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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 4 years

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Life After Snowpiercer: Still Alive

Summery- Curtis (hints of You) makes his way through the cars, and reaches the end to find a surprise waiting for him. Violence.

If you want to read the story Curtis told Nam, read it here- Past Horrors

Word Count- 2967

Chapter 3 / Masterlist

“OPEN IT, OPEN THE FUCKING GATE!”

Curtis stood at the final gate, the final mother fucking gate, his palms slapping at it, his boots ramming into it, and his rage, all that rage from the past 17 years, and more recently the two days it took him to fight his way here, so many lives, gone. His revolution had become a blood bath, Gilliam executed, Grey stabbed, Tonya shot, You… well he couldnt even let himself go there, not yet. Edgar, well fuck Edgar he betrayed, having left him laying among the rest, setting out right after the battle of the tunnel, leaving the majority of people behind to care for the dead and wounded. There was no time to stall.

Hours before in horror he watched the front enders slaughter his people in the television screen,among a car full of children singing praises to the almighty Wilford, the saviour. The armed men entered the gate and were lost from sight. Curtis just felt that all of you were gunned down without a care. No…. He almost broke right then and there, he could see them entering the last car, the one where he supposedly had you kept safe. His breathing picked up, his chest tightened and black stars swarmed in his vision. Then the tv crackled the noises of gunshots and flares of white could be seen coming out of the darkest gateway, all of it so grainy on the screen, but it was picture clear for him. No bodies could be seen, but the way his whole being just shattered into a million biting glass edges, slicing unseen wounds through his mind, he lost you, he couldnt keep you safe after all. Tonya smacked his face. “Curtis snap out of it, you have to lead us”

How can I? Shes gone, they shot her. His mind pieced together an image of your body crumbled in the middle of the aisle, bright red blossoming around you like a opening flower across your back, your hand outreaching for the darkness that might have hid you. Your eyes, the ones hes seen laughing, crying and loving, glassed over sightless, that part that was a persons soul, the spark that brought them life in there eyes, gone. Gone, could it really be? Curtis, she was doomed the day she chose you, and you kept her anyways. Monster. You killed her.

Suddenly Tonya came into his vision again, and beyond her, Minister Mason crumbled on her knees, her rat like face, with those beady eyes and oversized false teeth saying his name “Curtis, I can help you!” The heavy weight of the gun in his palm had a purpose, and it felt FUCKING GOOD just then. Without even a moment in between her words and him registering what the fuck she was pleading for, he marched over and right to her forehead the muzzle settled, her eyes rolling up to look at it in fear, the yellowish whites of her eyes brimming with tears, pupils focused on the muzzle indenting against her forehead. “Curtis pleeease, I beg you!”

His expression, was that of a man who no longer gave a shit what happened to him, his finger squeezed and that bullet, with a little satisfaction for him, drilled through her brain, a splatter of red grazing the entire area. A wipe of his hand across his face, he turned back towards the gate, Nam already working on it. Switching to a new cartridge, he told those still remaining. “We go forward” And just as he came to the gate, Nam got it to swing open, and now this man became the darkest part of himself he could possibly be, the compassion he would show his fellow kind was simply gone. There was no hestitation in his actions. If anyone crossed his path, they were met with cold killing rage.

Now at the final gate, that god damn signature W holding him back from Wilford. Nam tried to stall Curtis, refusing to open that final one for reasons Curtis couldnt understand. His daughter Yona, moaned on a pile of coats, drugged and drunk beyond rational thought, the child was a pitiful sight indeed. “Open the gate Nam, now. Is this what you want?” Curtis emptied his pockets of the kronoles, flinging them at the ex security intel “Take it! Open the fucking gate now!”

In a moment of weariness, Curtis stumbled to the floor, leaning back against the frame work staring at the door. Nam took some pity on the man and tossed him a smoke “Fucker better enjoy it, its the last one.” What the hell, Curtis thought, and he lit it, taking a stale drag of nicotine he hadnt experienced since he was 16 at a party. Finally he started talking, telling Nam all about how the beginning of his life on the train went. Inside his mind though, was a totally different conversation, his way of saying goodbye he supposed although numb at this point to everything, he could still sense the pain it was causing, vibrating in waves from him.

“Hey handsome” Your hands would slide up his chest and circle around his neck. “Almost at the end of the line”

“Appears so Baby” Another drag of smoke escaping from him.

“I guess were lucky we got this far right? I knew you would Curtis” Plucking his smoke from his lips and taking an inhale, washing the two of you in a billowing nicotine haze.

“Leave it to you babygirl to find the bright side here.” He chuckled, seeing you now rise to the balls of your feet to kiss him, hell even imaginary your kisses could score a fire to settle in him. How he wished it was real. That you were here, fuck he missed you it was an ache in his chest.”I dont think Im going to be returning… “ His voice drifted off softly.

“Oh handsome, you know I will find you again, another lifetime. You dont think this is truly the end of us?”

“No? it seems like it”

“Handsome, this is just one of many. I love you and we will see each other again. Now go do what you came to do.” you winked and returned the camel between his lips. Stepping away and leaving him alone once more.

Curtis lifted his gaze, asking one last final time. “Open the gate, please” Nam again shook his head, going off in how they MIGHT survive outside of the train, that the snow was melting, there was no need to stay.

“What are you fucking nuts? go out there and freeze. Leave all these people here, no. Open the GOD DAMN MOTHER FUCKING DOOR”

Then like the gate just knew, it clicked open and a flash of yellow stepped out, Nam shot backwards and in Claudes hand was a pistol. Composed as ever, she looked at Curtis. “Wilford will see you now.”

He simply spared a glance at Nam, whom Yona was wailing and shaking to bring back to her, and he pushed up, and into the room, all cold steel metal and blue glows, along one wall was a kitchen gallery, all dark masculine looking wood work and at the table in the car, sat an older man with intense blue eyes, staring at Curtis while frying his steak, smirking. “Curtis! Lets take a look at you.” Wilford almost sounded joyful, impressed? “You did a mans work coming all the way up here, did you know its been years since anyones walked the entire length of this train. How about you sit down, lets chat.” Claude nudged him towards the seat. With contempt he obliged, sitting down. “Would you believe Ive never been to the tail section?”

Curtis spat out “why the hell not, we to dirty for you in the tail section?”

“You think the engine isnt without its own complications Curtis?” Wilford turned from frying his steak for half a second, fixing Curtis with a look of disappointment. “It gets awful noisy up here, and not many to talk to.”

Who the fuck does he think he is? Noisy? Trying living with a thousand people in a iron box. “Right, you got steaks, room, and that whore will bring you whatever you want.”

“Curtis, everyone has there preordained position. And everyone is in there place…” Pointing at him with the greasy spatula, the steak starting to smoke and sizzle on the stove top. “Except you.” Turning back he flipped the steaks on a plate.

“Yea, thats what people with the best place say to those in the worst place. There is not one soul who wouldnt willingly trade places with you.” Damn straight Baby, your voice encouraged him.

“Would you?” Wilford questioned, seasoning his steak, how in the hell do seasons still exist? Perhaps you werent always the best voice of reasoning.

“Fuck you” Curtis spat at him with hatred and disgust.

Wilford sighed, as if exasperated with him. “Curtis, were all stuck on this train, and its a enclosed ecosystem with a fragile balance. Med rare?” Breaking his line of thought, Curtis ignored the question entirely, which Wilford paid no heed to. “population must be kept in balance, everything rigidly maintained. Now there are times… we have to take more drastic measures.” Wilford brought the steaks over, setting one perfectly cooked one in front of Curtis. “we simply dont have time to let natural selection take over, we all would be overcrowded on this train, starving. Remember starving Curtis? It took us a while to get the protein blocks going. I am truly sorry about that.” Wilford cut a bite of his steak and chewed between the rest of his words. “So we occasionally stir the pot to speak. Get things moving… The cast out of the seven, The McGregor Riots, and this one… My new favorite. The Great Curtis Revolution. Nice ring to it, right? The kids will love it” He winked one icy blue eye at Curtis as if it was a big joke between them. “I mean who was to expect you to come through with torches through the Yekaterina tunnel? Pure genius, nothing like Gilliam or I expected”

Curtis snapped his head a bit and confusion clouded his face He didnt just say that. “What?”

“Now come on, dont tell me you didnt know, Gilliam and I?” Giving an amused chuckle at Curtis confusion. “Front end and Tail end, we work together Curtis, he was more then a partner, he was my friend.”

“Bullshit, I dont believe you” Curtis stated, there was no way Gilliam was friends with Wilford, the hours the two of them had spent together discussing how to get here.

A grin crossed Wilfords face “well our plan was that the rebellion was to end at the tunnel. Kill off most of you, send the rest back. Curtis, why do you think Gilliam conditioned you to be the leader after McGregor? Sadly, it was supposed to be your hurrah. Your going out like in that old movie…. Braveheart? Going out in a fight. Your name was to give the remaining tail enders hope. So Gilliam gave you everything you could want back there. No one messed with you, got to keep the pretty girl, no one shamed you for keeping both your hands. Wasnt it nice, be able to hold her with both.” Dont you dare listen to him baby, we chose each other, Your voice echoed and stressed. A sickness washed over Curtis as these words, Wilford seemed none the wiser over what his words were doing, or he simply didnt care. “Gilliam said you were smart, but he could control you. Sadly he didnt.” Wilford wiped his mouth and tossed the napkin down, not even eating half the steak. “And why he had to pay the price. Im going to miss my friend, our long nightly chats.”

Still in disbelief over the news, Gilliam had been a mentor to him, a father when he needed advice. All those years, and he just fueled Curtis rage for this moment. No one knew that the traitorous snake was the man they all pledged there allegiance to.

“But your little stunt, well it took out more of the front end then I had hoped, but what fun, right? Its okay, you tail enders throw off brats pretty quickly, we will recover. Theres really just one last thing to do.” Picking up a phone, he pressed a button and waited for an answer. “How many you got left back there?” He listened and looked at Claude “We still at 75 percent?” she gave a nod and he returned to whomever was on the phone “Kill off 75 percent…. actually you know what? In celebration of our 18th year, keep 18 extra alive. Thank you”

Before he hung up, the barely there sound of gunfire blasted from the phone, and Curtis sprang to his feet. “YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Claude gave off one warning shot, which ricochet the bullet around the room, causing them all to duck momentarily. “God damn it Claude! Mind the engine.” Turning to Curtis who was straightening himself out and at this point ready to get this fucken over with. “God damn high strung woman, cant do nothing with them when they get to that point.” Wilford muttered to himself, going up the steps to check on the cylinders circling. Curtis followed him up, preparing to end this now. Wilford pulling out his own pistol from his robes, he cocked it at Curtis.”Mind your next move son. I got a proposition for ya, you might want to consider.”

Curtis merely paused cause of the gun pointing at his chest, basic human instinct still riding out his anger. Clenching his jaw, the twitch ticking in tandem, Wilford motioned him forward. “Listen, I like you, you got spunk, You get the job done. I already have a predecessor, but I need someone who can take over Minister Masons place since you disposed of her. About time someone did, I couldnt stand that woman. At the time, she was my finest choice though. You carry out what I need done, I know you have it in you.” Sliding the gun back into his robe when it seemed Curtis was no longer about to attack him. “Once in a while you dispose of some unnecessary lives we no longer have use for, do some intimidation to out of control groups. I will let you stay up front, even bring your girl up here.”

“Shes still alive?” Curtis croaked, the haze of your name clouding his senses, could it be true, was there actually hope?

“What? Of course shes still alive Curtis. First shes a woman, I wouldnt have my men kill off any women her age unless she was unfit to bear children. Even if you werent in the picture I would have her brought up here, resupply the front end. Shes a pretty thing, make someone a good wife. We need to continue the supply after all. Second, shes yours and Gilliam made it clear she was necessary to keep you compliant. Why do you think we allowed you two to play house with those orphans? Her little pet project. Why we never collected those kids, yes I knew all about them all along.” Wilford spoke as if he was doing You and Curtis a major favor. The fucken ass. Curtis could just see you now, the roll of your eyes and arms folding over your chest, Child Bearing Wife? Go Fuck Yourself Wilford.

All this information sunk in, Still alive, You were still alive. He could have you back, it was as simple as saying yes at this point. Sinking to his knees, his hands came to his face, relief watering his eyes and a soft sob broke. Wilford circled the man, whispering to him “Imagine it Curtis, life of luxury up here, have your girl back. You wouldnt ever have to live in a cage per say again. Just follow my orders like a good little soldier. Its really that easy. Minister Everett, sounds fitting right? The tail ender who actually made something of himself. Gilliam would want that for you.” Then he walked away, leaving Curtis all alone, choking on another sob, his hand came to his head and brushed his signature beanie off, rubbing his head. No Curtis, you are here for a reason, echoes of your voice shouted at him. “And if I say no?” Wilford snorted with disdain at Curtis, rolling his eyes with exasperation.

“Im giving you the deal of a life time and you dont want to take it? Fine, I guess I will have her killed Curtis, marched right up here and you can watch her die, or bring her up here and give her away to someone else? You can watch another man have her. Is that a better option. Its either you do this or you die and shes mine.” He gave a shrug. “The choice of your fates is in your hands.” Wilford was no fool, he knew how to work Curtis, already he could see the mans shoulders sink in a sign of defeat. Claude was perched near the gate entrance when it opened, a glance over her shoulder widened her smile, and she stepped aside. “Ahhh, I was wondering where my predecessor had gone off to, its about time you arrived. I was just telling Curtis all about what we set up for him.”

Curtis looked over his shoulder and the familiarity of the man struck him hard, it was like looking at you, your features in this young man was so prominent, he croaked out in disbelief.

“Matt?!”

Yes, your brother was still alive, healthy and alive. Dressed in a fine suit, well groomed, the young man smirked at Curtis. “Long time Curtis, good to see you again.”

@what-is-your-plan-today @jtargaryen18 @curtisbbq @p8tn0lish

#curtis everett x reader #snowpiercer #chris evans #curtis everett #fan fic

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trillian-anders · 4 years

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chambers - iv

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence, angst, slow burn

word count: 4230

Description: Post-Endgame. Steve Rogers has passed away from old age. The one remarkable thing is that no one knew his heart would be in the condition it was. He was able to save one more life. After receiving his heart, strange things start happening. Including something that would change your life forever. (Very loosely based on the Netflix series of the same name.)

This wasn’t the first time you’ve seen him. Sitting there in the dark. A watchman. He’s gone from a ghost to a solid figure, sitting by your bed in the dark. Hair blond, face without wrinkles, bent over. Elbows resting on knees, hands clasped. Staring. It was unnerving. Usually it was just flashes, you’d look in the mirror and he’d be standing there instead of you, or he’d be standing around in the corner of your eye. But this was new. He was just sitting there, staring at you. Thinking.

Judging?

Not speaking.

You had to be going crazy. This seemed insane. This was something outside the realm of living through his memories and feeling the roller coaster of emotions you were becoming accustomed to. Your legs didn’t hurt too badly anymore, they were still a little stiff, but they didn’t hurt anymore. You swung them over the side of the bed, coming to face him. Were you hallucinating? You both held eye contact for a minute.

“Steve?” Your raspy voice asked. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards and then he was gone. Next blink, just gone. You sighed heavily, hanging your head, “FRIDAY, open the blinds please?” The mechanical blinds rose, revealing a muted blue sky, the sun just breaking over the horizon. Your toes touched the ground, feeling the heated floors as you stood to stretch your arms above your head, feeling your body crack and groan.

You lifted your phone from the nightstand, checking the time. It was still early, but most of the agents would have already been starting their morning drills, including Bucky and Sam. Wanda should be waking up soon then if she wasn’t already awake.

You made your way to your ensuite, brushing your teeth, and staring at your face in the mirror. The serum must be doing something to you because the dark circles under your eyes were gone and your skin looked perfectly dewey. The whites of your eyes were whiter and when you looked back down at your recently bruised and broken legs you couldn’t even tell anything had been wrong with them in the first place. But that could also be due to the cradle.

The bed suddenly felt way too soft, you’d noticed. You’d never thought about it before. Your bed at home was cheap, the mattress springy and almost uncomfortable, but it was close to what Steve used to sleep on while in the military. What he slept on during missions. The beds on the quinjet. You might try sleeping on the floor tonight.

You changed your clothes, today you’d be getting into the MRI, testing to see how your brain reacts to certain stimuli, seeing what happens to your brain when a memory comes on. So far there are no real negative consequences physically to the seizures you have when a memory comes on, but that doesn’t mean that one day something bad won’t happen. This is just to make sure.

Now that your legs were healed you were itching to run again, and you figured if you paid attention to pace, maybe it’ll be okay. A pair of stretchy yoga pants and large grey Avenger’s issued sweatshirt later you were stepping outside into the crisp morning air. Sam and Bucky stretching off to the right. “Hey kid, how’s it going?” Sam asked, smiling.

You cautiously walked over to join them, returning his smile, “Better, for sure.” You smiled at Bucky, he gave a forced one in return. He was trying. “A little stiff, but I’m itching to run again so…” Sam pursed his lips,

“If you’re gonna run you’ve gotta take it easy, you can keep pace with me,” He jerked a thumb over at Bucky, “This fool runs at top speed so just make sure you don’t try to keep up with him.” That’s right. Bucky had some sort of super serum too. Not the same as Steve’s but Hydra’s own cocktail. The three of you took off, Sam jogging at a leisurely pace, easing you into it. You kept a steady pace next to him, watching the brown haired super-soldier’s pace slowly pick up before he was lapping the two of you, easily.

“They’re giving me an MRI today,” You told Sam when he asked, “Hopefully the seizures are still not doing anything to my brain….”

“I’m sure Bruce will be able to find some way to keep the seizures from happening at all,” Sam said. You stopped running back where you started, not even close to breaking a sweat, but your nerves soothed for the moment, Sam slowing down to a stop a few feet away.

“Can I ask you something?” You placed your hands on your hips, breathing regulating.

“Anything kid.” Sam walked closer to you, both of your eyes shifting over to watch Bucky on the other side of the track, looming closer.

“I know you still go to the VA every week,” You said, “And I get it’s weird and like… I’ve never technically been to…” You couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve never technically been to war, but…”

“What exactly is going on with these memories?” He asked you. You’d explained it to them very vaguely before, but Bucky and Sam didn’t really know the depth of it. Not at all.

You felt tears prickle in the corners of your eyes, hands coming up to rub them away, “It’s like I lived two lives, Sam.” You sighed heavily, “I’ve never technically been to war, but I can still smell…” You rolled your eyes up to the sky, trying hard not to cry. How did Steve not cry all the fucking time?

“Hey,” He said softly, walking closer to you, placing his hands on your shoulders. “I get it.” He soothed, “Well… I don’t get the whole ‘two lives’ thing, but the PTSD I get. If you want to come next time…” His voice trailed off as Bucky came to a stop next to the two of you, “You’re more than welcome to join us.” You turned your body away from Bucky, wiping the tears out of your eyes.

“Join us where?” Bucky asked, stopping to take a long pull from his water bottle. You looked at Sam hesitantly and he nodded, turning back towards Bucky.

“We’ll talk about it later.” He explained, “What time do you have to meet Bruce Y/N?” You checked your phone,

“Soon, I should probably eat and shower.” You smiled at the both of them, “I’ll see you guys soon yeah?” Bucky nodded tersely. He was going to be helping during the MRI even though you knew he really didn’t want to.

“If you need anything...” Sam didn’t finish the sentence but it went unsaid. If you need anything, I’m here for you. I’ll be here for you like I was here for Steve. But maybe that was being too hopeful.

Bucky watched you go in curiosity. “What was that about?” He asked Sam, taking another drink.

“She’s struggling man.” Bucky scoffed,

“That’s obvious.” Sam glared at him.

“I think this whole memory thing goes deeper than just her remembering things Steve has done.” He explained, “She asked me to go to the VA.” Bucky was taken aback at that.

“She’s not military.” It was a simple explanation. “She can’t go.”

“Bucky,” Sam sighed, “She’s struggling with this and if she has Steve’s memories, those memories include war. A war she didn’t choose to fight, missions she didn’t choose to go on. She’s scared and uncomfortable with what she’s seeing I’m sure.” Bucky wrestled with this for a moment, he knew Sam was right, but honestly the VA was something he cherished wholeheartedly. It was something he had with Sam outside of the missions and training. Something real. Something normal. And he didn’t know if he was comfortable with her interloping on that.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Wanda asked you over a bowl of cereal. You smiled at your friend, reaching in the fridge for the milk to make your own bowl of cereal.

“A lot better, honestly.” You explained, “Had a nice jog with Sam this morning, my legs feel great.”

“Are you ready for today?” She was scrolling through her phone, looking at dessert recipes.

“Maybe?” You sighed, spooning some cereal into your mouth. “I don’t know. I usually have at least one memory a day, but I’m afraid of having a bad one.” Wanda looked up at you from her phone,

“Do you have bad memories often?” She asked.

“It depends.” You stared down at the cheerios. “Depends on what triggers it.”

An hour later you were in scrubs, your hair tied up, laying on the table and ready to go into the machine. You tried not to think about how loud and claustrophobic it all was going to be as Bruce prepped you.

“You’ll see a series of images first,” He explains, “After that we will begin with Bucky talking to you, just very candidly about a couple of good memories he has of Steve.” He probably hates you for this. It was hard to swallow that thought. You could see Wanda, Sam, and Bucky standing on the other side of the glass, chatting idly as Bruce was securing some sort of cage around your head to keep you from moving. “If it gets to be too much and you need to take a break just let us know and I’ll pull you out okay?” He was reassuring and you could almost feel comfortable if your heart wasn’t beating out of your chest.

The bed slowly entered the machine and there was a pause as it clicked to life around you, loudly. Was it the machine or your heart beating that loud?

“Are you okay?” Bruce asked, his voice coming out of the speaker.

“Yeah I’m fine.” You took a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth, closing your eyes for a minute.

“Okay so we are going to start with the first picture.” And up it went. Coney Island. The Cyclone at Coney Island.

“I’m not doing it!” You exclaimed. “You can go alone!” You were a teenager now, Bucky was a teenager now. Bright blue eyes, wide smile, a pimple on the right side of his chin, but otherwise unblemished. Happy.

“C’mon pal,” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, “You owe me one anyway.” You felt yourself scoff, turning towards him.

“You just spent 30 minutes trying to win a stuffed bear for Dot,” You laughed, “If anything, you owe me.” This was one of the first double dates of many you and Bucky had gone on. Both of you fifteen years old, saved allowances in your pockets, Bucky got two girls Dot and Moira to come out to Coney Island with you. You’d been riding rides and eating hot dogs all day. Bucky just spent your last three dollars winning Dot a bear, Moira ignored you the whole day, and you were feeling kinda low. The last thing you wanted to do was ride the Cyclone.

“C’mon, we have one ticket each left, let’s ride it and then we can figure out a way home.” It was hard to say no to Bucky, especially when he was looking at you like that. You rolled your eyes,

“Fine.” A large grin stretching out on his face, hands clapping together, “Alright, let’s go!” His large hand wrapped around yours pulling you into the queue. A quick trip on the Cyclone found your head in the trash can beside it, small body heaving, the hot dog and cotton candy coming up just as easily as it had gone down. What a waste.

You came back to consciousness dry heaving, body tilted to the side as Wanda rubbed your back. “Are you gonna throw up?” She asked, Sam was holding a bucket under your head.

“What was it?” Bruce asked. Bucky stood off to the side, unsure what to do. You took a sip from the water bottle Sam offered you, catching your breath.

“Threw up after riding the cyclone,” You explained, eyes flickering over to Bucky, then back to Bruce. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” Bruce said, typing something into the computer. “Are you okay to go again?”

“You’re not gonna give her a break?” Bucky asked, turning toward the Hulk. Bruce looked from Bucky and back to you. Sam left the trash can on the floor by your head, just in case, but still stood nearby with your water bottle.

“Do you need a break Y/N?” Wanda helped you roll back onto the table as you caught your breath. Your throat hurt and you still felt the lingering nausea,

“No, I’m okay.” You said, “We can continue.”

The next picture didn’t do anything. It was your own apartment. The one you hadn’t been to all week. The third picture was a drawing you knew Steve had done, a memory of sitting in a cafe, the taste of coffee on your tongue, but no seizure.

The fourth picture sent you reeling, breath coming out in heavy pants as the machine closed around you,

“Bucky!” You screamed, arm reaching out to him, watching him hang from the side of the train. The fucking train. How do you get him out of this? How can you save him this time? You couldn’t reach any farther without falling out yourself, his hand not coming close to yours, not close enough. Fuck.

His watery blue eyes met yours and your heart stopped in your chest, his arm swinging up for one last attempt to grab yours that’s when the bar he was holding onto broke. That’s when it always broke, that’s when you lost him every time. “Bucky!” You screamed again as you watched him fall from sight, the train still rushing onto its destination.

“Get me out!” You yelled. The machine was quickly turned off, you were wrestling with the cage around your face, breaking it accidentally, tossing it to the side. Tears blurred your vision as you sat on the edge of the bed.

“Y/N calm down!” Wanda’s hands gripped your upper arms, stalling you from moving. You choked on your tears, sinking your head down onto her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around you. You felt so embarrassed, face hot with it, but you couldn’t stop crying. You knew it was ridiculous. He was standing right there. He’s not actually dead. But in that moment Steve didn’t know that. In that moment he just lost the one person who had been by his side through everything and you lost him too.

“Alright kid, it’s okay.” Sam’s voice was calm, his hand rubbing your back as you tried to control your breathing, your eyes peeking over Wanda’s shoulder to steal a glance at Bucky. He’s right there. He’s alive. He’s safe. He wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at the floor, fists clenched. And you watched him leave the room.

“What happened?” Bruce asked.

“Give her a minute man.” Sam said, your tears were drying up but your heart still felt empty. You wanted Bucky, but it wasn’t an option.

“He fell from the train.” You explained softly, voice thick and watery. “I can never save him.” It didn’t need to be explained who ‘he’ was. They all knew and in that moment what you had been going through was shared with the group. Wanda gripped you a little tighter,

“Let’s finish for the day,” She told Bruce, “We can pick back up tomorrow or something.” Bruce nodded, shutting the machine off.

“Anyone up for Chinese?”

Bucky didn’t expect that viceral of a reaction. The dry heaving after experiencing a memory of riding the Cyclone, one that he remembered well. Standing by Steve as he upchucked into the trash can, his vomit was tinted pink from cotton candy. Her experiencing him falling from the bridge. The screaming that started before she was even fully out. A blood curdling scream of his name, loud and clear over the microphone that was wired into the machine. Fuck.

He bruised his knuckles because he didn't wrap them before going in on the punching bag. Something had to break the tension he was feeling in his shoulders. His left one was aching with a phantom pain that almost never went away. The ache of a limb lost. The memories of being half conscious as they dragged his body from the ravine. Where they cut the rest of his arm off in order to attach the metal one to his shoulder. He shudders with the thought.

Sam was good at distractions. It was a talent, truly. Multiple Chinese takeout containers were littered across the coffee table, reruns of Masterchef playing across the screen as you, Sam, Wanda, Bruce, and later on Bucky, eat in almost silence.

Bucky was freshly showered, taking a seat next to the recliner that he had placed you in the day before, the one you were currently sitting in, before making himself a plate and sitting back to watch Gordon Ramsay expertly debone a fish.

“Could you debone a fish Buck?” Sam asked, this is what he’s good at. Bucky scoffed, slurping up his lo mien.

“Of course I can, what kind of question is that?” Sam smirked, looking over at you and then back to Bucky.

“Yeah, but not as good as Ramsay, look at the dude.” He gestured towards the man laying out the portioned filets and perfectly removed bones. Bucky rolled his eyes, having shoveled the first half of his plate into his mouth so fast you hadn’t even seen him eat.

“I can debone a fish twice as fast.” Sam scoffed. He was challenging him.

“There’s a salmon in the fridge with your name on it buddy.” Bucky glared at him, you all knew what Sam was doing, but none of you were fighting it.

“Start timing me.” The plates were abandoned and the group of you circled around the kitchen counter, Wanda holding her phone up to record, Sam using the stopwatch on his phone to time him. The whole fish laying out on the butchers block in front of him, knives at the ready. It was possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

Bucky was a good cook. A decent cook you should say. Steve, when he was a kid and they were living in that shitty apartment in Brooklyn, Bucky would make stews out of almost nothing. A trick he had learned from his Ma. That you remembered from one time you were making a stew and freezing out portions to be more cost effective. You remembered the smell of their kitchen, Bucky with an apron tied around his waist, still in his grey jumpsuit from the canary. Youthful and sweet. His short hair curled on his forehead from the steam coming from the pot.

He deboned the fish and portioned it out in less than a minute. The food scale in the kitchen weighed each portion as an even 3.8 oz.

“Well I guess we are having that for dinner tomorrow night.” Sam joked. He elbowed his friend grinning, Bucky looked so proud of himself. He should be. It was an interesting party trick. His dexterity with knives were not just for disarming people, but it could be used for something more wholesome.

The rest of dinner was eaten in a content silence, Sam booing when the one person he liked on the show accidentally burned their fish and was eliminated.

You liked this. It was better than going to work and coming home to an empty house. Eating dinner alone and laying in bed scrolling through your phone until you fell asleep. Today was tiring though and you couldn’t wait to go to bed as you helped everyone clean up the mess. There were no leftovers thanks to Bruce who you were sure could put any restaurant out of business just from the sheer volume he could eat now, so it was mainly packing up containers and tossing them. Washing plates.

“So why don’t we take a break from the prodding and you come to the VA tomorrow?” Sam asked, handing you a plate to place in the dishwasher. Your eyes flickered over to Bucky who was wrapping up the trash to throw down the chute. You know he can hear you, but he’s not making any motion to let you know.

“If that’s alright?” You ask, watching Bucky’s retreating back.

“Hey,” Sam brings your attention back to him, “You know how hard this is for him, but it’s hard for you too. You can’t just sacrifice your feelings for someone else. He’ll be okay.” You wanted to believe him. You really did, but everything in your body is telling you Bucky wasn’t okay. It was hard.

“I’ll think about it,” You sighed, turning to close to dishwasher, “I’ll see you in the morning?” Sam smiled, hugging you softly.

“Sleep well kid,” Wanda had already retired to her room and Bruce to his, which left you crossing an empty common room back to your own bedroom.

Bucky was leaning against your door, the dim light from your room illuminating him. You were hesitant to move any closer. He looked at you silently for a moment, gesturing into the room, “Can we talk?” Your heart skipped a beat,

“Yeah,” You said, “Of course.”

You’ve been in this room a couple days now, the neutral tones making it look more like a hotel room than a person’s actual bedroom but you weren’t sure how long you’d be staying so personal effects weren’t really a high priority. You had a couple pictures of family, but most surfaces stayed barren. A well worn college sweatshirt was tossed on your bed, but Bucky surely noticed that the room didn’t look typically lived in.

He sat himself in the chair that Wanda had previously used beside your bed. The one Steve was sitting in this morning. You almost stopped him from sitting there, as though you were waiting for Steve to come take a spot there to watch the conversation that was about to happen. You were unsure whether or not you should close the door, but seeing as you were the only person residing in this hallway you decided to leave it open.

You sat on the bed across from him, waiting for him to speak. The two of you awkwardly sat in silence for a minute, Bucky’s mouth opening and closing a few times before he began,

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick to you,” He started.

“I understand, it’s okay.” You shifted nervously in your seat. His eyes met yours,

“It’s not okay, you didn’t deserve it.” He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth nervously, “All of this is out of your control and instead of trying to help you, I’ve been keeping my distance and I’ve been relatively cold.”

“You made me breakfast yesterday and helped me use the bathroom.” You offered. His lips turned into a terse smile,

“That doesn’t exactly make me a good person, doll.” Doll. Term of endearment or habit? He sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes, “Today… in the MRI machine…” Your throat almost felt as though it was closing up, the air thick in the room. It was hard to breathe. “You feel everything he felt?” He asks.

“I’ve told you that before I…” You trailed off, picking at a stray string on the pillowcase.

“You said you could feel the same emotions he felt, but not like…” The scream was echoing in his head, the bloodcurdling scream, “It’s intense?” His chapped bottom lip bled with how hard he bit it.

“It’s like…” You stood from the bed, creating some distance because he was all of a sudden too close. “It’s like losing you for real.” You explained. His head snapped up to look at you and you felt his eyes boring into your back. “Steve’s emotions and memories… everything he’s ever felt.” You started, “It’s like I know all of you already and none of you know me. I feel…” Your face flushed with embarrassment, growing hot under the pressure.

“Like I’m your best friend?” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, turning back to him. His expression unclear to you.

“LIke you’re my best friend,” You felt tears well up in your eyes. You were so sick of fucking crying. “And you want nothing to do with me.” Coming out as a whisper. Bucky sat back in the chair, studying you for a minute.

“This is hard,” His eyes rolled up to the ceiling, “So fucking hard.”

“I know,” You cried, wiping at your eyes quickly trying to stop the tears, “I know.” He stood from his chair and slowly made his way over to you, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you tightly to his chest. Fuck if this isn’t what you so desperately needed, your arms wrapping around him just as tightly.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered into your hair, “I’m really going to try, I promise.” Your hands were clenched tightly in his t shirt, tears dampening the chest.

“I don’t know what to do.” You admitted, muffled against him.

“Come to the VA tomorrow,” He offered, “We can start there.”

We can start there.

TAGLIST // @bookish-shristi @nutellakirb @witch-of-letters @torntaltos @emotionallysalty @gemgemswift @albinotigerpython

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #Steve Rogers #sam wilson #wanda maximoff #bruce banner #avengers #captain america #the winter solider

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honeyhan-123 · 5 years

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Say Thank You VI

Series Summary: Nearly five years have passed since Steve Rogers saves your life without so much as a thank you. When he sees you again by chance, he makes sure that he’ll never let you go and maybe teach you some manners in the process.

Series Warning: This will be a dark!Steve fic with stalking, kidnapping and manipulating as well as non-con and dub-con situations. Please don’t read it if you don’t like that sort of thing.

Chapter Warnings: Male masturbation, spanking, manipulation

Word Count: 2.8k

I. New York ~ II. Madrid ~ III. The Apartment ~ IV. The Trip ~ V. The Basement

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VI. The First Lesson

He lay in bed that night for hours, his eyes refusing to shut, refusing to look away from the phone screen in front of him. He had finally done it. Steve had gotten his girl.

He knew that it would rough for the first few weeks but he was determined. He would break her, make sure she knew who was in charge and so he wasn’t so much surprised but merely disappointed when he opened his phone, right after locking the door behind him, to see her throwing her body against it, trying to get out.

His palm had twitched as he stood there, longing to go back inside but he refrained, knowing that it wouldn’t do him any good to face her when he was seething, unable to control himself. He forced his legs to move, down the hallway and up the stairs, back to his kitchen where he had been in the middle of doing his dishes when he had gotten the alert that she was awake. He placed the tray down and propped his phone up in front of the sink so he could still watch her as his hands disappeared underneath the soapy water.

His eyes barely strayed from the device as he washed her dishes, scrubbing the plates for far too long in his distracted state. He longed to be back down stairs, back with her, but he knew she wasn’t ready for him yet. He nearly tripped going up the stairs that lead to his bedroom. She had disappeared into the bathroom, the screen instantly flicking over to the camera in there, tracking her movements.

He paused at she shed the pale blue nightgown he had dressed her in, revealing her body to him again. It had taken all of his self restraint not to touch her while she was unconscious but now seeing her body in front of him, the way the body wash lathered on her supple skin, the way her chest pushed forward when she raised her hands to wash the shampoo out of hair.

His cock ached as he sat on his bed, begging to be touched. He is about one hand down his body, doing his belt and jeans to free his crying length. He couldn't remember how many times in the past five years hit come by himself – or with others – wishing it was her. As his hand moved in a rapid pace, his eyes were still fixated on her naked body. Soon it would be her hand in place of his. He just had to get her used to her new life first and he had to do it fast. He didn't know how long he will be able to hold off. The force of his orgasm knocked the breath out of him as he came, shooting hot spurts into his fist, his eyes closing in bliss.

If just the thought of her could do this to him, he wondered just how amazing it would be when he finally had her. He fell asleep finally, hours later, a smile on his face and her image superimposed onto the back of his eyelids. She needed to get used to her new life soon.

Even though you have laid in bed for hours, staring up at the ceiling, sleep refused to come. Occasionally you found yourself drifting off but you are never able to stay asleep for longer than a few minutes, despite the seat calling of your eyelids.

You weren’t surprised when you saw the sky outside start to lighten, dawn breaking, signifying a new day. You promised yourself today you would try. Try to get away from this madman. After what felt like another hour had passed, you had no way of knowing for certain, you heard the click of the lock. He was back.

Like last night, he came in carrying a tray, locking the door behind him before he placed it on the dining table and take a seat. You noticed how nicely he was dressed, wearing a shirt with a tie and you could only hope he was going out today, leaving you here so you could try to escape. He looked over at you then. His eyes expectant.

‘Well? Aren't you going to come over and eat your breakfast?’

You didn't listen to him. Instead he turned to face the opposite wall, your back to him, pulling the covers up even further, tucking them just underneath your chin. You heard his sigh, the clink of his cutlery against his plate. ‘Last night, you promised you were going to be a good girl. Good girls do what they're told when they're told. Are you going to break your promise so soon?’

You knew you were probably making a mistake that you would end up regretting but the idea of having to sit opposite this man who had clearly lost his mind was appalling to you. Plus, you weren’t even sure if you'll be able to eat anything. Your stomach had been in knots all night long.

After a few moments of tense silence as he waited for you to change your mind, you heard his sigh again. The harsh scrape of his chair against the floorboards and his thundering footsteps as he made his way towards you, pausing at the opposite side of the bed.

‘I am going to give you five seconds to get your ungrateful bratty ass out of bed. If you're not kneeling in front of me, begging for my forgiveness by the time I reach zero, you are going to be incredibly sorry. Five. Four.’

You could tell he was being serious just by his tone, but you refused to move a muscle. ‘Three.’ Fear started crawling through your veins as you remember just how easily he overpowered you last night. ‘Two.’ Maybe you were being a stubborn idiot. What was he going to do you? ‘One.’ You squeezed your eyes shut, your fists clenching the sheets as tightly as they could in trepidation of what was to come.

He never said zero, he simply bent down and ripped the sheets from your hands with such force that they came free from the bed, tossing them on the floor nearby. ‘I thought you said you are going to be a good girl?’ You could hear the disappointment in his voice, your eyes squeezed so tightly shut that you started to see patterns behind your eyelids as he grabbed you, forcing you onto your stomach.

‘You know, I'm really not that surprised. An ungrateful brat like you. Of course you're going to break your promises.’ You felt him straddle the back of your legs, bunching your nightgown up above your ass, pushing your hands out of the way as he tried to stop him from tugging down your panties. ‘But it's okay. I’ll teach you some manners.’ You screamed out, trying to twist him off of you but he simply gathered your hands together, at the small of your back and began tying them with what you could only assume was his tie.

‘How many do you think I should give you for a first offence huh? How many will make you how many will make sure you've learnt your lesson?’ You ignored him again, continuing to scream at him to get off of you. He tutted at you, twisting your head with hand and forcing it down into the pillow with one hand while the other kneaded your ass. ‘If you know what is good for you, you’ll shut the hell up right now.’ The combination of the promised threat in his voice and the lack of oxygen made you stop screaming, and thrashing against the bed, lying still in his grip.

‘Much better sweetheart. You’re such a fast learner.’ His grip on the back of your neck relaxed somewhat, letting you twist your head so only half of it was now pressed against the pillowcase. ‘Let's get this over with, my breakfast is getting cold.’ With that the hand on your arse disappeared before you heard the swish of air and felt the hard thwack of his palm against your tender skin making you cry out. ‘Count them for me Sweetheart.’

‘One.’ You forced your voice to work, not wanting to give him another excuse to punish you.

‘Good girl.’ You tried to base yourself for the next hit but still, the harsh strike made you cry out again.

‘Two. Three. Four. Five.’ Tears started falling from your eyes. Each hit he gave you was harder than the last and you didn't know how much longer you could take.

‘Six. Seven. Eight.’ You rasped out, fighting to get the words out in between your sobs.

‘You have to speak a bit louder Sweetheart. I couldn’t make out what number that was.’ He taunted you, kneading your ass painfully hard as you tried to control your tears enough to get the word out clearly.

‘Eight.’

‘Much better baby girl, we’re nearly there.’His encouragement meant nothing to you but you continued to practically scream the numbers as the slaps came.

‘Nine. Ten.’ You couldn’t control your sobs anymore, letting them wrack through your body as your tears continued falling. You couldn't take it anymore but thankfully, it seemed like he was done. He released your hands from his tie and pulled your panties back up your body, giving your ass a gentle slap as he did so, before getting off of you and kneeling beside your head.

‘Don’t you have anything you’d like to say Sweetheart?’ He raised his eyebrows, expectant.

He couldn’t be serious. But one glance at him through your watering eyes had you realising he was being deadly serious. He wanted you to say it.

‘Thank you.’ It barely came out above a whisper but he accepted it, a smile taking over his face.

‘See, just like I said. You are a fast learner. You’re welcome sweetheart. Now come and join me at the table.’ He turned and walked away from the bed, not even sparing you a glance. He didn't have to worry about you not following his orders anymore. Not after that.

You gingerly pulled yourself to your feet, your tears had stopped for now at least but the twinge in your ass with every step you took made them want to come back, especially when you finally reached the table and had to sit down, your ass screaming in protest.

As you reached for the knife and fork on the plate in front of you, you your heard him tut. ‘Sweetheart, only good girls get to eat. If you had done what I said earlier, you would have got your food. But since you made me punish you, you’re just going to have to wait until lunch for food. View it as a lesson for next time.’ You stared at him in disbelief, watching as he casually sipped from his glass of orange juice, the steel look in his eyes making sure that you wouldn’t try to eat without his permission.

The scent of the eggs and bacon in front of you was nearly too much for you to handle. Although you had thought you weren’t hungry, having to sit and watch him eat had your stomach rumbling loudly. The toast last night had clearly not been filling enough.

When he had finally finished his plate, he cleared his throat. ‘Now Sweetheart, I had meant for this morning to go a lot differently but you have to understand, your actions have consequences. When I ask you to do something, you will do it, without complaint. You’re mine now. Like I said last night, I’m providing you with a new life, away from any issues or problems and all I’m asking for in return is some respect and for you to show some manners. Do you understand?’ His voice was far too calm and even for what he was asking from you but you nodded, trying to placate him.

‘When I ask you a question I would like an answer Sweetheart so let’s try that again. Do you understand?’

Your throat was squeezing in on itself as you replied. ‘Yes, I understand.’

‘Good Girl. Now there are some things I have to do upstairs this morning but I’ll be back down for lunch and I expect you to keep this morning in mind.’ He stood from the table, his tie in his hand as he walked around it, standing next to you. ‘Since you made me undo my tie, it’s only fair you tie it again for me.’ He handed you the silky blue material and stood expectantly.

Your body went onto autopilot, the sting in your ass as you stood a reminder of what would happen if you ignored him again. You looped it around his neck with shaking fingers, standing in front of him made you realise just how big he was in comparison to you. Your breath hitched as you tried your best to do a basic school boy knot, not trusting yourself for anything more complex, which was probably a good idea as you could barely stop your hands from shaking enough to tighten it.

As soon as the knot was in place, you stepped back, trying to get as far away as you could. He glanced down at the clumsily done knot, unimpressed. ‘Not your best work Sweetheart, but it’s okay. You’ll get better with practice.’ He turned back to the table and stacked the plates onto the tray, heading for the door.

‘I’ll see you at lunch time Sweetheart.’ He smiled at you as the door clicked shut behind him, locking you in again.

The rest of your morning passed slowly, your stomach rumbling every now and then, that and the constant tinge in your ass whenever you walked or sat down served as a constant reminder of what had happened that morning. Surely that had been his intent. A way of conditioning you for your ‘new life’ as he called it.

In your boredom, you had ventured into the wardrobe, trying to find something that covered you better than the flimsy nightgown he had put you in when he changed you. It didn’t escape your notice that your only choices were another nightgown or frilly dresses that looked like an odd combination between a dress from the forties and modern day, but you finally settled for a simple white number with cap sleeves and a skirt that was among the longer of the selection, stopping just above your knees.

After that, you had roved through the large selection of books shelved on the mahogany bookcase, looking for something to lose yourself in. You paused as you caught sight of the simple black spine, well worn, with so many cracks down it that you could barely make out the title of the novel, just like your copy had been. It had to be a coincidence, ‘Frankenstein’ was a fairly common novel after all. Yet as you opened it to the first page, you saw the familiar yellow highlight, the scrawl of black pen in the margin.

It shouldn’t have surprised you that he raided your bookcase back in Madrid but it did. It made you wonder what else he had taken from your apartment and hidden around your new living quarters in an attempt to make you more comfortable.

After a thorough search, you realised that it was only your books that he had taken, but they were enough, especially since he had clearly bought new ones in accordance to your taste, providing a new form of entertainment.

You tried to stop the smile on your face as you searched through the bookcase with this newfound knowledge. He had clearly been paying attention to what you liked.

Eventually you sat down in one of the armchairs, your copy of ‘Frankenstein’ in your hands, as you passed the time until lunch. Too chicken and too hungry to try anything with him upstairs.

You were so distracted by the tale of ‘Frankenstein’ that the harsh click of the lock, interrupting your silence, had made you jump in fright. You turned to the door, just as it opened, revealing him carrying a tray like always, the click of the lock sounding behind him. He placed the tray down on the table without looking over at you, setting the two plates at either chair. He didn’t even need to say anything for you to close your book and head over to him. The smell of whatever he had made was far too enticing for you to resist in your current state of hunger.

He held out your chair for you and pushed it in as you sat down, your eyes fixed on the mushroom and chicken grilled cheese in front of you, saliva pooling in your mouth.

‘Thank you.’ Your voice was barely a whisper but you knew he heard it as he rounded the table and took his seat opposite you, a smile on his face.

‘You’re welcome Sweetheart. Why don’t you get started before your food gets cold?’

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VII. The Waiting Game

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ladyboltontoyou · 5 years

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Arthur Morgan x Reader: Farmer’s Daughter. 3

Ask: OH MY GOD IMAGINE THE READER IS A GIRL FROM A GOOD FAMILY, SHES WITH ARTHUR FOR A WHILE NOW, THE PARENTS WANT TO MEET HIM. THEY’RE HAVING FAMILY DINNER AND THE COWBOY MAN JUST CANT KEEP HIS HANDS TO HIMSELF UNDER THE TABLE oh my god if your request are open and you would write that i would probably, most likely die...oh btw i love the “farmer’s daughter” story OH MY GOD MAYBE THIS COULD BE THE NEXT PART AAAAAAAAH SHIT! okay okay i’m sorry i just got excited! love your writing, have a great day!

Warnings: Cursing, probably. Slightly public sex, ya get fingered at dinner ok?

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

A/N: YEEHAW MY FELLOW SLUTS! ENJOY! Also, idk what they called panties back then so I just went with panties, ok?

Two months later and you had fallen completely in love with the man. You both had told yourselves you wouldn’t let it get that far but it was nearly impossible. Every time you would see each other he had something to give you, be it a new drawing of yourself, wildflowers he had found out in the woods, or some suspiciously expensive jewelry that he wouldn’t talk about.

He hadn’t planned on any of it, really, but multiple times a day he would see something that reminded him of you and he just knew he had to take it. Even the jewelry he had stolen from the folks who were unlucky enough to start a fight with him.

After a while of successfully sneaking around the day came you’d both been expecting. Your father caught him.

It wasn’t in the way you’d thought it would happen, thankfully. He didn’t walk in on the two of you or catch Arthur climbing up to your room or sneaking out of it. It was more subtle and less suspicious. The two of you, like the fools you were, were out in broad daylight at the stables on your property. You would go out there regularly to spend time with your horse so you knew your parents wouldn’t question you being down there.

You should have known being that comfortable sneaking around was just asking to be caught. And sure enough, you were.

“(Y/N)? Who is this?”

You fucking twitched. When you turned around you saw your father standing behind you with a look of concern on his face and one of the stable boys watching the whole thing go down. You had given him some money earlier to keep his mouth shut and he sure was getting more than he asked for.

“Howdy mister!” Arthur waved and stepped past you. “Remember me? I stopped by here a while back to ask for some directions.”

Your father squinted and reluctantly shook his hand. Suddenly realization spread across his features as it all clicked. “Oh! Yes!” He laughed and clapped Arthur’s shoulder. “How have you been? Ever find your way?”

“Sure did, thanks to you. I was in town and was asking around, looking to buy some good horses, and a few folks told me you were the man to talk to.” You looked at Arthur with parted lips, in shock at how good of a liar he was. He turned a potential disaster into the most casual and normal interaction without the slightest effort. It was kind of scary.

Your father laughed and nodded, crossing his arms proudly. “You’ve come to the right place, follow me.”

Arthur tossed you a wink and you had to smile then, dumbfounded by how smoothly the whole thing went.

***

After your father had whisked Arthur away to the expensive section of your stables you went back home. Your mother was preparing dinner along with one of the ranch hands, which surprised you. When you questioned why he was there she explained he was making his mother’s famous gumbo, your mother insisted upon it after she had sent some over to your family.

When dinner rolled around your father made it back just in time, a surprise guest at his heels.

“Jane, you remember this man, don’t you? He was the fellow on the white horse who asked for directions to-”

“Of course I do!” She wiped her hands with a kitchen rag, walking into the main room where the two men stood.

You stood up from the kitchen table to watch the whole thing play out, locking eyes with Arthur who just shrugged.

“He came down today to buy a horse from us!” Your father said as he closed the front door behind them. “And to congratulate him on his purchase I’ve invited him to stay for dinner.”

Your mother smiled happily, it wasn’t often you had visitors that weren’t your families prude friends or relatives. “Good! We’re having gumbo tonight, Thomas is cooking his mother’s very own recipe.”

“Oh!” Your father raised his brows. “The one she sent over yesterday?”

“That’s the one.”

“Brilliant! I loved that.”

The two of them talked for a while before Thomas announced the soup was done and your mother went back into the kitchen to help him serve. Your father excused himself to wash up, telling you and his guest to have a seat in the dining room.

You sat down next to Arthur and gave him a look.

“What?” When he finally noticed you looking at him he furrowed his brows.

“How did you manage that?”

“Manage what?”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Come on. You’re the best liar I’ve ever met.”

Arthur shrugged, taking the glass of water that Thomas set down in front of him.

“You must not of met a lot of people then.”

“All right, then. Keep your secrets.”

He chuckled and set the glass back down on the table after taking a few generous sips. “Before we almost got ourselves killed, I was going to give you somethin’.” Another gift? He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small folded piece of paper. “Don’t let anyone see that.” He added with a whisper since Thomas had walked in with the rest of the drinks.

You smiled at him and slowly unfolded the paper in your lap under the table. Once you had it done you squinted before realizing it was upside down. You flipped it the right way and your face was suddenly burning. Your breath caught in your throat as you took it all in, quickly folding it back up when your mother walked into the room carrying the giant pot of soup.

The urge to punch him was strong. Why did he have to give that to you then? Why couldn’t he wait? You slipped the paper in the front pocket of your dress and cleared your throat.

Arthur chuckled and took another sip of water, smiling sweetly at your mother as she started filling everyone's bowls. “Thank you, ma’am.”

It was impossible to get the image out of your head. It was a drawing of you, completely naked, lying on your stomach with your head resting on your folded arms, your legs kicked up and locked at the ankles. You were looking directly into the viewer’s eyes with a wicked smirk on your face, some of your hair in your face. Once again you looked utterly magnificent, your body drawn in a way that accentuated every part of you perfectly. If it wasn’t a drawing of you, you probably would have gotten off to it. You probably would anyway, knowing Arthur was the one who drew it.

“What horse did you end up buying, Mr…”

“Arthur. The young brown mustang, think your husband called him Taro.”

Your mother nodded and sat down at the opposite end of the table when she was finally done serving. You wished she would let you help with dinner but she was firm in her belief, not allowing you or your father to help her in the slightest.

It was another ten minutes before your father finally joined you, taking his seat beside his wife. “Please excuse me, got carried away with my hair again.” He laughed and eagerly started eating. Your mother shared a laugh with him, chiding him lightly about how vain he was.

Most of dinner was fine, you all talked about the usual dinner subjects such as work, the weather, and town gossip. You barely paid attention though, the image of you drawn naked was stuck in your mind, along with the idea of Arthur drawing it. You wondered if he had done it in the heat of a lust filled moment or if it was just something normal to him.

What finally snapped you out of your thoughts was the feeling of a hand on your knee. You brushed it off at first, it seemed innocent enough, he had done it plenty of times before when the two of you laid together. It wasn’t inherently sexual.

But then he moved his hand lower, brushing his fingers against the hem of your dress. You looked at him with a subtle glance but he refused to acknowledge you at all.

Crossing your legs you tried to get him to stop but that didn’t deter the cowboy at all. He pulled your dress up just enough to slip his hand under the fabric, then let the hem fall back down over his arm. You wanted to curse him out but you held your tongue and tried to act as natural as possible, taking another spoonful of soup into your mouth.

“So, Arthur, you never told us what you do for a living.” Your father said after sending one of the kitchen maids to bring out a bottle of wine.

His hand traveled up to your thighs, his fingers gently rubbing circles over your skin. “Oh, well, it’s nothin’ excitin’. I work for a man collecting debts from people. Good money.”

“Oh!” Your father acted impressed, shrugging and exchanging a look with your mother.

“If that isn’t exciting, I wonder what is to you!” Your mother laughed and so did your father.

‘Maybe fingering your daughter five feet away from you.’ You thought as you shifted in your seat, thankful for how high the table was. If it was any lower surely they would see that the lower half of his arm was extended towards you.

Slowly, extremely slowly, his hand continued it’s journey upwards. You forced yourself to keep a straight face, even when you felt the tips of his fingers brush against your panties. ‘No problem,’ you told yourself, feeling him pull the fabric aside so he could touch you better. ‘No big deal.’

Arthur rubbed slow circles into your clit with a firm amount of pressure, but not quick or firm enough to get you anywhere fast. And he knew it, too. He ate his second bowl of soup just as normally as he did the first, showing no signs of the fact that his fingers were about to be stuffed inside of you.

You liked to think you looked just as calm as he did. You had finished your soup and were waiting for everyone else to so your mother could bring out dessert, and then you could finally leave the table. If only Arthur would hurry up and finish his meal.

The small talk carried on and left almost no silence which worked to your advantage. If they were quiet they probably would hear how fast your breathing had gotten, especially when Arthur pushed that first finger inside of you. You had to practically bite through your tongue to keep the moan silenced.

“(Y/N), you’re quiet, for once. Are you sick?” Your father joked and everyone laughed, including Arthur. That bastard.

“I’m fine, just like listening to you all talk.” You said quickly, surprised at how even and calm your voice sounded. Almost as if you weren’t being finger fucked.

That seemed to satisfy them enough and they carried on with conversation.

Normally at dinner, you rarely drank any wine, since you were never able to just have one glass. It always led to two, or sometimes even three, and you would end up passed out on your bed hours before you usually would. But tonight you happily drank, finishing the second glass right as Arthur had two fingers curling inside of you.

As hard as you tried not to let yourself orgasm you could feel it approaching rapidly. Arthur could too, noting how your chest rose and fell and how you were twitching around his fingers. He slowed down momentarily, allowing you to catch your breath, before he was right back at it, quicker than before. He had a hard-on of his own but with his belt and gun holster in the way, no one would have the slightest idea, even if they looked right at his crotch. Lucky him.

“Are we ready for dessert?” Your mother's voice scared you out of your wits and you jumped.

“Yes!” You laughed to draw attention away from the fact that you almost spilled your wine.

She left along with the kitchen maid, directing her to get together new sets of dishes.

His fingers curled quicker as he sipped on his wine, keeping his eyes anywhere but your father or you. Your father kept up the small talk, allowing you to give yourself the time to focus on having a discreet and quiet orgasm.

You slowed your breathing as you felt it coming, gripping Arthur’s arm under the table with your left hand as you curled your other hand into a fist around your dress. He looked down at you for a split second, savoring the sight of you as best as he could before he forced himself to look away as to not look suspicious. He gave you a few more deep pumps before you came. The heat and tingles exploded, rippling from your clit and inside your body to your entire form. You bit your lip and looked down, sinking your nails into the skin of his arm. The waves of pleasure that coursed through your body were enough to make anyone scream but you kept your mouth shut and posture still.

When it finally finished you sat back in your seat, running a hand through your hair as you sighed, wiping the sweat off your forehead when your father wasn't looking. Arthur smirked at you and you threw him the angriest glare you could, but you couldn’t keep it for long. When he chuckled you broke out into a smile and you had to look away so you didn’t laugh.

“Here it is!” Your mother said proudly as she carried the pecan pie into the dining room. “Took me all day!”

Arthur made a show of looking impressed and your father praised your mother's cooking to no end, telling her that she was the best cook in the whole west. She smiled proudly and served everyone's plates. Thank god you had already came and Arthur’s hand was back where it belonged.

“I’m going to make you regret that.” You whispered to Arthur as your mother talked about how hard it was to find enough pecans.

“Lookin’ forward to it.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader smut #arthur morgan imagines #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption smut #red dead redemption x reader smut #red dead redemption 2 imagines #red dead redemption 2 x reader #request #ask #myfanfic #farmersdaughter

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almightanna · 5 years

Text

cisfemale — ever hear people say ANNABEL DE LA ROSA looks a lot like ADRIA ARJONA? I think SHE is about 30, so it doesn’t really work. The AUTHOR / BALLET INSTRUCTOR has lived in Livingstone for SIX MONTHS. They can be DILIGENT, but they can also be CYNICAL. I think ANNA might be A TIER 1 SHEPHERD. ( snot goblin. 20. est. she/they. )

i’m sry this took ... so long to put out ... ive been rly lazy these past few days but !! she is Here and she is Ready. i haven’t played her in a few months and last time she was a junior in high school so !! forgive me. but she’s a very old muse and has gone thru ... several fc changes. anyways !! please give this a LIKE if you’d like for me to slide into ur ims.

TW: POVERTY, DIVORCE SORT OF, CAR ACCIDENT, TRAUMATIC INJURIES, MENTIONS OF DEATH, GRIEF.

a e s t h e t i c s

falling feathers darkened at the tips, leather jackets and pinstripes, red trenchcoats and plaid skirts, worn ballet shoes covered in dust, smudged eyeliner and unruly hair, boxing gloves, ornate canes and pain medication, bandaged hands, classical music floating throughout an empty ballroom, bomber jackets and cropped tees, spilled ink and stained hands, glasses skewed, sneers and jabs, constant fighting, smog in a city, spotlights and encores, piles of books and a long line, backless dresses and sitting alone at a bar, wariness.

general info !!

full name: annabel maritza de la rosa

nickname(s): anna, annie (hates), anna banana (father, exclusively)

b.o.d. - october 31st. scorpio child.

label(s): the catalyst, the charlatan, the crepehanger, the minefield

height: 5′7″

hometown: nyc, ny

sexuality: bisexual

stats

biography !!

born to two high schoolers who never married, mathías de la rosa and leonora nieves. they were head over heels for each other - when mathías graduated he took up two jobs alongside community college to support their family, until leonora graduated and took on the arts.

growing up was tough - living in the city wasn’t cheap, leonora’s art rarely sold and the two often went without eating in order to provide for annabel. as a child she’d often wear hand-me-downs from extended family.

was taught to be a hard worker and it was reflected in her schoolwork - anna excelled in all her classes but especially english. her love for writing grew at a young age, and as a child she saved up enough money to buy herself proper journals.

the only thing that she grew more passionate towards than writing was ballet - she caught the image of girls flying through the air and landing on their toes in the window of a dance studio on a walk home from school one day and that was it - something clicked inside of her.

that same day she would spend hours prancing about their tiny apartment, trying to mimic what she’d seen. it was easy to spot the passion anna had for the dance - and within a few months they had saved up enough money for a month’s worth of lessons.

anna was ecstatic - her slippers were old and found in the back of a thrift store by an odd miracle, but she put her all into the lessons regardless. she was quick to pick up on each move, and by the end of the month it was clear that anna had a natural talent.

leonora picked up a job in order for them to keep affording the lessons, month after month - they weighed down on their pockets, but it kept anna happy.

flash forward a few years - life was good. money was still a struggle but they were tight knit.

or rather, anna thought they were tight knit.

mathías and leonora split up when anna was twelve - an event that rocked the young girl’s world, something that she couldn’t understand. they had kept up a front of love when anna was home from school or ballet - but behind doors, they had been growing apart.

anna viewed their separation as leonora running off with another man - an art collector who had a fascination with leonora’s paintings. she viewed this as the end of the world. she viewed this as the death of love.

when anna was twelve, she swore she would never fall in love - refused to believe in its existence. she couldn’t wrap her mind around the simple separation.

her father got a third job in order to keep up with payments, and anna pushed herself in both ballet and school - not being able to handle an empty apartment. she decided to get a job - to help ease her father, but was too young.

so anna decided to do what any average 12 year old would do. she started scamming people.

she’d sell store-bought lemonade as if it were homemade, stole ceramics from art class and sold them to neighbors. she found an old girl scouts uniform in the back of a goodwill and for the next month, she sold knock-off girl scout cookies from the dollar store - going door to door.

her personality had changed drastically - anna went from a sweet, optimistic girl with warm brown eyes and an infectious laugh to cold, calculated, and downright cruel. she knew what she wanted and how to get it.

she got an invitation to a prestigious private school, full scholarship, before she hit high school - originally wanted to reject it as the thought of being surrounded by new york’s richest teens was appalling, but their ballet program was a one-way ticket into the american ballet theatre. anna ultimately accepted the scholarship.

high school was immediately hell for her - pretentious rich kids who all shared a collective brain cell and her secondhand uniform being a prime target for them.

ballet got extremely competitive - anna was a threat to every dancer in their program, bullying and sabotage became standard - but anna retaliated when possible.

this all, however, suddenly stopped when anna picked up her latest scam: faking psychic. through a small network of ‘bees’ she’d pay to gather information (gossip, rumors, etc. etc.) she was able to accurately ~see~ into students’ past, present, and potentially future affairs. the money was very worth it.

from that point forward, people were intimidated by her.

when anna was 16 she was handpicked to join the american ballet theatre’s studio company, alongside 11 other lucky individuals. her dream from that point forward was to become the youngest principal ballerina for abt - and she was going to start by winning over the role of clara in their production of the nutcracker.

she was 17 when she was chosen, much to the dismay of the other girls. she had momentarily quit her ‘psychic’ business in order to dedicate the entirety of her time towards rehearsals & practice.

the final week before her first performance as clara, anna got into a car accident heading home after another tiresome rehearsal. knocked unconscious, anna woke up three days later with no recollection of the accident - and her leg freshly operated on.

it was a devastating event that should had killed her - maybe she would had been better off if it had - but instead, it had effectively destroyed any chances of her dancing professionally.

it took two months of extensive physical therapy for anna to walk again - now relying heavily on a cane.

with ptsd and depression weighing heavily on her shoulders, anna turned back to writing - mostly as a coping mechanism, but it soon became the fierce passion it once was when she was younger.

for the remainder of her high school life, anna dedicated the majority of her time towards recovery, her writing, and directing her school’s theatre productions. oh - and claiming that almost dying had given her the gift of mediumship. it wasn’t too far off from her psychic claims - her peers believed it well enough to either stay away, or pay her for a small amount of comfort.

went to columbia after graduation on a full scholarship - it’s one of her few sources of pride - where she earned her dual degree in english & investigative journalism ( mostly because she didn’t know what she wanted to do )

wrote and published a book based heavily on her experiences as a scholarship student at a private school - YA fiction, essentially - mostly just to dip her toes in the water and become established as an author. surprisingly - the book was a hit, and has written three more in the form of a small series. she also wrote a small book on what it’s like being a ‘psychic medium’.

annabel only came to livingstone after the apner family had left her a hefty email - pleading with her to connect to their dead son. it was in livingstone that annabel heard of the watershed app - and it was from there that her interest was peaked. she immediately found herself involved as a tier 1 shepherd.

she’s partially there to take notes - to learn as much about the app as she can - and partially to strengthen and build her side-business, though she had thought she was retired. the con, however, is too great to resist. essentially - she wants to become a high enough tier to learn the dirt on everybody, and then use that for her psychic business.

decided to become a dance instructor due to her experience as a ballerina, but because she can’t really ... dance, has assistants that help her.

personality !!

lives in a semi-decent apartment downtown where the elevator would break every other week until she threatened her landlord and it was magically fixed permanently :^)

that being said - she’s not the friendliest person. knows what she wants and how to get it, and will not hesitate to use people or push them out of her way in order to achieve her goals.

her cutthroat nature was the reason for her success in academics and dance - her students are all terrified of her, and rightfully so. she teaches dancers between the ages of 16-24. while incredibly hard on them - she’d rip someone a new one if they tried to hurt any of her students.

horribly stubborn - if she’s got an idea of you already in her mind, then it’s hard to convince her otherwise.

still uses a cane - in fact, she can’t really walk without it - unless she wants to be in pain.

it’s sturdy, ornate, and pretty fucking solid. doubles as a weapon if need be - has definitely ... hit people with it before, though she’s calmed down now that she’s older.

used to be very angry, very defensive as a teenager and young adult - is still the same, just ... less intense. will not hesitate to speak her mind and let her opinions known - especially in the face of injustice.

doesn’t really have the best ... relationship with authority, mainly because of where she was raised and her con-artist businesses. tends to be snarky and sarcastic to anybody in charge - or really, anybody in general.

pretty distrusting, pretty emotionless on the outside, doesn’t like to be seen as weak or somebody to be pitied. keeps herself closely guarded and doesn’t really let others ‘inside’ due to her own comfort levels.

swore off love when she was 12 and during a fluke mid-twenties, wound up engaged. called off the engagement when she found her groom-to-be and her bridesmaid-slash-cousin together. very classic - very re-enforcing of a few of her greatest fears.

she’ll sleep around but dating is out of the question, for the most part - she’s been on a few blind dates, a few casual get-togethers - but she’s always the one to break things off. is more of a careful hook-up kind of gal.

still does her psychic medium business !! sometimes she wonders if she’s a bad person because of it - but ultimately, it’s on her customers for believing in all that nonsense anyway. anna herself is a skeptic - doesn’t believe in anything unless she can see it and feel it.

her apartment is still half-packed, half-unpacked, because she honestly cannot be bothered. got out the essentials and that was it. still has her ballet shoes, still has all of her awards for competitions she’s won - they’re just in a box tucked away somewhere labeled ‘do not open’.

is actually ... a pretty sentimental person, doesn’t take anything she’s got for granted, and is hugely appreciative of her father. sends him money when she can. hasn’t spoken to her mother in years - pretty sure she’s got a step / half-sibling or two but she’s never met them.

a lone wolf and likes it that way, but she isn’t super opposed to friendship - even if she won’t necessarily call anybody a friend. appreciates others who are similar to her - got their head on right, and knows what they want in life.

has a pretty bad fear of driving - will uber if she needs to go anywhere - even then, being in cars makes her pretty anxious. still has ptsd-induced panic attacks, though she’s managed them pretty well.

doesn’t really do drugs! will smoke weed to ease the ache and her nerves, but otherwise she only takes what is prescribed for her. doesn’t drink anything hard, either. big fan of beer and wine. probably gets wine drunk home alone late at night ... like ... two times a week.

goes between being high strung and uncaring - she’s not especially moody ( rather, is just consistently angry for whatever reasons ) but she definitely tries to bottle everything up.

probably keeps pepper spray on her at all times, even though she’s got her cane. has a gun in her apartment, cat ear brass knuckles on her keychain. she’s not paranoid, she just likes being prepared.

kind of wants to write a novel based off of watershed so! she takes a lot of notes - tends to be very observant.

has a soft spot for children, animals, and soft women. kind of person who will put herself in the line of danger in order to protect others - even if she doesn’t necessarily know them too well.

also the kind of person who’ll set something on fire - or do something because you’ve told her not to. incredibly spiteful when wronged. will raise hell if need be.

morally ambiguous tbh.

wanted connections !!

maybe ... a roommate? i imagine her living alone but i also like the idea of having roommate so :^)

she’s sort of new in town so ! acquaintances. people who’ve seen her in town and are curious. people who’ve seen her like ... kick someone’s tire in a small fit of rage or spend 20 minutes trying to coax a cat into coming near her so she could pet it.

fans of her books !!

someone from new york who recognizes her from whatever !! whether it’s from newspaper details of her incident, her legacy at her private school, someone who went to the same college as her, her legacy as a ballerina before her incident, etc. etc.

has taken up boxing recently - so somebody whose helping her at the gym?

someone who tried to like. help her cross the road or something because they saw her with her cane and she yelled at them so now they’re in this weird spot.

students !! if somebody does ballet - she might be teaching them.

alternately, one of her assistants !!

someone she’s soft for for whatever reason :/

hookups !! preferably mid-20s to like. late-30s. she’s not a cougar, i’m sorry :(

somebody who wants her to be a cougar. and she just has to keep rejecting them.

customers who come to her for psychic readings and like. comfort in the form of talking to the dead.

people skeptical of her !! maybe trying to ruin her in some way.

other shepherds. someone higher up that she’s trying to manipulate in some way for her own benefits.

a drunk one night stand that neither wants to talk about.

a pregnancy scare with another, separate one night stand! it turned out to be nothing, but there was some. weirdness. between them afterwards.

a blind date or two dnfjgkmh

someone she ghosted :/

someone she’s like, protected from a creep at a bar or a club ! and now they feel indebted towards her and she’s just like uuuh no. stop.

annoyances !!

like ... maybe a pal or two, or three. mainly just people she gets along with !!

on the other end - something where they just. despise each other for whatever reason. pure hatred.

hatred but make it sexy.

a dealer because even though she can get medical marijuana ... it’s good to have a lil extra on ya :)

people She’s suspicious of for whatever reason - someone she caught doing something. suspicious. untrustworthy.

someone where their mail keeps getting mixed up.

uuh really im down for anything !!

#livingintro #car accident tw #injury tw #death mention tw #grief tw #only implied but

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okitobe · 5 years

Text

Links and Questions. ★~(◡﹏◕✿)

Some helpful writer links to help @the-clockwork-anything get into writblr!

● where do I find models for face claims? Like, do you guys just search characters’ physical traits in google, or is there a better way to do it?!

There are many good tumblrs that allow you to sort through specific traits, looks, and styles. They are sorted by tags or by clicking buttons on the theme, but most are self-explanatory.

Here are some of my favorites: 1 2 3 4

● specifically for camp nano, if I’ve already been writing the story, does that matter, or do I just start off typing on the website in the middle of my story?

Camp Nano is for anything! Unlike normal NaNoWriMo, you can continue a project with any amount of words you want to achieve that month. I usually do see people starting a new WIP, though. Here is it from the official page: 1

● Also, while I’m at it, does anyone want to be in my cabin?!

I would love to be in your cabin! My NaNo account is under “beanaid” or feel free to send me a link! (✿◠‿◠)

● What programs and websites do you recommend for writing, outlining, designing OCs, making aesthetics, etc.?!

I really, really like manuskript personally, although it is a little hard to work. It’s like the popular Scrivner, but free! Google Docs is the safest bet and very intuitive, as it saves your work automatically, has great formatting, and is easily sharable. (n˘v˘•)¬

Here are links to both: GD MS

● Got any tips for how to get through Camp NaNo and meet my goals?

Fight your inner editor! Just keep writing even though it may be the worst thing you’ve laid eyes on. Stay in touch with people that motivate you and remember to find inspiration anywhere, be it from images, music, or words. ヽ(^◇^*)/

Here are some descriptive words and a list of free Ghibli movies: DS GM

I’ve found that listening to my writing is also very helpful!

Here is a link to a text to speech website: 1

● Are there easier ways to do research? Specific websites, different ways to use google, stuff like that? How do I find people who are knowledgeable about the topics I want to research???

I would always suggest perusing places that hold a large fan-base. Want to know about medical things? Find a medical forum, etc. You can always ask questions or call out for help if you can’t find someone with a trait or interest, and I’m sure they’d love to gush! ≧◡≦

Here is one from a pharmacist and writer: 1

Here is one about sleep deprivation: 1

● should I take measures to copyright/protect work I post on the Internet? I mean, I probably should, but how?

This is, unfortunately, a question I cannot answer. You may be able to find a website that is uncopy-paste-able/not able to screenshot, upload your work, and use a link. ●︿●

● Can someone tell me how to use tumblr effectively as a writing medium? How do I make wip pages…. how do I organize my work…….. please help me I have no idea what’s going on here.

You can create writing pages by adding a page to your Tumblr page and then using a pre-made theme. There are so many, look around the blogs of the links below! Organizing your work is a little more challenging, though tags for chapters and WIP’s go a long way. ╰(◡‿◡✿╰)

Here are some of my favorite WIP pages: 1 2 3

Thank you for reading, I wish you luck! If you need any more help, feel free to ask me!

(〃￣ω￣〃ゞ

#writing #writblr #write #writing advice #:D

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news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog · 5 years

Text

13 people who just need to log off for a minute

Sometimes your mind wants to leave but your scroller finger won't let you.

There are a gazillion reasons to close an app, exit out of your browser, or simply kill the power. Perhaps you matched with a jerk on a dating app, maybe the sun has set while you watched one too many YouTube videos of random items being squished by large pistons.

At a point, there's little left to do but vacate the feeds and interact with the physical realm for a bit. I know, I know. Sounds scary.

If you've been clicking around for so long that your eyes are dry and watery at the same time, here are some inspiring reasons to slow your scroll.

1. When the stans get political, it's time to go.

Me: *opens twitter app* Swifties: *fighting about communism and capitalism* Me: *closes app*

— 🦋Basma🇬🇧Never met Tay🌴 (@swift_legendary) April 11, 2019

2. Let's wait until the third date to discuss which House we're in, shall we?

“I’m a Hufflepuff,” he said excitedly. “What are you?” “I’m a grown-up,” she replied, deleting her Tinder app.

— 50 Nerds of Grey (@50NerdsofGrey) March 24, 2019

3. Not to quote American Beauty, but "Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can't take it..."

(Granted, they we're talking about a plastic bag and I'm talking about Twitter)

View this post on Instagram

too many brands too many possibilities too many personalities too many pop-ups too many aesthetic shots too many bikinis too many memes and everything is archived or saved somewhere. images just floating around with no credit like a random oasis discovered on this dimension with too many plains !!! you can do anything you can take all the pictures , you can be the vibe and then some, I’m so excited for everything but also please put me to rest because it moves too fast, give me a focus point and the strength to not stray aaaaaaaaaa the life of a high speed internet cyborg in 2018 painting is MAGRITTE

A post shared by GABI + MEMES (@sighswoon) on Nov 11, 2018 at 6:02pm PST

4. Too much human interaction.

bouta quit music, adopt 8 kids, and raise em on a beach somewhere. shave my head (again) like it’s nobody’s business and then write a couple novels. I’m @ human interaction overload.

— h (@halsey) March 25, 2019

5. Sometimes even a little change of scenery is all you need!

*opens Instagram* yep, everyone’s life is still better than mine *closes Instagram* *opens Twitter* ah yes. My fellow trash brethren

— Swaggy P 🏀 (@SBoy1102) April 7, 2019

6. Ah, yes. The sweet state of delusion.

*closes twitter* *immediately re-opens twitter, as if there might be a different internet*

— zoe kazan (@zoeinthecities) April 7, 2019

7. Maybe just don't Tweet.

View this post on Instagram

Umm thanks for believing in my stupidity but your twitter forecasting seriously sucks...like, I’m pretty sure a tumbleweed just blew by

A post shared by Harry Hill (@veryharryhill) on Nov 10, 2018 at 11:33am PST

8. "It's been 84 years."

me waiting for my doctor to respond to any form of communication pic.twitter.com/AV0AI1lF9Q

— gurren log off (@fivegoldeens) April 5, 2019

9. This opening Tinder line deserves it's own t-shirt. And a restraining order.

okay deleting tinder pic.twitter.com/oTg3I0tsF3

— shannon (@shannontiffny) February 17, 2019

10. Just pretend you're online.

View this post on Instagram

... if u need immediate assistance, please do NOT contact me💘 #financeiscool

A post shared by Haley Sacks (@mrsdowjones) on Dec 26, 2018 at 10:29am PST

11. A doomed cycle.

Stuck in a vicious circle of closing out Twitter and then immediately opening a new tab and typing in Twitter

— Nicole Gallucci (@nicolemichele5) July 27, 2018

12. Aaaaand it's time to get off the 'Tube.

Oh no, I’m binge watching YouTube videos about otters again!

— Willliam T Harris IV (@Literary_Manic) April 12, 2019

13. Even the universe is urging you to leave Twitter for a sec.

sorry guys I need to log off twitter today pic.twitter.com/HeXYPwbib0

— Hannah Church (@hchurch69) April 11, 2019

Now, go! Be free! Enjoy the...sun? Is that what it's called? That big thing that emits light? No, not an iPad, the thing in the sky. Anyway, let's reconvene in 17 seconds when you open this browser again. GO TEAM!

WATCH: Amazon to launch thousands of satellites into orbit to provide global internet access

#_category:yct:001000002 #_uuid:f68b559e-9900-34ba-8a8b-53341ef4aa24 #_lmsid:a0Vd000000DTrEpEAL #_author:Harry Hill #_revsp:news.mashable

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lifepatrol-blog · 6 years

Video

youtube

Watch and subscribe now at --- https://youtu.be/EsVc4zG5iQI

You want to know how to choose the best camera for your graphic design needs… Well you came to the right place. I am going to walk you through the thought process of how to choose the right camera.

►►► Full List of Cameras Below – Don’t Miss It!

► Also don’t miss out on the best Laptops for Graphic Designers

Best Budget Cameras For Graphic Designers

Panasonic G7

Canon SL2

Best Mirrorless Cameras for Graphic Designers

Fujifilmm X-T2

Sony A6500

Best DSLR Cameras for Graphic Designers

Canon 5D Mark IV

Nikon D850

I want to Answer a Few Questions:

What is the best camera for Graphic Designers?

What Camera Should a Graphic Designer Use?

How to Pick the Best Camera for Graphic Designers?

Top 6 Best Cameras for Graphic Designers?

Best Graphic Design Camera.

First let’s talk tactics. As a Graphic Designer I primarily take my own photo sources when I have the opportunity. I belong to Adobe Stock to get photos that I simply cannot obtain (tribal people in Africa). I hope to be able to visit some of these far away exotic places one day, but until then Adobe Stock is my travel guru.

But on the day to day as a graphic designer I photograph my own sources. If you are searching for the best camera for graphic designers than you, much like myself, are interested in creating your own composition via the use of photography. I feel that taking my own photos with my own camera gives me the ability to plan my designs while in the field. It gives me the creative freedom I want as a graphic designer. This is why I shoot my own photos with my own camera as a graphic designer.

Another reason I photograph my own sources is to push myself to grow as a graphic designer. Photography has allowed me to work on becoming a better graphic designer because I have to think about my design layout before I ever touch the computer. I will sketch out ideas and brainstorm the exact layout I want before I even head out on a photo shoot. By using my own camera to take source photos for my graphic design projects I have been able to become more intentional and capture better photos for my designs.

Now that we have talked about a few reasons why I choose to use my own camera as a graphic designer let’s talk about what to look for in a camera for graphic designers.

What is most important when choosing a camera for graphic designers?

Is it mega pixels, sensor size, ISO? Honestly I do not concern myself to much with those industry “buzz words”, so to speak. These aspects are important, but they are not the end all be all to a great camera for graphic designers. However I will note that if you are often shooting in low-light situations I would recommend getting a camera with a good ISO range.

To me the two most important things when selecting a camera are the color tones that the image processor produces and the clarity and sharpness of the image.

Let’s talk color tones:

Fujifilm : Vivid Colors, high dynamic range, and hard edges

Nikon : Blue tones, hard edges and medium dynamic range

Canon : Amazing skin tones, soft edges, and medium to high dynamic range.

Each camera company has their niche color tones and image quality. You have to decide what is best for you.

When I select, or recommend a camera I am looking for those things. Image color quality and sharpness. Just because a Camera has a high mega-pixel count does not mean it is going to have amazing image quality. It is all about the finish product. I have an old Fujifilm X-E1 of 16 Megapixels that can circles around someones 40 mega pixel point and shoot. The sensor and image processor are very important, so don’t be deceived by buzz words.

Best Budget Cameras

Panasonic G7

Fantastic budget camera for graphic designers and graphic design student looking to dive into capturing their own sources. 16 Mega-pixels, great ISO range, strong color tones, and excellent build quality.

Also, if you are looking to crack into the video and digital marketing realm, this camera shoots 4k!

Canon SL2

– My Top Pick for the Budget Range

I have grown up shooting Canon and absolutely cherish the incredible skin tones and soft edges that Canon cameras produce. If you are planning on capturing a lot of sources of people I would highly recommend the Canon SL2. This is a light-weight camera, very user friendly, with great build quality. First time I held this camera I was impressed. In the past the Canon Rebel series always felt CHEAP to me. Not anymore. Canon has stepped up their game. 24 mega-pixel CMOS sensor and DIGIC 7 image processor. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention that this camera totes CaoThis camera is definitely my TOP PICK for the budget range.

Only downside is the lack of 4k. If you need 4k, go for the Panasonic G7.

Best Mirrorless Camera

Fujifilm X-T2

– My Personal Camera

I am a very big fan of Fujifilm Cameras. I was Introduced to Fujifilm by the Campus photographer at the College I attended for my Bachelors and Masters Degree. Ever since that time I have been die-hard Fujifilm. I shot with Canon from 2005-2014, but after switching to Fujifilm I truly do not miss my Canons.

This Camera is loaded. 24 Mega-pxels, CMOS II sensor, weather sealed down to 14 degrees Fahrenheit, shoots full 4k video (which is absolutely vivid), and don’t forget the incredible quality lenses by Fujifilm. I will do a full review on this camera soon, but for now, you get the point. It is incredible. Check it out on Amazon for all the details. Fujifilm X-T2

Sony A6500

The A6500 is a fantastic camera, especially if you are interested in shooting video as well for graphic design. Sony is rated with having one of the top 3 best Autofocus systems on the market. Which is great for both Photography and Videography. As mentioned in the video above I have a mid level of experience with the Sony A6500, but a friend of mine, professional photographer and videographer, completely raves about this camera. So, if this is the camera you decide to buy, you are in good hands.

The Sony A6500 is well spec’d with a 24 Megapixel Exmor CMOS sensor, 4k video as well as Full HD at 120fps, which is fantastic! Sony is continue to develop fantastic technology for the industry, making this camera a great buy now and in the future.

Full Frame DSLR Cameras

Canon 5D Mark IV

Where do I even begin to praise this incredible piece of technology. As I said earlier, before I was a Fujifilm guy I had the Canon 5D Mark II. It was an incredible camera to behold, and Since getting my hands on the 5D Mark IV this model has only become better! The Mark II was 22 Mega-pixels, the Mark IV is now 30 Mega-pixels, which means you can blow up those large prints with even more confidence. Now shooting 4k and 30fps and HD at 120fps, with the added feature of 8.8 Mega pixel “frame grab” from 4k files, which is a very useful feature.

This camera also totes the Daul Pixel Autofocus which is fighting for the best Autofocus system on the market. Basically I am amazed by this camera. They have taken my original 5D Mark II and mashed fantastic features on top of the leading technology developments in the photography industry. Get more info on Amazon : Canon 5D Mark IV

Nikon D850

Another incredible camera that seems to only get better with age. Based off of the original and legendary Nikon D800 the D850 is an upgraded monster to the O.G. D850. Coming at us with a mind blowing 45 Mega pixel sensor. Now, I normally would not be taken back by mega pixels, all that mega pixel talk can often only result in ADVERTISING PLOYS! But in conjunction with the full frame sensor, I mean, WOW! It is a beast of a setup. This Camera also shows off with 4k Ultra HD as well as HD 1080p at 120fps.

The Canon 5DMark IV and the Nikon D850 are both incredible cameras. The question is what is your preference.

I will give one note of high consideration for the Nikon is the ergonomics of the Camera. The build and arrangement of the buttons are extremely intuitive. This is one of the main reasons people choose Nikon over Canon. It is a far more intelligent design.

If you have any further questions please reach out to me in the comments section on YouTube or send me a twitter message through the links below.

Ask me on YouTube

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DISCLAIMER: This video and description contains affiliate links, which means that if you click on one of the product links, I’ll receive a small commission. This help support the channel and allows us to continue to make videos like this. Thank you for the support!

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djsamaha-blog · 7 years

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How To Stop Being A Pushover: 5 Secrets From Research

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Before we commence with the festivities, I just wanted to let you know my first book is now a Wall Street Journal bestseller! To check it out, click here.

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Is someone consistently taking advantage of you? Your romantic partner or your boss?

Do you rush around trying to do things for them but they never seem to have your back? Or is keeping up with their mood swings and meltdowns a 24/7 job? Do you find yourself doing more and more but getting less and less?

And when you try to talk to them about it in a reasonable way, do they fly off the handle or burst into tears — and nothing ever changes?

You might be a “caretaker” to someone with narcissistic or borderline traits. And that’s a really bad place to be. But there are things you can do to improve the situation.

Psychotherapist Margalis Fjelstad brings some solid answers in her book:

Narcissistic Personality Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder are serious mental health issues — not stuff you want to casually diagnose without a P and H and D after your name. But people who exhibit enough of the characteristics of those problems can mess up your life, even at subclinical levels.

So let’s learn the basics about these difficult folks and then find out how to stop being a pushover when you deal with them…

What’s A Narcissist? What’s a Borderline?

You probably know a bit about narcissism. And, frankly, you probably know a few narcissists. Here’s what they have in common.

From Stop Caretaking the Borderline or Narcissist:

An increased sense of importance

Preoccupations with fantasies of success, wealth, beauty, and talent

A strong sense of being unique and special

A sense of entitlement to being treated better than others

Exploitation of others

Unwilling or unable to notice or understand other’s feelings

Envy and arrogance

You get it. They think they’re better than everyone else. Including you.

Borderline is a bit more complex but you’ve probably encountered the type.

From Stop Caretaking the Borderline or Narcissist:

BPD is described by the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (4th ed.) (DSM-IV) as a “pervasive pattern of instability of interpersonal relationships, self-image and affects or moods, and marked impulsivity, beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts.”

Borderlines are ruled by their emotions. Logic has no effect and anything that conflicts with their feelings is false. They’re impulsive and their moods are as unpredictable as Lady Gaga’s outfits.

Borderlines don’t have a clear sense of self. They often change who they are based on context and wear a “mask.” They’re terrified of their real self being seen, assuming they’ll be rejected.

Borderlines crave reassurance — while relentlessly picking fights and causing drama. (They’ll text you 34 times to tell you they’re giving you the silent treatment.) Unsurprisingly, they have a history of unstable relationships.

You might be thinking these two personality types seem very different. They are, but there are some deep underlying similarities…

Narcissists need someone to support their unrealistic vision of themselves (and to do all the petty stuff they’re too good for). Borderlines are a black hole of insecurity, requiring someone to give them constant reassurance (but it’s never enough.)

So both need closeness — but both are terrified of closeness. The narcissist doesn’t want to give up their “specialness” and the borderline is afraid of totally losing themselves by connecting with another person.

So there’s a constant push-pull in their relationships, whether it’s in love or at work. Often they’ll idealize you until you join them, but once you do they’ll devalue you to make sure you don’t get too close. If you leave, they’ll chase you. If you stick around, they’ll keep abusing you. They often end up with partners or employees who they can be certain will never leave them — and then they treat those people horribly.

Both frequently engage in “projection” — accusing you of doing what they’re guilty of. Say no to a narcissist and they’ll call you selfish. Borderlines will have a meltdown, attempt to make you jealous, or passive-aggressively test your loyalty — and then accuse you of causing drama.

Sound like someone in your life?

(To learn more about the science of a successful life, check out my new book here.)

So this leads to the $10,000 question: how did a nice person like you end up in a lousy situation like this?

You’re Probably A “Caretaker”

In general, that’s a good thing. Caretakers have lovely traits and they keep workplaces and families functioning despite dysfunctional members. They’re the rock that groups are built upon. However…

With someone who has narcissistic or borderline traits, well, it can be like rock meeting paper in “rock paper scissors” — they get engulfed. Taking care of the narcissist or borderline becomes a thankless, toxic full-time job.

From Stop Caretaking the Borderline or Narcissist:

(Caretaker traits) include a desire to do a good job, enjoyment in pleasing others, a desire to care for others, peacemaking, a gentle and mild temperament, and calm and reasonable behaviors. These traits can be the hallmark of someone who is easy to get along with, caring of others, and a good worker, spouse, and parent. But when you use these behaviors as a means of counteracting the extreme behaviors of the BP/NP, they can morph into more toxic forms and become perfectionism, a need to please, overcompliance, extreme guilt, anxiety, overconcern, avoidance of conflict, fear of anger, low self-esteem, and passivity. At that point, these traits become detrimental to the mental, emotional, and physical health of the person and become Caretaker behaviors.

Why in the world would you choose to be a caretaker to, well, a “taker”? First, you’re trying to be nice. Maybe too nice.

And you feel needed. (And you will constantly feel needed because narcissists always need a cheerleader and borderlines are experts at creating new sources of stress for themselves.)

And you may have some self-esteem issues. Because when very emotionally healthy people find themselves working for or romantically involved with a narcissist or borderline they usually say, “I’m outta here.”

(To learn how to deal with a psychopath, click here.)

So what should you do if you find yourself being taken advantage of by a narcissist or borderline?

1) Leave. Now.

They’re probably not going to change. And people with real NPD or BPD basically have the emotional development of a two-year-old. You’re not going to fix them.

From Stop Caretaking the Borderline or Narcissist:

In terms of emotional development, BP/NPs are more similar to two-year-olds than to adults. They typically do not believe that anything or anyone in their world is permanent. Only the specific emotions that BP/NPs are having in the present moment are real. They often do not remember past emotions, thoughts, or behaviors, and they feel convinced that their present emotion will last forever. So ask yourself, “Would I expect a two-year-old to keep promises or remember to do chores, or be alone for more than a few minutes, or understand how to act at a formal gathering, or wait for anything, or do something that he or she didn’t want to do, or be at ease in new situations, or to go along with a change of plans?” Of course you wouldn’t.

I know, I know — if you could easily leave, you probably wouldn’t be reading this. I get it, but it’s pretty much required that I say “run.”

You want to have as little contact as possible with people who have these issues. And getting away from them is often not easy. They’ll repeatedly try and seduce you back (figuratively or literally).

And when you think they’re out of your life they’ll pop up again — utterly forgetting their poor behavior in the past. Don’t be flattered.

They probably resurfaced because the last pushover they dealt with finally wised up and ran, or they’re looking to upgrade. You’re not special. And they’ll probably keep the hunt going (actively or passively) while trying to lure you back.

(To learn how to overcome bullies at work, click here.)

Alright, you can’t run. Maybe you can’t leave this job or you don’t want to get a divorce or it’s otherwise too difficult to extract yourself from the situation. What attitude do you need to have to deal with them?

2) Quit Trying To Change Them And Start Changing Yourself

Talk to them all you want, they are probably never going to say, “Oh, I get it now. You’re right.” And if they do, don’t expect lasting improvements. Again, if this was a realistic possibility, you probably wouldn’t be reading this.

You can’t make people change. You can only control your own behavior.

And whether it’s at work or your personal life, if you want this relationship to be functional, you have to accept it’s on you.

From Stop Caretaking the Borderline or Narcissist:

It is only after you give up denial, anger, and bargaining; give up any hope of the BP/NP’s being different; give up expecting the BP/NP to do what you want; and accept the real facts of the situation that you can finally start generating ideas that could make your life better. It is only after you quit focusing on what “should” or “shouldn’t” be happening that you can really get down to what “is” or “isn’t” happening. Basing your life on what you hope will happen rather than what is happening has been part of the reason for how you ended up being so frustrated, angry, and hurt.

That doesn’t mean you can’t get help. Ask people for thoughts and advice, get others on your side, and find role models who handle these situations well… Just don’t expect the narcissist or borderline to see these examples and shape up. You have to do the leg work.

(To learn more about how to deal with a narcissist, click here.)

Okay, it’s on you. You’re done focusing on what they “should” do. So what’s the right approach to take when trying to get this person to treat you better?

3) Stop Talking, Start Doing

Talking to a narcissist or borderline is all but pointless. Don’t think that a nice chat is going to make a difference in the long run.

Even if you think you have an ironclad case, they’ll come back at you with a word salad that makes no sense and only serves to make you crazy.

From Stop Caretaking the Borderline or Narcissist:

Very little gets changed with a BP/NP by talking. BP/NPs are masters of denial and delusion. They jump instantaneously from topic to topic, they are emotional rather than logical, and they usually forget any discussion that has been emotionally intense. Making changes in the relationship with a BP/NP requires taking new actions, not making agreements or coming to an understanding.

You need to back up your words with action. It’s the only thing they’ll understand.

From Stop Caretaking the Borderline or Narcissist:

Giving up rescuing the BP/NP is an action, not a discussion. It isn’t something to announce to the BP/NP. It isn’t something to negotiate with the BP/NP. It isn’t something to threaten the BP/NP with. It is all action. You stop participating in the merry-go-round interactions, you stop arguing, you stop worrying what the BP/NP will do next, and you stop expecting the BP/NP to fulfill your needs.

Are they saying cruel things to you? Tell them you’re leaving the conversation and you’ll resume it when they’re feeling better. Walking away will register on their radar.

(To learn how to survive in a toxic workplace, click here.)

So you need to act, not talk. But what will make this relationship more sustainable?

4) Establish Boundaries

You’re being a pushover. You need limits. And you need the narcissist or borderline to respect those limits. That means being firm and consistent, but not mean. And you need to know ahead of time what you will do when the boundary is violated.

From Stop Caretaking the Borderline or Narcissist:

Keep in mind that you cannot enforce a boundary or limit that you have no power over. You hold power primarily over what you will do if the boundary is breached. It is also helpful to set limits only about the things that are really important enough to warrant the amount of energy and emotional strength that it will require you to follow through. You don’t need to tell the BP/NP why you have made the boundary—just keep stating the boundary over and over and be sure to act on it consistently.

Now narcissists and borderlines are very emotional people. And they can also be very manipulative. And you might not be great at being direct and assertive. How do you word your boundaries to make it clear but minimize conflict?

The Yale Communication Model happens to be designed for dealing with highly sensitive or manipulative people. So frame your statement to them using this formula.

From Stop Caretaking the Borderline or Narcissist:

1. When ____________ happens

2. I feel ____________

3. I would like ____________

4. Or I will need to ____________

Remember: the most important part here is #4. If there’s no penalty and it’s just words, nothing is going to change.

(To learn 6 rituals from ancient wisdom that will make you happy, click here.)

Okay, so you know how to establish boundaries. But how do you toughen yourself so you don’t stay a pushover?

5) Rebuild Your Life

The needs of the narcissist or borderline may have become the center of your universe. That needs to stop. In fact, you can learn a lesson from them, advice you don’t hear very often: be a little more selfish.

Take better care of yourself. See friends. Get rest. Exercise. Get alone time. Focus on your own goals. Anything that got sacrificed because you were caretaking. Create more of a life for yourself that doesn’t involve that toxic person.

This doesn’t mean totally ignore others. And if the narcissist or borderline is still a part of your life, you can still care for them. But do like the emergency instructions on airplanes: first put the oxygen mask on yourself, then put it on the two-year-old. Make sure you’re taking care of you. Because clearly they won’t.

And then there’s that self-esteem issue that likely got you here in the first place. Start addressing it with compassionate self-talk.

From Stop Caretaking the Borderline or Narcissist:

How do you talk to yourself in the privacy of your own mind? Do you talk to yourself like you would to a friend, a loved one, or the most valued person in your life? If you are not being positive toward yourself, why not? If you find yourself criticizing yourself, calling yourself names, deriding yourself, and even emotionally punishing yourself, why are you doing this? What is your goal? These internal negative self-attacks may seem automatic, but you can learn to control and redirect them toward positive self-support with practice and vigilance.

You’re not merely an extension of them any longer. So take the time to enjoy being you.

From Stop Caretaking the Borderline or Narcissist:

When was the last time that you enjoyed just being who you are? Feeling your feelings, thinking your thoughts, and making your own choices are the elements of really enjoying being you.

(To see the schedule that very successful people follow every day, click here.)

Okay, we’ve learned a lot. Let’s round it up — and learn how to make new friends without gaining another borderline or narcissist in the process…

Sum Up

Here’s how to stop being a pushover:

Leave. Now: Narcissists and borderlines are unlikely to change. So it’s not a bad idea to change how often you see them to “never.”

Quit trying to change them and start changing yourself: It’s on you if you want this to get better.

Stop talking, start doing: Talk is very cheap. Always know what you will do if they don’t comply.

Establish boundaries: I’m not explaining this one. I’m at my limit. You’re not the boss of me.

Rebuild your life: I’m not explaining this one either. I’m going to the gym.

So when you’re on the hunt for a new relationship or a new job (with a new boss), what should you keep in mind so you don’t recreate the same problems?

From Stop Caretaking the Borderline or Narcissist:

Picking people with the qualities you value

Identifying the good qualities and the shortcomings of the person

Being aware of how much you each talk and share about yourselves

Observing how the two of you decide what to do and where to go

Observing whether this person has good boundaries without being too distant

And if you’re a total caretaker, stretch your muscles by trying a few things that normal people occasionally do which you probably avoid like the plague. They’ll help you be less of a pushover.

From Stop Caretaking the Borderline or Narcissist:

Ask the other person to do something that is inconvenient

Reschedule a get together

Identify something that you find uncomfortable about this new friend and let him or her know

Give these ideas a shot and stop being a pushover… Oops, did I just tell you what to do? Well, definitely don’t do it because I said so.

I’m not a borderline. Now some people have accused me of being narcissistic — but I know they’re wrong because I am sooooooo much smarter than they are.

Join over 305,000 readers. Get a free weekly update via email here.

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viralhottopics · 7 years

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YA author Mindy McGinnis returns to the book world with new epic fantasy novel ‘Given to the Sea’

Image: Penguin Young Readers

Sometimes the best way to follow a hit novel is to switch things up and try something completely different.

Or at least that’s the case with YA author Mindy McGinnis and her latest book, epic fantasy novel Given to the Sea.

SEE ALSO: ‘All Our Wrong Todays’ is your next fast-reading, mind-expanding, science fiction romance

The novel follows four intertwined characters Khosa, Vincent, Donil and Witt as each struggles to confront fate and loyalty in the warring kingdom of Stille. At the center of the story is Khosa, a girl destined to sacrifice herself to the sea to save her village. After surviving an attack on her village, Khosa is taken to safety at the royal palace in Stille where she finds herself enmeshed in a love triangle or probably more apt, love square that could alter not only her own fate but the fate of her kingdom.

“I had this idea that writing fantasy would be easy because I get to make up all the rules, no research required. Not true,” explains McGinnis. “In fantasy, nothing is a given, nothing is assumed. I have to do a lot of explaining… and keep that interesting. I’ve written post-apocalyptic, historical, contemporary, and now fantasy. Fantasy is by far the hardest.”

The book comes fresh off the heels of McGinnis’ 2016 contemporary YA novel Female of the Species. The novel followed Alex, a teenage girl who seeks vigilante justice on the sexual abusers in her town. Female of the Species was much acclaimed at the time of its release for its exploration of feminism, sexual violence and justice. (The MashReads Podcast actually recommended it. Twice.)

It’s this juxtaposition contemporary YA to fantasy that may shock McGinnis’ fans picking up her latest book. Yet McGinnis teases that Given to the Sea contains something for all types of readers.

“There’s something for everyone here – romance, gruesome deaths, magic, sword fights, scary animals, and inevitable death.”

Given to the Sea doesn’t come out until April 11. In the meantime, check out a sneak peek of the book’s first two chapters below.

Image: Penguin Young Readers

Chapter 1Khosa

It is in my blood.

It is in my bone.

It is in my brain.

One day my body will betray me, dancing into the sea, my mind a passenger only. The water will close over my head and I will drown, my death bringing a reprieve for those who are not me. This is what Ive been born and bred for. The food passing into my mouth, the clothes covering my body, every breath I drawthese are smaller offerings, each a promise that I will endure, bear my own cursed daughter, and then succumb.

How that will happen I do not know. My mother suffered the touch of another at least once, long enough to fulfill her duties and bring me about. I know it was badly done. I see it in the faces of my Keepers, these people who care for me without caring. I hear the small things in their voices. They worry I will not be pleasing to the sea, that my mother and her chosen mate created something less than perfect. I understand their concern, but cannot share it. Why should I care if the tides rise again, if I am only a corpse riding the waves?

To live aware of your own doom is no easy thing. I spend my days at lessons, my body fulfilling the expected duties, though my mind is elsewhere. The Keepers are worried that I have not prepared well, have not set my face in the appropriate response to their commands. Happy, for instance, is an emotion I cannot be expected to parade, but they tell me it is necessary. Melancholy I excel at.

My mother and grandmother had other lessons, ones to please at table and dancing. Proper chewing, proper speaking, proper walkingonly expected, of course, when we are in control of our limbs. My lessons have taken a different course, my other instructors quietly dismissed once I learned all that was expected.

All except how to contort my stone face appropriately.

The Keepers have tried, their emotions chasing through their faces so quickly I cant keep up, my own trying to mirror what I see. They say to me, Pleased, but look nothing like it themselves, and I am easily confused on this point. So I often retreat, my mind escaping the room where I learn to mimic emotion, returning itself to some well-ordered facts absorbed from a musty book, its scent still lingering on my fingers, a source of comfort.

Their pages follow me through the day, their words imprinted on my mind. I know the history of my land better than the Scribes, better than the royals who rule it. I can recite the names of my predecessors, from the woman who gave birth to me all the way to Medalli, one of the Three Sisters whom the sea gave back after the wave that took nearly all. Seaweed was pulled from their hair, their locks drying as they worked alongside other survivors to rebuild what had washed away, not knowing they would be taken again, the first of the Given.

The sea waited until the sisters had married and had children of their own before it called for them, the price of its leniency the blood of their line. For the children went too, and their children after them, the first twitches of their childhood pulling them toward the water, the final coordinated movements driving them deep into the waves, the dance of death one their kingdom deemed the will of the sea. And so it continues. Their footprints in the sand not returning, my feet now itching to follow. Medallis linemineremains strong, the other two Sisters falling short, the last names in their column females who did not produce heirs, the ink that wrote them now faded with time.

I rub my fingers together, drawing the scent of the book pages from them as my male Keeper says, Sad. Sad I can perform, closing my eyes and picturing my name, Khosa, the ink slightly darker than my mothers name before me, Sona.

Dont close your eyes, he says.

I open them again to see my Keepers, their faces so easily read.

Disappointment.

Chapter 2Vincent

Im sorry you have to wait, my lord.

Not a concern, I answer the guard, but my eyes are on my hands, the clean nails freshly clipped, the smoothness of my palms interrupted by the lines that Madda insists hold my future.

In any kingdom other than Stille, the future of a prince wouldnt need to be read in his hands. It would be clear in his actions, the preparations taken to ensure he sits the throne well, does his duty, leads his country. Somewhere else I would be wed already, the announcement of my own child eagerly anticipated, the girl I keep on the side politely excused, with her pockets lined for her trouble. Instead I sit outside the throne room at the age of seventeen, awaiting my turn to speak to King Gammalmy grandfatherhealthy, hearty, capable. At his side, my father Prince Varrick, already gray and lined, but still sitting in the lower throne.

I shift on the wooden bench, and the trapman next to me slides farther away, the smell of sea salt rising from his clothes. Im sorry, my lord. Do you need more room?

More than enough room, I insist, patting the space between us.

Hes quiet for a moment, and the lady on the bench next to ours fills the hall with the clicking of her wooden knitting needles. One foot rests casually on the ball of coarse wool beneath her feet to keep it from rolling away as she works. Shes assured, content. As a citizen of Stille, she is entitled to speak to the king, and her turn will come. Eventually.

I look back at my empty hands and the lines that Madda the Seer wrinkles her brow at. Her answers to my questions are always vague and muttered.

Am I right to say my lord? the trapman asks. Is that what youre called?

The words it doesnt matter are half formed in my throat, but I choke them back.

The womans needles continue to click. Her hands are gnarled and work-worn, but her color is good, and the hat she is knitting small. For a grandchild. Or great-grandchild. They are lucky to have her. I tell myself these things every day: Stille is fortunate. Stille is healthy. Stille is strong. Years of peace and prosperity mean that the old linger and the middle-aged flourish, while the young inherit only boredom and aimlessness.

Just Vincent, I say, finally answering the trapmans question. No title necessary.

Youre of royal blood, the woman says, not glancing up from her work. It should not be taken lightly.

No… My voice fades away. I have no words to explain succinctly, only memories from my childhood when I was called the baby prince, and then the young prince, and now theres a hesitation, a slight pause before acknowledging my rank. There is no name for the third in line, one whose hands will wither with age long before they hold the scepter.

Ive come to hate the blank space before my given name, the deferential glance of the servants as they search for a title that represents nothing. So I make it easier for them, and for myself.

Just Vincent, I reassert. The old woman makes a disapproving noise in her throat and keeps knitting. The trapman smiles at me, his teeth even, strong, and white in a face lined with wrinkles.

Im Agga. He holds out a bent hand, gnarled from years of pulling in the crab traps, the lengthy ropes rubbing it raw. Even the trapmen dont go into the water, letting the tides carry out the traps. His skin feels of age and the scars of work, years of absorbed salt water pressing back against the softness of my own hands.

How is the sea, Agga? I ask.

He shakes his head. Eating the beach with hunger. Well be needing her thats given to the sea, and soon.

I will pass that along, I say. I dont add that my voice doesnt carry in the great hall, only echoes back into my ears.

Here to do it myself, Agga says, and I wonder if he followed my thought.

I saw when the last one was given, the woman says. She danced beautifully.

They all have, Agga says.

But their faces, they do… twist, the woman adds, her own mimicking the memory, a brief mask of horror that slides off easily as she counts her stitches.

Do they want to go? I ask.

Agga shrugs. Its their own feet taking them. No one in Stille makes them go. Were not the Pietra, feeding sea monsters with the flesh of their aged.

No. The woman shudders, dropping the first stitch since Ive sat here. Were not the Pietra.

Theres laughter in the throne room. It reverberates under the closed doors, my grandfathers hearty one underscored by my fathers, which has never ceased to produce goose bumps on my skin, even in a lifetime of hearing it.

Im sorry you have to wait, my lord, the guard says again.

Not a concern, I repeat, looking back at my hands, where lifelines extend forever, marching right off the palm.

Waiting is what Im good at.

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