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jaegersdevil · 1 month

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die for you [dazai x fem!reader]

summary: you and dazai sort out your little dispute. w/c: 1.4k warnings: mention of suicide, swearing, arguing, angst a/n: posting from the deep dark depths of hell (aka class). i literally have no idea what possessed me to write this - i was given orders in the dead of night.....

Sighing loudly, you glance at Dazai from your desk, your head resting on your folded arms.

“If you want something, you gotta use your words,” he says without looking up from his paperwork. You scowl at him, suspicious of why he’s so focused on something he despises.

Turning your head toward Atsushi’s desk, where the teenager is deep in concentration, his forehead creased and eyes squinting at his laptop screen, you call his name.

“‘Sushi,” you whisper, summoning him over.

Desperate for a distraction, Atsushi responds immediately, rolling his chair over to your desk. His knees bump into yours, and you roll back a little.

“What’s up?” he asks, toying with his tie. The suddenness of lasers on the back of your head makes you snicker.

Closing your eyes, you sigh again. “I’m so tired.”

Atsushi’s eyes widen, concern glazing over his expression. “Oh! Why? Did you not get enough sleep last night?”

“Something like that,” you mumble.

“Huh,” Atsushi contemplates, looking around the office. “I can see if Kunikida still has his blankets in the storeroom. Do you wanna nap?”

“No," Shaking your head, the corners of your lips turn upwards. "All I want is for someone to apologise."

The volume of your voice pushes Atsushi into speechlessness, his eyes darting behind you momentarily. "This sounds domestic..."

You wave your hand in dismissal, scoffing.

"Have you eaten?" you ask, peering at the clock. "Wanna get lunch?"

Atsushi shakes his head but awkwardly throws his thumb over his shoulder. "I should finish this. Kunikida will kill me if I don't."

You nod solemnly, watching your colleague roll back behind his desk. Rubbing your eye, you reluctantly turn your attention back to the man at the table 6 paces away.

He's ignoring you, even though it's his fault. You contemplate asking Dazai to get food with you, but you're mad. So, you roll your eyes and stand, reaching down the grab your bag strap.

"Okay, bye."

The office is silent as you leave, Kenji the only one returning your bid farewell.

Stomping down the stairs because the elevator doesn't allow you to express your frustration, you imitate Dazai's voice as you descend. "Oh, how was I meant to know? Blah, blah, blah-"

But your frown deepens as you exit the stairs on the level of the cafe. "Chuuya."

The redhead straightens at the sound of his name and spins around. "What do you want?" His eyes narrow at the sight of you.

You tilt your head, eyes lifting to the ceiling. "You're in my building. Shouldn't I be the one asking you?"

Rolling his eyes so far back you swear he can see his brain, Chuuya huffs and crosses his arms. "Boss put me in charge of watching the Agency for the day," he sighs, looking you up and down. "So far, it's boring and agitating."

"Yeah, well," you shrug, stepping up to the cafe counter. "That's what happens when you're unbelievably paranoid."

You can feel the heat radiating off Chuuya when you turn back to him after ordering. "Got a problem?"

"Where is he?"

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips. "Dazai is none of your business, and he's none of mine either."

Chuuya physically jerks, his eyes popping out of his head. "What?"

Again, you shrug one shoulder and make your way towards a booth, sliding into it. To your dismay, Chuuya slips into the opposite side.

"Yes?"

He shakes his head. "You and Dazai-"

"Are in an argument right now," You rest your chin on your palm. "So what he does is none of my concern."

"Please," Chuuya scoffs. "That guy is weirdly obsessed with you, and you know it, has been since I met the bastard."

You don't reply, thanking the waitress when she sets your cup and saucer on the table.

Meeting his eye, your shoulders drop. "What are you? A couples counsellor?"

Chuuya taps his foot relentlessly on the floor, and the sound drives you to kick his shin. "Fuck off!"

"Why are you talking to me?" You ask, sipping your drink, eyeing him suspiciously. "If you want me to fix your hat again, sorry, I'm out of business."

Chuuya's lips press into a white slash, and you stop yourself from laughing.

"Chuuya!"

The familiar voice has you frozen. Chuuya's scowl deepens, and he stands, attention entirely off you.

"Dazai."

You don't dare look at the man standing at the end of the table, whose eyes are concentrated on you. "Whatcha doing here, slug?"

Chuuya replies, but you don't hear him. Dazai's gaze remains on you, blocking out his ex-partner's babble.

"That's so great," He exclaims to Chuuya. "Come with me," Dazai says, reaching his hand out to you. You inhale sharply and take his palm.

Chuuya shakes his head in perplexity, glowering. "You two are weird, you know that?"

Stepping out into the street, you squint your eyes against the glare of the sun. Dropping his hand, you stalk down the street.

Dazai makes no complaint and follows you, taking a few steps too many and bumping into you. Turning to face him, you glare.

Dazai sighs, his hair tickling your forehead as he looks down at you.

You lean back dramatically. "Why're you so close?"

Dazai's expression remains the same, his frown causing the crease between his brows to deepen. "This is a normal distance for us, bella."

Huffing, you reach to smooth out the groove, rubbing your thumb over his forehead. "You'll get wrinkles."

"We need to talk."

Dropping your arm, you feel your throat close and shake your head. You train your eyes on the fraying bandages on his neck, biting your lip in concentration as you try to remember if you picked up any at the grocery store yesterday. "You need to replace your bandages."

Dazai says your name sternly, running his hand over his face.

You glare up at him. "Well, talk then!"

Screwing his eyes shut, Dazai looks at the ground. "I can't!"

"Argh!" You take a step back, frustrated.

"My problem," you start. "Is that I can't do anything without you interfering."

Dazai's jaw is clenched when he looks at you.

"I'm a part of this agency for a reason, Dazai. If I can't go on missions, then what am I good for?"

"I don't want to see you hurt!" He yells, his voice echoing down the street. Your frown lessens but remains.

"Okay!" You counter. "And what of me then? Do I not get any say in what happens to you?"

"I deserve whatever comes for me, you know that."

You push your fingers into your closed eyes, hoping the tears will stay away. "4 years..."

Dazai says nothing, allowing you to continue.

"4 years since we left, 4 years since Odasaku died, and you still feel like you don't deserve anything good."

At his shaky inhale, you peer up at him. Dazai swallows thickly.

"God, Dazai," you cry. "When will you accept that I won't leave you because of who you are? What you did in the past doesn't matter to me! Hell, look what I did when we were tied to the mafia."

He sighs. "You're an angel-"

Laughing bitterly, you pin your stare on him. "You wanna say that to the girl who tortured thousands of people? Who gets a little trigger-happy and has to be knocked out to stop because she can't, for the life of her, allow anything bad to happen to you?"

Tears spill down your cheeks as you rant, hiccups cutting off your words. "I would die for you, Osamu."

With red eyes, Dazai looks down at you. He chews his bottom lip until it bleeds, and you wipe away the red trickle with your thumb.

Dazai brings his hand to your cheek. "I would die for you, too."

"I know you would. I don't doubt your love for me. All I'm asking," you whisper. "Is that you let me do things for the Agency, no matter the risk."

Dazai sighs softly, his breath fanning your mouth. "I can try, but there's no promise that I won't be right next to you every time."

"Dazai-"

"You can't stop me from tagging along," He smirks. "We're partners, remember?"

You roll your eyes. "Kunikida is your partner."

Dazai grabs your wrist to check the time on your watch. "As of an hour ago, he's Atsushi's partner."

Your jaw drops, and your hand freezes at his waist. "Really? You're my partner?"

"I can't let you die all on your own, can I?" Dazai chuckles deeply, wrapping his arms around you and pressing you against him, shoving his face into your neck. "It's my dream to carry out double suicide, remember?"

You shake your head, giggling, and pull him closer. "You're a menace."

"Anything to keep you safe," He whispers.

You pull your face back to look at him. "Now, you're gonna have me at your side telling you not to do stupid shit."

Dazai smiles. "And I will for the rest of my life."

"In life and death, my love."

#thinking about this #i rewrote this 3 times #and i like this one #so this is the one youre getting #osamu dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #bsd dazai #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs imagine #bungo stray dogs fanfic #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bsd #osamu x reader #osamu dazai x you #osamu dazai bsd #— ann writes!

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bijouxcarys · 4 months

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Little Wayward Girl **TEASER**

Let me know your initial thoughts! I'm hoping to get this out soon, but thought I'd give you a little taste :)

Ally was having the absolute time of her life backstage; two roadies had already offered her a drink, which she obviously accepted, and she'd already gelled with multiple people.

I, however, felt uneasy about this whole bet.

How desperate to prove my friend wrong was I to insist that Robert fucking Plant would remember a night with a random girl from four whole years ago?! I spent a majority of the first half of the night mentally slapping myself and trying to figure out a way to get myself out of this situation.

But it proved to be too late as those four well-known rockstars entered the room to an abundance of cheers and applause for yet another electrifying performance.

First came Bonzo. I always remembered him as this big teddy bear, and he maintained that disposition. His hand was quickly occupied by a bottle of San Miguel. Some things never change.

Then came Jonesy. He was nothing but gentle from what I remembered of my brief time with the band. If I understood correctly, it seemed that he steered away somewhat from the sordid escapades derived from post-show adrenaline.

Jimmy had grown his hair out a little more, something I immediately noticed throughout the night. His eyes were laser-focused on the two girls waiting by the door for him, one of which were instantly taken under his wing. She was clearly his for the night. Probably the other one, too, now that I think about it...

I swallowed hard and glanced over at Ally, who was both in awe and anticipation. I can imagine she tackled with two mentalities. The first one being that she was seeing her favourite band up close, and the second itching to be right regarding Robert and I.

Larger than life, he strode in last, blouse open, yet tied across the bare expanse of his stomach. The jeans... God, those jeans. From where I had cowered in the corner, I had a prime view of the full picture. The pure perfection of one Robert Plant.

Heart hammering against my chest, I wished for the moment to pass quickly, knowing that come sundown the next day, my dear brother would be in bed with Ally.

I made no attempt to make myself seen. If he saw me, congratulations to him, but I wasn't going to intentionally put myself in the crossfires of embarrassment. Not that easily.

Ally was far too smug beside me, her mouth angled upwards in a smirk. I looked at her and rolled my eyes.

"Shut up," I mumbled, resorting to biting at my nails to relieve the growing anxiety.

"The moment we've been waiting for..." Ally started dramatically through a sigh. "...You shall be proven wrong, and I shall be between the sheets with H--"

I nudged her with some force, cutting off her provocation. She's so right, though...

My breath completely stilled in my throat when the enigmatic God of a vocalist scanned the room casually. And just like that, his eyes met mine.

@firethatgrewsolow @brownskinsugarplum76 @m-faithfull @chromations ummm idk who else to tag. Let me know if you want to be added into my tag list. Perhaps tag someone who might enjoy this? Idk here you go, I’ll shut up now 🥲

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drainslo · 19 days

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Lovers To Enemies (Chishiya x Reader)

My life was ruined twice.

The first time was when I entered the Borderlands. The last thing I remember was being at home on my couch with my cat, Milo.

He looked at me with his pretty green eyes, his warm body snuggling next to mine. I fell asleep that way, and I found solace with my feline friend.

That was the last time I saw Milo in months.

I woke up in a world without him. A world where I had to fight for my life everyday in games that were designed by someone truly sadistic.

The second time was when I got involved with Chishiya Shuntaro. A man who was not exactly unlike a feline himself.

I loved him. I would like to believe he felt the same. With Chishiya, you never know what he's thinking even if he tells you.

I think I knew how he felt when he kissed my head softly after patching me up post spades game with Niragi. He fell asleep with me in his arms that night, and somehow stayed in the morning.

I think I knew how he felt when he snuck into Hatter's room the next night to change the game schedule so I would never be in a game with Niragi again.

I made a mistake.

I didn't die, but a part of my soul did because now my Chishiya was gone. The kind eyes that had gradually softened in my presence were replaced with those of a stranger.

I was staring into those hardened eyes when Chishiya was dragging me into Hatter's executive room. I didn't even try fighting back, there was no point in doing so. If Chishiya wanted something he would get it.

Knowing Chishiya, it would be so much worse if I resisted.

He shoved me onto the ground, throwing a walkie-talkie next to me. I could feel the punishing eyes of the Beach executives on my back even as I faced the floor.

I lifted my head slowly to find two other people who were in the same position.

I vaguely recognized the girl, Usagi. I played a game with her two nights prior. That was the extent I knew her, and the boy-- Oh God.

It seemed Niragi had taken an interest in him by the way he was staring him down.

"I found her keeping lookout nearby. She tried to distract me but I saw right through her," Chishiya said calmly. My heart stilled. He didn't even look down.

Niragi finally turned his attention my way. He smiled, looking his lips as he looked between me and Usagi. I barely noticed that I was crawling slowly back. It was pure instinct to get myself away from a predator like Niragi.

"Niragi, you can decide what to do with the traitors. Well done Chishiya," Aguni spoke decisively, his eyes focused on a painting of what looked like an elk.

It was funny how of all things I didn't miss that detail.

"I don't know what Chishiya is insinuating, but I have no idea what he's talking about," I said for the first time.

I opened my mouth to elaborate further when I was promptly cut off by Niragi storming over. I felt a pressure on my back that sucked the air out of my lungs. I couldn't speak even if I wanted to.

"Shut up now, or I'll cut your tongue out later," Niragi hissed while digging his boot into my back.

I held my breath. Was this how I was going to die? It felt like my ribs were going to snap from the sharp stabbing pain in the middle of my chest. It abruptly subsided when Niragi lifted his foot away.

He crouched next to me and grinned again. I was forced to look into his eyes when he grabbed my hair and Usagi's to lift our heads up.

"We are going to have some fun before I kill the both of you."

Niragi turned his attention towards the boy and directed his orders to the militants present. "Tie up the boy and blindfold him so he can't play a game. His VISA expires tonight, let him wonder when the laser is going to kill him," he laughed terribly and forced me and Usagi to our feet.

"Walk." He pointed the butt of his gun to our back to direct us out of the room.

My legs didn't immediately move. They were shaking, and it was like i was cemented to the ground.

I was suddenly on the floor again, my knees painfully hitting the ground. It appeared that Niragi had pushed me with his gun out of impatience.

I looked back at the room of executives, at Chishiya who had put me in this position. Chishiya made eye contact with me for the second time, and something undecipherable flashed in his eyes.

No, it was decipherable. It was satisfaction. This was my punishment. Death was the only suitable punishment for a traitor.

But I wouldn't die immediately. Tears pricked the corner of my eyes as I thought of it. Niragi would make sure that it would be painful.

Not to mention the fact that I was a woman. He could have his way with me--with Usagi too-- and nobody would blink an eye.

"Walk," Niragi repeated.

I walked.

Usagi and I were led to a hotel room and tied down while Niragi and his convoy followed.

His hungry eyes watched as I felt the chafe of the rope around my wrists. He leaned in, and my breath caught as he slowly trailed his tongue down Usagi's arm. No this could not be happening--

The TV screen now had lit up on its own. The weight of his body hovering over mine dissipated as he got off the bed to look at it.

10 OF HEARTS

GO TO THE LOBBY TO HEAR THE RULES OF THE GAME

"Fuck, right now?" Niragi turned to look towards us, and abruptly left the room.

I was untied by someone. Probably one of the militants out of pity.

Everything started to blur together.

I made it to the lobby with Usagi. There was a witch we had to find. The militants decided to kill and burn everyone. There were so many gunshots, so many screams.

The Beach was on fire.

I waited until I heard the game clear, and snuck into the lobby to see the last card.

I was surprised to find Chishiya there as well, his back to mine as he grabbed it from the table.

I pulled out a gun I had stolen from the body of a militant. The sound echoed through the now empty Beach as I cocked it.

"Don't turn around," I lowered my voice menacingly.

He turned around and stepped towards me.

"Or what?" His eyes were dancing with amusement as he kept walking. "You're going to shoot me?"

He was now standing directly in front of me. We were eye to eye, separated only by the distance of the gun I held.

Chishiya's warm hand overlapped mine as he pushed it to the side. He roughly grabbed my chin to force my mouth on his.

I froze as tingles still ran up my spine when he touched me. It was horrible, I hated him for what he had done to me.

What was even worse was how familiar he was.

I struck him on the head with the gun to break contact. He didn't fall, but now gingerly held the spot where I hit him. His hand that I had just touched now was slowly turning crimson from the wound.

"I hope we never meet again," Chishiya smirked and swiftly strode away from the flames.

It was then I realized he took the card with him.

#aib chishiya #chishiya x reader #alice in borderland #chishiya shuntaro #imawa no kuni no arisu #shuntaro chishiya #imawa no kuni no alice #shuntaro chishiya x reader #chishiya alice in borderland #aib

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foxgloveprincess · 2 years

Note

Honestly I’m thinking about Sugar a lot over the last few days.

Oh, Sugar. I’ve been thinking a lot about her, too. Especially since I’ve recently been working on a special project for this series. 😌 And here’s what I’ve come up with after getting this ask and being kinda inspired. (Disclaimer: Do I have any idea what I just did or what I just wrote? Not at all. And I probably won’t write anything more about it. This just sorta flew out of my fingers and I present it to you now.)

Also, have a new banner that I created for the story recently!

Sugar, Oh Honey, Honey

Word Count: 1,639

Warnings: Dark/Dark Themes, Drabble of Poor, Sweet, Innocent Thing (on AO3–it’ll be easier to understand what’s happening here if you’ve read it), Manipulation, mentions/implied Kidnapping, Established Rules, hints of DDlg/Daddy Kink, Pet Names (Sugar - Reader, Teddy - Steve, Daddy - Bucky, master, etc.), Nefarious Intentions, implied Organized Crime, mentions of Sadistic Punishment (non-graphic), Tony being a Creep, PeterxTony Relationship (Peter is in his mid-20s), Barely Edited. Minors do not interact (18+).

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. No permission given to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work, at all. Seeing this anywhere else means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

It’s like a heartbeat. Thumping that vibrates my veins and keeps me planted in my spot. This isn’t where I belong. I wanna be at home, with my Daddy and Teddy. Not here. Not with the flashing lights and heavy music. Not with the insectile leer of Tony Stark staring at me like a specimen on a petrie dish. But here I sit, on his couch, in his penthouse. A party thrumming around us.

I’m not alone. No, my Daddy would never allow that. Neither would my Teddy—not around Tony. Unfortunately, they’ve been detained by urgent business that Tony wouldn’t allow them to shirk.

Just looking at the man across from me, my spine tingles with fear. I know what lurks beneath, the skin of my back still tender after the one mistake I have ever made in his presence. One slip at a family dinner and a consequence I could not escape as a submissive. Just for asking a simple question. One lapse of curiosity. I earned fifteen minutes in his playroom. And the scars to prove it.

My gaze stays focused. Even as Wanda slips her arms through mine and Pietro holds me to his side. Like the guard dogs they’ve become for me with their caregivers’ permission. While Natasha is off with Steve and Bucky, Clint sits drinking a tumbler of amber liquid with Thor, both of them discussing some modifications for his sweet submissives.

But I cannot calm. Trapped in the lion’s den with his eyes laser focused on me. My breaths shudder in my lungs, my hands twist in my lap.

A younger man with a sunny smile dances over, his brown hair flopping in his eyes. Peter—Tony’s submissive. Someone I’ve never allowed near me in our cuddle piles. Family dinners spent not even acknowledging him for fear of attracting his caregiver’s attention—if that’s even a label that might be attributed to the man.

Flashes of purple and blue and red lights highlight Peter’s handsome features and the friendly intent of his approach.

He reaches out toward me, eager and expectant. “You can’t just sit here all night.”

“Yes, she can,” Wanda disagrees, brushing her nose over my cheek and pressing a kiss there. “Leave us alone.”

Muscled arms hold me tighter, Pietro’s apprehension feeding my own. I swallow and drop my gaze. Even as Peter’s eyes narrow in disappointment and irritation.

“You always hog all of her attention,” Peter bites back, “you need to learn to share.”

It’s that last word. That command. Something we have all learned in our predicament. In someone else’s home, you must be polite guests. Follow their rules. And for Tony, that means sharing is caring.

I swallow thickly, glancing behind in the hopes of just a glimpse of Steve or Bucky. But through the crush of the party crowd, I see no one of note. Just bodies draping over each other in lewd approximations of dance.

Peter beckons me forward once again and, without another choice, I comply. His hand wraps around mine as he leads me away with a glance toward Tony. Dread sinks heavy in my stomach, leaving lead weights in each step.

Until the glass doors open before us and we step outside on the balcony. The cool wind knocks against us, but delivers a full breath that I greedily suck into my lungs.

“There you go,” Peter says with a tilt of his head. “You looked like you were suffocating in there.” His boyish charm would set me at ease, if every other part of him did not cause quite the opposite.

We all know very little of him. A star of sparkling genius, rising in prestige, headed for his third year at MIT, when he showed up at a family dinner on Tony’s arm. Or so I’ve been told. He was the last submissive to join the family before me, but seemed far more adept at navigating the circumstances of the family than the others—as if he’d been doing it for longer than them all.

“Sugar?” he asks, grabbing the top of my arm to gain my attention. “Are you alright?”

I nod and find interest in the tops of my iridescent boots and frilly socks. The wind licks at my thighs, my skirt fluttering about my legs. My hands death-grip at it, knuckles taut around the fabric.

Voices drift on the wind, carrying over to us and chilling my blood all the more.

“It’s been long enough,” a voice says, its owner hidden from view by a well-placed topiary.

“What are you talking about?” their companion questions in a bored tone.

“There are two of them, surely they’d want someone else to play with when their precious little princess can’t take them both.”

I glance to Peter who nods toward the conversation, prodding us closer.

“I’m just saying,” the voice continues, “I could be a great addition to their repertoire.”

Their companion snorts as we catch sight of them. No one we recognize, save for perhaps a similarity to every other person in attendance. A glimmering outfit, a sculpted face, confidence radiating from every pore. She’s gorgeous, as is her companion.

“I mean, she can take Barnes,” she stops a moment to inhale from a vape pen and blow out the smoke, “but I want Steve.”

The way she says his name—my skin crawls. My head begins to shake, back and forth, fuzziness eclipsing my vision. I don’t feel safe and I want to go home.

“Hey, hey,” Peter whispers, with concern that doesn’t exactly ring sincere. “You’re alright.”

“Where’s my Daddy?” I whisper back, voice cracking over the question.

Whether he would answer me truthfully or not, I don’t find out. Instead, we’re interrupted by a warm hand that cements itself to my lower back.

“What have we here?” The second I hear his timbre, I relax in relief. Pressing myself into his broad chest and nestling as close as physically possible.

“Teddy,” I sigh into his shoulder, feeling weak and overwhelmed. Tears well in my eyes and I sniff them away, but still a few trickle down my cheek and pool in the weave of Steve’s shirt. “I wanna go home.” With another sniff, I feel his head leaning against mine and his nod.

“We’ll go say goodnight,” he agrees, “and we can meet Bucky at the car.”

“Mr. Stark insists that she stay longer,” Peter interjects with more confidence than I could ever muster when confronting one of the caregivers—as if I would ever confront one of the caregivers.

“I’m taking my girl home,” Steve argues, starting to lead us back toward the door and through the party. “Tell your master we enjoyed his hospitality.”

“You’re welcome to go, but she stays,” Peter calls after us.

Steve freezes, my body still tucked close to his. “Why?”

“Are you really that oblivious?” Tony asks, emerging from a shadow and standing with a cool, cocky air. Peter drifts into his side, a kiss pressed to the older man’s jaw. “Did she take the bait?” he asks with a tilt of his head and a brief glance over his shoulder toward the empty space where the two party goers had been.

“No, Mr. Stark,” Peter replies, disappointment dripping from the syllables.

Tony sucks his teeth and grumbles, “Too bad.”

Steve’s chest rumbles, his jaw locked though the muscles in his cheek twitch. His eyes darken in the stormiest look of ire I’ve ever seen from him. My Teddy—soft and sweet and sincere. My comfort and safety.

“Here,” Bucky says from just behind us. Another wave of relief crashes over me. Another level of protection from whatever Tony’s playing at.

“What do you want with our girl?” Steve asks through gritted teeth.

“Look, I just wanted to see if she would slip,” Tony admits with a nonchalant shrug. “There’s something lurking deep inside her that I just wanna wrench out.” He gestures the metaphorical extraction as his voice grits.

Bucky steps forward in one smooth motion, shielding me from Tony’s gaze.

“She’s not yours,” he states, voice far calmer than Steve’s, though he remains just as tense. “If you want to pry anything out of anyone, try calling up one of your services. I’m sure there’s a plentiful supply of girls to satisfy you.”

“$600 million,” Tony offers instead, advancing by a step, “for just half an hour with her.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch, itching for the blade that rests at his back, tucked into his waistband. Steve’s hold becomes painful. But I’d rather that than a second of them contemplating Tony’s price with any degree of seriousness.

“I will say this once, Stark,” Bucky says, tone dropped low—chilling me to the bone with the intensity, “I will tear this empire down before I let your breath brush across her skin.”

“Then you’d better keep a very good eye on her,” Tony quips with a tilt of his head to sneak a peek of me behind Bucky.

“We will,” Steve answers, a definitive end to the conversation as they both turn with me and lead us to the exit.

Standing in the elevator as it descends, I wipe at my eyes and cling to each of them.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologize, the guilt heavy upon my chest. Trying to stem the new swell of tears before they fall. Steve tilts my face up to his, kissing each drop away. “Will everything be okay?” My voice, weak and small, asks the question upon which our whole future balances.

“Of course,” Steve replies with another kiss to the apple of my cheek. He licks his lips before they spread in a reassuring smile.

“We’ll make sure of it,” Bucky promises, something dangerous in his words as he wraps me in his arms and holds me close.

#stucky x reader #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #tony stark x peter parker #dark #dark fic #heed the warnings #poor sweet innocent thing #18+#minors dni

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stevenbasic · 2 years

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GITJ Post 273: It's Not My Birthday, p2

All eyes, all the attention, indeed seemingly all the light in the room had suddenly become laser-focused on her, on Melissa, who in her heels had to duck under the doorway to enter with the abomination she was carrying. It was something like a cake, it was huge, and it was shaped, as you can see, to look like an enormous set of boobs.

Lord god what was happening…?

Two huge swells, shaped like breasts - nipples and all - on a big serving platter. My heart began to race. What had they done??

Immediately they were all, Melissa and her gaggle, singing the ‘Happy Birthday’ song to me. Though I immediately muttered “It’s not my birthday,” I’d barely registered what was going on, still trying to comprehend the sight of my new Office Manager/nascent girlfriend towering over the already statuesque crowd. Her heels must have been eight inches because someone behind me whispered ‘she’s seven feet tall in those’ into my ear. Into my other ear someone else began telling me about the cake, even as the crowd continued to sing.

‘She spent all day yesterday, all morning at home making this cake for you,’ the voice in my left ear said, as I watched wide-eyed as Melissa entered, coming slowly towards me through the crowd with her spine-chilling offering, ‘it’s your favorite, vanilla. With cream filling…”

“…and it’s boobs. Huge boobs,” spoke the other voice, “They’re supposed to be hers. She modeled it on herself.”

This was crazy. This was absolutely crazy, and as the song ended and the atrocity of this not-my-birthday cake was set down in front of me while all the girls started to clap, coo and giggle, bouncing around like teenage girls, I spoke softly to the enormous, raven-haired beauty leaning in towards me, her face inches from my own on my left. “Melissa this is…this is too much…” I muttered. I looked down at the cake.

“It’s life-size…” she purred cryptically, her eyes boring into me like cosmic rays, taking in my silly, wrinkled, oversized Fantastic Four costume and the meek smallness of my body quivering in the little breakroom chair among a crowd of huge, strong, busty women. “Giant size <giggle!> Just like me…”

Next she descended upon me, forcing the last vestiges of any rational thought out of my mind as her actual, incredible breasts filled my vision as she started to giggle anew. Packed tightly and squeezed high up her chest by her own Hooters top and what must be a bra of staggering strength, Melissa’s tits were suddenly all I could see, her cleavage a deep chasm between two bulging mountains. She bent down low enough to speak into my ear, soft boobs now pushed lightly onto my shoulder as she did so. Her perfume assaulted my senses, along with the memories of just how many uncountable times I’d jerked off to old pictures of her in a Hooters uniform. "Relax, sweetie. You know you have nothing to be ashamed about,” she whispered, cutting right to the obvious-but-unspoken fact that - for years now - my staff has always known my fixations, my obsessions, how weak I am for big breasts, and that this party was nothing but an exclamation of that reality. “I know it must be hard to think straight with all these big, beautiful boobies in the room,” she continued, as someone slid the table away from me a bit to open up some space between me and it, “but we’re all just here to show you a good time...”

And then Melissa sat on my lap. Ooof. The weight of her.

“…celebrate Halloween…” she purred, continuing, laying her right arm around my shoulders. She was so heavy.

“Hey do you like my uniform, Dr. J?” someone chimed in.

“And mine??” laughed someone else.

“…wish you a happy birthday…” Melissa continued still, using one finger of her left hand to run itself against the side of her boob-cake, sliding through its frosting.

“It’s n-not my birthday…” I peeped, just before she slipped her finger into my mouth.

“…shhhhhhhhh….” she insisted, smiling as - eyes wide - she made me taste the frosting. Phones were out, around us. Pictures were being taken. The frosting was sweet, sugary.

“Awwww…” came the coos from the crowd as, instinctively, I began to suck her finger. She giggled again, looking proudly down at me, then tilting her head down to rest on mine, smiling for a picture. Her left breast overwhelmed my face, me shamefacedly suckling her finger, the whole embarrassing moment captured for posterity.

“But…it’s not your birthday?” Melissa next said, with a mischievous, playful pout, feigning surprise, “I didn’t know that…” Her finger, still in my mouth, kept me from speaking, replying, complaining. She looked down at me, I up at her best I could, and I’m sure she felt the erection swelling underneath her big bottom, roused to life by her solidly warm, heavy weight. She shifted herself over me, in my lap, rubbing it and causing me to nearly groan.

“It’s not..?” a girl in the crowd exclaimed, as if aghast.

“It’s not his birthday?” said another. They were all, of course, in on the joke.

Melissa giggled again, hugging me closer in her amusement. The white tank and its owl logo deformed itself malleably around my right cheek, her big soft tit mushing into my nose and eye, at least as large as my head. She hadn’t pulled her finger from between my lips yet, allowing me to mouth it. Others were watching, all of them.

“Well, it may not be your birthday,” she offered, “but everyday is boob-day, right?”

“Haha yeah!” someone laughed.

“Around here it is,” drawled another. I think it was Amelia.

“Boob day!”

“Happy Boob Day, Dr. J!!”

They were all, now, laughing, tittering, giggling and cooing and pulled in closer around us. As pathological and terminally humiliating as this moment was, something inside me had stepped aside and was allowing me to relax, sink, let these women do as they will and tend to me, infantilize me. My status, my authority, my place as a man and boss be damned; I just melted and let myself be overwhelmed.

Melissa, I think, realized what was happening, that I had already surrendered myself here to her and her girls. She and they could play with me, toyfully, and I would go along. Their tits, their legs, their tiny waists, bubble butts and long, soft hair was too much stimulation for me to do anything else. Inside my mouth, she pet my tongue with her index finger and urged me to suck. Then she began to sing.

“Happy boob-day to you,” she began, her voice quiet and tender, sultry and low, “Happy boob-day to you…” She didn’t have a marvelous singing voice but I was rapt anyway.

The girls around us were still giggling, cooing and clucking, Josie and Marisela and several others still filming with their phones. They were letting Melissa sing to me, privately; I’m not sure if they saw her ass rolling slowly, rhythmically into my lap, or how - oh christ, oh no - I’d suddenly started to tense as the motions of her shapely hips began to have their intended effect on the erection grown solid down my left thigh. Melissa, also, had begun to turn me a bit, and as I moved my eyes from hers I saw two girls had picked up the cake, on its tray, and were bringing it towards me.

“Make a wish, Dr J!!” someone called, as the cake came closer, closer, a huge pair of knockers layer-baked, slathered in vanilla, topped by pink frosting nipples. Melissa’s ass, meanwhile, was unrelenting. Still slow, unhurried, but its motions were quickly rousing my loins to…oh god, not here…

“Yeah make a wish!”

No candle?

“Kiss the nipple!” called another.

“...Happy big, huge Breast Day, Doctor Jayyyyy….” Melissa continued to sing, as now the cake was right in front of my face, dwarfing it all by itself. She turned me some more, slid her finger from my mouth and drew back a touch. She was allowing the girls to present her cake, her huge, life-size boobie-cake, to me. She pulled back her hair with her now-free right hand. Did she really expect me to kiss that nipple, to make my wish?

“...Happy Boob Day to you,” Melissa finished, just as the cake was being tilted, towards me, that topping nipple right at my lips. I was in the narrow strait between my own personal Scylla and Charybdis: the right boob of the huge cake and the left boob of my Office Manager. I’d puckered for the nipple of the cake, with Melissa’s soft warmth all around me, her ass rolling into my cock and I’d let out a low groan as - no, nnno, noooo - I felt myself, against my best efforts to control it, begin to crest into climax. My jaw shuddered, my torso stiffened... my lips met the nipple…

And the girls shoved the cake into my face.

“Ha!” cried Josie, one of the girls holding the cake, smushing it solidly while Shanette, her partner in crime, pushed from the other side. My head retreated as much as it could but was thrust forward by the firm mass of Melissa’s left breast.The huge right tit of the cake - soft, vanilla, cream filled - mashed around my face, smothering it. Its frosting, and the soft loaf of the cake itself, spread past my cheeks, my ears. My head was covered; the videos being taken would show how I all but disappeared, and how the girls all cheered and hooted, yelling and laughing and pointing, roaring with glee. Would they show, though, my body spasming, right as the cake’s bulk flattened into my face, how my body spasmed and jerked? Would the phones’ recordings capture my climax, or the groans that wracked me, muffled by frosting cream and cake? I was coming, coming, coming, sandwiched between two huge breasts - one flesh, one pastry.

My arms - which had previously been loosely circled around Melissa’s waist - had shot out stiffly to my sides. Two girls held each one, now, keeping me from moving. I could do nothing but groan, let the waves of orgasm pulse through me, soaking the loose spandex of my costume and certainly the underside of Melissa’s enormous rear as it milked and muscled me through it. I could barely breathe, each breath met with as much cream and frosting as oxygen. And what air I did take in smelled of her - even the cake; it seemed infused, embedded, enriched with Melissa’s scent and taste and warm sweetness. It was in my nose, it was in my eyes, it was in my mouth. I gasped, I struggled, I mouthed it and tried to swallow. They smeared it into me, rubbing the big breast of a birthday cake into my face, laughing all the way and finally, finally - at the point where I thought I might pass out - peeled it off of me.

“Oh my god look at him!” someone called.

“He’s covered in it!” came another laugh.

Cheers, whoops, clapping. Chunks of cake falling into my lap. Euphoria and a celebration of female strength. It surrounded me, drowned me, and in the waning spasms of orgasm, I tried to sit up straight but was pulled back decidedly by Melissa, back into her breast. The platter of cake disappeared, and was replaced in my field of vision by a landscape of Hooters owls and female chests, each bigger and more round than the next. They closed in on me as all the girls cheered in ovation, smearing themselves into the cake on my face as they pressed in around me in the most massive boob-hug of all time…

==============================================

Thanks so much to the amazing Muad3D for the render, with some asset help from our brother Beetlebomb. Check out each of their Patreons. Or mine, for that matter.

#growing into the job

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eatmangoesnekkid · 1 year

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Thank you!

Thank you Anonymous for just saying "Thank you!" I get many questions between here, FB, and instagram that it's lovely to receive a "thank you" with nothing attached. It's deeply heartfelt. I always hope you Beauties are being deeply nourished in my more candid sharings on Tumblr. I have so much to share with my readers in my books and school and the things I post online only scratch the surface like a thread of hair.

My authoring journey this time around has been incredibly messy. 13 failed due dates and some months where I completely checked out of my work, putting my books in the back of my closet and not looking at them for weeks. I felt so incompetent at times, like I wasn't a “real” author because I couldn't work at the same pace that everyone else could and had so much anxiety trying to keep up. At some point I got incredibly judgmental about my delays...and was utilising a large amount of life force trying to meet those deadlines and completely ignoring me body. I was trying to make everything happen perfectly like other authors seemingly do. The desire to appear “perfect” is such a familiar exhausting pattern of the "the good girl/the nice girl" archetype I grew up in....and it’s one that I will always shine a big spotlight on for other women to not get trapped in.

Don’t Try to Be Like Everyone Else

Nature never hurries. It wasn’t the fact that what I was doing it wrong or bad, it was only the IDEAS bumping up against the strength of my ego that caused me to feel that I should be different. I decided to unburden myself by no longer overthinking and returning to my body. I stop trying to meet deadlines and just be deeply devoted to the unique energetics of what is being born through me without judgement or trying to do things like everyone else and just ENJOY the process---imagine that! In other words, I stopped forcing myself to write books, and let the books write themselves, to submit myself to their frequency, the spirit of the work. I decided to be with all my mess like I am with my lover, being with it while relaxed and easygoing and knowing that the work is trustworthy and will complete itself when it's time. A few weeks ago, I realised that much of my judgement of my authoring journey was rooted in shame that I couldn't perform like all others who continue to publish books that they started writing way after I started mine. BUT my journey was messy (is messy)....and one day I said to myself “adore your mess Indy...let your mess arouse you girl and become a kind of fuel. No need to explain yourself.” This is me trusting the spirit of the work to lead me because I have created a life that honours one of my main vows : “go slow...take your time.” I decreed the upgrade of “softness” in my life in 2010. A soft life is one that is intentionally-focused on softness, a softer way of being in our bodies, being with our loved ones, and being in this world. So of course the old popular ways of doing EVERYTHING won’t apply to me or any other soft-decreeing folks.

Sometimes the energy our body NEEDS to go after specific desires is being used up when we try not to appear messy or do life like everyone else. Consider softening into yourself instead.

I am now ready to get laser-focused again on finalising my work and my online school which means I won't be active on Tumblr for a few. I haven't posted on FB or Instagram in many weeks. Tumblr was the last platform standing. ha!

Let the Mess Energize You

If I can expand my heart/consciousness/narratives, so can any of you. No matter what quiet thing you are moving through, all the mess, scars, and misfortune, find a way to appreciate it all. And if you are courageous and really ready to play in the cosmic game of life, let the mess arouse/energise you. The erotic is one of the greatest secrets of the universe I find. Let your mess and hunger and yearnings to complete your projects or whatever your goals and objectives or desires for ease, love, and life may be, be your peace ...and let them also be your fuel. One loveliness -India

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renee00124 · 8 months

Text

*HIGH-TECH BEAMED BREAST CANCER ASSAULTS*

Karen Albreight remains a perfect example of, reportedly a whistleblower, to have been given not only breast cancer by Directed Energy Weapon (DEW) focused attacks but also a brain tumor. In fact as I create this post monitored, the focused breast assault continues.

Frankly I have no doubt that this major, again, major, slow-kill effort set up around me using neighboring locations, strategically for beamed weapon assaults inside my home, without a doubt is attempting to create synthetic laser beamed breast cancer or a brain tumor by cooking the area of my head that supplies blood to the brain which could also create a aneurysm.

Today as well as the other day, I woke to now a third powerful laser beamed energy weapon attack to my left breast side. The drone they are using is clearly seen in the night's sky over my house at night.

When this program sets up around a target, as the Black LAPD killer cops, whom they hired specifically, and twisted death ray military personnel move into your community involved in this program, you have become a priority for covert strategic deterioration of your health by any means necessary and deemed undesirable. To show how diabolical this program is, they had a distant relative call me out of the blue, it appears, while the FBI listened in the background, just to report she had breast cancer. Her side of the family has the BrCa gene and not mine. However, immediately after we got off the phone, immediately, believe it or not, the beamed assaults to my breast began to escalate.

I have had mammograms each year for 15 years and there has never been any issues including the last in 2022.

Who is Katherine Albrecht?

"Katherine Albrecht is a consumer privacy advocate and spokesperson against radio-frequency identification (RFID). Albrecht devised the term “spy chips“ to describe RFID tags such as those embedded in passport cards and certain enhanced United States driver’s licenses. Katherine Albrecht holds a Doctor of Education degree from Harvard University. She is a resident of Nashua, New Hampshire."

Associated Links:

Stategic Slow-Kill Link:

*HIGH-TECH BEAMED BREAST CANCER ASSAULTS*

Katherine Albrecht remains a perfect example of, reportedly a whistleblower, to have been given not only breast cancer by Directed Energy Weapon (DEW) focused attacks but also a brain tumor. In fact as I create this post monitored, the focused breast assault continues.

I have had mammograms each year for 15 years and there has never been any issues including the last in 2022.

Who is Katherine Albrecht?

Associated Links:

Stategic Slow-Kill Link: https://youarenotmybigbrother.blog/2017/02/17/beamed-high-tech-synthetic-alzheimers-dementia-brains-aneurysms-and-strokes/

This program has had decades of practice in creating beamed heart attacks, Parkinson's, hip and knee replacements, breast and brain cancers, brain aneurysms, and more!

The fact is after a certain age for women, who have never had any issues, again after 15 years, revealed through healthy breast mammograms each year, mammograms are no longer needed because of zero risk.

Recently after I turned down the Black goon cop's invitation to get involved with one of them, and they will live me alone, saying "I would rather be dead" in this JOINT operation, he said, "That can be arranged!"

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oftarotandnoodledragons · 11 months

Text

Seventy-Seven: Eight of Wands

Our grand business undoubtedly is, not to see what lies dimly at a distance, but to do what lies clearly at hand. -Thomas Carlyle

All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown; Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. -William Shakespeare, All's Well That Ends Well

Stay a little, and news will find you. -George Herbert, Jacula Prudentum

I suppose I could sum up most of the above quotes with the simple proverb, "Strike while the iron is hot". I've used it before in this blog, and now I have drawn the card that is literally all about that. So here I am, running to the end of the race and expending the energy to do so. Entry's over, and now it's time for the—

No, that would be doing this card a disservice, and also me a disservice because it has been so long since I've had an Upright card (the King of Pentacles, late last year) and it would be good to at least discuss something with this perspective for once.

The Eight of Wands is one of those onion cards that seem deceptively simple but as one gets deeper, it feels more meaningful; or perhaps, more specific. The traditional RWS image shows the Eight Wands in flight; Paschkis shows the Wands forming a spinning wheel with a clock at the centre, and I feel this is a good reinterpretation, and it's certainly coloured mine. In a nutshell, this card is about things coming in thick and fast with time of the essence. It calls for alacrity. Be speedy. Be prompt. Be eager. Everything is happening, and to be successful one needs to be alert and limber. Yet, I feel like I haven't properly grasped this card until now. This card was one of the first set of 25 I wrote in my book before I started the blog, and I feel like I'm missing either more nuanced approaches here, or maybe I'm not quite on the mark: precise, but not accurate.

Bunning, Thirteen, Esselmont, and even Fairchild have very similar interpretations of this card, which in this case is both a blessing and a curse, the latter because I feel like I don't have much wiggle room. Thirteen's interpretation is the easiest to summarise, in that she (YES, I just found an old forum post where Thirteen states they are female; any reference to "he" has been in the generic sense and not intended to be harmful) says that the card is about making the best of use of energy with nothing wasted: the querent knows how their energy works and what their limits are (because the Eights are all about transcending limits), so things happen efficiently. And a lot of things are happening. Esselmont says it's a time of "good busy", to go with the flow — because to slow things down would be to waste that aforementioned energy — and to be "laser-focused with your intentions and actions", so as to manifest what one desires. Even Fairchild agrees here, with a prescription of one's plans being able to move forward, opportunities to get what one wants coming out of understanding people and their problems, and even friends and nature helping where one is ailed, as if to further that ability to proceed. While Esselmont is comprehensive, Bunning is similar but more succinct: she summarises what I consider the card's main energy as "taking quick action". Thirteen alludes to it too, but Bunning takes a literal view of the RWS card with the Wands "in the Air" before they return to "Earth": in other words, things are speculative and then they are realised. Right now, the Wands are sailing through the air but they will land. And that component of the RWS imagery is something I also draw on to interpret this card. Things are coming in thick and fast. Rapid progress is being made. In a way, it's a snapshot of the point between the attack of the Seven of Wands, and the defensive wall of the Nine of Wands.

Bunning, though, goes further. She doesn't stop with the Wands mid-flight, but also associates the landing, and these points I find interesting. Firstly, she brings in the concept of "receiving news", which is an evolution of being at the receiving end of the flying Wands. She says that the news may be disguised and calls to stay alert. From a more personal perspective, I take it to mean that a lot of information and news of events are coming in, and it's up to the querent to take that quick action to deal with it all. That's probably the summary of my main interpretation of this card that I've held. But to it, Bunning then adds on the fact that the Wands will land, and that is the theme of "coming to a conclusion". On an obvious, outward level, reaching the end of this journey through the deck is definitely part of my current energies. Bunning, though, goes on to talk about how once the dust settles, one will see how one's plans fared. It really is that snapshot moment right now: the dust has not yet settled, but it will, leaving things for better or for worse.

It feels strange to be discussing this card's Reversal without it being the current energy, after so many cards being in that state. So, first to Fairchild: scattered energy, a call to think before acting, and to not ignore the chain of command. The first point lines up neatly with Thirteen's take: sluggishness, a lack of energy and slowness. Externally, there may be delays. Internally, one is tired and lacks motivation. Fairchild's second point of thinking before acting co-aligns with Esselmont, who talks about charging ahead without due care, or without a plan. The scattered energy works into what Esselmont calls "shiny object syndrome", something that I am definitely guilty of if my litany of half-finished projects is to be believed. She also suggests that it could be a call to hold off from one's activities until things stabilise, or using her trait of Reversal to mean an internal force, that one is getting things in order so that they can move ahead.

So what's it all mean for me now? Other than nearing the end of the journey, I see a lot of correlation between my main take of receiving news and having to deal with it. This has especially been in regards to my work, where I have to keep a lot of things in mind and deal with them especially in regards to managing my team. I'm moving ahead and being alacritous in dealing with it all. At the same time, though, I feel like I've not necessarily been doing things well, and it's Fairchild's uncanny ability to say something relevant out of the blue with "friends and nature bring remedies for what ails you". My immediate boss reassured me that I am going along well and to not be so hard on myself, which has boosted my confidence.

Reflecting on this card, I feel like I've got a grasp on it, but it still feels somewhat slippery in my fingers. I feel like my main interpretation is effective, but these other facets of interpretation that I've not yet mastered feel like they would be more relevant at times. This is why I have my notes and this blog, after all, because my wisdom only goes so far and my knowledge is limited: here is the rest of the information I need. Still, though, I know that the cards will continue to surprise me, I will find new interpretations that will be attuned to the moment that my intuition will latch onto, and I welcome this as I move on beyond my occasional reports into this blog.

So now we reach the last card: the Ten of Wands. It's not a card I've been looking forward to, but like this card, it's one I feel I have somewhat of an understanding, but not a great depth to the pool. Somehow, it's eluded being written in my book until now; not only that, of all the cards' placement in the book by suit, it is the final one, the last page. It's an apt energy as I move to cross the finish line.

#eight of wands

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outsideratheart · 3 years

Text

My Gold and My Girl (Julie Johnston x reader)

You had made it to the final, only one thing stood between you and a gold medal, that thing was Japan.

When you got dressed this morning you did it with pride and happiness. You looked in the mirror one last time before leaving the village.

“Interesting jersey choice” Stewie said as you made your way onto the bus.

“I want her to know that I am proud of her” you said looking down at your team USA soccer jersey.

Your were wearing a zip hoodie but decided that you would take it off as you enter the arena.

Julie’s Olympics didn’t end the way she wanted and you knew that she was taking the loss hard. She still had a bronze medal but when you have you heart set on gold nothing compares. When she texted you to say she was going home you were disappointed but you understood.

You saw the cameramen as you pulled up to the arena. As planned you took your hoodie off to make sure that the Johnston on your back was visible. There was no going back after today, Julie wore your jersey to the bronze medal game and the media was quick to report a new friendship saying that it was nice of her to buy one of your jerseys but you knew that they wouldn’t be saying the same after seeing you in hers.

You got changed and did your warm ups just like you did before every game, despite the stakes you didn’t treat this one any differently.

This team was your family and it soon came to you that this will probably be the last time that you would all play together. Rumours were beginning to circle about Sue and Diana’s retirement but you weren’t ready to think about that. The two women have played a big part in your career, they helped you become the player you are today as well as the person you are.

Before you knew it, it was time to get ready for the game. You are Breanna did your pre match ritual just like you did back in Seattle and then your were ready.

It was game time. Time to focus.

The first quarter went by in the blink of an eye.

“Y/N keep it up on the offence and keep riding 88, she is getting tired” Dawn told you and you nodded whilst downing a bottle of water.

You were the type of player that set the pace of the game. The majority of your career you almost always played the entire first quarter so by the end of you were sweaty and out of breath.

You start the second quarter on the bench put soon got put in. You were laser focused, as if the people off the court didn’t exist. You kept passing to Stewie who kept scoring. You knew where to to position yourself for the rebound. There was something about this game, it was going perfectly.

Half time came and you were all in the locker room going over what had happened in the first half.

You sit in your locker and look at your team, proud of them and of the game you had played so far.

“You ok?” Brittany asked as she passed you a towel.

“Yeah, just taking it in you know” she nodded her head before going to her own locker.

You rest your arms on your legs and put the towel over your head. You knew that a gold medal was almost yours but you still had to stay centred.

“Y/N’ you hear Diana saying your name.

“Yeah” you take the towel off and look at your teammate.

“You with us?” She asks and you nod your head.

“Do you mind if I say something?” you ask Dawn.

You watch her shake her head as you make your way to middle of the room.

“I know the game isn’t over yet but I want to tell you all how much of an honour it has been playing with you. You guys are like family to me and I thank god every time I get on that court with you. I don’t know what the future holds” you pause looking at Sue and Diana “So I just want to say thank you and lets go get us a gold medal”

You can’t help put smile as your teammates start clapping and cheering.

When you are walking out to the court you feel two hand grabs you.

“You trying to make us cry in there” Diana asks you.

“I just wanted you to know what it means to me to play with you both”

“Well we still have another half of basketball to play. You ready?” Sue says and you nod your head.

“I love you guys”

“We love you too” They both say at the same time.

The second half of the game you made a point to have fun, truly enjoy your time on the court and before you knew it the final whistle is blown.

You make sure to congratulate Japan on an excellent tournament before celebrating with your team.

You jump on Stewie’s back

“That’s two” You shout

“Yeah, it is!” She shouts just as loud back.

You get down and watch your teammates celebrate before getting called over to do media.

Once you are done you hear someone say your name and you turn around to a staff member handing you your phone, time to celebrate with the fans and the rest of the country.

You feel your phone vibrating and smile when you see your girlfriends picture pop up.

“Hi Baby”

“Congratulations! You did it, you are a gold medal winner!”

You really wish that you could celebrate with her.

“You could have more of a smile on your face” This confuses you as you look around but don’t see a camera on you.

“I am smiling” You lie

You see Brittany coming up to you and you tell Julie that you have to go but will call her later.

“Sorry to interrupt but we have to go get changed” she tells you and you follow her into the locker room.

After getting changed you go back to the court an line up between Stewie and Jewel.

“Come stand between us” Diana says.

You feel yourself getting emotional as you knew what this mean’t.

You all walked out onto the court so the medals can be handed out.

Diana puts yours around your neck and then you put Diana’s around hers. This was a moment that you would never forget.

Everyone begins to take pictures and you take a selfie with your medal and send it to Julie.

“I know you love to celebrate with us but I think there is someone here that really wants to see you” Dawn says.

You look at her confused, what is she talking about. Dawn puts her arm around your shoulder and points to the crowd.

There in the stands was Julie and Megan.

You walk over to her not wanting to bring to much attention to the two of you.

“Surprise!” She says

“How are you guys even here?” You ask.

Megan holds up her press pass and Julie does the same.

“So you guys are members of the press now.

“Something like that” The pink haired woman says.

“I am so proud of you Y/N, you were so good. I really wanted to scream your name but I didn’t want to ruin the surprise” Julie tells you.

“I am so happy your are here” You walk closer to her and look around for cameras.

You watch as Megan and sue kiss wishing you could do the same to your girlfriend.

“Come here” Julie says as she hold her hands out and you take them.

“I really want to kiss you” You tell her.

“I’m not stopping you” she says and that’s all you need to hear.

You reach up as she grabs your face bringing you closer, your lips touch. You are not sure how long you are like that but you feel sue elbow you in your side.

“Cameras” she says barely a whisper.

You begin to pull away.

“I don’t care” Julie says giving you a hug and kissing your forehead “It is time for the world to know you are all mine”

You hand your phone to sue.

“Will you please take a photo? Like she said, time to let the world know”

Sue takes a photo of you and Julie and you post it on your instagram with the captain ‘My gold and my girl”

#uswnt x reader #uswnt one shot #uswnt imagine #Julie ertz x reader #Julie ertz one shot #Julie ertz imagine #Julie Johnston x reader #Julie Johnston imagine #Julie Johnston one shot

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remindingpersephone · 2 years

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Thoughts On Things

I've got a potentially long, rambly post coming, about attention, energy, social media, attitude, mindset, etc. So I'm going to put it under the cut to preserve the dash.

I took a break from Tumblr at the end of December, but I'm not sure I could tell you exactly why. I think there were several reasons, but they were kind of all floaty and ephemeral. Just now, I saw something in one of @ohhelloholly's posts that might have zeroed in on it, a little bit: "...but it just makes my anxiety churn. It's like we're caught in a loop, and the motor is driven by idiots." I love my Tumblr mutuals, you know who you are, but I think I'm following too many other people. Good or bad, right or wrong, it's all just too much. Too many voices, too many opinions, too many thoughts, too many ideas. Even if they're good ideas, righteous thoughts, it's just overload.

I have already cut back all news feeds and 99.9% of Instagram/Twitter/Facebook. I have to stay on Meta *snort* for work purposes, but I am laser focused when I use it. I log-in, check work stuff, log out. Tumblr was always where I spent the most time. It was alarming how easily I could start scrolling and then BOOM, it's an hour later.

What I learned on this last break from Tumblr, and the continued break from all other social media, is just how detrimental it was to my mood and attitude. Not only for the reasons mentioned above, but also for the ugliness, the political farce, the willful ignorance, the intentional and unintentional damage people inflict on one another. As users of social media our attention is a commodity for the world to access and exploit. I am now unwilling to give mine away easily. I will ruthlessly protect my attention and energy. It takes a little more effort to trim down a feed or dashboard, but it's worth the effort to get the connection/information I truly want. It feels like the early 2000s, when if you wanted to see someone's work, you had to go to their website. No more dashboard to automatically deliver it to you. Right now, this feels like the wiser course, the healthier option. It may mean I don't get to my favorite Tumblr's page for a while, and then I heartbomb every post in one day. This ensures I keep in touch with the people who matter, while maintaining the distance from all the other noise.

For a couple years now, life in general, and in certain specific ways, has felt like a constant back and forth. I am being pulled in several directions: work that pays the bills, creative endeavors that keep me sane, taking care of two aging parents alone, normal everyday life errands and chores, self-growth and improvements projects. There is never enough time to get to all of it, and that's okay. That's the deal. Life was never going to be easy and fun and fulfilling and wonderful and awesome all at the same time. Over the last few weeks, realizing exactly how draining certain things are, things that I can control, and learning how to minimize their negative effects, has been very illuminating.

The short and fast of that analysis is: get off the rollercoaster of other people's opinions; guard my attention and what I allow to take up my time and use my energy; stop taking the bait of political and social arguments with people IRL; stop judging myself for all the things I don't get done; more deep breaths/long walks/quiet time alone.

I took the week between Christmas and New Years off. It was the first time I had done so in 14 years (the year my nephew was born) and likely I won't ever do it again. I work in hospitality in Florida, so that is a busy week, and it took a lot of effort and aggravation to be able to leave work at that time. But while I was out of the office, I used the time off to pay attention to my attitude and mindset. How were they different when I was at work versus when I was at home? What affected them at home and if those effects were negative, what could I change? Same thing for when I was at work. Most of what I learned is that I can control far more than I believed. The trick is identifying what I can control. It's not always as obvious as you'd think. What I can do is maintain the control I have, instead of throwing my hands up and saying "Fuck it, life is chaos" and then stewing in anger and resentment about all the things I think I can't control. Because the one big, BIG thing I can control is my reaction to what's going on. And there are SO MANY THINGS I don't have to react to at all. Acknowledge then move on. No need to answer, comment, react, etc. It's simple: George is having a meltdown, not my circus, moving on. I don't need to fix George's problem, or comment on it, or commiserate. I just need to acknowledge it, and then move on. Now, I say this is simple, because it is. It is not a complex thing. But it isn't easy. Not for a fixer like me. It takes effort and energy to not react. That seems silly, but it's true. At least, for me it is. Finally understanding this about myself, and taking the steps to behave differently, has been incredible.

Wow, this post got long. If you're still reading this, bless your heart. I didn't write it for likes, though I'm always grateful for them. I didn't write it for approval or attention. I wrote it because the things I write here carry more weight and meaning for me than anything I write in a journal. I take it more seriously, maybe because it's public. And there is always that small hope that someone else may read it and get a tiny morsel of guidance, inspiration, humor - something that makes their day better for having read it.

#motivation #inspiration #talking to myself

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felassan · 3 years

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BioWare Blog post: Gary McKay Confirmed as Studio General Manager

Posted on June 14, 2021

We’re delighted to announce that Gary McKay, formerly the Interim General Manager of BioWare, has been confirmed as our permanent GM!

Gary joined BioWare in January of 2020 as the Head of Development Operations before being tapped to be the Interim GM in December. He brings with him more than 20 years of industry experience. “I started my career in the industry with EA back in 1998,” he says, “and it was so exciting to see the studio and company grow in the early days. I spent the next seven years with EA before moving on. But now you could say I’ve come full circle.”

“I’m so grateful for this opportunity,” he continues. “When you spend over 20 years in the industry, there are a small handful of studios on your bucket list in terms of teams you’d want to work with — and BioWare is at the top of my list. This studio is unique in that it has an incredible history of building critically successful games and universes that are truly beloved by so many fans. For me, success is all about rebuilding that reputation, and delivering on that promise of quality.”

In the time between his first round at EA and now, Gary served as General Manager of a number of other studios. And while each studio is different, he tells us the core role of the GM doesn’t change much from place to place. “At the heart of the role, you’re setting a vision for the business, and then enabling the creative developers to do their best work as we come together as a team,” he says. “So it’s a blend of operational decisions and creativity, working together to build the best possible experience for our players. There aren’t many roles out there where you’re constantly balancing those things, but that’s what I enjoy the most.”

Gary moves into this position at a particularly exciting time for BioWare, and not only because we’ve just released the definitive version of the original Mass Effect trilogy in the form of the Legendary Edition — though that’s certainly part of it! “The last year was a challenging year for everyone,” he says, “but the team never lost focus on delivering a game that lived up to expectations. I’m so proud of what they accomplished.” And even more exciting things are coming; when discussing the future of the studio, Gary is unabashedly enthusiastic:

“We’re laser-focused on releasing the types of games BioWare has built a reputation on,” he says: “high-quality console, PC, and online RPG games with rich stories, unforgettable characters, and vast worlds. We continue to work on the next Dragon Age and Mass Effect — and this is a milestone year being the 10th anniversary with more to come from Star Wars: The Old Republic.”

We’re excited to have Gary in this GM position. “I could not be more excited about the future of BioWare,” he says. We couldn’t agree more.

-The BioWare Team

[source]

(emphasis mine)

#dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #mass effect #next mass effect #sw:tor #video games #longpost #long post #covid mention

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 3 years

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Whisky Secrets (sequel)

Here's something different. Before I ever thought about posting fanfic here, I used to write things inspired by fanfic I found by some of the incredible writers I found on tumblr. I've never posted any of them but I've really felt like writing something for Aleister Black/ Tommy End lately.

So I reached out to one of my original favourites on this site, @ghostofviperwrites and asked her if she'd mind if I published this sequel I wrote to her story Whisky Secrets. She gave me the ok (for which I thank her very much).

You absolutely have to read her piece first or this won't make any sense. It picks up literally at the point where hers leaves off and the entire premise is based on what she wrote. I think this goes in a very different direction than what she had in mind, though.

Since this is an old story, some of the characters are very different than they are now. It was set at around the time I wrote it. Based on events in the story, it's pretty clear when that was.

It's a bit dated but I hope you enjoy.

Pairing: Aleister Black x OFC (hints of Roman Reigns x OFC)

Word count: 7,031

Content advisory: graphic sexual content, language, incidental roughness that some might find stressful

You rested on the sofa for too long, knowing that you had to get to work, that you were already behind on an assignment that was due that afternoon. As much as you desperately wanted to cling to the scent and the feeling of him being there with you and the idea that he might someday want to be there with you for longer, you knew that you were only wasting time by indulging in a fantasy. Once again, you reminded yourself, he saw you as a friend, a landing pad after he was finished his adventures. And so you dragged yourself to the computer and tried to focus.

It was a fluff piece you’d been hired to write: places for new residents of Orlando to meet people. You’d accepted it because the pay was good and it had seemed easy. But what the hell did you know about meeting people? You’d barely met anyone and the only ones that you’d call friends were the ones you met when you’d done an in-depth profile on the WWE and their development territory NXT. Of those, only Aleister had remained close and even then, you couldn’t say that the two of you had ever properly opened up to each other. Nevertheless, you’d stayed in touch with a number of them, occasionally meeting for coffee or drinks. None of this was in any way useful when it came to recommending locations to connect with strangers.

You’d tried to start the article the day before but now when you opened the file, you discovered that you’d only come up with a half a dozen corny titles and one word of text:

When?

The word was too painfully appropriate.

When were you going to run out of luck and be unable to find further work as a journalist?

When were you going to admit that what kept you here, rather than moving to another state and pursuing more secure work, was the fact that you were in love with a man who was only interested in your capacity as a friend and caregiver?

When was your hopeless love going to break you beyond repair?

Annoyed with yourself, you deleted the word and tried to start again. You could meet people at the gym classes that were ubiquitous in this city. You could meet people at get-togethers for shared hobbies like hiking or pottery or basically anything. No one had to meet people by getting thrown into their orbit and being unable to extricate themselves.

About half an hour into your resentful hammering on the keyboard, you were startled by your doorbell. For one sweet instant, you imagined that it was Aleister dropping by to pass some time with you. Then you realized that he never came to you without an invitation unless it was dead drunk in the middle of the night. Even when you invited him, it was only every fourth or fifth time that you asked that he agreed to come over and watch a movie or go for a walk in the nearby park. There was no way it was him at your door at eleven o’clock in the morning.

In fact, the person at your door was Bayley, chipper and warm as always, returning the spare laptop you’d lent her a few weeks before.

“Thank you so much,” she beamed, thrusting the computer into your hands. “You are a lifesaver. I’d have lost my goddamn mind if I hadn’t had this while mine was in the shop.”

“It was nothing,” you insist, smiling at her unconstrained warmth even though you didn’t feel very positive about your life at that moment. “Do you want to come in for a minute?”

She nodded cheerily and stepped across the foyer. You never really knew how you fit in with the women of WWE, even though you’d spoken to many of them in depth. Bayley stood out because she was determined to be your friend despite your introvert’s reluctance. And, indeed, she was irresistible. Much like her in-ring character, she cast sunshine wherever she went and her glow was contagious, even in your darkest and lowest moments.

You motioned her into the kitchen, offering her a choice of lemonade, iced tea or water. Her eyes immediately fell on the empty whiskey bottle you’d left on the counter, her expression growing more serious as she focused on it.

“Getting started early?” she cajoled.

“A friend left that here,” you replied guiltily.

She narrowed her dark eyes as she looked at you. Sweet and optimistic as she was, Bayley was not naïve. She knew exactly what friend had left the bottle behind and she knew how you felt about him.

“I’ll have a glass of lemonade,” she said, the smile slowly returning to her face.

You joined her and the two of you jokingly touched glasses before drinking.

“So, a few of us are getting together tonight,” she said hesitantly. “I thought you might like to join us.”

Your first instinct was to ask if Aleister would be there, but you thought better of it. Instead, you responded, “Well, I have an article I need to finish.”

Of course, your article was due by the end of the afternoon, which meant that your evening was free regardless, but part of you wanted to be at home in case Aleister came staggering over again.

Bayley’s jaw set in a determined expression you’d only seen from her in the ring. “We’re having a party for Roman, to celebrate him going into remission.”

Well now you felt like a bit of a bitch for making excuses and didn’t know what to say.

“It won’t just be wrestlers there. Some other journalists are even coming. And I know that it would mean a lot to him if you were there.”

When you’d done your article on the WWE, you’d interviewed Roman Reigns and he’d been incredibly generous with his time. He’d even contacted you after your interviews to confirm that you had all the detail you needed. He was the face of the company and had done everything possible to make sure that the company had provided what you required. He’d clearly wanted to make sure they’d left a good impression and you couldn’t help but be impressed by his PR skills. Although you knew it wasn’t true that it “would mean a lot to him”, you were touched by the idea that he remembered you and might like you to be there to celebrate his great news. At the same time… you needed to be there for Aleister.

“Look,” Bayley insisted, “I’m going to text you the details for the bar where we’ll be. It’s not a big deal, just a bunch of us getting together to be happy for our friend.”

There was no way that you could refuse that, so you shyly thanked her as she gulped the rest of her lemonade and made for the door.

“I’m serious,” she said as she departed. “You work so damn hard you deserve a night off. Finish what you’re doing and come have fun with us.”

As soon as she’d left, you once again sat down at your computer. Before you could return your attention to your work, however, you couldn’t resist checking Instagram.

Someone had tagged Aleister in a photo on Instagram.

Yes, you were that pathetic that you always checked.

With trepidation, you clicked the link to look at what was there. As it too often did, the notification came from an airbrushed-looking woman, her collagen-enhanced lips pressed against his. She looked arrogant and proud, while he looked smug and inebriated.

“Guess who I got to hang with last night?” the caption gloated.

You knew damn well what “hang” was a euphemism for. He never cared that the Barbie dolls he hooked up with advertised their conquest on social media. He was single and hot. Why should he care if people knew that he always scored with the sort of women other men lusted after? Why should he care that it ripped your heart to shreds every time you saw him with another woman so unlike you in every way?

The woman had posted a few other photos of the two of them together, embracing. Every part of her magazine-ready body was on display, save those parts that would have gotten her in trouble. Her artificially perfect breasts were spilling out of a tiny tube top while her endless legs were shown in their full glory between the edge of a skirt that likely required her to trim her pubic hair and the sky high heels that raised her enough to press her lips to his without having to stretch herself awkwardly. She was nothing like you, with your unkempt hair and loose, bohemian dresses, your comfortable ballet flats and blandly natural face. She had all the glamour that you lacked and he ate it up.

The images of the two of them cut into you like a laser and, for once, all you desired was to break free from the pain of feeling. A few minutes later, when Bayley sent the text she’d promised with the details of where you could find the party tonight, you immediately responded.

“I’ll be there. I promise.”

To hell with Aleister and the designer women he adored, you told yourself as you returned to your article with a vengeance. Tonight you were going to do whatever it took to break the spell he had cast over you.

It was just after nine when you found yourself teetering to the entrance of the bar where the party was taking place. It was marked only by a subtle sign, no words, just a stylized anchor, and it was hidden away on a tiny street that was hardly more than an alley. In your fit of pique, you’d finished your article two hours before your deadline and then, having examined the options in your closet and found them wanting, headed out and spent entirely too much money on a new dress that clung perfectly to your breasts before flaring out to highlight the movements of your body, while covering just the bare minimum to maintain decency. You’d also picked up a stylish pair of ankle boots with heels higher than you were used to and that posed a legitimate threat as you made your way down the roughly paved road to the speakeasy-style bar.

A little further down the alley, you see a couple leaning against a car, taking turns swigging from a liquor bottle. The woman is one of those glamorous animals that makes you so insecure, laughing in drunken delight in a way that only confident people can. In one quick movement the man spins her around and bends her over the hood of the car. He immediately takes out his cock, stroking it a couple of times before he thrusts into her, one hand on her back while the other holds the bottle that he continues drinking from. And it’s a moment before you realize that it’s Aleister, fucking away at a woman whose name he won’t remember in a few hours.

The sight makes you want to curl up and die, makes you want to say that you’ve made a mistake and run along home so you can bawl your eyes out while you wait for his inevitable drunken arrival. But, if nothing else, the damage that you’ve done to your credit card in order to make yourself look just a bit more sexy and edgy than usual, as well as the glasses of wine you had already consumed to fortify your courage, push you forward. This is a test. In order to pass, you need to be able to ignore the man whose indifference is killing you and enter the world of others, where someone who wasn’t up to the standards of the rarified model girls might be willing to give you a second look.

Aleister doesn’t even glance up as you enter the bar a few feet away from him, can’t feel the dark weight of your eyes on him or the force with which you tear them away as you step through the door.

As soon as you do, you are once again frozen with the idea that you’ve made a mistake. When Bayley characterized this as a “get-together”, you’d assumed it meant a group of people spread out around a few tables chatting away and toasting Roman’s health. Instead, what greets you is a basement club full of people with a dance floor alive with writhing bodies. You recognize a few journalists but for the most part, the space is taken up with every WWE and NXT star you’ve ever heard of. It’s a convention of beautiful people and you can’t help but feel dowdy even in your overpriced finery.

You slowly descend the stairs, fully intending to look around, say hello to a few familiar faces and then bolt for the exit, but you’re immediately greeted by a familiar voice that fairly shrieks. “Oh my god woman, just look at you!”

It’s Sasha Banks, standing at the edge of the stairs with Bayley, who gives you an exaggerated round of applause.

“Miranda, you look amazing,” Sasha continues breathlessly. “Seriously, you’re putting everyone to shame.”

You don’t feel like you’re putting anyone to shame, least of all Sasha in her body suit that hugs every curve of her perfect little hourglass, but you blush at the compliment.

“Come on,” Bayley gushes, “we need shots to celebrate your hotness!”

She pulls both of you through the crowd to the bar and somehow is able to get the bartender’s attention almost immediately, ordering two rounds of tequila shots because, she tells you and Sasha, there’s no point in getting just one round when you know you’re going back for seconds. The three of you toast and toss down the shots and then immediately do so again and you have to admit that you’re feeling the warm glow already. Sasha, apparently feeling something herself, wraps her arms around you and once again reassures you that you are devastatingly beautiful.

Another shot is thrust into your hand, this time by Dash Wilder, who’s arrived with his Revival partner Scott Dawson. Wilder has always been attractive to you, so you give him as radiant a smile as you can manage and you swear he blushes a little just before he downs his shot. Dawson is hugging Sasha and Bayley close to him, allowing Dash to edge a little closer to you and you’re feeling a little high on yourself when another voice cuts through your circle.

“Miranda? Holy fuck I can’t believe you’re here!”

Roman Reigns pushes right through the bodies close to the bar and grabs you firmly by the shoulders, his eyes gradually focusing on yours. He’s grinning with an intensity that clearly comes from his being a little past feeling no pain but it doesn’t hamper the thrill it gives you when he wraps his arms around you and nearly crushes you in a hug.

“I mean, shit, I don’t think I’ve even talked to you since you did that interview,” he pouts. “Thank you so much for coming.”

You smile as another shot is pushed into your hand, biting your lip self-consciously. You down about half the shot before Roman grabs it from you and finishes it, breaking up with laughter. He signals the bartender for another round, keeping an arm around your back until the tray of shots arrives. You’re all toasting each other and you wonder why you ever questioned yourself for coming here because this is exactly what you needed.

“Come dance with me,” Roman chuckles, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards the dance floor. He’s clearly floating on a sea of drunken bliss, goofing around and happy to have someone to have fun with, someone he didn’t expect to be there. Even if you wanted to resist his offer, you couldn’t because, while he isn’t doing anything that might hurt you, his grip is strong enough and the rest of him powerful enough to compel you forward.

The two of you deliberately dance like complete nerds in high school, awkward movements and ironic posturing until you’re both laughing so hard you can barely stand. It’s then that you realize that you’ve become the focus of some attention; Roman goddamn Reigns, the face of the company, the locker room leader, the man who everyone has come to celebrate, is dancing with you. Most of the people here have no idea who you are but because you’re with Roman, you are somebody. Basking in the subtle attention and envy, you close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in the music, swaying to the beat until you feel a large pair of hands on your hips.

You open your eyes to see Roman pulling you closer to him with a devilish grin before spinning you around and pulling your back against his massive chest. You continue to move but at a slower pace, your movements limited by how close he’s holding you and the sensual way in which his body moves against yours. Keeping one arm loosely around you, he lets his other hand fall against your thigh, lightly playing with the hem of your dress. It makes you gasp.

“You never responded to any of my texts,” he murmurs gruffly in your ear.

You remember at least half a dozen messages asking if he could clarify anything or if you needed any additional material for your article. You hadn’t needed anything else but you suddenly feel terribly rude for not answering.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “you were very professional and I should have at least told you that I had what I needed.”

His voice drops even lower as he speaks. “I didn’t mean to be professional about them. And I was hoping that you didn’t have everything you needed.”

He pulls you up and firmly against him and for the first time you can feel his hardening cock through his pants. You can’t help but thrust your hips into him, barely able to process what’s happening to you. The two of you are still ostensibly dancing, although it’s more like a rhythmic grinding to the music as he reaches down and pulls the hem of your dress up, rubbing your thigh and then your ass as he presses his lips into your neck. His hands are everywhere on you and you’re aware that your entire lower body is basically on display for anyone who cares to look but you don’t care because it feels like you’ve won the lottery. You moan at the feeling of his growing excitement against your flesh, both his large hands grazing up the front of your thighs and for a moment you think that you’re ready to beg him to take you right there when you’re violently spun away from your dance partner, a bruising grip on your arm.

It’s Aleister, eyes incandescent with rage as he tells Roman, “I need to speak to her for a minute.”

Roman looks confused and tries to speak to you but Aleister drags you away and a gaggle of women immediately descend on Roman, desperate to take your place.

Aleister flings you against the wall, glaring at you with an intensity that you’ve never seen outside the ring.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls.

“I was dancing before you interfered,” you snap back at him, rubbing your arm.

“Dancing?” he repeats with derision. “That’s what you call that?”

“I was having fun.”

“What the hell are you wearing?”

For the first time since you saw him with his woman of choice outside, you feel ridiculous, like a girl trying to look glamorous by donning her mother’s clothes.

“I wanted something a little different.”

“A little?” he hisses back. “Do you realize what you look like? You’re all tarted up and letting some guy grab at you and get you half naked in front of a bar full of people.”

“What I look like?”

“Everyone could see practically your whole goddamned body. They could see what you were letting him do to you.”

“You mean to say I look like a whore.”

Aleister crosses his arms and glances away, refusing to confirm what you’ve said.

“So what, Aleister? So what if I’m letting a man touch me and show me that he wants me? Who cares who else sees? Maybe that’s what I want!”

“Are you so stupid that you think he wants you for anything other than a one night stand?”

The accusation stabs at your heart and your confidence but you’re determined not to let him see that.

“Again, so what? Maybe I’m happy to have this big, gorgeous man want me. Maybe I’m fine bringing him back to my place for a few hours of fun because at least it means someone is thinking of me as a sexual being for a change.” You pause, knowing the danger of what you’re about to say but unable to stop yourself. “Maybe I’d be fine if he just took me outside and fucked me over the hood of a car.”

For a second, you think that Aleister is going to strangle you. The look on his face is like the moment before the sky erupts in thunder and lightning. Truthfully, you expect that he’ll turn on his heel and walk away from you and never come back, and perhaps that’s what you need him to do so that you can get over him.

Instead, he grabs you, pinning you to the side of his body and pulling you towards the door. His movements make you stumble, and the more you try to resist him, the more ungainly you look.

“She’s dead drunk,” you hear him assure a few people, “I’m going to make sure she gets home.”

And while it’s true that you are drunk, you’re not nearly as drunk as he’s making you out to be. The second he has you outside, you try to twist away from him and go back, only for him to wind you closer, pulling you off balance so that you look even more inebriated.

You hear him whisper to Seth Rollins, who’s observing the spectacle through the corner of his eyes. “Look, tell Roman that she’s falling down drunk and I just had to get her home. No disrespect meant.”

Seth has a confused expression on his face but nods and tells him, “Sure thing.”

Realizing what Aleister is doing, you once again try to rush past him, but he blocks you, gripping your arm and pulling you after him so that you really do appear pathetically unable to take care of yourself.

“Why the fuck are you doing this to me?” you shout at him, figuring that there’s no reason to worry about who might hear you, there being no further you can sink in their estimation. “Why can’t you just let me enjoy myself?”

“Jesus, Miranda, you’re loaded. You can barely stand up.” He emphasizes this by jerking your arm forward, which almost causes you to keel over onto your face. “You’re just embarrassing yourself.”

“No,” you insist, pulling yourself to a halt. “I knew what I was doing. I knew what I wanted. Sure I’m a bit tipsy but-“

“You don’t want that,” Alesiter snaps, threading his arm through yours and continuing down the street. “You don’t just want to whore yourself out for a night because you think it might help your self-esteem.”

“You don’t get to decide what I want, Aleister.” You’re crushed against his side and he’s moving so quickly that your feet only graze the ground every third or fourth step. “Let me go. I’m sick of playing the surrogate mother for someone who’s incapable of seeing me as a real woman. I want to go back there. I want to have someone make a show of wanting me. I want to get fucked so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

Aleister shakes his head like a parent frustrated with a misbehaving child. “Stop it. You’re being ridiculous.”

“So let me be ridiculous!” you yell back, trying unsuccessfully to extricate yourself from his grip. “What the hell is it to you? Are you worried that for once I’m not going to be there when you need a place to collapse at four in the morning?”

The two of you reach the corner where the alley meets the street and he swings you to face him, glowering at you with a terrifying expression, gripping your biceps so hard you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. He says nothing but stares at you until he whips his arm out and hails a taxi seemingly out of nowhere.

He launches you, there’s no other word for it, into the back seat of the car and snarls your address to the driver as your tears start to fall. The cabbie is noticeably uncomfortable with your quiet whimpering and seems confused by the fact that Aleister does nothing to comfort or engage you. He sits with his arms folded, scowling, until you arrive at your building. Reflexively, you reach for your purse only to have Aleister swat your hand away and pay the driver himself. You try to keep pace as he yanks you towards the door, but stumble because of your unsure footing in these strange heels and because your vision is glazed by the tears you’re fighting to hold in.

When Aleister pins you against the door and rummages through your purse to find your keys, it somehow feels more invasive than Roman gripping your ass for an entire bar full of people to see. You feel, for a moment, that he is looking at you with tenderness. But when the door opens, he simply guides you through it. As you hear it click shut, the last of your strength, physical and emotional, gives out and you drop to your knees, finally allowing the tears to fall. It’s a full-on ugly cry, punctuated by guttural, anguished sounds you’d never allow anyone else to hear. Despite everything, you desperately want to hear the door open again behind you and to hear him say that he’s realized he loves you.

But no, in the end, he’s just found it gross that the woman he sees as his caregiver might have another side. He found you pathetic in your overpriced dress and shoes. He knew that you were desperately trying to act like something you could never be: like someone who could compete with the perfected Instagram beauties he fucks every night. You could never be that. He knew that you were just a sad little woman decked out in a gaudy outfit. You’d never be that sexy, desirable person who stopped men dead in their tracks, no matter what your dance with Roman had temporarily led you to believe.

You’re on your knees for what seems like hours, choking on tears and snot and trying to restrain yourself from howling. Just as the sound overpowers you and a low wail escapes your lips, you’re startled by a pair of arms, familiar, tattooed arms wrapping around your waist from behind.

“Shh. There’s no need for any of that,” he grunts into your hair.

And while you’re shocked and thrilled that he actually stayed behind to make sure that you were ok, it’s also even more humiliating that he’s seen you fall apart so spectacularly. Your body feels limp with defeat and unable to react at all as he gathers you up and carries you into your bedroom, setting you gently on the edge of the bed. He rests his hand on yours for a moment and you’re able to stem the flow of tears until he stands up and heads back towards the door. This time, you’re determined to hold in the worst of your misery until you’re sure he’s gone, even though you can’t stop the tears from running down your face.

But after a few minutes of straining to hear the door close, you see Aleister return, a damp washcloth in hand, and he sits once again beside you on the edge of the bed. He presses the cloth, cool and soothing, against your cheeks and then holds your chin as he delicately wipes it across your face. It takes you some minutes to realize that he’s removing your smeared makeup, cleaning you off so that you look good as new, so that you look more like the plain girl who lets him into her home in the middle of the night, his touch filled with a tenderness that you never imagined him capable of. When he’s satisfied with his work, he tosses the cloth aside and wraps an arm around you, pulling you close against him. The sweetness of his friendly gesture makes you want to cry all over again but you choke it back, knowing that you’ll have plenty of time for that when he’s gone.

“Can I stay here tonight?” he whispers, the sound of his voice making you feel weak.

You nod and roughly pull back from him, unsure of your ability to stop yourself from throwing yourself at him and begging him to wreck you. You fumble with the zipper of your boots until Aleister slides off the bed and onto his knees and removes it for you. He glides his hand along your calf, up to your thigh and then moves to your other boot. As he slides it off, he presses his head against the side of your knee, giving the skin a light kiss before rocking back on his haunches. You know he’s being gentle with you because he feels sorry for you. He finds you pitiful, which is even worse than finding you asexual.

The feelings are too much for you to take and all you can think of is that you want to get into bed where you’ll be safe and where you can sleep off the nightmare your evening out has become. You clumsily shed your dress, stockings, bra and panties without thinking much of the fact that you have an audience. Why should it bother him seeing you naked, after all? Normally, you put on some nightclothes but you don’t even have the strength to bother. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that Aleister has turned his head towards the door. He’s embarrassed for you, the way you would be if a parent or sibling was undressing around you.

You crawl under the covers with a grumbled “good night” and immediately start to feel yourself drift off. You’re jolted back to wakefulness when Aleister climbs in beside you. In all the time you’ve known him, as many nights as he’s come and collapsed on your sofa, you don’t think he’s ever seen your bedroom. Now, having seen it, he’s apparently happy not to leave it, indulging in the comfort of your bed without even asking permission. It makes you a little self-conscious that you’re nude but it’s hardly the most humiliating thing to happen to you tonight, so you let yourself ignore it. If you can just fall asleep, this night will be over and you can begin the process of trying to forget it.

It’s only a matter of seconds, though, until you feel his body pressed against yours from behind, one hand coming to rest flat on your stomach and pushing you back against him so that you are acutely aware that you are not the only person naked in the bed. The hand on your stomach flutters downward until his fingers are moving lightly over your pussy, like he’s plucking the strings of a harp. His other arm wraps around your shoulders and keeps you flush against him, close enough that you can’t mistake the feeling of his erection against your back.

He presses his lips and tongue against your neck, making you whimper as you try to keep your heart rate stable. Your little noises seem to motivate him further, his touch becoming more insistent and one of his legs snaking over yours, pulling it back to give his hand greater access.

“Such a little fool,” he murmurs, his fingers stroking insistently along your fleshy folds. “Thinking I don’t see you as a sexual being.”

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, making you cry out- more from the shock than the pain. His mouth continues to move around your neck and shoulders, nipping and sucking on the skin there, his grip on you tightening until it’s nearly painful.

“What are you doing?” you manage to ask.

“Leaving marks,” he says matter-of-factly.

You’re at a loss for what to say, but are saved from having to answer as he pushes two fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit. You’re embarrassed that he must have felt how wet you were just from being in his presence but he says nothing, quickening his pace and giving satisfied little growls when his touch elicits gasps and cries of pleasure from you.

It’s pity, you remind yourself; what he’s doing to you, he’s doing it because he feels sorry for you and because he’s drunk and horny despite his encounter earlier in the evening. But the thought gets whisked away as he brings you closer and closer to what you’ve desperately needed from him for so long. You let out a little shriek when he removes his hand, unable to believe he’s so cruel as to bring you to the precipice and then deny you. But he simply flips you onto your back before pressing his fingers inside you once more, watching your reactions to be sure he’s hitting just the right spot before burying his face between your legs. His tongue, lips and fingers work together like an orchestra. Your knuckles are white from the force of clenching on the sheets and you’re biting down so hard on your lip to muffle the sounds you’re making that you’re worried your teeth will end up permanently embedded. He unexpectedly raises his head and stills the movement of his hand inside you and the shock is almost enough to make you start crying again. You look down at him, his eyes sparkling in the low light with an expression you can’t read.

“Why won’t you let me hear you?”

Because you don’t want him to know how good his merciful little gesture is making you feel. Because you don’t want to admit to yourself that it’s better than you’d imagined. Truthfully, whenever you’ve thought about the mechanics of sex with Aleister, you imagined that it would be fast and rough and hedonistic, much like his other sexual encounters seem to be. But he’s chosen this moment to take his time, to focus on his partner, rather than go for a quick, dirty fuck in a darkened corner.

You don’t tell him any of this, instead croaking out, “I’m shy.”

He raises himself up and over your body with the effortless grace of a serpent, pressing his head close to yours and kissing along your jawline.

“What do I have to do to make you not be shy?”

“I don’t know… I just… am.” You wriggle a little under him, turning your face away when he looks directly into your eyes.

He cups your face in one hand and runs the other, still wet with your juices, over your breast, teasing the nipple and making you shudder involuntarily.

“Am I moving too fast?”

You shake your head, not quite trusting your voice.

“Is there something that you’d enjoy more? Something you want me to do for you?”

You give him another little shake of the head.

“You don’t have to be shy with me. Whatever you want, I want you to tell me so I can give it to you. Anything.”

For the first time, he kisses you on the lips, his tongue, that still tastes of you, slides against yours and the hand at the side of your face slides to hold your neck, cradling your head so that you don’t have to tense any muscles to stay in that position. Your body has nothing it needs to do but experience the sensations he’s creating. Of course, you still answer his kiss, hungrily flashing your tongue against his, reveling in the light scrape of his lip ring against your lips. His hand glides back down between your legs, and even the proximity is enough to draw a couple of little mewls of pleasure. You feel him smile a little against your lips at the noises and he pulls away from the kiss.

“Am I making you feel good?”

You nod as he starts to work his fingers around your entrance once again.

“Do you want my mouth down there again?”

You nod even more vigorously than the first time but he shakes his head.

“Tell me. Say it out loud.”

You open your mouth to do so and he immediately thrusts his long fingers into your g-spot and your clit at once, making you yelp in pleasure. It’s almost enough to make you cum on its own but he eases the pressure before you reach that peak.

“Yes?” he asks again.

“Yes, fuck, yes!”

“Then let me hear you. Please.”

He returns his attention to your core and has you making all manner of unholy noises in short order. He expertly teases you and then holds back, so many times that when he does finally take you over the edge, you feel like you might pass out from the intensity of it. Your gasps for breath sound cavernous in the quiet room.

He keeps the palm of his hand firmly against you as he leans forward and presses his lips into your neck, letting out a satisfied purr every time an aftershock rolls through your body.

When he’s satisfied that you’ve fully come down, he raises himself up on his arms, giving just the hint of a smile when you grab onto his biceps to steady yourself.

He’s so rigid that he doesn’t even need a hand to guide himself into you. He simply presses forward in one slow but sure moment, his eyes closed as if it’s a kind of religious experience, not opening them until he’s fully seated inside you. It’s been long enough since you’ve been with anyone that the feeling of being stretched draws a little whimper from your throat. He remains still, his eyes open and bearing down on you with a delirious kind of excitement, aching prick twitching inside you, desperate to proceed but waiting for a signal that he can.

And it’s at that moment that you allow yourself to think that this isn’t pity or a drunken mistake, that he’s as hungry for you as you have been for him and that what’s happened tonight has just served to connect a circuit. The fiercely possessive look in his eyes as he watches you, the fury when he thought someone else was claiming you, the need to mark you to make you his, the flush of pure lust on his face and chest… it is just a little frightening, something you suspected was in him but never that it was focused on you. But you’ve always known you could handle his darkness if he let you in. So you thrust your hips a little and wrap your legs loosely around his waist to show him that he can continue. Just as he starts to move, he cups your face and presses his mouth to your ear.

“You deserve so much better.”

“Stop trying to make those decisions for me,” you moan, feeling your insides flutter with his movements.

“I’ve never felt anything like that jealousy.” He’s staring into your eyes as he confesses. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder pressing deeper inside you and gasping at the feeling. “Knowing that everyone could see how sexy and beautiful you are… And I’m an idiot for waiting for that to happen before I did anything, I just…”

He grimaces and slows his pace a little, obviously trying to prolong the sensation.

“You mean it?” You have to ask because you still can’t quite believe that this has been on his mind for all this time when he’s shown no sign of it to you.

“God yes,” he answers through gritted teeth, once again allowing himself to move faster and more urgently.

You can’t completely banish your fears that he’s going to regret this in the morning and just shut you out again but every second with him is pushing them further away. You lace your fingers through his hair, nipping at the shell of his ear as he lets out his own stream of desperate, lusty noises, running your nails gently down his back as he approaches his crescendo.

His head drops to your chest and he cries out as he releases inside you.

“Fuck I love you, fuck I love you, fuck I love you.” He repeats it like a mantra that brings him back down from his high, saying it a final time as he looks into your eyes.

Slowly, he rolls onto his side, gathering you close to him like he thinks an errant breeze might carry you away.

“I have…” he begins quietly, “… there’s a lot that goes on in my head… Bad things, I guess. I thought you’d run away. Or that I’d pull you down with me. I still don’t know that won’t happen.”

He looks so vulnerable that it makes your heart hurt but at the same time you have to stifle a smile.

“Well I’d rather you let me try to deal with it. I’m a lot tougher than you give me credit for being.”

His expression grows a little guilty and he nods. He wraps his arms tighter around you and you do the same until the two of you are lying in your bed, wound around each other.

#aleister black fanfic #aleister black fan fiction #aleister black imagine #tommy end imagine #wwe imagine #wwe fanfiction #wwe smut #wayward wrestle writing #wrestling imagine #wrestling fanfiction

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beewolfwrites · 3 years

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And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Twenty-Four: And the Rest is Silence

And this is it: the final chapter! It’s been insane, but this is the only fanfiction I've ever finished before, and it wouldn’t have happened without all the support. Thank you so much!! I didn’t think anyone would read this, but seeing everyone’s reactions to each chapter has kept me going :D

I’m sorry for the essay, but I’m aware I didn’t post anything about this in the AIB tag. Yes, there will be a sequel!

I need to read the manga properly before writing it, so I don’t know when the sequel will start. But in the meantime, there’ll be a series of Chishiya one-shots of his perspective, and there’ll even be scenes that weren’t in this fic, plus an original game!

For the full fanfic, you can find it here on AO3.

I’ll also be creating a master list, and I'll post the literature references after this for those who wanted them <3

Once again, thank you so much!! And I hope you enjoy this last chapter.

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By the time Kuina found us again, it was already late afternoon, and even though our visas had extended by ten days after the Witch Hunt game, there was something about the setting of the sun that felt foreboding.

We lit up the furniture shop with candles and changed into the clean clothes we’d collected. Seeing Chishiya wearing ordinary clothes felt strange. Aside from when we’d crossed paths in the Tag game, the entire time I’d known him he’d been wearing swim shorts and flip flops.

Now, he emerged from the bathroom wearing grey sweatpants and a variegated blue cardigan that suited him perfectly. When his eyes flickered to mine, I realised I’d been staring, and distracted myself with preparing dinner instead. It wasn’t much, especially since all I had was canned goods and a camping stove, but the vegetable stew kept us warm while we curled up in our makeshift living room. As evening turned to night, however, it became obvious that something was missing.

There are no games.

Kuina chewed on her lip, looking out of the window. ‘What d’you think will happen when our visas run out?’

‘It probably has something to do with the Ten of Hearts,’ I told her. ‘Maybe there’s no need for games anymore, since we’ve got all the numbered cards.’

It didn’t bode well for us. If there were no games by the time our visas ran out, there was no chance of us getting out of the Borderlands. At least not alive.

As the night wore on, Kuina was the first to go upstairs. Covering her yawn with her hand, she waved goodnight and winked at me. I tried not to blush. Not that it made a difference, anyway. Chishiya was busying himself over a scrap of paper, and barely reacted when I smushed up by his side.

I frowned at the paper in his hand. ‘Isn’t that...’

‘Ah.’ He held it out so I could see it. ‘I took it from the tagger’s pocket.’ It was a drawing of a circle with squiggly lines, clearly a rushed sketch of something. In the middle of a line, the pen had stabbed a hole straight through.

‘What is it?’

‘Well, I have an idea,’ he said, but never elaborated.

Fighting the onset of sleep, I leaned my head against his shoulder, paying no mind to the way he tensed beneath me. The fabric of his cardigan was soft as down and made for a perfect pillow. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me?’

‘And if I don’t want to?’

I pushed my face into the fabric, pretending to settle in for the night. ‘Then I’ll just stay here and annoy you until your visa runs out.’

‘I have a feeling that won’t happen any time soon,’ he said, looking out the window.

And that was when I noticed it too. Midnight had passed by only a few minutes ago, yet there were no lasers. Did that mean the Borderlands were at a standstill? Were we stuck here permanently now? I wasn’t aware of how silent I had become, lost in my own thoughts, until Chishiya spoke up.

‘I believe it’s a map.’

My eyes slid to the drawing again. ‘And that hole in the paper, do you think that’s where the others are? The dealers, I mean.’

He shifted uncomfortably and I sat upright, conscious that I might have been unintentionally hurting or bothering him. Looking at the map properly, the lines could represent different interlocking pathways. If the marked place was a hideout of some kind, it couldn’t be in the open streets; there was too big a risk that a player might stumble upon it by accident.

So where...?

As soon as the idea came to mind, the words slipped out of my mouth. ‘The subway....’

He hummed in agreement. ‘I went to the nearest subway station this morning to check it against the real map. It’s a loose fit, but it works.’

I thought back to the second tagger – the crying woman – and how she’d been forced to participate in the game, donning an explosive collar. ‘Maybe if we find the place, we’ll get some answers.’

‘Probably,’ he said. ‘But I’m curious to see if anything changes within the next few days.’

‘Do you think we’ll hear something soon?’ I asked, yawning into my hand.

‘I believe we will.’ He gave me that same half-smile I had grown so used to. ‘But right now, I think you should go to sleep.’

Chishiya didn’t complain when I crawled into his bed. Like the night before, he kept his distance, but I could’ve sworn at times, when my sleeping became lighter throughout the night, I could feel fingers lightly touching my hair, only to pull back the moment I stirred. Over the next few days, it became the norm, and every night I would curl up on my side of the bed, slipping into calm dreams under the blue light of the window.

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

Despite the sunshine washing over the grey of the city, the stairs leading into Minami-Aoyama station descended into darkness. We’d checked and double-checked the drawing against the official subway map several times, but the idea of entering an abandoned station to uncover who knows what wasn’t inviting.

‘Are you sure this is it?’ Kuina asked for the third time.

I looked at the route map hanging over the station entrance, my eyes tracing the shape of the lines. ‘Positive.’

Folding her arms, Kuina went first. I waited for Chishiya to take a small torch from his pocket before following behind. The station was truly submerged in blackness, and if not for Chishiya’s torch, we would have easily become lost. He shone the beam at the paper in his hand, then held it up against each train line.

‘This way,’ he said, and walked towards the edge of the platform.

We hopped down onto the gravel below, using the metal tracks to guide us further into the tunnels. It was disconcerting to see the subway so empty, but with Kuina and Chishiya here, I felt safe somehow.

Several minutes in, Chishiya stopped abruptly, and I almost walked into him. If he reacted at all, I couldn’t see to tell. But he seemed more focused on something else, as he pointed the torch at a door that had been busted open.

‘That must be it.’ Kuina’s voice echoed.

Without hesitation, Chishiya disappeared through the door, leaving Kuina and I in the darkness.

Chishiya?!

I panicked, arms waving as I tried to find something to hold onto. I heard Kuina hiss as we stumbled into each other and bumped elbows. Feeling around for the door frame, we managed to make our way inside, where Chishiya held his torch at us from further away.

‘Hey!’ Kuina snapped. ‘Don’t do that again! You’re the only one with a light here.’

‘Walk faster then,’ he said, waiting impatiently as we jogged over.

He shone the beam in the opposite direction, where it bounced off something. It was still too dark to tell just what, but as we walked forwards, everything became clearer. A structure lay ahead, with tunnels and walkways all leading into a giant room. Overhead, wires were strung across the ceiling, all feeding into the same place. We entered through one of the tunnels, and my heart jumped.

Televisions. They stared, black and empty, in rows and columns up the walls. But what was even more surprising was the setup right in front of us. It was an office, with papers, pen pots and coffee-stained mugs strewn about on desks. It would have looked like any other workplace, if not for the bodies draped in chairs and across the floor.

‘What... is this?’ I crouched to inspect the body of a man in a suit. Judging from its state, he had only died recently, but more importantly, there was a singed hole running through his head. He had been killed by a laser. ‘They’re not the ones in charge of the games.’

Chishiya closely inspected a desk. ‘Evidently not,’ he said, picking up a folded piece of paper and passing it to me. It was filled with numbers, some ticked off. Whoever it had belonged to was keeping track of their visa.

They’re playing games too, I thought. Or at least, they were.

‘So, these guys were the dealers.’ Kuina gingerly held up a sheet of paper with scribbles all over it. Upon closer inspection, they appeared to be odds. ‘They were betting on us,’ she said.

A shiver ran along my skin. Of course, they had been watching us this whole time, that was expected. But to place bets on our survival was a whole other story. If the dealers were playing too, there must’ve been a separate system for them to extend their days. Perhaps how many people survived each game had some kind of impact on their visas.

A finger lightly brushed the back of my arm and Chishiya appeared beside me. ‘Momoka’s friend,’ I said, ‘she died right after she told everyone she was a dealer. And the taggers died because we won. I have a feeling their visas depended on whether or not we cleared each game... or maybe how many people didn’t make it.’

From his expression, I knew he had been thinking the same thing. ‘It doesn’t explain why they’re all dead now.’

I glanced around at the stiffened bodies slumped around us. ‘Actually, I have a bad feeling about that too.’

At that moment, a tap of footsteps echoed from the entrance. Chishiya instantly turned off his torch and tugged me into one of the tunnels. Kuina joined us and we hid, waiting. The footsteps grew louder, closer, and two torchlights waved through the darkness. I kept my eyes trained on the tunnel opposite as the footsteps paused.

‘Where is this place?’

‘Who knows?’

With a sigh, I relaxed instantly.

Those two.

It had only been a few days since I had made peace with Arisu and Usagi, but I was glad to see them again. Arisu was cleaned up, his wounds well on the way to healing, while Usagi stared in amazement at the television screens around us.

Chishiya grazed past me as he moved out from under the shadows. ‘You actually found this place,’ he said. ‘As expected from someone I have high hopes for.’

‘We meet again,’ Kuina said, walking around the desks to lean against the wall.

Arisu and Usagi’s eyes scanned the two of them before stopping at me. They looked visibly confused, probably wondering what I was doing with them after I’d told them I wasn’t involved in Chishiya’s setup. In an attempt at diffusing the awkwardness, I smiled and waved.

‘You guys,’ Usagi whispered. Her voice bordered on distrust, not that anyone could blame her.

I couldn’t tell whether Chishiya was trying to make things better or worse when he held up the full deck of cards and smiled. ‘Thanks to you guys, I have all the playing cards with me,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

Arisu only looked at him cynically. ‘How did you discover this place?’

Chishiya rooted in his pocket and pulled out the drawing. ‘It took me some time to realise this is actually a map. The route map of the subway.’ He sauntered around the desks. ‘As for what happens when we collect the cards... I thought I would know the answer if I came here.’ His eyes jumped to mine. ‘But there’s something else we discovered instead.’

‘They’re not the gamemasters,’ Arisu said, eyes fixed on the bodies around us.

I stepped over a hand strewn across the floor. ‘カードを集めたので、殺された.’ Because we collected the cards, they were all killed. I struggled for a moment, trying to think of the right words. ‘There must be someone above them.’

Chishiya translated, and Usagi turned to me with worry. ‘But who?’

‘Who knows?’ Chishiya shrugged. ‘They might be aliens... or even God.’

The idea didn’t sound as strange as it should have done. We were in a world where lasers appeared from the sky, and death games were the norm. Even when I first arrived here, I’d wondered whether this was a form of judgement. Nothing was out of the question anymore.

Suddenly, the screens burst into life and white light flooded the room. I jumped, flocking to Chishiya and Kuina’s side.

Have we been caught?

Music reverberated all around us, and the screens displayed all four card suits, along with a message I couldn’t read. It didn’t matter though, as the voice that rang through the speakers was one I remembered well. My stomach dropped.

‘Congratulations to all players!’

The screens blurred until Mira’s wild eyes and subdued smile came into focus. It was now obvious why the Ten of Hearts had taken place at the Beach at the very moment things had fallen apart.

She must’ve been feeding information back, I thought. But back to where?

‘How interesting,’ Chishiya said. Seeking stability, I slipped a hand into his pocket. There was a slight hesitation before his fingers laced around mine.

Mira’s voice shook with a quiet excitement. ‘With the exception of the face cards, you’ve all cleared the numbered games and emerged as victors. It’s a sweet victory, gained by sacrificing so many lives.’ Her expression turned wistful as she stood. ‘I wonder, how many of your comrades have died. Try remembering those who were shot dead with guns.’

A single screen switched to show footage from a miscellaneous game. A group were stood, clutching their guns as they inspected the scatter of bodies across the ground.

They’ve been recording us.

‘And that girl you burned alive.’

A second display opened up, revealing several players watching on as a girl, engulfed in flames, struggled and clawed at her skin and clothes. I held my breath, Niragi’s animalistic cries ringing through my memory.

‘Those struck by lasers, and those that drowned.’

My eyes widened, and I gripped Chishiya’s hand as the inside of the furniture store appeared on-screen. The fractured image of myself flinched, quivering with shock, as the first man and Green Shirt leapt from their seats, only to crumple to the ground, lasers piercing them where they stood.

Chishiya’s fingers squeezed mine, and I gasped, blinking away the image. He must’ve seen it too.

‘Those who’s heads were blown off,’ Mira continued, dreamily. ‘Those comrades of yours, the despair you’ve felt so far, and those dying moments you’ll never forget.’

The screen changed once more, and from the corner of my eye, Arisu winced. Following his gaze, I recognized his partner from the Tag game, his neck exploding around a collar.

I’m so sorry....

Meanwhile, Mira’s expression shifted into pure, childlike delight. ‘Everyone... I’m so touched!’ She held her hand over her heart. ‘All of you players, we’d like to give you a present.’

We?

Chishiya tensed slightly. He had noticed it too. If Mira wasn’t the only gamemaster, just who were the others?

Although Mira couldn’t hear us, Kuina mumbled, ‘Are you returning us to the real world?’

It seemed too good to be true, and sure enough, it was. Mira clapped her hands together excitedly. ‘There will be new games! Let’s play more games together and fight for the face cards this time!’

Aside from Chishiya, everyone sank with disappointment and fear. Just how much more would we have to deal with before we could go home? If we were competing for the face cards, did that mean there were only twelve more games in total, or would there be repeat cards like there were for the numbered ones?

Kuina groaned. ‘New games? You’re kidding.’

‘I don’t dislike the idea,’ Chishiya murmured.

I looked at him, curious. ‘What do you mean?’

His expression was guarded, but before he could reply, Mira’s voice cut in again. ‘The next stage will commence tomorrow at noon. Everyone, let’s have fun together!’

All at once, the screens shut down, leaving us all in the darkness once more. Everything was quiet as we came to terms with what had just happened. It was Arisu who first suggested that we get out of here. Him and Usagi disappeared back through the tunnel, and with one glance at Chishiya and I, Kuina followed.

My fingers were still interlaced with his, hidden within the warmth of his pocket. He was watching me, waiting.

‘These games,’ I said. ‘They’re going to be harder than the others.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘Probably.’

‘About what you said before...’ I began. ‘Do you remember that time on the rooftop of the Beach, when I asked you if you were okay, and you told me it shouldn’t matter to me.’

I could see him thinking back. ‘I remember.’

‘What I said then still stands. You might not care about your own life, and I can’t stop you from taking part in these new games.’ I bit my lip, unable to face him as my eyes began tearing up. ‘Perhaps this is selfish of me, but you need to survive. And if you can’t do it for yourself, then....’

He sighed. ‘You cry too much.’ When I looked up, his lips were curled into that same, familiar smile, only this time, there was nothing cruel or condescending there. ‘We should find the others.’

Wiping my eyes with the edge of my sleeve, I finally let go of his hand, following him back out and through the tunnels. As we climbed the steps of the station, emerging into daylight, a series of loud bangs resounded throughout the city. The others were peering up at the skyscrapers towering over us, and the fireworks that burst like flowers against the sunlight.

‘Let’s make a new deal,’ Chishiya said, idly watching the display. ‘I’ll survive, if you return the favour.’

I looked to him, admiring the way his hair shifted in the breeze, and how the reflection of the fireworks danced in his dark eyes.

Let’s go home together.

‘It’s a deal.’

#alice in borderland #aib #imawa no kuni no arisu #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x oc #chishiya x reader #chishiya alice in borderland

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novoplata · 2 years

Text

Of BJ Penn and Roy Dean.

Back in my BJJ days, I used to have a teammate (can't recall his name) who would only come train once or twice a month. When he did, he'd always reek of alcohol and tobacco and anyone could tell that he could be in much better shape if only he tried.

This guy, however, would never miss taking part in local tournaments, which were so few and far in between those days (circa 2011-2013). Surprisingly, despite his seemingly lack of preparation and questionable fitness, he would always smoke the competition and would always end up on the podium -- which would later be a subject of everyone's awe and amazement post-comp.

When it comes to me being competitive, my former teammate and coach said it best: "You're actually quite good, but in competitions you suck". Ouch. But it's so true.

Over this last decade as an off-again-on-again recreational athlete, I've had different coaches trying to get me to compete. I'd tell them over again that I suck at competing and no matter how good I am in a training setting, you will never see that translated on the competition floor. Exhibit A, yesterday when I couldn't even push jerk 50kg, which I would consider a weight that I can roll out of bed and push overhead at any given day. I guess everyone has their own 'athletic handicap' and this is mine.

I've had this discussion with another friend years ago who said that athletes (in the martial arts' context) are probably divided between two ends of the spectrum: the BJ Penns and the Roy Deans. The BJ Penns are the ones who always train less than you do, sometimes lead questionable lifestyles, have crappy diet, and still smoke you in competitions. These people are the great athletes -- prodigies if you may -- whom we'd often idolise.

The Roy Deans are the ones who'd approach athletic pursuits in a more cerebral way. Like Roy Dean, whose competitive resume is not well-known, these athletes would rather be technicians of the sport who enjoy learning about what works and what doesn't, instead of what would increase their chances of winning in a competitive setting.

Compared to the BJs, the Roys would probably make better coaches. As I've learned from experience, better athletes don't necessarily make better coaches.

I've been team Roy Dean all my life. Now two weeks into my strength cycle, I'm amazed by how much more nimble and pain-free my knees have felt, even with reasonably heavy squat sessions thrice a week.

My main reason for going on a strength cycle of course is to fix the root cause of my knee pain: weak glutes and overall posterior chain, which puts more pressure on my knees. As my posterior chain gets stronger, I experience lesser knee and lower back pain too. It's only week 1 and I'm already feeling (and seeing) all the benefits.

Then of course, I would like to be able to power clean heavier loads, which requires a heavier squat, and also get a better-looking booty on my inverted-triangle body shape.

Am I doing it to outsquat someone else? Hell no. Everyone's bodies and athletic abilities are different. There's probably a girl somewhere in this world who only weighs 100lbs, doesn't train as much and yet still can squat twice as heavy as me. Yes, it's really unfair but there's nothing I can do about that. I can only focus on me.

So yeah, in a world of athletes who strive to become champions. I'll choose to be on the sideline instead -- laser-focused on just being a better me today than yesterday.

#sports #random

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seasonsofeverlark · 3 years

Text

Spreading Christmas Cheer

Author: @mega-aulover

Prompt: Everlark the movie Elf [submitted by @alliswell21]

Rating: G

Author’s Note: This is a story based off of the movie Elf as requested by @alliswell21 It’s from “Jovie” i.e. Katniss POV, what she would have seen and fell in love with one Peeta ‘Buddy’ Mellark.

Special thanks to @norbertsmom for her betaing skill and for the name of the story. Parts 3 and 4 will post separately.

_____________

Pt 1

I watch Peeta gently kiss the top of our first born’s head. Holly’s dark hair is braided into two plaits; her blue eyes closing softly.

“And Papa Elf said, grandpa was on the naughty list…” his voice is soft.

Suddenly Holly’s eyes widen as she remembers something. Her blue eyes are laser focused on Peeta. “Papá, es verdad que mamá estaba en la lista de los niños malos?”

“Y quien te dijo esto?” I ask from the door. We never discuss my role in Peeta’s adventure, or the fact that I was on the naughty list. Ever.

“Santa,” Holly says.

Ese gordo, Santa has loose lips. I think about teaching him about keeping secrets until it’s time to explain to our child about the past. But before I can say anything, Peeta gives me a look. He always knows when I’m having evil thoughts. I sigh, and redirect my thoughts, because Peeta made me believe in love, joy, and Christmas.

“Your papa saved more than grandpa that Christmas. He saved me too.”

Holly’s eyes lit up like her father’s before the sleepiness creeps back into their depths.

“Now go to sleep so Santa can come down the chimney.”

“Night, mama, night papa,” Holly whispers right before she drifts off to sleep.

Together we walk out of our daughters bedroom. Peeta slides an arm around my shoulders. He dips down and nuzzles my cheek. He steers me to the living room. I drag my feet. Peeta is up to something.

“Okay, spill it, Mellark.”

He gives me a wide eyed smile.

The hair at the back of my neck stands up straight.

He’s got that look, that please tell me a bedtime story stare, and not just any story.

“No.”

Peeta pauses and gives me a puppy dog look with a full lip pout.

“No.”

“Come on, Sweetums, my li’l sugar plum,” Peeta says in an excited whisper.

“No…no don’t waggle your eyebrows at me, Peeta. Buddy. Mellark.” I pronounce each one of his names.

Peeta’s grins so brightly; his eyes shine brighter than Christmas lights. His hat is slightly crooked as he hops and does that stupid little dance of his that makes me want to tear off his green tights. Yep, I said tights. My husband was raised as an elf, a six foot two, blond, wavy haired, giant with broad shoulders, washboard abs, and is genuinely sweet. Sweeter than eggnog.

He grabs me by the waist. “You know you wanna,” he says in that sexy time voice of his that’s reserved only for me.

Canasto!

I should clarify for everyone listening to my tale; you should know canasto isn’t a vulgar or bad word. It means basket. But I like the way it sounds in Spanish. So I say it with real vehemence. It’s like peaches in Spanish sounds like a curse word. Melocotón! Tu eres un Melocotón! Which translates into you’re a peach.

I digress.

I let out a big sigh. There’s no way I can say no to him and he knows it! Canasto!

“I love it when you tell the story of how we met from your point of view.“

"You’re an evil gremlin,” I say with no heat in my voice. It’s my personal nickname for him. As in the gremlins when they ate after midnight. However to be fair, if you see Peeta, he’s not scary at all, he’s more like a big teddy bear.

Peeta laughs and my heart flip flops. Because he is anything but; he is so congenial.

Peeta puts his hands on my belly, my very big belly. It’s baby number 2; actually it’s baby number two and three. They are counted as one until they’re born. I know what he’s doing, the evil gremlin! He’s trying to distract me because I’m due to give birth. I have mild pangs because I’m carrying twins and I’m nearing my due date.

He carries me and sits me on his lap. “Now start from the beginning.”

“From the candy cane forest?” I ask.

“No from your point of view,” his eyes dance gently as he rests me against his chest, rubbing my bulging belly.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Don’t forget to start with once upon a time,” Peeta insists, trying to contain his excitement.

“Once upon a time.”

“This is going to be good,” Peeta whispers.

“Are you going to let me tell the story?”

“Oh yea,” Peeta placed a kiss on my nose. “Go ahead.”

Closing my eyes I picture the year things changed. Because everything in my life was about others and never myself. I was always trying to be someone else, what everyone expected of me.

It’s hard being a foster kid, and getting out of the system is kind of like getting out of jail. Suddenly you have all this freedom, but you’ve been conditioned to follow all of these rules, so when you are free, you do one of two things. You get in trouble, and try to get sent into an institution; some of us call it the iron college. Or you try to keep your nose clean and learn in the school of hard knocks. In my case, I kept my head above the water for my sister’s sake.

“I love my family,” I muttered underneath my breath.

I muttered it again as my sister destroyed, no scratch that, mutilated Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas."

Did I forget to mention that I love my family?

I do. I love my family and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them, but at that moment I wanted to scratch my ears out with dull spoons.

My perfect baby sister is a smoking hot blonde runway model and the muse for Karl Lagerfeld, but she has the worst singing voice known to man. You want to torture someone, hire my sister, and have her sing to the person you want to torture. Within 3 seconds flat, she can have even the most hardened of spies spilling their guts like a canary.

The one thing I could not stand beside my sister’s singing was Christmas.

I loathed Christmas.

I was not ashamed to say it. Every fiber of my body I hated Christmas! If I had ever met the real Santa back then, he had better hoped that I was not holding my bow and arrow, because I would have shot him through the eye. Not that I believed in Santa then, but if I had known there was a real life Santa Claus, I’d have hunted him down, and burned the fat man’s jolly red outfit. I would then gleefully take a joy ride in his sleigh into his workshop like Bill Murray did in Groundhog Day when he allowed the groundhog to drive him off the cliff into a fiery death.

At this point you are wondering why I hated Christmas so much.

There were many reasons why the holiday was so contemptible to me. One, my father died on Christmas day. Two, my mother checked out on us that same Christmas day. The next Christmas Eve was when my sister and I were separated into different foster homes. It took me a few months to find my six-year-old baby sister. I had been sent to a foster family who used foster kids for slave labor, to have them wipe and clean their floors while the Mrs. of the family spent the whole day in luxurious spas and getting Botox treatments, as if that was going to improve her mug.

My baby sister was luckier. Primrose was placed in a foster home in the middle of suburbia with a 2 story house with a picket fence. A woman named Cecilia and her husband Ronald had never been able to have kids, and they doted on my sister. They brought her up to be the princess she always said she was. Honestly, they were rather shocked when my twelve-year-old cynical self rolled up into their home screaming for my baby sister, Primrose. Prim came running out of nowhere and latched herself on to my leg like an octopus. Best Spring ever, so I do love the Spring.

But before you think we were reunited, we weren’t. The family that had Primrose never wanted me. And even if they did, we technically didn’t have the same last name. Primrose carried my mom’s last name while I carried my dad’s. My sister was Primrose Emmerson and I was Katniss Everdeen. Our parents had a silly agreement. They were also foster kids, so they decided that I would take dad’s name and the next one born would take our mothers name.

They didn’t have family, and her parents lived a common law marriage. Their childish decision caused havoc. There was a mix up and we weren’t processed as sisters. Plus, I never stayed in the same foster home for long so even if they wanted me, they never knew where I was, but no matter where I was, I found a way to talk to Primrose, because as long as Prim was loved and cared for, my situation didn’t matter.

After our brief reunion, I had to go back to the family that I was placed in, and my sister stayed with her family. I didn’t stay with mine for very long; I became a statistic. A rolling number on someone’s computer screen. I was bounced around from one family to another in all sorts of seedy homes.

So you can see why I’m so jaded. Every bad thing that ever happened to me, has happened on that freakin’ holiday. And there was one more reason I disliked that holly jolly holiday so immensely. For some reason, the universe hated me.

No matter where I went, what city, what town within the state, I could guarantee you that it was a racket, a billion dollar racket to make parents crazy and buy things for their kids they didn’t need. For some reason, it pleased people to take my olive skin, dark hair, scowling self and put me into a sparkly Christmas cheer, “gag” pointy eared elf costume.

So with a week until Christmas, I was listening to my sister butcher another holiday favorite song. Then Prim screeched. And I sighed in relief.

"Katniss,” Prim said, coming out of the bathroom. “The water is cold!”

I looked heavenward. “The pipes. I forgot they’re working on the water main outside. They said there would be interruption to service.”

“Oh, you know I can get us a hotel room,” Prim said toweling dry her pale blonde locks.

My studio apartment wasn’t what my sister was used to. She was a freaking couture runway model, six foot one, so slim nothing off the rack fit her. “I’m sorry Prim, I was so excited to see you.”

Prim smiled. “Look, I only have a few hours left. How about I treat you to lunch before I go back up to Connecticut to spend Christmas with Cecillia and Ron.” Prim smiled at me. “You know you’re more than welcome to come. They always ask about you.”

I loved my baby sister. She was amazing. And I was damned glad that the Henderson's were an amazing couple, but I knew the score. They didn’t know what to do with me. “As long as you don’t mind me wearing my elf costume.”

Primrose chuckled. “You make the cutest elf though.” She patted me on the head using a baby tone with me. Prim was taller than me by a foot. I was tiny, or as Prim said, compact size.

“I could still put you over my knee, little duck,” I growled. “Así que mira ver.”

My sister laughed and she delighted in taunting me. Prim no longer spoke Spanish, but she understood the language. “You’re adorable when you’re angry, an angry little elf, aren’t you?”

“Primrose,” I said in Spanish. I rounded my ‘r’s’ when I said her name.

“Awe, I don’t don’t get why you hate Christmas so much.” Primrose winked going to the screen divider to get dressed. My sister was used to dressing and undressing in front of dozens of people. I, on the other hand, was not so free with nudity. Primrose said I was a prude. If I hadn’t I told her to use the screen, she would have changed right in front of me.

“Did you know there are only three jobs an elf can have,” Prim said from over the screen.

I sighed. Unlike me, Primrose loved Christmas. Hell, she even suggested that there might be a real Santa Claus. I told her the only people who look for ways to sneak into people’s houses were criminals.

Prim continued her story about elves. “The type of elves that live in trees and make cookies, the types that make shoes, and the best type.”

“Let me guess, Christmas elves,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Prim grinned. She came around the screen wearing thigh high red boots, jeans and a camel tunic sweater that looked like cashmere. “Come on sis, let me treat you to breakfast so that you can go terrorize the children of Macy’s toy department.”

Pt 2

Peeta grins excitedly, breaking the narration. “You know she’s right. Papa says the cookie elves have high insurance premiums because their tree catches fire all of the time.”

“Peeta,” I huff. “Do you want me to finish the story?”

“Absolutely,” he hugs me closer. “I’m so sad you and Prim never got to grow up at the North Pole with me.”

I can’t help but smile at his sincere wish. “Oh Peeta,” I kiss his cheek.

“The only thing I would never let you do was toy testing,” Peeta whispers.

I chuckled. Peeta hated Jack-In-The-Box’s. They scare the dickens out of him. I lay my head on his shoulders. “Are you going to let me finish the story?”

“You know,” he says, blue eyes twinkling. “I’d spotted you in the city that first day.”

“You were jumping across the lines of the cross walk, “ I grin at the memory.

“I followed you until I saw the Empire State Building. Then I went to see my father.”

“I know,” I caress his face.

“Start from that point.”

“Okay, you ready now.” My babies were moving in my belly.

“Right, you were in your father’s office delivering the most awkward Christmas gram.”

Peeta chuckles. “I don’t have your pretty voice.”

I sigh. “Peeta.”

“Right, I’ll be quiet.”

I give him a look.

“But just so you know, when those guards told me to go back to Macy’s, I was curious as to why you were dressed as an elf.“

I roll my eyes. Did I forget to mention my husband is a talker. He is a chatterbox. I swear Peeta is the type who’d make friends with a paper bag.

"I thought your elf name was so pretty,” he sighs happily.

“Peeta, if you want me to tell the story. You have to hush!” I admonish, if I didn’t we would be here until tomorrow.

“Oh,” he gushes. “Yes, tell the story.”

“So, there I was in the middle of New York, like a morsel in shark infested waters. I.E….”

“That passion fruit spray is horrible,” Peeta grumbles. “I do not know how women drink that stuff.”

I want to laugh. There are still things that Peeta doesn’t understand about human society; perfume was one of them, and that fact endeared him to me.

“Can you start at the moment our eyes met?” Peeta gives me a wobbly smile.

Ah, now I know why he’s interrupting so much. “Okay.”

Sighing I recall that day. Prim and I were out to breakfast. She was harping on me to find someone. Did I fall to mention Primrose was only twenty years old at the time, and at that age I was ancient at the tender age of twenty six. Seriously twenty-six. So what if I had never dated, never had a boyfriend, and never kissed anyone. My sister was right. I was a prude, but I’d seen how love could screw you over. My mom never recovered and she died alone in some home of a broken heart. All I had in the world was my sister. My Prim, and she was the only person I would love. Until that afternoon.

“Seriously Katniss, you’re twenty-six,” Prim said.

Eye rolling was a national pastime when speaking to a glamazon who thought I needed to date.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Prim said, removing my sunglasses. “And also, sunglasses in the middle of December, so not tre chique.”

Eye roll, eye roll, eye roll. Fake smile. CANASTO!

“You are the worst,” Prim hissed.

I knew my sister wasn’t mad at me. Annoyed, yes. Mad, no. “Prim, it’s just I’m not interested in dating anyone.”

“Katniss, I just don’t want you to impersonate elves for the rest of your life, and when you’re like forty-six, you’ll realize you’re alone with a cat, who pisses in your shoes, and scratches your furniture.”

I moved to pay our bill.

“No way,” Prim said, slamming her hand on the bill. “I make what you make in a month in two hours of work. This is on me.”

“Fine,” I grumbled.

“Also, stop closing yourself to Christmas. Santa isn’t going to leave you anything under the tree.”

“Like Santa exists,” I snorted.

Prim gasped. “You take that back. Santa Claus is real Katniss, just like the rainbows, and pigs and frogs having a long term, caring relationship, and love exists.”

My sister’s wide eyed passionate confession shook me, but the only words that came out of my mouth were, “a frog and a pig?”

“Miss Piggy and Kermit are together, and if they can make it, no matter what the media says, anything is possible.”

“Huh,” I said, leaving the luncheonette near Penn Station. We walked to the corner, where she’d take the stairs to the lower level.

I took a look at the stairs, knowing this was the moment I would say goodbye to my sister once again. My eyes filled with unwanted tears. I could still recall the little girl with the untucked shirt that looked like a duck tail. It’s where the nickname li’l duck came from.

“Don’t cry,” Prim whispered. “Quack, quack.”

“I hate it when we have to say goodbye,” I said quietly.

“It’s not goodbye, Katniss; it’s until the next time.” Prim grinned then she took my elf hat and put it on my head. “Go on, terrify the poor children of the city with your menacing scowl. But you better watch out, better not cry.”

I groaned. “Prim, I would rather hear seagulls squawking then you singing.”

“I know, that’s why I do it,” Prim said.

“You’re a brat.”

“Brat, I’m on Santa’s nice list. You’re the one on the naughty list.”

“There’s no such thing as Santa…” the words died on my lips as I saw a huge man dressed in an elaborate elf outfit jumping on the lines of the crosswalk gleefully. I was struck by the joy on his face.

He looked like an angel with wavy blond hair and innocent blue eyes. It was one thing to see a six-year-old child with that wide eyed innocence, but a tall, broad shouldered man with large hands made me think perhaps he’d escaped his caretakers. His elf outfit wasn’t like the cheap one I had to wear. It was made from a rich fabric with elaborately embroidered gold thread.

If there was something I knew about, it was fabric. I never had soft fabrics growing up and I was obsessed over soft materials. I dreamed of cashmere, Egyptian cotton, mulberry silks, and linens. His green tunic was made from merino wool, like the ones they made in England in those bespoke shops. Even his hat, although a ridiculous cone shape, was not some cheap fabric covered cardboard that you’d find in a costume shop. It was made from genuine thick green wool felt with a yellow satin ribbon wrapped around it. A red feather bobbed up and down as he jumped.

He was so happy. He looked up, as if sensing my presence. Our eyes met and he smiled jovially and waved at me. My mouth went dry, because, gaw, Canasto!

This man-child was gorgeous.

“Earth to Katniss.” Prim snapped her fingers in my face.

“Sorry.” I looked back to my sister.

Prim looked over her shoulder. “Are you okay.”

I dipped out of my sister’s way. “I think I saw an elf.”

Prim laughed. “It’s Christmas, Katniss. Santa’s elves are everywhere.” Prim gave me a hug before descending the stairs to the lower level of the station.

Seeing my sister go was difficult, but I couldn’t shake the tall man dressed as an elf. He even had on yellow tights with black elf shoes.

I made my way to Macy’s. I could see the Empire State building in the background as I took a left to head to the employee’s entrance.

When I arrived, the floor manager Brutus headed straight to me. He was a ridiculous man with muscles in his neck and a bald head. His meaty fingers held a tiny clipboard.

Brutus did not believe in technology. He refused to use a tablet. He said the muckety-mucks, as he called them, were out to get him. He wore dark brown pants that were too small for his large frame and even when he stood you could see his white socks. He wore a sweater vest with various pens in his front pocket and a cheap plastic necklace that was supposed to look like tree lights.

“Jovie,” Brutus said looking over his shoulder.

“Yes, Brutus,” I smiled. Jovie was my elf name.

“Our last Santa quit, and we have no one, so until then I need you to help out in gift wrapping. Don’t forget to make sure the ribbon curl is six inches.”

“But you need more than six inches, to make a good curl.”

“Six inches.”

Sighing I walked to the station and nodded to the girls who were at the gift-wrapping station. I sat there trying to make six inch curls. People were insane at Christmas; they were stressed out to buy things, and things never made anyone happy. Things were just things.

The line of people got shorter and I noticed the tree in the center of the sales floor was looking a little sad. So getting the ladder, I rearranged the ornaments and noticed one of the lights was out. From this vantage point I saw Brutus drag him in, the elf I saw on the street.

Heat rushed to my cheeks and I focused on the tree, eavesdropping the entire time.

“Buddy, you need to remember you get a half-hour break when you work under six hours and a one hour break when you work over six hours. If I catch you on the floor again I’ll have to write you up.”

His name was Buddy. My lips formed a goofy smile at his name. Up close he was prettier, his wavy hair curled up at the ends. A shiver ran up my spine at all of those curls. I could picture little boys with blond ringlets and a little girl with dark tresses in green colored elf clothing. I held on to the ladder as I swayed.

“Wow, what’s this?” HIs eyes quickly darted to the crowded sales floor.

“This is the north pole,” Brutus said looking at his precious clipboard.

“No it’s not,” Buddy waved at a pair of babies inside of a stroller.

“Yes it is,” Brutus said.

“No it’s not,” Buddy eye’s traveled to the tree and I hid behind it so that he didn’t see me.

“Yes it is,” Brutus put his hands on his wide hips.

“No it’s not,” Buddy said smiling. “Where’s the snow?”

“He’s right, there’s no snow,” a six-year old girl said. She’d been listening to the conversation.

I nearly snorted.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Brutus brows knit together.

“I just like to smile, smiling’s my favorite thing,” he said. Bouncing to the Christmas music that was being pumped through the speakers.

“Well stop smiling, and make work your favorite thing to do. And who gave you that outfit?”

“It’s mine,” Buddy said, splaying those large hands on his chest looking down at his elf outfit.

Brutus looked at the intricate gold embroidery. “Fine, if that’s your story. You should make work your priority instead of shopping.” Brutus sighed, looking at his clipboard again. “I have to make the announcement.”

Buddy nodded, but once more was looking around.

I was working on the tree lights by now and really didn’t want to get down because I wanted to keep staring at him. At his great legs. Normally tall guys had spindly legs. Not his, yum.

“Okay I’ve got an announcement. Santa will be here tomorrow at 10AM. Keep your receipts so you can see Santa.”

“SANTA!” Buddy yelled. He jumped, clasped his hands and a little girl next to him joined him. Soon there was a flock of kids doing the same thing, all speaking at once and he was nodding and speaking to them as if he knew Santa.

I chuckled cause I’ve never seen Brutus look so stunned and speechless. He was carried away by Chaff, his second in command.

Buddy turned and focused on me. I pretended that he wasn’t just a few feet away from me. I could feel his gaze as I fixed the bulb that was not letting the string of lights to turn on. The tree lit up and I swear his eyes seemed to glow brighter than the lights on the tree.

My stomach did a little flip-flop. “What!” I said defensively. I turned and saw how big his eyes were and the genuine smile. “Are you enjoying the view?”

“I love Christmas trees,” he said hesitantly. “It’s nice to see someone else who enjoys elf culture as much as I do.”

Of course the guy that would make butterflies dance in my stomach was a wackadoo. I scowled. This wasn’t happening. Getting down from the tree, I quickly walk away, grabbing a few stuffed animals that were discarded and putting them back on the display.

“Looks like someone needs Christmas cheer and the best way to do it is to sing.”

“I don’t sing,” I muttered.

“Of course you can.” He chased after me.

“No,” I said trying to get him to stop, but liking that he’s walking after me like a wide eyed puppy-dog.

“Anyone can. All you have to do is put a group of words together in a tune,” he said sweetly.

I hopped on up on the stage where the guy in the red suit would be seated tomorrow. I turned to look at him. As I spoke to him, I couldn’t keep the hurt from my voice. Because the last time I sang a Christmas song it was with my dad, hours before he died. “I know that, I can sing, but I choose not to sing.”

“Look, I’ll do it for you maybe it will make you smile,” Buddy said. He takes a deep breath, “I”M SINGING. I’M IN A STORE AND I AM…”

It was horrible, but I couldn’t help but smile.

“THERE’S NO SINGING IN THE NORTH POLE!” Brutus comes running out from behind the registrar.

“Yes there is,” Buddy says grinning at me. “I’m Peeta.”

“Wait I thought your name was Buddy?”

“That’s my middle name,” Peeta said. “Is Jovie your name?”

“No,” my voice sounds breathy. “Jovie is my elf name.”

“So what’s your real name?” His voice sounded deeper and I swear I could see nothing else but his big blue eyes tenderly gazing at me.

“Katniss,” I said, wondering why my knees were so wobbly. I couldn’t fall for a guy who thought he was an elf. A very good looking, broad shouldered guy with the face of an angel, but nonetheless, a complete wakadoo.

The ten minute warning came on letting people know they needed to go home.

“Oh I’ve got to get ready for Santa,” Peeta muttered under his breath. But before he could move Brutus appears.

“Buddy,” Brutus grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away. I was left standing on that stage with a big old goofy grin on my face.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #winter #winter 2020 #mega-aulover #submission #prompt

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