#like god harrow looking at her all stunned and telling her how good she is with a sword

[nnothingnesss]

I'm Innocent (Short Story)

Marvin finds a woman unconscious on the side of the street. Soon, police officer's are in search of someone to charge for her hit and run.

The light poles stood extra tall tonight. They almost distorted in height. The lights flashed strongly, blinding. They would catch the opening of your pupil and flood them. Smoke still lingered in the air from the strain of forcefully braking at such high speeds. The breath in his chest would hardly stay, his lungs contracting violently but never enough. The woman lay beside the car in the dirt under this mysteriously tall street lamp.

ma'am are you okay? who did this?

the door slams shut as he rushes to her. she's been there, down for almost half an hour. her hair splayed across her face and the dirt reaching out like roots for a delicate flower underneath the soil. He was panicking checking her pulse, pressing his fingers onto the artery. He held his breath and allowed the world to still so he could focus.

One beat. Two beat. Three. She's still alive. He grabs his phone and dials 911 immediately. In a frantic shout and curse he managed to get a police officer and an ambulance to deploy en route to their location. As he waited he attempted to make conversation with her or see if she would wake up. no response. It wasn't long before the sirens sang through the night sky. In a matter of minute they had arrived.

hey. my name is officer jefferey. this is officer dahlia. you ok?

yeah, yeah im fine

whats your name sir?

my name is Marvin

Well it's nice to meet you Marvin. Me and officer jefferey just want to ask a couple questions with you, if you're ready for it

Yeah sure anything I can to help

Thank you. That makes this a lot easier.

Ahem, Thank you Dahlia. Anyways, so how'd you find her?

Well I was just driving down the road you see I'm coming home from work down at the high school. We're redoing it. But yeah, I was driving home and I saw her lying here underneath the streetlamp. I had to help her.

well that was really kind of you Mr. Marvin.

yeah. youre a good guy. Officer Dahlia do you mind helping out the emt's with the lady please?

sure jeff

Marvin couldn't tell but Officer Dahlia's posture as she walked was tense. She went to help lift the gurney into the ambulance as they went over a couple final details.

Marvin, mind if i get a phone number or address? So we can contact you with any further questions

Further questions? That was all i know

I understand. Look, no pressure. I'm not trying to book you or anything alright?

So why would you ask that officer?

A formality. Routine. You know how it is

Yeah

I'm ready

The man tells him his phone number and address and the cop returns back to his police car. The lady cop closes the ambulance and they follow each other down to the hospital. The night bugs flew around the light post wildly. Their infinitesimally small wings kept them in a frenzy underneath the bulb. The distorted lamp post looked normal now that the man was returning to his car. A jazz song played as he drove home.

In a cold living room the man sat on a decaying sofa watching a game show. The prize was a vacation to Santa Boricua where they'd get to attend a multi-million dollar yacht party. The host looked particular stunning, a idol that transfixed marvin. As he watched enthralled his phone began to ring and he was snapped out of his comfort.

Uh, hello? I'm busy

Hello is this Marvin Juarez? This is the police department.

Did something happen?

No, just doing a call-up. It's been a few days and we still haven't found the hit and run suspect.

Is the woman okay? I never heard about her

Unfortunately sir she passed away yesterday morning in her sleep.

Oh god

Yes it was truly a harrowing event. That's why it's even more urgent we catch the suspect

Yeah of course. What do you need?

We just thought it'd be nice to have you come down by the station for a second interview

Absolutely

After the call the man began getting ready running a hot shower. The game show played on, the host revealing a roulette that represented three different symbols. One was a closed door, another a brain, and the final was the tails end of a coin. The hand gestures the host uses to introduce these symbols is dramatized, meant to be ooo'd and aaa'd.

As the man began grabbing the last of his thing he sat and stared at the TV with his suit jacket in hand, hair still wet. His keys laid on the table by his knee. The game show was down to only two contestants who just survived a round of heads or tails. Now was the final flip. The coin goes from the hosts palm into the air before landing delicately on the veins of his hands. He catches, covers it, and then lifts his hand to reveal tails. The audience goes wild as a contestant walks off stage.

Marvin chuckles and turns the television off. He grabs his keys in a hurry frantically checking his phone before locking the door to the house and finally getting on the road fifteen minutes to the station. The air is breezing through the car, windows down. Marvin seems to be enjoying himself. A hum to his favorite song. Another jazz piece. Louis Armstrong. La vie en rose.

Marvin, thank you for coming. Great to see you're doing okay since everything

Yeah, I'm getting by

Want a drink?

Water will do

Water. Got it

Have a seat

Thanks

All we want to do is ask a couple more questions about what happened

Want me to tell you it again?

Is there anything you remembered since it happened? Anything helps.

I just saw her there driving down 95. That's all I know

What about when you were there with her alone, before you dialed 911. Did anything, i dont know, suspicious happen?

Suspicious how?

Could be a feeling, intuition, a sound, a person

I can't say that I do, no

Okay. I understand.

Yeah. Well maybe

Huh?

The light poles

The poles?

Yeah

What about them?

Nothing. I was really tired

You sure?

Yeah, positive

Well let me ask you another question then

Of course

Have you seen any white SUVs around, perhaps a dent or two in the front bumper?

No I havent. If that's the car they used then I can keep my eyes peeled

Yeah. Definitely do that

Of course, anything

You really care about helping this girl dont you?

Are you joking? Obviously. Why wouldn't I? She just died.

I know, I know. Then that brings me to a serious question

Of course

It's come to our attention you drive the exact same vehicle that fits the description

Okay but what does that have to do with the girl?

Is it possible that you may have been drinking on the night it happened and perhaps hit her on accident?

Do you want to know what I saw? I saw a woman, in the dirt, on the side of the road, still as stiff wood. So I pulled over and helped her. I did not hit that woman.

Right. Well, sorry about that I don't mean to accuse you. I just wanted to ask because anything helps. Again, sorry to bother you Marvin.

I really hope you find whoever did this to that poor woman.

Yeah. Sorry for the hassle, we just want to make sure we cover everything that's all.

Anything I can do to help officer, please.

Yeah

See you then

Drive safe Mr. Marvin

On the way home from work the next few nights Marvin always saw somebody at the site where they found the lady. They marked the spot where her body was found. The ground the candle sat on was the last thing she had seen before the white lights of the hospital. And then, rest. Tonight Marvin drove by and it was an old lady leaving a bouquet of flowers. The lights is green and his car speeds past.

The TV is going off, a movie playing off of it this time. In it two coppers talk in a interrogation room amongst themselves. Sizzling pans and enough smoke to flood the lungs of a rodent fill the apartment's air thick. There isn't a fan or air conditioning that works well enough to channel the smoke outside so Marvin simply kept his windows open.

After cooking dinner he sits to finish the movie. On it two coppers are chasing after a criminal who runs into a back alley. The cops split up and surround him. He tries his best to out maneuver them, dodging and juking the officers. One officer reaches for his legs and grabs him as the other one notices him reaching into his jacket. The officer reaches for his handgun.

As Marvin is putting another spoonful of food in his mouth his phone begins ringing again. This time it's an unknown caller. The call connects and the only audio coming through the speaker of the phone is someone's breath. They let out a big sigh and a noise that sounds like something breaking or being thrown.

I can't believe you

Hello?

Marvin Juarez

Excuse me? Who is this?

I hate you. I hate you. I hate.

The call clicks. Marvin looks visibly shaken before running to his window to peek around. He sees nothing. Nobody. He looks for a few more moments before closing the curtains. He turns around and sits back on the couch trying his best to relax. The body is tense. The call was cold. Random. Marvin's body just couldn't relax. The cops on the show held the suspect on the floor in handcuffs, a bullet in his back.

As Marvin is driving down the road past the vigil there's a large group of people. The light is red, his windows down, a jazz tune by the Miles Davis Quintet. It Never Entered My Mind. The candles are all lit, a beautifully frightening warmth. A lovely gift to the night, dozens of people lit candles and let off lanterns in remembrance of the woman. Friends, family, all showed love and respect. Some grieve, some were shoulders, all were mourning deeply. Rest in peace.

As a woman spots Marvin's car parked at the intersection she begins to throw rocks at it. Everyone sees and starts questioning the woman and she grabs another handful of rocks and looked at the crowd before putting air in her chest and a expression of war on her face.

That's the motherfucker that hit her!

The crowd looks in shock as she begins to throw more rocks. Some spectators follow suit, others back to their cars. The family of the woman go up to the spectators begging them to stop but before she does one person throws a decent sized pebble piercing through the windshield and hitting Marvin in the eye.

As the spectators clear Marvin's eye is bleeding profusely. He covers it with one hand, then both, and the blood just finds it's way through. He notices the light is turning yellow and he floors it in a rush to his bathroom. He floods his eyes with water before putting the end of a towel on it and applying pressure. After a good time passes he finally managed to get it under control and patched up with a bandage.

As he relaxed the TV played. He stared distantly into it. His expression was dazed and his eyes were like homing missiles locked onto the characters of the show. In the sitcom that was playing there was a family member who had been acting out of character. The entire family entered the room to have an intervention. They all sat together, the troubled character dead center.

As Marvin continued to watch his eyes began to close. It was late and he didn't want to think about what had happened anymore. It was confusing and none of it made sense to him. He was tired. So tired. He didn't even want to show up to work. In the show you can hear the characters on screen vent to the troubled character in the middle before they stand up and apologize.

Precisely at that moment, a knock on marvins door. He ignores it for a second, opting to remain still. Soon another knock, followed by a flashlight through the window lighting the TV up bright as day in front of him. That got him up in his seat. The flashlight slowly moved around the wall ahead of him from corner to corner as he rose to open the door.

What the hell is going on?

Marvin Juarez, you're under arrest

The fuck for?

Get him

A wave of armored police raid the room and surround him. Head to toe in black gear. Marvin tries to struggle but is overwhelmed immediately by sheer number and force in pure militant fashion. As Marvin is stood back up now handcuffed the officer shows him a warrant and a folder. In it laid a list of crimes from hit and runs, disruption, assault and battery, and other charges all labeled Marvin Juarez.

What the hell, I didnt do nothin' wrong

I'm sorry Marvin. You know how it is. Or maybe you don't

The fuck you mean, stop messing around

Take him boys

Marvin is thrown into the back of a police car and a seatbelt is straddled across his chest. The officers clamor and regroup before preparing to case the house and return back to their place of operations. Officer Jefferey and Officer Dahlia both are standing by the car as Marvin watches a man come over and congratulate them with a pat on the shoulders. He nods to them before he walks away and they talk amongst ourselves.

See, easy as pie

I can't believe I never knew about it

Yeah. It happens almost every time. I kind feel bad for the guy

But he is a criminal so I dont see why

I get it but he's ill

So what? Who gives a fuck? He attacked a pedestrian one time

Yeah but because of his condition he loses his grip on reality. Imagine what mustve happened to the guy

No thanks. Gross. Can we just drop this guy off and go home? I want to see my husband.

Fine. C'mon.

The two officers enter the car. The ceilings. They feel different. They feel taller. Wider. Spacier. Distorted. The two officers make a call to dispatch before driving off to an undisclosed location, not even bothering to talk to their passenger who has said nothing since everything happened. The ceiling of the car continued to breathe and become taller. Marvin began to sweat.

I didn't kill the girl

Save it pal

I didnt

Don't talk to him Dahlia, he'll only spin stories

I'm not going to

I'm right here. I'm telling you, you made a mistake. I don't understand. I was just driving home. I didn't do anything.

As he began to explain his side of the story the walls began to curl into themselves. The distortion became so bad the car looked like it had gone into a black hole. The officers ignored the man as they drove. They look at each other for only a second before they sit in complete silence. But Marvin couldn't relax. He couldn't sit silent.

You need to turn around right now. I can't be here. I can't go back. I didn't do anything. I swear, I promise. I was nice. I helped the lady. You should be thanking. Why are you taking me back? I just got a job, I was going to start my life over. I was going to be a better man.

Marvin. Shut the hell up you liar. I'm tired of you always defending yourself like some helpless victim. You killed the woman and you lied. Your condition, it's gotten worse since we first met you. You consistently black out traumatic events, suffer from a myriad of dissociation disorders, and always always run with your tail between your legs after you get caught. I'm tired of it.

Officer Jefferey....

No Dahlia, he needs to hear it. It's not your fault what happened to you. But you can't be wondering around out here, it's dangerous.

You mean, I'm the danger?

No, I mean it's dangerous for all of us. You included. It's better off if we keep you in the hospital where you belong.

No. I don't want to go back.

I'm sorry Marvin. You killed a woman. Your SUV had dents in the front bumper and everything.

That was

Do you remember when that happened? Was a pretty good dent. Had to be a ride

It must've happened some other time but I swear it wasn't me. I know it wasn't

Okay Marvin, whatever you say

Told you Jeff. Just let it go.

The car drove along the stretch of infinite highways. The black of the pavement matched the night of the sky. No stars tonight. Just the single pair of headlights riding down the asphalt to it's destination. As Marvin looks out the window he sees nothing but clouds and they form different obscure shapes. The car is back to normal and the episode is over. Marvin is calm and passive, blank again. Blank as the TV in his room. Blank as the sky with no stars.

#writeblr #creative writing #writers and poets #writers #shortstoriesthatareawesome #short stories #short story

[thalergetic]

i know i’ve talked about it before but my god gideon means so much to me. i could probably count on one hand the butch characters i’ve seen in media, and to have one written with such care and kindness and devotion makes me feel a way i can’t really describe. and seeing the way other women in the book treat her (read: with stars in their eyes and complete acceptance) is so refreshing because for once someone like me is seen as sexy and desirable AND a fully fleshed out character and god. i love her

#personal #gideon nav #gtn #gtn spoilers #(not rly but just in case) #like god harrow looking at her all stunned and telling her how good she is with a sword? everyone asking to see her biceps?? #seeing her get flustered when corona was swimming snd doing literally everything for dulcinea because she was asked to. god #really fucking nice to see holy shit

[saphirered]

I just want to say your writing is absolutely amazing! It's what I read to destress after college courses and I hope your having a good day and taking care of yourself!

If your still open for requests though how about Yasha with an S/O who comes to her in the middle of the night because they had a nightmare?

Thank you so much! double shifts have popped up again but I've been dealing and have managed to do some writing in between. Take care and I hope you enjoy this one! 😘

-

You don’t know exactly what’s the cause of this recent raise in night terrors you’re experiencing. Endless falling into the void, drowning deep beneath the waves unable to swim, being on the run trying to escape a falling city, those you can deal with. Sure they don’t provide the most comfortable night’s rest but you can deal. The ones that truly haunt you, have you stunned and off your game are the ones involving your friends and family. The hopelessness of being unable to save them from a demises, or worse; them being killed by your hand, watching all your fears crash down upon you. You can’t keep doing this. Not even Caduceus’ special tea can keep the nightmares at bay. You’ll find yourself waking up in the middle of the night breathing heavy more often than not trying to calm yourself before attempting to go back to sleep.

This night is no different. You’d fallen asleep within the warm comforts of the dome provided by Caleb but not long after the nightmares showed up again.

You’re standing in the darkness; an eternal void like the blackness of the depths of the ocean but you’re not swimming. You’re floating. You see a flash of red come by and disappear as quick as it came. You hear the movement of shackles. Heavy shackles. You hear maddening laughter, the unsheathing of a blade and then a piercing pain between your ribs. You fall to your knees clutching the source of your pain as your breathing shallows. Your hands feel wet, sticky and warm. Glancing down you see it’s blood. You’re bleeding, heavily. You begin to panic, trying what you can to stop the bleeding but you feel weaker, a vignette clouding your vision as you desperately look around.

You hear the breaking of a chain, a battlecry, one of rage and heartbreak, the sound of metal clashing against metal. The maddening laughter comes to a stop. A flash of red comes by you again but still you cannot make out the details. Something touches you and you feel cold, so cold. Your limbs grow weaker and you’re having a hard time staying on your knees, the void is spinning around you. You fall to your side. It’s becoming harder and harder to breathe and as your hand lays within your view you can see it stained red. You move your fingertips barely a feeling left in them but the cold and you plead that whatever gods are watching will be merciful, will be at the side of your friends when the time comes.

The pain is unbearable but you can’t resign yourself to this fate. You’re not done yet. You have to stay. You have to… A hand touches your bloody one and you see black boots step into your vision. For a moment you think the final blow is coming but it doesn’t.

“No.” The word sounds like a silent sob. The voice is familiar to you but sounds so distant. The figure kneels down besides you and you can barely muster the strength to look up at them. There you see your white and black haired angel. She’s divine and for a moment you consider you’re to be carried to the afterlife. It’s the desperate scream ending in a stifled cry that makes you think otherwise. Yasha’s face is ridden with guilt and pain and anger but you know not who the latter is directed at. You can’t bring yourself to smile or comfort her, tell her it’s all going to be okay. You feel sad, the pain of the heartbreak, a thousand time worse than the cold numbness washing over you as the void grows darker and more consuming, to where not even your radiant angel can keep it at bay.

And then you wake, not shooting up in a sweat or a scream or shout. You wake up in silence, trails of moisture running down your face as your eyes open and you feel cold despite the warmth of the dome. Stretching and curling your fingers you can still feel the phantom stickiness of blood, your blood staining them but your hands are clean and clear. You wipe the tears from your cheeks as you sit up burying your head in your hands with a deep breath trying to calm yourself. You do in the sense you do not suffer a panic attack or a mental breakdown but you cannot scratch that feeling from your dream. There’s something harrowing about it, something true and you can’t shake it.

Then there you see Yasha, on guard for her shift of the night’s watch keeping her gaze trained on the wastes of Xhorhas. Not much longer before you make it to Bazzoxan. Not much longer before you all get some more answers about this Angel of Irons. There’s something in your mind that tells you to go to her, like Yasha is a beacon in the middle of a storm, keeping safe those trapped within it but it’s also laced with an unknown sense of loss and sadness. You decide to listen to it. Getting up, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders you approach the barbarian.

“Mind if I join you?” You ask. Yasha nods for you to sit down next to her and the two of you sit in silence. The lingering cold in your body is vanquished simply by her presence and you’re thankful you listened to that gut feeling instead of being stubborn and sucking it up dealing with it on your own.

“Did you not get your tea from Caduceus?” Yasha asks breaking the silence. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her. She knows you’ve been suffering from night terrors. She wasn’t unfamiliar with the concept herself and she feels sorry for you. Gods know what she’s tried to do to get rid of hers, but to no ends. Maybe she should be thankful for losing parts of her past because at least she cannot remember the nightmares she’d undoubtedly suffered within that same time.

“Yes. But it’s not working anymore. I don’t know what it is lately. Maybe it’s just the Barbed Fields getting to me in some way but every dream seems more… true… than the one before. It scares me.” You admit looking over the wastes with a deep sigh. Yasha awkwardly pats your shoulder. She’s not sure how to bring you any comfort in this. You send her an appreciative smile no less, thanking her for the effort.

The two of you watch the Barbed Fields, a storm rumbling in the distance and both of you let out a sigh, one of relief, as if the storm brings you some sense of comfort and warmth despite it’s nature. Maybe the Storm Lord smiles upon you, answering to your prayers by offering distraction. Or maybe more likely, sending you a warning of what’s to come but you dare not assume. You dare not interpret just as you dare not interpret your dreams anymore, scared of the answers you will find.

Yasha opens up her harms and allows you to lean into her side. Whatever phantom memories, pain and cool remained within you fade as you watch lightning strike in the distance, the ground rumbling beneath you. Neither of you jump or make move. There’s a serenity and safety in that light illuminating the skies for a brief second. You feel yourself humming to a melody as Yasha rubs circles into your shoulder. The melody falters and loses pace as your exhaustion returns.

“Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.” Yasha encourages as you try to fight the sleep. She gently guides you down until you have your head resting on her thigh using it as a pillow. Yasha strokes a few strands of hair from your face as you take in a deep breath and nod best you can. The promise made by the woman feels like the truest thing you’ve ever heard and you can’t do anything but obey. You take one last glance up at Yasha’s face trained on the storm. She looks like a champion from the tales long past and you couldn’t think of anyone better to guard you while you sleep and keep the nightmares at bay.

Yasha does keep the nightmares at bay. You don’t know why or how nor do you care to understand. It is simply a fact; when you’re near Yasha the terrors fade and your sleep is restful so she’ll keep you company until morning and you’re back on the road again until your nightmares have truly gone and long beyond. She’ll be your the light in the darkness of your dreams no matter what. She’ll be there for you.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein x reader #yasha x reader #critical role #mighty nein

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Capt. Syverson-Chapter One: Evaluation

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Shane Benton gets a new patient, veteran “Sy” Syverson. He’s one of the most complex cases she’s had, in more ways than one. She thinks he’s already starting to like her and what’s worse...she feels the same.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: None, really, mentions of war and trauma and some hate on the Chicago Cubs, but like…it’s not MEAN! (I’m a Missouri girl, and for the purposes of this fic, Sy is a Missouri boy, and we will bleed for our sports teams. Lol!)

A/N: Inspired by this post right here, and hopefully turning into some splendid fluffy and smutty stuff for my lovely Cavillry babes all around including the two that essentially forced me into this. Lol! (I’m thinking I’ll have at least three or four more chapters.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3.

Tags: @onlyhenrys @cavillryarchive

Let me know if you wish to be added to the list! I’m happy to do it! 

Shane was working on her morning's notes as she scarfed down her lunch. So many hand's-on patients made for a busy so called "lunch hour." Time which their boss was always reminded them was only half for their personal use, and could be taken away if census demanded. She was pretty sure it wasn't legal to make such threats, but thankfully, the secretaries usually had the therapists backs.

As she typed, she got a notification in her messenger app.

Just a head's up, your 1:30 is such a major babe I could barely look at him while I checked him in, so good luck with that.

Heather, one of her best friends in the office, had warned her, as she always did when there was a potential problem with a patient.

Oh, and his KOOS score is 27.5! Yikes! Shit, she'd seen arthritic grandparents with better scores on that test, which essentially rated your ability with the affected knee. Ideal was 100. She pulled up his chart review to see what she was getting herself into with this guy.

Tricare insurance, so, a vet. And only a year older than she was, so, recent discharge, or even active duty. She pulled up his order…shit. Traumatic tear of the anterior cruciate ligament. With damage to the medial collateral ligament as well. And a patellar dislocation. Repairs had been done, but this guy was in bad shape. He was going to be coming a while.

She replied to Heather.

Damn, that's bad. I'm looking at his order, and I'm already thinking I'm gonna want to try to keep him on my schedule if we can. And three times a week. If not with me, Jordan, if he's got openings. Can you start working on that when you have time?

Sure thing…I think you'll be glad you kept him on your caseload once you get a look at his face…and like all of him. Even on crutches, he's tall as shit!

Heather, come on. I'm a professional. I have a doctorate ffs. Lol

You also have a uterus, to the best of my knowledge, and it's about to explode. Promise.

Haha, okay. I'll be out for Prince Charming in about ten. Lemme pop a breath mint and run a brush through my hair.

Good call.

Shane did just that, but still pulled her dark hair back into her customary functional high ponytail, made sure there was no stray food on her shirt, and headed out of her treatment room for her patient.

As she walked down the hall to the waiting area to get him, she noticed a slumped and bearded figure leaning forward on a set of crutches, a KC Chiefs baseball cap slipping up off of his forehead revealing short cropped dark hair. She smiled at his repping one of her home teams, and stepped up to him, greeting him warmly, but formally.

"Mr. Syverson?"

"Ma'am." he said, as he adjusted his cap and stood immediately at attention, still relying on the crutches, but making himself as tall as possible. He really was a soldier. Despite her proximity to Fort Leonard Wood here in St. Robert, Missouri, she didn't see many military men.

"Hi, My name is Shane. I'm a physical therapist. I'm going to be working with you today."

"Oh, okay. They told me my therapists name was Shane, I figured…"

"Yeah, I get that a lot. Don't worry, I act like one of the guys. You'll hardly notice."

"I doubt that." he muttered, but she ignored it. She didn't know which would be worse. Him being a macho chauvinist who couldn't deal with a female therapist, or having a crush on her and making things weird. She'd had both. And it never ended well for her.

"Well, let's go have a chat in the treatment room."

They walked toward the room she'd just left, and when they arrived, she asked him to set on her plinth mat.

"Could you please verify your date of birth for me? Gotta make sure I got the right patient in here."

"May the 5th, 1983."

"Thanks, and the last four of your social?"

He told her, quietly, and against her will, a shiver ran up her spine at the softness the bear of a man exhibited in his voice when trying to maintain privacy. But she kept her composure.

"Excellent." she began typing her eval note, and asking him questions. He began telling the harrowing story of the mission, the mission that effectively ended his career in the military as he knew it. At lest, what he could tell her. Obviously some of it was classified, but certain details she would need to know in order to know how he it and how to treat him. She could tell he was trying to hold it together. Reliving the trauma was probably triggering to an extent. Her heart went out for the broad-chested, blue-eyed man.

"God, that's incredible. The fact that you're alive is amazing, Mr. Syverson."

"I go by Sy, ma'am. And as aware as I am of that, it's tough to feel good about it when some friends in my squad weren't so lucky." he examined the pattern on the tile floor as he rubbed the heel of his hand against the wide thigh of his injured leg. A nervous habit, she presumed. She had similar quirks.

"That must be difficult for you." she knew she was getting off-track from what she needed for her SOAP note, but after all, he was going to be on her caseload exclusively for the foreseeable future. She'd have time to flesh out the goals and basically finish the eval next visit.

"Yeah, but I know there's a lotta guys' got it worse'n me, ma'am."  

"We think that should make it better, but it never does. And if I'm calling you 'Sy,' you have to cut the ma'am business. It's Shane, even to my patients." she smiled.

"Sorry, m--sorry. Habits die hard."

"Just like John McClean." she chuckled, not expecting him to get her ridiculous movie humor. But he laughed.

"Did you just make a Die Hard reference?" he smiled, and the sunshine of it paired with the stunning blue of his eyes nearly sent her flying into the wall. Thankfully, she had something to occupy her gaze in the form of her laptop, where she tried to document on him.

"Did you just get one of my movie references? Because nobody around here appreciates that I'm a total movie nerd. I'm wasted on these people."

"Ya know, maybe you're right about feeling like I'm getting PT from a guy." he chuckled.

"I told ya!" she laughed, but tried not to let her heart sink too far.

The evaluation continued with her doing strength and range of motion measurements on his knee. "Okay, push against my hand…now resist when I push…now bring your foot back against my hand…and resist when I pull." she did this with both sides to compare relative strength. "Great job. Okay, I'm going to see how much range you have in your knee. Lay back on the table for me, please." she thought she saw a flirty glint in his eye, but again, she ignored it. She had a job to do. And it was to hold this goniometer up to his knee and see how many degrees of flexion and extension this man had in the joint while trying not to think any salacious thoughts about the thigh connected to it.

"Okay, now, listen, Sy, I know it goes against your instinct, but I'm looking for pain-free range of motion, here, so don't be a hero. Don't move it farther than you can without hurting it. And let me know if it starts to hurt when I move it."

"Yes, ma'am." he winked.

"I'll let that one slide, I guess." she giggled. She concentrated on the numbers she was getting from the big protractor, and typing them into her eval, and not the man lying before her.

"Okay, I'm gonna get the other knee now to compare for goals."

He nodded.

"Were you pretty active before this happened?" she was more or less making small talk, as she could tell by the condition of the rest of his body that he was incredibly fit.

"Yes, m--yes, I was. We had a gym on base, nothin' like what y'all have here, just some machines and a few free weights."

"No bikes or treadmills or anything?" She herself liked the elliptical, but knew it was a considered more of a girl's machine in the gym world.

"Nah, with electric being spotty where we were stationed, we sorta had to…get creative, I guess you could say, for cardio." she let it slide, apparently there was an inside joke to which she wasn't privy.

"Right, understandable. Well, here, we don't have to get that creative. I'm gonna put you on some equipment gradually, and just warm up the knee, then get to work on joint mobilization and myofascial release. But at this point in Dr. Potter's protocol, he only wants gentle stretching and weight bearing as tolerated. We can start a bit of strengthening after next week."

"So, you think I'll be back to running anytime soon?"

"We can make that a goal, Sy, because I can absolutely get you there. But you're going to have to take it slow. You've got not one, but three major injuries we have to contend with, and there is major trauma in there. But it will heal. With time and effort. And like I said, don't be a hero. The number one rule of therapy is 'if it hurts, don't do it.'"

"I'll hold you to that, m--Shane."

"You're a quick study, Sy. I think you'll be alright. Looks like Heather's put some appointments in for you already. If any of them don't work, call us, and we'll try to get them swapped. I'd like to keep you on my schedule as much as possible, but if there's a conflict in your schedule, any of our therapists will be terrific. And I'll make sure they're looking at your chart and protocol thoroughly before seeing you."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

"Okay, I'm gonna print out your schedule for you, and a few exercise handouts I'd like you to work on, especially on days you don't come here. And I'll know if you don't do them, because you won't have improved…so, you better do them."

"Yes, ma'am." she half expected a salute. She rolled her eyes.

"Okay, maybe I'll give you three strikes on the ma'am thing."

"Baseball fan, too?"

"Not that three strikes is so obscure that I'd have to be to know it, but, yes! Major St. Louis Cardinals fan."

"I knew I was gonna like you from the start. Although, being brought up 'round Kansas City m'self, I'm more of a Royals fan."

"Hey, only time I don't root for KC is when they're playing my Redbirds. And even if my team loses to them, it hurts less than if they lose to, say…the Cubs." they shared a scowl of disdain for the Chicago team. "Although, I was happy for them and their fans when they won the series back in 16."

"Yeah, I guess we could afford to let them win one in a hundred years…I'm hoping their next one comes long after I'm in the ground." he chuckled.

"Can't have them getting a big head, can we?"

"Nope! Sure can't!" they both laughed at their mutual interest in dissing rival sports teams.

"Okay, I'll be right back with those handouts." she ran to the office all in one machine to grab the papers she'd printed for him, making sure they were all his and not another patient's. She put them in one of their folders and headed back to her room where he sat on the mat, waiting for her with a smile under his rather impressive beard.

"Before I let you out of here, what questions can I answer for you about what we did today?"

"Oh, uh, nothing comes to mind. You explained everything really well. Did you look at my schedule? Am I with you all the time?"

"Hmm, let's see here, looks like the next two, yes, but I'm off next week, so Heather put you with Jordan, which is what I asked her to do. You two will work great together and he's got a great instinct for injuries like this. And I'll talk to him before I leave. He's one of the best PTAs I've ever worked with, I promise."

"I guess, if you have to take a vacation. I'll see you next time though."

"I'm looking forward to it. That's when the real work will begin, Sy. And our number is on in this paperwork if you have questions, and I've put my card in here, too." they shook hands, and he grabbed the folder from her.

She saw him out of the room and into the lobby. She'd finished with him a bit early, but her next one was already waiting. She needed a break. To collect herself. To breathe.

"Jason! Hey! Go on and get on the recumbent bike, level two. Ride until I get there. We'll get a lot done today if you're already warmed up. I've got a note to finish. And then I'll be in. I should be 15 or less."

While the 19 year old with a torn meniscus hopped to her instructions, she went back to her computer to attempt to finish Sy's eval and pretend that she didn't already have a serious and intense crush on him. This was going to be a long twelve weeks…at least.

Up Next: Chapter Two-Therapeutic Procedure

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson x ofc #netflix sand castle #sand castle

[mysterioh]

Hi! ❤️ Under the random category, can we get a #9 “Are you drunk?” but maybe an angsty drunk Bucky? Feel free to add a dash of enemies to lovers or whatever you’d like ❤️❤️❤️

I’m so sorry this is so late :(( 

No more requests pls!

9. Are you drunk? + Bucky

You snuggled deeper into the covers of your bed, Nintendo Switch in hand, Animal Crossing loading. Nothing but peace and relaxation after a long day of training recruits. 

Until a harrowing knock comes at the door. 

You groan loudly, debating whether or not you should open the door or not. 

It could be important… 

But my legs ache…

Another knock comes at the door, harder than the first. You huff, kicking the covers off and stalking towards the door. You open the door to reveal a smiling Bucky.  His eyes are soft, half-lidded and a misty blue. His cheeks tinted a soft baby pink. He looks dazed and relaxed. The opposite from his usual stern, grouchy demeanor. 

You raise a brow in suspicion. A smiling Bucky was rare. Bucky smiling at you was even more unusual. 

"Bucky?" you question. "What are you doing here?" 

"Y/N!" he exclaims with his hands in the air, "How's it going, beautiful?"

He gives you a hug and now you’re even more worried. 

"It's going fine.” The words slide off your tongue slowly and confusedly. “Are you okay?" 

He stands straight and puts his hands on your shoulders. "Better than I've ever been,” he drawls. 

"Are you drunk?" 

"No,” he shakes his head with a chuckle. 

"Yeah, you're drunk,” you state. 

"Nope,” he denies with a popping sound at the end. 

You sigh, wanting to return to your game. "Can you please go be drunk somewhere else? I don't have the mental capacity to deal with you right now,” you point out the door. 

Bucky sulks, letting his hands drop down to his knees and pouts like a child. 

"You're always mean to me,” he whines. “It's not fair. What did I ever do to you?" 

You roll your eyes while crossing your arms. "I don't know. Maybe because you're mean to me." 

Bucky crosses his arms. "No, I'm not,” he retorts, “I'm the nice type of mean. You're just mean." 

"That doesn't even make sense,” you exclaim. 

"It makes sense, you're just being stupid,” he snaps. 

"See that's mean!" 

Bucky’s arms fall. His lips start to quiver and his eyes gloss over. "Really? I'm sorry!" he sobs, hugging you tight. "I don't wanna hurt your feelings." 

You stand stunned in his arms, trying to process the fact that the Winter Soldier was crying on your shoulder. 

"No, stop, you didn't.” you pat his back in consolation, “Please stop crying." 

He lets go and sniffles. "Y'sure?" 

You chuckle and nod. "Yes, very sure." 

Bucky smiles wide and you’d be lying if you didn’t think he was cute. You stand there for a few seconds, smiling at him before you realized you were staring. You shake your head and go sit on your bed. Bucky comes over and plops himself next to you, turning to rest his head in your lap. Your body stiffens at his innocent action, but his easy smile calms your tense nerves. 

"You're pretty,” his words were slurred. 

You chuckle. "Thank you,” you whisper with a smile, mindlessly weaving your fingers through his hair. A sudden rush of embarrassment washes over you by your own action and you quickly pull your hand out of his hair

He takes your hand and puts it back on his head. 

"Keep doing that,” he says. 

"O-okay,” you stutter, blushing hard. You’re thankful he’s drunk and hopeful he won’t remember any of this in the morning. 

"Can I tell you something?

"Sure." 

"So there's this girl,” he starts. 

Oh God. 

"I really like her,” he confesses. “Her name's Y/N." 

Your eyes grow wide in amazement as your lips curl into a smug grin. "Yeah?" 

He nods. "But she hates me,” he states flatly. "I don't want her to hate me. Like I know I'm an asshole to her but that doesn't mean she has to hate me." 

Your brows knitted together in amusement, fingers still brushing through his brown locks. "I don't see why she shouldn't,” you shrugged.

"Because I love her!" he exclaims, waving his hands around. "And I wanna tell her but I get scared and I say mean things instead." 

You freeze when the words leave his lips. You blink at him once, then twice, then a third time for good measure. 

"Love is a bit of a strong word, Buck,” you reply slowly. "Ya sure about that?" 

"Yeah," he nods in confidence. "like this one time she kicked ten hydra butts all by herself and saved me. And I was like WOW,” he shouts. "I like her a lot. And she has a really nice smile. And a cute laugh. And pretty eyes. And soft hair. I've never touched her hair but I think it's soft." 

You try your best not to smile at his words, but find yourself failing and falling. 

"Gee, Bucky, why don't you just tell her?" 

He huffs sadly. "Because I'm like Mr. Darcy and she's like Kiera Knightley." 

"You mean Elizabeth?" you corrected. 

"Yeah, she's pretty,” he replies. "Not as pretty as Y/N though." 

"Well, Mr. Darcy did finally tell her, didn't he? Maybe you should too?" 

He shakes his head with a frown. "M'scared,” he mumbles. 

"Well, what if I told you that I talked to Y/N and she told me that she likes you too?” you reply “She likes you a lot but thought you didn’t like her.” 

Bucky sits up and looks at you with wide hopeful eyes. "She said that?" You nodded like an idiot. Bucky raises a brow in suspicion. "Are you lying to me?"

"No, Buck, I mean it,” you shook your head, a chuckle coloring your words. 

Bucky jumps off the bed and runs towards the door. "I gotta go see her!” he shouts, running out the door. 

You sit still for a few minutes, waiting for his return, but he doesn’t come back. Making you conclude that he must’ve gotten caught up somewhere. You get back into the covers and to your game, giggling like a fool.

=====

Bucky grumbles against the granite countertop in the kitchen. He lifts his aching head and stretches his neck. That’s the last time he takes anything from Thor. 

"Good Morning, Mr. Darcy,” you chirped, eating a bowl of cereal in front of him. 

Bucky grimaces at the sight of you and rubs his matted cheek. You give him a wicked smile and he doesn’t understand what’s so funny. He gives you his signature glare.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/ #bucky barnes fluff

[goldenraeofsun]

in my defense, I have none

A redo of the first installment of this verse!

Castiel scrawls his name on a nametag and offers Becky at the makeshift welcome desk a hesitant smile.

She beams back. “Hope you enjoy the reunion!”

Castiel strides down the familiar halls of Edlund High School and does his best not to regress to his teenage self, dodging glances and hunching his shoulders to make himself smaller. It’s been ten goddamn years; he has changed. 

He passes a couple of his old classmates - he doesn’t recognize them - pointing at a poster with old pictures, excitedly naming names.

“Look at Dean Winchester, oh my god, I haven’t thought about him in years! I had the worst crush on him, you know?”

Her companion snorts. “You and everyone else.”

Castiel snorts. Everyone else, indeed.

He walks deliberately on, following the music to the gym. The bass thumps in a vaguely-familiar rhythm, but Castiel can't name the song or singer for the life of him. In high school, he didn’t listen to much contemporary music. His mother preferred the classical stations at home, and Dean, of course, only played his version of the classics in his car.

“Music stopped being good after the mid-80s,” Dean said as they drove down the dark highway, no headlights, only them. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you any different.”

Castiel doesn’t remember what he said in return, but he remembers the way Dean laughed, how his eyes crinkled, how he tapped his fingers along the steering wheel, how he looked, looking back at Cas.

Castiel steps into the reunion. The gym has been festooned with what looks like old prom decorations. Streamers hang off the walls in Edlund’s school colors, and bunches of mostly-inflated balloons are taped along the collapsed bleachers spelling out their graduating year. A slideshow of old yearbook photos flashes against the far wall of the gym.

Castiel stares out at a room full of strangers.

Inwardly, he sighs. He was hardly a social butterfly in high school. The exact opposite, actually. He can’t name a single person - except one - that would be able to put a name to his face. 

“Clarence!”

Make that two. 

Castiel spins around at the familiar voice. “Meg?”

He should have known. But if Castiel has learned anything over the past few years, it’s Meg Masters defies all expectations. He’d been surprised enough when she marched right up to him at his old school - Morning Star Academy - and asked him out to lunch.

After listening to him awkwardly explain that he was gay, Meg rolled her eyes and told him she just wanted to catch up. They had gone to the same high school, she said.

She didn’t seem very bothered when he said he didn’t remember her. All she did was make him pay for that first lunch, and that was the extent of his punishment for forgetting. 

When Castiel took his current job at Carver Preparatory in their hometown school district, they started meeting up for drinks instead of lunch.

Meg smirks. “I didn’t think you were going to this little shindig.”

“It didn’t come up,” Castiel says distractedly as he scans the gym.

“Yet here you are, skulking the old hallways.”

“I didn’t skulk.” Castiel turns to her, offended.

“Unlike some people, my memory of high school is impeccable,” Meg says loftily, “You skulked in that coat with all those books in front of your face. I was always surprised you didn’t mow down more unsuspecting freshmen.”

“I -” Castiel breaks off, unable to deny any of her accusations. It’s true he wore his old trenchcoat nearly every day (in his more poetic moments, he saw it as a foil to Dean’s everpresent leather jacket) and he tried to shut everyone out by reading while walking from class to class.

“Don’t worry about it,” Meg says with an easy pat to his shoulder. “Teenagers are the worst. I thought I was so cool back then, with the boots and the bleached hair.” She shudders at the memory.

“I’m sure you were very cool,” Castiel says diplomatically.

Meg snorts. “You bet your ass I was not cool.” She tips her head over to where a group of well-dressed alums stand below the basketball hoops. “They were cool. And now look at them.” She sighs. “I would still set their extensions on fire if I could. Oh well, some things never change. Look at Victor. Talk about aging like fine wine.”

Castiel vaguely recognizes some of them from the poster outside the gym. But for the life of him, he can’t identify which one is Victor.

Meg smiles at his clueless expression. “You seriously didn’t pay attention to anything but your books?”

“I - ” Castiel breaks off, the faintest twinges of embarrassment curling in his gut. He paid attention to exactly one thing outside of his studies in high school.

Meg eyes him critically. “You’re usually chattier than this. I think you need a drink.” She steers him towards the makeshift bar on a folding table.

With newly acquired drinks, they retreat to the far end of the gym. Meg makes a game out of forcing Cas to try to name people from their class.

“I want to say, Jeremy?” Castiel guesses as Meg not-so-subtly points out a man at the end of the drinks line.

“Close,” Meg says with a smirk. “That’s Gordon Walker. He was captain of the football team.” She subtly points to a very pretty woman scrolling through her phone near Gordon.

“She looks like a Mina to me,” Castiel says critically.

Meg throws him an incredulous look. “How did nobody know you were gay in high school?”

“I’m guessing her name isn’t Mina.”

“Bela Talbot,” Meg corrects. “You don’t remember her English accent? Pretentious as fuck. Just like Principal Crowley - not that you have to deal with him any more, since you’re over at Carver, you lucky bastard.”

Crowley was one of the main reasons Castiel left Morning Star. In tightening the budget, he cracked down on students’ late lunch bills among other unacceptable measures. Crowley was not pleased when he found out Castiel regularly squirrelled away peanut butter and a loaf of bread in his desk for emergencies. 

Castiel tried to explain it was for his lunch emergencies, but Crowley wasn’t hearing any of it. Castiel was fired, and, after a harrowing year of substitute teaching, he used his family connection to get his current job at Carver Preparatory. 

“Eliot,” Castiel tries next.

“There isn’t a single Eliot in our class,” Meg says, laughing. “How can you not remember Lee Webb? He wore that stupid cowboy hat all sophomore year.”

It continues. The only person Castiel gets right is Tessa, and that’s because they had gone to the same church.

“You have to remember him,” Meg says as waves over a newcomer entering the gym.

Castiel’s mouth goes dry. Yes, he does recognize Dean Winchester. How could he forget?

Castiel might have been a friendless loner in high school with only his books for company, but he wasn’t dead. He knew who Dean Winchester was, with his leather jacket, muscle car, and stunning green eyes that would make a romantic portrait artist weep.

Castiel can recall with perfect clarity the moment he found out he’d been assigned to tutor Dean in Latin in the beginning of their senior year. A mixture of elation and dread filled his stomach before Ms. Siege had even finished speaking. He’d get to see Dean. He’d have to spend time, probably alone, with Dean Winchester. And, most terrifyingly, he’d have to open his mouth and actually say words in front of him.

When Castiel looks at Dean for the first time in ten years, he doesn’t think about when Dean would do his damndest to distract Castiel from tutoring and tease him to lighten up. Instead, Castiel remembers Dean’s flushed cheeks and grasping fingers the first time Cas made him come, and the way the Impala’s windows had fogged up, just like in the movies.

* * *

Castiel can tell the exact moment Dean spots him because he nearly trips over his feet.

“I - I need to go,” Castiel says to Meg, sheer panic flooding his veins.

“What?” she asks. “Already?”

“Bathroom,” Castiel blurts before he can think of a better excuse.

“That time of the month?” Meg asks with a faux-sympathetic frown.

Castiel doesn’t bother dignifying her question with an answer. Instead, he spins on his heel and makes for the second gym exit, the one that leads to the locker rooms instead of the rest of the school.

He breathes deep as the door closes behind him. Shivering from nerves with the close call, he takes a moment to get his bearings. Are his legs shaking?

At one of the sinks in the boy’s bathroom, he turns on the tap and pats his heated face down with a damp paper towel.

He’s such a mess, and he hasn’t even spoken to Dean yet.

What a goddamn joke. He hasn’t changed in a decade. Still running away from Dean like a coward.

Castiel has been - well, he wouldn’t say looking forward to this reunion - but he’s been mentally gearing himself up for it. Castiel promised himself, ever since he heard Dean took a teaching position at their old high school, to go to their next reunion and formally apologize.

He splashes more water on his face, grimacing as dark spots dot his tie. Somehow it’s already gotten turned around. Castiel halfheartedly fiddles with it, trying to get it to lie straight.

The door opens behind him. Castiel freezes, but it’s not Dean.

The stranger shoots him a weird look before slipping into one of the stalls.

The man’s belt unbuckles, and Castiel inwardly sighs. He can’t hide in here forever. He leaves just as the sounds of a clearly painful bowel movement start up behind him. 

Right outside the gym, he steels himself. He owes this to Dean; the worst Dean can do is make a scene, and it’s not like Castiel has any plans to ever set foot in Edlund High again, anyway. He teaches at their rival school, after all.

He’s here for Dean. He can do this and go home.

Back inside, he spots Meg without difficulty. She’s alone and tapping away on her phone.

Castiel approaches her, already bracing for a wave of uncomfortable questions. “Hello, Meg.”

“Hey,” Meg says distractedly. She squints up at him. “What was with the Houdini act?”

Castiel shifts his weight to the other foot. “Where did Dean go?”

Meg jerks her head to where their ‘popular’ classmates congregate, now with one added Dean Winchester. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

Meg places both hands on her hips. “I think you forget that as a fellow educator, I have a stellar bullshit radar.”

“It’s personal.”

“Come on, Clarence,” Meg says, the faintest note of pleading in her voice, “This reunion is boring as hell. Nobody’s gone into porn or killed anyone since we graduated. I’ve been robbed. You have to tell me, what did Dean Winchester do to you way back when?” Her eyebrows raise as she takes in his conflicted expression. “Or should I say, what did you do to him?”

Castiel sighs. He frowns at the floor. “In senior year we were… involved.”

“Involved how?” Meg asks, her eyes gleaming. “Don’t tell me he broke your heart.”

Castiel slowly shakes his head. “The other way around.”

“Holy shit,” Meg breathes, her eyes as round as the balloons festooning the walls. She sneaks a peek over at Dean, still standing with his group of old school friends. “You’re serious.”

“I never pegged you as a gossip, Meg,” Castiel says dispassionately.

“Call me desperate,” Meg says, waving his criticism away with an idle hand. “It’s either ten-year-old gossip or watch that fucking slideshow for the fifth time in a row. If you have anything else you’d rather talk about, I’m all ears.”

Castiel jumps at the opening. “I have been wondering,” he starts, “how other schools have been integrating the state board’s recommen-”

Meg interrupts him loudly, “Anything except work.” 

Castiel snaps his mouth shut with a glare.

“Come on,” Meg wheedles, “You got the class loner act locked down, but it’s not like I particularly want to see any of these people ever again.” She gestures around the gym.

“Then why come at all?” Castiel asks, honestly baffled.

Meg smirks. “Did you not hear my comment about the porn and murder?”

“If anyone did, I hardly think they’d advertise it at their class reunion.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She shoots him a pointed look. “But we’re getting off topic. You and Dean Winchester. Spill, Novak.”

Castiel sighs. “I was assigned to tutor him in Latin at the beginning of senior year.”

“Ohh,” Meg croons, “Somebody got hot for teacher?”

Castiel grimaces at the crude reduction of Dean’s feelings. “You could say that,” he says cagily.

Meg turns to look out across the gym, her dark eyes zeroing in on Dean. “I imagine your little heart wasn’t made of stone either.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Meg claps her hands delightedly. “What happened?”

“I ended things,” Castiel says hollowly. “We were about to graduate, and I had plans to go to college.”

“And he did not,” Meg surmises.

Castiel shakes his head. “He was considering community college.”

To set a good example for Sam, Dean had said. He didn’t particularly care for higher education one way or another, not like Castiel, who saw college as his one way out of their hometown, out of his family, out of everything he hated about his first 18 years of life.

But somehow Dean wound up getting his degree anyway - he must have, or he wouldn’t be teaching English at their old high school.

Castiel has so many questions, but the likelihood of getting answers from Dean dwindles smaller and smaller the longer he puts off doing the very thing he came here to do.

When Dean breaks off from the group to grab another drink, Castiel seizes his chance.

Meg lets him go with a half-mocking, half-supportive, “Go get ‘im, champ!”

Castiel flips up his middle finger over his shoulder as he takes off after Dean.

He shoves his tingling hands in his pockets, finds walking with his hands in his pockets awkward and removes them, and somehow doesn't bolt in the opposite direction. By the time he catches up to Dean, it’s hard to think through his cloud of anxiety.

He just needs to tell Dean he is sorry; Dean was right; Castiel should never have ended things between them like he did.

Dean always did like being right - that can’t have changed much over the past ten years.

Castiel waits for Dean to see him, staring hard at the side of Dean’s head until he’s noticed.

Dean’s eyes go round, and he almost drops his cup of beer. “Christ,” he says, staggering off to the side of the bar table. “Someone should put a bell on you.”

“My apologies,” Castiel says gruffly.

This is not how he would have liked to start his first conversation with Dean Winchester in ten years. Not that Castiel had expected much better - if he learned anything from their tutoring sessions and later hookups, Dean always had at least one surprise up his sleeve.

Dean inhales a deep breath. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

* * * 

Castiel swallows nervously. All that preparation at home and in the bathroom, and not a single word comes to mind.

“How, uh, how’ve you been?” Dean asks first. He takes a quick sip of his beer.

“I’ve been well,” Castiel says stiffly. “And you?”

“Can’t complain.”

The conversation is almost unbearably awkward, even for him. How in the world did Castiel get stuck making smalltalk with Dean Winchester? So much for best laid plans. 

 “I heard you teach here now,” Castiel says.

“I do,” Dean says, his eyes wandering around the gym. “English. Started this year. You?”

“Latin and French at Carver Preparatory.”

Dean’s eyebrows rise. “No shit,” he says, a bitter note to his voice. “You’re teaching those elitist assholes?”

Castiel blinks. True, he didn’t expect Dean to exactly welcome him after everything, but the deliberate antagonism is a surprise. “I wouldn’t - they’re not all assholes,” he stutters. He can’t bring himself to deny the elitism. He’s loyal, not blind.

“Hm,” Dean grunts, not giving an inch. “I hope you’re not here to sabotage anything.”

“Between Carver and Edlund?” Cas asks, baffled. “This is high school, not Soviet Russia.”

Dean tips back his beer and takes a large gulp. “Tell that to the seniors who got sued over a prank.”

“They stole five hundred dollars’ worth of Carver uniforms,” Castiel says incredulously, “for an internet fad.”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “I think you mean a meme. And it was hilarious.”

“A what?”

Dean snorts. “Never mind.” His expression closes off again. “And the seniors only borrowed them. All the uniforms were returned - no harm, no foul.”

Castiel has to put a sincere effort into not letting his disgust show on his face. The whole fiasco did not endear Castiel to anyone at Carver who called for the legal case. Even if they did not make up the majority of the faculty or parents, they had the numbers (and the money) to push it farther than it should have gone.

“The parents who paid for those uniforms definitely didn’t see it that way,” Castiel says to Dean.

“Sucks to be them,” Dean smirks, “If their biggest worry is leftover sweat from an Edlunder, better not tell them how bowling shoes or vintage clothing works.”

From Castiel’s parent-teacher conferences, he’d be surprised if any Carver parent had ever stepped foot in a bowling alley. He’s positive the Naomis and Bartholomews that make up the PTA would sooner give up their second homes than voluntarily wear a pair of bowling shoes.

Dean tosses back his drink. “Anyway, it’s not like they can’t afford to get the douchey uniforms dry cleaned.”

“I didn’t say they were right,” Castiel says carefully, “In fact, I think Carver’s reaction was completely overblown, but you probably don’t want to hear about our administration politics behind the decision.”

“Nope,” Dean says, lips popping.

After a beat, Castiel asks, “How do you like teaching here?”

“Can’t complain,” Dean says as he eyes the dregs of his beer. “Bobby - Principal Singer - retired last year, but he put in a good word for me with Principal Mills.”

“I’ve heard good things about her ideas for Edlund.”

“She’s all about finally bringing us into the digital age. She’s been talking with Charlie - do you remember her?” Dean explains, “She was in our history class junior and senior year.”

The name rings no bells for Castiel. He shakes his head.

“Really?” Dean pauses. “Red hair? Queen of the Nerds?”

Castiel gives another headshake, eyes narrowing.

Dean tries again, “You gotta remember her novelty tee shirts.”

Castiel says dryly, “I think you’re vastly overestimating how much attention I paid to our classmates.”

“But-”

“Dean,” Castiel says impatiently, “You are the only person I remember from high school.”

Dean balks for a moment, his cheeks flushing. “No way,” he says flatly. “You can’t seriously - I saw you talking to Meg Masters a while ago.”

Castiel eyes the mostly-depleted drink in Dean’s hands enviously. He doesn’t have enough alcohol to discuss his social deficiencies as an adult - or as a teenager. “We worked together briefly,” he admits, “at Morning Star.”

Dean whistles. “Well, I guess Carver is a step up from that.”

“Indeed,” Castiel agrees wryly. “I was only there a year. The administration at Carver is a nightmare, but at least they’re not sadists.”

“I haven’t heard great stuff about Morning Star,” Dean admits.

“There isn’t much good that goes on in that school,” Castiel says wearily. “Principal Crowley - well, the less said about him the better. Meg hates him. The students, though,” he swallows, “they deserve better.”

Dean’s expression hardens. “They always do.”

“Anyway,” Castiel says quickly because going down that road always makes him want to smite something - preferably Crowley’s smirking face, “I didn’t remember Meg either until she told me we went to school together.”

Dean lets out a surprised laugh. “I guess you always did have your nose in a book.” He makes a face and gestures around the gym. “Then why come to this snoozefest? The whole point is to catch up with old friends.”

“According to Meg, the point is to discover who went into pornography or to prison over the past ten years.”

Dean chuckles. “You can mark me down for ‘no’ on both counts.”

“I - I had thought so,” Castiel says awkwardly.

“Oh, so…” Dean drifts off, for once at a loss for words.

As the silence ticks on, Castiel’s reason for coming to the reunion crowds at the tip of his tongue. But he can’t make the words come out.

Dean drains his beer. He lets his gaze drift away from Castiel, lingering on someone or something over Castiel’s left shoulder. “Well, it was nice seeing you, Cas, I’ll see you ar-”

“I came here to apologize to you,” Castiel blurts.

Dean’s eyes snap to Castiel’s face. “What?”

Castiel swallows nervously. “For high school.”

“Okay,” Dean crosses his arms across his chest. “A lot of things happened in high school. Specifics would help.”

Castiel inhales a deep breath. “I’m sorry for how I handled our… relationship.”

Dean’s mouth twists, his expression darkening. “I wouldn’t call what we did a relationship.”

“Right,” Castiel says, biting his lip. “Our arrangement, then. What I did - what I did to you - it’s one of the biggest regrets of my life.”

Dean purses his lips. “What would’ve you done differently?”

“Excuse me?”

“Humor me,” Dean asks, and it doesn't sound like a suggestion. “If you could go back. Get a do-over. What would you do?” His eyes narrow. “Would you have come out? Or maybe stopped me before we got down and dirty in the Impala in the first place? ‘Cause I’ve played this game a few times, and I know which one I would’ve gone for.”

Castiel thinks it over. “Rationally,” he says,slowly, sounding the word out as he tries to put the rest of his thoughts into words, “I should have kept our interactions to our tutoring sessions.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. He nods.

Castiel can’t tell if his explanation is hurting Dean further. He feels like he’s been dumped out at sea while only knowing how to doggy paddle. Mouth dry, he barrels on, “But realistically, there’s no way that could have happened, so I probably should have asked you to wait for me.”

Dean blinks in surprise, his hardened exterior cracking the tiniest fraction. “Wait?” he echoes faintly.

“I couldn’t come out in high school,” Castiel says dully. What he wouldn’t give for another drink. “If my mother got wind of my sexuality, she would have put conditions on my college tuition without another thought, or forced me to take a gap year to do churchwork or something equally horrendous.”

Dean’s tense shoulders sag. “I didn’t know that.”

“I was ashamed,” Castiel drops his gaze to the floor, “You clearly loved your family, and your father… well, even with his flaws, he seemed to accept you. My situation was nothing like that.”

“Dad didn’t know about me either,” Dean mutters. 

“Sorry?” Castiel asks, raising his head.

“Dad didn’t know I went for dudes and chicks,” Dean explains. “But he was hardly around, so if I didn’t tell him and Sammy didn’t tell him, odds were he’d never find out.” He bites his lip as he meets Castiel’s stare head-on. “How long?”

“How long?” Castiel repeats, confused.

“How long would you have asked me to wait?” Dean asks, a hard edge to his words.

Castiel hesitates, wrong-footed at their backtracking conversation. “Until I had started my first semester at college.”

Dean’s mouth falls open. “What?”

Castiel frowns. “I had no plans to be in the closet after I moved away. My mother has too many connections here, with the junior league, the civics board, HOA, and who knows what else. But in my college town, she knew no one. I could finally be myself.”

Dean splutters nonsensically before he says, “You didn’t think to ask me to wait one measly summer for you to get your head out of your ass?”

“But I wasn’t just asking for ‘one summer’,” Castiel protests.

Dean’s outrage falters at Castiel’s air quotes.

“It would have been one summer and four years of long distance. I knew you had… feelings,” Castiel doesn’t pause at Dean’s wince at the word, “for me, but I had already taken so much from you. Are you saying you would have waited?”

“I don’t know!” Dean says, sounding slightly manic. He runs a hand through his hair distractedly, muttering to himself under his breath. 

Castiel inhales a deep breath to calm himself down. He forces himself to look Dean straight in the eye. “A part of me was looking forward to a completely fresh start, too. But, of course, I was the same as ever,” Castiel chuckles without a trace of humor, “friendless, caught up in the details, narrow-minded. It didn’t take long to realize I was only ever a different person when I was with you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean says, staring right back, “I had no idea.”

Castiel shrugs. “I never told you.”

“You should’ve,” Dean says shortly.

“I should have,” Castiel agrees.

Dean bites his lip, looking conflicted. His gaze flits around the gym, behind Castiel, where undoubtedly more of their classmates vie for his attention. And, that’s good, because Castiel finally said his piece. He can go home, and never think about Edlund High School or Dean Winchester again.

(Because that worked so well when he left Dean the first time.)

Castiel takes a step backwards. Personal space, he remembers. Stiffly, Castiel says, “Anyway, that’s why I came to the reunion. To see you. To tell you that. I shouldn’t keep you any long-”

“Are you single?” Dean interrupts.

Castiel’s brain takes an embarrassingly long moment to understand the question. “Yes?”

“Do you want to get out of here?” Dean asks, a strange glint in his eye.

“I do,” Castiel says truthfully. “I don’t like social engagements.”

“Some things never change,” Dean says with a small grin. He gestures to the door. “What do you say to a drive?”

Castiel blinks.

“For old time’s sake,” Dean says, with a fucking wink.

Castiel’s mouth falls open. “I - is this a joke?” His brow furrows. “Retribution for refusing to see you outside of our… trysts?”

Dean’s face goes through a multitude of expressions Castiel can barely hope to read - shock, guilt, perhaps cautious optimism? “God no,” Dean says quickly. He coughs and shifts his weight to his other foot. “Shit, I was trying to make a joke. Sorry. Not there yet.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“Look,” Dean starts, “since we’re apparently crap at asking for what we want - we’re both single,” Castiel’s eyebrows rise because this is news to him, “and this reunion is boring as hell, so I’m asking if you want to do something else instead.”

“With you?” Castiel asks because it sounds implied to him, but he can never be too sure when it comes to Dean Winchester.

Dean glares. “Yes, with me, Cas.”

Castiel chews on his lip as he tries to figure out why Dean would initiate an activity with him, apart from the obvious. As Castiel fails to come up with any sensible reason, and Dean’s foot tapping becomes audible in its intensity and speed, Castiel has to ask, “Are you asking me on a date?”

Dean throws both hands in the air. “I swear, you’re being dense on purpose. Since you need everything spelled out for you: will you go out with me, Castiel Novak?” Without waiting for an answer, Dean tacks on, “Jesus Christ, high school really never does end.” 

But he doesn’t really seem all that mad. So Castiel tells him, “Yes, I’d like to go on a date with you.”

Dean grins. He jerks his head towards the door. “Wanna go?”

“But,” Castiel waves one hand in the direction of the multitude of people behind them, “aren’t there people you’d rather talk to first?”

Dean shakes his head. “Not right now, no.”

* * *

Dean takes the steps down to the parking lot at a bit of a jog. He makes a beeline to the very familiar hulking beast, parked at least three spaces away from any other car. 

A frisson of anticipation thrums up Castiel’s spine at the sight, a dormant instinct he’d thought ten years dead. Castiel pauses outside the passenger side of the Impala and tries not to fidget as he waits for Dean to notice him. 

“Everything okay?” Dean asks as he yanks open the car door.

Castiel asks bluntly, “Does this mean you forgive me?”

Dean braces both elbows on the Impala’s roof, his face serious. “You were seventeen.”

That’s not an agreement. It’s an excuse.

“I was old enough to know what I was doing to you was wrong,” Castiel counters.

“Come on,” Dean rolls his eyes. “If there’s anything I learned from teaching, it’s that teenagers are morons. Uncle Sam allows them to go to war and vote, but I sure as shit don’t. Kids are idiots.” His mouth lifts into a tentative smile. “Even the ones with a 4.0 GPA and perfect attendance.” 

Dean taps his fingers on Impala’s roof, but he doesn’t seem impatient, more pensive. It’s a look Castiel never saw on teenage Dean. “I’m sure you were doing the best you could’ve under the circumstances. I might not have got it then, but I get it now.”

“It wasn’t perfect,” Castiel mutters as he gets in the Impala.

“Sure it wasn’t,” Dean says sardonically as he slams the door behind him and starts the engine. “It’s not like I can’t hack the old attendance records and see for myself.”

“That seems like a lot of work to make a point.”

“If you think I wouldn’t do it, you don’t know me at all,” Dean says gravely, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, I don’t doubt you’d do it,” Castiel says, “You broke into Principal Singer’s office to steal back the switchblade that you brought to school for some unfathomable reason.”

“You remember that?” Dean asks, surprised.

“Your detention derailed an entire week’s worth of tutoring,” Castiel says dryly. “We couldn’t finish Cicero in time for your exam.”

Dean chuckles. “Figures you remember that part.”

“I had also recently fingered you for the first time,” Castiel reminds him, “I was very put out about waiting a whole week to do it again.”

Dean chokes on air as they come to an abrupt stop at a red light.

“I forget very little when it comes to you,” Castiel finishes placidly.

Dean shakes his head as the light turns green. “Christ,” he says, his eyes flitting briefly to Castiel’s face before settling back on the road. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” Castiel asks. It seems they got into this whole mess precisely because Castiel refused to say exactly what he thought about Dean Winchester.

Dean opens his mouth, but no words come out. A ruddy flush crawls up his neck and face, just visible in the darkened car interior.

Castiel runs a disbelieving hand over the dash, reading the minute grooves and divots like he’s rediscovering his favorite book. “I never thought I’d be in the Impala again.” 

“You were the one who wanted to wait,” Dean rolls his eyes, “I think ten goddamn years is long enough.”

#destiel fanfic #fanfic #destiel #profoundnet #teacher castiel #teacher dean #high school reunion #human au #the story of us verse #can i joss my own fic #if so thats whats happened to the first version of this #rae writes fic

[brynwrites]

2019 READING RECAP: 

BOOKS I READ THIS YEAR AND LOVED.

I read 45 books in 2019. (Well, technically I listened to most of them as audio-books. Dyslexia was a pain in the ass this year and I gave it a whopping middle finger.) 

This is not a "Best Of" list. I didn't read all the books published in 2019, nor will all these books be from 2019 to begin with. They're just books I read this year and happened to enjoy. I hope some of you will enjoy them too.

Note: The little summaries in italics are written by me, not official blurbs. Click the links to see those!

In Other Lands by Sarah Rees Brennan

This lovely slice-of-magical-life book tells the story of a sassy young man navigating a magical world and all the trials and romances it brings.

I fully recommend it to anyone who likes humorous mythology, beautiful deconstructions of social topics, snarky protagonists, and a romance with fantastic pinning and realistic relationships. This has a mlm endgame ship!

Annihilation by Jeff VanderMeer

A biologist explores a dangerous piece of coastline contaminated by distinctly unnatural forces, which puts her relationship with her late husband into new light.

The slow revelation of and engulfment by the hauntingly peculiar yet breathe-taking world really hit me in the center of my soul. The Biologist felt incredibly real and personal, and by the end of the story, she seemed like a friend I knew and adored. Her relationship with her husband was one of the most stunning and accurate "romances" I've ever read.

Circe by Madeline Miller

A stunning showcase of the life of Circe, as seen from a new angle, highlighting both the flaws of humans and the beauty of mortality.

I've heard people describe this as a love letter to humanity and that's more accurate than anything I could write. Also I cried at the end.

The City of Brass by S.A. Chakraborty

A con woman with healing powers accidentally summons a djinn warrior and ends up whisked into a mythological world of elaborate politics.

This book gave me so many feels I don't know how to recover. Strap in for epic world building, suspenseful plot, wonderful (often morally grey) characters with complex biases.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

The story of how a fictional Hollywood actress ends up marrying seven different men over the course of her life. Spoilers: She's in love with a woman.

This book portrays a stunning and realistic look at a queer woman's journey through Hollywood, with lovely takes on romance, sex, and sexuality, as well as a couple beautiful instances of queer non-traditional/polyamorous families. Endgame wlw!

The Raven Tower by Ann Leckie

With the god of the kingdom fading and the current ruler missing, the aid to the next ruler must meddle in the affairs of gods. But someone is watching him... and she's been around for a very, very long time.

The peculiar narrative choice of having a first person narrator speak of the main character in second person played well in the growing mystery, and the world building surrounding the gods was fantastic and unique, lending itself to the sort of story you read once in a lifetime. I would recommend this book for people who like unique and/or non-traditional story telling mechanisms, incredible world building, and thinking. The main character is a transman!

The Songbird's Refrain by Jillian Maria

When a girl who feels perpetually unseen is captured by a witch and forced to grow feathers, she must use her dreams to uncover the witch's motivations and escape.

This Young Adult book is a blast with a hint of creepy, a dose of suspense, and a nice dollop of fluffy romance. Overall, a wonderful fall read, with a heavy focus on healthy relationships, believing in one's self, and choosing love. The endgame is a wlw!

This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

An episodic novella of the two most powerful time war opponents falling in love through letters exchanged in very particular ways.

This book made my eyes well and my throat catch and my mind linger over the pages with ecstasy and melancholy. It is lyrical and beautiful, with stunning world building built of metaphors. The endgame is a wlw!

The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harrow

Not your typical portal fantasy.

This was lovely. Everything from the slow beginnings ties beautifully back together in a fast paced second half. I ended up with so many feels about this dumb little wandering family.

A Memory Called Empire by Arkady Martine

The new ambassador to the largest colonizing empire in the galaxy must uncover the reasons for her predecessor's demise, which would be a bit easier of only the artificial version of him embedded in her brain would help out.

This was such a fantastic ride. Stunning world building, great characters, politics that doesn't feel bogged down, a plot that's constantly moving forward. I totally recommend for anyone who likes science fiction, quirky friend groups, and the analysis of colonization. Endgame wlw!

Sorcery of Thorns by Margaret Rogerson

Sometimes a family can be a nerdy dumb-ass with a sword, an arrogant snarky dumb-ass with a smirk, and their demon servant who nibbles on their live force and mothers them both to hell and back.

I had so much fun with this Young Adult book. The world building is lovely and the pacing keeps you on your toes without stressing you out and the main characters are fabulous. A good, solid read, with a beautiful ending. Also, I would die for Silas.

Some books I wanted to read in 2019 but didn't get around to:

The Fifth Season

The Priory of the Orange Tree

Jade City

Middlegame

Wilder Girls

Into the Drowning Deep

Rules for Vanishing

Which books did you guys enjoy this year? (Let me know so I can read them next year? ;)

#booklr #reading recap #Book Recommendations #book reccs #book list #lgbt books #(note that not all of these are lgbt BUT to my knowledge only Ten Thousand Doors and Circe don't have prominent lgbt characters)

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Come Home to Me (Maria Hill x Reader)

Prompt: So for a request could you do Maria x reader like in age of ultron where the Avengers go to their house instead of Clint’s and the reader is Maria’s wife and the team find out about their family?

Words: 2042

Warnings: None?

(D/N): Daughter’s name

(S/N): Son’s Name

A/N: Not my gif (hell, none of the gifs I use are mine) and also, the gif kinda works so I went with it.

-X-

It was a harrowing day for the Avengers and Maria knew it.

The media was ferocious as ever, asking if Bruce should be arrested for the damage he’d caused while discussing if the Avengers should even have that much power to begin with. Radio hosts, news personalities, just about everyone who was anyone, were weighing in and it was getting uglier by the minute. No one had anything nice to say about Bruce despite the fact he’d helped save New York all those years ago. Was she surprised? Not really but still…

It was hard to listen to.

Maria pursed her lips together. “I’m sending the Quinjet some coordinates. Have Clint fly you guys there. It’s a safe house. It should keep you off the grid until we can find Ultron.”

“So you want us to run and hide,” Tony replied knowingly, staring at the woman in the screen. He was pale, exhaustion evident in his eyes but he was sharper than ever, catching the slight hitch in Maria’s breathing.

“Until we find Ultron, I don’t have much else to offer,” she admitted regretfully.

“Neither do we,” Tony said, shutting off the connection. He glanced around the jet at his team and his frown deepened. None of them were okay – and he wasn’t sure when they would be again.

Back in New York, Maria leaned back in her chair and sighed. She grabbed her phone and unlocked the screen. She chewed on her lip for a moment before pressing a button, bringing the device up to her ear. “Hey, we need to talk…”

-X-

The plane touched down not that far outside of the city. It was an obscure area with very few houses and plenty of land between them. None of the team knew where the hell they were, but Tony trusted Maria. If she said this was a good place to hide and regroup, then this is where they would do just that. He only hoped that the door was unlocked so they could.

The house was cute but rather simple. It was two stories and big enough that it could probably accommodate the team without any problems so Tony wasn’t worried about that. He thought the little tricycle and the toys scattered about the yard were a nice touch too.

It made it seem like a real home.

Everyone clamored up the stairs but before anyone could check the door, it swung open and revealed…

“Maria?” Tony was stunned to see the former SHIELD agent standing there. He was fairly certain she’d been in the Tower when they had last talked. “What are you doing here?”

She wasn’t dressed in her usual business attire, instead donning a simple button up and a pair of jeans. Her hair was tied up like normal but in a softer manner, leaving her looking less stern than they were used to. Her eyes held a different light, like the world was brighter – safer – here.

Helping Clint bring Natasha inside, Maria sat the distressed woman on the nearest couch. She watched Natasha slump back into the cushions and pursed her lips. The redhead looked like she had definitely seen better days.

“Again, I ask, what are you doing here?” Tony repeated, eyeing his associate curiously.

Maria went to respond, but pattering footsteps across the wooden floor distracted her. She faced the noise and extended her arms deliberately. In less than a second a little girl’s body came flying into her embrace and Maria swept her up, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

“Mama, tell (S/N) to stop!” she cried, burying her face in Maria’s neck.

“(S/N), what have I told you about chasing (D/N) with Trevor? You know she hates spiders,” Maria chastised a young boy who came running around the corner, a tarantula in hand. “Why your mother let you buy one is beyond me.”

Laughter bounced off the walls and you stepped behind your son, your hands falling to his shoulders. You squeezed them before patting his head. “Go put Trevor back in his cage,” you instructed, nudging him in the direction of the stairs.

(S/N) huffed but did as he was told, sticking his tongue out at (D/N) who returned the gesture wholeheartedly.

“We both know I can’t say no to him,” you chuckled, walking over to Maria and snuggling into her side. “He has your eyes after all.”

Maria smiled and pecked your lips, her free hand coming to rest on your cheek. Her thumb stroked your cheekbone. “At least you didn’t let him buy the snake.”

You gazed over at the Avengers and bit back a huge smile. You’d heard so much about them; seeing them in person for the first time was an amazing moment despite how haggard and haunted they appeared.

“Steve Rogers, ma’am,” Steve said, offering you his hand. You knew who he was – hell, you knew who all of them were – but you accepted his handshake anyways.

“This is my wife, (Y/N),” Maria informed them proudly, slipping her arm around your waist. “And this is my daughter, (D/N).”

Tony stared at you, his jaw slack. “You’re married? You have kids? How did none of us know about this? How did I not know about this?”

“Only Fury knows about them,” Maria replied carefully, setting your daughter down. “He helped us set this up. SHIELD has a lot of enemies; I didn’t want anything to happen to them.”

“So this is where you disappear to sometimes,” Natasha muttered from the couch, studying you. “I thought you might have a partner but…”

You kissed Maria’s cheek before slipping out of her hold and walking into the kitchen. “Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. Why don’t you get them settled in?”

Maria nodded, her eyes lingering on your back. You looked good and God, she had missed you. “C’mon, I’ll show you to your rooms. You can get some rest and shower because you all look like you could use it.”

Tony wagged his finger at her. “We’re going to talk about this later.”

-X-

The next day, after the Avengers had found some time to regroup and get some rest, you found yourself in your bedroom with Maria, the other woman leaning against the wall as she stared out the window. She wore a look of concentration though her eyes were filled with worry.

She was already dressed for the day, though her hair wasn’t pulled up in its usual bun yet. You inched over to Maria and curled into her side, your hand sliding under her shirt to rest against her stomach. You stroked her soft flesh comfortingly, pressing a gentle kiss to the underside of her jaw.

“What happens now?” you wondered.

“I called Fury,” she admitted with a shrug, her gaze faraway. “Hopefully he can talk some sense into Stark – and honestly, we need all the help we can get finding Ultron.”

Nodding, you peered outside. “How long until he gets here?”

“I don’t know. Soon, I would assume.” Maria wrapped an arm around your waist and kissed the side of your head. She hummed against your temple before peppering kisses down to your lips. It was just a peck at first, but you deepened the contact, your teeth nipping at her bottom lip.

She walked you backwards to the bed and nudged you down, though your mouths never disconnected. Your back bounced and your arms wrapped around Maria, pulling her as close as possible. You’d missed your wife so much in the last few weeks. With everything going on, she hadn’t really had a chance to come home to you so you were going to take advantage of the quiet for a moment and just enjoy her being in your arms.

She clutched at your hips, a breathy laugh escaping her parted lips. “I take it you missed me?”

“You have no idea,” you breathed, smiling up at Maria.

She nuzzled her head into your neck and slumped against you, her body pinning you to the bed. “I missed you too,” she admitted tenderly, kissing your throat.

She was gentle with you. You knew how hard and tough she was forced to act when she was a SHIELD agent and, after its collapse, she had gotten softer but she still kept herself stoic and professional. With the Avengers she was still Agent Hill, but with you – and subsequently, your children – she was just Maria.

“I love you,” you said quietly, running a hand across the back of her head.

“I love you too,” she replied, sucking on the skin she’d just kissed.

You smiled, keeping her close. You knew that sometimes she had to remind herself you were hers. Being away so much bothered her greatly and she was so thankful for you. You’d never once blinked an eye about her suddenly disappearing in the middle of the night and you were never distrustful. You told her anything and everything when you talked. She wasn’t always there, but you made her feel like she was.

And, when it mattered most, she always made time for you and the kids.

A knock on the door stopped her hands from sliding under your shirt.

“Mama?” (D/N)’s voice was muffled by the closed bedroom door.

“Yeah, princess?” Maria called out, moving so she was straddling your hips.

“Uncle Fury is here.”

Sighing, Maria’s head dropped slightly. “Okay. We’ll be out in a minute.”

Tiny footsteps echoed off the floor as (D/N) ran back downstairs. Your hands cupped Maria’s face, stroking your thumbs across her cheekbones. “Go. Fury needs you. Hell, they all need you.”

Maria turned her head and kissed the palm of your hand. “I love you,” she said again, grateful that you were so understanding.

“And I love you,” you replied easily. “Now go.”

-X-

Tony’s conversation with the former SHIELD director must have gone decently because when Fury and Tony stepped into the house after talking in the garage, they were discussing what needed to be done. You and Maria were cleaning up after dinner and you were absently listening, not wanting to intervene or comment. Hearing how dangerous Ultron was made you sick to your stomach, but you trusted Maria’s abilities. She’d come home to you; she always did.

Your daughter clung to Maria, her little head buried in Maria’s side as the older woman worked in the kitchen. Her departures were always worse for the children and they knew Maria would have to leave soon. Whenever “Uncle Fury” came, Maria always left. They hated it, but they understood nonetheless.

It wasn’t until Dr. Banner asked about Dr. Cho that you realized your time with Maria was coming to an end. She was about to leave with Fury.

Maria shot you an apologetic glance and you smiled reassuringly, patting her arm. She tossed it across your shoulders and dragged you into a hug.

“Come home to me,” you begged quietly, holding her tightly.

“I will,” she promised before releasing you. She bent down and hugged your daughter before hugging your son. Their grips were strong, but they didn’t cling to her or beg her to stay. If they had, she probably would have but they knew that their Mama was protecting the world – and in turn, protecting them – so they only kissed her cheek and grinned at her.

Fury was standing by the door and you walked over to him, giving him a stern look. “Keep each other safe,” you commanded, earning a startled look from the Avengers. They’d never heard someone use that tone with the former director before.

He laughed earnestly, shaking his head. “We will,” he assured you, pulling you into a one-armed hug. He liked you; you had spunk and you kept his best agent on her toes. “We just have to see what kind of trouble we can get into.”

Maria followed her former boss out the door, her gaze steadily ahead. If she looked back, she would break and she couldn’t afford to do that right now. You chewed your lip, watching them leave. They looked like a team, more than they had when they arrived. You wished them all the luck in the world.

They were going to need it.

#Maria Hill #maria hill x reader #maria hill imagine #Avengers #avengers imagine #You #reader

[space-blue]

On the Fire Escape

My second competition win, to my dismay, since it's a romance where no one dies or bleeds out!

Most evenings after work Hatori Sonzai can be found sitting just outside his lounge's window, on the fire escape that hugs the side of his building, watching over the city as the sky is set ablaze by the setting sun, before it fades and darkens like a bruise blooming under cold skin. The best are the short minutes before the terminator comes rushing over the land, when both electric and natural light cohabit, giving a warm, scattered glow to the relentless streets. Day after day and as the seasons change, Hatori drinks this view like precious mead. Sometimes staying minutes under the rain or snow, sometimes long hours into a cool summer night. He has turned this moment of silent contemplation into a personal ritual that helps centre himself and shake off his clients' turmoils that often parasite him long hours after work. The other reason Hatori has gained in the last months to cultivate this habit is coming down the fire escape's metal stairs with beers in her hands.

"Sorry I'm late Ha-san! How are you?"

"That's alright, I'm okay. You?"

"Just okay? Well same here, but look, this should sort us out!"

Hatori needs no invite to take a look. Though it's the bottles she's showing off, it's Jean's curly blond hair, her easy smile and warm manners that captivate him, how they're so at odds with his own straight jet black hair, his dour face and formal attitude, shaped both by work and the reverential distance people often keep augures like him at. She sits by him, folding her legs neatly on a little flat cushion she brings out with her when the weather permits, and proceeds to tell him about her day, how she found one of her students being bullied in the alley behind the studio, how she fought the bullies off, walked the student home and thus discovered the micro-brewery whose hipster product they are enjoying. Though he listens intently, Hatori struggles with the emotions inside him. The way Jean's curls tumble as she tilts her head, how she calls him Ha-san with just enough irony to be perfectly adorable, her quiet, self assured attitude as she shows off her scratched knuckles in the last rays of slanting light, it's all there somewhere, what he loves about his neighbour–but overshadowed by a feeling of loss and yearning for someone else. A betrayal made all the more terrible that it is for a someone he cannot remember. He hates it, how being an augure and helping others can come at the expense of his own private life.

"Whoa, Ha-san? Hatori?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you alright? You seem dazed."

"Sorry, you were saying?"

"Well, I was asking you how was Open Day, but now I assume it wasn't so good?"

"That's right, today's lot was rough. I'm having a hard time going back to my usual self, sorry."

"Oh." Jean's eyes widen a bit, her beer stopped mid swig. "Shit. Want to talk about it, or..?"

Hatori shrugs. It's often the same stories, Open Day is just a bit more desperate. People come to augures with their most pressing questions, to ask the Gods and receive their omens. Booking an augure costs a lot, but regular "Open Days" give anyone who can't afford the usual fee the opportunity to win a free reading; allowing Hatori and his colleagues the chance to confirm that human misery knows no social bounds.

"I first had a man who wanted to know if a late change in career would benefit him. A teacher who'd always dreamt of baking."

Hatori smiles, remembering the gentle mannered man, his soft brown eyes lost behind silver spectacles; tidy, well worn corduroy clothes almost screaming his profession, and only a slight paunch to hint at a love for baked goods.

"I only had to cast the cords for him."

Hatori's beautifully woven strings had fallen down in patterns only meaningful to him, and their message had been rather favourable. "Follow your heart, the omen is good but the Gods bid you know it will be hard work." That's the other side of the job, more counsellor than divine spokesman.

"The second one had a husband who wouldn't give her a penny to spend on getting news of their estranged son. She wanted to know if he was well."

"Was he?"

Cords are for questions about oneself. Asking about others requires deeper connection between augure and client. Hatori had taken the woman's frail hand, put his forehead and nose to hers, and so invited her feelings and memories to flood him. She had asked and the Gods had whispered their answer. Each time, it feels like waking from a dream, saddened by the loss of someone you couldn't remember, yet had loved deeply till you woke.

"I told her he needed her and she had to make a hard choice." Not a very good omen. "Then came the real hard one."

Jean twirls her bottle, patiently waiting for him, and even through the numbness of his heart, he feels warmth for the woman who understands so well.

"She wanted to know if her daughter was still alive."

A poor mother whose child had disappeared without a trace, leaving nothing behind but harrowing doubts and a criminal investigation file covered in dust by years without clues. Hatori had not cared to know how many times the woman had applied to Open Days before getting the audience to ask the question she almost didn't want an answer to. Uncertainty left room for hope. In the States, where an omen is word of law, Hatori's verdict would seal the case.

"From the long face I take it she was dead?"

"Yes. And long dead, at that."

Hatori had performed the connection, heard the question, and felt the crushing wave of years of motherly love engulfing him, followed by the crippling cold tide of loss, like a great current had swept him under polar ice and pinned him there, trapped in time even as agonizing months ticked by, the face of a daughter he'd never had unchanging before his ageing eyes. It had punched a hole in his heart in the shape of a little girl, and through it had poured the Gods' ill omen. Long dead.

"At least she can grieve now," Jean says, rubbing his shoulder.

"Then I had a last lady for the cords," Hatori says, shaking himself up. "Jealous, like so often... Left John and Wu to share my last two people."

Being the head augure of his western-style shrine had to come with some sort of benefit. In the cases where the clients enquires after someone they hate, the augure is often left pointlessly angry and irritated. Many augures of his standing had long stopped doing Open Days, so Hatori figured he could at least cut himself some well needed slack.

"Too bad," Jean sighs, looking back over the city, "I thought maybe I'd ask you for an omen tonight."

Hatori gapes at her, stunned. An omen for Jean, who makes a bigger deal of his having a car to borrow than the Gods' words to share? Who hasn't even asked for a word of luck or a forecast in all the months since she moved in and joined him on the fire escape? He cannot tell if it's terror or excitement he's feeling, if he wants to please her or dreads the sort of question that would be important enough for her to ask.

He looks at her, smiling at him and waiting. He knows she'd leave him be if he asked, but curiosity burns too deep.

"What kind of omen were you after?"

"I wanted to know–" Her hand falls on his.

"Wha–"

Her body twists, propelling her too close, too fast to avoid collision. Her forehead bumps into his, and her voice explodes through his skull–"If the man I love loves me back."

The vision rushes in, and Hatori feels his heart swell, anxious–her feelings, not his. Jean, shy and timid? He has no time to wonder. There is a man she loves, and he sees him through her eyes–his dark hair he lets her pleat, the way his M shaped mouth curls and brightens his serious face when he smiles just for her, his quiet regard and attentions, and the kindness that flows not from what he says but the way she sees him lead his life...

It takes the longest time for him to realise–Hatori has never seen himself in a vision.

But the instant her question makes sense, the silence in his mind becomes loud, resounding! There is no voice whispering the truth to him, no push from the Gods. He needs none. In that moment, Hatori is a God, who knows the answer, who can speak for himself.

"Yes, he does."

Their noses bump, she kisses him, and laughs, and wipes his cheeks.

"I do, I do," he says against her lips, "I love you too!"

~~ April 2017 – Theme : Omens P.s: Sonzai means "being" in Japanese. Bit of a silly personal joke.

#original writing #original work #competition #win #fantasy #original story

[talesfromthetabletop]

Astara’s Tale Part One: The Iron Wind

“It looks like a dust storm might be coming”, Cara called up to Nex, who rode on top of the aneen ahead. The great beast swatted at the stinging flies around its face with its diminutive arms as it plodded onwards. Nex looked to the horizon, shielding the eye sockets of his mask from the midday glare.

He stared for a moment, the caravan lulling to a holt. He shot up suddenly, startling the aneen and the rest of the group following. “That's no Dust storm!”, he yelled jumping down from the creature. “That’s Iron wind!” 

He pointed to a small cave opening a short distance away, his voice loud and authoritative. “Get to shelter! Move!” 

Astara froze for only a second, her mind processing the danger that had sprung upon them. She turned and sprinted towards the hole in the rock face, her feet digging deep into the soft ground. The air around her became thick with drit and took on a coppery taste. The flavour in her mouth brought with it a memory from her past. A memory of burst lips and spitting blood. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to force the memory back when her foot hit a loose rock and her ankle gave way. She slammed into the ground with force, the air in her lungs knocked out of her violently. 

She lay on the ground for a second, dazed, the pain in her ankle shooting up her leg. It took a few moments before her mind kicked back into gear. 

I've got to move. Move or die. It's that simple.

She tried to scramble to her feet but the instant she put any weight on her ankle it gave way causing her to fall again and cry out in pain. She pulled herself across the ground, digging her nails into the earth and heaving herself towards shelter.

I'm not going to make it. The words screamed in her mind. I'm too slow. At this rate that storm is going to rip me to pieces. 

She twisted around and stared in horror as the large dark cloud on the horizon drew rapidly closer. 

Is this how I’m going to die? Here? Some dusty trail in the middle of nowhere? This wasn't how it was supposed to go. How could I die when I still had so much unfinished business? Maybe it was for the best. At least here I could see it coming, face it head on and be brave for once. 

She closed her eyes and prayed to any god or power watching.

Please don't let this hurt. Please let me die quick

She drew her hand up, the blade she kept sheathed to her wrist flicked out. If I’m going to die then it would be by my own hand.

She closed her eyes and took in a breath. She placed the cool edge of the knife to her throat but just before she could rake it across her flesh, arms tucked under hers, wrapping around her and dragging her to her feet.

She let out a startled gasp, the sudden stay of execution stunning her enough to allow herself to be hauled backwards. Dumbfounded she looked up into the pale mask of Nex as he rushed her toward the shelter. 

Once inside with the rest of the group, Nex let her drop against the cold stone walls. Spinning and reaching into his pocket, he threw out a small silver ball. It bounced across the ground before shimmering, a blue wall of light erupting from its center. It covered the entrance to the cave, sealing and protecting all those inside.

For a second they were still, quietly panting in the dim glow of the shield. The respite was short lived however, when a blood-curdling scream erupted from the other side of the blue light. All heads turned to see a silhouette still outside. Cara scrawled across the ground, desperately trying to crawl towards the cave fighting against the dark swarm that was slowly surrounding her. Her face was afire with pain and panic. 

The youngest of the group, Anya sprinted forward, moving to scoop up the silver ball but Nex caught her sharply, pulling her to face him. 

“We have to go save her!”, she screamed, trying desperately to pull her arm free from his gloved grip. “Nex please!”

“Anya”, he said softly, his voice low and gentle. “It's too late”. 

“No it's not! How can you say that? You can see her! You can hear her, for Calaval’s sake!” 

“Anya”.

“Nex, please! She my sister! She's all I have!” 

Nex’s grip did not lessen.

Cara’s screams were becoming more guttural, the pained cries slowly giving way to loud gurgled howls. 

Anya turned towards the barrier, her eyes wide and tormented. She pulled and clawed in vain against Nex who only pulled her closer, whispering soothing words as the young girl slowly crumpled to the ground. 

Astara looked away, closing her eyes to hold back the tears she was fighting. Each pathetic wail from Anya tore right through her chest despite her efforts to keep her distance from the group. Quietly, she moved away, using the wall to help her limp over to a large bolder before sitting down. Once settled, she stared at her companions, each of which just sat quietly on the ground staring at the dirt with harrowed eyes. 

It felt like a lifetime until Cara’s cries died away. the only sound left the rhythmic clicks of Vox’s mechanics and the muffled sobs that erupted from Anya every few minutes or so.

Deciding it was best to give her some space, Nex moved back, wrapping her in his long outer robe. Without speaking, he stood up and seemed to collect himself, running a hand over the dark blue fabric that wrapped around his head. After a second or two he straightened up and made his way over to where Astara sat. 

“Can you stand?”

Astara looked up at him. “Sorry?” 

“Your ankle. Can you stand on it?” There was something to his voice now, a soft strain. It was hard to tell but he seemed tired. Though after what they all had just gone through Astara guessed that was to be expected.

Astara bit her lip and tested her ankle out. Placing her foot on the floor, she tried to bare weight with it but sharp pain shot up the leg, causing her to wince. 

“I'm going to take that as a no”. Nex signed, kneeling down in front of her. He reached out slowly, taking her ankle into his gloved hand. “Can you move it?” 

She stretched out her foot and nodded. 

He slowly pressed the muscles around her joint, stopping occasionally when she hissed in pain.

“Hmmm. Well it's not broken”. He reached into a small satchel on his belt and pulled out a wad of bandages. “Probably just a nasty sprain. Try to rest it if you can and if any of my belongings survived this storm, I’ll see if I can put something on it later that might help relieve any pain”.  

He began to methodically bandage up her ankle and Astara couldn't help but notice how soft and gentle his touch was. She shook herself and took stock of what happened. 

He had saved her life. Her. a complete stranger to him yet he had saved her life, risking his own life in the process. How was she supposed to handle that? No one had ever done something so selfless for her before. Growing up it was very much a battle to even survive. If you wanted to see tomorrow then you looked out for yourself and no one else. 

Blushing, she turned away from Nex. Maybe he had an ulterior motive, keeping her in his debt until he can trade it in for his own gain. That was the style she was more accustomed to. “No one does anything out of the goodness of their hearts”  her father would say. “Everyone wants something at the end of the day” 

Did Nex have other intentions? If so she had no shins to give nor anything else of value. She had her body but she wasn't about to sell that again without good cause. Besides, he didn't seem the type so far to seek female company - or any company for that matter.  She was already obligated to work for him so that couldn't be the reason. 

She chewed on her lip as she thought.

She wanted to say something to him, to thank him for risking his life. She wanted to tell him how much she appreciated it and how grateful she was to him, how much she would be in his debt. She wanted to say so many things but the words stuck to her teeth, refusing to budge off her tongue. Instead she looked away, a crimson glow working its way across her cheeks

“There”, Nex said, pulling the bandaging tightly. “That should at least get you back on your feet”. 

He got up in one fluid motion and Astara could feel the words ‘thank you’ form on her lips but by the time she was ready to push them out he was striding away, off to check up on the rest of them.

Well done, Astara. First kind act someone has shown you in years and you can't even manage to say thank you. Aren't you just going to be little miss popular. 

She dug her nails into her palm and cursed her own cowardice. 

She didn't need friends. Not with the path that lay in front of her. They would only get in the way or get hurt.

She looked back over at Nex who was trying to inspect Taran for wounds. 

These people had been hurt enough.

Hi!, Thank You for joining me on my first part in what i hope will be an on going story. please feel free to message me with any feedback or tip! 

Glossary

Drit - Sand, ground up synth, metals etc. that make up the majority of the ground

The Ninth World - The world. As it after after eight other incredibly advanced civilisations have risen and moved away, abandoned the planet or died out.

Synth - Synthetic materials, primarily plastics. Not created by ninth-worlders.

The Iron Wind - A cloud of nanites which randomly change or destroy anything that comes in contact with it

Navarene - The country you are in, the Northern-most kingdom of the Steadfast

The Steadfast - The ‘enlightened lands’. Nine kingdoms in a fragile alliance who mostly pay fealty to the Order of Truth. Think of it as a subcontinent.

The Order of Truth - A quasi-religious organisation obsessed with the Numenera, maintaining order and control

Numenera - Artifacts left behind or forgotten from previous civilisations

Aeon Priest - Members of The Order of Truth, who oversee things in many smaller communities.

Abhuman - Mutants and sub-races. They are all bad-natured, the distinguishing characteristic from ‘normal’ mutants.

The Truth - The primary language of The Steadfast. Taught by aeon priests.

Cypher - One-use pieces of the Numenera, ranging from pills to grenades, ray-emitters to teleporters.

Shins - coins, shiny baubles, dials, buttons etc. that are used as currency. Minted coins are less common, but some places use them exclusively.

#numenera #roleplay #creative #writing #own work #original story #just for fun #montecooke #montecookgames #story time

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of Marvel: Week of June 5th, 2019

Best of this Week: Meet the Skrulls #5 - Robbie Thompson, Niko Henrichon, Laurent Grossat and Travis Lanham

Earth has a way of changing everyone.

Of all of the races in the Marvel Universe, the Skrulls absolutely blend in the best. They act like us, laugh like us and even have families like us, but what happens when that family becomes more important than the mission? That’s what Meet the Skrulls asks us as we reach the end of the harrowing series.

Mirroring the happy beginnings of their mission, the rest of the Warner family, mother, Gloria, and her daughters, Alice, Madison and a presumed dead Ivy return to their family home. All is not good as it is engulfed in flame, leading to Gloria driving the family to a safe house just outside their city limits. Alice turns into a butterfly to complete her part of the mission while Gloria and Madison are reunited with their father, Carl, who tells them that their handler, Moloth, has betrayed them.

Meanwhile, Alice infiltrates the home of one of her highschool “friends” and tells her of her mission and that once she completes it, she will never show her face again. It’s distressing that things have gone so terribly that she’s willing to throw away her secret in a last ditch effort to salvage her mission, but that’s how the Skrulls are. They are focused on serving their homeworld and anything less than that is unacceptable in their eyes, especially for Alice who had been trying to become part of humanity for the entirety of the series.

At the same time, Carl begins to systematically incapacitate the rest of the family with stun guns, however Gloria catches on when he asks for a spot of tea from her that this is not her husband. She poisons the tea, but he detects it and they confront each other. Elsewhere, Iron Man arrives at a Stark Enterprises facility and questions how none of his staff knew that there was another floor/room that someone was using and how did a Skrull get in. Alice, posing as her friend’s mother, finds the body of her father, having been shot in the chest in the last issue. An unfortunate sacrifice to save his daughter, Ivy.

At the safehouse, Gloria and Moloth fight fiercely. Henrichon’s art reaches a new level of dynamic as limbs expand, twist and contort because of the Skrull’s shapeshifting abilities. Attacks and bodies look gross and everything is impactful because of the closed nature of the space they occupy. Not only that, but faces are expressive of the fury and betrayal that they all feel.

Moloth is disappointed in Skrull High Command and believe them to be weak and incompetent, choosing to betray them to another unknown benefactor and making the Warner’s take the fall for his actions. The Warners, Gloria and a recovered Madison are pissed and hurt that Moloth killed their father. Gloria rages and as she punches and kicks Moloth, it’s so very satisfying.

Moloth, however, gets the better of them and manages to hold them down with his limbs sort of taking the form of tree trunks, almost. He is dispatched when Alice returns, driving a car through the house and crushing him. He tells the family that the Skrull Homeworld will think that they’ve betrayed their home, that they can’t run, but Gloria tells him that that’s exactly what Moloth’s trained them for, turning her arm into a blade and killing him.The family then puts Carl’s body on a pyre and now have to live a life on the run while being pursued by Tony Stark and the Moloth’s unknown bosses.

I’ve been a fan of Meet the Skrulls since the first issue and I wish I had given it more love when it came to showing the books off because they are amazing. Robbie Thompson writes these characters in such a subtle way. The underlying love for each other is there, but it’s clouded by a cover of duty and a little bit of resentment in the first few issues due to the unexplained loss of Ivy sometime prior. Once it’s revealed that Ivy is alive and you think that the family may have  happy ending, that feeling is immediately ripped away and replaced with grief.

These characters are soldiers in a never ending war, but they somehow managed to form a bond beyond the war. It’s even harder because they are an actual family, but adjusting to life on Earth and some semblance of freedom making them supposedly weaker humanizes them in a way that we haven’t seen from the Skrulls before.

Not to mention how beautiful Henrichon’s art is. Henrichon has done amazing art for Doctor Strange and New Mutants with lots of spectacle and style, but the way that he draws small moments... little moments of intimacy and smiles, sometimes panels with no dialogue whatsoever is spectacular. His faces are awesome and the feeling is palpable in each of them. The sorrow from Alice as her “friend” questions who she is, the shock as Madison and Gloria see “Carl” and the rage as previously mentioned.

Meet the Skrulls definitely deserves some acclaim. It’s a spy thriller, a family drama and an alien invasion story wrapped into one nice and neat package. The art is phenomenal and while it may not continue past this story, it’s definitely one worth reading. The characters are engaging, from the overbearing and mission focused Carl, to his loving wife who’s grown disillusioned to the mission, to the dutiful Madison and the wistful Alice who just wants to be as normal as the humans. It’s an emotional journey and the ending is as impactful as its beginning. High recommend.

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

There aren't many other words to describe this issue other than EPIC.

Runner Up: The War of the Realms #5 - Jason Aaron, Russell Dauterman, Matthew Wilson and Joe Sabino

The War of the Realms is in full swing and the forces of Midgard are mounting their comeback! Thanks to the work of Shuri, communications are restored, allowing the various heroes of Earth to coordinate their actions, allowing for everyone to be teleported to areas that need them the most.

This leads to various amazing shots drawn by Russell Dauterman. The visual of Black Panther on a winged horse as Okoye and the Dora Milaje fight off the Angels of Heven is the background is stunning, Captain Britain and Captain America fighting off Dark Elves to the shores of France is amazingly inspiring and watching Wolverine be welcomed into the Warriors Three by Hogun and Fandral as he tears through Muspelheim's demons is brutal and hilarious.

Not only these moments, but the ones that are even longer look badass! Watching Volstagg return to his normal self as he dons the Destroyer Armor to fight Kurse is awesome because he shows that he'll never give up, even while suffering from his injuries against The Mangog. Frank Castle leading the Light Elves of Alfheim, wielding GUNS to fight the dark elves is AMAZING. And watching Captain Marvel and Roz Solomon team up to fight Dario Agger, giving him the comeuppance he deserves is so fulfilling.

While all of this war is going on, Thor is being ferried to the World Tree, Yggdrasil, by Daredevil. Surprisingly, it has been surviving on the surface of the sun as a seed of it was on Asgardia when it was being destroyed. To attain knowledge of how to win the war, Thor has Daredevil pin him to the tree in a fashion similar to when his father hung himself on the tree for seven years or so(?).

He returns in a series of shots, thunder rumbling as he crashes through the enemy forces, looking for Malekith. Hoping to mark the end of a rivalry that's been years in the making.

Because of the vast nature of this book and its extra size, there's so much to cover, but the main points are there. This is a Thor story, but it's a Marvel Event. An initial criticism that I had was that it did not feature Thor enough, casting him away to fight Frost Giants in Jotunheim for most of it, but honestly that's a good thing.

If Thor had remained, then we wouldn't have gotten the struggles that all of these heroes had to face while going up against Thor's magic nonsense. It's been a wild ride seeing Daredevil as The God Without Fear, seeing him use powers and a newfound sight to fight the forces of evil. Watching Frank Castle's profile raise CONSIDERABLY because of how integral to the War he has been is something else entirely. Most importantly, watching Black Panther coordinate everything alongside Lady Freyja cements him as a leader right on par with Steve Rogers.

When Malekith took Thor's arm back in 2014, no one knew that the villain would grow into such a huge threat this many years later, except for Jason Aaron. The War of the Realms is the culmination of everything that he's been building since 2012's Thor: God of Thunder. It's been a WILD and fun ride throughout and this penultimate issue has me salivating for the epic final confrontation between the Accursed and The Unworthy.

#comics #marvel #marvel comics #meet the skrulls #robbie thompson #niko henrichon #war of the realms #thor #thor odinson #malekith #jason aaron #russell dauterman #black panther #daredevil

[thecourtreportersportedjorts]

The Top Ten Best Hit Songs of 2018

In December of each year, Billboard publishes its list of the 100 biggest hit songs of the last 12 months. In response, I take it upon myself to decide which of these songs were the real hits, and which were the biggest misses. Last time, I tackled the worst, so we'll be looking at the highlights this time. Let's get started:

10. "Stir Fry" by Migos

Like Drake’s Scorpion, I decided to sit out Culture II. And just like that album, I was actually excited to hear what the Migos had to offer, before discovering that the album would consist of 24 tracks. Reports that the Atlanta trap purveyors only spent 20 to 45 minutes in the studio for each song only made me less interested in what would surely be a slog of an album. I figured that hearing the numbingly repetitive “Walk It Talk It” would be a perfect microcosm of the album. But just like Drake (who I will be discussing later on this list), there were singles that gave me hope, especially “Stir Fry.”

Sure, “MotorSport” was a great lead single that saw Offset and Takeoff holding their own against some excellent guest verses from Nicki and Cardi, but “Stir Fry” found the group advancing on all fronts. The flows were faster and more dynamic, and Quavo’s multiple hooks were among his stickiest to date. Of course, the song isn’t really about anything besides cooking and dealing hard drugs, but the wordplay and rhyme schemes are more advanced than usual, especially coming from Offset.

But the most interesting thing about “Stir Fry” comes from its production. The Pharrell-crafted beat is apparently a leftover from 2008, but the track nevertheless sounds refreshing, even futuristic, amidst the unending wave of boilerplate trap bangers. The whistles, buzzing synths, and boom-bap-adjacent drums are totally uncharacteristic of Migos’ usual style, and just like “Slide” last year, it’s evidence that these guys put in some of their best work when accompanied by more uptempo instrumentation. It may not be “that trap sound,” but if more artists take Pharrell’s cues, it very well could be.

9. "Call Out My Name" by The Weeknd

As much as I’ve been singing The Weeknd’s praises on these lists since his mainstream breakthrough in 2015, it may be surprising that I’ve never talked about his first solo hit “Earned It.” There’s a good reason for that: I just don’t feel strongly about the song one way or another. Sure, the song was good enough that it could make you forget it was on the Fifty Shades of Grey soundtrack, but it didn’t quite match up against the harrowing atmosphere of “The Hills” or especially the infectious groove of “Can’t Feel My Face.” And now, after the release of “Call Out My Name” in 2018, the Fifty Shades hit even got an update!

To be fair, “Call Out My Name” only bears similarity to “Earned It” in its musicality. It’s a recasting of the earlier song as a more melancholic ballad that gives credence to early claims that My Dear Melancholy, would return to Abel Tesfaye’s original sound. The song is built around a well-utilized sample of “Killing Time” by Nicolas Jaar (who, by the way, dropped one of the year’s best albums with Against All Logic's compilation 2012-2017) that builds to a fever pitch with its pounding drums, mournful synths, and vocal distortion. Fitting of a track with Jaar’s imprint, it’s some of the most inventive production work in 2018’s pop landscape, and yet another entry into the canon of great singles by The Weeknd.

Oddly enough, “Call Out My Name” also recalls “I Feel It Coming” in that it subverts the persona that has become integral to The Weeknd’s music. Tesfaye, who normally plays the heartbreaker on cuts like “The Hills” or “Angel,” finds himself in the opposite situation, which was undoubtedly informed by his well-publicized breakup with Selena Gomez. The result is one of the singer’s most captivating vocal performances in recent memory. While the similarities to “Earned It” may keep this song from ranking higher, I can’t deny that “Call Out My Name” is still a worthwhile song that encapsulates everything a good Weeknd song is about.

8. "King's Dead" by Jay Rock, Kendrick Lamar, Future & James Blake

It may have been a year since its release, but it's worth reiterating that Black Panther was every bit as good as anticipated. The film featured stunning visuals, dizzying action sequences, profound messaging, and an especially strong performance by Michael B. Jordan as Killmonger. But since I’m not a film critic, I’d rather discuss the film’s soundtrack, which was expertly curated by none other than Kendrick Lamar. Fresh off the monumental success of 2017’s DAMN., the soundtrack could easily be dismissed as a victory lap where the Compton rapper highlights some budding talents, but the album is stacked with great pop songs and thrilling bangers.

“King’s Dead” immediately cements itself in the latter category with its infectious hook, where Lamar repeats key phrases like “miss me with that bullshit” and “this ain’t what you want.” Top Dawg labelmate Jay Rock, who makes his Billboard Hot 100 debut here, takes the first verse with a delivery that’s repetitive, but his flow is also hypnotic in its speed. Future takes the mic next, using his trademark Autotuned crooning before suddenly bursting into a creaky falsetto where he references iconic the rap tracks “La Di Da Di” and “Slob on My Knob.” It’s utterly bizarre, and perhaps very Not Good™, but it nevertheless captures the attention and gets a smile out of me every time.

Then, two minutes in, something amazing happens. James Fucking Blake sings a brief interlude, and the no-nonsense trap beat transforms into a freewheeling trunk-knocker with a bass that rivals Lamar’s own “DNA.” in its size. Lamar finishes the song off with a mind-altering verse that somehow works with the beat despite their decidedly off-kilter rhythms. He also refers to himself as “King Killmonger” after seemingly aligning himself with the Black Panther antagonist’s ambitions throughout his verse. It’s an absolute journey of a track that still hits hard, even well after the film’s release.

7. "Be Careful" by Cardi B

A lot of people expected Cardi B to fall off after the runaway success of “Bodak Yellow.” After the follow-up single “Bartier Cardi” treaded the same ground (with some help from 21 Savage), it seemed entirely possible. Surprisingly, the Bronx rapper continued to notch great guest verses on songs with Migos, Bruno Mars, and even G-Eazy, and her album Invasion of Privacy turned out to be the sort of all-killer, no-filler rap album that is a growing rarity amongst the likes of Culture II and Scorpion. “Bodak” was just the tip of the iceberg, and “Be Careful” immediately follows it on the album’s tracklist, further complicating the entire phenomenon that is Cardi B.

Taking cues from the flute-laced beats that were in vogue around 2016 to 2017, master producer Boi-1da approaches “Be Careful” with the same keen ear that defined earlier tracks or “Work” and “The Blacker the Berry.” On top of this, Cardi proves to be a charismatic singer in her own right, whether providing her own hook or interpolating the legendary bridge of Lauryn Hill’s “Ex-Factor.” It’s this particular reference that causes the track on the whole to sound slightly out of step with the mainstream, bearing a welcome resemblance to the pop-rap of the late 90s or early 2000s.

All of this makes “Be Careful” a standout in Cardi’s catalog, but the songwriting only enhances its quality. Where a song like “I’m Upset” or even Cardi’s own “Bartier Cardi” might feel more awkward in light of recent events, “Be Careful” and its verses about infidelity only ring even more powerfully after her particularly uncomfortable split from Offset. The second verse is one of her strongest so far, highlighting how her partner (who she apparently claims isn’t Offset) is affecting her mental health and exacerbating her insecurities. Anyone who dismissed Cardi as a one-dimensional artist after hearing “Bodak Yellow” and some spare guest verses may find themselves surprised at the vulnerability she displays so fearlessly here.

6. "God is a Woman" by Ariana Grande

Even a cursory look at 2018’s year-end chart will reveal that the genre of pop wasn’t nearly as significant as it was in a year like 2012 or 2015. You could probably tell just by reading this list, as it’s been dominated by rappers and The Weeknd, who took a turn back to his darker, alternative R&B sound. The sound of trap music doesn’t exactly lend itself well to a pop sensibility, which is why artists who attempt for some sort of middle ground (i.e. Post Malone) only end up sounding really wishy-washy and unimpressive. Of course, there are exceptions, and it comes as no surprise that one such example would come from Ariana Grande.

“God is a Woman” is a best-of-both-worlds marriage of the two sides of Sweetener: the bubbly trap crafted by Pharrell, and the massive Max Martin-produced pop that has become Ariana’s signature sound. In other words, the track has the hard-hitting drums of a Travis Scott song, paired with the momentum of songs like “Can’t Feel My Face” or “Style.” Nothing about the song feels compromised, especially as the song builds to a triumphant climax featuring Ariana’s whistle notes and a grand backing choir that make for one of music’s best moments in 2018.

The title of “God is a Woman” alone indicates that Ariana isn’t holding back here, even as she tackles the same forceful, sexually charged pop that characterized “Love Me Harder” or “Into You.” This time, she takes the familiar subject matter and infuses it with a sort of spiritually-informed feminism that’s just gleefully blasphemous enough to win me over instantly. All the while, she exhibits her full-bodied lower register, the aforementioned whistle notes, and even a delivery that transforms the Migos flow into something bigger and more portentous. In the pop landscape of 2018, Ariana Grande easily delivered on her title, easily claiming god status with this magnificent song.

5. "SICKO MODE" by Travis Scott

When I included “Love Galore” on this list in 2017, I feared that I may have given the impression that I dislike Travis Scott. I admitted that I didn’t like the song quite as much as “Drew Barrymore” or “The Weekend” (which could have topped this chart had it performed better), but it ranked relatively low on the list because I thought his verse was detrimental to the song as a whole. That said, I’ve actually been a fan of Travis ever since he refined the trap aesthetic on his debut album Rodeo, and it’s been a pleasure to see the Houston rapper continue to expand upon rap’s hottest sound to increasingly lucrative results. In 2018, he released ASTROWORLD, his biggest and best album to date, and he managed a surprise chart-topper with “SICKO MODE,” the cornerstone of the album.

The first minute of “SICKO MODE” might seem unsuspecting. Sure, the synth chords might be foreboding, but you’re soon greeted to an uncredited Drake singing about a friend struggling to make ends meet in a seemingly patronizing way. But he sounds better here than nearly any other song he made this year. The drums kick in, Drake adopts a faster flow, and as soon as he introduces Travis, the beat changes to a blend of hypnotic synths, fat bass, and whirring sound effects and samples. Travis’ flow is at its most infectious to date, and he cements his unique curator status with the iconic line, “who put this shit together? I’m the glue.”

After a cameo from Swae Lee, the synths glitch, and we’re treated to yet another sudden beat switch, this time to a more subdued, organ-laden production by Tay Keith. Drake also returns, seemingly motivated by Travis’ performance as he delivers one of his coldest flows since If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late. The resulting verse is a thrill to listen to, but Travis finishes off the track by building on Drake’s “out like a light” hook and using the same flow. Sure, Travis may be the one who put this shit together, but “SICKO MODE” proves that he knows how to make the most out of his collaborations.

It’s also worth noting that in a rap landscape ruled by the likes of Lil Pump and XXXTentacion, the five-minute runtime of “SICKO MODE” seems a little excessive. But the fact that the song is essentially a suite of much smaller trap bangers proves yet again that Travis Scott has an uncanny knack for upgrading the current sound. In a way, it’s also an answer to “Te Bote” in that Travis and Drake can at least justify the song’s length with a wealth of captivating musical ideas. When this shit is way too formal, y’all know Travis Scott doesn’t follow suit, and it’s a blessing to see him continue to innovate.

4. "Delicate" by Taylor Swift

Last year, I omitted what should have been an obvious pick for my Worst Hit Songs List: Taylor Swift’s “Look What You Made Me Do.” Maybe it’s just because anything Jack Antonoff touches immediately sounds good to my ears, but I couldn’t really muster up any sort of hatred for the song. On first listen, it registered as campy and nowhere near as self-serious as so many people made it out to be. That said, I understand why “Look What You Made Me Do” wasn’t so well-liked, and I still hold that it was a terrible choice for Reputation’s lead single.

Much of this belief has to do with “Delicate,” the song that – for whatever reason – precedes “Look What You Made Me Do” in the album’s track sequence. Much like that song, “Delicate” tackles the subject of fame, except in a return to the relationship-oriented format in which Taylor excels. She finds herself anxious that anything she says can be misinterpreted and used against her, realizing that her “reputation’s never been worse.” Thus, when she finally meets a guy who’s interested in her despite all the drama, it sparks a subtle kind of joy in her that builds as the song progresses.

“A subtle kind of joy” is also a good way to describe the instrumentation on “Delicate,” which always reminded me of the sounds The xx explored on their 2017 album, I See You. It shares a lot in common with that album’s subdued tropical synths, gently building dance grooves, and vocal manipulations. I See You was widely regarded as an expansion of the low-key, intimate sound that became the group’s calling card, and the same can be said about “Delicate,” which is only given deeper meaning with the firestorm of controversy that surrounded Reputation’s rollout. If this were released as the lead single rather than “Look What You Made Me Do,” perhaps the album would have been much easier to swallow.

3. "Nice for What" by Drake

Since writing my worst list this year, I’ve tried listening to Scorpion again, and with only a few exceptions, the album confirmed pretty much all the fears I had when I heard “I’m Upset.” If VIEWS was considered a decline in quality for the Toronto rapper, this album walked right up to the line of self-parody, seeing Drake moaning half-heartedly about women and fame on top of some of the sparsest, blandest instrumentals his producers have offered up to date. In other words, I know shorty, and she doesn’t want know slow song, which Scorpion offered up in smothering abundance. And while there are some songs on the album that succeed despite their obvious formula, the only song that breaks out of the mold is “Nice for What.”

If anything, the greatness of “Nice for What” only puts the its parent album’s failings into sharper focus. With every successive project, it seems that Drake tries adding a new style of music to his repertoire, whether it’s trap on Nothing Was the Same or dancehall on VIEWS. This time around, he’s trying his hand at the energetic, largely underground style of New Orleans bounce. The genre is known for its heavy use of samples, so it’s only fitting that the track not only samples bounce legend Big Freedia’s voice, but the second sample of the bridge of Lauryn Hill’s “Ex-Factor” to hit the charts this year. Where “Be Careful” only interpolated the bridge as a hook, producer Murda Beatz makes the sample the foundation of “Nice for What,” and it sounds absolutely blissful.

Then there’s the lyrics, which have been highly celebrated for their message of women’s empowerment. Given that this is by the same guy who made songs like “Hotline Bling” and “Child’s Play,” it could be easy to dismiss “Nice for What” as a textbook example of pandering, but I’d much rather hear Drake pandering than hear him say another goddamn word about child support. Furthermore, the song forgoes the usual trappings of female empowerment anthems written and performed by men by not harping on how badly he wants to have sex with the women he writes about. Top this off with Drake sounding the most energized he's arguably ever been, and it’s hard not to believe every second of the song.

2. "I Like It" by Cardi B, Bad Bunny, & J Balvin

In case it hasn’t been abundantly clear by now, Cardi B had an absolutely tremendous 2018. Looking over the year-end charts, she made eight appearances on the list, tying with Drake for the most spots occupied by one artist. Sure, one of those was “Bodak Yellow,” and half of them were guest appearances for the likes of G-Eazy and Maroon 5 (sigh), but the fact that she managed to churn out three more hits from Invasion of Privacy is still remarkable. I already discussed “Be Careful” at length, and “Bartier Cardi” was fine enough for what it was, but it was “I Like It” that landed her a second number one hit, and possibly the most important song of her career.

For starters, it’s worth noting that “I Like It” does something successfully that far too many hit songs don’t: it uses a sample of a well-known song to a benefit rather than a detriment. The song samples “I Like It Like That,” a 1967 track by boogaloo legend Pete Rodriguez that’s become a staple of Latin music in its half-century of existence. The resulting track is a mix of traditional Latin music instrumentation with a shuffling trap beat that’s just as lively as the music it’s referencing. In a year where reggaetón had a much greater mainstream presence than usual, it’s surprising that none of the songs that landed on the charts sounded quite as good as this.

While the production is certainly some of the best I’ve heard all year, you'd first go to Cardi B for her verses and her personality, which “I Like It” delivers in spades. The beat serves as the perfect backdrop for Cardi’s verse, where she brags about her taste for luxury goods, all the while referencing her enjoyment of things like NYC street food. It adds dimensionality to her well-documented rags-to-riches narrative, highlighting her Bronx roots while also celebrating her current success. A pair of excellent guest verses by reggaetón stars Bad Bunny and J Balvin show that she clearly plans to use her success for good, giving a greater platform to other Latinx artists.

It may not have been the near-record breaker that “Despacito” was in 2017, but the fact that “I Like It” was a smash hit further cements Latin music’s place in the American pop landscape. Make no mistake, considering how hostile the current administration and its supporters have been to Latin American immigrants, this is incredibly significant. Obviously, Cardi B is a more conventional rapper rather than a reggaetón artist, but she’s still a woman of Dominican heritage who’s using her music to show solidarity with her community, and if there’s any justice in this world, it could suggest a true cultural change in the near future.

But before I unveil my choice for the Best Hit Song of 2018, here are my Honorable Mentions:

“All the Stars” by Kendrick Lamar feat. SZA, “Pray for Me” by The Weeknd feat. Kendrick Lamar: Befitting of the Black Panther film, Kendrick delivers sharp verses about responsibility and fame, SZA and The Weeknd deliver fantastic vocals as usual, and the production combines cinematic swells with glitchy electronics. The only thing keeping these songs from the list proper is that the artists’ personalities feel slightly compromised.

“Boo’d Up” by Ella Mai: Since dominating the charts in 2014, DJ Mustard has been experimenting with his 808-driven sound. Here, he crafts a gloriously retro R&B track with London singer Ella Mai, creating a joyful, lovesick track that could be best described as “Boom Clap” for 2018.

“Sky Walker” by Miguel feat. Travis Scott: It’s been way too long since I’ve been able to talk about Miguel on this list. The 2017 album War & Leisure saw the R&B virtuoso coasting by on effortless vocals and charisma, but the blissed-out vibe of “Sky Walker” proves that’s still a lot of fun in its own right. Travis does his thing pretty well, too.

“Finesse” by Bruno Mars feat. Cardi B: I was wondering when someone would revive the new jack swing sound of the early 90s, and leave it to none other than Bruno Mars to be up for the challenge. It’s no surprise that he sounds as great as always here, but what does surprise me is how perfectly Cardi B’s flow fits.

“MotorSport” by Migos, Cardi B & Nicki Minaj: I can’t be the only one who thinks this song is pretty awkward to listen to now, considering the split between Cardi and Offset, as well as Cardi and Nicki’s feud that erupted later in the year. Still, everyone but Quavo puts forth a great performance, and Murda Beatz crafts one of this year’s most hypnotic bangers.

“In My Blood” by Shawn Mendes: Look, credit where it’s due, Mendes wrote a really good song about his struggles with anxiety, and he finally has organic-sounding production that compliments the song’s structure really well. I’m still not completely sold on him as a singer yet, but he puts forth enough effort for me to like “In My Blood” quite a bit.

“This Is America” by Childish Gambino: If I were including music videos in my placement of the songs on this list, this could have contended for the top spot. The song itself, while admirably direct in its lyricism and its freewheeling instrumental, works better as an accompaniment to the stunningly layered visuals that Glover assembled to put forth his commentary about race relations and gun control.

“LOVE.” by Kendrick Lamar feat. Zacari: Well over a year after its release, Kendrick Lamar’s DAMN. is still a phenomenal album. “LOVE.” still stands as a highlight from the album, boasting melodic flows, serene production, gorgeous vocals from Zacari, and one of Kendrick’s most poignant hooks to date. It may be the most pop-oriented track Kendrick’s put on an album to date, but at least he sounds like he’s actually putting in an actual effort.

And now, here's my pick for the Best Hit Song of 2018:

1. "No Tears Left to Cry" by Ariana Grande

In my 2017 lists, I made a recurring observation that popular music doesn’t exist without context. That mentality definitely crossed over into my previous list, where I didn’t choose the worst four on the list just because they were made by abusive people, but because most of them actively reminded me of their heinous acts. Of course, that also means that great art can be made in the wake of significant life events. It’s partially for this reason that Kesha’s triumphant comeback “Praying” topped this list last time, and in 2018, Ariana Grande made an equally powerful return with “No Tears Left to Cry.”

I don’t need to explain the circumstances that led up to this point, but since the release of “No Tears Left to Cry,” Ariana has made one thing abundantly clear: she wants to use her music to spread positivity into the world. The song starts off with soft, humming synths and Ariana’s heavenly voice, boldly stating that she’s ready to move on from her past trauma. As she repeats “I’m pickin’ it up,” the tempo follows suit, percussion begins to swell, and the song becomes a shot of pure UK garage-influenced joy.

The verses feature these stabs of synths, a persistent, dusty groove, and gentle strings that have all coalesce into a somewhat tense arrangement. During the first verse, Ariana opts for a more hushed delivery, somehow suggesting that it’s difficult to try and put forth that positive energy when everything around you is so overwhelming. And yet, she puts forth a real effort, climbing up in her vocal register. Now, the chorus introduced earlier hits even harder with the help of the quicker tempo and the fuller backing. “I just want you to come with me, we on another mentality,” she sings, implying that it could be just as easy for you to adopt the same mindset and charge forth in life.

Since its release, Ariana’s put out plenty of singles with a similar message. “The Light Is Coming,” “Breathin” and especially “Thank U Next.” Had it performed well enough, “Breathin” could have easily taken this spot for its massive buildup and its lyrics about coping with anxiety. But where that song may speak to the personal struggles with anxiety I’ve had in the last few years, I believe “No Tears Left to Cry” represents something broader, a new way forward of sorts. With so much lifeless, depressing music by repulsive human beings clogging the upper echelons of the charts, somebody needed to create something to challenge it. "I just want you to come with me," indeed.

Thanks for reading!

#billboard #pop music #pop #opinions #rap #long post #year-end hot 100 #billboard year-end hot 100 singles of 2018 #2018 #best of 2018 #year-end #carson's writing #migos #the weeknd #jay rock #kendrick lamar #future #james blake #cardi b #ariana grande #travis scott #drake #taylor swift #j balvin #bad bunny #sza #ella mai #miguel #bruno mars #nicki minaj

[prettyfunkyunorganized]

Teleported to Overwatch Reader Insert

Just a for fun little reader insert about someone from our fandom being whisked to Winston’s lab and having to talk to the team about our love for them!

3,100 ish words. Female reader. Totally PG. Based off a lil chat I had with @zarcake-writes . 

One minute you were walking through the door from your bathroom to the hallway, and the next you were standing in a dimly lit room you didn’t recognize. You blinked and swiveled around, but your bathroom door was nowhere to be seen – there was just a set of stairs framed by walls that looked to be made of . . . metal? How odd. And oddly familiar. This time you turned more slowly, taking in everything around you. The worn ‘watch your step’ warnings on the floor, the cluttered workbench, the sleek modern style that encompassed everything but the one lone chalkboard. The hologram. There was a friggin’ hologram. An honest to god projected globe just floating above a table. You slowly tip-toed toward it and poked a random stop in Australia. The map zoomed in and brought up a number of news stories from the area. Junkrat and Roadhog were on the front page.

Junkrat and Roadhog.

On the front page.

Of a real news site.

Holy shit this was real!

You were in Winston’s lab! In Gibraltar! You’d played on this map a thousand times, and now, for some reason, you were here!

What the actual fuck was going on?!

Just as you were about to start panicking, the lights flickered on, and you yelped in surprise. As you whipped around to look at the entrance, you lost your footing and tumbled to the ground, hitting your head on the table on the way down. You groaned and rubbed the throbbing spot.

A burst of thudding came rushing toward you, and your heart raced. Winston’s movement was even louder than you had ever imagined.

“Are you okay,” he asked worriedly.

You stared up at him in utter amazement. He was so big! And hairy! And soft-spoken.

“Um, yeah,” you stammered. “I think I’m alright.”

“Good,” he said looking around the room curiously. “Uh, how did you get in here?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “I just kinda showed up here.”

The scientist frowned at you, “You just showed up here?”

You flush and give a shy smile, “Yeah. Sounds crazy, right?”

“Sounds impossible,” he replies raising a brow.

“I know! But I promise it’s true! I was just about to grab my stuff and go to work, but then I was here.”

He continued to give you a strange look, but he didn’t seem hostile. “Athena,” he said eventually, “have you been recording my lab today?”

“Of course,” the AI’s voice came from nowhere. It was awesome.

“Can you bring up the video feed for the last few minutes? On my personal computer upstairs,” Winston said rubbing his chin.

“The videos are ready when you are.” You knew you had a dumb grin on your face, but you couldn’t wipe it off. A real AI who could just record everything and bring it up in a split second! Too damn cool!

“Why don’t you come up with me,” Winston said jerking his head toward the staircase. “I’d like to keep an eye on you.” He was sounding rather suspicious now.

The two of you entered his office, Winston holding the door open for you like a gentleman. Or maybe he just didn’t want to turn his back to you. You stood next to him as he hunched over his desktop, adjusting his glasses. Your arms were almost touching, and you had to convince yourself not to reach out. He looked soft. But you didn’t want to be rude.

You forced your eyes back to the screen and squinted. Empty room, empty room, BOOP, there you were! Winston’s head reeled back, and he instantly rewound the tape, watching again as you popped up on the screen out of thin air. After three more viewings, the massive scientist looked down at you, bewildered.

“You, you just . . . appeared! Out of nowhere! I don’t – I don’t understand!” Winston scratched his head and gaped at you.

“Told ya,” you say laughing awkwardly. “Sorry I can’t tell you what happened. I swear I was just going about my business then I was plopped into your lab.”

“I . . . believe you,” he said with a huff. “You’re looking just as confused as I am.”

You snort and nod furiously. “I am 100% lost, that much I can tell you.”

Winston chuckles and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Maybe someone else can explain this to me.” He reached for his communicator, still frowning at the video. “Team, I’m going to need everyone to come into my lab, now, please. Yes, Torbjorn, that includes you.” He rolled his eyes, and you giggled.

“Someone being cantankerous,” you asked jokingly.

“As always,” Winston sighed. “Anthea, bring up this video on the large monitor downstairs, will you? I’m sure everyone else will need to see it to believe it, too.”

“Done. And Winston, there is something you should know,” the synthetic voice said.

“What is it,” he asked tentatively.

“I have scanned the young woman in the lab with you, I cannot find any records on her.”

“Any,” Winston questioned.

“None. Her face has not come up on any of the international identification databases.”

“How is that possible,” the scientist whispered.

“Well,” you began, but were cut off by a flash of blue light darting into the room.

“What’s the problem, big guy,” Tracer said, standing at the ready. Her face contorted as she saw you. “I didn’t know we were expecting guests . . .”

“Neither did I,” Winston responded. “I’ll explain once everyone is here.”

“Uh-huh,” the Brit said skeptically, eyeing you with arms crossed. She’d seemed so friendly in-game.

Mercy was next to arrive, Lucio by her side. Then came Genji, Zenyatta, and McCree – his belt buckle glinting almost obscenely. It was fantastic. D. Va and Mei were next with Hanzo close behind. The archer was staring you down intensely, and you couldn’t deny the shiver of fear that ran up your back, but god damn his chiseled face was so handsome you didn’t care. Reinhardt, Torbjorn, and Bastion rounded out the group. They all sat on the steps of the lower lab, and you looked at them with giddy anticipation. And a lot of nerves. Winston described the absurd situation, and everyone watched as the giant screen on the wall played the video of you zapping into their world ten times over. They were all stunned. Reinhardt’s face was the best, all contorted and thrilled.

“What a sight,” the knight boomed. “I have seen a lot in my 61 years, but that is downright strange! Are you sure you’re not pulling our leg here, Winston? This seems too insane to be real!”

“I’m not buying it,” Torbjorn grunted.

“It’s right there on the tele,” McCree defended you. You almost swooned. “And look at the little lady. Looks baffled as can be.”

“I am not trying to trick any of you,” Winston assured them as they all began to murmur. “Unfortunately, it appears none of you have any idea what could be happening either.”

“It kinda reminds me of when I was floating in and out of the present,” Tracer spoke up, a grave look sprawled across her features.

“That almost, sorta makes sense,” you say thoughtfully.”

“She speaks,” Genji said gently, thankfully not sounding judgmental. “I would be interested to hear you elaborate.” Ugh, he was so nice. You bit your lip to keep from grinning and cleared your throat.

“So,” you began, “I should probably mention that I don’t think I’m from the same year you guys are.”

“What now,” D. Va said confused.

“I was in the year 2017 ten minutes ago, but I don’t think I am now,” you explain.

“No way,” Lucio gasped, “you’re from the year of the Stranger Things?”

“Well,” you say as your brows furrow, “the second season came out in 2017, but it takes place in the 80s.”

Lucio thought for a moment before saying, “Oh yeah! It did start in 2016. That’s so cool! You got the experience the whole ‘Strange Fever’ as it happened!”

You smirk, “My ‘Barb Deserved Better’ sweatshirt got here just the other day.”

The DJ’s mouth dropped open, and his eyes sparkled. “Oh my god I need one,” he squealed.

“Amazing,” Mei said smiling from ear to ear. It almost sounded like ‘ah-mei-zing’ and you were dying inside. She was too adorable.

“How did you know you had arrived in a different year,” Hanzo said sternly, tearing apart the light mood.

You squirm and try to stall. “Uh, you know, this place just has a much . . . different style than what I’m used to. And the tech is super fancy.”

Hanzo’s stance adjusted and his fists clenched. “You are hiding something.”

“Easy there, Hanzo,” Mercy said calmly, “this must be very overwhelming for her. We should let her speak on her own terms.” Hanzo glared at her and Genji rolled his head, annoyed.

“He’s not wrong,” you say softly. Everyone turns back to you, and your shoulders curl in. “The thing is, I know who all of you are, I know about this base, I know about your fight and the recall.”

“Even though we are from your future,” Zenyatta asked, tilting his head. His voice was even more calming in person.

“Yes,” you clarify, “because where I’m from, you guys are just a . . . story.”

“Story?” Winston is still closest to you, and his looming figure seems a little intimidating now. How do you tell someone they’re not real? Or that they may not be real? Or . . . well, shit. You didn’t know what any of this meant, but you had little choice but to run with it.

“To be specific, a game. A videogame,” you continue.

And they were off, asking a million questions – really? A game? What kind of game? Who played it? Who made it? Why did anyone want to play through their harrowing struggles? You went through all the basics with them until their curiosities seemed to be coming to an end, but then Lucio was smirking at D. Va who was looking deviously back at him.

“So,” Lucio wavered, “we’re pretty popular, right?”

“Yeah,” you say worriedly.

“Meaning we got a lot of fans right,” D. Va said leadingly.

“Uh-huh.” You didn’t like where this was going.

“That means we got wild internet fans too, right?” The DJ was way too excited.

“Yes,” you laugh. “You all have loads of fans on the internet. There’s a ton of fanart, cosplayers, all that stuff.”

Half the group looks concerned, half look intrigued. Much to your surprise, Torb looks interested.

“People draw pictures of us,” the short engineer said leaning in. Everyone gave him a shocked look. “I just wanna make sure they’re givin’ my baby proper credit!”

“People love you and your turret,” you promise him, “more than anything, they love the two of you together.”

D. Va was suddenly bouncing up and down excitedly, babbling in her native language. “Wait, wait, wait,” she squeaked, “I already get fan art, and I love it, but do I get fancy Overwatch fan art? Like of me in my Overwatch uniform?”

You think a moment. “I haven’t seen you with an official Overwatch skin, yet, but I’ve seen lots of other versions of you.”

“Skin,” Winston asks.

“Like costumes,” you clarify. “When you play the game, you can dress up in different ways to kinda express yourself or celebrate a holiday.”

“Tell me everything,” D. Va wails, enthralled.

“That’s a lot to tell,” you laugh, “but I gotta say my favorite skin of your is the B. Va one. You and your mech are decked out in yellow and black with extra bug-like antennae and stuff. It’s pretty great.”

“How cute,” Mei giggles.

“You have a beekeeper one, Mei, but I’m partial to your firefighter skin,” you say. The brunette ‘oooh’s as she pictures it.

“This is ridiculous,” Hanzo huffs. You purse your lips at him.

“Suddenly ‘Demon Hanzo’ seems especially apt,” you snark. Genji bursts out laughing.

“Hold on,” D. Va yells again, slamming her hands together. “Are there ships?” You go bright red. “There are! OH MY GOD YES,” she yelps.

“What is a ‘ship,’” Mercy frowns.

“It’s a term for couples that fans hope will get together,” Reinhardt explains through his loud laughter. “They are relationships you want to see come to fruition.”

“How do you know about this,” McCree chuckles.

Reinhardt shrugs, “What can I say, I loved the ‘Zena Warrior Princess’ reboot. I have no shame!”

“There’s a Zena reboot,” you repeat excitedly.

“There is, and it is beautiful,” the aging man grins.

“Who cares about Zena,” D. Va butts in, “tell us about our ships!”

You rub the back of your neck, unsure. “I get the feeling some of you may not like what I have to say.”

“I gotta hear this,” Torb snorts. “The web is a dark, twisted place and I wanna know how they’ve paired all you up!” He frowns a moment before looking to you. “I’m not included, am I? I’m a married man, after all.”

“Uh, no,” you say scrolling through Tumblr in your mind, “I haven’t seen you in any ships that I can think of.”

“Then spill,” the engineer demands with a grin.

“Oh alright,” you say as everyone watches you. Some look worried, but no one else is objecting or leaving. You decide not to bring up Gabe or anyone else in Talon for now, in an effort to keep things light. Ish.“One of the earliest ships was Mercy and Genji, and that one still has a lot of support.” The cyborg and healer exchange a glance and Mercy’s cheeks go red. Her little smile is so sweet. “But,” you continue almost regretfully, “a lot of people also want Mercy and Pharah to get together.”

“Ana’s daughter,” Mercy says stunned. You nod. The blonde’s gaze turns to the window. She doesn’t seem turned off by the idea. At all.

“Who else,” Lucio prompts you.

“Well, a lot of people like you and Hana together.”

D. Va smirks and smacks his arm. “You wish,” the Korean woman laughs.

“But I could serenade you,” Lucio teases back, “with original songs, too!”

“That does sound nice,” she says nodding, “but I’m kinda married to my mech for now.”

“That’s some tough competition,” Lucio laughs. “Who else is paired up?”

“Uh,” you say looking everyone over. “Lots of people are happy with Lena and Emily since we’re still struggling with prejudice in my time,” you say.

“Aw, I’m glad me and my girl can help,” Tracer beams.

“Um, I don’t Winston has been set up with anyone,” you continue.

“Thank goodness,” the scientist sighed, clearly taken aback by all this.

“Reinhardt and Ana are a definite thing.” The knight gives you a surprised look that turns into a fond smile. Looks like he misses her.

“I haven’t seen much about Bastion, but everyone loves his friendship with Ganymede.” The omnic beeps happily as the bird chirps on his shoulder. Holy shit its endearing.

“Not gonna lie to ya,” you say as your eyes grace over the other omnic with his floating orbs, “I’ve never seen Zenyatta with anyone other than Genji.”

The mentor and student turn to one another. “He is my student,” Zenyatta says, “and I will always be there for him, but I have no romantic feelings toward him.”

“Likewise, master,” Genji nods. “I suppose that only leaves my brother and McCree, then,” the cyborg says, and you have to stifle a laugh.

“No,” D. Va gapes, dragging out the word dramatically. “No freaking way!”

All eyes drag to Hanzo and McCree as you clamp your hand over your mouth and dissolve into giggles. Hanzo is looking at the cowboy with terror on his face and McCree is looking at the archer with a fiendish grin.

“That,” Hanzo sputters, “is the most ludicrous thing you have said yet!” His face is so red you can hardly believe it. The flush of his skin reaches up into his ears in the most delightful way.

“Oh come one now, darlin,’” McCree says opening his arms wide, “ya can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”

“I – ” Hanzo says as he begins to shake, but he clamps his mouth shut and turns away as Genji lets out a bought of laughter so strong he’s buckling over his cybernetic knees. Everyone else joins in too, you included. The archer’s reaction is priceless!

“Really,” Torbjorn says once he’s caught his breath, “the internet wants these two together?”

“Yup,” you say wiping a tear from your eye. “They’re the most popular ship, in fact!”

“Most popular,” Lucio blurts. He’s laying on the floor, still holding his sides.

“There is so much McHanzo shit out there guys, you have no idea,” you giggle.

“McHanzo,” Reinhardt coughs out, still howling. “They have a name!”

“A damn fine name, too,” McCree says winking at Hanzo, who only brings the archer’s his shoulders closer to his head in response. Could the eldest Shimada possibly get any redder? “Hon,” Jesse continues, starting to walk toward Hanzo, “looks like the people have spoken – we’re meant to be!”

“Her people,” Hanzo seethes. “Any reasonable person could see we are completely incompatible!”

“But sweetheart,” McCree chuckles, “what if this lovely little girl is our own personal cupid! A sweet cherub come to put us on the path of true love.” Hanzo scoffed and took a step back from McCree’s advances, but the cowboy didn’t relent. Instead, the man put both hands on his belt and wiggles his eyebrows saying, “Better buckle up, buttercup! I don’t wanna disappoint the fans.”

Hanzo’s eyes steal a look at McCree’s crotch before he spits out a garbled jumble of syllables and sprints from the room. The rest of Overwatch is still watching and whooping in amusement. Genji is literally crouched on the floor gasping for breath.

“Holy shit,” the cyborg rasps out, “I have never seen my brother so frazzled! That was a thing of beauty!”

“Well if he keeps running around with his toned little tit out someone’s going to jump on it,” McCree says adjusting his hat, “I’m just tryin’ to prepare him for the inevitable.”

All of these people were even more wonderful that you had ever dreamed of. You didn’t understand how you had been brought to Gibraltar, or why, but since you were here, you may as well enjoy yourself. You loved this team! If you could be a part of it for a while, you were going to try not to overthink things too much.

Additional tags: @watch-your-grammer @winchester-sonsandcastiel

#reader insert #overwatch drabble #drabble #my drabble #writing #mine #winston #tracer #hanzo #reinhardt #mei #mercy #mccree #torbjorn #lucio #genji #zenyatta #dva #bastion

[pellaaearien]

What fic or scene was the easiest for you to write?

If we’re talking fic, the easiest for me to write was probably Mistaken Identity. I banged that out in an hour. Maybe two.

The Doctor and Rose pay a visit to a certain club owner after their misadventures on an impossible planet. 

In terms of scenes... I had to think really hard about this. Most of the time scenes themselves are easy for me to write, it’s putting them together that’s difficult. Most chapters of 100 Ways, for example, were written as one offs. 

But this does give me an excellent opportunity to share (now that the reveal has been posted) a continuation of chapter 13 of 100 Ways that I wrote thinking it would probably never see the light of day. 

(For those who can’t be bothered to look up the chapter, Lucifer was nearly late for his and Chloe’s evaluation.)

"Did you... fly here?" Chloe asked hesitantly, stroking his windblown curls.

"I did, yes." Lucifer's voice was soft as he leaned into her touch, hands grasping her waist.

"I thought you said you wouldn't ever use them?” Chloe was stunned. His reaction to the wings had been so vehemently negative - she’d been on constant alert ever since their return just to make sure he didn’t do anything drastic. He’d promised not to cut them off (the memory of talking him down was still harrowing) but she still didn’t feel right leaving him to his own devices.

“I also gave you my word, Detective,” Lucifer said, hands sliding to grip her shoulders. “For all the good it did. My record will be forever blemished now. I was too much of a bloody coward.”

For anyone else, it would have been a melodramatic declaration, but for Lucifer, it was all too real. She thought about the eons he’d spent keeping his end of bargains, all the while being called the Prince of Lies.

It hit her with a jolt, and she cupped Lucifer’s jaw, waiting for him to look at her.

“Lucifer. You kept your word. You said you’d be here, and you were.”

Lucifer’s eyes sparked, but were just as quickly quenched. “But Detective, I let you down.”

“You didn’t.” Chloe met his eyes, pushing aside her further surprise that he would be willing to look past the letter of a promise. “You’re still here, aren’t you? We’re still partners. That’s all that matters. I trusted you, and I was right,” she told him. “I’m just sorry you had to go to such lengths.”

Lucifer’s brows drew down in confusion. “Of course I did. I made a promise.”

Chloe felt her face break into a smile. “That’s why I never doubted you.”

“Chloe…” Her name was a breath of wonder and gratitude that she knew she’d never get used to. Then she was kissing him, hard, all the tension of the last few hours coming out at once, and he was holding her, kissing her back, and it was like she could taste the sky through which he’d flown.

“I do apologize, Detective,” Lucifer said, when they pulled back. “For making you worry.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Chloe said, eyes roving over his form (and noting as she did how sexily disheveled he was). “What happened?” There was no judgement in her tone, only concern, and she watched Lucifer blink as he looked for it.

“Just unexpected traffic,” he answered at last, on a disgusted sigh.

“Really?” The word left Chloe’s mouth before she could stop it, startled. Lucifer nodded, looking defeated.

“Normally, I’m able to anticipate these things,” he informed her. “The Devil doesn’t get stuck in traffic.”

Chloe bit back her laugh. “I heard there was a big accident on the 10, is that where you were? I didn’t check because I figured you’d tell me if it was.”

“It may have been,” Lucifer allowed, still sounding bewildered, “but that just doesn’t happen to me.”

“There wasn’t anything you could have done about it, Lucifer,” Chloe told him soothingly.

“No, but I know someone who could,” Lucifer said pointedly, casting his eyes skyward.

Chloe gaped. “You think God caused an accident just to see if you’d use your wings?” She was still having trouble wrapping her head around the fact that not only did God exist, but He seemed to take a very active hand in the world - at least, according to Lucifer. She supposed she could hardly blame him for being paranoid when his Father was literally an all-powerful Being capable of arranging the world the way He liked.

“I wouldn’t put it past Him, yes,” Lucifer confirmed. “Especially if there were no fatalities.”

Chloe frowned. She didn’t feel like she agreed, but it wasn’t exactly like she could argue.

Then a sudden thought struck her. “Wait. Does that mean your car is just sitting on the 10?”

Lucifer quirked a smile. “Indeed. I’d best go retrieve it. I doubt it’s moved at all in the time I’ve been here, however.” He began to back away from her, as if in preparation for takeoff.

“Wait!” Chloe exclaimed again, causing him to quirk an inquisitive eyebrow. “Take me with you?” She couldn’t quite disguise the note of longing in her voice, and Lucifer gave her a knowing smirk. “I could keep you company?”

“As delightful as that would be, Detective, there’s no need for both of us to swelter in traffic. In fact, proximity to you might even jeopardize my complexion.” As she narrowed her eyes at him, he adopted a positively angelic expression. “Don’t fret, my love. Point made, I’m sure traffic will be back to its usual pace in no time. So I really must be going. See you soon.”

He made as if to leave again, but Chloe kept hold of his arm. “But… this means you’re going to use them again?” She didn’t know why she was pushing this so hard, afraid she’d crossed a line. To her surprise, a look of fond irritation came over Lucifer’s face.

“Well, at least once more, it seems,” he conceded. “After that…” Chloe looked back at him hopefully. “We’ll see.” He took in her expression with no small amount of amusement.

“Humans,” he muttered. “You’re all the same.”

With a breath and a rush of air, he manifested his wings. Chloe’s breath caught. He’d hardly allowed her to see them since first getting them back, so it felt like the first time all over again. He grinned at her awestruck expression. “Be back in a flash, darling.”

Another gust of wind, and he was gone.

Thanks for asking, lovely!

Ask me anything about my writing?

#lucifer #lucifer fanfiction #pella writes #allisonswan

[othercat2]

Fic: Eriond: be the Rogue of Hope 2/?

==>Taiba: prepare a meal for your guest

It would have to be something simple. You weren’t quite sure what he’d be able to eat. (The only reason you knew he was even “he” was because Eriond had said so. “He” was only superficially like a human, the closer you looked the more differences become apparent. There was nothing about “him” that seemed male or female to you.) He’s strange, and a monster, but not mad the way the monsters in Ulgo are. (When you were living in the caves, you had a feeling Ulgo were the mad ones, given the proprietary concern and bizarre affection they had for the creatures who drove their ancestors underground when the world was cracked.)

You heat up some broth, and poach four eggs in it. When they’re done, you ladle them into a bowl, and set the bowl on a tray. You cut a few slices of bread, and add them to the tray, along with a small bowl of honey.

You carry this to Elgin’s bedroom, where your guest is staying. You knock before entering the room, and hear something that might be an acknowledgement. The guest is awake and sitting upright with one of Elgin’s books in his lap. He had been studying the illuminations, you thought. “Taiba,” the guest says. He closes the book (his fingers marking his place) and makes a gesture as if he wants to return it.

“I don’t mind if you look at it,” you say, though you know he doesn’t understand you. You set the tray down on his lap. “Breakfast,” you tell him.

The guest smiles, and says something that might have been some variety of “thank you.” He taps his chest and says something, and then something else in no language you’ve ever heard.

“His name is ‘Signless,’” Mara’s voice says softly in your mind. “He also thanks you for the food.” Signless spoke further. “He also asks if you would assist him in learning the language.”

“Ask him if he’d be willing to teach me his language,” you say. You give “Signless” words in the language that everyone in the world seems to use, and he gives you words in his language. You’re extremely curious about the name, but have no way to really question him. Some of the words are hard to pronounce, but Signless is patient, and it isn’t hard for you to patient as well. You name the food items, the utensils, as many items as Signless indicates, all through breaking his fast, and sometime after.

Relg makes an appearance an hour later, standing in the doorway, watching you with a little smile on his face. “I see he’s awake,” Relg says quietly.

You nod. “Relg, this is ‘Signless,’” you say, and watch the curious tilt of your husband’s head. “Signless,” you say in an approximation of the name you heard. “This is my husband Relg.”

Relg nods at your guest. “Hello Mister Signless,” Relg says. “You’re welcome to stay here and recover.”

Signless speaks, and Mara translates this. “He says that he thanks Taiba and you for the hospitality,” Mara says so you both can hear. Mara chuckles softly. “He also says he hopes that Eriond has not volunteered you against your consent.”

“Eriond’s a very good boy,” you say, over Relg’s stunned and earnest “will of the gods of course he’s welcome,” speech. The speech sputters into Relg’s “I can’t believe you said that,” look and horrified silence. (It’s nice that you still haven’t lost your touch.) “He wouldn’t have ordered us,” you say. You can sense Mara translating. “The condition you were in, we never would have said no,” you add.

“He thanks you for your kindness,” Mara translates. “Also, he won’t admit it, but he’s very tired.”

“Tell him we’ll leave him to rest, Father?” you ask as you gather up the empty tray.

“Of course my child,” Mara murmurs.

You head out into the hallway, trailed by your husband. “Darling husband,” you say in Ulgo. “I know you’ll explode if you don’t shout about it, but wait until we’re on the verandah, you’ll frighten our guest.”

“I’m not going to shout,” Relg says in Ulgo, amused and also a little exasperated. “I’m used to your ways and reasons, and know well how you love to make my heart stop.”

You laugh at that, and leave the dishes for Ulma in the scullery. “Eriond is a very good boy,” you say.

Relg sighs at you. “He’s a God,” Relg says, lips twitching with his amusement. He’s trying not to laugh. He does have a sense of humor, you’ve learned. A very subtle one that is apparently amused by what he calls your “blunt spirituality and terrifying approach to philosophy and theological concepts.”

“A very young one, one I remember having to look for his shoe in the middle of an army camp,” you point out. “Always the same shoe, and always just long enough for me to stop worrying about…whatever I was worrying about because I was too busy trying to find the damn thing.”

Relg, smiles gently at you, obviously amused by the idea of your searches among the campfollowers’ tents. Ugh. At least you made female acquaintances that weren’t flighty noblewomen mooning over warrior-princes, flouncing like giddy mad things or having histrionics over their husbands. (The last you could almost sympathize with. You were sick with fear and worry for Relg and very little could distract you from it.) You’d met laundresses, seamstresses, tradeswomen, nurses and cooks. You had met prostitutes and soldiers’ women and wives from many nations and learned a great deal from the experience. (You still receive regular mail from many of the women who could read and write. A few of them had even settled in Maragor with you and Relg after the war.) And then there was Lady Polgara, who was kind, though in an indifferent, distant way that was almost as upsetting as the flighty noblewomen.

“All right, a very young God,” Relg says. “But it seems strange.” He makes a frustrated little gesture. “The nature of his concern.”

“It doesn’t seem strange to me,” you say. “You wouldn’t think to worry about something like that though.”

Years and years ago he would have said something like, “no one should worry about what their God commands.” But that was years ago, and he’s learned a great deal since then, so he frowns thoughtfully instead. “He is not moved by blind trust in the Gods,” Relg says. “And he doesn’t presume that others would be.”

“And takes care that his presence is welcome, and not a burden,” you say. “Though he’s also an idiot; where did he think he was going to go if we said yes, we were being forced to take him in?”

==>Signless:  recover and learn the backstory of your hosts

Within a few weeks you’re well enough to get around on a crutch thoughtfully provided by your hosts. You learn a great deal about them, and their little community. It’s a village of somewhere between two and three hundred adults and wigglers, many of them you learn, escaped slaves. Your hosts Taiba and Relg are the leaders of the community. They tell you of how they met, a story adjacent to a fantastical tale full of prophecy, sorcery and war, and how the village was founded.

It’s a harrowing tale, full of personal grief and small triumphs, translated by Mara, who has his own part in the tale, speaking of his grief at the destruction of his people, and his rage against Destiny Itself. Taiba was a slave rescued by a sorcerer-led band of questors, of which Relg had been a member. Taiba had been grieving over the death of her daughters, determined to somehow get revenge against the priests who had sacrificed them, only to be caught in a cave in. Relg, who had a psionic talent for phasing through rock had been sent to rescue her, which he’d been at first unwilling to do due to religious feelings related to purity and impurity.

(Caught up in the story as you were, at learning this, you had glared balefully at Relg, much to the cackling glee of his matesprit. Apparently you are not the first to be outraged by this.)

The story continues with the questors’ reckless flight to safety, pursued by soldiers and enemy priest-sorcerers. Taiba spoke of her confusion and fear, and her surprise that one of the sorcerers knew her language, a language only she and her mother had spoken. Relg spoke of his own confusion and how Taiba shattered his long held prejudices and assumptions about the world. They both talk about their slowly growing feelings for each other, and you are touched, though also a little confused.

“It seems almost as if you would have been pitch,” you say thoughtfully. “Though I suppose it could have as easily been pale as red.”

This causes some confusion to your hosts. “Pitch?” Taiba asks when she hears the translation of your words. “Red?”

“I would have expected a romance based in rivalry and arguments, where each is challenged to change and improve,” you say. “‘Pitch’ or ‘kismesis,’ is what it’s called among my kind.”

“And red, and pale?” Relg asks.

“Red is matesprit, a love based in compassion and protective caring,” you explain. “Pale is moiraillegiance, which is romance based in kindness, advice and the calming of anger. There’s a fourth, called ‘Ash,’ or auspicticism, which is diverting or otherwise stopping two angry people who shouldn’t be kismesis because they’re terrible together from killing each other.”

“Oh, that sounds more complicated than an Arendish romance,” Taiba says. “I don’t think we really have such fine distinctions.”

You shrug. “Well, it’s very specific to my kind. Our society in many was depends on quadrants in order to form social ties. We tend to be solitary, except for our quadrants, and those who we interact with through our quadrants.”

After the war against the “Dark God,” Relg and Taiba “married” and came to Maragor, the ancestral homeland of Taiba’s people. They built a home and began raising children with the assistance of friend acquired during the war and Relg’s people, the “Ulgo.” (The Ulgo were rather fascinating. They lived entirely underground and had become somewhat adapted to living in the darkness, which somewhat explained the construction of Taiba and Relg’s home, which was partially built into a hill.)

You ask many questions, and learn a great deal about your hosts and this world. Relg and Taiba ask you questions in return, and you tell as much as you feel comfortable telling them. They are very kind, and don’t press you when you come to things you can’t speak about, but you do tell them about your family, and about your childhood. They are very curious about your descriptions of technology, (which they don’t assume to be magic) which may or may not disprove Troll Arthur C. Clark.

As you get better and it’s easier to move around, you attempt to help with chores. You assist with dinner, help in the kitchen garden and ask lots of questions. Taiba and Relg have many children from adults to little wigglers, all of them curious and full of questions themselves. You quickly pick of the language, and bits of two other languages that Relg and Taiba’s family speak: Marag and Ulgo. (You’re a little curious about how there’s a mostly universal language, but the only scholars are “Toldnedran monks” who run a small school in the village, and Relg. Relg’s area of expertise is not the spread and development of language, and the monks who seem to have various areas of knowledge are still trying to wrap their heads around your existence after your one meeting with them.)

Eriond is not around during this time. He went somewhere called “The Vale of Aldur,” and from there, went to Mishrak ac Thull. (Mara is not at all mysterious about Eriond’s doings. Apparently Eriond went to talk to Aldur about you. Your presence is apparently somewhat controversial. The trip to Mishrak ac Thull was apparently to rescue Grolims.) At your query, you learn that “Grolims” are a priestly caste, and Thulls violently hate them, apparently for very good, absolutely valid reasons.

==>Eriond: ride through the desert on a Horse with no name

You’re being escorted by Thull soldiers back across the Mishrak ac Thull/Cthol Murgos border with would-be Grolim missionaries. The Grolim have all of their fingers and toes and haven’t had their tongues cut out, so this is a major victory. It took a lot of fast talking, and You think the Queen Mother is warming to You, so everything went well.

You wait until the Thull have pulled the Grolim out of their saddles, cut their bonds and gags, and led the horses back across the border before You dismount from Horse. The Grolim drop to their knees, praising You and asking for mercy. Horse snorts and nuzzles at Your shoulder, sending You amused, flitting thoughts about scraggly desert asses. “Desert asses have more sense,” You tell Horse, making sure your voice is loud enough for the Grolim to hear.

The Grolim cringe. A few of them start explaining, a few of them start begging for forgiveness. You pat Horse’s neck until they come to a more or less natural stop. The only one who hasn’t said a word is the single priestess, Tsubai. “You’re the only one I’m disappointed in,” You tell her.

The Grolim relax, because Grolim, decades after Your brother’s death are still dogs who have been beaten too much and immediately try to avoid blame by blaming others. You cut off any “it was her idea, I was led astray,” accusations with a brief exertion of will. Tsubai bows her head. “If it helps, Lord, I wasn’t attempting to proselytize, and I wasn’t caught until later.”

She had been disguised as a wealthy Nadrak merchant’s daughter, working on a plan to bring Thullish midwives to Gar og Nadrak to teach Nadrak midwives and physicians. It was a good plan, and a worthwhile goal. Thull medical knowledge was a well-kept secret that needed to be shared. “Tsubai, you have agents,” You tell her. “Agents who are not Grolim. You almost ruined your own mission. Fortunately, the Queen Mother was willing to keep the project going, even if a Grolim was behind it.”

“There was a difficult bit of negotiation,” Tsubai says. “In my arrogance, I thought I could manage it myself.”

You sigh. “Tsubai, what am I going to do with you?”

Tsubai gives You an impish look. “Forgive me?”

“I’ll consider it,” You tell her, amused. “The reason I’m disappointed with her,” You tell the other Grolim, “Is that she shouldn’t have been caught in the first place.” You go ever and help Tsubai to her feet. “I’m not disappointed in you, because that would be like being angry that bees sting.”

The two younger Grolim flinch. The three older Grolim sulk.

“The Thull do not want Grolim in their country,” You tell them. “Urgit won’t back Grolims going into Mishrak ac Thull, Zakath won’t do it, the Nadrak hate you just a little less than the Thull do. That should be enough of a deterrent to going in yourselves.”

“But how may we spread word of your glory, Master?” Rutegar, one of the older Grolim asks.

“There are already those who speak of me in Mishrak ac Thull,” You say patiently. “They just aren’t Grolim.”

“But we are Your priests,” Chorach, one of the younger Grolim says.  

“My fallen brother treated them as beasts,” You say. “Of all the tribes of Angarak, they were the lowliest and most downcast. And You were His butchers. There are many still alive who remember the horrors they lived through. It will take time for them to accept you as something other than walking nightmares.”

“But you sent her?” Rutegar asks.

“I sent myself,” Tsubai says. “Thull midwives have a most excellent talent, that the physicians and midwives of Gar og Nadrak would greatly benefit by.”

“What talent?” Rutegar snorts. “They breed like pigs, their women are sows in--” Rutegar stops talking and his hands fly to his throat as he chokes.

“Tsubai, no,” You say firmly.

Tsubai unclenches her fist. “I hope the rest of you ‘missionaries’ didn’t think of the Thull you preached to as the Green Rank does,” she says in a grim tone.

They had the typical opinions other Angaraks had for Thulls, but I wasn’t going tell Tsubai that. “Perhaps you could instruct them, on the way to Rak Urga?” You suggest. To the other Grolim you say, “all of you are under Tsubai’s authority. You’re to walk to Rak Urga, and report to the Hierarch there.”

“Master,” Tsubai protests faintly.

You smile at her. “Penance,” You tell her brightly. Tsubai makes a face at You, but bows in acknowledgement. You create tents and enough supplies for the journey, and sort of “encourage” them to actually obey Tsubai and the restrictions of their punishment. You didn’t want them to acquire horses, or accept rides or other assistance. They were going to walk, and Tsubai was going to shout at them.

You mount Horse and journey back through the mountains toward the Vale of Aldur. You don’t stop to stay at the cottage or your brother’s tower on your way back. In the mountains just outside of Maragor, Your brother Mara contacts You with news of Signless. “He’s healing well, and seems to be making friends with Taiba and Relg,” Mara tells You.

“Good,” You say. “Let him know I’m returning, and tell him I’m sorry I wasn’t there to greet him when he awoke.”

“I will.” Mara says. He shows You images of Signless recovering, interacting with Relg and Taiba, their children, and the people of their village. Influenced as they are by Ulgo culture and customs, Relg and Taiba’s people are remarkably unafraid of Signless’ appearance. The Ulgo are unafraid of monsters, who they consider to be brothers, even though the monsters in turn have more or less forgotten UL in their madness, so Signless might be something of a wonder to them. A “monster” who isn’t mad.

Something about Thull: okay, so in the Belgariad/Mallorean story canon, Thull women stay constantly pregnant in order to avoid being chosen as sacrifices. They also have the largest “quota” of sacrifices, which is another reason they stay constantly pregnant, but never mind that. Other nations consider Thull to be bestial and inhuman and very stupid, which is agreed to by the Narrative. My strong feel, based in some headcanoning from @violent-darts is that Thull have really, really good midwives/medical practices given the survival rate of children and mothers. (For language reasons I’ve decided that Angarak nation/caste names are both singular/plural, though canon was generally attaching -s at the end.) 

Grolim tend to be power-hungry backstabbing little shits, even the ones who have converted, or “converted.” They are massively dysfunctional and Eriond is at His wit’s end with these idiots.

Tsubai is only Grolim because her mother was, more or less. She is actually half Nadrak, her mother having successfully ditched her family for a slightly less dysfunctional one after the death of Torak, when she married a Nadrak merchant. Tsubai’s mom then gleefully killed her indignant and homicidal relatives who tried to murder her or her husband. her husband had the most awkward fear boner.

Writer reserves the right to maintain Canon’s irritating tendency toward “racial stereotypes are absolutely true genetic/phenotypical essentialism” where funny.

This chapter is largely an excuse to write Relg/Taiba domestic fluff. Because Relg/Taiba domestic fluff is pure and necessary.

Also, the Ulgo who leave the caves to hunt and gather food/resources are also the most ridiculous Steve Irwin naturalists. Ulgo in general love their monster upstairs neighbors like kids love dinosaurs. (Not seen in the Mallorean or Belgariad: Ulgo kids have stuffed Algroths and Eldrakyn toys, and little wooden and clay models of Hulgrin and dragon and unicorn. All the monsters okay. All of them.)

Previous Chapter.

#homestuck #belgariad #the mallorean #signless #language problems disappear when you have a god translating for you

[ladyborel]

Pillars to Pendants

It seemed that so long spent in the bliss of Aymeric’s company came at a price.

Happy as she was, Etien knew that she couldn’t just stay in Ishgard. Her friends needed her, absolutely depended on her in this case especially. She’d recovered, she’d recharged, it was time to do her job.

It was going to hurt to leave after having been gone so long, and after the harrowing brief separation they’d just experienced. She knew that. However, she also knew it would be better to rip the bandage off and let out one scream rather than whine at the prospect, whimper through the act, and ache afterwards.

Well, the ache was inevitable, as well as incurable. How, in a matter of moons, Etien had gone from fiercely, dangerously independent in the wake of leaving home to feeling like she was missing an arm when she wasn’t in the same town as Aymeric baffled her.

But neither the why nor the details of how mattered. Work came first. She’d distracted him long enough, and she had a job to do, lives to save.

She just had to do it without an arm.

The rest of the day passed as usual—Etien occupied herself, night came, and Aymeric home with it, they ate, they took tea and chatted while she knitted, and then they got ready for bed.

Etien took a sharp breath in as she finished buttoning her nightgown, then slid under the covers, cuddling extra-close to Aymeric, leaving an excess of covers on the mattress behind her.

Her voice was low and a little rough when she finally managed to get out “Aymeric, I have a confession.”

He kissed her forehead. “What weighs on your heart so, my dearest?”

“The Scions–” she stopped, feeling her throat drying and knowing her voice would crack– “The Scions need me to go, so I can get everyone back from wherever they went. I want to stay here, but I can’t.” A hiss of air was making its way into her every word, but ‘can’t’ had been especially breathy, like Etien was being drained by even speaking it.

“I had a feeling this day was coming,” Aymeric admitted. “Is this why you were so quiet today?”

Etien blinked away tears. “Yes. I knew I had to tell you, but I- I didn’t want to. I want to stay here, happy and safe and warm, forever.”

“Would you really be happy without the other Scions? I may resent them parting us so often, and I know you dislike it yourself, but I know you love them, as well. As it ever is, they depend on you to put it all right. Your sense of duty is something I love about you, so I cannot fault you for needing to do this sooner rather than later.”

Etien sighed. “I’m glad you understand. But… I’m still scared. I don’t know when I’ll be back. If I’ll be back.”

“We never know what journey will be our last. I promise you, Etien, I will wait right here for you to return when all of it is finished, and if I receive word of your final act of heroism or our extended separation, then I would want you to know that even as your widower, you will have made me the happiest man on the star.” He pulled her closer, now actively holding her to him. “And I believe that wherever our souls go, mine will find yours, to reunite eventually.”

Etien was crying in earnest now, but only shedding tears, not quite sobbing. “I love you,” she whispered, tears sliding over her cheeks.

Aymeric stroked her hair, shushing her softly. “I know. I love you, too. More than tongue can tell and more than mortal minds comprehend.”

She laughed just a little. “We should sleep.”

“I assume you mean to leave in the morning?”

“Something in that vein, yes.”

“I see. While you could absolutely use some rest in that case, if sleep evades you… I’ll be here, holding onto you until you insist I let you go.”

Etien relaxed into his arms, draping hers over him so that they held each other, rather than just being cradled by him. Soon enough, Aymeric would be without her, too.

He did love her, and he was going to miss her, even if that still stunned her. It was almost better if she didn’t believe it, because then she didn’t feel like she was about to hurt him.

“I suppose the time has come to dust off the wind-ups,” Aymeric mumbled, making Etien giggle wetly.

“Please take the wedding dress off her, though. I would hate for you to be distressed looking at her, still regaled for so joyful a moment.”

“It would remind me how happy we have been, and how much I love you. The wedding dress brings me only pleasant memories, Etien.”

She let her eyes shut, a small, wan smile lifting her lips. “I know I just said it, but I love you, Aymeric. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He kissed her. “Get some sleep. I have you.”

Slowly, her body relaxed as she fell asleep.

Aymeric watched sheets of freezing rain come down outside the window as Etien slept against him.

He had thought this day was coming. He’d known he wasn’t going to be ready.

Blessedly, Aymeric had gotten a little bit of sleep himself, lulled by the rhythm of the rain and Etien’s breathing. He was still going to be sluggish, from sadness and lack of sleep both, for the rest of the day. But he had slept a little, holding onto the soft, warm star he called a wife.

He was still the first to wake, holding Etien a little tighter as wakefulness washed over him. He’d promised to hold her until she told him to stop, and he was a man of his word.

Even if he hadn’t been in any other respect, he would never break a promise to Etien.

When she woke, coming to consciousness with a little gasp, he kissed her cheek.

“Good morning,” she warbled, fingers trailing over any part of him she could reach. “Glad to see you’re still here.”

“Of course I am. I shall continue to be.” He buried his nose in her hair, taking in the scent of lavender and honey that was just Etien. “But I do have a few questions.”

Etien took a deep breath, hoping she had answers for him. “And those are?”

“Firstly, do you want something to eat? I know it can be hard to eat if your nerves are wound tight, but I would see you well-fed before you leave me on another journey.”

“For you, I can try to eat,” she replied. “What else?”

“Will you come to the Congregation with me so I can say goodbye there, before you head for the Aetheryte?” Aymeric ran his tongue over his teeth after asking, unsure why he felt nervous making such a request.

Etien nodded. “Absolutely.”

Aymeric felt a strange sense of pride and preemptive longing, seeing Etien sit at the table dressed in her well-worn battle apparel. Pride, because look at the compact powerhouse at his table, the savior of nations thanking him for a cup of hot tea. But the longing… that was self-explanatory. Look at her, powerful, beautiful, beloved, and off to save the world again.

Alone.

She was picking at her omelet, her tea only partially-drunk.

“Is… is it going down all right, dearest? I have confidence in my culinary abilities, but it could be off.”

Etien shook her head. “It tastes fine, Aymeric. I’m just sad. Here.” She took heartier bites, chewing for a long time before swallowing, washing each down with a huge gulp of her tea. She gave him a tense smile. “Thank you. I really…” her eyes welled. “I appreciate you taking care of me.”

“I made it my responsibility because I am honored to,” he said, kissing her hand. “Are you ready to go?”

She nodded.

Walking through the streets of Ishgard felt more like treading to the gallows this time, for both of them, but neither let it show. Etien clung to Aymeric’s arm as usual, and he nodded greetings to everyone, same as always.

It was fine. They were going to be fine.

They went right to Aymeric’s office as soon as they got inside the Congregation, and there they said their goodbyes.

Etien ran her hand over the wind-up Aymeric’s hair, then her fingers through the soft locks of the real thing.

“If I can, I’ll write,” she said, watching Aymeric set up the miniature version of herself. “Funny, we split up, so they do, too.”

“Well, no version of us gets to be happy,” he said, but there was no bitterness in his voice. “I await the first correspondence eagerly.”

Etien smiled, a little less sadly. “Can I have a kiss before I go?”

“You can have a thousand,” Aymeric replied, rising and pulling her close.

When they parted, Etien blinked slowly. “Be safe.”

“Gods keep you,” he breathed. “If not, I will let them hear about it.”

Etien laughed. “That’s my line. Goodbye for now, Aymeric. Though it leaves in my chest, my heart is yours.”

“And you take mine with you for the same reason. Go, bring the Scions home so I can have you back.”

“I will!”

And she was gone. Aymeric sat down, sighing hard. He let himself cry for a moment, sniffling and wiping his eyes when he heard a knock.

“Yes?”

Lucia came in. “My lord… are you all right?”

“Ye—no. I am not. But I have to be. They need her, and you need me.”

Lucia patted his hand. “If I know one thing about Etien Mellifer, it’s that she can and will do anything to come back to you.”

_

Etien’s first thought when she exited the pool of water she’d woken up in was “I wish Aymeric could see this.”

She would have liked to see him in this, such bright blues, pure blacks, and shiny metals against the blazing purple surrounding her on all sides.

She sighed, making her way to town.

The Crystal Exarch was making for an excellent host, but that didn’t take away the shock. Time stretched and warped between the Source and the First, making the time her friends had been gone much longer here than there, though the reverse could just as well be so.

It made her wonder how much time had already passed for Aymeric. Or why he’d never gotten scooped  from there and brought here, since their fates were so tightly tied.

She shook her head at the thought. It would have shattered her if he had been. She could see herself now, weeping at his bedside if it had been so. Better this way, despite the sting.

But she was making her away around nicely now, at least. And thank the gods for Feo Ul, as well.

When she had been prompted, Etien did take the chance to send a message from the First, a hasty “Dear Tataru, I heard your words as I fell. We’re searching for the solution now, but we have a variety of circumstances to consider, I’ve found. Over all, I’m safe and will explain when I can. -Etien. P.S. Please tell Aymeric I’m all right, and that I will write.”

And away it went. Praise be that letters were still feasible. She would have lost her mind otherwise.

And so it was that Etien had gone from wandering the Pillars to staying in the Pendants.

She wanted to be optimistic, but these adventures were never easy, and as much as she could put aside the pain for the moment…

She slid her finger into her wedding ring, letting its weight rest on her finger. It was nothing compared to the weight of the knowledge she’d just gained. Dying in another calamity.

Better she did this. It hurt now, it would keep hurting, but hurting meant she still lived.

Still had something to live for.

#Aytien; Shadowbringers