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morvantmortuary · 1 year

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Heyy, I just wanted to ask you this question because it’s been bothering me for a long time. Do you think the Morvants would love still love their reader if they were ugly? I know that ugly is a word that is thrown around a lot but I mean it. Someone who is not conventionally attractive at all, who is not the desired version of plus size. Someone who has a big tummy, big thighs but not a round ass. Someone who is fat not thick. Someone who is not wanted by anyone. Would the Morvants still love them? Someone like me? I’m sorry if this is depressing I just can’t get out of my head and I hate the thought of my comfort people not loving me. Either way thank you for bringing them to life and letting us read about them ❤️❤️

I'm sorry this took me so long, sweetheart -- I've been caught between coordinating ongoing events at work with a whole learning curve, dissertation prep, and then a migraine swept my feet out from under me this morning, so I've just been trying to get my shit back together lmao. but I've been thinking about it since you sent it in. <3 I almost wanted to save this to be part of something I'm going to try to do coming up, (*knocking loudly on wood*), but I didn't want to leave you hanging.

short answer first to alleviate any anxiety: yes, absolutely, 100% without a doubt. once you're their person, you are their person, and nothing will change that -- not aging, or weight shifting, or any of the things that come with having a body and being mortal, okay?

I'll put the rest under a cut, because you got me talking a little on something I'm kind of sensitive about too <3

allow me a quick digression: from a doylist perspective, I'm writing the Morvants as someone who's definitely also on the curved stomach/big thighs/plush upper arms/saggy boobs side of things, along with some really frustrating skin that's prone to breakouts at the drop of a hat and other things about myself that lowkey stress me out on the daily. and we are just as worthy of love and desire and affection as anyone else, I promise you. <3 you do not have to be society's idea of beautiful to be worthy of love, or to be a good person. I'm sure you already know this, but I'm repeating it specifically just so you hear it, okay?

"ugly" is entirely subjective -- I'm also someone who isn't conventionally attractive, shall we say -- but I know we are our own meanest critics. I won't fight you on the word if it's one you've embraced, as I know everyone has a different relationship with it, but I will say I bet you're not giving yourself enough credit, honey. people do not have to be conventionally pretty to be worthy of love or a good life, I cannot emphasize that enough. we both deserve that, and we’re gonna get it, goddammit.

and you know something else? conventionally pretty changes every couple decades, and imho usually kind of sucks anyway. I think of being "ugly" as being memorable, distinct. we will never be duplicated, or in danger of looking like everyone else in our time. we're both a manifestation of history's crooked smiles and crows' feet and noses in interesting shapes. that's the kind of shit artists would want to sketch, baby, that's the fun part of being alive.

and circling back to that shifting standards bit -- I promise you there's a lot more classical statues that look like you and me than a lot of what you see on the image/video-dependent apps nowadays, okay? don't forget that. we've been the models for divinity for centuries now, as hard as it is to remember when the waistband of your jeans leaves a mark behind when you take them off like a regular mortal.

plus, there's the old saying about how your features are actually proof that people have loved people who looked like you for generations now. or the myth that your face was actually the face of the person you loved the most in your last life. on the days I'm feeling exceptionally self-critical, I find that one helps: that I've been left with the stewardship of the face of the person I adored more than anything, who meant so much to me in another lifetime that I might not still remember their name, or the sound of their laugh, but they imprinted onto me still, and I owe it to them to take care of it even if I can't bring myself to do it for me.

('rae you're delusional.' I might be. but here we are at the romantic necromancer blog, so it had to come from somewhere!!)

but anyway, you're not here for all that, you're here for the necromancers, so I'll get to those. thanks for humoring me, though ;3 and I hope it helped at least a little, maybe!

If you remember from the October Arc, a lot of Maxi and his Reader falling in love are them finding someone who feels just as out-of-place in the world as they do. When he meets you, he relishes the idea that he finally has someone he can be completely open with — not having to hide his dark sense of humor for the sake of propriety, someone who won’t think he’s weird or gross for being as fascinated by death and the horrible, beautiful parts of it as he is in his position. (A lot of morticians he knows will quickly say they’re not a morbid weirdo obsessed with death, just a normal person who does a job — he is definitely the aforementioned weirdo they’d like to distance themselves from. Who wouldn’t be, with his upbringing?) When he first falls for you, it’s because he’s realizing that after a lifetime of thinking he could only ever be alone (both due to his powers and his particular grimly sunny disposition), there was finally, really, someone who understood. Someone who doesn’t shy away from him in his more vicious turns, who isn’t going to pull back at the last minute when they see beneath the suit and the calmly professional exterior he shows to the rest of the town. It’s exhilarating. He never wants to lose that, and he’d do anything to keep you — to keep you his, and to keep you whole, healthy, and happy. He’s in love first and foremost with the person he knows to be his literal soulmate, the person he trusts with his heart after so long, and your body is precious to him because it keeps you both on the mortal plane. However you choose to adorn it, ornament it, or whatever designs are written into your genetics, it’s something he’s going to adore. But even outside of that — he would love you in any form you took, any change you decided to make, because it’s you. It’s always going to be you, and you’re his. And if he’s being totally honest, he hand to god has a thing for bigger people. It’s partly due to his specialization with flesh, compared to Rora’s bone and Hex’s ectoplasm, but also because he just finds it really, really attractive when someone has some extra pounds. He’s spent a lifetime around bodies that offered no comfort - be it very little warmth or affection from his living family, the cooling bodies of the mortuary in various states of decay, or the warped, broken horrors of the things still half-alive in the basement. His own body has been a source of stress (being lanky and soft in places at the same time all his life), of pain (growing up is hard enough, growing into a body that shapes itself to the needs of a demon doesn’t help), or of bitterness on his part (we’re going to learn more about why he re-opened the scar on his chest at some point). Your body, for whatever flaws you find with it, is something he associates completely with sweetness. He finds comfort in its shape, the way it moves, the way it feels under his hands. You’re entirely alive; your body works to keep you so. It’s a creature dedicated to keeping you here with him, so how could he not be devoted to it? He’s fascinated by all the parts of yourself you’re most concerned about, because it not only makes you something one of a kind (something he thinks of as his and his alone, in his darker, more possessive moments), but he’s also terribly taken with the softer parts of you. In your more intimate moments, he relishes the contrast between the pair of you - you’re unmistakably there, you take up space and ground him with the reality of your presence. (He gets a little carried away being clingy sometimes: whether it’s his hands over every inch of skin he can touch, squeezing the flesh he so adores, biting a little too eagerly at the softest parts of you where you’ll feel the marks later and remember him. Especially your thighs. He’s a thigh man at heart, always.) You’re always his darling, and he looks forward to watching you grow into your old age with him, however you change. Change means life, and he wants to linger on this side of the Veil with you as long as both of you possibly can stay. Watching you gain wrinkles, go gray, your weight shift around — it’s a privilege, and he treats it as such. You’ll have forever on the other side, he knows that. He’s not worried about that. It’s that the two of you can only do this part once, and he wants to make sure you enjoy it as much as possible. Until both your bones are in the family crypt, or ashes are mingled in the same secret place, he’ll love you and whatever your body looks like.

Hex doesn’t love in half-measures. When he’s into you, he’s all in. As we’ll see in his arc, he can’t always put his finger on what initially draws him to someone. But usually, he saw something in the most interior parts of yourself, your very soul’s essence, first. A glimmer of it caught his eye somehow — its color, its light, some facet of you that’s sewn through the entire fabric of your being. Whatever the sign was, he would follow it until he found you… And when he found you, saw you for the first time, your looks would be a matter of interest, certainly. But he wouldn’t be searching you for any kind of lack. He has no mental version of you to compare the real you with, no expectations. Your body is you, through and through, but what you are only complements what he’s already seen. He’s only looking at you to see the things he already knows he’s going to fall in love with. He sees your body as the backdrop onto which your Self is projected. (He would love Judith Butler if he read them ever lmao.) He’s fascinated with the little ways you manifest in your physicality: your geometry of your teeth, and how they’re arranged in your smile; how light plays on the fullness of your face; the precise way your belly moves when you laugh. The way you dress, walk, what you do with your hands when you talk. The way you move through the world is pageantry to him when it’s instinct to you. It’s something to be savored, because it only happens once. Hex knows what it’s like to be shy about certain things; he’s never been very confident in words alone, because people can say anything, only their actions will speak true. But looks, to him, are part of the factual, real world he can see. (Ironically, he’s one of those guys who very much believes in what he sees in front of him — he can just see way, way more than most people can.) You can make changes, or stay exactly as you are, and he will automatically accept that as part of the truth that is You. He also knows what it’s like to not be the blueprint that everyone else wants to look like, but he feels like there’s no point in stressing about that. Does your body bring you comfort when you sleep next to him, or when you eat the food he makes for you? Do you feel happy and free when you dance together? Do you like it when he touches you (there, and there, and…)? If the answer to all of these is yes, he figures, then why worry when you don’t have to? That’s easier said than done, though, he knows. But he will remind you, in a thousand ways, how he loves you for exactly how you look now. Your shape is the shape you were always going to come into his life with, he sees no reason to think about you in another. Your hair was always going to look that way in the light, your eyes were always going to be that color. Why would he ask one of the ancient oak trees outside to change the arrangement of its branches? Why would he ask the sun to be a different color when it sets? You are just as constant as that, to him. You don’t have to be beautiful by everyone else’s standards to be a force of nature that shapes his days. Whenever you cut your hair or switch your clothes or anything else, it’s just like the golden or blue hours to him — something he counts himself lucky to witness. Of the trio, he’s the ass guy, sure, but that means he’s smitten with what’s there. You are most attractive to him when you’re happy, and he only wants to make you happier when he holds you, and shows you exactly how you make him feel, with his hands or his lips or his tongue or— even, yes, the inconstancy of words. He doesn’t want you to think about how you look when the two of you are together, he only wants you to think about how you feel, and how good he feels with you. But he will do his best, always, to make you understand how much he loves your mortal self and everything it encompasses, until the pair of you cross through the Veil and shed your corporeal forms. (He can kind of do that now, tbh, and he’s more than happy to put it to use in some… very interesting ways if you’d be down with it.)

Rora makes it no secret that she loves that you’re not just another doll in a world that demands them. She has a hard, angry relationship with the idea of beauty standards in that she wishes she could set all phone cameras on fire at the same time. She thinks the modern world is mad for what it did to itself, how people have just made it that much harder for everyone to just exist, and it was already hard enough before she accidentally opened her own throat. She is indeed lovely in a nightshade kind of way, and she will acknowledge this when you both are sharing hard feelings, but the idea of beauty and desirability caused her nothing but pain when she was young. She’s a lot like you in the sense that she only sees what she’s missing: she was never the blonde, buxom type. She was never the southern belle that her parents had hoped for, or the perfectly feminine little mini-me that Mathilde had dreamed of for decades (and made no effort to hide her disappointment when Rora didn’t turn into that girl overnight). She wasn’t pretty in the right way her father needed to see her as an effective bargaining chip. She spent her entire first life feeling like she was made all wrong for what was expected of her. She has a loose relationship at times with her own gender, both because she’s doing things again in a borrowed mortal shell, and because she feels at times more like a creature than anything else. But she loves you. She loved you from the minute she first saw you — she loved your skin with any marks that might be there, the particular set of your mouth under your nose, the parts of you that move whenever you aren’t thinking about them. From your hair follicles to your fingernail beds, you were something she found wholly lovely in just how singular you are. You are the only version of you she’s ever seen. You are a rarity. Even in the most common parts of yourself, they’re a combination she hasn’t seen on anyone else her entire life. You look real to her. You look whole, and alive, and like a person who is allowed to just be. You move through the world as yourself, one of a kind, and there’s a part of her that, even now that she’s gained her independence, desperately envies that. Rora’s love is the kind of obsessive where she almost wants to set you on a stool like an artist’s model and study you up close. She wants to make notes about the places where your skin changes color, she wants to look at how your flesh settles into itself. You got folds, or rolls? She wants to get as close to them as she can, look at them like how soft-serve ice cream swirls into itself or a nautilus shell curls around. She wants to look at every bruise or old scar or stretch mark and take in the patterns of your life that has written yourself there. She wants to look at you naked like you would count the rings of a tree to see what the weather was like each year of its life, or like a big cat lounging in the sun. You are just as wild to her, and natural, and beautiful. …And then she wants to throw aside her notebook where she’s cataloguing every piece of you and eat you alive, but just in the fun way. Rora is the boob person of the three, and she is obsessed with yours if you have them/like people touching them. It doesn’t matter what size they are, if they sag, where your nipples point, she’s going to spend an absurd amount of time with her face in them whenever you’re shirtless. She’s just as bad about getting overexcited as her twin, and might bite or suck a little too hard at times, but she’s just enchanted by you. You are the earth itself made manifest to enjoy the sunshine and the breeze in the garden, and you have given her the supreme gift of deciding you like her too. She couldn’t not be in love with you if she tried. She understands our relationships with our bodies are complicated, but she is always on your side. She’d blind the entire town with a butter knife if it meant you felt more comfortable just sitting in the cafe with her. But she understands that the prison time for that is pretty hefty, so she’ll settle for refusing to let you talk bad about yourself.

I know this took a minute, and I’m sorry again love, but I hope it gives you what you needed. <3 Just know that I’m right there with you, but I would still rather us look like you and me than anyone else. Fuck the people trying to sell us something, we’re marvels as we are.

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hi-intrepid-heroes · 2 years

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hii so ive seen you posting about gming and i just want to ask you if you were anxious early on, and if you were, how you went about overcoming it? i know gming can be fun for me and i have a lot of cool ideas but im scared of like messing up and ruining the game for my players.

hi!!

thank you so much for sending me this!! i've been dm'ing for about a year now but we don't play super regularly so i still feel like a new-ish dm if i'm being honest. i'm still nervous before sessions and am still learning but some of my tips for overcoming anxiety are (note after writing: this got SO LONG sorry i hope it helps!):

-pick the right players: i think when you're starting out it's really important to have players that you trust! i'm really lucky and i play with people i've been friends with for like 10 years so i'm really comfortable around them, but in general try to have players that you trust not to hold mistakes you make (see tip #2) against you. it's easier to just go for it and try some things when you're comfortable around your players

-accept you're going to mess up sometimes: we all make mistakes, especially when you're learning a new skill, which is what dm'ing is. i don't know all the rules by heart, i have to change things halfway through sometimes, i sometimes run a not so great session, and that's just kind of. how it is. not everything's gonna be a banger. for me, it's really nice to address that? like, i recently ran a thing where two pcs were involved in a duel while the other two were just waiting, and they clearly got bored. so when the duel was over, i turned to them, said 'this was boring for you, right?', they said 'yeah' and i nodded and said 'cool, then we won't do it again', made a note of it, and move on. i cannot emphasise how much addressing something i did wrong due to miscalculation (i thought it would be shorter + more interesting for the pcs not involved), acknowledging it was a mistake and that i now know it doesn't work, and then just moving on instead of lingering on it helped in overcoming the anxiety around mistakes was. i tend to linger on my mistakes and by addressing it, i removed both doubt in my mind about how the players felt + doubt in their mind about whether i caught that it just wasn't that interesting, and that gave me the space to simply get on with the parts of the story that are interesting!

-find someone to talk to about your campaign that isn't your players: it's so nice to just braindump to another person sometimes, and this doesn't have to be someone who plays dnd! for the longest time, i would just talk to my mum about it, and simply the act of explaining to someone else what was happening and what i was struggling with helped me solve my own problems!

-prepare as much as you feel is necessary: i see a lot of people warning against over preparing and although you want to try and not railroad your players, preparing is great and in the beginning i prepared a lot! i'm now confident enough to improvise fantasy shots when necessary but i definitely wasn't a year ago and so i would just. make a bar if i knew they were going to an area with bars, and sometimes they wouldn't end up doing shots and i'd just save it. for me, this over preparation helped me feel safe in my own world and i knew there was less chance of me getting surprised (it still happened, it always happens (flashbacks to the barbarian in session 2 deciding she wanted a pet so i had to improvise a full fantasy pet store rip), but by preparing i saved myself a lot of stress)

-use online resources: there are so many blogs, youtube channels, and other things to help you with dm'ing and for me finding info/instructions made me feel more secure! i really like matthew colville, he's got a full playlist called running the game (find it here), which is about learning to dm, it's got 100+ videos and it's amazing. he advocates for using adventures, which i like cause they're a little bit more accessible! you don't have to homebrew if that seems intimidating, just run an adventure, they're just as fun and cool to do!! matthew colville is a good intro, when i have a specific question, i also look at the DM Lair, who has a lot of really focused videos, but i haven't seen that many. in theme with this blog, i also like adventuring academy which is brennan + guest, specifically this one with murph cause they have a beautiful bit where they emphasise that if you have watched dimension 20 you can dm, anyone can do it and i 100% agree. you can do it!! i understand you're nervous but the biggest hurdle (for me, at least) was the first session. the second they laugh at something you said or are creeped out by the haunted mansion you created based on a backstreet boys music video (only normal decisions here), you realise 'oh. this is kind of fun actually'. i'm still nervouse before sessions and a lot of way more experienced dms are too but it's also so fun just try it!! i'd love to hear how it goes!

dm's please reblog with your best tips for overcoming anxiety!!!!

#so sorry for the length i have one mood and its in this essay i will #thank u for the question if you have any more let me know i will try to help in any way i can <3 #good luck with dm'ing im rooting for you!!!!#shut up judith

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vanilladaises-rp · 2 years

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Teaching is going terribly holy shit good so far. Also I’ll be in my final year of graduate school so I’ll be definitely feeling the pressure. But here’s some advice about college that I’ve learned is crucial.

GO TO CLASS AND TAKE NOTES: Like seriously, go to class and take notes. You cannot imagine how many people skip class and think they’re going to get by like in high school and realize too late. You learn through your senses, which is usually sight, sound, reading, and writing. If you miss a class, you only rely on reading. It matters.

Talk to your Professors: Whenever you can, talk with your professors, especially during their office hours, whether you need help on a certain topic, talking about the field they’re in, or just getting to know them as a person. I have probably a handful of professors that I’ve personally befriended and talk to on the daily. And they’ve all written me recommendation letters for jobs or grad school applications.

Network, Network, Network: Go to whatever information sessions that your college’s career center is hosting like how to write an effective resume or cover letter or any career fairs. One of the things that I’ve learned is that you really have to market yourself. Nowadays, a degree just isn’t sufficient enough to get a job straightaway. You have to talk to other people, especially if they’re professionals in a field you’re interested in, and talk to them and/or send them an email on how you would like to talk to them about something that interests you. Is it nerve racking? Yes. But does it get you in their radar? Yes. And that’s what matters.

Socialize: If you’re going to be a freshman and are either going to live on campus or are going to spend a majority of your time on campus even if you’re living at home/your apartment, make friends. As the years progress and you become a sophomore, junior, and senior, it’s going to be hard to make friends. Join any student-led club that interests you, whether it’s K-Pop, Anime, or even Econ Club. I’ve made so much friends at my college’s Korean and Japanese student clubs who I still talk to this day. It’s better to be around like-minded people who share the same interests as you to easily form relationships. And as for social anxiety, just remember that some people are on the same boat as you, so don’t stress out too much.

Thank you 🗝 anon It means a lot to me! I’m gonna save and practice this advice, I just feel like I’ve made this image in my head that college is scary and stressful, and Idk why but I always pictured professors being mean???? Like really really strict and mean????? Don’t ask why cause idk

I’ve just been trying to tell myself to chill and that it’s not as bad as I’m making it seem but I am an overthinker so it’s harder to say than do. Also I’ve just genuinely never thought I was smart enough for college/uni. Like im not even trying to bring myself down, I’ve just always thought that way. I was labeled as special ed in school since i was child so maybe that’s it???? Idk, Nonetheless I’ll try my best to stay positive and try to stay calm.

Also idk if your allowed to but if you ever need to rant about teaching, feel free to let out your rage in the inbox Im all ears 💕

#daisy diaries #🍨#🗝

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retroknightx · 3 years

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hypmic headcanons

since nobody on my instagram appreciates me, i’m going to put them here, and it’ll be like a master post i can add onto that way anyway (which is convenient for me, because i keep adding on… yeah, it’s bad lmao. my notes document can only take so much) all of it will be under the line so you guys don’t just have a big ass post clogging your feed! to whoever my 4 followers are

starting with fling posse…

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Ramuda Amemura

He’s trans.

He has a superiority complex to hide his inferiority complex.

He also likely has a little bot of a god complex… Just a tiny bit… Not to the point it’d endanger his life, but to the point he can never admit he’s wrong (I suppose this can also count as the superiority complex).

He also has a little bit of a schoolboy crush on Dice… that has lasted far longer than he’d ever like to admit – not that he’d ever admit it in the first place – and he gets jealous over Dice.

He started his whole thing with girls, whatever it is, as a power trip, which also explains why he likes to cause so much chaos.

Since he used to smoke, he started candy as a way to stop smoking and it slowly replaced his smoking habit (as I have yet to see him smoke otherwise, but keep in mind I’m not far into the manga and mostly I’m going off the ARB story).

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Gentaro Yumeno

All writers are perfectionists (I’d know as one).

He’s probably very particular about the details and doesn’t like doing things without a plan.

He’s the lyric write for Fling Posse’s raps and does not enjoy making up lyrics on the spot; however he can if he must – This is also why he carries the book everywhere.

I honest to god don’t feel like he’s of this world and whatever his actual form is (irony in his rap name?), it scared Ramuda enough to create Fling Posse, so here they are.

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now for the dice ones… it’s gonna be long!

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Dice Arisugawa

He is, unfortunately, very oblivious to romantic approaches – especially from close friends such as his division members, for he’s been with them for so long that he can never imagine them falling in love with him.

He has abandonment issues/a fear of abandonment because his mother left him.

Speaking of his mother, Dice likely knows how to do “noble” things because he was raised by a politician; i.e. how to play piano and stuff like that.

Adding on top of that, I feel like Dice has an accumulation of many different skills from being all over the place – He learned how to do card tricks by watching others, and he probably learned bird calls from spending time with Rio.

He undoubtedly has ADHD (as a person with ADHD myself, you cannot tell me I am wrong)!

He’s well aware that’s he a leech, but he can’t stop himself because the addiction is stronger and he feels terrible about it; it’s why he often begs instead of anything else that would fit his character more.

He’s a very talkative person and often rambles to get his thoughts organized.

He doesn’t like being put into awkward situations or forced into silence because he is used the buzz of a casino and a busy city.

Relating to the ADHD canon, Dice puts his life on line not only for the thrill of it, but to keep his mind off of thoughts, and it’s also why he gambles; so he can focus on one thing.

He is numb to change because he’s a gambler.

He is very good at adapting to a new environment.

He doesn’t like being looked down up and that’s why he started gambling; to prove that he’s worth something.

He uses humor to cope if he can’t get his mind off of things with the thrill of gambling.

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Extras (Fling Posse all together)

Dice has weird limbs, so clothing fits him weird, and Ramuda started making clothes for them because of that.

Ramuda chased after Dice after he stole his signature parka and the Fling Posse star was embroidered on later by Ramuda after the formation of Fling Posse.

Ramuda likely pulls whatever strings he has access to to make life easier for his division members (not that it stops them from getting into trouble, that is).

Gentaro spends a lot of time away when writing and likely forgets he’s even alive during those periods, so his division members make sure he’s still taking care of himself when he gets like that.

They all piss each other off, but in a platonic love kind of way.

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moving onto matenrou! my favorite division <3

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Jakurai Jingui

Oh, my poor man’s so tired. He just needs a long break and a spa day; speaking of this, he likely doesn’t ask for help often – it’s the messiah complex he undoubtedly has.

His hair is too long for him to be taking care of it himself, and it definitely looks in fantastic condition, so he definitely takes good care of it – I just don’t think he takes care of it himself; I think he enlists the help of his division members (as I headcanon that Matenrou is in a poly relationship).

Jakurai’s matureness can sometimes get in the way of other things, such as emotional moments, and he can come off as cold or distant when he doesn’t mean to come off that way.

Unlike the other divisions, Jakurai wanted to really separate from his past, and that’s why he named his division Matenrou instead of reusing something from the past. He also probably doesn’t like talking about the past.

His hair is naturally silver, but the lighter shades that are nearly white underneath was caused by stress.

He gets cold quickly, which is why he always keeps the lab coat on, and it’s also why he wears a turtleneck.

Jakurai does live in the same apartment as Doppo and Hifumi, but he’s always so busy that he often can’t get there, so he ends up sleeping at the hospital; he also has a separate apartment of his own that’s closer to the hospital if he has free time, but he’s not off work/off work but still on call.

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Doppo Kannonzaka

Man, the first thing I thought when I saw him was that he has a choking kink. Enough said. He also likely has a praise kink.

If he didn’t have social anxiety and wasn’t so busy, he’d also probably be going over to Rio’s camp a lot. I think it’s because he’s so overworked that he doesn’t care about what’s in the food; as long as he gets it.

He’s probably passed out from exhaustion more than once and just got used to it.

Despite all his problems, he definitely wants to be known and he wants his name out there; he wants to be just like the other two and he definitely looks up to them already, but he aspires to be them.

He is so thankful for his divison members and he’s glad that they accepted him.

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Hifumi Izanami

Hifumi is a classic case of “fake it till you make it”; I really don’t know how he became one of the most popular hosts in Shinjuku, but it’s definitely about the fake confidence and the jacket is a comfort object for him that allows him to have that confidence.

He cooks all the time for his division members and he uses the catches from fish all the time, too. He even brings the lunches to their works for them.

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Extras

Since Hifumi’s always out so late, the others make sure he has everything he needs for whenever he wakes up and sometimes they wait for him.

They’re all in a poly relationship and I refuse to believe anything else; I mean, have you seen those “my room” dialouge in ARB? Fruity.

They probably all love to cuddle whenever they get the chance because they can’t do it often.

They definitely set up one day of the month for all of them to just be together.

---

buster bros time!

---

Ichiro Yamada

This may just be the Ichiro simp in me, but I think he has a very nice tummy that’d be nice to lay on; like a soft one if that makes any sense to anybody other than me.

He’s a very friendly person and if you’re close friends with him, he’s definitely loyal; he’d be willing to drop anything to help you kind of loyal, like he is to his brothers – all that, except the willing to die part.

I think he gets flustered easily and doesn’t know how to respond to compliments. That’s also probably the Ichiro simp in me.

Although he has to stop his brothers from ripping out each other’s throats all the time, he’s very proud of them and of their achievements, no matter what they are. He’s willing to praise them even for the tiniest things to make up for his absence in their lives.

He probably has a terrible sleeping schedule, but he could probably operate on pretty much anything. Two hours of sleep? That’s not an issue for him; he’s used to it.

He’s likely a cheapskate when it comes to himself, but when it comes to his brothers, he spares no expense if he can.

---

Saburo Yamada

He has a superiority complex. I mean, just look at how he acts with Jiro – that’s enough proof right there.

He got into hacking and all of that computer stuff because it was interesting to him; he’s probably pursuing a career in it, considering just how good he is at it. I feel like he’d make a good white hat hacker that tests your website security, like Alma in Va-11 Hall-A.

Call him a library, because he holds grudges for years.

I think he just likes picking arguments because he think it’s funny and there’s nothing better to do when you’re stuck with your brothers (as somebody with a sibling myself, I can attest to that).

---

Jiro Yamada

Anger issues. Yep, that’s it. That’s the headcanon.

Man probably goes dumpster diving to see what kind of treasures he can find; his room is probably full of that kind of junk.

He probably has greasy hair. It doesn’t matter how much he cleans it, it’s just greasy (as somebody with the same issue, go clean your pillows Jiro).

---

Extras

Ichiro has to hold Jiro back from just punching Saburo all the time.

God, somebody save Ichiro from his siblings; with how much they bicker, he probably has taken so much ibuprofen to stop headaches in his life that he should be considered dead from an overdose.

Despite being assholes to each other, they all help each other out – Saburo helps Jiro with his work, Jiro helps Saburo with whatever he can’t do, and Ichiro takes care of the rest. It’s the only thing keeping their bond together.

---

mad trigger crew, my beloved.

---

Rio Mason Busujima

Rio’s very stoic and that often doesn’t break, so it’s very rare to see a smile on his face. He has different smiles for different things too – there’s the business one; one so he doesn’t look as intimidating, and the actual genuine smile that’s very rare to see, but it happens when somebody appreciates his food.

Rio’s not good at understanding emotions and it takes him awhile to process emotions; he goes quiet in these moments and it can be confusing for those who don’t know him, but once he’s thought everything out, he’s very smart about responding.

He’ll never fully adjust to a life outside of the navy and military.

Opposite to Dice, he finds the buzz of a city to be too distracting for his thoughts and he enjoys his solitude, but he doesn’t mind company at all.

Due to how his unit was broken up, he refuses to abide by H law and keeps his gun on him. Even Rio can be spiteful. However, he mostly uses it for hunting, which is why he’s so far out in the forest.

He definitely has a lot of scars and that’s why he often wears his fatigues; he doesn’t wana come off as off-putting. His cards without the jacket did him so dirty. Of course he’d have scars from fighting in World War 3.

He can come up with strategies on the spot and is a very quick-thinker when it comes to combat.

Despite how ruthless he is when it comes to rap battles and being an ex-navy, he’s actually a very gentle soul.

I feel like he’s asexual, but homoromantic.

---

Samatoki Aohitsugi

He only uses the bad guy persona as a way to be left alone, but he’s actually a very kind person.

Despite being a yakuza, he actually abides to the H law and it’s probably only because of Nemu (however, this is only based off of the anime, so I can’t say for certain, but I haven’t seen anything in the manga disproving otherwise yet).

I just feel like he eats a lot throughout the day. I can’t explain this one, but he has the vibes.

He also knows how to cook quite well himself, and he does it for his division members sometimes.

---

Jyuto Iruma

He’s very cocky because he knows he can get away with things; I mean, he’s the authorties, why wouldn’t he get cocky about what he can do? However, it’s somewhat annoying to Samatoki.

If he wasn’t a gay bastard, Samtoki and Rio probably would’ve been arrested long ago. Thankfully for them, he is a gay bastard.

He likes looking good no matter what; it helps his confidence, so he dresses up to go out anywhere.

His glasses are probably just reading glasses.

He likes spending money on expensive things.

---

Extras

Samatoki and Jyuto are in a relationship. They’re so fruity that I’m sure I don’t have to explain this one.

Samatoki doesn’t approve of Rio dating Dice at all and it’s only because of Jyuto that Dice is still alive.

Rio is pretty much their marriage counselor; he has to constantly deal with them bickering, so of course he is. He’s pretty much the adopted child to save their marriage.

---

Ships

Riodice

Samajyu

Poly Matenrou

---

i will likely make a separate post for the ship headcanons because this will be much longer, but i think this covers all of them anyway, so here you go. enjoy.

34 notes · View notes

jjmorelikeotp · 3 years

Text

What thing? What type?

Seongjoong college au?? Ft. Wooyoung; ONESHOT 😚 no warnings, humor ig

Yeah idk where that came from, I'm in my seongjoong feelz, mingi is back, I love woo, anyways besties enjoyyyyy ✌ also just in case anyone is still waiting for the promised minsung au! It is in the making!

"I cannot believe they've put all of that into one exam!", Wooyoung cries out, knuckles turning white around the strings of his backpack."Like, what am I - a robot?!"

"Maybe if you started studying earlier, you wouldn't have that much stress now."

"Nobody ever does that!"

They're on their way from the student dorms to Hongjoong's apartment - not for the first time, but this time, Seonghwa's car is standing in the parking lot.

"Oooh", Wooyoung makes. Your hot roomie finally home for once?"

"God, I wish I never told you that."

"But you diiiid", the younger cheers, wrapping his arm around Hongjoong's neck only to pull him down with his full body weight, making him groan.

With work, university and producing his tracks, the dorms weren't an option for Hongjoong anymore. Too loud, too smelly, too...first semester vibey. So, he saved up, worked through vacations and even during normal periods - and voila. His own, tiny, little room, a living room, a CLEAN bathroom he doesn't have to share with 727272 people, simply put : heaven. Sure, he might be a little tighter on budget now, but at least he was able to remain his sanity, and that's a win.

The apartment is not that cheap; sharing it makes it easier. And with Seonghwa, a business major in his 3rd year, it was a good catch.

He's nice, friendly, tidy - too tidy if you ask Hongjoong, especially when he is bitching about the coffee mugs in the sink, like, who the hell cares - but he is also very, very pretty, and caring, and that, ladies and gentlemen, isn't a good thing, at least not to his heart because he is - well, in some cases of being near him, and especially when Seonghwa smells good, becomes - the definition of a useless gay.

That's how bad it actually is, but luckily, only Yunho knows that.

For the rest of his friends, the older is just known as "hot".

Which is also very, very true.

"Hey!", Hongjoong shouts, tossing his keys onto the shelf next to the door.

Seonghwa is busy watering the plants. "Ah, hey! How was your scenery project?"

"Good, good!"

"What, this is it?", Wooyoung hisses, taking off his jacket. He pinches the older's waist. "If I called your storyboarding a scenery project you would have behaded me."

"Well you are a brat", Hongjoong whispers back, to which the younger only rolls his eyes, only to add a louder "brought someone with me today. Seonghwa, this is Wooyoung."

"HEEEYYYY", Wooyoung gives him a wave and earns a chuckle. "Nice to finally meet you, you know, Hongjoong always talks about his infamous roommate."

I'm going to kill that kid.

"Ah, really?" Seonghwa shoots him a glance, and he can't read an expression from it before it's already gone. "He talks about his friends too." Hee points at Woo with the water in his hands. "I'm guessing you are the loud one?"

"He is", Hongjoong quickly states before the younger has enough time to answer. "And you're just here to pick some notes up, c'mon. I got things to do."

With that, he pulls him into his room.

"What, you're not even inviting me for dinner?", Wooyoung says fifteen minutes later as he is getting dragged out by his friend.

"Exactly. You're a vaccuum when it comes to food, and I'm broke."

"You're mean, that's what you are-"

"Yeah, yeah, you're gonna survive it."

He somehow managed to get the boy into door-and-floor-space; he knows how long it can take to get him actually past the frame.

"Now go home and study. And use the notes!"

"You know I would be better off if you helped me study!"

"I got my own stuff to do."

"We could study together."

"I will clean my desk now. Go ask San!"

He sighs at the whine the younger lets out.

"Yah, hyung, you're really no fun. You don't even care about me or my grades."

"I literally just gave you all my notes."

"Yeah, but you got a monster brain and I don't understand them-"

A soft giggle makes them both turn around.

Seonghwa is done with the plants - he now seems to be cleaning the dining table, and for that, he's taken off his hoodie.

The tshirt he's wearing is white, a perfect match to his skin. His tan, muscular arms flex lightly at his movements.

"Huh." Wooyoung stares for a moment, tilting his head.

"Hongjoong hyung?"

"Hm?"

"You know the thing...you told me earlier?"

"The thing? I-what thing?"

"That thing."

"Oh. Yeah. Let me guess. You get my point now?"

"Definetely. Yeah."

Hongjoong leans onto Wooyoung's shoulder with one arm.

Four eyes are on Seongwha, who is painfully oblivious, probably not even listening. He's holding a can in his hands.

"Juice, anyone?"

"He's kinda like a mum. You're kinda like a mum, Seonghwa."

"I-what?"

"That's his way of giving somebody nicknames, I think. Either that or he's got both mommy and daddy issues. He told me I sound like a dad-"

He coughs away the pain as the younger smacks his stomach; for a moment, Seonghwa's eyes are on him.

"You know, hyung, I agree with you", Wooyoung says right before he's out the door, getting his revenge. "Your roommate is hot, you were right about that."

Snitch.

Hongjoong, however, did not expect anything less. He deals with it the way he always deals with pretty boys : joking about it until it hurts because he doesn't stand a chance anyway, vibing in the frequency of an awkward wave.

Hakuna matata.

"I know I am - I'm always right!", he shouts after the younger friend although the door is already closed.

Just be shameless, nobody knows you're dying of embarassment until you show it.

And maybe he is a little competitive as well. Maybe.

He doesn't even look at the older; he plays it off with a soft chuckle, focusing his attention back on his desk that, he must admit, looks like a battle field of supplies. Brushes, pencils, notes, papers, folders - a cup of coffee here, a computer mouse there. Sweet sweet college life.

It's quiet around him, nothing unusual, Seonghwa is a calm person after all. If he's honest, Hongjoong is glad to have found a roommate like him. (If only he wasn't so handsome that it's hard, like, really hard, to focus. He can't complain though.)

The weird knot in his chest forces him to go against his anxiety and look up. He meets Seonghwa's eyes immediately.

Again.

"What?", he asks, breathing out a laugh that - he hopes sincerely - doesn't sound nervous.

"He just gave you a compliment, that's Wooyoung for you."

"Mhm", Seonghwa makes.

"Aw, are you getting shy? Don't you know how to handle a compliment?"

A light hint of pink appears on the older's cheeks, which is weird because at the same time, he's furrowing his brows. Hongjoong wishes he didn't enjoy teasing him so much.

(Spoiler alert: not really.)

"What? No-"

He grins.

Cute.

He might be smiling through the pain when it comes to the next comment, but hey - Nobody has to know. (How would they know?)

"Is it because he's pretty? Is he your type?"

That's how you do it. Just drop hints and make him date another dude, to cope with the fact that you might develope an unhealthy crush on your roommate and don't stand a chance.

Hah!

But who would do such a thing, not Hongjoong.

Obviously.

"He's a really great guy", he cheerfully adds, focusing on his organization again. "A little loud, but maybe that's a match. I could totally set you guys up."

He doesn't even know what paper he has in his hands.

"Well, yeah", a deep voice suddenly murmurs in his ear and he nearly jumps.

Seonghwa is standing right in front of him.

"You could do that...but", he inhales softly, grabbing a pastel pink pen from the tornado of chaos Hongjoong calls his work place. It's got a little plastic strawberry on its tip.

"He's not really my type."

And then, almost like a whisper, and a lot closer to his ear, he just says: "You are."

And then he leaves, letting Hongjoong alone in the living room, with the words "I think that's my pen, thanks", and Hongjoong just stares at the wall.

31 notes · View notes

blackberry-gingham · 3 years

Note

The love language concept sounds interesting! I’d say George’s love language/the way he shows love is physical touch, Paul’s is receiving gifts, Ringo’s is positive affirmation mixed with quality time, and tbh I’m not to sure for John. maybe acts or service or quality time for him?

Mwahaha, you've fallen into my trap! The truth is I wanted to do this topic more or less for myself, but felt bad bc I still have a few requests left to do. So thank you for sending in a "request" for me so that I can do one out of order real quick >:3

Lol but really tho, thank you for humoring me and these are good! I could honestly see all of these, but for John I'd say acts of service with you, bc the "To Do" stuff just sounds like his character tbh, but maybe also I feel like there's some physical touch too???

Ik I've heard that John kind of actually didn't like being touched, but I mean... If you look at literally any picture of him with Yoko, he's always at least holding her hand, if not just totally draped all over her lol, so I'm assuming for an S/O it's totally different!

But anyway, here's some headcannons real quick and then back to requests. Thanks everyone!

---

George

Honestly? I feel like George would just not be able to keep his hands off you

Like, not necissarily in a sexual way (although that too, if you're in the mood lol), it's just that he loves to let you and everyone else know you're his

He's not all too shy about it either lol

I mean obviously he saves the more lovey dovey stuff for private places, but in public he still has a lot to offer

Everytime he sees you he kisses you either on the cheek, forehead, or mouth and then pulls you in for a hug

Always

Then the rest of the time, as long as he doesn't have to be working, he likes to hold your hand and play with your hair

And if he's feeling a little risqué, he likes to let you sit on his lap and cuddle against him

In private tho...

Oh, he is all over you!!!

You are his sanctuary and safe haven away from the public eye and the daily grind that comes with being a Beatle

I've seen quite a few quotes from geo lamenting the fact that he and the others had literally no private life thanks to their stardom

So yeah, believe me when I say he could live a thousand years and still never feel like he could repay you for giving him the rest and love he needs

He'd be like a long, giant cat. Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, if he has an opportunity to snuggle up to you, he takes it

And if he's not exhausted, and if you let him !! he likes to just touch and kiss your body and face

Having that closeness and intimacy is so important to him, he wants to let you know how deeply he loves you

All of you

And of course, the best way you can return his love language back to him is by returning the intimacy he does for you!

When in Rome, after all

Honestly, just by accepting his offers when he initiates a request to hold your hand or hug or cuddle, he already appreciates that!

But if you initiate any of those things, he's definitely feeling the love!!

Although, one thing you like to do a bit different is giving massages

Of course George would certainly give you one if you asked!

But since he's usually tired, either mentally or physically, from always being on the go, you like to do him a favor lol

And he loves it

Seriously, you've never seen a man more blissed out then George gets over something as simple as a back or scalp massage

Assuming he doesn't fall asleep under the spell of your skillful fingers, he repays you with kisses or cuddles after :)

John

Ok idk if I'm like projecting, or reaching, or SOMETHING along those lines, but I feel like of all the boys, John is probably the one most looking for a true partner, as in like his other half

Paul is very close behind with his relationship with Linda, but for John it always came off as a need for him, more then like a want or nice thing to have

So anyway, all this to say that as far as acts of service goes, I think he gets a lot of security out of receiving this!

Like, whenever John's feeling particularly stressed or overwhelmed having you there to approach the issues with an objective mindset is a HUGE relief

Really, like I cannot stress this enough

Phrases like, "What can I do to take some pressure off for you?"

Or, "Well what if we just focus on x for now, and then we can take care of y and z tomorrow?"

All give him such a powerful sense of relief

And of course, the way that you, you know, actually follow up on your word, makes him fall even deeper in love with you then he thought possible

Now on the other hand, is physical touch

While this is a part of his love language cocktail, John likes to express this one a bit more then he likes to receive it

You see, unlike George, John is a little more reserved with his PDA

He will kiss you and hold your hand of course! But unfortunately his anxiety is a thing, so as much as he hates it, he has to reserve his physical affection for more private settings

But when you two are alone, he's like puddy in your hands!

He likes to just hold you a lot

It doesn't matter if you're preoccupied with something else, like a book or the telly, he just wants to have physical contact with you

And if you can do any of those things cuddled up on his lap or against his chest, even better!

But also, John definitely loves to get that energy back

He likes it when you give him cute little kisses and pet his head

I think he'd also like it if you rubbed his temples or the bridge of his nose/third eye lol

Wearing glasses all day can get uncomfortable you know!!

I think if you can establish that trust and physical closeness, that's when you'd also get a return on his acts of service

Really, if you've bonded this deeply with John he'd do literally anything for you

Whatever you need, whatever you want, if he can do it he will and if he can't he'll find a way to do it anyway!

He'd be loyal to a fault and love you forever after

Paul

Please tell me why I could see Paul being your sugar daddy on the low 😭😭

Really, like he just likes to spoil you!

Honestly if someone showed me proof that the real actual, 78 year old, 2021 Paul McCartney uses stacks of hundred dollar bills as tinder for his fireplace, I literally wouldn't even blink

Like even back in the day, he's got that Beatles' money baby !!! and he.... Kinda doesn't care for it, actually

I personally don't think any of the boys come across as like money hungry or something like that, but I could see Paul especially figuring that he might as well use all this dumb money to buy you things you like!

It may feel overwhelming to be on the receiving end of so many random, but expensive gifts tbh

You might even tell him to stop or that he doesn't have to do all that!!

I think he'd be able to understand that overwhelming you with nice things kinda has the opposite effect of what he's intending, but....

He just gets a little carried away sometimes lol

I mean growing up he didn't have all that much, and even now, like obviously nice things are nice, but meh

What he really wants to do is make sure you're enjoying the high life too!

I could see him doing more of writing you songs and music instead so that he can still fulfil his desire to give, should you feel uncomfortable with the fancy gifts

But yeah, if you're uncomfortable he totally would get that and dial back the materialism, but if you don't mind, then he doesn't either!!

Now you might be wondering how you, a delightfully average person, could impress Paul McCartney with a gift giving love language...

I mean, what do you give the man who has everything?

Well I'd tell you this... It's simple!

You could bring him literally anything that you find meaningful and be like "This made me think of you!" or "I just thought you'd like this!" and he'll love it!

He would definitely run up some organized collections of the little things you've given him

He has some dedicated display boxes for all the random, shiny rocks and pebbles you've found

A little filing drawer of all the notes you've ever wrote him

And if you like art or photography, he'd decorate his personal spaces with your work!

Of course he'd appreciate traditional gifts too tho

Like a watch or bass strings or a new tie ect ect

But the thing for you to not get caught up on is the price!

That doesn't matter to him :)

He likes your gifts bc they came from you!

Ringo

Ok, positive affirmation is definitely a big thing for Ringo

He gets roasted a lot by the boys and even the media, and all in good fun I suppose, but after a while enough is enough you know?

Not to mention, he just feels a bit... Lesser then?? Compared to the others and their musical talent

So the poor guy really needs a break!

Literally, even just little one word sentences of encouragement mean sooo much to him

"I'm so proud of you Ritchie!"

"That sounded wonderful!"

"You've done a great job today at the studio, good work!"

Stuff like that makes him melt

Of course he also appreciates the more conventional things like "I love you" and when you call him handsome!

And as for the spending quality time, that comes easily!

Ringo looooves to take you out on dates!

Now yes, there's your typical movie date, dinner, dancing, all that

But his favorite things to do is go on little adventures!

He takes you to the park, the beach, out to explore thrift and consignment stores, and anywhere else you want to check out!

However, not everyone wants to run around outside 24/7

So in the house, he likes doing things that you two can do together!

Painting is a big one, seeing as it's his other hobby, but it could honestly be anything, like puzzles, board games, or just watching TV!

I'm trying to think of how he'd return the words words of affirmation side of his love language, but I think it would be a little harder for him to do then expressing quality time tbh

You just make him so darn shy!

What with all your good looks and kindness, he just feels a little overwhelmed

Have you ever seen a work of art, or architecture, or even a landscape so breathtaking that you don't really know where to start when describing it to someone?

Yeah, it's like that

He definitely wants to try tho!

I think he'd stick to simple things like complimenting your outfits and praising your work or personal projects you show him!

He's worried that that comes across as just common decency tho, so he says "I love you" a lot and tries to make up for his bad way with words with quality time

#the beatles #ringo starr x reader #john lennon x reader #george harrison x reader #paul mccartney x reader #beatles x reader #beatles imagines #love langauges

91 notes · View notes

shreddedparchment · 4 years

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.23

Worry Wart

01/14/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 6,494

Warnings: Language, fluff, angst

A/N: I hope you enjoy this chapter. It was such a struggle to write with all my styes these past two weeks, but I’m better now, hopefully for an extended period of time, please! Thank you, Universe! If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work!

“Your Majesty, you must calm down. This isn’t good for the child.” Nat’s hand hasn’t stopped stroking your back, gentle circles to soothe your sorrow.

“He h-hasn’t opened his eyes in three days.” You sob, unable to stop crying. When you aren’t crying, you’re pacing. When you aren’t pacing, you’re sitting at his side, stroking his hand. Full of anxiety.

“He’ll be alright, Y/N. I promise you.” Nat says.

“She’s right.” Bucky interjects. “He’s come back from worse.”

You look at Bucky then look at Nat. Behind Bucky is Sam, who sits looking almost as forlorn as you do and definitely more worried about Steve than Nat and Bucky seem to be.

“I never get used to it either.” Sam tells you, holding your gaze as you watch him lean forward, elbows on his knees.

He’s left the tie at the neck of his white linen shirt undone. No tunic, untucked. He’s been just as stressed as you have.

Your lip trembles.

“He does get better.” Sam assures you, nodding. Solemn and honest. He means what he says.

“He lost so much blood.” You whisper, voice weak and tired.

Sam blinks slowly. Knowing that there isn’t much that will calm you.

“Peter got him help in time. You stitching him up was a good idea.” He nods, impressed with you again as he had been when Peter had recounted your instincts for him.

“You should have seen her. By the time I got here, she was already cleaning his wound and when I came back with the doctor, she’d already stitched up one side of his injury. His back the doctor did.”

Why anyone would be impressed with such terrible work…Your hands had been covered in his blood. He’d been so pale.

You turn to look at Steve, shunning their praise because the only thing that matters is that he isn’t awake. His breathing is so unsteady. He’s so…how can someone so strong look so frail?

You take hold of his left hand with your own two, clutching him tightly before pressing it to your brow as you shut your eyes and try to take a breath.

“Please…Please, wake up for me, my love.” You kiss it then rest your cheek against it. You lay your head there, feeling him beneath you. He’s warm now at least. Wrapped in blankets and the fire burning bright.

You’re sweating but you don’t care. Bucky looks just as uncomfortable with the heat as Sam but he’s not sweating like you, Nat, and Sam.

Suddenly you realize that something is different about these two childhood friends. Steve and Bucky…there’s something more to them.

The wound below Steve’s breast would have killed any other man. You’re sure. You’ve seen wounds like it before. A sword. All the way through. In one side, out through the other.

He should be dead.

You sob.

Nat's soothing increases in pace. Bucky sighs heavily.

“Have you eaten?” Bucky asks, and you scoff, almost angry.

“I can’t eat right now.” You force yourself to focus the irritation inwardly.

He’s only worried for you. It’s kind.

“You should eat something.” Bucky insists. “When Steve wakes up, he won’t be happy that you did not take better care of yourself.”

He’s right of course…and…you appreciate very much that he said when Steve wakes up and not if.

Nat seems to know when you relent as she quickly sweeps to the cord by the hearth and pulls it. In the distance you imagine there’s probably a bell being rung. As you wait, Nat moves back to stand beside you, stroking your shoulder gently.

“How about a bath after you’ve lunched?” She probes.

You want to say no, but Bucky’s word ring in your ears still.

You nod.

“I know you’re worried, Y/N. But you can’t stop taking care of yourself. With Steve like this, the Kingdom turns to you for its strength.” She caresses the back of your head, smiling down at you softly when you meet her gaze with a furrowed brow.

You hadn’t even thought of that. If something should happen—it won’t!—then you will be Queen of Broklin, alone. No King. You will be expected to take control.

“Me?” You gasp, squeaking the word as untold pressures begin to settle on your shoulders.

Terrified, you get up, still clutching Steve’s hand when a sharp pain in your stomach has you hissing and doubling over.

“Your Majesty!” Bucky exclaims.

“Y/N!” Sam and Nat cry.

All three of them hurry to your side. Nat wraps one arm around your waist to support you.

“Alright. That is enough. You are taking a break from his bedside.” Nat chastises.

“No.” You gasp, holding your lower belly with one hand, fingers stroking the thick pale gray linen of your dress that surrounds your stomach.

“You’re sweating.” Nat observes. “You’re overstressing yourself.”

“Natasha is right.” Sam agrees. “A break is just what you need.”

“No!” You say more firmly.

It’s the first time you dare use your authority as Queen with them, but you mean it and it rings stern in your voice. It does what you need it to. They quiet and listen.

“I won’t leave his side.” You insist. “I’m sweating because this dress is too hot.”

You look at the caped sleeves, lined with snowy white weasel fur. The purfelle around the square neckline, the slits on its side. It’s a lot of warmth in addition to the fire still blazing that you refuse to put out. Steve's usual temperature is still not right.

“Shall I fetch you a new one?” Nat asks, eager to help.

You sigh, so tired of the fussing but also simply frustrated with Steve’s condition. You’re so…

As you look at her, you sway, hand still clutching your tummy.

“Your Majesty?” Bucky checks, reaching out for you too now.

“Nat…” You manage to whisper as the heat overcomes you and you slump backwards into her arms.

Bucky is there too, helping her support you.

You can still hear them and you’re not unconscious. Just dizzy and so exhausted. You’ve slept two hours today and maybe another two the night before.

Suddenly, you’re weightless.

“Put her on the bed beside him.” You can hear Nat saying.

Gently you’re lowered, soft mattress embraces you.

“I’m fine.” You say, weak but strong enough that your assurance helps temper their worry. “Just…I need to eat.”

Being off your feet helps and you begin to feel normal again. Just sleepy.

“Your food is on its way.” Nat nods. “And we’ll get you out of this dress.”

“Have you got her?” Bucky checks.

“Yes. But send for Grandmother. Just in case.”

Bucky nods. “I’ll send one of the squires. Oh, and the doctor will be here in two days. The council has settled on one and-”

Nat shakes her head. Frowning a little at her intended. “Not now. She has enough to worry about.”

“What?” You ask confused. “Wait, what doctor? I told you, I’m fine.”

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll discuss it when you’ve had some rest. Let me get the back of your dress.” Nat promises and helps you sit up.

Sam and Bucky leave, a young maid brings you a tray of meat pies and tarts, leaving them on the small table you and Steve had been eating on the past two weeks when the two of you refused to leave it.

As soon as the dress is removed, you breathe in deeply, your skin pimpling from the rush of fresh air.

“Better?” Nat asks, helping you strip.

You nod.

“Good. I’ll get your nightdress. You’re not leaving this bed until tomorrow.” She frowns, looking at your hand still somehow clutching at your bare belly now that she’s taken your dress and undergarments.

“Does it still hurt?” She asks, eyeing your hand as she pulls out a long cotton gown with a ruffled neckline that will fit loosely around your shoulders and cinched sleeves at the wrist, more ruffles laced with pale blue ribbons.

“No.” You rub your tummy, hoping the pain was really only induced by stress. “We’re alright.”

“You’re lucky Steve isn’t awake. He would be going mad with worry at any sign of distress in your pregnancy.” Nat sighs.

“I know.” You nod, holding out your arms as Nat comes with your gown ready for wearing.

Outside the wind whistles, thrashing the cottage’s stone walls violently. A cold breeze seeps through the cracks that you cannot see, and the room drops in temperature for a moment.

Nat quickly pulls down your gown then hurries to stoke the fire as it shifts with the burst of wind.

“If it goes out, ring for a servant to come and remake your fire. You cannot be in here without one. This cottage is old and can get very cold very fast.” She explains.

“He’s still so cold.” You worry, reaching over to take Steve’s right hand. “For how he normally feels.”

“Y/N…” Nat begins, sitting on your bedside as she reaches to remove your hand from his so that she can hold both of yours in her own. “I promise you-”

She ducks her head, trying to grab your attention and when you finally meet her eyes, she smiles.

“-I swear, he will pull through this. You were very smart to think on your feet, but Bucky is right. Steve has come back from much worse.”

You frown. “Why didn’t he tell me he was the Freedom Knight?”

“The Captain, actually.” Nat corrects you. “I know that the common folk have taken to calling him the Freedom Knight, but he prefers the Captain.”

Your mind is suddenly in a frenzy as you connect countless stories that you’d heard in your village about The Captain and the Freedom Knight. Both thought to be separate entities all rolled into one. He’s saved so many people, so many villages. Done amazing things and at times taken excruciating beating all in the name of those he protects.

“All of that was Steve?” You gasp, turning your eyes back on your husband.

“It’s unusual for a king to be so modest.” Nat nods. “Your father is more like what Steve would be expected to be.”

Your father, the Iron Man as he too prefers to be called instead of the Iron Knight as many you’d known had called him, is indeed the very type of King that is unabashedly brazen of his accomplishments.

“I didn’t know.” You whisper, reaching over to take his hand again.

“And he wanted it that way. But he was going to tell you. He wanted a little more time with you where he was only Steven Rogers, King of Broklin.” Nat explains.

“Did he think I would be angry? Disappointed? Impressed?” You ask, feeling hurt that he’d kept it from you after you’d exposed your true identity right away after you began to grow close.

“I think he was worried that you might see him differently. There is more to his story that he will have to tell you himself.” Nat moves to grab you a plate of food, serving a small amount first to see if you’ll be able to keep it down.

She knows you so well.

When she sits back down, you’re clinging to Steve’s hand harder.

“It only makes me love him more. And worry more.” You sigh.

“As I told him you would. Perhaps that’s also why he hesitated?”

She holds out a fork, fancy with a twisted handle, and you take it. Eating is slow. You’re wary too, in case your sickness should come back and you can’t keep the food down, but you find yourself devouring it instead.

You finish everything, including the crumbs left from your tarts.

Nat watches you proudly. Happy to see you eat so well.

The food makes you feel better and with that need met, you can focus on Steve more easily.

“I will let you rest. If you need me, I will be nearby.” Nat assures you, taking your plate back to its tray and taking the tray with her as she leaves. “Might I ask a favor, your Majesty?”

She turns to look at you from the door as you lay yourself back down beside Steve, eyes glue to his face which as slowly regained a bit of color.

“Of course, Nat. Anything.” You look for her, resting on your elbow as you rub your belly with your other hand, fearful of the pain you’d felt before.

“Will you let him tell you? About being the Captain and why he didn’t tell you? I’d hate to rob him of that when he’s been desperate to tell you but fearful as well.” She genuinely looks worried to have stepped on his toes.

You nod. “Of course. I want to hear it from him anyway.”

Nat smiles and gives you a quick curtsy, then leaves you alone with Steve.

Settling under the thinner blanket you’d left for yourself in favor of wrapping up Steve in the thicker ones to keep him warm, you edge yourself closer to him. Carefully you lift his right arm over your shoulders and settle it over you, nestling into the space beneath his arm. With one hand on your tummy and the other clinging to his blanket, you shut your eyes and listen for the steady beat of his heart.

It sounds strong again and that gives you hope that soon you’ll have your husband back and he can yell at you for neglecting yourself because you’d rather he be angry with you than to have him like this, unmoving, unspeaking, and unconscious.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hot. It’s hot.

Steve is hot. He’s sweating. And he rarely sweats.

He shifts, and a dull pain just beneath his left breast freezes his movement. He groans.

As he makes noise, to his right there is a tremble.

Startled he tries to sit up, pushing through the pain and lifting his right arm as his mind simultaneously catches up with where he is and why he’s hurting. On his right, the trembling thing is you.

You’re curled up, tucked into his side, your body shivering. The fire has gone out and although he is hot, wrapped up in what feels like several thick winter blankets, you are barely covered by one singular much thinner sheet.

Suddenly frenzied, he hurries to extricate himself, kicking and shifting with disregard to his wound.

The movement startles you and Steve stops moving as you spring up and push him down by his shoulders. You can’t overpower him, but he lays still for you.

“Stop. No.” You order him groggily.

Then you shiver.

“You’re cold.” Steve says, his voice surprisingly smooth. He feels as if he’s been sleeping for a while.

“Please desist. You’ll injure yourself.”

“But-“

“Hush!” You nearly yell at him, a look of slight annoyance on your face for a moment.

He goes still, watching as you tuck him back in.

“I’m sweating.” Steve fights, frowning as your skin pimples.

You look up at him and reach out to touch his cheek with the back of your hand.

Steve leans into it on instinct, missing your touch after being away from you for nearly two days.

Your beautiful lips part in a sigh and you loosen his blankets before yanking them back completely. After you gather them at the foot of the bed, you hurry off the bed and race to the fire. Stoking it, Steve hears a hiss and crackle.

You’re visibly shaking, and he hates it.

“Come back to bed. I will stoke the fire.” Steve reasons.

“Steven Rogers, if you get off that bed, I swear…” You threaten, leaving it open for him to interpret.

The worst thing he can think of is that you’ll leave him to sleep alone again. He doesn’t want that. So, he settles back in and watches you struggle with wood and pile it on. It takes you a few minutes of gentle grunts before the fire is filling the room with heat once more.

He smiles as you place the poker back then his heart nearly stops as you gasp with pain. You fall forward slightly, your hand placed on the stone mantel.

Your threats be damned. His wife is in pain?!

Silently he’s beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist as his other takes hold of your hand to support you as he takes you back to bed.

“Why are you out of bed?” You gasp, glaring up at him with an unyielding anxiety.

Steve is sure you see the same expression on his face.

“Are you in pain?” He asks, turning you around to sit you down. “Lay back, here.”

He quickly helps you get your legs up and then pulls one of the larger blankets from his side over to you to wrap you up.

“Is that better?” He checks, tucking your legs in.

“Steve…” You sigh. “Please, please get back in bed. You’re not healed yet. You lost so much blood.”

Steve hates to see that grief in your eyes. He sits beside your hip, reaching up to caress your cheek.

“I’m alright, my love.” He smiles at you, stroking your chin before he leans in towards you.

You pull back, and the gesture is so unfamiliar after two weeks of constant affection, relished touches, tempting kisses…you pull away from him and his heart stutters.

“You cut was deep.” You shake your head. “You can’t be alright.”

Steve’s expression firms, a look of serious contemplation before he reaches down to pull up at the bottom of his shirt. He lifts it until he exposes what is now just a bright red scar. The skin still looks a little thin, but it cannot be reopened.

He watches you reach forward, gentle fingers stroking the shape of the harsh line.

“It will fade by the morning.” He says, and watches as your eyes dance up to meet his.

“How?” You wonder, sounding more curious than terrified which gives him hope that you might still see him as he is.

Steve takes your hand but then thinks better of it and scoots closer, placing his hands on your stomach.

“You’re in pain?” He worries, looking up at you as you lean back against the padded headboard.

He likes that. He likes you relaxed.

“No.” You shake your head.

Frowning at you, he sees a sparkle of that ease that he’s grown used to in the past two weeks. A small curve at the corners of your lips. He’s missed you so much. He wants to kiss you.

He won’t just yet.

“I’m not.” You assure him. “At the moment.”

“Then when?” Steve probes.

“I…Earlier this morning. And just now. I’ve been fine otherwise.” Your sincerity is true, but it also rings with your urging to calm him.

Steve’s frown deepens. He looks down at your belly and shakes his head. “Is this my fault?”

“No!” You deny it, though he knows it’s true.

“I shouldn’t have gone.” He sighs. “I should have sent Bucky and Sam. I’m hurting you.”

“Steve, no.” You assert, stern. “You’re not hurting me. Don’t say that.”

“Well, I’m sending for the old woman.” Steve moves to get up but you quickly grab hold of his sleeves and you pull him back down onto the bed.

He doesn’t dare pull away from your gentle grip.

“She’s already been sent for.” You promise him and he can see that you’re not lying.

“Tell me what you need.” He renews one hand to your tummy while the other reaches for your bicep to caress your arm.

You seem to consider your options for a bit before you reach down to your left to untuck your legs. You flip the blanket over them exposing the mattress beside you.

“Come keep me warm.” You tell him, and then visibly shiver as the heat from being wrapped up escapes.

Steve springs up and moves around to his side of the bed. He slides in, and you’re already in his arms by the time he settles in.

He wraps you both up with the blanket and feels you nestle into the heat of his chest. Your hands are freezing he notices, and he places his own over them as you settle them against his shoulder and then tuck your head into the crook of his neck.

That cold hand wanders down towards his scarred wound, feeling the puckered skin, still soft from healing. He doesn’t pull away because as cold as your touch is, it’s home.

“I was scared.” You admit, and Steve can hear the fear.

Is it stress? Is that why your stomach hurt? What if he’s hurt the baby by leaving you and coming back to you as he did?

“I’m sorry, my flower.” He sighs. “I did not think about what my turning up as I did would do to your condition. Forgive me.”

You’re so quiet, but you’re still stroking the remnants of his wound. He can feel you press yourself closer.

“Do you really feel better?” You ask him, tilting your head back to look up at him.

“Much.” He nods. “I promise.”

You search his eyes, seeking truth and you find it. You smile up at him, filling his heart with light and he leans down to kiss your lips because you’re his and you’re in his arms again. He’d fought hard to get back home to you.

Both of you.

His hand finds its way back to your stomach as you pull back and rest your head against his chest again.

“Your heart sounds stronger.” You observe, and Steve feels worse.

“How long was I unconscious?” He wonders, worried about the amount of stress he’s had you under for it to bring you pain.

You don’t answer at first and Steve can sense your hesitation.

“Y/N?” He urges you.

“Three days.” You swallow hard.

“Shit.” He doesn’t mean to swear in front of you, but whereas Maggie might have chastised him for his cursing, you look up at him again, just watching.

“I stitched you up and when the doctor arrived, he cleansed your wounds and finished sealing them. Then I washed you and Peter helped me lay you in bed. I kept you warm and the fire hot. I fed you soup…when you were awake enough to take it, which wasn’t often. I laid with you and cleansed your wound and…I couldn’t sleep.” You shake your head, ashamed of yourself it looks like to Steve.

You place your hand over his and he frowns at the way you caress it but also the upset on your expression.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper. “To both you and our little one. I should have taken better care of myself while I nursed you, but I was so terrified for you. You were so pale, and you lost so much blood. And we only just grew close. To lose you now-?”

“You won’t lose me.” Steve cuts you off, deterring those thoughts as soon as they begin to form.

“Bucky said I should not worry. He assured me that you have recovered from worse…but Sam and I were worried.” Steve laments the sigh that parts your lips, the relief that’s flooding your person that he can hear in the tone of your voice, it makes him regret leaving you laying here.

You’d been a vision. Naked, perfect, with silk sheets wrapped around your sticky body. And he’d left you voluntarily only to return to you to sleep for three days as his body healed.

The fear you must have felt…

“I’m so sorry, my flower.” His arms feel right with you in them. He squeezes you lightly, enjoying the feel of you cuddled against his chest.

Every curve of your body is magnificent, and his hands explore it with agony at the thought of you in distress.

You smell so good, peonies with a hint of that sweat smell he’d grown to love as he’d ravished your body the past two weeks.

Your still frozen fingers tracing the shape of his scar, etching luscious patterns against his heated skin.

It begins to slow, but your touch is invigorating, and he’s missed you…and your body. He wants to see you and hold you, kiss you.

“Y/N…” He whispers, pressing his lips to the top of your head before turning to look down and meet your eyes as your hand stops moving against his side.

The world seems to stop, all of time means nothing as he watches the tension leave your face, your lips part, your eyes are completely shut, and sleep takes you.

Your breathing grows heavy and as your body grows slack in his arms, he tightens his hold even more to hold you up against him. You whimper but then you nuzzle his chest and lay still.

With his heart soaring, Steve lays himself back down. He supports you until both of you are settled against your mess of pillows then lets your body’s weight fall on him and the mattress itself.

You relax. You sleep. Steve cherishes this moment and watches you until sleep takes him once more.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Where are we going?” Your heart is in a frantic pitter patter.

When you woke up this morning, Steve was gone.

You’d scrambled up from your bed, frantically throwing your luxurious woolen robe on, and bolted for the door.

It had opened as you reached it to find Steve holding a tray of delicious breads and jams. Specifically made for you to suit your most recent cravings.

He’d smiled down at you, amused by the look of your hair and the shock in your eyes as you tumbled against his chest.

He’d wrapped his arm around your waist to catch you and chuckled beautifully as you gasped in surprise.

The two of you had spent the morning sitting in front of the fire, on the floor among a poof of large pillows and a thick bear skin rug.

It was a dream of course, as every day with Steve has been since the moment he decided to accept you as his wife. To love you as you’d always hoped he would.

It was all the more precious after the scared he’d given you, coming home all bloody.

You’d refused to make love to him despite his wandering hands.

“You need to rest.” You’d said.

And Steve had rolled you onto your back and settled over you as your hand traced the shape of his scar, already faded to the same shade of peach as the rest of his skin. Completely healed.

He’d kissed you until your lungs ached and then laid his head on your chest and fell asleep for a few hours more when you didn’t cave to his desire for you.

Now he’s got you by the hand, dragging you from the chilly halls of the cottage out into the expansive frozen gardens behind it.

The ground is covered in a thick blanket of snow, and you’re struggling to walk through it, tugging your red cloak up out of the ice diamond mulch.

“Shall I carry you?” Steve teases you, and you look up to find him grinning at you fondly.

“No.” You frown at him. “Keep your hands to yourself, your Majesty, or I will move into my own room.”

Why won’t he just rest?!

“You should be in bed.” You continue to chastise him. Irked by the amusement on his face.

“I’m all better. I promise. Here, give me your other hand.” He offers it to you and waits until you take hold of them before he pulls you to him swiftly.

He chuckles at the surprise in your expression, but lifts you easily, holding you around your waist until he’s moved to a trodden path and sets you down.

There’s the sound of cobble beneath your feet as you regain your balance.

Steve takes your right arm and wraps it around his left elbow to help support you as he pulls you along down the path.

You’re frowning at him however, staring at him with subdued fury.

He meets your gaze, then throws his head back in laughter.

“I’m alright, my flower. I promise.” He unwraps your arm only to wrap his own around your shoulders and pull you into his side to cuddle you closer. A squeeze of reassurance given. “I’m all better.”

Your mind is struggling to wrap itself around that speedy recovery. The scar already looks months old. Faded, with the skin hardly raised, like the others on his chest. How many of those had been stab wounds?

Pouting, you look forward but don’t pull out of his embrace. He’s still running at a hotter temperature than you are, and in this freeze, it is appreciated.

All of the blooms that you pass, the shrubs, and topiary are covered in a thin layer of ice. The fountain’s water frozen, and the small pavilion that has been set up at the back right corner of the large garden is piled in white from the storm.

The sky is gray, overcast, as more snow threatens to fall. It’s almost assured to come. The cottage will be absolutely buried once again and there will be no leaving for several weeks.

“Where are we going?” You grumble, still a little worried.

“Y/N…” Steve says, his voice so soft that you search for his face instinctively. “Please believe me when I say that I am alright. I understand your concern, but it depresses me to have you upset with me.”

Your mind fogs over. Steve sad?

That’s not what you want.

“I’m sorry, I just…I don’t understand.” You admit, giving in and settle under his arm in a more relaxed gait.

“I know.” Steve nods. “And that’s where I’m taking you. To explain.”

“Explain?” You keep your gaze on him.

“It’s not much further. Are you cold? Should I give you my cloak?” He worries.

“I’m alright.” You assure him.

He moves a little faster, eager to get you out of the cold, probably.

When he begins to slow as the garden splits into a grove of tall frosty pines, you see that he’s been bringing you to what looks like a small shed. The stone is crumbling, and the wood looks rotten.

Steve frowns as he stares at it, stopping only a few feet away from the blackened and splintering door.

“What’s the matter?” You ask, looking from his look of disapproval back to the shed.

“The shack, it’s falling apart.” Steve says. “They should have restored it long ago. We’ll have to tear it down and build a new one.”

You’re still not sure what he disapproves of.

“I was going to take you in, but not in this state. I won’t risk you and our little one. Wait here for me. I’ll only be a moment.” He tells you, then strides towards the shed.

As he swings the door open, the top half comes off the hinge and Steve catches it before it can completely topple.

He grabs the door from the sides and looks back at you, uncertain for bit, until he seems to make up his mind and with minimal effort, he yanks the door away.

There’s a clatter as the hinge falls onto the small cobble step. Steve sets the door to the side of the doorway, and with flushed cheeks, he looks at you once more and the shocked expression you must be wearing.

You knew that Steve was strong but…tearing doors off their hinges?

Perhaps it’s just that old?

He disappears into the dark mouth of the shed and every moment you stand there without him feels colder than the last.

You’re not sure it’s really getting colder or if you just miss his heat or just him in general, but then the wind picks up and whips your cloak around the black and blue velvet gown beneath. The storm must be coming sooner than expected.

“Steve?” You call out, drawing the cloak around yourself tighter.

In response, you hear a strange rumble and a creak. The sound moves closer and closer to the doorway until through it breaks what looks to be a wooden seat sat upon two large wheels at the front and a slightly smaller one at the back.

The seat looks like any other. Older, with navy cushions torn and moth eaten, but just like the chairs that sit around the cottage dining table. The wood of the chair is sturdier than that of the shed because it looks much newer, although, it has been kept in doors so that could only have helped.

You look up at Steve as he stops pushing it a few feet away from you. He stands beside it, one hand on the back, then meets your eyes to read your reaction.

“What’s this?” You ask him, unsure how to behave.

“This is…my past.” Steve explains. “As a boy, I was confined to this chair until around the age of eight. My spine was twisted. My lungs were underdeveloped. My skin had a constant rash. I had the sweating sickness about four times. I couldn’t run or overexert myself, as my heart would beat so fast that it began to hurt. More often than not, I was ill. I think I can remember only a handful of days where I was fine to be out on my own, with Bucky playing games. This chair…was my life.”

You stare at the seat, trying to picture your husband—strong, tall, capable, no sign of ailments at all—as the sick child who rode around this chair. It’s almost impossible.

“What happened?” You ask him, turning to meet his hesitant gaze.

“Just as I turned eight, I caught the sweating sickness again. This time, it came for me. I was almost dead when my mother, in her desperation, sought help from a warlock. A doctor, or so he called himself.

“He gave my mother the truths, that he might be able to save me and make me invulnerable to all future sickness, give me accelerated healing, strength that she could not possibly imagine…but that there was also a chance that I could very well die as my body underwent the process.

“Weak as I was, he assured her that the likelihood of my death was high.” Steve lapses into silence, thinking. About his mother?

“She took the chance.” You tell him, because here he is, standing before you a specimen of perfection.

Steve snaps out of his thought and nods. “Yes. She figured that I could either die of my illness or the next or die anyway but have the chance to rid my body of its weaknesses and live. Clearly it worked.”

“So, when he cured you…?” You begin.

“I became a whole new person. I could run and play. I was able to truly live. As I grew older and I realized that there were things I could do with this gift bestowed upon me, I created the Captain and set out to do what I could to rid my father of the threats to his kingdom. Mainly that meant Hydra.

“Bucky, Margaret, Sharon…they were all within my circle and my closest of friends. Naturally they gravitated towards the same agenda. And through this endeavor of mine, I met others like me. Some were gifted their abilities. Some stumbled upon them. Some were forced into it. But all of us wanted the same thing.

“To fight for those who could not fight for themselves. There were six of us to start with. Your father, the Iron Man.” Steve pauses, thinking this through quickly, calculating the look of intense concentration on your face. “Myself. Bruce, or rather, Doctor Banner, who you met briefly back home.”

“What can Doctor Banner do?” You wonder, remembering the handsome but somewhat reserved man who’d emerged from the council room after your encounter with Sharon.

“Bruce was one of those who accidentally came upon his gift. He was in a foreign country assisting in the research of an abandoned village. There was a flash of green light, and from what he says happened, it appears he stumbled upon a few old traps laid by a witch and he was cursed.

“Whenever he grows angry, he loses control and transforms into what he calls the Hulk. Some who have sighted him in this form have referred to him as the Green Monster.” Steve explains.

“That is Doctor Banner?!” You reply, shocked by this revelation.

Steve only nods. “Then there’s Thor, the God of Thunder.”

“Wait…God of Thunder?!” You gasp.

“Did he not tell you?” Steve’s brow puckers in confusion.

You’d known that Thor was a King but a God? You shake your head.

“Typical.” Steve gripes. “Then there’s Lord Barton, who was a spy before he joined us, and a master archer. Though, he has retired and is living in peace with his wife and children.

“And lastly, there was Natasha.” This seems to be the name that Steve was worried about telling you because he tenses, hand gripping the back of the seat.

“My Nat?!” You clarify. Steve nods. “What-?”

“She was also a spy. Trained from childhood. Conditioned to be a certain way…I don’t feel it’s right for me to tell you her story, but she’s been working hard for many years to pay a debt she feels obligated to pay. She’s a master warrior. I don’t know any other human woman who can fight the way she can.” Steve sounds proud. Protective of Nat.

Does he think you’ll be angry at her or see her differently?

Well, you can’t see her the exact same way. But you see nothing wrong. Just a little shocking.

“S-so the six of you formed a team?” You ask, remembering the word floating around somewhere though you can’t quite remember where you got it.

“The Avengers.” Steve nods. “Sharon and Maggie were not part of that particular group, but they were heavily involved.”

As the wind picks up again, you drift into thought, trying to see these people, these friends as saviors of the world.

Nat…you’ll need to talk to Nat. But first…

“Y/N?” Steve checks, visibly nervous as he shifts from foot to foot, gripping the back of his old chair so tight it’s beginning to crack under his weight.

You meet his storm blue eyes as he searches your own.

Only one thing could matter more than Nat or anything that Steve just told you.

“What does this mean for our baby?” You ask him, reaching down to place your hand over the small hidden bump. “Will he be like you before you were cured…or after?”

Slowly, fear begins to take root in Steve’s eyes. Will your baby be strong? Or will you suffer the same fate as his mother and be forced to choose between the chance of death and certain death for you little one?

#king!steve x reader #king!steve x you #steve rogers x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #medieval au #royalty au #arranged marriage au #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #avengers x reader #captain america x reader #medieval fantasy au #pseudo princess #pseudo princess pt23

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #369

“so close, no matter how far / couldn’t be much more from the heart / forever trusting who we are / and nothing else matters”

What are three emotions you experience regularly? Sadness, shame, and stress. Is there someone right now whom you really wish would care for you? -___- Does your job allow visible tattoos? I don’t have a job, but quite honestly, I probably wouldn't take a job that didn't. I just love tattoos a lot and plan on having many, and ignorance and old-fashioned bullshit isn't gonna stop me. Do you know anyone that’s transgender? Yes. Do you think dress codes are unfair? In some places, like schools, yes. Are in a relationship? Tell me about it. I'm not. How is your road rage? I don't have road rage. By god does my sister, though. Favorite cosmetic brands? I don't wear makeup nearly enough to have a preference. The beach or the pool? The pool. I hate the feeling of sand, plus the salty wind and heat. Manga or anime? Anime. Favorites for manga? I've never read any. It's tempting to read Deadman Wonderland since it continues off the very short anime, but I just don't want to. Manga isn't my style. Favorites for anime? Fullmetal Alchemist (including Brotherhood), Ginga Densetsu Weed, and Deadman Wonderland. Favorite academic subject? English. A card game that you’re good at? I'm not exceptionally good at any. Do you eat breakfast? Pretty much always. A popular book you haven’t read yet? To Kill A Mockingbird, to name one I feel like everyone had to read in school. Do you like sweaters? I'm an oversized hoodie person, really. I don't like the look of zippers. Do you like sushi? Never tried it, never will. Do you wear prescription glasses? Yes. I badly need a new pair, because I can't see for shit. Generally, are you more likely to blame others or yourself for problems you experience? Myself. What is one thing about your life that you don’t ever see changing, even if you might wish it would? I have a feeling I'll always have some degree of social anxiety. I'm sure there are other things just not coming to me. At what point in your life have you been the most social or had the most friendships? And at which point have you been the least social? I had the most friends in my childhood years, probably. Or high school when I actually had a friend group. I'm sure I was most social as a kid in elementary school, not dealing with my social anxiety. I've been the least social like... now, honestly. I go essentially nowhere and have very few friends. Do you prefer to have a few close friends or a bunch of random acquaintances? Which would describe what you have now? I want close friends. I have like... two or so close friends and a handful of acquaintances. I don't know which I have "more" of when you consider the actual level of friendship/"quality" I guess. Do you journal? Generally, what do you write about? Do you find it helpful to get your thoughts out that way, or do you prefer another form of self-expression? I don't actually journal, but you could consider these surveys my "journal." I guess it's kinda why I do them so frequently? Like it lets me get stuff that's going on out, so I find it kinda therapeutic versus keeping all my thoughts jumbled up in my head. Have you ever been somewhere and REALLY didn't like a food that you were expected to eat? How did you deal with this? Are you someone who is likely to suck it up and be polite or refuse and save your taste buds? To start off, I am VERY bad at sucking it up and eating something I don't like. My gag reflex is very strong, and I'm also extremely sensitive to textures I don't like, so my reactions are just very involuntary. I can try to subdue my expression when I dislike something, buuut that's extremely difficult. But anyway, yes, I've been to places where I definitely disliked the food, especially this one occasion where we went to a local Southern cooking restaurant that literally ASSUMED you want the staple foods and sweet tea, none of which I enjoy. While everyone else was eating, I just very awkwardly sat there doing nothing and pretty much panicking over looking rude. Thank god, Ashley's father-in-law noticed and called over the waiter for me to actually order something, the way it should be. I was very thankful but still felt bad. What is one way in which you compare yourself to others? In this comparison, do you regard yourself as better or worse off than the people to whom you usually do the comparing? I am very bad and comparing successes with others, but only in ways that demeans me. Like I look at others and am just like, "Why aren't I there yet?" It always leads to anger and disgust of myself. What is something you’ve been particularly grateful for lately? I've thought a lot lately about how thankful I am to have my mom. She does so very much for me, and I don't think I could absolutely ever repay her in full. I wish I could. She's a damn superhero. What kind of change or opportunity would be the biggest help in your life right now? I was initially going to say getting a job, but thinking about it, getting to my goal weight might be an even greater help. It would help my leg pain, not having to carry as much around, I'm sure my hyperhidrosis wouldn't be as bad (I hope), and it would MASSIVELY affect my happiness. Like I cannot tell you how negatively my weight has damaged my self-esteem, confidence, and peace with myself. Is there one emotion that you experience more often than any other? Is there an emotion you rarely ever experience? I'd say I experience stress more than anything. I'm always thinking of something that's causing a ruckus in my life. A rare emotion for me is uhhhh jealousy, even though I've dealt with it more lately. What is one illness you are afraid of having? Do you know anyone who has faced this illness? The disease that I think scares me more than any is Alzheimer's/dementia. I just... cannot possibly imagine. How do you tend to behave when you’re sick? What kinds of things do you like people to do for you, if anything, to help you feel better? I'm very mopey and tired, and I can be a bit more irritable. I really, really appreciate help with things like chores when I'm not feeling well. When was the last time you did something you were proud of? Were other people proud of you as well? Does it matter to you whether or not other people care about your accomplishments, or is your own satisfaction enough? It's a very small thing, but I weaned down from having two cans of soda a day to just one. Mom is proud of me for it, which I appreciate a lot. Admittedly, it does kinda matter to me that those who know it's a big deal to me see and care about my accomplishments. I'm bad about needing external validation. What is your least favorite thing about the season you’re currently experiencing? Are you okay with most types of weather, or are you only happy under certain conditions? Ugh, the heat. Spring and summer are miserable to me because I veeery much love the chilly weather and no damn humidity. Have you made any changes to your style or “look” lately? How often do you change your appearance, hairstyle, fashion, etc? Or is it a pretty constant thing? No; my style is pretty constant. What was the last thing you felt hopeful about? Do you think there’s a good chance of whatever-it-is working out in your favor, or not so much? Getting a job at the tattoo parlor. I'm fearful that they won't be open to the position I'd like, so I'm trying to not get my hopes up too high. We'll find out in two days. Have you ever “recovered” from anything? What does “recovery” mean or look like to you? Yes, a traumatic breakup. I'd say recovery is just healing as much as possible from something, be it physical or emotional. What are some ways your childhood differed from those of others around you? Do you think this difference was harmful or advantageous in the long run? My dad was an alcoholic, if that qualifies. That definitely isn't a *normal* thing for someone's childhood. I think it was harmful, honestly, especially because I've had more than a few nightmares about my dad drunk. When was the last time you did something out in nature? Do you notice a dip in your mood when you don’t get enough of the Great Outdoors? Oh jeez... Probably not since Sara and I went catfishing with my dad. I wandered around with her some as she ventured for toads, haha. I don't really notice a dip in my mood, just because I'm so used to being indoors. I do prefer getting some time with nature, it's just hard and uncomfortable with how easy I sweat, and my knees sure do cuss me the fuck out in the form of a billion cracks if I walk much (by my standards...). What did you dream about last night? I had two dreams, but I only remember one, in which a giant green tree python was eating me backwards so I was conscious through it all. No hard feelings, I still want one as a pet, haha. They're GORGEOUS snakes and no, absolutely cannot eat you even if it tried its damnedest. What were your childhood dreams? To be a paleontologist, then a vet. What are your dreams now? If we're talking career-wise, to be a nature and wildlife photographer that gets to travel a lot. What are some Halloween costumes you would like to wear in the future? I've mentioned that #1 on my list is Ms. Oogie Boogie, then uhhhh... wow, I'm surprised I'm blanking, because I know there are lots I've thought of. Were you born with hair on your head? Yes. Would you rather have a home birth or hospital birth? I'm not having kids, but holy mother of fuck I'd have my baby at a hospital with a goddamn epidural. I do NOT know how some people can do it naturally, bigass props to them. Do you currently live in the house you grew up in? No. If not, what do you miss about it?^ It was just in general a nice house, the best one we've lived in. We had a pretty big yard too, so lots of room to play around as kids. What’s your favorite type of yogurt? I'm not a big yogurt person, really. What were your high school’s team colors? Red and white. Who were your best friends in high school? Hannia, Girt, Maria, Megan, Dennis, Dakota... What would be the best surprise you could receive right now? A tarantula. *puppy eyes emoji* Were there any subjects in school that were really easy for you? If so, what? English courses were very easy for me, and I was pretty good with science. Did you ever skip a grade or get held back a grade? Not like, a whole grade, but I surpassed Writing I in my last college endeavor and started out in Writing II instead. What’s your favorite rock band? Oh brother, you can't ask me this. Who’s your favorite country singer? I consistently like Tim McGraw a bit. How many drawers does your dresser have? My dresser is unnecessarily big. There's like five or six. Have you ever taken a picture at the perfect moment? Yes. One of my favorite pictures I've taken was at Ashley's gender reveal for Emerson; even she didn't know. When her husband pulled the fog thing and it was pink, her expression was just priceless. Was your first car used or new? I haven't had my first personal car. How did you discover your favorite band? By going through my mom's CDs when I was getting into rock music. Ozzy was the first truly metal and not rock band that I ventured into. What was the last big decision you made? BIG decision... I don't know. Probably dropping out of college. What is your favorite thing to go shopping for? I love window shopping for pets online, haha. What was the last thing you changed your mind about? A political stance. Who was the last friend you saw, and what did you do together? Oh yikes, it's been more than a while... It may have been Girt? In which case we probably watched TV or played board games together. Who tends to show up in your dreams? Do you ever wonder if you appear in anyone else’s dreams? Jason just loves to show up in my dreams more than anyone else. I don't really wonder that, no. What is something you wish you could say to someone who is no longer in your life, or something you wish they could know? I wish I could tell Bryar (Jason's friend I got in a fight with) I misunderstood something he said to me ("martyr" has two different definitions, and I somehow didn't know the modern one at the time) that made me seem like an absolute, attention-seeking bitch. It's so fucking embarrassing to look back on, because I agreed with him because I thought he meant it as I would die for my beliefs, which is true. What worries you most about your future? Whether or not I'll ever be in the physical shape I want to be in again. Or if I'll have a stable job. What is something you do to feel better when you’re scared? Find distractions, like funny YouTube videos. I also engage in deep breathing and grounding methods. What is the strangest book you have ever read? How did you find out about it? Oh my god, in elementary school, we read a book where everything a boy touched turned to chocolate. Weird book. Do you prefer to watch movies or tv alone or with other people? Is there anything you refuse to watch alone? Other people, definitely. I like having someone to talk to and comment on what we're watching. There's nothing I won't watch alone. What was the subject of the last video you watched? It was a let's play.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''nothing else matters'' by metallica

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saultnpeppah · 4 years

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Day 3: The proposal

Day 3: The proposal for the WonderBat event “Steps to the Altar”. It’s a long one, but I hope you all enjoy!

March 1. Downtown Gotham. 9:10

Diana

I love the sun. I love the brightness it casts over the gloomy city, promising a better day over each hidden corner it illuminates. I love the heat that radiates from its core, the warmth it brings, giving life to those things left dead by the harsh temperament of Gotham winters. I love the hope it brings when you wake up to see the sun peeking through the clouds, greeting you with a magnificent glimpse of all you can accomplish.

Growing up in Greece, the sun greeted me most mornings. I often found myself staring out at the ocean in awe, wondering how something so seemingly small could be so powerful. When Mother and I had moved to Gotham, my sunshine filled days were soon overshadowed by the gloomy overcast and clouds that reigned over the Gotham skies most of the year. Eventually I learned to find the beauty in the vastly different weather of Gotham to my hometown. That did not mean I still did not miss the sunshine.

Every time the sun took a chance, peeking through the low clouds that filled the sky, I was out soaking it up. When I went back to Greece for a few years after college, I spent most days outside, soaking up the warmth, storing it up for the winter nights here in Gotham when it felt like the wind chilled me to the bones. The sunshine was a rarity, and I never wanted to take it for granted. This would explain why the phone call I had received an hour ago had frustrated me to no end.

When Charlie had called me at nearly eight this morning, I had had a foot out the door, ready to run some personal errands before enjoying my one day to myself in nearly three weeks. Things at work had become hectic, and with a new exhibit expected to open at the end of the month, I had spent every waking moment focused on work. Of course, once Charlie had called, frantically explaining they were having an issue procuring one of the items for the exhibit, I knew the sunshine would have to wait. I had a job to do.

My footsteps squeak against the freshly waxed floors as I make my way to my office, trying not to overthink the vague message in Charlie's call earlier. I am unable to help the worry that settles over me and my feet begin to carry me faster, making a sharp turn at the end of the hallway. The cell phone in my coat pocket begins to ring and I quickly pull it out, a small sigh escaping my lips when I see Bruce's name flash across the screen. He's been in Star City for the last few days, meeting with Oliver Queen and his company, trying to find a way to save the company of the reformed playboy. Bruce knows all too well how a bad image can ruin a company, as he nearly lost his because of stupid mistakes on his end. Fortunately for Bruce, he had Lucius. Oliver, however, did not.

Silencing the phone, I continue down the bright hallway, shoving the device back into my coat pocket promising to return his call when I am not in the middle of a drawback that could not only hurt my career, but also the reputation of the museum. Besides, Bruce will understand. He knows it has been a busy week, and although I hate the months when we are both so busy we hardly get to see each other, it's nice to have a partner who understands the demands of a job. Bruce doesn't fret when I have to stay late at the museum. He doesn't complain when I have to drop plans last minute because an artifact goes missing. He respects my job, as I do his, and I love him all the more for it.

When I finish my journey down the hallway, I continue into my office, barging in the door, ready for whatever chaos may be on the other end. My stomach sinks when I see Charlie on the phone, sweat dripping down the side of her face as she clenches the half eaten bagel that was surely her breakfast in her hand. She frantically waves me over, trying to distract me from the two men sitting at her desk, their head in their hands- whatever has happened is not going to be an easy fix and something tells me I'm going to have to cancel dinner with Alfred for the second time this week.

Immediately my fingers begin to work their way to the buttons on my coat, pulling one loose, ready to settle in for the day and fix this mix up, before Charlie lifts a finger and shakes her head. She nudges a few of her dark curls out of her face, staring at me with dark brown eyes while she nods to whoever is on the other end of the phone. "Of course," she says after a few moments, forcing a laugh to hide the anxiety that is beginning to creep up. "We'll get it fixed right away, Sir," she says, addressing the mystery caller.

My heart begins to pound. Charlie is usually so confident, so sure of herself and her abilities. That is why she is part of my team. When I took this job, I was up against candidates with much more experience, both in museums and in life. I was younger and I was still looking for ways to change the way museums ran, and many did not like that. My first year I ran into a lot of hurdles, but I pushed through, eventually gaining the trust of the board of trustees. That didn't mean I had been able to slack off. In fact, every exhibit, every artifact, every presentation, I need to do my best, which is why I work with the best.

Charlie is my main assistant curator. She knows the ins and outs of every exhibit here in the museum, and on the occasion I am not here, she is able to run things flawlessly. But the look she has on her face is making me worry more by the second. "I will call you with an update soon," Charlie promises into the phone, letting another nervous chuckle pass through her lips before she ends the call, slamming the phone onto the base in the corner of her desk.

"Do I want to know who that was?" I ask

Charlie shakes her head. "Andrew Lemming," she answers anyway. She wipes her sweaty palms onto her pant legs, turns, and grabs something off her desk.

Something big must have happened if the President of the Board of Trustees is calling demanding it be fixed right away. "Someone mislabeled one of the accounts," Charlie explains, glaring at the two men seated behind me. Arthur and Daryl are our newest hires, and they both came highly recommended- it's hard to imagine them making a mistake this crucial. "One of the shipments got mixed up and is halfway across town but because you're the one who put in the original order, you're the one who has to go down there."

She hands me a sticky note and I read the address written in blue ink. It's going to take at least forty minutes to get to where this is and probably another hour to get everything situated. I will definitely need to call Alfred to cancel our dinner plans tonight. The thought alone makes me sad, as he was going to tell me about Bruce's second grade volcano project that went horribly wrong, resulting in a complete renovation of the kitchen; it was definitely a story that would produce a laugh big enough to cure the stress of the last few days.

I shove the sticky note containing the address into my pocket beside my phone and turn on my heel, walking out of the office with a nod to the two men who are still sulking at Arthur's desk. I walk through the maze that constructs the basement of the museum, a sense of urgency lingering in my movements. It isn't long before I am in my car, jabbing the keys into the ignition and bringing the vehicle to life, before speeding off, hoping I can fix this before everything else goes sideways.

XXXXXXX

West End. 11:17.

The drive to the west end takes longer than expected, thanks to a fender bender on the highway that blocked nearly three of the four lanes. I had offered to help, silently cursing myself for offering a helping hand when I was on a strict timeline myself, however the two drivers only shook their heads and went about their day, already halfway through with exchanging information. Not wanting to press my luck, I drove straight to the address Charlie had given me, focused on the task at hand.

I knew it was going to be a long day. When I was done here, and had the artifact safely in my possession, preferably in a vault at the museum, I was in for a ton of paperwork. I would need to figure out how the mix up happened and how I would be able to assure the Board something like this would not happen again. Thank the gods I had accepted the second cup of coffee Alfred had offered this morning. I was going to need it.

I turn the wheel of my car one last time, letting the vehicle make the last turn that my GPS orders from me, before I shift gears, placing the car in park in front of a warehouse, and pull the keys from the ignition. My phone rings from the inside of my coat again, and I reach into my pocket, unable to help the sigh that falls from my mouth, worried about what else might be happening at the office. Bruce's name flashes on the screen once more, causing my lips to curl into a smile even though I swear my hair is graying from all the stress. Just the thought of him relaxes me slightly and even though I know I need to get into the warehouse, I want to hear his voice, if only to prevent the raging migraine I can feel forming at my temples.

"Hi," I say into the phone, placing it to my ear, letting my head fall back onto the top of my seat.

"Hi," is his response. "Everything okay?"

"No," I answer truthfully. He's going to hear about it when he comes back anyway, there is no use lying to him now. "One of the pieces for the Tibet exhibit is missing and I'm trying to track it down."

"How did that happen?" he asks. I find myself shrugging, even though I know he cannot see me, and pinch the bridge of my nose. Hearing his voice wasn't as soothing as I had wanted, and I can feel the tension growing by the second.

"I don't know," is all I say, as I reach into the glove compartment, pull out a bottle of aspirin, open it, and dump two pills into my hand. "I'm fixing it."

"That's why they pay you the big bucks," he says. I know there is that stupid smirk on his face and I shake my head and scoff.

"Shush." My eyes glance up to my dashboard, taking a look at the time displayed. My hand reaches across my body and unbuckles my seat belt, before it grabs the handle to the door of my car and opens it up. "I have to go," I explain, stepping out of the vehicle and onto the sidewalk that leads to the warehouse. "I'll talk to you later."

"Of course," he says. "Don't stress out, Diana," he says, "it'll work out." With that he ends the call.

I close the door to the car, clenching my keys tightly in my hand as I try to let out a steady breath, trying to calm myself. As I follow the cemented path to the front of the warehouse, I slip my keys into my coat pocket. My phone is inches from following my keys to their fabric resting spot when it begins to ring again.

"Hello," I answer so quickly I don't even bother to look at the number flashing on the screen.

"Di," Charlie's voice rings out, "you make it to the warehouse?"

"Yes," is my answer. When I reach the front of the warehouse I let the door slide open before I step inside, letting the hot air radiating from the heater behind the front counter warm my body. The receptionist who stands beside the heater smiles my way, pushes her glasses up her thin nose, and tilts her head. "Hi," I greet, trying my hardest to conjure a friendly smile. It is not this woman's fault I am here. She deserves some common courtesy.

"Hello," she says. "How can I help you?"

I shift my phone, moving the mic away from my mouth as Charlie is not the intended other party for this conversation, and pull my work badge from where it hangs around my neck. "I'm from the museum," I say, handing her the badge. "There was a mix up that I was told I needed to fix."

She lifts my badge, reads my name, and nods. "Ms. Prince, of course!" she exclaims. "Yes, I do believe we have something for you." She lets go of my badge and I stuff it back into my jacket, watching as she disappears behind the counter, only to appear moments later carrying a small wooden box. "Here it is," she says as she places the box onto the counter. She hands me a receipt and offers me a pen, watching as I sign for it, before she offers me another smile. "Thank you. You're all set."

Confused, I only nod and walk out of the building, the wooden box tucked safely under my arm. "Well that was quicker than I expected," I say into the phone, unlocking the car and hopping inside.

Charlie lets out another nervous chuckle. "Did you get the right one?" she asks.

My hand reaches for the glove compartment, opens it, and pulls out the pocket knife that I keep inside. My shoulder raises up and pins the phone to my ear and my hands work the knife around the box, slicing the labels and stickers around the box, carefully wiggling the blade between the boards trying to pry it open without damaging what is inside.

The box opens and I flash a grin, happy with my success. I carefully fold the knife and place it back into the glove box and place the top piece of wood onto my passenger seat, glancing into the box, hoping to find my artifact safe and sound. What I don't expect, however, are the four flowers laying inside. "What the hell," I mutter, lifting the flowers from the box, and rummage through the packing materials in hopes of finding the missing item. "There's no mask."

Charlie lets out a giggle and I stop my search. "I'm sorry," she says, "but I couldn't help myself."

My eyes narrow and I toss the box containing only paper packing material onto my passenger seat. Charlie has always been one to pull practical jokes, and while I would be on the receiving end of those pranks from time to time, none were nearly this elaborate or time consuming. "You're an ass," is the only thing I can say. "You made me come in for this."

"No, Di," she says, "it wasn't me. I was only a part of this elaborate plan."

My eyes scan over the flowers in my hand, clenching the four roses. There is a note laying in the box and I am quick to reach for it, my eyebrow raising as I read the all too familiar handwriting. I will love you until the last one dies. I take another look at the flowers and notice one is brighter than the other three and my lips curl into a smile when I realize it is plastic.

Bruce.

A comment made the night of our Freshman Orientation, when Bruce and I had been watching some cheesy romance movie where the main love interest had done something similar. I can't believe he remembered this, after all those years.

"Yeah, yeah," I say, remembering Charlie is still on the other end, "You're still an ass."

Charlie laughs harder. "Everything is all good here. Enjoy your days off."

Days? I know I'm supposed to be in tomorrow, but if Charlie says they don't need me, I won't push it. Considering I've spent a good portion of my actual day off on this wild goose chase, I deserve some time off.

Charlie ends the call and my fingers are quick to dial Bruce's number. It rings twice before he answers, but when he does, I can tell there is still a smirk on his face. "Hello?" he answers, trying to feign innocence.

I blow past his innocent demeanor, knowing he is up to something. "You're an ass," I whisper. "I mean, I love you, and the flowers, but you're an ass."

Bruce laughs and I fight to keep the scowl on my face. "But also romantic," he states.

I can't agree with his tactics, but I also cannot deny his claim. Bruce is one of the most romantic people I know. I secretly wonder if he enjoys the old romance movies I've forced him to watch countless times. "Yes," I agree, "but why?"

"Did you read the card?" he asks.

"Mmhmm."

"The whole card?"

The whole card? Was that one sentence not the only thing? I quickly turn the card in my hand, noticing the business logo in the middle of the card. The address is on the bottom along with Bruce's handwriting: I have some good news.

"What's your good news?" I ask unable to help myself. I know he's not going to tell me, he's going to force me to be patient. He's going to force me to play along with his little scavenger hunt, although I can't deny it's enthralling.

"Na uh," he says. "No cheating."

"Fine," I say, adding the address into my phone, getting the directions to my next stop. "I'll talk to you later."

"I love you."

"I love you too," I say. He hangs up the phone and I place the device on the dashboard, watching as my custom route comes up, ready to guide me through the streets of Gotham. I quickly start my car and drive off, wondering where in the world Bruce is sending me and what is waiting for me once I get there.

XXXXXX

Gotham Heights - Gracie CuppaJoe. 12:02.

The smell of coffee and fresh baked pastries fill the air as I step through the front door of the small corner shop. There are a few customers scattered around the room, each enjoying the last remnants of their caffeine concoctions and sweets. It brings a smile to my face when one of the baristas looks up from the register and offers me a large smile.

"Good morning," he says, wiping the counter with a rag, trying to clean before the lunch rush comes in for their caffeine fixes. "What can I get started for you?"

I contemplate whether I should indulge in another cup of coffee, having already had two this morning. However, the stress that both Bruce and Charlie have put me through should warrant another - maybe just a small. "She's with me."

I turn to face the owner of the voice. "What are you doing here?" I ask casually, smiling at the woman who offers me one of the small cups of coffee in her hands, before she turns to nod at the barista, who goes about his day.

Lois takes a sip from the remaining cup in her hand and flashes me a smile of her own, letting her shoulders shrug. "I was in the neighborhood," she says with a smirk. It is all I need to hear to know she's in cahoots with Bruce.

The two of us make our way to an empty table near the door, each taking a seat in a chair as we make ourselves comfortable. Lois slides her purse from her shoulder and places it on the chair beside her, eyeing me as she pulls out an envelope. "What did Bruce do?" I find myself asking, watching as she places the envelope on the table and slides it in front of me.

"I honestly don't know," she confesses. "But he helped me with that story about Lexcorp earlier this month, so I owed him a favor."

I nod, knowing full well that Bruce has been helping Clark with exclusive stories for years. When Lois and Clark started dating, he extended that courtesy to her as well. "How was Kansas?" I ask, attempting to make small talk as I grab the envelope from the table and peel it open.

Lois chuckles and whispers, "Interesting," before she takes another sip of her coffee, and ponders over the trip to meet Clark's mother for the first time. Having only met a few weeks earlier, Bruce and I were both excited and nervous to meet Clark's newest girlfriend. I wasn't sure how she would react to the fact that Clark still had dinner with his ex-girlfriend, nor was I sure how I would feel about seeing him move on, no matter how much of a hypocrite that made me. But after meeting Lois, I knew she would be a good friend, and after seeing the way she and Clark looked at each other, I knew they were perfect for each other.

"I'm just kidding," she says after a moment. "Martha was wonderful, and she spilled some secrets I'm sure Clark was not too fond of."

I chuckle and nod, knowing exactly what Lois speaks of. Martha and Alfred have much too much fun spilling secrets of Clark and Bruce's childhoods, and I know both Lois and I appreciate the embarrassing memories. "The tractor?" I ask, smiling when I remember the story Martha told Bruce and I the night of Clark's graduation.

Lois nods and finds it impossible to contain the laughter as she visualizes the event that occurred nearly two decades ago. She watches as I finish opening the envelope and pull out the card seeing Bruce's handwriting on the white piece of card stock.

I knew you would need something to calm your nerves so this one's on me. A few doors down is where you'll find your next clue.

I let out a small sigh and shake my head. How elaborate did Bruce make this scavenger hunt, and why was he doing it to begin with?

"The bookstore," Lois says, when I stuff the card back into the envelope. "Ask for Ryan."

I narrow my eyes at the woman but still give her a slight nod as I push my chair back and stand. "You want me to stay?" I ask when I realize it is rude of me to leave so suddenly.

Lois shakes her head, sips on her coffee, and pulls a small laptop from her purse. "No," she answers, "I'm perfectly content here." She waves her hand around the room and I watch as she begins to sway to the soft music that has been playing inside. "Much better than a stuffy office," she says, convincing me that she is okay with me leaving to go next door.

"Okay," is all I say, as I gather the still hot coffee in my hands. "Thank you." She nods and I see her lips tug into a radiant smile. My eyebrow raises and I know she knows more than she is letting on, but I don't bother to ask. Lois is a vault that no one can crack when it comes to confidential information. It is one of the reasons she has gotten so far in her career: people are willing to help her get information knowing she won't identify anyone who doesn't wish to be made public. With a small wave of my hand, I step out of the coffee shop and onto the sidewalk, following the path until I am standing on the stoop of the small bookstore.

My hand pulls the door open and I step inside. The walls are covered in vintage posters and artwork, signed and framed, showing the years that have gone into the decor of this place. There are rows and rows of bookshelves, lined to the brim with books. Novels, comics, and magazines fill the shelves and I wonder how a place this small place can hold what looks like hundreds of books. To the right is a small counter that houses two registers, a phone, and a computer to, what I assume, account for inventory and orders. All in all, it is a quaint little place, and I mentally remind myself to come and get lost in here on another day.

From behind one of the book shelves walks a man. He carries a box full of wrapped items in his arms, humming and bobbing his head along to the soft music that plays throughout the shop's speakers. He makes it to the front of the shop, still lost in the music, and places the box on the counter, before he turns to face me. His eyes widen when he realizes he is not alone and I can tell he is not used to customers this early.

"Hello!" he exclaims. He runs a hand through his hair and stumbles as he runs up to where I stand. "How can I help you?"

"Uh," I begin, trying to focus my attention on the small name tag that is pinned to his chest. The letters are unrecognizable, having been worn out from years of use, and it does me no good in identifying whether this is the man I need to speak to. "Are you Ryan?" I ask. "I was told I needed to speak to Ryan."

His lips tug into a confused frown. "Do you have an order?"

"I think so," I say unsure as I pull the card out of the envelope and hand it to him. Under Bruce's handwritten message lies a string of numbers. I was unsure of what they were, but when the shop owner turns and begins to type on the computer, I realize it is an order number.

"Ms. Prince," he says to himself, the frown disappearing from his face. He rummages through the box and pulls out a wrapped item. "Ah ha," is all he says as he hands me the item and the card. "I hope you like this," he says with a wink.

I thank him with a nod and pluck a business card from the counter, stuffing it into my coat pocket before I walk out the door, giving him a small wave as I push the door open and step outside. The bright glare from the sun distracts me momentarily and I have to squint until my eyes adjust. Sunshine in Gotham may have been a rarity, but when it came, it brought all it's glorious light. When my eyes finally adjust I take a look at the item in my hand, smiling at the fact that Bruce went through all this trouble to give me a little adventure while he was away.

The white wrapping is accompanied by a large red ribbon, tied to a beautiful bow on top, and I momentarily hate that I'm going to ruin the beautiful wrapping. Soon, however, the curiosity to know what Bruce has planned outweighs the want to preserve the wrapping, and I rip the package open. Inside there is an older publishing of the classic Shakespearean Romeo and Juliet.

The book is old but still in fantastic shape and as I move the book in my hands, I admire the intricate filigree on the cover. I open the cover and once again I see Bruce's handwriting.

Some people are worth dying for, but you, Diana, are absolutely worth living for.

Go to where we had our first kiss.

I smile as I pull the keys from my pocket and head to where my car is parked, hoping to find the answer to all this waiting at my destination.

XXXXX

Gotham Academy. 13:32.

Walking through the halls of Bruce and my alma mater brings back memories, some good, some bad, and I am overcome with emotions. My years here were definitely filled with both happiness and heartache, but if there was one person who had kept me sane throughout my time at Gotham Academy, it was Bruce. He was, is, my best friend. He was always there to listen to me when my mother was being overbearing and forbade me to do anything remotely fun. He was there for me when Steve broke my heart the summer after our Freshman year, and even though we had been friends since grade school, it was in these halls that I fell in love with Bruce.

I continue to walk through the halls. On a Saturday afternoon the once busy halls are nearly empty. Only a few students linger throughout the halls, trying to avoid the weekend detention they've been assigned or getting a jump on college prep exams. I don't envy them as those were some of the most stressful times in my life. One of the students looks up, their face having been buried in one an ACT prep book, and notices me as I continue down the hall. Her eyebrow raises as she tries to place my face and I chuckle lowly; being with Bruce, I have been splashed on the cover of multiple magazines, newspapers, and tabloid pages, the latter I am none too comfortable with, however I soon learned to get over the hurtful comments.

The student offers me a small wave when she realizes who I am and I respond with a small nod and a wave of my own, before I continue down the hall, turning the corner. I see my destination a few doors ahead and I breathe a sigh of relief when I notice the door to the room is the only one open, confirming that I am at the right place.

When I first got the clue in the book, my first thought was to go to the beach. That night, as we enjoyed a bonfire with half of the class, Bruce had kissed me. At first I thought it nothing more than a joke, as I was sure there was no way Bruce Wayne would be interested in the girl he had seen crying and shoving fistfuls of chocolate into her mouth more times than I would like to admit. However, as the night went on, I realized just how much I cared for him, and we spent the night together. I was nearly halfway to the beach when I realized the bonfire was not the first time Bruce and I had kissed, and I soon changed course to go back to our high school.

Our sophomore year of high school, we were forced to study and interpret pieces from Shakespear. Bruce and I were forced to work on Romeo and Juliet for the better part of the semester, which included a visual representation of the first meeting between the star crossed lovers - a visual that included Romeo and Juliet's first kiss. It was then that Bruce and I had kissed for the first time, and even though it had been nothing more than a platonic kiss between two people playing roles, sparks had flown, starting the attraction that only grew as time went on.

The room is dark as I step inside and I fumble with the switch on the wall, cursing at my nerves. I don't know why I'm anxious, but if this goes on for much longer, I'm going to fly to Star City myself and give Bruce a piece of my mind. The lights flicker on, illuminating the room, and I step fully inside. The room is the same as it was a decade earlier, albeit there are new desks that are lined throughout the room, and a new computer on the desk in front of the whiteboard, but the nostalgia is still there.

I make my way to the large desk and take notice of the small box in the center of the desk. As I get closer I can see that next to the box lays a card with my name on it. I open the card and see another message from Bruce.

I couldn't wait until the reunion.

Laying the card down onto the desk, my hand reaches for the box. It begins to shake as I pull it back. All the pieces start to fall into place and I suddenly realize what is happening. I open the box, letting out the breath I hadn't realized I had been holding, and chuckle. Inside is a giant ring pop and I can't help but think back to when I jokingly proposed to Bruce back at the end of our sophomore year.

The sound of shuffling from behind makes me jump and I turn to face the person who has joined me in the room. Bruce's smile sends butterflies down my stomach and I can't help but reciprocate with a goofy smile of my own. I can't believe he's here, having flown all the way back without telling me he was going to be coming back early, but I am grateful. Seeing him standing there, a few feet across from me, suddenly makes this all real.

"Hi," he says, taking a few steps until he is able to reach out and take my hand in his. He places a kiss on the back of my hand and gives me a smirk as he glances at the box in my other hand.

My heart beats faster when I glance into his eyes; those beautiful steely blues make my knees weak. The thumping of my heart fills my ears and I say, "It was supposed to be blue," cringing when I hear the awkward statement.

Bruce laughs and plucks the box out of my hand, placing it on a nearby desk, before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a smaller box. I let out a small gasp when I see the velvet box and although I know what is happening, I still can't believe it. "This one is," he says. He pulls his hand from mine and opens the box, displaying the ring that is inside, as he lowers himself down onto his right knee.

The ring inside the box is absolutely stunning. The white gold band is studded with blue sapphires, coloring half of the ring in a beautiful blue color that shines under the fluorescent lights in the room. The diamond in the center is a marquise cut, modest yet beautiful, and the two smaller diamonds that lay on either side of the center stone only accentuate it's charm.

"Diana," Bruce begins, forcing my attention from the ring in his hands to his face. His eyes are soft and he bites his lip nervously, trying to gather the right words to convey what he is feeling at this moment. Finally, he says, "I've loved you longer than I can remember. I've nearly lost you more times than I want to admit, but we've always found our way back to each other. I was a fool for waiting so long to tell you how I really felt, and if you'll have me, I'll spend my entire life showing you just how beautiful, how special, how wonderful you truly are."

His thumb caresses the back of my hand softly as he clears his throat, and he sends me a smile to let me know this is what he truly wants. The Bruce I knew as a kid would never have allowed himself to be vulnerable like this. He would have never let anyone break into the wall he had worked tirelessly to build. "I love you, Diana," he confesses. "Will you marry me?"

My arms are wrapped around Bruce before he can register what is happening, and he laughs as I find my voice, so clouded with raw emotion it is difficult for me to get the word out. "Yes," I whisper, trying to clear my throat as I wipe the tears from my cheek.

Bruce places a hand on my cheek, carefully caressing the skin as I repeat my answer, before his lips crash into mine. He continues to cradle my face as he kisses me once, twice, three times, each time more urgent than the last. Before we make the mistake of celebrating in one of the rooms of the high school, he pulls away, placing a kiss on my forehead before he plucks the ring from its spot in the box. He closes the small box and places it on the desk beside my ring pop and card, before he gently grabs my hand and slides the ring onto my finger.

The ring continues to shimmer under the lights and I can't help but look at it, so in awe. The ring is beautiful, balanced and adventurous, just like the relationship Bruce and I have. "I love you," I say when I finally find my voice.

Bruce nods, gives my lips another small kiss, and stands. "I love you too."

Bruce helps me up and we embrace in a strong hug. There are so many questions I have for him, like how things with Oliver went, and who else beside Lois and Charlie know about this, but for the moment I only want to revel in the bliss being here with Bruce brings. I will find out everything eventually, but for now, Bruce's arms are the only place I want to be. I love this man, I always have, and I cannot wait to finally marry my best friend.

@fyeahwonderbat

#StepsToTheAltar #wonderbat #brucexdiana #fanfiction #au #proposal

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olivenight17 · 4 years

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I love your matchups ! Can I have a bnha/Naruto matchup ? I’m a really laid back tomboy girl, almost never get stressed over anything. I’m always making dad jokes/puns just to be funny, but I am serious when I have to. I’m also kind of a hard worker, rarely gives up and I’m always late everywhere. Also, I don’t smile often but would always hide my mouth when I do anyway. I also have a really low self esteem, and is really sad pretty often. I also fall a lot and everywhere (clumsy) thanks !

No problemo, friendo! Okie doke, after thinking about it, I believe I am ready.

For bnha, I give you: Ochaco Uraraka!

- This… this is so cute.

- First of all, while you’re all about that relaxed life, Ochaco kinda goes all in emotion wise, which can lead to some cases of anxiety. Which is great for her because she needs your more relaxing presence to chill her out sometimes.

- Though you’re also really determined, so props, since she is too. Look at you two, determined duo, not giving up and going after what you want in life!

- Man, she totally saves you all the time from falling flat on your face. Overtime, you go to greet her, trip over your shoelace and she slaps your back so you don’t fall.

- But she’s also clumsy herself, most often with her quirk, so sometimes when she kisses you she forgets who she is and puts her full hand on your face and suddenly you’re floating upwards, and every time she freaks out.

- Guarantee you this is something that’s happened:

- *she makes you float mid kiss, opens her eyes and sees you* “Oh no, not again, I’m sorry!”

- “You know what? I accept my death Ocha, let me go.”

- “Honeyyyy no! We talked about saying things like that!”

- Which, in all honesty, you two probably have. Like I said, Ochaco is determined and that definitely goes for trying to cheer you up and make you feel better about yourself. Always making sure you’re watching your mental health. And she starts on that path with getting you to put your hand down when you smile! She always compliments your smile and she loves when she gets to see it.

- Overall, you’re in a wonderful relationship filled with determination, laughs (gOd she cannot get enough of your puns like she’ll die lmao) and smiles.

Now for Naruto, have our lazy genius Shikamaru!

- Ahh, the chill couple, it’s rare but great indeed!

- Tomboy and laid-back? Flippin perfect for this boi, because high maintenance people, even though he can deal with him, aren’t typically his thing.

- Usually laughs at your puns, but it’s definitely in a “God you’re such a dork but I love you” way.

- Thinks it’s really great that you’re a hard worker and determined as you are because he… is not. Not to say he doesn’t work hard but he’s more of “Work smarter not harder” kinda guy.

- Legit, you two probably met because you tripped over him while he was looking at clouds.

- You got up, all prepared to apologize, but he like barely even notices you did so and just looks at you. “You all good?”

- “Uh, yeah, sorry about that-”

- “No worries.”

- The thing about him is that he never lets you apologize to him. He may be a bit blunt about your insecurities and low self-esteem but it’s only because he doesn’t get it? Like, you’re a wonderful person how on earth could you think otherwise?

- He also compliments your smile when you show it to him without covering it up. It’s his way of trying to help you break out of your shell.

- Overall, a lovely and chill couple set with a dorky sense of humor and subtle support.

Hope you enjoyed~!

#bnha #mha #ochaco #uraraka #ochaco uraraka #bnha uraraka #Naruto #Shikamaru

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realityhelixcreates · 5 years

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Lasabrjotr Chapter 32: Echinacea Purpurea

Chapters: 32/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Someday) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Reader, Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Stress With No Outlet, Real Trials Are Boring, Ain’t Like TV, Botanical Gardens Are The Best, Iceland Sounds Like A Blessedly Quiet Place To Someone Who Lives Where The Trees Scream Several Months Out Of The Year Summary: Reader’s insecurities build up again, but at least this time there is a calm place to vent them.

You'd only eaten a light breakfast, but it sat like a brick in your belly. Saldis had reappeared in your room once morning came, to help you dress and make sure you were ready. You weren't ready.

You certainly looked ready. Your hair was fine and your dress was fine, simple, plain, and modest. Your insides however, were spinning in frantic circles. What if the jury decided not to convict the guy? What if they all hated you too? What if somehow it got all turned around, and it was Loki that got thrown in jail instead? How would you help your prince then? You would have to go to jail too in that case, to stay alive. Would they put you in the same cell? Next to each other? Or would they find the farthest distance you could be from one another, and force you to stay that far apart?

No, no, those kinds of things only happened in television dramas. You had to ignore everything you had seen in the media about court proceedings; they were only written like that so that they wouldn't bore the viewers. Your only purpose here, Loki's only purpose here, was to give testimony. No one was going to try to put Loki on trial here, nor you. No one was going to let that man hurt you either. He was going to be confined to a chair, with no weapons, and there would be a lot of security. Brunnhilde and Borgliot, and even Thor himself would be there. You would be safe, and Loki would be safe, and soon this would be over.

But in order for it to be over, It had to begin. It couldn't be over until you had gone through it.

And so it was that you arrived at the courthouse, to find yet more protesters on the steps. Again, you found yourself surrounded by a protective Asgardian wall, though, to your surprise, many of these protesters seemed to be there in support of you. They had nothing but scathing denouncements for Loki though, viciously scolding him for his many crimes against humanity in general, and you in specific.

You wanted to tell them that it wasn't like that, but you didn't think they would be able to hear over their own shouting.

Thankfully, they were not being allowed into the actual courthouse, and would not be able to disturb the proceedings, though they had managed to disturb you. You hadn't thought about the awful things Loki had done on Earth for a while now, not when he showed you such consideration. He was so gentle with you, so...almost normal. But he had killed people, potentially many people. However, due to the secretive nature of some of the organizations he had attacked, no one had anything but rough estimates for how many deaths he was responsible.

No. You were here for a human murderer, and you would see justice done in this case at least.

The bereft soldier, Adalheid, was already there. As the primary witness to the actual murder, she had come to the city a few weeks ago for the preliminary hearing, and now waited in what you were calling the Witness Room with a few of the victim's family members. You couldn't speak with her directly, but with Loki and Saldis there, everyone was able to communicate fairly effectively.

To your surprise, nobody seemed to blame you. You were the reason the killer had even come here in the first place, but everybody placed the blame squarely on his shoulders, where it belonged.

“You cannot take the blame.” The victim's sister told you. “All you did was leave home. This man, he came with violence in his heart.”

“I knew that he would die long before I did.” Adalheid said through Saldis. “But I thought we would have some decades yet. That I might make him happy for the time we did have.”

“You did, dear. He always wanted to go back to you.”

It could have been you. People sitting around a room, consoling themselves over your absence. But instead, it was some guy who was completely uninvolved. If people back home thought you had somehow betrayed them for Loki, then ultimately, you could understand why they would be angry. Maybe even why someone would try to kill you. Somehow, it was more offensive, more cruel, that a man was dead now, just because he liked to cuddle with an Asgardian soldier.

Well, you would get vengeance for him. With the power of law!

It was, thankfully, nowhere near as dramatic as any of the television or movie trials you had seen, although there was the somewhat surreal experience of having the undivided attention of a room full of people who could neither speak to, nor understand you. Oh, it was likely that a few people here knew English, but maybe not well enough that you could communicate with each other.

That was Saldis' true purpose here. Being fluent in both Icelandic and English, she translated back and forth, able to effectively express nuance that might have been lost otherwise.

They wanted to know fairly simple things from you. Did you know the defendant? Had you ever met before, in person or on social media? Had you ever heard of him? No to all.

Had you ever met the victim? Had you otherwise heard of him? Not exactly, but from the little love nest Loki had described to you, you had surmised that someone like him must exist. You personally had never seen the evidence.

What did you remember from the day you were attacked? If you never saw his face, how do you know this is the same man who attacked you? Because he had blatantly told you at the scene of the murder itself.

All questions you had heard before, safe, rehearsed. No unexpected game changers from out of left field, no trying to twist your words around. No blame.

They released you from the stand, your head swimming in unfulfilled anxiety. That had been so simple. Your part was over now, and it almost felt as if you hadn't done anything at all.

You made your way back to the Witness Room, still edgy. That had been actually boring! The killer hadn't even looked at you! No one had said anything else to you, other than the questions you knew they were going to ask. They hadn't even gotten mad when you couldn't bring yourself to swear on a bible. Thor had actually brought you Stormbreaker to place your hand on. He'd been asked politely but firmly to put it away and not bring it out again while he was within the city, but nobody had said anything to you about it.

That stunt would have gotten you killed socially and in the media back in the States. But things were different now. You took meals with gods, and slept in hotels with them. You held their hands and scolded them. You weren't the same now as you had been then.

Saldis tried to convince you to sit down and wait, but you were just too wound up to rest. You paced round and round, jumping as the door suddenly opened and Loki swept regally into the room.

“My dear.” He said. “You look troubled.”

You stopped pacing and hurried over to him. “I'm just...I don't know...”

“I think I do. Lucky for us, our presence is no longer necessary. We can go wherever we like now. Would you like food?”

“You said there was a botanical garden? Can we go there?”

“Certainly. We can spend the rest of the day there, if you wish.” He promised, taking your hand.

“Your Highness, will you require my services any further?” Saldis asked.

“Not for today, I think. You may go where you wish, but do not go alone. Enjoy your day.”

Saldis bowed. “Thank you, your Highness.”

Loki led you back to the steps of the courthouse, where the protesters still gathered. They began shouting again, their fervor rising as they noticed Loki still holding your hand. Several people started screaming about love conquering all, but others jumped forward trying to separate you, to 'liberate' you.

“Oh, definitely not.” Loki muttered. He swept you into his arms as security guards rushed to restore peace. With a wild laugh, he sprang from the stairs, landing as gracefully as a dancer. Cries of awe and fear rose up behind you, receding as Loki ran down the street, carrying you off like a princess.

“You crazy bastard!” You gasped. Loki set you on your feet, and you leaned against the nearest wall until your heart stopped thudding.

“Those are very inelegant words with which to describe your prince and savior.” He said with a fake scowl. “Never fear; I can provide better ones. Gallant, for starters. Noble, courageous, clever, devastatingly handsome. Take your pick.”

“What kind of stunt was that?” You exclaimed. “What if you'd dropped me?”

“Oh _____,” Loki said, trailing a finger down your cheek. “When would I ever do that?”

You needed to lean against the wall for a little longer.

People started to notice you, or rather, Loki. These seemed like the regular residents of the town, and they did not try to approach, but you saw an awful lot of cellphones out and pointed in your direction.

The stroll through town would have been quite pleasant, aside from that. The place was very clean, and there were many cute buildings with bright paint.

“Loki, I think there are people following us.” You whispered, clinging to his offered arm.

“I know.” He whispered back. “As long as they keep a respectful distance, let them take their pictures and videos. What will it show to the world, save you and I sharing a quiet day in peaceful accord?”

“Is that your version of PR?”

“Given that the majority of Earth's footage of me is rather unflattering, yes. Let your internet flood with videos of myself chivalrously escorting you around the city. I don't mind it in the least.”

Nobody followed you into the gardens themselves, but Loki's presence did cause a stir there, gathering stares and whispers as he charmed the receptionist into appointing another worker as a personal guide and security guard. The poor fellow tried his best to clear the area, chattering about the history of the place, which Loki helpfully translated for you.

According to your new guide, the gardens were initially built in the early twentieth century, by a group of ladies who wanted to bring a bit of beauty to their far northern city. Over time, it grew and grew, encompassing some of the oldest buildings in the city, and containing, not only many examples of the hardy native flora, but also foreign species, carefully tended to keep them healthy.

There were plants here of types you hadn't seen in months. How could it have been so long since you had seen roses? Sunflowers? All these blossoms, so common to the landscaping of home, yards and gardens. You spotted a bed of purple coneflowers and found yourself fighting to hold back tears. These grew wild along the roadsides, little pops of pale purple swaying in the sparse breeze of late summer. When you were younger, walking home from school, you used to gather bouquets of them, leaving them in a vase for your Nanna Beth to find when she got home. They had been decimated by the Event, along with everything else.

Endless cornfields, and endless sky, and endless stars, and endless roads. Hedgerows and wildflowers on the roadsides, remnants of forest and prairie. The wide, flat expanse of living things, with just the occasional town tucked here and there, hidden among the life-giving corn.

It was still wrong somehow. Something was missing. Something was too still.

No butterflies. Almost no insects at all, just some small flies, hovering around the blossoms. For the first time you realized how quiet Iceland was. All the chirping, buzzing, and song you had grown up with were silent here. No crickets, no hornets, no cicadas, frogs, or grasshoppers.

You felt Loki's hands cup your shoulders. He had been speaking to you, but you had been too enthralled in the world the coneflowers had taken you back to. You turned and buried your face in his chest, and though he stiffened, he didn't seem entirely unprepared for a sudden reaction from you, and merely crossed his arms loosely around you.

Home was gone. Every time you thought you had come to accept that, something happened to awaken that ache inside again. Something was there to remind you of how far away and lost you were, how much of a stranger. But Loki was too, and you could turn to him. You both lived here now, but had come from far away places, very different from your new home.

How did he cope? For him, everything would seem wrong. The animals, the people, the plants, even the stars.

“Let it out my dear, I know you've been stressed. You have spent the whole day nearly vibrating from it. It is over now. You are unlikely to be called back to witness again, and no matter the outcome, he is going away. He will be subject to justice, the only question left is the severity of his punishment.”

“I know, I know! It's okay, I know. I was just...Those flowers over there, they used to grow...”

You found a bench to sit on, and told him everything; how isolated you felt, how out of place, how lost.

“But it's got to be so much worse for you.” You said. “How do you deal with it?”

“Well...I may not actually have it all that much worse than you.” Loki mused. “After all, my people are here. I am surrounded by them, by my culture. I hear my own language every day, see and wear familiar clothing, hear songs that I know.

You may be on the same world, but Earth is so large that the people in another area can be so different as to be nearly unfathomable. Yes, they're also human, but can you speak with them? Do you live in the same way? The rules may be different for them, and they have no way to tell you that. There is no one to protect and succor you. That's true isolation; to be alone, even among your own species.

Yet, you don't even have that. You no longer live among other humans. Everyone you see in a day is technically an extraterrestrial. Some are Aesir. None are humans, no matter how similar we might look, and something in your instincts knows that. Only a handful of people there know your language, and all sound foreign to you. The clothing is different from yours, some of the food as well. The culture is different, the architecture, the stories and holidays.

There are many things that are unfamiliar to me here. The fact that I cannot reach the edge of this world. Time zones. Seismic activity. But I am facing all of these things with my brother at my side, and my people behind me. So I really couldn't say which of us has it worse.

“I do feel lost sometimes. The sky here does not act right. The animals and plants of this world are terribly strange. Do you know how insane the concept of a whale is to someone whose world had no ocean? I do feel like I do not belong here, and I feel the isolation as well, on a deeper level than I can explain right now. At least one very powerful nation absolutely despises me, and they are not without reason. They have the ability to influence others, and are continually attempting to do so, even here.”

He leaned back against the bench with a deep sigh. Your guide continued trying to shoo away people with their phones, and you couldn't help but wonder how flooded with pictures and videos of the two of you the internet was about to be.

“I honestly wouldn't fret about it all that much, if not for the trouble my enemies try to bring upon those who are not my enemies. My brother. My people. You. There are already casualties, and I wasn't even involved! This is another reason I do not try to stop these people from filming me. The more normalized I become, the less controversial a figure. The more people see me as a person, the fewer people will attempt to do what this man has done.”

“And I can ultimately help with that.” You concluded. “Just by existing. As long as I look happy and healthy, and stay by your side, the more you look like a friend.”

“Indubitably. That wasn't the initial plan. There was no plan. But now...well, if there is a plan, it's a very loose one, it's just that I keep finding new and valuable facets to your company. So, If you find yourself feeling lost, feel free to come to me. We can be lost together.”

You sighed as well, this time in fondness. “You're very good at grand proclamations, you know? Is that part of being raised as a political figure?”

“Would you prefer me to be more succinct?”

“I'd rather you just say what you feel.”

“Oh my dear,” Loki said with a grin. “I hope then, that you are prepared to hear many, many words.”

#lasabrjotr #loki x reader #loki (marvel)#marvel fanfiction

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mildlows · 5 years

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Postpartum

Depression is so hard. Having a baby is so hard. But the hardest part about having PPD is the fact that you absolutely love this little version of you and your partner, that you feel guilty for feeling tired, or sad, or unmotivated. 3 months in, and I am finally starting to get better, without medication. I havent treated myself with medication for my anxiety or depression for the last 5 years and instead have been finding other methods to help reduce and release the stresses I carry. And to be fighting this PPD without medication as well, makes me feel so strong. So I am going to start a list of things I am grateful for:

1. I am grateful to have a healthy baby boy straight from my womb. Everything about my pregnancy was relatively easy. I got nausea, I was so tired, I was uncomfortable during the last few weeks. All the normal things. Thankfully, we didnt have any difficulties. The only thing that had to happen was an emergency c section, for his head was too big that I could not push it out, as much as i tried. I went through labor which was exactly what I expected it to be. Hurt like hell. And I had an epidural which was a life saver when it got way too hard to handle. He was worth it completely though.

2. I am grateful to have a partner who is completely devoted to his family, who works tirelessly, and still comes home, makes me food, watches the baby, and lets me relax and take care of myself. I am so fortunate that he is always making sure I am taken care of before worrying about himself. I have never met a more selfless person who has treated me with the respect that I deserve after enduring a grueling 6 years of agony with a horrific person who most definitely was mooching off of me and had the worst anger issues and would take it out on me. I thank god every day I never got pregnant with his baby because that would have been a nightmare all on its own.

3. I am grateful to have a job where I am able to now work from home and have such flexibility to take my son to his doctors apts or to have days for myself when i need them. I never want to miss anything that happens in his life especially his firsts, and it is something that I am so happy I wont ever have to miss.

4. I am grateful to have supportive parents that are always there to help if ever I need a date night. I am so grateful to have a mother who is able to help guide me through motherhood when I get so tired and restless. She helped tremendously during my “baby blues” period, and I cannot thank her enough for that. I am grateful to have a dad that despite his machismo upbringing, still sees me as a woman who is capable of everything and supports me in absolutely everything I do. They are both the best grandparents we could ask for.

5. I am grateful to be able to save up $$ to put towards a down payment for our first house. Having to own is so much better than having to rent and I am so tired of throwing money down the drain. We are looking at houses that might need some renovation so we can tweak it to our liking. Although I would love to move somewhere like Philadelphia or even Seattle, I know realistically, being closer to home with a baby is the best bet. I want to make sure Jr has his grandparents around as hes growing up. I read an article the other day that stated kids who grow up with their grandparents are significantly happier than those who dont. So this is a decision we are still going over. I’d also considered moving to East Atlanta, or possibly Decatur, however, now it is 3 of us and I have to think about the best place to raise my baby and those places are too dangerous now. Maybe once hes older we can move somewhere else.

6. I am grateful to be in overall good health. I am also weighing less than I did pre-baby. Breastfeeding is such a beautiful bond I get to experience and an additional upside is it burns a lot of calories as well. I want to lose a bit more weight and become stronger again. I have to sign up at a gym in order to do that though because the weights I have here are very light and not sufficient.

I’m sure theres many more things I can list down, but for now, those are the most important ones.

#me #mine

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mariellawinters · 6 years

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HOLA ! i’m frankie , 22 years old , residing in the central time zone , and go by the female pronouns . i’m SO thrilled to be a part of this group ! i don’t know what else to say except for the fact that i haven’t roleplayed in about 4 months , so i apologize in advance for being rather slow in the process . however , i’ll try my very best to share as many details with you about my girl , MARIËLLA , as possible . ( i would’ve had a statistics page ready but didn’t expect the rp to open suddenly , so i tried my best to give as much info & perhaps a bit too much lol but please plot with me/mariëlla ; also , thanks for reading ! ) . ♡

･:*:･ﾟ☆ ( jessica chastain. forty two. cisfemale. she/her. ) ↷ ( mariëlla t. winters ) has been spotted by the paparazzi in los angeles. they are an ( a ) list celebrity known for their career as an ( actress ). they’re known by their fans to be ( easygoing, meticulous & zealous ) but the tabloids frequently portray them to be ( anxious, enigmatic, & introverted ). i wish them every success in the entertainment industry. ･:*:･ﾟ☆

full name: mariëlla tatiana winters

nickname(s): mari, maya, ella

age: forty-two ( 42 ) .

birthdate: november 25th, 1975 .

sexual orientation: bisexual .

occupation: actress / film producer / writer .

mariëlla was born to dutch-american parents, and raised, in washington, d.c. winters didn’t come from a privileged, wealthy family. her parents, constantin & thea, traveled and practically chose to live their new life in america and to start a family. in the years to come, her older brother, mariëlla, and their younger sister/daughter were born and they couldn't have been more delighted with their family of five.

she grew to have become very family-oriented because of her family, and extended family in the netherlands / holland. which included traveling to visit them during the holidays, or every chance they could possibly get to do so if and whenever they had the money. her parents were hard-working, hence rarely having the chance to travel to europe and could only send 1, or two, of their children to stay with their relatives. but they wouldn't have changed it for anything else as long as they knew their dutch heritage, and they worked hard for almost just that.

although having hard-working parents, they both dedicated one hundred % of their time for family whenever they weren’t working. they raised / taught their children by acknowledging humility, recognizing their own weaknesses, & that it was okay to be the best that they can be — as well as having the FREEDOM of deciding who they wanted to be, the path they wanted to take; old enough to make their own decisions as a legal adult, basically. * which is how mariëlla chose to raise her kids and thanks her parents for setting an example when she was growing up; passing it on as a mom herself, hoping that it works out smoothly and parenting as best she can.

when she was in middle & high school, she gained a keen interest in acting because of the plays, musicals, and whatnot. the more she got herself involved in them and at a local theater, the reason she instantly made her decision of becoming an ACTRESS became clearer. she set her mind to it, looking forward to the day she’d graduate and study film & drama at the univeristy of south california in los angeles. if anyone asked personally, it was the best decision she ever made; she would completely agree and tell you herself with pride and joy.

she always tried her best, and somehow, did explicitly well in school because she forced herself. even if she wasn’t too bad of a student, mariëlla struggled/stressed out easily, as she tends to be somewhat of a perfectionist still & almost everything had to be organized and in order. fast forward to 4 years later & as a ucla graduate; ëlla has graduated as a student that was given opportunities to act onscreen when she was in school studying. as weirdly as it might sound, taking into consideration mariëlla’s chosen profession, is incredibly meticulous when it comes to auditioning for a role and be given the job for said character.

she spends a lot of her time and energy by supporting a lot of what she believes in and whatnot. she is quite often a zealous worker for charity and brings attention to causes, et cetera. i find it better to describe as a passionate artist/actress but most importantly: a human being with a lot of compassion towards the less fortunate and will likely pay for something rather expensive— i.e. an engagement ring for a couple, anonymously ( what paul w*lker did for a couple without revealing his identity; true story ) . mariëlla does show a very unselfish concern for the well-being of others & it’s obvious; altruistic; even if people don’t like it or might think it’s invasive. that is never her intention; will know when to back off though. but does genuinely care a lot about others; is someone that puts the needs of another person before her own without questioning it. all in all, an easygoing humanitarian and philanthropist.

people might think it’s a bit concerning, but she can be quite stubborn as well when it comes to certain things. she means well though. don’t mind her sometimes. unless it’s for her own good or regarding anything job-wise. over the years, she has become very anxious. she believes it’s because of all the stress and the overwhelming, hectic schedule of tour promotions and whatnot. she’s committed to them but by popping a little pill called xanax. she can control her anxiety but there are days when she cannot and it’s not pretty. hence why she is her - introverted - self at times, but in the public eye is seen as an enigmatic soul. she has her reasons.

the only reason why she is hard to interpret in the public eye, especially the media, is because she only wants her close family and friends to know who she truly is behind closed doors. she could care less about the rumors that are being said about her, but it won’t mean that her anxiety won’t get to the best of her. it’ll eat ëlla up alive but will not make that obvious, of course, as she perseveres through her struggle with anxiety. it’s a bitch.

genuinely believes in “money doesn’t buy happiness.” as an a-list celebrity, she has a difficult time understanding it and ends up contemplating if it’s all really worth it ..... if she deserves the success she’s had throughout her career ? don’t get mariëlla wrong but is sometimes self-critical of herself and will not allow any special treatment. she’s an odd one but grateful at the same time. this messy business can be quite fickle and doesn’t want to disappoint anyone with her performances.

ever since she became a mom, mari grew to being quite nurturing. growing up she’d be the type of person to lean away when being hugged and avoid friendly kisses but as time passed on, she grew out of that. the love she has for her kids, she has a big heart and loves the heck out of anybody that would show her any affection, because she will definitely give it in return to anyone that needs it.

she won’t consider taking anyone’s “ side ” whenever it gets to that chance/point in time— neutral— like, she is on the fence about/doesn’t know a lot about politics and religion. she will sometimes avoid conversing of such but is open to talking. she is not that close-minded and hopes to not seem that way. either way, she isn’t very judgy and will only give out advice; straightforward and honest opinions if asked.

prefers to give rather than receive, although she’s grateful for such intentions and will gladly keep whatever present is given. she is NOT materialistic but loves doing some shopping often; controls herself by setting a budget on how much she could possibly spend and save. yes, that’s how organized she is. her inner monica geller but not to the extent, of course. she thinks she gives the best whatever gift she finds and won’t brag about having the money either. enjoys the holidays ….. — - this was supposed be an attempt at writing a couple of headcanons, but i’ve obviously failed ? yikes ! i’m just babbling at this point because i wanna get this posted. and it’s posted now.

this turned out to be a HUGE mess but i hope this introduction helps to plot. please like this post, or hmu if you’d be interested in plotting something out or anything. again, thanks for reading ! i know it’s a bit rambly but i’ve tried. i do have a lot of muse, don’t get me wrong. its been too long, honestly. i’ll message and read all of your intros. pretty much catch up with the ones that have been posted since i’ve been gone.

#fames.intro #𝙃𝙀𝙇𝙇𝙊 !!!#—— ; why tf did this take me SO LONG though ?!#*𝖼𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌* 𝗂 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗎𝗋𝗅 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 #anxiety tw #I DID IT !! i did the thing in time !!#phew !!#and it turned out long ....

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missmentelle · 6 years

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Bullied worker anon her. I'm originally from British Columbia (Van Isle) so I'm used to employers being way sweeter and more understanding. But I relocated to Florida after my husband and I got married (where he's from) and I notice employers can be more cut throat here depending on where you work. Thank you for letting me know. I might honestly leave, but my doctor/OB told me they can provide lots of letters if need be. I saw another woman in there who said, "I need this letter ... /1

...or my work is taking me off the schedule on Friday." I was heartbroken for the woman, until I noticed others were in the same panic. Its sad. Anyways, we'll see where it goes. Thank you again for answering. I'm trying not to let the anxiety and stress cause any more weight loss and I'm on Ensure supplements to get some weight back. It's too obvious. My boss told my coworkers that I am on "thin ice" with him. Have you ever dealt with anything like this? I know my husband is one step from giving him a piece of his mind, but I told him it's best I gather evidence and keep accumulating what I can.

Hey, another Canada-to-US transplant! We picked a strange time in history to leave the True North Strong and Free, and I definitely agree with you that the US officials I have dealt with (even here in liberal New York) have been much colder and more hostile than any of the government workers I dealt with back home (even when I lived in right-wing Alberta), and there are far, far fewer basic protections for human rights. Florida offers fewer state protections for pregnant workers than most states, but you are still covered by federal law if you work for an employer with more than 15 employees - namely, the Americans with Disabilities Act, and the Pregnancy Discrimination Act. The Florida Civil Rights Act doesn’t specifically mention pregnancy, but it has been successfully used in pregnancy discrimination cases in the past. If you haven’t already, contact the US Equal Opportunity Employment Commission or the Florida Commission on Human Rights to file a complaint. Keep gathering evidence, and keep working with your doctor to get every single letter and piece of documentation that they are willing to provide for you. If you can, see if you can find an attorney to help you through this process, to get the best chance of success. This is not going to be an easy journey, I won’t lie, but you are not in the wrong here. Your employer cannot harass you for being pregnant, and they have a federal obligation to provide reasonable supports that allow you to keep doing your job for as long as you are physically able. I have never dealt with anything like this personally, but my former place of employment did. I worked for a small non-profit that did important and amazing work, but unfortunately did some shady things when it came to staffing, like hiring under-qualified staff to save money, failing to disclose preexisting family and romantic relationships between supervisors and workers, and covering up the misconduct or incompetency of certain staff members. I was in a job that legally required a certain qualification that was hard to find, so I was mostly sheltered from this. Some time before I arrived, though, the non-profit laid off 4-5 workers with absolutely no warning, including a woman who was very pregnant and weeks away from taking maternity leave. They then hired a less qualified person at a lower wage who took over most of her job duties. This is hugely illegal, and the woman lawyered up to fight back. I do not know the details of what she did, or if the mere act of hiring a lawyer was enough to scare the non-profit, but she got her job back and was awarded her full maternity leave. It can be done. I am absolutely not a lawyer and not in any way qualified to give legal advice, but I think I would consult with an actual lawyer or human rights agency and keep collecting evidence before turning my husband loose on a shitty boss. I know that he means well, but I would hate for him to accidentally make things worse for you. The best thing he can do right now is try to take whatever stress he can off your plate, and be there for you when you need a sympathetic ear or a shoulder to cry on. Best of luck to you!

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mendeshoney · 6 years

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Some Unspoken Thing

Summary: You’re an actress, a singer, and Shawn Mendes’ best friend. This is the two of you, navigating 2017.

March

“That was great Shawn! Can we try ‘Don’t Be A Fool,’ and maybe run ‘Bad Reputation’ one more time?”

Shawn nods from the makeshift stage area, fiddling with his in-ears before strumming the beginning chords. You’re lounging on the little couch in the corner of the room, far enough away that you’re not distracting him by making yourself known, but close enough that he can see you, can give you a look if it’s too much and he needs you to come save him.

He’s gearing up for the “Illuminate” tour and he’s been nothing but a ball of anxiety these last few days, texting you and calling you like crazy when he’s had enough and just needs to let it all out.

“I feel like I’m going to vomit my entire stomach out.” He said to you yesterday morning. “I literally cannot do this. What if I suck? What if they don’t like the set list? What if no one shows up and I-”

“Shawn! Will you shut up and listen to me?!” You chuckled to yourself. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, okay babe? You are a literal rock star and you are going to have a kick-ass sold out tour, and that set list is going to break hearts everywhere. Don’t stress yourself out worrying about nothing.”

He sighs deeply. “I just don’t know if I can do this.”

“Don’t say that, Shawn. You can do this. Everything you’ve done, all this hard work you’ve put in on this album has led up to this point, this tour. It’s time to show everyone that Shawn Mendes has grown up, he’s got some things to say and those fans of his are ready to listen.”

“Why do you always know just what to say?”

“Because I’m your best friend and it’s my job. Do you feel better now? Have I done my job correctly?”

Shawn chuckles, and you could hear him smile over the phone. “I’d feel a lot better if you were here with me, to be honest.” There’s a small silence on his end, unsure of how you’d react. “I mean, if you want. You don’t have to? I know you’re busy, reading your script and all for your next movie and I don’t want to pull you away from -”

“I’ll be there by tomorrow morning, Shawn.” You said, already packing your things.

You took a flight early the next morning and took an Uber to Shawn’s condo, letting yourself in that morning and surprising him with breakfast in bed. He was so grateful - smiling brightly at you between mouthfuls of food and sips of his hot tea. Everything about him was giddy this morning - he sang loudly and happily in the shower, and while you took a shower he sat on the bathroom counter like you’d leave if he turned his back on you for a second, talking animatedly to you through the curtain and making you laugh.

Shawn was definitely in a much better mood than he had been these past few days, and you were happy to provide that change for him.

You drove him to rehearsals, allowing him to relax the whole car ride, enjoying his thermos of tea, reclining comfortable in his sweatpants and hoodie from the passenger seat. He rested his hand on your thigh the whole way there, thumb rubbing at your leggings, playing with the hem of your oversized shirt under one of his flannels.

“You’re so pretty.” He cooed at you, making you blush and swat his hand away.

“Shawn stop.”

“But you are! Can I not call my best friend pretty?”

You turn to him for a brief moment, raising a suspicious brow at him. “What do you want, Mendes?”

“Can you make me dinner tonight too, please?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes I can, your highness. Anything else?”

He laughs. “I love you.” He says earnestly. “And thank you for coming, really. I appreciate it. You didn’t have to come all the way out here.”

“Of course I did,” you say, taking your hand off of the wheel and placing it behind his head, scratching at the hair at the nape of his neck. “You need some TLC, and I’m here to give it to you.”

You promised him and Gertler that you’d be silent the entire tour rehearsal, curled up on the couch perched in the corner of the room, reading your script until all your lines were carved into your brain.

You took a break every now and again, listening to Shawn sing through a few songs before going back to your lines.

After about twenty minutes, there’s a dip in the couch and you smile when you see it’s Geoff, moving your feet to fold under you so he has more room to sit.

“Thanks for coming out here.” He says, patting your knee. “He was kind of going crazy and I didn’t really know how else to help him.”

You shrug. “It’s fine, not like I can’t memorize my lines anywhere.”

“Is this for that romance movie you’re filming in next month?”

“Yeah.” You say, and he makes a face at you. “I know I know, it’s weird because I said I’d never do one, but it’s a period piece and it’s a good story. I’ll be in Spain for the first half, then London for the second half, and then I’ll be done.”

“Well as long as you’re happy with it,” he says, leaning back into the couch. “And what about the one you did last year? That action one? When’s that coming out?”

“October.” You say. It’s weird, because as relaxed as everything has been since the year started, you’re about to become super busy. You’re going to Barcelona next month where you’ll be for two months, and then London for another two, you’ve got promo all August and September with a few breaks in between, and then October’s the premiere, and you’re free until the new year.

Last year was a lot different. You were filming here and there in New York for most of it, and then Shawn lived with you for six months, helping you run lines between shoot days, going away for his own shows, recording the album, and then coming back to you. The both of you didn’t really get to catch a break until his album came out, which is around the time he moved out of your apartment.

You laugh to yourself, just how fast the night changes.

“Well I’d better get an invitation to your fancy movie premiere.” Geoff teases. You laugh at him as Shawn comes over to join you on the couch, and Geoff takes that as his cue to leave, saying a quick goodbye to you before he goes to speak to Zubin.

Shawn grabs your legs from under you and puts them into his lap, leaning his upper body on your legs and relaxing.

“Hey rock star.” You teased. “Sounded great out there.”

“Thanks.” He says, beaming. “Hey, remember this time last year I started living with you?”

What pops into your head is the first night you had sex together in your apartment, after he helped your run lines for that movie you finished shooting last November. Flashes of the two of you kissing, the way you nearly forgot it was Shawn who was making you feel so amazing, the fact that it was so much easier to accept the aftermath of that than the aftermath of New Years Day.

Maybe because New Years Day actually made you feel something you weren’t ready to come to terms with quite yet.

“Of course I remember. Best six months of my life.” You say instead, elbowing him in his side playfully.

“I miss that. Us being together all the time like that, I mean.”

“It’s not like we’re not together all the time now.”

“Yeah but it’s different now. We only see each other like what, once a month? And I miss living here in New York, living with you. It was nice to always have someone to come home to after a show or when I was done in the studio, you know? Even if you were filming for a bit, you filmed most of it in New York and it was nice to have you come back to me. Going home to my condo sucks if I’m alone. Why do you think I take the hour and a half flight to New York all the time? I miss you.”

“I’m right here, Shawn. I’m not going anywhere.” The way you say it shocks yourself - like you’re his girlfriend, like this is the emotional preparation before he leaves for tour. Part of you shrugs it off - you’re best friends, you’ve said goodbye like this to him before, seeing him off before tour and wishing him good luck.

But the other part of you can’t ignore the fact that this feels different, and you have no idea why.

“It’s not the same.” He says sadly. “You’re gonna be filming next month and I’ll be on tour. We’ll barely see each other.”

“Shawn,” you pull your legs from him and sit up, looking at him seriously. He seems pretty upset about it all, and you’re starting to feel it too. “We’ll see each other. We’ll make time, like we always do.”

You can see where the added pressure is coming from - he’s about to launch into the next phase of his career and all of this is obviously bothering him. He’s worried about change. Worried about what the year is going to bring him if his career is about to skyrocket. You’ve been that one constant in his life and if he lost you, well, if you lost each other, you’d both be pretty devastated.

“Hey,” you say, snapping him out of his thoughts, bringing him back to you. “What do you want for dinner?”

He blinks. “What?”

“You said you wanted me to make you dinner tonight. What do you want?”

Shawn smiles. “Is it stupid if all I want is soup?”

You shake your head. “No it’s not. In a bread bowl?”

“As always.”

“How much longer do they need you here?”

Shawn shrugs, checking his phone. “Maybe another two hours?”

“Tell you what, I’ll go grocery shopping for the stuff, and I’ll get it started at your place, and when you’re done I’ll come pick you up?”

He yanks you across the couch in response, pulling you into a tight hug and burying his face in your neck. “I’d probably die without you.” He says quietly. You stay silent, not wanting him to know you’re starting to feel the same about him.

You’re pouring the last of the softened vegetables into the crockpot when you hear keys jingling in the doorway, Shawn making his way in a few moments later, shrugging his backpack to the floor. “Hey!” You say, slightly confused. “Wasn’t I supposed to pick you up?”

“Couldn’t wait,” he says hurriedly, coming into the kitchen. “Made Geoff bring me home early.”

You’re about to question him when suddenly his lips are on yours, hands gripping your waist as his lips move against you, soft and supple when he grabs your bottom lip between his teeth and pulls gently. He pulls away, moving his hands to grip yours as he begins to slowly walk backward, pulling you with him.

“Can you come with me?” He asks. “Can you help me relax?”

Your brain is telling your feet to stop walking, to plant firm into his floor and not let him pull you any farther. You’ve been over this - you thought you already talked about this in January, that you weren’t going to do things like this because it was going to complicate things. And Shawn would never force you - which is why he’s pulling you toward his bedroom so easily.

Because deep down you both know you want this - he needs this, needs to unwind and relax and so you do. He needs to feel you here and needs to know you’re not going anywhere. And you want to help him. But you also want to feel him. You’re mind’s been fucked up between keeping Shawn as a friend and wanting him as more and you can’t make up your mind.

So for now, you let him make the decision for the both of you, and let him lay you in his bed, his body over yours, clothes going on the floor.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes x reader

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