

[justaredheadf1fan]

And the boys are Bak-u! (don't kill me for this one)

Masterlist

I had to make the obvious joke everyone has made in the last few days 😙 I wouldn't have been happy otherwise hehehe

Before getting into it, I wanted to share my absolute obsession after Barcelona, I've been searching for the cheapest race to go to besides Barcelona like a woman possessed; how much are tickets for Monaco and Bakú my beloveds, the Grand Stand tickets for Barcelona because we are a couple of ladies and have decided that next next we'll rock it better, and so on like I need something to quench my thirst, but with Formula 1. Does that even make sense at all? Who cares, because I clearly DON'T.

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

Well, today started the first weekend I'll be missing F1 live, and I can't handle it. I was supposed to be free today so I was bound to watch FP1 and FP2 (since I'll have Fridays free every week, while I'll have to work through the weekends from now on), but had to cover for someone and leave my free day for a better time in July. While working, I could hear someone blasting FP1 across the street and I saw a couple of Ferrari fans on my way to work, so I was just craving the possibility of watching it properly, honestly.

I'm currently watching the press rounds where Lewis and Seb are on opposite sites of their group. Pity we don't get to see them together much these days 🥲 Good thing they still (obviously) keep serving cunt, which I love to see everytime. After Ben Sulayem's words a few days ago especially, I'm happy to see that they keep not giving a shit about the FIA's stupidity. Kings 👑

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

I'm now starting with FP1 while I think about dinner (because why would I just have dinner when I can just do nothing?) and my poor Mick had to retire already because of a water leak apparently. My poor baby, at least now they can't be mad at him 😅

There's one thing I still can't wrap my head around, how the fuck is it possible that the porpoising hasn't been dealt with already? Drivers have been complaining about it since day 1 and it's still going on. FIA what the fuck! Do this people really care that little about this guys' lives? Jesus fucking Christ, it's crazy seeing them bouncing so horribly all the time, and this is already the 8th race. They need a solution, they're gonna have permanent damage otherwise, I'm afraid.

The only upside to this is seeing hilarious comments like the one Gasly made. Maybe it's just my dirty mind at work but I just couldn't hold my laughter at work when I read it. I love you Pierre, you're amazing 😂

For what I've always heard about Baku so far, taking into account I haven't seen a race in this track due to my F1 hiatus, this is looking pretty uneventful so far, right? At least in FP1, maybe FP2 changes my mind a bit but, besides the tremendous porpoising and Verstappen still having DRS problems, there's nothing interesting going on after 59 minutes. Or maybe that's because I was expecting absolute chaos 🤷🏻‍♀️ So, now preparing dinner sounds about right!

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

I've started FP2 while I eat something and boy that plastic bag might just be the surprise I needed for this practice session after all 😂

I have to say that this track looks pretty awesome, it seems to have everything and appears to be very interesting on its own. Maybe the nicest street circuit on the calendar right now. It's a shame I'll have to watch the race right after I finish work on Sunday (the perks of not working remotely anymore 🤧)

Leclerc going off track is giving me whiplash at this rate, every Friday he goes off track or he spins somewhere at some point and I want to kill him 😂 And half the drivers have gone off track on the same corner by now, where most of them have had to back up before getting back on track, and I can't imagine how scary that must be with how big the cars are and how little they must see when doing it. It gave me a chance to see the Aston Martin more closely tho, when Stroll went bye-bye, and I still think the AM is the sexiest car this year. What a beauty.

Nothing eventful really for today. Which might be a good thing after last week. Tomorrow I'll watch FP3 and Quali much like today, just after I get back after work. I'll suffer through my 8 hours until I can launch myself onto my bed with the laptop in front of me.

Peace out until tomorrow!

[animereaderinsertwriter]

Cupbearer (Eren/Reader)

Part III

Part I

Part II

Part IV (in progress)

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (im watching you, if you see this, begone!), vampire!eren, hunter!reader, fem!reader, smut, some amount of predator/prey dynamics but only kinda?? there is also a significant age difference but only cos eren is immortal and all that jazz. we're all adults here. there will eventually be smut.... and do i really need to say that there's gonna be blood in a vampire fic?

Description: A story of falling in love in 4 parts.

Eren is a bad man (well, a bad Creature) who has done bad things. When he meets the great-great-great granddaughter of one of his former friends in his favorite blood bar, however, he thinks it might not matter so much what happened in the past, so long as he can make the future something worth living to see.

Ao3 link here

After that night, it became increasingly hard for (Y/N) to leave, and for Eren to let her do so.

Something between them had changed. There were moments— when Eren would press feather-light kisses against her forehead, when he would casually leave a cup of her favorite tea where she would find it— where (Y/N) felt as though her heart might burst. It was all the little things that baffled her, all the ways in which he seemed to understand exactly how she felt; it was as though he knew her more than she knew herself. On the mornings that she would wake in his bed, sleepy and sticky and wholly content, (Y/N) wondered what it would be like to have this life forever.

Other days— on days like today— she was reminded exactly why that could never be, and it broke her heart.

Today, they had planned a romantic dinner in the park, an evening under the stars. It was supposed to be something special, a little getaway just for the two of them; they had wanted to leave as soon as (Y/N) was relieved from her patrol, so Eren had moved her things to his place, hoping that they could leave together from there for their evening alone.

In and of itself, that was fine… but when (Y/N) came in, covered head-to-toe in viscous Creature blood, Eren was furious.

“And you call me a monster,” he growled, looking her up and down with hate in his eyes. “I can’t believe you.”

He stood from his seat on the sofa, and (Y/N) began to back away, still wary from the fight she had narrowly escaped from unscathed. Her every instinct told her that she should run, fire a round of silver bullets into his chest, but she steeled herself, doing neither.

“It’s not my fault— they were attacking a civilian,” she told him as he stalked towards her, his face twisted into a horrific scowl. “I tried to stop them— tried to find out what was going on— but then they came at me with their claws, and I was left with no choice.”

“There is always a choice,” he snarled, and it was then that anger filled (Y/N) from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. "They were probably terrified of you— how could you possibly blame them for lashing out?"

(Y/N) grit her teeth.

“This, from the man who thought genocide was his only option to the same problem?”

Eren made a low, warning sound in the back of his throat, but (Y/N) pressed on.

“You would rather me have died?” she demanded, stepping into his space. “Would it have pleased you more for my body to bleed out on the pavement, ripped to shreds by an aggressive werewolf? Would you even care, or would you just find the next blood bag and move on with your life?”

“Maybe so,” he shot back, “Then I wouldn’t have to deal with your insufferable mouth.”

That stung— but if there was one thing (Y/N) knew how to do, it was to strike back twice as hard as she had been struck.

“Fine then,” she said, turning on her heel. “I won’t bother you any longer. I’ll go out and find someone who actually wants my company, someone who’ll fuck me good and proper over the counter at some hole-in-the-wall bar over on Easy Street, someone younger, with a nicer cock and less fucking baggage— ”

She didn’t get to finish the sentence, or even walk a single step further— Eren grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to him, his fist painfully tight against her scalp.

“Wanna say that again, to my face?” he asked, tilting her head back.

“I’ll go find someone else to fuck me,” she spat, struggling in vain against him. “I’ll spread my legs for the next available schmuck in the closest bar I can find, so you can hear me scream his name and not yours.”

It was a low blow, to threaten a vampire’s claim on something they had previously assumed had belonged to them, but (Y/N) didn’t care. She had almost died today, and she’d be damned if she was going to take shit from anyone about what she had to do to survive. If Eren wanted a fight, she would damn sure give him one.

“Like hell you will,” he told her, pulling her head back so that she had to strain to remain standing. “You’re mine. Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood— you are my Companion.”

"I belong to no one!"

Those words ripped from her throat and echoed throughout the empty house, and it was then that Eren stopped, looking at her with calculation in his gaze.

"You're right," he said, releasing her hair. "No mortal can serve two masters, lest they love one and despise the other; an archaic religious concept, but an accurate one nonetheless. You've made it abundantly clear where your loyalty lies. I was a fool for thinking otherwise."

(Y/N) began to tremble. "Eren, what are you saying?"

"I release you from our pact," he replied coldly, his eyes so dull and lifeless that it sent a chill down her spine. "No longer are you bound to be my wine-press— I free you from me."

"Eren—"

"Go," he commanded, and (Y/N) felt terribly, horribly empty.

Once, he would have told her to come freely, go safely, and leave something of the happiness she brought him; now, he gave her a cold dismissal, and it frightened her more than she was willing to admit. Still, she went, feeling hollow and used, and she didn't bother to shut the door behind her as she turned to walk home, weary from the day and sick from fighting.

***

Armin had lived for a very long time, but even so, he had yet to meet anyone so foul of temper as Eren when the Hunger was on him.

"Eren, you have to feed."

The vampire, as ill in health as in temper, glared weakly at him. "I'm not hungry."

"But you are Hungry, and don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. Look, if this is about that girl—"

"I told you not to speak of her!"

Ah, so it was about her. By the looks of him, it had been two weeks since Eren had fed; Armin would bet that he hadn't seen her in the same amount of time.

"If I need to, I'll drag her here to make up with you myself," said Armin testily, "I refuse to watch my best friend starve himself because he refuses to feed on anyone else."

"You will not touch her."

Armin rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything further. He just patted Eren's arm in farewell and set about finding the little lady who was the root cause of his current consternation.

It took longer than Armin had anticipated to find the young woman who had, for all intents and purposes, completely unraveled Eren's composure; her scent, while thick and memorable in Eren's apartment, was hard to track otherwise. Armin spent two hours just wandering the city while trying to catch a breath of it here or there, and when he finally did manage to catch a whiff of her scent and follow it to her, he understood exactly why it had been so hard to track her down.

The girl was a Hunter, of all things.

When Armin found her, she was knee-deep in sewage, her knife embedded to the hilt in the skull of what appeared to be some species of winged reptile. Armin, having been a tad desperate and not actually having been expecting to find anything when he lifted the lid to the man-hole on 32nd and Main, was surprised to say the least— and when (Y/N) ripped her knife free and readjusted her stance into a defensive one directed at him, his surprise turned to intrigue.

“Er, hello there,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t suppose you’ll take my word for it that I just want to chat, will you?”

Curiously, the words gave the woman pause. She relaxed her stance ever-so-slightly, and then her eyes lit up with recognition.

“Armin Arlert?” she queried, craning her neck up to see him. “Is that you?”

This one grows curiouser and curiouser, he thought, but responded affirmatively.

“Can you give me a bit, then?” she asked, kicking the corpse of the Creature she’d just killed. “I’m not exactly fit for company. Perhaps we could meet later for a discussion over tea?”

“I’m afraid it’s urgent,” he said as she knelt to decapitate her prey— likely for proof of victory. “I think you know why I’m here, so you understand that time is of the essence.”

She didn’t look up at him as she replied.

“If this is about Eren, then I don’t have time to talk.”

Her tone was hard, bitter, and matter-of-fact, and it reminded Armin so much of Jean that it hurt… but just like Jean, Armin would bet that she could be won over by appealing to her inherent sense of human decency

“He’s suffering (Y/N),” he said, awkwardly crouching above the manhole so that she could better see the truth written in his eyes. “He won’t feed.”

“That’s hardly my problem.”

And oh, how well Armin knew that state of mind. If there was one thing Eren Jaeger knew how to do, it was push away the people who loved him most. Armin had dealt with that particularly lovely quirk of his for centuries, and it never got easier to deal with no matter how much time passed. If anything, it got more difficult the older they both got.

“When you’re the solution to a problem, you become a part of it whether you like it or not,” Armin replied, patient and understanding. “He cares for you.”

(Y/N) looked up at him then, fury in her eyes.

“He hurt me.”

Armin shrugged. “He hurts everyone he cares about. It’s just who he is. Nothing comes for free— least of all the love and loyalty of someone as old and as powerful as Eren.”

“Your heart may be toughened to his meanness,” she told him, the head of the creature she’d slain in her hands, “But mine is not, and I don’t like him well enough to willfully remain for him to use as an emotional punching bag.”

At that, Armin couldn’t help but let loose a wry grin.

“No,” he said, “I should think not; but I do think you love him well enough to make sure he doesn’t starve himself to death because he can’t have you.”

(Y/N) was silent for a long moment, then she crossed her arms.

“I won’t come crawling to him. He’s going to have to come to me.”

Armin grimaced. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

“Is that at all negotiable?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

Well, there was nothing for it.

“And you will let him feed if he comes to you?”

(Y/N) thought, then nodded. “If he proves himself deserving.”

Armin couldn't help himself; he laughed. Eren might have met his match in this one.

"Very well. I'll work my magic, and you work yours."

She nodded and bade him farewell, but before Armin left, he paused.

"Hey, (Y/N)?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

With that, he left her, ready to take Eren by the ear and throw him at her if he had to.

***

(Y/N)'s heart was racing as she opened the door, knowing good and well who would be behind it.

After her little talk with Armin— and the near heart attack he had given her in the process— she had called in to Zeke and told him she needed to go home to deal with an emergency. A replacement for her patrols had been sent, and she had come home to wash the grim from her skin, making herself as presentable as possible with the time she had. (Y/N) was worried, so worried, that the filth she had been wading in earlier would have left a lingering stench, or even that it had affected the taste of her; she had scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin was raw, hoping to erase every last remnant of her day from her skin…but as it turned out, she needn't have bothered.

Two, three, four hours later, and Eren hadn't shown— it was only now, right at the six hour mark, that he had decided to come to her.

Needless to say, (Y/N) was… less than pleased, but when she opened the door to find Eren pale and drawn, with dark circles beneath his eyes, her heart softened ever-so-slightly. It seemed that Armin was right; he had been suffering.

"You look like shit," she told him quietly, opening her door widely to let him in.

"I assure you, I feel worse," Eren grumbled, but stepped in as she closed the door behind him.

For a long, awkward moment, they just looked at each other, silent and unsure. It was unsettling how unlike himself Eren seemed; he was almost soft when he looked at her, and (Y/N) didn't know how to feel about it. Eventually, though, like two opposite ends of a magnet, they were drawn together, and Eren brushed a piece of hair back from her face.

"Hi," he said, his voice low and rough. (Y/N) caught his hand in hers before it could fall from her hair, and she pressed it against her chest, keeping it trapped there, touching the skin above her beating heart.

"Hey."

They watched each other a moment more before the dam broke between them, and they both spoke at once.

"I'm sorry."

A shared grin, a shy laugh— and then (Y/N) said what they both were thinking.

"You need to feed first, and talk later," she told him, her hand still clasped in his. "You're not off the hook, but I doubt we can have any real conversation with you like this."

Eren nodded gratefully, tugging at her wrist— his usual biting spot— but (Y/N) shook her head, indicating her neck. The thickest, richest blood, she knew, would come from there; and if there was ever a time to be generous with the placement of Eren's bite, she figured that it would be now.

The worst of it was over quickly. There was a brief sting at the intrusion of razor-sharp fangs, and then the vaguely uncomfortable feeling of having something poking down into places that decidedly should not be poked at all, but then (Y/N) quickly eased into the rhythm of the act, focusing wholly on the way Eren's lips felt against her skin. In a few moments, she would become pleasantly light-headed, and then Eren would pull away and look at her like she'd hung the stars. Oh, how she'd missed that look! (Y/N) found herself longing for it even before she quite realized it.

And then, without warning, a vision came, and (Y/N) was swept into another world entirely.

The evening sky rolled endlessly out towards the horizon; it seemed to go on forever, sparkling with more stars than (Y/N) had ever seen before. The full moon was so bright that it cast the whole world in what seemed like silver sunlight, and (Y/N) wondered how anyone could sleep on a night such as this. It was far too beautiful an experience to miss.

Alongside her— alongside Eren, through whose eyes she saw the world— strode Armin and two older-looking cadets who she recognized from previous memories as Reiner and Berthold. Eren was feeling anxious over something, and Reiner and Berthold were… well, they were kind. Reiner especially seemed to be like an older brother, and Eren admired him.

"You'll do just fine tomorrow," said Reiner, placing a large, warm hand on Eren's shoulder. "I'm certain of it."

The memory ended, and (Y/N) came back to herself as Eren's tongue laved over the wounds his fangs had left in her neck, sealing them.

"See anything?" he asked, his breath warm against her skin, and (Y/N) nodded.

"You loved them, too," she said softly, remembering the fondness Eren had felt as though it had been her own. "You loved the Hunters that tried to take everything from you, and— and I think they loved you, too."

Eren pulled away from her, and it was then that she saw the tears shining in his eyes.

"Yes," he replied, his voice broken. "We were children. How could we not love each other as God intended? Hate was never in our nature; it was an inheritance that we couldn't escape."

He paused for a moment, then spoke again.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he told her, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I lost my temper. I forget— I forget that you're not them."

And (Y/N) understood. She understood that no matter how many centuries passed, there would be wounds that just wouldn't heal for Eren. He would lash out at things that wouldn't make sense to anyone who hadn't experienced the horrors of war as he had. Suddenly, she felt petty for having lashed out as she had, and guilt threatened to rise up and choke her.

"You're forgiven," she replied, leaning into his touch. "It takes two to tango— I shouldn't have baited you like I did. I knew how badly that would hurt you, and that's exactly why I said it."

At that, Eren cracked a grin.

"I expect nothing less from a Kirschtein. Your grandfather would have punched me square in the jaw— and as big as that bastard got when we were older, he probably would have put me on my ass."

(Y/N) couldn't help but laugh, and Eren joined her, their combined joy swelling until there was nothing else in the world but their happiness.

How they started kissing, neither one of them would be able to say afterwards, but in the grand scheme of things, it hardly mattered. Their love was too large to contain, too much to hold back— and it was love, (Y/N) realized, though she hadn't quite put words to it yet. She loved Eren Jaeger, a Creature, a monster, as much as her grandfather before her had and more. She loved him with a desperation that felt like being knocked over by an ocean wave and plunged into depths where her feet no longer touched the sand. She loved him more than she had ever loved anyone before.

And, as he placed her gently on her bed that was barely big enough for two, divesting himself of his shirt above her, (Y/N) thought that maybe she didn't mind it so much as long as he loved her in return.

"I missed you," said Eren, dropping kisses by her ear as he unhooked her bra. "I missed this."

"Me too," she gasped as his mouth wandered to her nipple, her hands fisting in his hair. "Oh, God, I missed you too."

The time for words was soon gone, however; Eren's sinful, sinful mouth traveled lower and lower until he was kissing at the insides of her thighs, parting them to access what lay between, and (Y/N) threw her head back as he spread her open with his hands and sucked brazenly at her clit.

How long he spent there, worshipping her sex, (Y/N) had no idea; all she knew was that she came once from his mouth on her and a second time from his fingers inside her, and when he finally, mercifully withdrew, she was broken down to the simplest parts of herself; there was nothing left but an affection so deep that it threatened to overtake her if she didn't let it out, and she did the only thing she knew to do to release the overwhelming pressure that was building in her chest as Eren pushed his big, veiny cock into her.

She told him what she should have said a long time ago.

"Oh, Eren," she gasped as his cockhead shoved deep inside her. "I love you."

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Eren went unnaturally still. He looked at her with pupils blown wide inside emerald eyes, and his fangs slightly distended; in any other situation, (Y/N) might have laughed at how surprised he seemed, but it seemed as though she were frozen in time, unable to do anything but stare earnestly up at them, hoping he understood how much she cared for him.

"You… what?"

"I love you," she repeated, her body moving without her permission to roll her hips up into him, moving his cock even further inside her. "Please, Eren, I need—"

He cut her off with a forceful, bruising kiss, and his hips started making slow, deep thrusts inside her, her legs hiked up over his shoulders.

"Again," he said against her lips."Say it again."

"I love you."

Another thrust or two, a hand circling her wounded throat.

"Again."

"I love you, Eren."

"Again."

This time, it was only a whisper.

"I love you," she said, and Eren began fucking her in earnest.

"You are so fucking beautiful," he told her as he thrust hard and deep inside her. "You're every man's dream, a nirvana the damned such as myself were never meant to reach. (Y/N), you are everything, and I—"

He seemed to choke on the words, and (Y/N) kissed him as he tried to regain his composure.

"I don't deserve you," he said, shaking with the force of their passion. "I don't deserve your love."

It's not about deserving, she wanted to say, It never was, but then she was coming again, her climax contracting her walls around her lover, and it was all she could do to remain conscious as Eren fucked her relentlessly through it all, chasing his own high.

It was only later, after a shower and something to eat that they finally spoke again. They were back in bed, and Eren's arm was wrapped around her, as though he were afraid to let her go for even a moment; truthfully, (Y/N) thought he was asleep, but then his breath tickled her ear as he said,

"I love you, angel."

And that, (Y/N) thought, had been worth it all, in the end.

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

🕯Anon said: hi sweetheart 🕊 can you write about armin having a quiet night with the reader? something like wearing comfy pajamas, fairy lights, cute little candles, incense, soft songs and maybe some reading? and they just cuddling? 🥺 i think about that whenever i go to sleep and do all of the above, but i'm just by myself lmao anyways, thank you so much 🌸 (btw i'm the anon who asked you about the armin x painter!reader 🥺 hello 🥺 i just love how you write can we be friends please) 🕯

Quiet night with Armin

{ Armin x Reader | tw:none | sleep help, comfort, fluff | modern }

{ "Twilight, Valley of the Genesee" 1865 by Samuel Colman 1832 - 1920 }

Shimmering golden hues weaved across pastel blue walls in the form of strings, crossing the bookshelf before making a turn at the plants corner, illuminating the room with a soft warm glow.

Your head rested against the satin pillow, just right above Armin's shoulder, close enough that you can see the rise and fall of his chest with every breath. The ends of his hair ghosting over your cheek whenever he leaned to tell a particular clever line of the book he's been reading to you.

You can't exactly remember the name of it, but you can clearly recall his excited smile this morning when showing it to you.

"It's one of my favourites" he said, "the last time i got to reread it was in high-school, has it really been that long?" And that's all you can remember from the conversation before it got sidetracked by him asking if you had lunch yet.

There's definitely something to be said about rereading a book over and over again, a sense of familiarity, an attachment to the characters, plot and world setting. It's almost magic how quickly your comfort book, show or movie can turn a horrible day into a nice one, making it the silver lining.

Looking at the way Armin would pause for a second after some lines, or chuckle at random scenes, like it's an inside joke between him and his mind, you can tell he's definitely recalling some good memories.

Just like how he's adding to his list of comfort memories by sharing this experience with you, he wants you to be a part of this silly book he once picked up as a child and continued to revisit every few years.

You glance at the remaining pages, just as he flips another one to start anew. You've already finished a third of the book, only a quarter remaining.

It's not that you're getting impatient, but it's more that the soft blanket draped over you, the warmth of Armin's body pressed next to yours and the sound of his voice, are all luring you into a hazy cloudy state where your eyelids feel too heavy and turning your head to check the clock seems too exhausting.

How long has it been? since you curled up against him right after you went to put your empty hot chocolate mugs in the sink.

You don't have the heart to tell him that your brain stopped registering the words he's saying and instead listens to the tone of his soft-spoken voice and reacts accordingly. Stealing another glance at the remaining pages, you notice a few missing, okay good, just a few more. You can hold on right?

Right?

Forcing your eyes open, you suppress a yawn threatening to rise before curling even closer to his shoulder, face against his neck, hand over his chest.

Instead of focusing on his calming heartbeat, you try to focus your attention on different things, like the smell of snowdrops flowers filling the room from the scented incense sitting on the nightstand. 

Snowdrops, the milky bell-like flowers who befriended the cold harsh snow herself.

An ancient German tale that Armin told you, on one early spring morning. When the universe was just in bloom, as the earth shaped its form and the plants dressed themselves, when the god in the heavens above just created snow, she was told to go seek her colours from the flowers below.

She came with her request, but the flowers turned their heads, refusing to acknowledge her for she is the reason for the harsh weather, deeming their life spans short, overzealous and jealous, protecting their colours from the merciless lady snow. 

She was left all alone, friendliness, colourless with no love or sympathy from a soul.

Except for one, came knocking on her door, head bowed down and humbly offered to share. Snowdrops were the flowers that warmed the snow's heart, and so white was the colour in which snow was known.

Snow made a vow, to always protect her one and only friend, even from her own self. Under her watchful gaze, snowdrops were gifted with warmth that let them be the first flowers to bloom when winter bid her goodbyes as spring was arriving soon.

You've never seen snowdrops the same since, their delicate and shy nature standing out between all the proud flowers, you even suggested planting some to Armin.

"...but sweetheart" you remember him saying with a frown, " snowdrops are poisonous."

…

Yeah, and so getting their scented incense was the second best option available.

You hear the sound of another page being turned, fewer left to go, just hold on a bit longer.

Wondering the room with your eyes, your gaze fell on the straw sunhat hanging from the on the back of a chair. It's Armin's favourite, he'd always wear it when the sun was particularly bright that day.

you remember him saying it was a gift from his grandpa when he was a child.

His grandpa...didn't you visit his farm a few months ago?

...yeah you did, you can recall clearly, how you were:

Squinting your eyes to avoid the bright sun, you wiped the sweat collecting on your forehead before leaning your head back against the wooden wall. The occasional passing cool breeze distracting you from the dryness in your throat, even after moving to sit in the shade your skin still felt too hot.

The grassy fields in front stretched wide before ending in white pained fences, where the crops patches for vegetables started.

The sudden gentle waves of cool air against your skin made you glance to the side, where Armin was fanning you with his hat, while holding a tray with two ice filled lemonades in his other hand.

"Are you sure you don't want to go inside?" He said, sitting next to you before handing you the cold drink, "you've already done a lot, I'll do take care of the rest."

You've been helping Armin with the farm work since sunrise, feeding the animals together and watering the crops, saying you're exhausted from the scorching hot sun was an underestimation.

And yet, somehow Armin seems unaffected. Not a sign of being bothered as he sat there next to you with his rolled up sleeves and cuffed pants, the slight flushing to his face was the only thing he got from the sun.

"Yeah, I need to lay down a bit." You remember saying, after emptying your drink in one go.

"If that's the case then-" setting the tray aside, Armin patted his lap while looking at you, "Come here."

Too tired to protest, you layed your head on his thigh, feeling your back stretching and the cool air from his fanning was already making you feel better.

"You know, there's a story my grandpa used to tell me about the sun."

An Australian folklore, about a time when the earth was merged in absolute Darkness, when even the stars refused to light up the sky.

Eternal darkness was the fate of humanity, as people were spent their lives carrying torches to light up their way.

Gnowee was an alone mother in a forsaken world, left to fend for her little son. Each day while he slept safely, she'd venture into the the fields in search for plants or seeds. Knowing very well that's it's a matter of life and death if she couldn't come back with something edible.

Each day she'd come with whatever she could find, feeding it to her son even if it meant sleeping on an empty stomach.

But with food scarce and the abyss looming at every corner, things were harder each day.

One day after rocking her child to sleep, she quietly left with her torch to dig for yams she saw on her way last time. Retracting her footsteps, it was a long journey but she knew it'd be worth it.

And so she walked and walked till she reached the place, began digging the ground but dirt and mud was all that she could find. But she couldn't just go back to her son empty handed, and so she wandered far.

She wandered so far in fact that she reached the end, not the end of her journey but the end of the earth itself.

Somehow, in someway she managed to pass from under it, her will for her son to live another day far greater that anything, and so she emerged from the other side.

The void.

Where nothingness lived.

Looking at the vast empty space, she didn't know where she was, the line between the ground and walls was so blurred that she thought she's floating.

Panic and dread filled her mind as she raised her torch higher and higher, attempting to clear a path for her to see. For she had to go back to her son, all alone sleeping by himself.

Climbing the sky was her only solution, as she wondered the world, unknowingly lighting up a path with her as she went.

"And so the Sun Goddess wonders the sky above, in search for her son." Armin told you that day, before offering you his own lemonade to drink because he was still worried about you.

...

You can't recall how that day ended, you think you might have fell asleep on his lap right after.

The fairylights on the wall reminded you of the clear stars sky you've seen while on the farm, his grandfather was a really sweet guy too.

With your mind still coulded in drowsiness, your hearing was also delayed apparently, since you just noticed the book in Armin's hold was closed with him staring at you with a smile instead.

Moving so he could set the book on the nightstand, Armin turned towards you before pulling you closer to him, making sure the covers don't slip off of you. He cupped your face, stroking your cheek with love in his eyes.

"I'm sorry baby, did I take too long?" He said, glancing at the clock behind you answered his question. 

You shook your head, murmuring a slurred "it's alright." 

Posture visibly relaxing, he gave your cheek a small kiss before resting too on the pillow next to you, a yawn escaping him.

With half closed eyes, you saw him cuddling close to your chest, features softening as he bid you goodnight. Your hand moved to stroke his hair just like he always liked, lacing your fingers through the soft strands you closed your eyes too. 

Warmth took over you, the feeling of his soft breath near your neck, the comfortable weight of his arms around you, the slow ticking of the clock, it all rocked you to sleep as you happily gave in.

[abarbaricyalp]

Idk if you are still taking prompts, but you know the vine two dudes chilling in a hot tub 5 feet apart cause they're not gay, and a girl quoting it in a park about two girls in the distance and one of them hearing and going "Actually I am gay" Like that scenario, only involving them fixing the boat? Maybe Sarah quoting it to give Sam shit when she thinks Bucky cant hear and Bucky goes "Wait, no I'm gay" or something, or just the general gist of that. Sorry if this us too specific, I've never sent anyone a prompt before :P

Hello Friend! Thank you so much for sending anything in at all! I know the vine you're talking about, but I couldn't find it on Youtube. (I did find a two day rabbit hole of old compilations though) This was also my first foray into writing Sarah as a fully fleshed character! I was excited to get the practice 'cause I had an idea bouncing around in my head about her and Bucky talking after he wakes up in the Wilson house. I kept her a little more like she had been in my other fics pre-show here. I so wish we got a little more of her!

Feel free, anyone, to send me Sambucky prompts!

The North American Superhero in a Domestic Situation

Sarah Wilson loved her brother deeply. The kind of soul crushing love that could only be formed through family, loss, and approximately four thousand brawls around the living room throughout their life. She looked up to her brother more than she could ever imagine looking up to anyone. Even when they were fighting or picking on each other, she couldn’t help but feel a swell in her chest when he came into her line of sight.

That didn’t mean she understood him. In fact, from the age of eight, watching her brother interact with the world had become her go-to pastime. Why did he have to roll every pea around the plate individually before eating them? Why did he and his friends spend seven years socking each other in the arm to prove friendship? Why did he talk to himself in the mirror, even when he knew Sarah or someone else was standing in the doorway?

Sam Wilson was just deeply weird. She had no idea how he had tricked the Avengers, a plethora of bad guys, and half of the media world into thinking he was remotely cool. She saw a news story once that had King T’Challa standing on a platform with Sam and the newscasters talked about how impressive Sam’s suit was. It was unnatural, the effect he had on people.

And in all her years, she never thought she’d see anyone weirder than Sam. But then James Barnes had showed up. It was like a complete reversal of Sam. Sarah was taken in for approximately three hours by his charm and face before she realized he too was deeply, deeply weird.

She justified sitting on the edge of the Paul and Darlene, watching her brother and James Barnes spar off about some dumb trivia fact, by deciding it was an anthropological expedition. The North American Superhero in a Domestic Situation. She watched Sam watch Barnes take a long pull off his beer. She watched Barnes kick his feet up near Sam’s legs and then draw them back quickly when a current jolted the boat. She watched Barnes’ fingers tap-tap-tap against the edge of the boat, inching closer to Sam’s shoulder before he chickened out and brought his hand back to his own lap. She watched Sam suggest Bucky take his jacket off, ‘unless you plan on sun blinding me with the robocop arm.’ She watched Sam look away when Barnes did shrug his jacket off.

When she was seventeen and Sam was fifteen, she had found Sam crying in his room, pillow pressed to his face to muffle the noise. They were at the age where going into each other’s rooms uninvited started international conflicts, but Sarah, who watched her brother intently, felt like she knew what was going on. So she let herself in through their Jack-and-Jill bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Sam didn’t stop crying, not even to yell at her to get out, so she sat on the end of his bed and rolled a baseball under her foot for a while. Finally, she’d said, “You don’t have to tell Mom and Dad, y’know.”

Sam had just about wailed and bit the corner of his pillow to stop himself.

“That’s gross, stop it,” Sarah ordered and pushed Sam’s shoulder back enough to yank his pillow free and then reached over to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “I should make you do the laundry this week so I know I’m not touching your snot germs,” she teased softly.

“How did you know?” Sam hiccuped out. Tears were still brimming at his eyes, but they didn’t fall.

“I’m your older sister. I made you. Like a doll. You think there’s something about you that I don’t know?” she joked. And when the tears did spill over his long lashes, she sighed and pulled him closer to her side. “I just know the way you interact with that boy from the basketball team ain’t just friendly.”

“Jesus, do you think he can tell?” Sam asked and she could hear the mortification in his voice.

“Sam, he’s a freshman in high school. The only thing he knows is that he’s scared of everything too. No one’s paying that much attention to you.”

“Screw you,” Sam muttered.

“What’re all these tears for you if you didn’t make a move and get shot down?”

“God, Sarah, can you not say things like that?”

“Watch your mouth,” Sarah warned with no heat in her voice. “Come on, tell me what’s wrong. I’m not leaving until you do.”

“I just…” Sam sat up and worked his jaw for a while. His chin dimpled and his eyes watered but he managed to control himself. “I’m scared, Sarah. I’m scared of never being in love. Of having to leave if I am. I’m scared to say something and I’m scared not to say something. I’m so scared of...losing any of it.”

“Sam,” Sarah sighed and pulled Sam into another hug. “You’re fifteen. You’re not supposed to be in love yet. You don’t have to think about any of that. You just have to focus on passing Geometry, alright? Mom’ll whoop your ass more for failing than anything else.”

“I have a B+, that’s not failing!” Sam snapped. He kept his face against her shoulder for a second long before he sat up and wiped his tears away. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Who am I gonna tell? I told you, my friends don’t like you as much as you think they do.”

“Your friends like me more than they like you,” Sam shot back and he almost sounded normal.

Sarah smiled softly and patted Sam’s cheek. “I won’t tell Mom or Dad. Of course not. That’s for you to do. But--”

“I’m always going to tell them when you sneak out the window.”

“No! Sam! You can’t! You owe me now!”

“Going to field parties is not the same thing!” Sam said in a shriek as Sarah leaned over to pinch his sides. They grappled for a second before Sam managed to push Sarah off the bed.

“You owe me,” she reminded him as she walked back to the bathroom.

Sam wiped his eyes again and nodded. “Sure, Sarah. I do.”

Sam almost had the same look on his face now. Like there was something he wanted to reach for that he thought was too impossible to hold. The Older Sister Instinct to Antagonize into a Solution kicked in.

“Two bros, chilling on a boat, five feet apart ‘cause they’re not gay,” she sing-songed. Sam looked mortified again but masked his face into something more irritated with a roll of his eyes when Barnes looked over at him.

“Ignore her. It’s this old video--” Sam started.

But Bucky interrupted to say, “Actually I am gay,” as he looked back over at Sarah. “Sorry if I got your hopes up,” he added with a grin that really did get the hopes up.

“What?” Sam asked and Sarah, ever watchful, could see the beer bottle shaking in his hand.

“What?” Bucky repeated innocently.

“He said he’s gay,” Sarah clarified.

“Thank you, Sarah,” Sam ground out. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Bucky snorted. “When would I have said anything? ‘Sorry for ripping your wings off and kicking you off of a hellicarrier, by the way I’m gay.’?”

“You did what?” Sarah asked.

“‘Sorry for claiming I didn’t bomb the UN only to be reverted back to the assassin who would have done that and then fighting you again. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘Thanks for saving my life. Sorry about the giant undersea prison. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘There’s an imminent battle with weird ass space dogs that want to eat our faces. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘Sorry about Tony Stark, whose life I kind of ruined. Lovely funeral. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘I’m in the middle of being pissed at you about the Shield. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘Maybe don’t take me rolling through a field of flowers. It does things to me ‘cause I’m gay.’ ‘John Walker’s fucking insane. I’m gay, but definitely not for this bullshit.’ I mean, come on, Sam.”

“Flowers?” Sarah asked.

“Besides, why would you care? I don’t make it a habit of telling straight guys I’m into guys.”

“You don’t seem to make a habit of telling many people that,” Sarah pointed out. “I googled you. Nothing suggesting that came up.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’m a guy from the 30s. It was trained out of me.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sarah said quickly. “Back up away from that because we’re not gonna try to Oppression Olympics our way through our histories. Did you just say Sam was straight?”

“Sarah!” Sam hissed.

“Sure. I mean, I saw him with Romanov. Hill. He has Tinder on his phone.”

“Samuel Thomas, you better not,” Sarah warned lightly. “You’re better than that.”

“He’s a lady-killer.”

Sarah snorted and had to bring her hand up to her face. “He definitely is not. There has been no lady-killing on his end for a long time.”

“Sarah!” Sam tried again.

“You explain it to him then. Mr. 30s is gonna need the long way round explanation.”

Sam sighed and dragged his hand over his face. “Dammit. Fine. I’m not straight either, alright? I’m...bi, or something. It’s been a while since I’ve had to think about it.”

“What?” Bucky asked, not unlike Sam had.

“He said he’s bisexual. Interested in both parties. Swings either way. Hit a homerun and then hasn’t really swung since.”

“Sarah, Jesus Christ,” Sam groaned.

“What?” Bucky asked again.

“I was engaged. To a man,” Sam said.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bucky asked, clearly missing the irony.

“Oh, it was inconvenient for you but I had plenty of opportunities, huh?” Sam asked. “Ms. Tell-It-All over there wasn’t joking. I haven’t swung any direction in a while. Not since before I met Steve. My fiance died. And then it never came up.”

Bucky blinked at Sam. He kept bringing the bottle halfway up his body and then setting it back on his leg without ever taking a drink. “Fuck, Sam, I’m sorry,” Bucky said, which was not what Sarah was expecting and it clearly wasn’t what Sam was expecting because Sam finally moved closer to Bucky on the bench.

“What for? You didn’t do anything. This time.”

“Yeah, but if I’d known you were into me too, I woulda kissed you in Germany.”

“Oh, I am so not into you,” Sam denied. “And I wouldn’t have our first kiss ruined by immediately running into the government’s roving show monkey.”

“That’s the worst,” Bucky agreed and also finally moved over on the bench until they were pressed thigh to thigh. “Tell me how much you don’t like me again,” he challenged.

“I can’t stand you,” Sam answered and brought his hand up to Bucky’s jaw.

Sarah couldn’t fight down the grin that came to her face and turned to prop her feet on the pier, back to Sam and Bucky. Just this once, she didn’t need to watch her brother to understand him.

Read on AO3 here!

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

We've Got Tonight - Ch 5

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This story is set hazily around season 8. Just squint a little, and it’ll settle in somewhere. I wrote this story after certain big revelations in the show, but before other big ones; you’ll most likely be able to tell which. I play with time a bit in the story itself, so if things seem out of order, they are. Hopefully, by the end, all the pieces will fit together.

What the hell, let’s give it a shot.

Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

This chapter in particular is dedicated to @foxyjwls007 . If I'm going to torture you with something, it's not going to be a cliffhanger. I'm going out of town for two weeks, so you get an update early since I won't be able to post while I'm away. Thank you for the encouragement.

In case you missed it: Chapter 4 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

We’ve Got Tonight

Chapter 5

“Miss? Miss? Hey, are you okay?”

A hand grips Andy’s arm, firm but polite, and she jerks to, almost losing her footing. It’s been a long day already, and she still has two hours before she can go home, shower, and put her feet up for a little while before karaoke at the Brass Monkey starts up.

Maybe I can even fit in a nap, she thinks excitedly. But first, gotta wake up and make it through the rest of my shift.

Of course, if she hadn’t been tossing and turning all night from a crazy dream, she wouldn’t be as tired as she is now, but that’s neither here nor there. And it doesn’t help that she can’t even remember the stupid dream. It was really long, though, and there was blood and books and…someone...

“Can I get a refill over here?”

One hour, forty-seven minutes, and twenty-two seconds to go. She can do this.

The minutes crawl, though, and it’s all she can do to stay on her feet and focus. The lunch crowd has long since thinned, and she’s about to ask if she can maybe take off a little early when the door chimes, and she catches the tail end of the entering customers’ conversation.

“Could you at least consider putting something green on your plate? Like, ever? Broccoli won’t kill you.”

“I’ve already told you, I’m getting breakfast since you didn’t wake me up early enough to eat a decent one this morning. Pancakes, bacon, and coffee, which, I might add, grows on a tree, so it counts as a plant. That’s balanced enough for me. You like broccoli; knock yourself out, Jolly Green.”

“Sam isn’t green, Dean. Is your vision faulty? Perhaps we should get your eyes examined. Or you could try carrots along with the broccoli. Carrots are supposed to improve vision.”

No. No, no, no, she thinks, her mind whirling frantically. It was a dream, they can’t be here. This is...this is how it started, and...

She turns, and there they are, Sam and Dean dolled up in their clean, pressed feds suits and Cas looking just as rumpled and bewildered as she suddenly remembers. They seat themselves at an empty table in her section, but any thoughts of leaving early evaporated the second she heard their voices.

Every moment of the dream, every minute of those four weeks comes screaming back, cramming each terror-laden, tension-ridden second into her mind so fast she actually does stumble and has to grab the back of a nearby booth to keep from hitting the worn-out linoleum.

“It...hasn’t happened yet.”

“I’m sorry, did you say something? Hey, hey, hold on there. Are you okay?”

Then Sam’s hand is supporting her elbow, helping her straighten up, and she looks up into his concerned eyes, unable to express how glad she is just to see him breathing. Behind him, Dean and Cas are arguing about something trivial, wonderfully animated and alive and completely unaware of her.

“I’m sorry, hun, it’s just been a long shift. Gimme a minute to grab some waters and menus, and I’ll be right over.” Sam accepts her flimsy excuse at face value, and why wouldn’t he? He hasn’t lived with her for the better part of a month, hasn’t saved her life once, hasn’t tried to save the world with her. He doesn’t know her at all.

Why should he question a strange waitress in a strange diner who says she’s had a long day? He’s met hundreds of women just like her, maybe thousands, and he’s got no reason to question a completely legitimate statement.

She rushes into the back to find the coldest water possible to splash on her face. Her reflection gapes back at her from the staff bathroom mirror as the enormity of her situation begins to dawn on her.

Why? Why is this happening? Either she actually lived through those weeks and is somehow getting a do-over, or she dreamed the whole thing and is getting a shot to fix things from this end. But why? And how?

How in the hell?

Think, Andrea, think. It was real. It will be real. It hasn’t happened yet. You haven’t screwed everything up yet. You have to fix this. But how? How can I fix it when I screwed everything up so very badly last time?

Just...think. Think. Start small. Try to stop it before it happens. But...the cult. Crowley said they were real. They found me before, they’ll find me again. I could talk to Sam and Dean and Cas about what's going to happen. They’ve been through enough insanity in their lives that I actually have a pretty good shot at convincing them.

She stares into the mirror, racking her brain for every helpful detail she learned during her time with the Winchesters.

They're already investigating all the break-ins hereabouts; those were the cultists looking for me in the first place. Then they find me, take me, bleed me, and start the apocalypse. The boys could stop the ritual before it even happens.

Her reflection in the mirror frowns, unconvinced the solution could possibly be that easy.

But the literature, the books, it’s all still out there. Someone else could find it, could come after me. My blood is the problem. I’m the key. As long as I’m around, someone could still use me to end everything. Crowley can still use me to get to them. Think. You’ve got to actually stop everything and save them this time.

Her eyes widen as realization dawns. The world can’t make it without the Winchesters. There’s only one way out of this.

Fifteen minutes later, she sets a fresh green salad in front of Sam before dropping a towering stack of steaming pancakes in front of Dean.

“Fresh pot of coffee coming off in two, be right back with your refills. Need any more butter or syrup, hun? How ‘bout a couple of extra pieces of bacon on the house?”

“Don’t encourage him, please,” Sam groans. Dean slaps his brother on the back of the head, sending Sam’s coiffed hair into a tizzy of disarray. Sam swipes back at his brother, who waves off Sam’s attempts at retaliation like he’s swatting a fly.

“You shut your pie hole. She said free bacon. That makes her a queen.” He turns his most charming smile on her, glancing down at her name tag then back up to meet her gaze squarely. The crinkles around his eyes deepen with his grin. “Andrea, is it?”

“Andy,” she corrects automatically, and she can’t help her answering smile. He throws her a wink that clearly says he knows he’s cheesy but it's all part of his irresistible charm.

She doesn’t disagree.

“You are a goddess, Andy. I love you, and you need to know that.”

“You don’t,” she says, only just managing to keep her voice and smile level, “but you could.” His answering laugh sends a twinge through her chest, and if she clenches her jaw a little around her smile, she figures she’s entitled.

When the men finally finish eating, she offers a slip of paper to Dean, while Sam pretends he isn’t rolling his eyes.

“There’s a karaoke competition at the Brass Monkey tonight. Winner gets tab on the house for a week. Interested in maybe meeting up there around ten or so? We could have a drink, sing a song, and see where the rest of the night takes us.”

He grins and takes the slip from her with sure fingers. She’s certain he has her number memorized before the paper even retains his prints, but he makes a special show of tucking it safely into his pocket.

“Dean, do you think it wise to allow yourself to be so distracted when we’re in the middle of an investigation?”

And without even realizing it, Cas gives her the perfect opening.

“Oh, you boys investigating all the break-ins hereabouts? Were they too much for our local boys to handle? Listen, hun, my friend was one of the ladies whose house got broken into. If you want to stick around for a few minutes, I can fill you in on what I know and send you her way. Would that help?”

Castiel’s eyebrows lift in surprise, and he is clearly pleased with his first-rate investigating skills. “That would help immensely, Miss Andrea. Thank you.”

She can’t believe her luck at such a perfect lead-in, and she runs with it.

“Now that I think about it, the shop next door mentioned something about their alarm getting tripped a few nights in a row. Maybe I could talk to your friend while you two check it out? And I’ll see you tonight, Dean? Ten o’clock?”

Dean’s grin softens, and she can see the faintest tinge of red along his cheeks. She didn’t notice it the first time around, and now she wishes she’d paid more attention. Then the brothers leave, and she’s alone with the angel. ...

Chapter 6

[caasiturner]

Hurricanes and Jon.

Jon Bellion is an extremely talented artist. My favorite album of his is The Human Condition. Every single song is a straight banger, his beats stir up all kinds of emotion, and his lyrics speak to the depths of my soul. My favorite track is, however, Hand of God.  Throughout the song he speaks of his stresses, ex-girlfriends, and the struggle of life. The line that really resonates with me is,

“ I might break

Angry at all the things, angry at all the things I can't change

When you're lost in the universe, lost in the universe

Don't lose faith

My mother says, "Your whole life's in the hand of God"

Nothing has changed, he is the same

"Your whole life's in the hand of God"

That’s hard for me to accept. I can’t see that hand. We sung about it a lot growing up, “He’s got the whole world in his hands, etc, etc. etc.” We talked in Sunday School about how there’s a God who’s got His eye “on the sparrow”. We are told there’s someone who knows our every need. But as an adult it’s really hard to believe.

As I’ve reiterated countless times before I tend to be a doubting Thomas in search of constant reassuarance. A person who needs tangibles, reasons, hard data and evidence. I need to figure everything out, most likely due to never knowing during my childhood. I need to be able to hang onto things, to fully understand. I don’t take things at face value, I research, I make hypothesis and test them, I deduce and find the answer.

But life has a sense of humor.

Every time I start to figure out things the slightest bit, I am humbled, reset, back handed if you will. This year I finally saved my first thousand dollars. Now maybe to you that’s insignificant. For me it was huge. I grew up under the poverty line, and through a lot of sweat and blood, I’ve been paying my own way since I was 17. To finally see four digits in my savings was an amazing feeling.

I struggle hanging onto relationships. I’ve been transparent about this multiple times. It’s been hard getting over my latest relationship mostly because she was nearly everything I thought I wanted. Some days it’s hard to believe there’s something better out there. Or that I am even meant to be with someone. But, after not speaking since summer I finally felt in a good place mentally and emotionally.

Then this week happened.

My clutch in my car is now shot. It’s gonna cost over five-hundred dollars to fix. Everything I worked for is gone in a single day. Just like that.

The girl I felt I had finally moved on from texted me, asking for help. My heart literally dropped and I wasn’t sure how to feel. Anger in the fact you hit me up because you need something. Confusion in why would you turn to me. Eagerness to assist and concern in because I still care for you as a person no matter the past.

I yelled at the sky. I’m frustrated. Angry even. Tired of fighting. Aching for this horrid year of 2018 to be over.

I feel like a ship trying to weather a storm. Every time I conquer one wave, yet another crashes down. I feel like I’ll never get my head above the water, as if God Himself finds a sadistic joy in personally holding me under. I strive and fight so hard, yet all ends the same. Empty. Meaningless. Hopeless even.

I just want to figure this all out. Know what I’m suppose to be doing. Know what I’m doing wrong. Know why everything is a constant struggle. Know why am I even here or what my purpose is.

People say I bless their life all the time. I’m so genuine or so kind or so this and blah blah blah. You don’t know me. You can’t even imagine half of what I’ve felt or gone through. Walk a mile in my shoes and you’d probably trip over the size of my feet. You don’t see my inside world, what I battle every day, or the stuff I see. You don’t see the tortured mind of an artist, the confusion of a twenty-two year old, the anxiety and worry of someone who’s living far above his years, the broadness of my back as I carry countless bags of baggage and multiple burdens (some self-inflicted and some who are by rights others to carry).

You don’t see the homesickness for someone I haven’t yet met. The tiredness of being called “baby” by people who don’t mean it (Shout out my guy Ed Sheeran). You don’t see how lost I am or how badly I want to be found. You don’t see how “I don't want to kill myself because others will get the job of cleaning up my blood from a gun shot, cutting the rope above my head or telling my parents I'm dead. I just want to disappear.”

How’s that lyric go Mansionz?

“...Nobody knows, nobody knows, no one (no one)

You'll never know, you'll never know me,

I wanna believe in religion

But nobody reminds me of God

I wanna believe in what I hear and what I read

But it mostly reminds me I'm lost

I wanna believe that when I fuck it's romantic

But no lovers remind me of love

And I need to believe in moderation

'Cause believers believe in too much

I learned to lie

I learned to lie when I was younger

Tell me somethin' true...”

Yeah. I feel that on a spiritual level.

But.

To live by feelings is to live falsely. Feelings lie. Feelings change. Feelings come and go. What holds us together?

Faith.

A “ Complete trust or confidence in someone or something.”

or

A “ Belief; the assent of the mind to the truth of what is declared by another, resting on his authority and veracity, without other evidence (Webster).

Faith in there being a greater plan. Faith in a better tomorrow. Resting my life and hopes and dreams, without other evidence, into “The Hands of God.” A higher being. Something larger than myself. without seeing the end result. That’s completely counter intuitive my nature.

Maybe Puddleglum from The Chronicles of Narnia states it best in C.S Lewis’s classic The Silver Chair. Our hero is hard pressed, and a witch is doing all she can to convince him to lose his faith in the great lion Aslan and his memories of life above ground. Just as he is about to give over to her power he states,

“  All you've been saying is quite right, I shouldn't wonder. I'm a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won't deny any of what you said. But there's one more thing to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things-trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's a small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say.”

Do I have that faith? Faith to believe no matter what lies I tell myself it’s all for a reason? That there is something out?  That this world I currently see is but a shadow, a vapor, a breath, a blip in an endless line of eternity? That there are no accidents, or meaninglessness?

Can I believe that? 

I want to. I am tired of keeping my hands on the Wheel of this ship. I’m tired of trying to keep my ship afloat. I’m tired of trying to do everything from my own power. I’m tired of failing at attempting to run out this storm, keep my sails aloft, or row my own way.

So this is me.

I’m giving over for I have no one else to turn to.

Friends and family can’t help me. Money won’t save me. Running away is a temporary solution. So here is a public declaration. I surrender. I give up. Take this wheel. Beach this ship if you have to.

Just take my life and place it into your hands.

[thirstyfortom]

i can't exactly see if the requests are closed or opened so if they're closed, please feel free to ignore this ^^ how would the RFA react to MC being a past pageant queen who was very successful, yet is very insecure because her pageants had brought her attention to her flaws that she became obsessed with trying to be beautiful, even to this day when she isn't doing pageants. i'm so sorry if it's too much to ask!

Such an interesting request, and it feels very close to home. As I said before, I used to do pageants as a kid, and up until these days is still very bittersweet. So… I honestly don’t know if I did s good job with this, I aplogize in advance if this wasn’t what you wanted :(

Anyway, here it is… don’t hate me if this is bad. 

RFA react to MC being a former pageant queen

Zen

Hecaught you going through some photos one day. Tons of photos of you smiling,waving, holding the crown and probably the tears.

Youmentioned your pageants before, but very superficially. So he thought it wassomething you weren’t really proud of.

Buthe’s watching you seeing these photos and… oh, he knows this look, you’relooking for flaws. Yeah, he does that occasionally watching himself, which parthe can improve, what he could correct, these kind of things that perfectionistsenjoy.

“Hey,babe, what are you up to?” you show the photos and tell him the story behindevery pageant, you don’t talk much about the ones you won, your attention isall on that one you’re a runner up.

Youkeep on going about the winner of that particular pageant. She’s so beautiful,so nice, so talented, so charismatic, ugh… she’s just… flawless.

Sohe gets it, he’s usually very worried about what other people think, and you…are struggling because of what you think of yourself. He would be sad for anyperson on this situation, but being you… it hurts him a lot more.

Becausehe keeps telling you how perfect you are, and how you two are such a perfectcouple… is he pressuring you on the same way these pageants did?

Andthe press isn’t really helping, talking about “power couple” “just imaginetheir kids” and all that shallow bullshit.

Sothere’s one thing he can do, it won’t solve your self-image problems entirely,but maybe you’ll be able to at least move on from that one pageant.Hetakes you to meet the girl who beat you. It’s so weird, you haven’t spoken withher for years… you feel so embarrassed for all the jealousy you felt back then.

“Jealous?Girl, you won every state pageant you’ve been on since you were a teenager, youmade the word pay attention to South Korea and showed million of women howasian is beautiful. I know all that because I’ve been your fan for so long, andbeating you was the most bittersweet feeling I ever felt. So, on that note… Ithink you should have this…” and she hands you her sash.

“Ohno… I can’t take it, it’s… no, this is wrong.” “Please… you have to! Wouldn’tyou do this for the winner?” you sigh and reluctantly let her put the sash onyou.

Zengives you a bouquet and hugs you, then he whispers to you: “Now, prance, myqueen.” You blush and weirdly stride, waving and smiling with the two of themclapping, and now you don’t hold your tears.

Yoosung

Hesaw you looking those photos, he would stare at them like this too as you lookstunning in all of them.

Youtold him about the pageants and he didn’t feel less than impressed. Wow, hisgirlfriend is a big deal on something huge like this, he’s proud of you, morethan that, he’s proud of being with you.

Butyou don’t look amazed, you’re more like scanning those photos or something, asyou were seeing something really wrong.

“Hey,honey, what’s up?” you tell him about the pageants and how you lost that one inparticular, nobody ever mentioned this, but you’re pretty sure you lost becauseyou fell on the stairs.

 Youaccess Youtube and look up the video of your fall, it’s painful to watch. No,not your fall, your face while you’re watching this.

 Youkeep telling him you still don’t understand what happened, did the gown crawlup on your heel? Did you miss one of the stair’s steps?

Well,he doesn’t know much about gowns, and heels or pageants, but he knows all aboutbeing self-conscious. So he gets your struggle, and it hurts him even more thatyou would feel like he used to feel almost everyday before you came along.

Yes,he has you always lifting him up, telling him how great he is, how he can doit. Why can’t he be like this to you?

Hesees you as the most amazing person in the world, sometimes he feels he’s notenough for you, and you’re struggling for something it happened years ago, anddoesn’t represent you or your pageant career?

Butthis isn’t about him, right? No… it’s time for him to lift you up! He’s notsure of what he can do, but he has a goofy idea that can at least bring somesmile on your face.

Sohe appears in the living room, you just notice his legs trembling, when youlook down… you see your boyfriend wearing a pair of heels. “Can you teach mehow to walk on these?”

You…aren’t sure how to react, is he… making fun of you? “N-No! Not at all! I just…think it’s a very difficult thing, and I saw how you move so elegant on these,so you might be the right person to teach me. Please don’t let me destroy themor Seven will kill me”

 “Andwhy would you want to learn something like this?” “For the same reason youwanted me to teach you how to play LOLOL.” Your heart flutters, he just wantsyou to show him something you’re really good at it.

Soyou give up and teach him. The right posture, some tricks to don’t look souncomfortable, stuff like that.

He’strying so hard, you can see the pain on his face, but he keeps on going, youwould never laugh at him, but you can’t hold back a chuckle when he falls inyour arms and blushes. “That’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with fallingsometimes.”

Andyou realize what you just said, did he… did he do this just so you could cometo this conclusion?

“Notreally, I… just wanted to make you laugh at me for being a dork. But let’s staywith your way of seeing this.”

Jaehee

You’vealready show her the photos prom your pageant days, she loves your smile oneach one of them

Actually,she loves all the stories about it. The places you went to, the people you met,the works you did, it’s very impressive.

Andthen there were the photos about that one pageant, that one you won, but didn’tfeel like you deserve it, as all the rumors pointed out that you slept with oneof the judges

 Youhaven’t told her this, she knew because of a little research she did aftergetting so fascinated with your pageant career.

Andshe knows you pretty well by now to know it wasn’t just because of the rumors,it was because you couldn’t understand why people would think you couldn’t winthis by your own merits.

Yes,that’s the problem. You really didn’t deserve it? Why? What was wrong with you?Did you answer the questions too vaguely? Did you look dumb? But that kind ofdumb who’s smart enough to make a move on one of the judges?

Itkills her to see you like this, you have no idea! She used to have a very lowself esteem, but you and your encouragement boost her confidence so much!

You’rebeautiful, no doubt, but your ability to make other people feel  beautiful, inside and out, it’s somethingcompletely hors-concours

Soyes, you should be more aware of this talent of yours, so she organizes a lady-onlyday in the café.

Andshe asks you to give a small workshop about ways of finding your inner beautyand boosting your confidence.

“But,Jaehee, I know nothing about this, I’m not… smart enough to give a workshop!”“Of course you do! You’ve been giving me these workshops ever since we met.”

“Well,that’s different…” “Okay, so before you start, shall I tell these ladies whatyou’ve done for me?”

Andshe shows pictures of her before meeting you, she didn’t look hideous, ofcourse, but she looked tired and unhappy… a very different person from thisglowing woman standing in front of all these ladies.

“Looksaren’t everything, but it’s so fulfilling when your outside reflects yourinside,  I learned that thanks to thisamazing woman here. She won several pageants and agreed on doing this for free,so listen to all of her wisdom with attention, it can change your life like itchanged mine.”

Well,nothing you say can sound more amazing than that, but you did your best, mainlybecause your super amazing girlfriend was watching.

Jumin

Youtwo were on a business party and one of his associates recognized you.

“Iheard you won Miss Congeniality, good consolation prize, huh?” “Yes, it feelsvery special knowing the other girls saw me as the most congenial.” Oh, thissmile… this smile is so fake, Jumin can tell very easily.

 Andyou didn’t smile genuinely for the rest of the night, he couldn’t help to beconcerned.

Whenyou go back to his place, he observes you looking to your Miss Congeniality’ssash, it isn’t pride, it isn’t admiration, it’s disappointment.

“Youare, indeed, very congenial” he hugs you from behind. “I was also not really athreat, not real competition, that’s why they gave me this, because I’m sooooonice.”

He’sconfused, being nice isn’t something good? Oh, but when it comes tocompetition, if you’re just seen as nice, maybe you’re not taken serious… butwhy wouldn’t be taken serious, didn’t you make it to the top 5, after all?

Ithurts seeing you like this. You not taking yourself seriously and valuing whatyou accomplished bother him a lot.

Yes,you’re nice. But you’re also smart, and spontaneous and creative, and don’teven mention your beauty, sometimes he even wonders if you’re real.

What could he do to make you feel better?Generally, you’re the one thinking of ways to cheer him up.

Showeringyou with gifts? Body worshiping in bed? Giving you Elizabeth so you can pether? How does this pull these self-loathing thoughts away from your mind?

Sohe comes up with this very goofy solution. Not only because he thinks it’llwork, but also because you keep telling him how you would love to see him beingsilly sometimes.

“Jumin,do you really want to play Monopoly at this time of the night?” “Well, Ihaven’t realized there’s a right hour to play Monopoly, my dear. Give it achance, maybe you’ll enjoy more than you think…”

Andyou’re killing on Monopoly, seriously, who’s the business man around here?“You’re letting me win on purpose, Jumin?” “I wish I could say that, but no, Iguess this is your doing, my love. You are fierce competition, after all.”

“You’reso goofy!” and you smile, but right now is genuine.

Saeyoung

Heknows basically everything due to the background check. You’re a big deal onthis, aren’t you?

Whathe didn’t know is how sometimes your jokes can be very self-depreciative, whywould you be so mean with yourself?

 Andwhen you’re taking pictures together, you always refuse to make funny faces,also, you never let him post it in the chat room if you think you don’t lookpretty enough.

Thatbothers him, you’re so amazing and beautiful, why would you doubt this and be sohard on yourself?

Youexplain him how strict some of the rules of your pageants were, you could neverget out of this plan they made for you, so acting silly was pretty much off thetable most of the time, but you couldn’t control yourself, and that’s probablywhy you didn’t make it to the finals on that pageant.

Hefeels really sad for you. Restraining yourself like this for something it’sover? For one particular pageant among all the ones you won? Jesus, what kindof brainwash they do on these girls?

Heknows self-loathing thoughts very well, so he knows how torturing it can be.Hiding your truly self like this… you should never hide your wonderful self!

Whatcan he do to make you understand you don’t need to be perfect all the time?That your flaws also make you this special and sweet girl too?

“Oh,MC… could you come to the kitchen for a moment?” you go and don’t even have thetime to respond, he welcomes you with a pie in your face. “What the hell,Saeyoung?”

“What?I thought you like whipped cream!” “Yeah… but not like this! I… I… oh! I mustlook hideous right now!” “You look always beautiful to me, but I’m kind ofbiased here, so…” “Oh, yeah? So take this bias!” and you shove a pie on hisface too, yeah, your boyfriend prepared a bunch of these pies so you can justthrow it at each other’s faces.

Andwhen you ran out of pies, it became a truly food war, that only stopped whenSaeran showed up: “What the fuck?”

“Hi,Saeran! Wanna join?” you ask throwing the spaghetti that was all over your hairon him. “Oh no! I must protect my lady!” Saeyoung runs to you, falls on thefloor and drags you with him, now you’re rolling on this mess, you don’t evenhear Saeran cursing, you’re having so much fun! And you show everybody how muchfun you’re having spamming the chat room with pictures of your mess.

[writingasawayofliving]

DECISION IN FAVOR OF YOURSELF

By: Edwin Briol

" A decision in favor of me is a decision in favor of moderate medical services."

The group ejected in deafening commendation, in wonder of the man before them.

"A decision in favor of me is a decision in favor of social value."

The cheers duplicated, topping off the lavishly enriched clinic chamber.

"In particular, a decision in favor of me is a decision in favor of examination. It's a decision in favor of the guarantee of a superior future for us all. A lot is on the line, and each vote tallies."

All participants, clinic staff and patients the same, rose to their feet in close to love of Agent Gabby. Wearing a flawless suit interspersed by a glossy brilliant tie, the thirty-something legislator ran his hand through his reddish-brown hair, as he so regularly did when attempting to project bogus unobtrusiveness. The agent knew his value. He had no deficiency of allure, and regardless of how empty his talks were, it was difficult to oppose his appeal.

"Many thanks to you. Kindly, kindly plunk down. I will presently present the one who made this pledge drive conceivable in any case. His virtuoso has launch the field of undifferentiated organisms research a very long time ahead. Go along with me in giving a warm greeting to Dr. Irwin."

A lot more established, stouter man advanced up the stage in the chamber, warmly greeting Gabby while occurring before the amplifier. The delegate rushed down the means and raced into a chilly, void hall. Dr. Irwin's words didn't start the smallest interest in him. After a discourse, Gabby consistently required alone an ideal opportunity to get once again into his headspace. All things considered, his headspace was the one in particular that made a difference.

Hack. Hack.

The sound came from the furthest finish of the passageway, diverting Gabby from the feed on his cell phone. Its source got going weak, without a doubt, however the clamor repeated a few doors down in a stunning course of intensification. All patients in the intense consideration unit had been called to the chamber for the gathering pledges' supper. It was absurd to figure one might host passed up the get-together. It was preposterous to figure one might have passed up him.

Gabby delicately advanced down the hallway. The rooms were all shockingly unfilled, yet oozed the spooky, inescapable presence of affliction. The noise of the occasion became progressively far off, as though it slowly blurred like a cloudy memory at the rear of his brain.

Hack. Hack.

Once more. This time, he had the option to pinpoint exactly where it came from. A space to his privilege had its entryway half shut. He pressed himself into the opening and saw a pale, uncovered lady on the bed in an emergency clinic outfit. She gazed vacantly into the void before her. Gabby, a legal counselor, had broad jargon, however the patient's face got away from his spellbinding capacities. Maybe extraordinary magnificence had chosen to take cover behind a shroud, behind some half-clear piece of clothing intended to drain the bliss out of whoever remained behind.

There was just one sentence in his discourse Skyler genuinely accepted. Each vote checks. It was unsatisfactory that a solitary patient in this emergency clinic had the nerve to get away from his appeal. Also, the lady was pale, yet looked sufficiently able to make due until the following political race.

"Excuse me."

Gabby's voice hauled the patient out of her clear examination. Briefly, the agent thought he saw a trace of savage nauseate move quickly over her eyes, yet she immediately put on her façade once more.

"Delegate. What are you doing here?"

"I thought I heard somebody hacking."

"Hacking. In a medical clinic. How amazing."

"It was my objective to meet each one of my constituents in this fine office. I was unable to neglect one."

"You positively proved unable."

A chilly, tense quietness settled. His appeal had no force here.

"What's your name?"

"Speculate."

"An estimate?"

"I'm certain you suspect, where it counts inside."

Her aloofness astounded him, yet he stood his ground and got the patient document dangling from her bed.

"Ivy"

"I don't believe you should understand this current, it's private data."

"I needed to make an informed conjecture, there's nothing more to it. Not perusing whatever else."

She consistently kept away from eye to eye connection. Gabby could detect his simple presence made her uncomfortable. Individuals were at times hesitant of government officials from the outset, he thought. Such repugnance towards a man of his height more likely than not been a sweeping articulation, a statement of disdain towards the framework and not towards the person. His normal appeal would not uncertainty before long opposite the circumstance.

"In the event that I may ask, what brought you into this medical clinic room?" he tenderly inquired.

"Why not get my record again to discover?"

"I don't intend to encroach your protection. I simply need to focus on my constituents' requirements, and your necessities make a difference to me."

"Cellular breakdown in the lungs, on the off chance that you truly need to know."

"I'm sorry you need to go through this. If it's not too much trouble, know anyway that Dr. Irwin's immature microorganism exploration could prompt a total update of the medicines you are right now accepting, and I'm focused on—"

"You're focused on yourself."

"I realize it now and then feel like all government officials just consideration about their own individual, however I'm extraordinary."

"I'm not discussing lawmakers. I'm discussing you. What's my name?"

"Ivy."

"What's my genuine name? Don't you recall?"

A branch currently intermittently scratched the outside of the room window, fomented by an unexpected whirlwind. A tempest moved close, both inside the room and out. Gabby looked with more consideration into the excellence behind the shroud. There was something enigmatically natural about these eyes, these cheeks, these lips. Some place in his psyche, a hazy memory strived to rise up out of obscurity.

"We have met previously, haven't we?"

"Ding, we have a victor. Anyway, what's my name?"

"I—I can't exactly—"

"You are much more egotistical than I suspected you were. We met in Alabang. Optum Global Solution. Does that ring a bell?"

The memory turned out to be more substantial continuously.

"It does, yet I—"

"You're as yet dumbfounded, right? Maybe you've failed to remember how you took me back to your room. How you never addressed me again a short time later. How you overlooked me each training and ridiculed me with your idiotic companions in the storage space."

The face behind the shroud presently appeared to him sharp as a blade. Gabby had gotten boisterous that evening, and innumerable more evenings after that: the unending celebrating of his school days had made the memories of his numerous triumphs sink into cloudy waters. Her words had brought the memory out, in the nick of time for the primary drops of downpour to shower down onto the window.

"Indeed, obviously. I recall now. I'm so grieved—"

"So what's my name?"

"It's Ivy, I don't remember you saying—"

"I disclosed to you how I changed my name on the grounds that the children ridiculed me in school, and you advised me there was no compelling reason to transform it since it was perfect and significant. What right?"

Stunning thunder shook the rest of the world, similarly as a stifling quietness happened to the room again. Gabby sulked. There was nothing more to be said.

"It's Lorz," she at last said, her voice laughing out loud. "My genuine name is Lorz. You have failed to remember it, very much like you will before long fail to remember the names of the multitude of valuable citizens you met this evening. The show is finished."

"I didn't mean—"

"I'm not allowing you to make a moron of me once more. Decision in favor of yourself all you need, yet my boat has cruised. Leave. Presently."

Lightning bolts moved quickly over the window. Briefly, Gabby wanted for the electric release to strike him, at that moment. He precisely got up and strolled once more into the scary environment of affliction, this time keeping away from eye to eye connection himself.

The pledge drive was all the while pressing onward. On out, the immature microorganism expert wave at him in the chamber. For the existence of him, he was unable to recollect his name.