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writingandmore · 3 years

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Hi!!! May I get a HP, Star Wars, Voltron, and Disney matchup?

𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗦 + 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘

19, Libra, Neutral Good, enneagram is 4w5, muggleborn Ravenclaw (with Gryffindor tendencies), and my patronus spirit is Hummingbird. Biromantic Pansexual Genderfluid woman using pronouns of She/Her or He/Him. Cherubic-like face, with short height (5'1") plus sized Southeast Asian woman with Spanish descent that has chic messy/wavy brunette medium hair that reaches to my shoulder, oriental skin, slightly upturned eyes, small lashes, chocolate brown irises, cute flat nose, heart shaped face, full cheeks, cupid's bow lips, a small beauty mark on the forehead, and naturally straight teeth with tiny gap in front (just imagine that it's a mixture of Marinette from 𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝗱𝘆𝗯𝘂𝗴, Musa from 𝗪𝗶𝗻𝘅 𝗖𝗹𝘂𝗯, and Alexandra Trese from 𝗧𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲---cause' my friend told me that I kinda look like them). My sense of fashion is in between emo and boyish plus korean glam, I sometimes let my hair down or styled like Lara Croft reboot.

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬

Distant, quiet, and timid at first making people thought I'm a demure, modest, and self-effacing that looks "immaculate" or "one of a kind" (due to my protective mom, a reason why I've never been in a relationship) but the truth is, dunno how to initiate a conversation, but a total opposite if I open up---friendly, ambivert, witty, laughing loudly on a daily basis---like my happiness is too shallow, super talkative, eats a lot (yeah I can finish a huge slice of cake or a meal in one sitting), awkward, daydreamer (I got embarrassed from knocking at the door even I'm inside the classroom 😂), EXTREMELY CLUMSY (mostly gets bruises from hitting, bumping my head somewhere, walking into something on my way, and being careless to my belongings), secretly likes affection, easily overwhelmed, prone to melt over wholesomeness, flusters on compliments, lightly blushes on cheesy banters, eager to share what I know (especially about Catholic Church---my past teacher joked that I'll become a saint because of it 🤣), oftenly speaks full of sarcasm with a lowkey crackhead energy citing meme references, and talented girl who can be your no.1 supporter and unashamed to be true to myself but can be awkward to strangers. In terms of leadership, I only educate and guide than being a prefect (I might take the role seriously), will lift my group when there's lacking/incompleteness. About doing projects in school, I become too extra and prepared for efforts, but I'll forget the process in the end.

The extent, I'm expressive, warm-hearted, willig to help, kind, intelligent, supportive, nice, creative, enthusiastic, laid-back, determined, tough, competitive, and feisty outside, but a real softie that can be childish and dramatic that cries so easily (but will enlightened real quick by smallest things that makes me smile) filled with doubts, frustrations, and insecurities with fear of failure that pushes off the limits to to please everyone because they might get dissappointed from expectations---I simply can't stop proving myself too much because I'm a survivor of bullying. But I still managed to be stronger than ever after I stumbled, even it's a slow burn process. I can be blunt, intimidating, harsh, and a douchebag if I receive ends or I got interrupted while doing something. Immature, headstrong, perfectionist, demanding, hesitant, jumpy, forgetful, overthinker, quick-tempered, sensitive, and anxious (no joke, my nervousness makes me think worse scenario will arrive). Though can be procrastinator and arrogant, I raised as a religious 𝖺𝗇𝖽 diplomatic youth, willing to fight what I believe (including my dreams and what's important to me) and what is right. In addition, I have a habit of staying up late and doing sign of the cross to ease nervousness.

Rowdy and feeling-brokenhearted and bitter friend in the group who fangirl a lot, swears like sailor, will call out on people that we loathe, will make fun of your stupidity (in a good way) before helping, and bring gossips, but a hopeless romantic and cheeky (makes banter with sarcasms or pick up lines as an endearment, but gets annoyed if I received sappy or offensive one), Still generous and concerned person in a subtle and different way.

𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗕𝗜𝗘𝗦

My hobbies are singing, drawing, roleplaying, listening to music, chatting/browsing on social media, conceptualizing, writing, and reading some stuffs. I'll include making corniest jokes/puns, sleeping, and dancing when nobody's around or walking like a model if I feel so bold (even I'm terrible at both xD). I also used to learn Italian language a bit.

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦

Loves kittens, milk tea, singing at the karaoke, cartoons, iced coffee, memes, cute things, watching YouTube videos (mostly pageants, ASMR, edit audios, and mukbangs), also enjoys playing games on my sister's PSP. Sucker for arts, choir, poetry, night sky, makeup, fun/deep/dumb conversations, Christianity, documentaries (about saints, real crime stories, and inspirational people), reading interesting stuffs, talking about social issues, and creative writing, chilling both indoors and outdoors. Beside that, my music taste are like late 90s-2000s songs (mostly rock, pop, and country) sometimes Catholic songs, kpop and ppop, chocoholic, and a sweetooth as well.

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦

Things that I hate are stereotyping, HUGE creepy crawlies (spiders, toads, snakes, and cockroaches), firecracker sounds, thunder and lightning, being left out, loneliness, heart break, blackout, and judgemental people. If I found out that someone hates or backstabbing or being rude to me, I won't hesitate to throw offensive criticisms, leaving them with a "I don't give a f" attitude. One random fact about me is, I 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 vent out EVERYTHING I despise in my entire existence---from bad soap operas to toxicity, worse scenarios in real life, and how terrible is my love life from unrequited feelings that I got, because it's a big deal for me, and I consider forcing me to do what I'm not into and manipulating me as my major pet peeves.

𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗚𝗘𝗥𝗦

In terms of triggers...I only have two which are ta𝖨king about divorce/annullment/separation because I came from a generational broken family (it sucks that some people I knew assumed that the reason why I'm overly unaware that someone is interested in me in secret, is I have "high standards" looking for a partner, but the truth is I'm strict and I have a personal preferences...I know my worth and I don't want settle for less!) and religion/beliefs discrimination, cause' there are reasonings that doesn't makes sense because some, sounds too hypocritical, like as if you're a morally good person.

𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘 + 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗨𝗔𝗚𝗘𝗦

My love languages are quality time and gift giving, but I actually swoon over physical touch (especially cuddles and cute kisses) and words of affirmation when it comes to having a partner, though I get attracted so easily, matured but can be a goofy person who's nice, friendly, kind-hearted, loving, faithful, and excels in academics is my cup of tea. Whenever I have a real life crush (which is rare), I act the same but deep inside, my heart is about to explode and will eventually share to my trustful friends how I highly admire that person, however if they spilled the beans out, I'll obviously deny it and will cry if they like someone else, it will take some time for me to move on, now I don't care for them anymore.

Best Friends to Lovers is my ideal trope because I find it very cute since you already knew each other before dating (which happened to my 2nd cousin, she married her best friend!)---perfect balance for romance, laughters, comfort, and tears when it comes to sharing your vibes, being there through thick and thin, safe with embraces, and helping each other to grow.

𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗩𝗜𝗔𝗦

My best assets are smile, eyes, personality, singing voice, artistic skills, writings, intelligence, oratorical skills and I have potential in hosting...so I can consider myself as a singer, artist, orator, speaker, and a top student who's a former active campus ministry member with three roles (choir leader, psalm singer, and reader).

May sounds different but I'm passionate for helping people through my talents and sharing my story to inspire everyone. I may look selfish, but I have a different way on how I show that I actually care also I have a biased sentimental value

Currently a college freshman, learning how to cook. I have so many interests, to the point I don't know what I'm into because of my dreams to become a popular Filipino YouTuber, a novelist, and being part of a successful chorale competing internationally...I also consider joining pageants at school too once the pandemic ends, but maybe.

HP: Remus!

- Remus is also quiet and a bit reserved when he's not in a familiar situation, so your own first impression on him would be a good one, as you'd seem similar to his own personality. He's sweet and is able to start up a conversation if he notices the other person is having a hard time doing so, so hopefully he'd be able to bring out your more extroverted and friendly self after a while so he can be around the more open you. He wouldn't mind you being a bit awkward-he's very much the same way-honestly, the comradery that would come from that would be more positive than anything else. He loves sharing knowledge and learning about new things, so your eagerness to talk about what you know would work really well also! He does a lot better when he knows someone has his back too, so your extra supportive nature would endear him to you as well.

SW: Han!

- Your nicer and more helpful personality would balance out Han's more standoffish vibes when first meeting. You might get on his nerves a bit first, but you'd quickly grown on him and, in turn, make him a bit of a better person. Your ability to be blunt and a bit harsh would serve you well if you ever needed to stand your ground on an issue that two of you have, as he can be quite stubborn.

VLD: Lance!

- Lance can be a bit immature from time to time as well, especially when it comes to trying to be funny or cheering up those around him-he's also headstrong and typically firm in what he wants to do, so your own determined personality would attract him to you a lot as well. He often puts off things he needs to do if they make him anxious too, but if you both recognize that you share that problem, helping each other might be a good solution!

Disney: Flynn!

- Flynn is quite a sarcastic and teasing person, so your own humor would match well with his. He's also quite a hopeless romantic as well, even though he's certainly not one to admit that right off the bat. He enjoys singing, and as he gets closer to someone he feels more comfortable doing so in front of them, so a partner he's been with for a long time would get to see him be more and more open with it. That also applies to activities like dancing.

#hp matchup #remus lupin #sw matchp #han solo #vld matchup #lance mcclain #disney matchup #flynn rider

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canyouhearthelight · 3 years

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The Miys, Ch. 124

Second half of the exhibition! Mac’s performance here is based on an actual incident that occurred with one of the many actual cats that Mac is based on.

Trigger warnings for blood here.

Thanks go to @baelpenrose for his beta-reading and Arthur, @zommbiebro for Jokul, @books-and-cartoons for GK, @werewolf2578 for Michael and all the other characters you have added to this story, and @charlylimph-blog for her characters. <3 you both!

“Who is competing in the canine rounds?” Coffey asked, steering the topic smoothly.

“Myself,” Grandma Kim gestured. “Michael and Sparkles, Derek and Machiavelli, for the service round. I believe there are a few more for the security round, but I don’t recall whom.” From GK, that was basically saying they were so far beneath her notice that she refused to learn their names.

A chime sounded, indicating that the intermission had ended. Arthur, Coffey, and I made our way back into the stands, waving to Simon as he worked his way onto the sidelines. Ivan had initially come down ahead of me and Maverick, but was also packing the floor with the competitors for the upcoming events. As soon as we took our seats, Evania announced the next event - sure enough, it was the service and security animal exhibitions.

Rather than the participants stepping forward, Antoine took the floor after Evan. “Previously, these events were separated and considered the ‘canine’ events. However, it has been brought to my attention, most ardently, that service and security animals are not limited to canines, even with the limited amount of animals we currently have on the Ark. As such, we are combining the service and security events, and this year there is a non-canine participant. Due to the nature of the exhibition, I will be personally monitoring from the sidelines in case there is any need for interventions. Also, as with in the past, please be assured that all participants in these events are volunteers and a med bay is on standby.”

Medbay is on standby? I wondered. I didn’t recall that before, but I also hadn’t paid more attention than was necessary to know how many jerky treats to give Lyric and Sparkles.

First up was our veteran, Lyric the First. The elder stateswoman of Ark companions may have hobbled onto the field, but she went through her paces as a service animal with tidy precision. On top of that, the second the ‘security’ portion started and someone brandished a weapon at GK, all concept of ‘elder’ went out the window and Lyric became 120lbs of teeth and fury, daring the faux-attacker to come within six feet of her charge.

I could feel Coffey shudder beside me, at the same time that I could see Arthur nod with approval. I couldn’t lie - there was a part of me that remembered this same dog standing over me when Maverick first dropped by unexpectedly, and I was warmed to know that I had been so safe in that moment.

After the applause due such a respected member of the community, Lyric the First was taken off the field, and it was Lyric II’s turn to show how she lived up to the name. Sure enough, she displayed the same precision in the service animal rounds, but it was clear that she knew this was for show in the security segment. Rather than the degree of savagery her mother had shown, Lyric II was clearly a little confused by the fake-attack. She still received her applause and treats, however, while GK was obviously considering how much more training was needed.

Michael and Sparkle were next, and their performance was on-par with Lyric the First. Rather than having Sparkle function as a service animal for Michael, Sam had volunteered. The moment loud noises started to upset Sam, Sparkle nudged him into a prone position and brought his ribbon over. If someone tried to step to close, she calmly pushed them back. Due to her youth, Michael did step in for the security portion - Sparkle wasn’t trained to decide between security and support yet - and that was where she shined. Without hesitation, she took a defensive stance at any aggression toward Michael, and really did Lyric the First proud.

And then, the fourth round happened. That was what set the crowd’s eyebrows on end, the round with non-stop chatter throughout.

On the contrary to the rounds with both Lyrics and Sparkle, there was no leash, there were no steps to walk through. Instead, the crowd saw Derek Okafor walk out, carrying a lavender blanket and pillow, with a solid mass of feline ink trailing behind him. Rather than lead Mac through any actions, Derek set the pillow down, curled up on the floor, and covered himself with the blanket. In an action I had witnessed on more occasions than I could count, Mac curled his impressive mass on the blanket, just outside of Derek’s elbow. Directed audio amplified Mac’s purring so everyone could hear it, even in the furthest seats.

Suddenly, the audio in the gym played discordant noises. Not even waiting for Derek to flinch, Mac darted under the blanket and a lump erupted where Derek’s ear had been. After a moment, the sound cut off, and instead a bowl of food - one so strong-smelling that I could catch it from my seat - was brought out. Mac poked his nose out and started sneezing convulsively, hissing at the bowl as he moved towards it.

The coup de grace was what came next. Without warning, as soon as the bowl was taken away, someone darted towards Derek from the other side. I could actually feel my soul chuckle for this poor slob as I anticipated what would happen.

Sure enough, Mac became a blur of void and vaulted over Derek, clawing the interloper from elbow to wrist, then from thigh to knee. He hissed and spat, clawing at anything and anyone that came within reach. Nothing could stop the ball of feline fury until Derek darted out an arm to scoop Mac back under the blanket while the poor volunteer - who looked like they had a bad date with a Cuisinart - was led to the aforementioned med bay.

“I’m not sure they knew they were signing up for this,” I murmured to Maverick and Coffey.

Coffey made a firmly negative gesture. “I assure you that they were aware. That particular volunteer? She has been Machiavelli’s training target for three months now.”

“Why?” I sputtered.

“Some people are afraid of dogs,” Coffey shrugged. Given his clear discomfort watching both Lyrics perform, it made more sense suddenly. I knew he wasn’t afraid of dogs - he kept treats in his pocket for Lyric and Lyric II, at all times - but we weren’t far enough removed from Earth to make everyone comfortable with the kinds of dogs that worked best as service animals.

A cat, though? I knew from a lifetime of experience that nothing was as persistent or vicious as a cat, when properly motivated.

The audience was respectfully silent until Mac and Derek left the gym, before cheering wildly. Even from where I was sitting, I could hear people talking about the potential of having a cat once the colony was established. As a firmly devoted cat owner, I couldn’t even make up an excuse to argue.

Arthur leaned over so I could hear him clearly. “You never told me you have an attack cat.”

“I’ve always had them,” I admitted. “I just didn’t know it wasn’t a normal thing.”

“Mac is a good kitty.”

“The best kitty,” Coffey corrected with a grin. At some point, he had adopted Derek as a younger brother/nephew figure, and by extension doted on Mac to the point of chemical warfare.

“The only kitty,” I pointed out. I would have loved for the Ark to have ship cats, but we had learned - the hard way - that genetic enhancements were necessary for them to thrive in the gravity we were operating under. It was part of the reason Mac was so large - four years ago, he had actually undergone a heart transplant so his vasculatory system would function in the increased gravity. Where Lyric II and Sparkles had benefited from what Miys learned from the original Lyric, Mac was the original.

The next event was thrown projectiles, so I took the opportunity to go grab some popcorn and sausage-rolls for the last two events. No one in my family was participating in the javelin/spear exhibition, but I knew that Xiomara and Evan would be eyeing these candidates closely for colonial security, so I made a point to pay attention. However, despite my original reason for keeping an eye on the event, I found myself fascinated. Each spear had a different range for accuracy, a different technique for throwing… I found myself filing the information away for later, anticipating a very rousing conversation with our Councillor of Security and her protege. Ivan Thorsson, to nobody’s surprise, excelled.

However, the last event of the exhibition was finally at hand - archery. Charly had made several attempts to have this event be its own exhibition - the projectiles were not thrown, nor were they combustion - but a sheer lack of participants inevitably led to the sport being included with the ‘non combustion’ weapons exhibition, in the same way the animal companion events were. On the plus side, participation this Von-year made a strong case for archery being its own event.

Participants were allowed ten arrows, ten targets, and fifteen minutes to fire all arrows. Bows could be any size, but had to be pulled by hand - no crossbows, no hooks to draw. Targets were only 25cm in diameter, and any shots that missed the desired target were counted off, with a double ‘friendly fire’ deduction if the arrow hit an entirely different target.

Even with all the restrictions, there were no less than twelve participants in this event, more than any other.

Maverick was first. While he was exceptionally precise, his Shinto-style did not lend itself well to speed. Next came Tyche, who landed killing hits on every shot, though with far less aplomb than her knife-throwing had shown. Arthur had a similar result - fast and deadly, but less accurate than Maverick - before MIchael Smith took the stage again, to my surprise.

My jaw hit the floor as he pulled just as fast as Tyche and Arthur, with the same accuracy of Maverick. Very few people took part in multiple exhibitions, and to see him do so well in three was a shock. Nonetheless, he swapped out with the next participant with zero acknowledgement of his performance.

After that, the event continued: several people I did not recognize, before all that was left were Conor and Charly. Similar to his style of throwing knives, Conor drew ambidextrously and over the shoulder. The connection was crystal clear as you watched his motion - a smooth draw, looped into a pull and release. The only difference was that, where he would throw a knife, he would draw the arrow.

Next, I expected Charly, but what I saw made my head spin: Simon Rodriguez stepped out of a back room, with a longbow and a quiver full of arrows. Even more incredibly, he did not stand in front of any specific target, but stood in the center of all ten. With one deep breath, he started drawing from his waist, firing and drawing, arrow after arrow, in a smooth, mechanical motion.

Every arrow struck the center of the target.

The blood drained from my face as I realised why Tyche had threatened Conor with allowing Simon to use him for target practice…. I had no idea, at the time, that Simon was such an incredible shot. Immediately, I felt guilty.

Before I could apologize to him, Charly and her bow walked out. Speaking now felt like an obscenity, since this was the reason so many people were still here. Sure enough, as soon as the targets were replaced, she displayed a foreign calm as she fired shot after shot.

Ten shots. Ten exact centers. Ten arrowheads protruding from the back of targets by a minimum of two inches.

Twelve seconds total.

The transition between Simon and Charly took place so quickly that I had no idea who the applause was for - the Twelve Second Sorceress, or her clear protege. Either way, the end of the exhibition was explosive, to say the least.

I turned to Conor, ready to apologise for not taking the previous threat as serious at it was, when he said something that made me slap my face and groan.

“Bless it, do you think Simon will show me how to do that?”

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#the miys #humans are weird #tw blood #humans are space orcs #humans baffle aliens #aliens #apocalypse #post-apocalypse #science fiction #original science fiction #my writing

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my-darling-boy · 5 years

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Heyo! So I am thinking about starting to bind, and was wondering if you had heard of the brand Flavent? If so what do you think of their binders? And are there any tips about binding that would be helpful? I don’t really know how to go about any of it. Also I wanted to say that I really love your blog’s aesthetic!!

Oh I have! Flavnt is a great brand actually, I’ve ordered from them before and follow them on ig. Their binders are so good in fact every time they get them in stock, they go out of stock just as quick!

And if you’re a first time binder, I’ve actually got helpful info for you!

Firstly:

NEVER wear the binder while sleeping. Do not go for a full night’s sleep with the binder on. You should always be conscious and aware of how your body is responding to the binder AT ALL TIMES.

NEVER use first aid bandages, muscle tape, or ACE Bandage if you lack a proper binder. Bandages like those are meant to be wrapped around things you do not want to move, and your ribcage needs to expand for you to breathe!! Wrapping your chest with these tight, constricting products not only heavily restricts breathing but you also run the risk of cutting off blood circulation to the rest of your body, rapidly damaging nerves in your breasts, back, and torso, increased chance of tearing your lungs from the lungs inflating with no space for expansion, bruising your back and ribcage, ruining skin elasticity quicker in your breasts which will limit top surgery incision types, and PASSING OUT due to prolonged lack of oxygen and/or blood flow to your brain. I know you see stereotypical drawings or stories of trans people binding with ACE but DO NOT DO IT. I speak from experience as I still have nerve damage in my back and damage to my breast tissue from doing it when I first started binding at 14. (Same risks apply for wearing a binder that is way too tight!)

NEVER use a binder from a non-reputable seller. If the product is simply this strange looking cheaply priced band which goes across the chest or tries to market itself as a “lesbian, tomboy, woman binder” IT IS NOT SAFE. These “binders” can have the same consequences as listed above. If you’re unsure if a site is safe, a simple web search will usually provide some insight in a few short minutes.

With this in mind, here is some info on reputed sellers:

FLAVNT, with their famous Bareskin Binder in a variety of skin tones and sizes, is starting to be a go-to for binders. The company is run by a trans guy and a lesbian if I remember right, and usually proceeds from their products will go directly towards funding select people’s top surgeries. They also have awesome trans/gender non-conforming themed merch to buy too!

Underworks is the brand I have always used. Originally started for men with gynecomastia, they have expanded their products to trans/gender non-conforming people. Unlike the other companies in this list, they use a medical grade mesh layered material for their binders which some find to be more durable/better binding but others find to be uncomfortable/not suited for their body type. It all depends!

Gc2b has been the go-to for binders for a long time and people are usually really happy with their order! I can’t say too much about them cos I have admittedly never ordered from because cloth binders never seem to fit me correctly? But the reviews are great!

Shapeshifters is one I have encountered recently from this article from a plus-sized trans person about binding as a plus-sized trans person! They offer custom sized binders with a variety of designs and sites like these are often the best option for people who have trouble with finding the right fit among the limited industry sizes!

On sizing/fit:

-BINDERS FROM EACH COMPANY HAVE DIFFERENT SIZE CHARTS. Things like the brand’s fit, material used, and your body shape can all affect how a binder fits. A small from one company will not always be a small from another one. A lot of the time, only chest measurements are used to determine your binder size and some find that alone not to be enough to find the right fit. Thence, some people opt for custom sized binders like Shapeshifters as mentioned above.

-The most important thing is that you are able to breathe in it! If you have any numbness or tingling in your limbs or under the binder, or feel light headed/short of breath (that is not caused by anxiety) TAKE OFF THE BINDER. You may need to order the next size up and continuing to wear a too-tight binder is dangerous.

-During your first times wearing a binder, you may feel it to be almost too snug, and this is because you need to break it in, so some pinching, discomfort, tightness is to be expected at first. However, if it persists beyond your first few wears, your binder may be too small. But do know there are some people who end up always having a bit of pinching/cutting due to their body shape/weight, even if their binder is compressing nicely. If you’ve never used a binder before: take it in small time frames. Wear it for an hour or two at first, remove it, then up the time from there to see how your body fairs with each time you wear it. Don’t start out wearing it the full eight hours.

-If you are in between sizes, DO NOT ORDER A SIZE DOWN. Often, the size is not going to be a little smaller but dramatically smaller.

-Binders come in two lengths: cropped and full torso. It doesn’t always matter which one you buy, but some people find if they have a larger waist, they like the full torso binders whereas I can’t wear them because my waist is way too small and my chest slips down, so I only order cropped binders to focus the compression on just my chest

-If you have a problem with your chest slipping down in the binder, some people like to wear sleeveless undershirts beneath the binder itself to prevent this

-You’ll generally know the binder is too tight. But if you’re still on the fence: if you cannot fully take a deep breath in, the binder is too small!

On safety concerns, effects from binding, and other little tips:

-Avoid wearing it for longer than 8 hours. Some people are able to wear it a little longer than this time due to much less compression from their binder. Regardless, DO NOT bind for more than 8+ hours ON A FREQUENT BASIS even if the binder still feels comfortable. We all get stuck in situations or unexpectedly long work days in our binders sometimes but PLEASE try to avoid wearing the binder for any longer than you need to. Take it off when there’s no need for it. Take entire rest days from the binder if you find yourself in it for long periods of time. YOUR BODY NEEDS REST FROM YOUR BINDER NO MATTER YOUR CHEST SIZE. Trust me.

-Avoid doing any prolonged, strenuous activity such as intense exercise. While I have worn it to the gym for basic workouts and barre classes plenty of times with zero chest/back soreness or issues, I obviously didn’t do this every day and I wasn’t doing this for collectively more than 40 minutes and didn’t wear the binder for the rest of the day because I was home. But again, it is SAFER if you DO NOT wear it during gym time. Opt instead for sports compression bras and shirts that make the chest area ambiguous when you exercise.

-Avoid wearing it on airplanes. This one is often disputed, but it is generally believed that wearing a binder on an airplane will cause restricted breathing due to high altitude even in a pressurised cabin. Yet, I have worn my binder on four 11 hour flights (removing halfway through for sleeping) and had ZERO issues with breathing/comfort. It’s possible that people being unable to breathe comes instead from claustrophobia in the cabin, anxiety with flying, sitting position, or preexisting medical conditions and they attribute it to the binder. Personally, I think it’s safe to wear binders on airplanes because every time I’ve flown, I’ve had no issues, and trans guys I know personally have also had no issues, but this doesn’t mean it’s right for EVERYone. Wear it at your own risk.

-Additionally, avoid wearing it on turbulent/fast rides as the high velocity can increase compression on your chest. Again, I’m a Bad Boyᵀᴹ and I’ve worn it on plenty of upside down rides, including wearing it on that fair ride that spins you around so fast, gravity pins you to the wall. In all these situations, I again felt nothing and even forgot I had the binder on.

-I mention the “less safe” ways I have bound before for a reason. Please don’t think Binder Horror Stories happen to everyone. I used to spend so much time worrying about how Dangerous my binder could be, afraid to wear it even, but guess what? When I felt the binder needed to come off? I took it off. When I thought it might be actually unsafe to do something in my binder? I didn’t do it. I LISTENED to myself and my body, and that is overall the SAFEST thing you can do. This is how I’ve avoided binder complications for 7 YEARS. Even the general rules have a bit of relativity to them. I’ve met people who think they can bind for 8 hours safely when they were in horrible pain at just 4 hours, but continued to wear it because “It’s safe to wear for 8 hours because a trans guy told me so!” ONLY YOUR BODY sets how long and in what situations you can bind in. Bind in a way that is safe and comfortable for YOUR BODY. Additionally, most negative affects from a binder happen over prolonged periods of time after CONSTANT situational misuse, so if you wear it on the rare occasion when you think you shouldn’t have, it’s not the end of the world. Check back with your doctor if you are concerned with how your binder may be affecting you. Even binding using—or not using—the general accepted avoidance rules can prove risky if you do not listen to your body first and foremost. Everyone’s experience and limits vary considerably!

-Binding for roughly over 3-4 years, your chest may begin to droop because of the constant compression slowly wearing down the skin elasticity of the breasts. This could potentially negatively affect chances of minimal incision top surgery. For example, I have been binding for 7 years and now have a tiny chest from T which would’ve made me perfect for keyhole, but alas, binding for 7 years gets me double incision

-Keeping your binder clean is important, as you can get very hot in it regardless of the weather. Be sure to keep it washed in cold water and hang dry to keep its form or use low dryer heat to restore some of the “stiffness” if you find it getting a little loose fitting. A dirty binder will cause body acne as well

-In hot weather, avoid wearing it as much as you can to avoid overheating, or wear light and airy fabrics to reduce the chances of profusely sweating in the sun with it on

-Preexisting medical conditions that affect the lungs, nervous system, or muscles/bones in your arms, chest, neck, or back may cause you a series of unique difficulties other binding people do not have so please be aware of this

-Sometimes panic attack + binder = increased panic attack because you think you can’t breathe. If the space permits it, pull the binder down from your chest area to allow you the fullest breaths possible

Lastly, getting the binder on:

Everyone has different ways to get it on, but the most widely used is this method. Start by making it so the binder is wrong-side-out and upside down. Step into the opening (straps towards the ground) and slide it up your body. Once you get to about your waist, you’ll want to get the binder right-side-out by slipping your wrists in through the straps and “flipping” the garment up your torso as the you slide the straps up and onto your shoulders. You also want to make sure your chest is basically shoved Upwards and Outwards under the binder towards your underarms. To do this, I lay flat on the floor/bed and lift the right and left sides of the binder briefly to allow my chest to naturally fall back towards my underarms. DO NOT flatten your chest downwards by smashing all of the tissue and your nipples down towards your sternum for it will cause your chest to droop faster on top of being painful. I made a handy little doodle to show you what I mean!

Anyway, I hope this helps! x

Anyone who has some other tips that may be helpful for binding, feel free to add on!

#asks #ftm #ftnb #trans #transgender #ok to rb #long post

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harryandmeghansussex · 4 years

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Day 18 of @defendingtheduchesses 's Meghan memories challenge.

Meghan's writing has always been one of my favourite strengths of hers. And I thought I would share one for day 18, so I picked this important one.

'What are you?' A question I get asked every week of my life, often every day. 'Well,' I say, as I begin the verbal dance I know all too well. 'I'm an actress, a writer, the Editor-in-Chief of my lifestyle brand The Tig, a pretty good cook and a firm believer in handwritten notes.' A mouthful, yes, but one that I feel paints a pretty solid picture of who I am. But here's what happens: they smile and nod politely, maybe even chuckle, before getting to their point, 'Right, but what are you? Where are your parents from?' I knew it was coming, I always do. While I could say Pennsylvania and Ohio, and continue this proverbial two-step, I instead give them what they're after: 'My dad is Caucasian and my mom is African American. I'm half black and half white.

To describe something as being black and white means it is clearly defined. Yet when your ethnicity is black and white, the dichotomy is not that clear. In fact, it creates a grey area. Being biracial paints a blurred line that is equal parts staggering and illuminating. When I was asked by ELLE to share my story, I'll be honest, I was scared. It's easy to talk about which make-up I prefer, my favourite scene I've filmed, the rigmarole of 'a day in the life' and how much green juice I consume before a requisite Pilates class. And while I have dipped my toes into this on thetig.com, sharing small vignettes of my experiences as a biracial woman, today I am choosing to be braver, to go a bit deeper, and to share a much larger picture of that with you.

It was the late Seventies when my parents met, my dad was a lighting director for a soap opera and my mom was a temp at the studio. I like to think he was drawn to her sweet eyes and her Afro, plus their shared love of antiques. Whatever it was, they married and had me. They moved into a house in The Valley in LA, to a neighbourhood that was leafy and affordable. What it was not, however, was diverse. And there was my mom, caramel in complexion with her light-skinned baby in tow, being asked where my mother was since they assumed she was the nanny.

I was too young at the time to know what it was like for my parents, but I can tell you what it was like for me – how they crafted the world around me to make me feel like I wasn't different but special. When I was about seven, I had been fawning over a boxed set of Barbie dolls. It was called The Heart Family and included a mom doll, a dad doll, and two children. This perfect nuclear family was only sold in sets of white dolls or black dolls. I don't remember coveting one over the other, I just wanted one. On Christmas morning, swathed in glitter-flecked wrapping paper, there I found my Heart Family: a black mom doll, a white dad doll, and a child in each colour. My dad had taken the sets apart and customised my family.

Fast-forward to the seventh grade and my parents couldn't protect me as much as they could when I was younger. There was a mandatory census I had to complete in my English class – you had to check one of the boxes to indicate your ethnicity: white, black, Hispanic or Asian. There I was (my curly hair, my freckled face, my pale skin, my mixed race) looking down at these boxes, not wanting to mess up, but not knowing what to do. You could only choose one, but that would be to choose one parent over the other – and one half of myself over the other. My teacher told me to check the box for Caucasian. 'Because that's how you look, Meghan,' she said. I put down my pen. Not as an act of defiance, but rather a symptom of my confusion. I couldn't bring myself to do that, to picture the pit-in-her-belly sadness my mother would feel if she were to find out. So, I didn't tick a box. I left my identity blank – a question mark, an absolute incomplete – much like how I felt.

When I went home that night, I told my dad what had happened. He said the words that have always stayed with me: 'If that happens again, you draw your own box.'

I never saw my father angry, but in that moment I could see the blotchiness of his skin crawling from pink to red. It made the green of his eyes pop and his brow was weighted at the thought of his daughter being prey to ignorance. Growing up in a homogeneous community in Pennsylvania, the concept of marrying an African-American woman was not on the cards for my dad. But he saw beyond what was put in front of him in that small-sized (and, perhaps, small-minded) town, and he wanted me to see beyond that census placed in front of me. He wanted me to find my own truth.

And I tried. Navigating closed-mindedness to the tune of a dorm mate I met my first week at university who asked if my parents were still together. 'You said your mom is black and your dad is white, right?' she said. I smiled meekly, waiting for what could possibly come out of her pursed lips next. 'And they're divorced?' I nodded. 'Oh, well that makes sense.' To this day, I still don't fully understand what she meant by that, but I understood the implication. And I drew back: I was scared to open this Pandora's box of discrimination, so I sat stifled, swallowing my voice.

I was home in LA on a college break when my mom was called the 'N' word. We were leaving a concert and she wasn't pulling out of a parking space quickly enough for another driver. My skin rushed with heat as I looked to my mom. Her eyes welling with hateful tears, I could only breathe out a whisper of words, so hushed they were barely audible: 'It's OK, Mommy.' I was trying to temper the rage-filled air permeating our small silver Volvo. Los Angeles had been plagued with the racially charged Rodney King and Reginald Denny cases just years before, when riots had flooded our streets, filling the sky with ash that flaked down like apocalyptic snow; I shared my mom's heartache, but I wanted us to be safe. We drove home in deafening silence, her chocolate knuckles pale from gripping the wheel so tightly.

It's either ironic or apropos that in this world of not fitting in, and of harbouring my emotions so tightly under my ethnically nondescript (and not so thick) skin, that I would decide to become an actress. There couldn't possibly be a more label-driven industry than acting, seeing as every audition comes with a character breakdown: 'Beautiful, sassy, Latina, 20s'; 'African American, urban, pretty, early 30s'; 'Caucasian, blonde, modern girl next door'. Every role has a label; every casting is for something specific. But perhaps it is through this craft that I found my voice.

Being 'ethnically ambiguous', as I was pegged in the industry, meant I could audition for virtually any role. Morphing from Latina when I was dressed in red, to African American when in mustard yellow; my closet filled with fashionable frocks to make me look as racially varied as an Eighties Benetton poster. Sadly, it didn't matter: I wasn't black enough for the black roles and I wasn't white enough for the white ones, leaving me somewhere in the middle as the ethnic chameleon who couldn't book a job.

This is precisely why Suits stole my heart. It's the Goldilocks of my acting career – where finally I was just right. The series was initially conceived as a dramedy about a NY law firm flanked by two partners, one of whom navigates this glitzy world with his fraudulent degree. Enter Rachel Zane, one of the female leads and the dream girl – beautiful and confident with an encyclopedic knowledge of the law. 'Dream girl' in Hollywood terms had always been that quintessential blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty – that was the face that launched a thousand ships, not the mixed one. But the show's producers weren't looking for someone mixed, nor someone white or black for that matter. They were simply looking for Rachel. In making a choice like that, the Suits producers helped shift the way pop culture defines beauty. The choices made in these rooms trickle into how viewers see the world, whether they're aware of it or not. Some households may never have had a black person in their house as a guest, or someone biracial. Well, now there are a lot of us on your TV and in your home with you. And with Suits, specifically, you have Rachel Zane. I couldn't be prouder of that.

At the end of season two, the producers went a step further and cast the role of Rachel's father as a dark-skinned African-American man, played by the brilliant Wendell Pierce. I remember the tweets when that first episode of the Zane family aired, they ran the gamut from: 'Why would they make her dad black? She's not black' to 'Ew, she's black? I used to think she was hot.' The latter was blocked and reported. The reaction was unexpected, but speaks of the undercurrent of racism that is so prevalent, especially within America. On the heels of the racial unrest in Ferguson and Baltimore, the tensions that have long been percolating under the surface in the US have boiled over in the most deeply saddening way. And as a biracial woman, I watch in horror as both sides of a culture I define as my own become victims of spin in the media, perpetuating stereotypes and reminding us that the States has perhaps only placed bandages over the problems that have never healed at the root.

I, on the other hand, have healed from the base. While my mixed heritage may have created a grey area surrounding my self-identification, keeping me with a foot on both sides of the fence, I have come to embrace that. To say who I am, to share where I'm from, to voice my pride in being a strong, confident mixed-race woman. That when asked to choose my ethnicity in a questionnaire as in my seventh grade class, or these days to check 'Other', I simply say: 'Sorry, world, this is not Lost and I am not one of The Others. I am enough exactly as I am.'

Just as black and white, when mixed, make grey, in many ways that's what it did to my self-identity: it created a murky area of who I was, a haze around howpeople connected with me. I was grey. And who wants to be this indifferent colour, devoid of depth and stuck in the middle? I certainly didn't. So you make a choice: continue living your life feeling muddled in this abyss of self-misunderstanding, or you find your identity independent of it. You push for colour-blind casting, you draw your own box. You introduce yourself as who you are, not what colour your parents happen to be. You cultivate your life with people who don't lead with ethnic descriptions such as, 'that black guy Tom', but rather friends who say: 'You know? Tom, who works at [blah blah] and dates [fill in the blank] girl.' You create the identity you want for yourself, just as my ancestors did when they were given their freedom. Because in 1865 (which is so shatteringly recent), when slavery was abolished in the United States, former slaves had to choose a name. A surname, to be exact.

Perhaps the closest thing to connecting me to my ever-complex family tree, my longing to know where I come from, and the commonality that links me to my bloodline, is the choice that my great-great-great grandfather made to start anew. He chose the last name Wisdom. He drew his own box.

#meg39 #meghan markle #duchess of sussex #meghan's writing

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skinsharpenedteeth · 4 years

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just a little piece...

AN: This is just a little bit of a Malex WIP. It’s actually a piece of about Kyle and Alex’s friendship which makes me smile a lot. Because honestly... Kyle and Alex in my mind are the kind of friends that are uncomfortably, intimidatingly close. And Kyle is the kind of guy who always goes OVERBOARD. So yeah. I thought it was cute and wanted to share it.

The next morning, Alex groaned loudly into his pillow as he came abruptly into consciousness. He’d forgotten to close the curtains in his hotel room and the sun was glaring in on him as if seeking vengeance. It took him a moment to remember that he wasn’t in some other dessert half a world away and that the pounding he heard was not the distant sound of bombs dropping, but of someone knocking on his door….loudly. Way too loudly for… Alex squinted at the clock on the bedside table, 8 a.m.

“Coming!” Alex called, voice a little hoarse from sleep. The knocking stopped and he groped around for his crutch before hopping over to the door. He left the security chain on as he opened it and peaked outside.

“Delivery for Mr. Alex Manes?” a short, Hispanic woman said from the hallway. Alex shifted his eyes down to look at the package she held in her hand. She was wearing the hotel’s uniform, but the package was definitely not from the hotel gift shop.

“Yeah, okay…” he said gruffly, closing the door to unlatch the chain and then reopening it. The woman, ‘Martha’ her name tag read, thrust the object in question at him as if it were on fire. He looked down at it and realized why about the same time that she turned on her heel and all but fled down the hallway to the elevator.

“Uh… thank you!” he called, closing the door with his foot and backing into his room. He set the… thing on the bed and went to call room service for coffee. He had a feeling he was going to need to be more awake to deal… that.

As he waited for his coffee and fruit bowl to arrive, Alex found his eyes continually traveling back to the desk. He tried watching TV, playing on his phone, and even going out onto the balcony attached to his room, but the thing on the desk was always at the back of his mind. Sighing, he hopped into the bathroom and started up a shower. It always took room service twice as long as he felt like it should have to deliver even the simplest orders, so he was probably safe to take a quick shower and wake himself up. He grabbed a clean pair of briefs and some sweatpants before closing the bathroom door firmly and starting up the water to warm.

He figured he knew who the gift was from, but he didn’t want to presume until he’d actually looked at the card. Scrubbing his hands over his face in frustration, he turned and hopped into the shower and sat on the stool inside. He washed himself slowly and thoroughly, trying to draw out the moment when he’d have to deal with reality of his surprise gift. Halfway through washing his hair he heard the door to his hotel room open and an indistinct voice call out “Room Service!” followed by a squeak and giggles. Gritting his teeth, he stuck his head past the shower curtain and called out a thanks. He listened for the thud of the door shutting before he continued washing out the conditioner. If he was lucky, maybe the attendant stole the damn thing and he wouldn’t have to open it.

A ping from his phone was a welcome relief once he was out of the shower.

<Kyle> Did you get your gift? > I did. I haven’t really looked at it yet. What the fuck did you get me???? <Kyle> Text me when you’ve looked at it! And also, tell me how your date went last night? Am I too late? > Too late for what? <Kyle> Go look at your fucking gift, Manes! > Ugh. Fine.

Alex slipped on his clothes and prosthetic before re-entering the main living area of his room. He spotted the coffee and fruit set on the desk right next to his present… from Kyle, apparently. Sighing, he stepped closer to the desk and finally gave it a good once over.

“Where in the fuck did you find a penis shaped gift basket?!” Alex asked as he took in the shape of his present. Groaning, he closed his eyes briefly and felt a headache coming on. Kyle never did anything halfway. He was thoroughly dreading what he would find once he undid the bow and let the acetate fall away to reveal the contents. With shaking hands, he reached out and pulled at the strings of the red and pink heart covered bow. He parted the thin, crinkly grey plastic and swore under his breath, face heating up from instantaneous embarrassment.

The box was filled to the brim with sex paraphernalia. Alex tried to suppress his horror as he slowly took out all the items. There were three different boxes of condoms, a bottle of lube with a pump handle, as well as a bag of pocket sized packets of lube, a reusable douche kit, a sex candle, a box of dental dams, a tub of something called Boy Butter, a packet of sanitary wipes called Crusty Cock Wipes, a REALLY NICE abalone cuff style cock ring, 2 or 3 silicone cock rings, a silver butt plug with a touch-sensitive multi-color light-up flared base, some silk scarves, a tube of Nu vitamin tablets, and a bag of penis shaped THC gummies. By the end of the reveal, Alex’s face was so hot from embarrassment he wasn’t sure how the fire detector hadn’t signalled. And his coffee was stone cold.

>First and foremost, What. The. Everloving. Fuck?! >Secondly, OMG. WTF!!! <Kyle>Text leaves something to be desired. I can’t tell if you’re excited, chagrined, or furious. I’m going to call you.

Alex glanced over his desk now absolutely covered in sex-related products and let his face fall into his hands, whining piteously. His phone started chirping that a video call was coming in from Kyle. He glared at his friend’s photo and pressed the ‘Accept’ button aggressively. Kyle face popped up smiling and excited.

“What the fuck, Kyle?!” Alex half-yelled, gesturing towards the desktop. Kyle’s smile fell a little, but Alex could tell he was rallying to defend his gift.

“I thought you might need some stuff! You didn’t bring a lot with you for your trip and I know you weren’t getting a lot of hot dong while in the military. That gift basket is like… amazing and I’m kind of hurt you aren’t appreciating it properly. Plus, I think it catches me up on like every birthday and Christmas I’ve ever missed because some of that shit was pricey. I almost kept that cuff cock ring for myself.”

Alex looked at his friend incredulously. Kyle looked completely unrepentant and like he did not see where anything he’d done was crossing a line.

“I think maybe med school has desensitized you too much. Or maybe we’re too good of friends. I have no clue which, but you bought me a BUTT PLUG? That’s a pretty personal purchase to get from someone who is not ever going to be intimate with my actual ASSHOLE,” Alex may have screeched the last word. It felt like a screech. Kyle’s cackling told him it was a screech.

“I’m just being supportive. You don’t have to USE all that stuff. At least not in one night. I mean, that’s a lot of lube and condoms to go through. At our age, it’s a little ambitious to think you’d even finish off a full box…” Kyle trailed off and started laughing again. Alex’s face must’ve been doing something hilarious, but all he could feel was embarrassment and affection for his friend’s misguided attempts to make up for a couple shitty years of high school where he’d been a jackass homophobe.

“Kyle… you could’ve just gone to a Pride parade with me someday. You didn’t have to… buy me weed gummies shapes like penises… or Boy Butter?” Alex picked up the tub and examined it. It was designed to look like a tub of margarine and proudly proclaimed to be water-based.

“I have it on good authority that stuff is amazing for any sort of prolonged anal play. Good thick texture, doesn’t dry up quickly…”

“Kyle, no! No, Kyle! I just… You just… YOU BOUGHT ME A DOUCHING KIT!!” Alex cried piteously, thumping his head onto the desk and moaning in despair. His best friend was the worst.

“You’re being dramatic, Alex. Honestly, as the Smashing Pumpkins would say, Cleanliness is Godliness and God is empty… like your bowels will be if you use the kit,” Alex opened his mouth to protest, but Kyle cut him off quickly, “Also, everyone involved in the results will praise heaven when the time comes. Jeez, I mean, a guy tries to help a bro out in the twenty-first century and this is the kind of thanks he gets,” Kyle complained, starting to look a little hurt at Alex’s response to his gifts.

“Kyle…. I think we may be too comfortable with each other. I’m not saying that as a bad thing, but you know this is not a normal gift for like… anybody, right?” Alex asked, softening his tone and trying to inject some humor into it. “I mean, I’m appreciative and all… I definitely WON’T be telling you if and when I use any of this stuff… but like….”

Alex was at a loss. It was a really nice gift and he was kind of being a dick about it. Sighing, he smiled and covered his eyes for a moment. Resting his chin on his upturned palm, he finally gave in.

“Thank you for the gift, Kyle. Let me know next time you get in a serious relationship so I can repay the favor. And never… and I mean, NEVER…. Buy me underwear,” Alex finished, trying to look serious though he was smiling. Kyle smiled back and laughed some more.

“I apparently didn’t do well enough picking your outfit for last night or you’d be begging to let me buy you underwear next. I take it the evening did not end up with any naked shenanigans?”

Alex smiled and thought back to the previous night.

#malex fic #wip #kylex friendship #best bros forever #platonic life mates

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mysticm3ss · 5 years

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RFA+Saeran x MC who does muay thai

not requested, but i was at a muay thai class today and just started thinking abt this so i figured i’d write it. this is pure self-indulgence, sorry haha. if you haven’t heard of it before, muay thai is thai kickboxing ^^ (also i’m not claiming to be an expert by any means i’ve only been doing it for like 6 weeks i just rly like it)

Yoosung:

Lowkey terrified when he finds out.

That said, the experience in which he discovers your hobby isn’t exactly “ideal.”

It was late as the two of you walked home from one of your dates; the street lamps were dull, the traffic nothing but a slow trickle as you walked hand in hand down the footpath, sharing whispers and hushed giggles in the quiet of the night.

Safe by Yoosung’s side and all too occupied as the apple of his eye, you don’t even notice the person who had been following you the past block and a half.

When they make their presence known by grabbing your purse, your fight instincts take over and you slip easily into your muay thai stance, throwing quick, consecutive punches without thinking and easily blocking attempted counterattacks.

You follow it up with a knee to the liver and a brutal kick to their inner thigh. When you throw an uppercut elbow into their chin, they collapse into an unconscious heap before you.

Still shaking with adrenaline (and, to an extent, surprise at your own skill), you pry your purse from their grip and step away, only to find Yoosung gaping at you.

“...Yoosung?”

He blinks, shaking his head to snap himself from his stupor as he manages to stammer a response.

“M-MC... what the hell was that?! Oh my god, are you okay?!”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hella turned on tbh

You chuckle sheepishly. “Heh. Yeah, I’m fine... you know how I go to the gym? It’s... technically a muay thai gym.”

Yoosung manages to nod, and stares in disbelief as you revert back to your usual self, pecking his cheek before taking his hand and continuing to walk down the pathway.

He can’t help but watch you in awe.

Wow, his partner is awesome.

Zen:

When Zen notices the bruises marring your legs and torso, he’s immediately concerned.

“Jagi... what happened? Are you okay? How did you get all these bruises? Is someone hurting you?!”

You can see the anger bubbling beneath the surface, and you run your hand down his arm soothingly before he can get too riled up.

“No, no, it’s fine, Zen... they’re just from muay thai.”

Zen’s brow furrows into the most adorable pout of confusion as he tilts his head to the side.

“...from what?”

You explain the sport to him, and his eyes light up with interest.

“Oh, wow! Maybe I could... go with you, sometime?” he suggests idly, and you nod eagerly.

The next week, you drag him to a beginner’s class.

The moment you walk into the gym, Zen’s chest tightens with jealously. The gym is full of guys. Shirtless guys. Fit shirtless guys.

When you greet them all as friends, even hugging a few who hadn’t been in for a while, Zen can’t help but pull you a little closer to his side.

“...MC, y-you come here almost every day?” he asks, and you giggle, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth and easily spotting the hint of insecurity in his eyes, and the protectiveness that shadowed it.

“Yes, and I come home to you,” you remind him, and he immediately relaxes, nodding and casting aside his worries as he instead focusses on enjoying the sport you devote so much time to.

You start off by teaching him how to wrap his hands and volunteering to hold pads for him first, once he’s learned some basic movements.

He’s already fit, so it doesn’t take him too long to get down the basic technique...

...but his punches are weak, his kicks weaker, and you know right away that he’s going easy on you.

“Zen. Babe. You can kick harder,” you prompt, and he chuckles.

“What? I know... I just...”

You grin, and the timer buzzes, signalling the end of the round.

When the instructor begins to describe the movements for the next round, he drags you to the front of the room to demonstrate, considering your experience in comparison to the other beginners. When he gets you to hold pads for him, Zen flinches as he watches the instructor knee the belly pad strapped around your waist, followed by the quick, solid roundhouse kick you easily catch with the pads.

The thwack of flesh on leather has Zen half ready to leap to your defence, but he can only stare in awe as you easily absorb the impact.

You swap partners for the next round, and Zen couldn’t possibly describe his anxiety as he watches you partner up with someone almost twice your size.

His anxiety fades into admiration as he watches you land punch after punch, nailing kicks and knees into your partner’s waiting pads like nobody’s business.

he almost gets punched in the head (twice) while he’s not paying attention let’s be real

By the end of the class, Zen has already made friends with your buddies--if they’re important to you, they’re important to him, as well, and he’d be damned if he didn’t want to make a good first impression on them.

When the two of you head home that evening, Zen relents that maybe the sport isn’t for him (he can’t have bruises on his beautiful skin after all), but is always eager to support your interests.

Jaehee:

This judo enthusiast is thrilled when she hears that you enjoy a combat sport, as well.

Peppers you with questions about the differences between the two sports, and would honestly love to give sparring with you a go in order to compare techniques...

...which is exactly what the two of you end up doing.

You’re not trying to hurt each other, of course--you set boundaries and never go at each other with full power.

But when the two of you finish up, you’re both patterned with mottling bruises and aching limbs.

After a hot shower, the two of you cuddle up on the bed, all tangled limbs and gentle nuzzling as you press soft kisses to one another’s wounded skin.

You run your hands along Jaehee’s back and gently massage her sore muscles, feeling the tension seep from her body as she relaxes into the sheets, humming contentedly at your touch.

When you’re done, she returns the favour, ending it with a soft kiss to the lips that breaks as you both can’t help but smile against one another’s mouths.

“That was fun, MC...” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “But... maybe we should leave sparring to our respective classes. I don’t like the idea of hurting you.”

You smile, wincing as you shuffle to glance over at her, body still throbbing dully in pain.

She mimics the action, ribs obviously sore and arms tired as they wrap around your waist, warm and soft.

“Mmm... good idea,” you reply, pressing your face into her neck and placing a soft kiss to her jaw. “I don’t want to hurt you, either.”

Jumin:

When Jumin finds out about your hobby, he’s a mix between intrigued and impressed.

“MC, as much as I love that you’re capable of defending yourself, you do realise we have a whole security team dedicated to your safety...?”

You smile goodnaturedly and explain to him that it’s not just about the self-defence, though that is an added bonus; it’s about the stress relief and satisfaction of being able to nail a certain move or combo, and the thrill that comes with sparring.

When he sees just how much you enjoy it, he considers hiring a world titleholder to act as your personal trainer.

And as much as the idea of meeting such a skilled individual excites you, you explain that it’s really not necessary.

You love the comradeship you have at your gym, and your primary goal isn’t to fight professionally, anyways. You’re happy where you are.

Definitely buys you top-notch equipment--we’re talking brand new gloves and shin pads, so fancy that you’re a little scared to imagine the heavy price tag they bore.

Loves to watch you practise shadowboxing around the house, and peppers you with questions about your technique.

Even asks you to show him a few moves.

let’s just say that muay thai is not jumin’s forte

Regardless, you appreciate his interest in your passion, and definitely enjoy the hot baths he draws to soothe your sore muscles, and the loving attention he pays you afterwards.

Seven:

“MC, that’s amazing~! Who would’ve thought my innocent sweetie was so tough and talented!”

Honestly, the idea of you engaging in the sport is really exciting to him.

and turns him on to no end

Eager to drive you to, and pick you up from, all of the classes you go to throughout the week.

Your biggest supporter if you ever choose to fight, and working out with you is one of the few things that can drag him away from the constraints of his work.

He doesn’t mention it, but the fact that you’re somewhat competent in combat is also really reassuring to him.

Knowing that you can look after yourself if the situation arose? Super comforting to him, especially regarding his line of work.

Insists on sparring with you.

“Saeyoung, do you even know anything about muay thai, let alone how to spar in it?”

“Whaaaaat? Of course~!”

(He doesn’t)

(He doesn’t even block any of your punches)

(C’mon man you’re a secret agent you know how to block a goddamn punch)

“Ohh, MC, you’re just too strong for me~ God Seven is forced to surrender!”

Brags about you to the RFA chat every other day.

“Hey, did you know MC can totally beat me up~?”

“...Seven, confine your kinks to the bedroom please”--the entire RFA

Regardless, he’s super proud of you and will always, always support your interests, especially one he finds so cool!

Saeran:

It makes him uneasy.

The idea of a bunch of people throwing punches at you, with only a foam pad between you and their fist or elbow?

Nope. Not a fan.

And when you come home with bruises?!?!

“I thought you said they weren’t really hurting you?!”

“Sae, I literally did this to myself. The boxing bags aren’t soft on my shins, y’know.”

Begrudgingly admits he’s glad you know how to defend yourself, though.

Plus he sees how happy you are when you come home, and nothing can beat the flutter in his chest when he sees the light in your eyes and the grin on your face, even when you’re sweaty and sore.

Eventually, it’s something that he gets used to, and he finds himself kissing the bruises marring your skin and rubbing tiger palm into your sore muscles.

So long as you’re happy, so is he.

hope you enjoyed! i don’t expect many people to read this one but if you’ve made it this far, why not reblog or comment and let me know what you think? xx

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hopelessromanticspoonie · 5 years

Text

To Keep You Safe

Title: A guy like you should wear a warning

Chapter: 6/?

Author: hopeless_romantic_spoonie

Summary: Life as the assistant to Tony Stark was busy, but boring. All of that changed when I touched something I shouldn’t have and woke up with strange new abilities. If I thought that trying to figure out my new place in life as an Avenger was tough, I had no idea what was in store for me once I ran into the frustrating God of Mischief, Loki.

Rating: E (later on)

Notes: Friendly reminder that this is un-Beta’d, so please excuse any typos or grammatical errors I no doubt missed during revisions!

Also on Ao3 here :)

Warnings for this chapter: Language, making out

~~~

Thanks to my speedy healing powers I was able to leave the infirmary the day after Loki’s late-night visit. I was still prescribed extreme amounts of rest and a moderate amount of painkillers, so I used the time when the others were busy working or training to unpack the boxes from my apartment and truly decorate my suite. Now that I wasn’t working myself into the ground each day, I had hours and hours to kill. If I was going to be staying here a while, so it might as well feel like home.

I had more in control of my powers so I allowed myself the luxury of putting out my small potted succulents and aloe plant onto the windowsill, having retrieved them from Pepper’s office after she had nabbed them for safe-keeping ages ago. I wanted to replace the duvet with mine from home, but moving up from a meager full-sized bed to a king meant that wasn’t going to work. It was easy to order another through F.R.I.D.A.Y., and a simple plush forest green duvet cover arrived promptly. Steve helpfully reassembled one of my bookshelves for me and put it up next to the couch in the sitting area. I finished that off by filling it to the brim with my extensive book collection.

The last bits of personal memorabilia were my drawing supplies. I hadn’t touched them in years, truthfully not since I began distracting myself after New York with work, but I had little else to do in my free time. I wasn’t allowed to train yet, and my job as Tony’s assistant had already been filled by someone else. Plus, I can only watch reruns of The Office so many times. So, my sketchbooks were scattered across my coffee table, with the one currently in use on my bedside table when I wasn’t lugging it around as I puttered about. A pouch of charcoal was always alongside it, along with a black-stained once-white towel to wipe off my hands.

So, in the interim of getting injured and being allowed to train, I drew. I now had a designated spot on the couch parked in front of the TV that was left open for me to curl up beneath a black blanket, to avoid stains, and draw as I socialized. My sketches started as complete and total trash from my lack of practice, but after a few attempts, my friends went from looking like misshapen cartoon characters to actual people on the page. If you squinted and tilted your head a little. And allowed for artistic license. But it was a work in progress like everything else in my life.

One surprising figure who kept appearing in my sketchbook turned out to be Loki. Whenever I was out of my room, he seemed to be as well. Keeping to the shadows and himself, but still present. His penetrating gaze drilled holes into the sides and back of my head as I went about my day. When I’d look up to catch his eye he stared back unabashedly with that same look of puzzlement that he had worn during our last conversation. Because even though he had been my new shadow, he never approached me, and I couldn’t even begin to think of what to say to him. 'Hey, so, you totally saved my life and now we don’t seem to hate each other and I don’t know what that’s about or what to do about it. So, what’s up? Stalk much?' That didn’t feel right. So I just left it be. If he wanted more answers so that he could wipe the curious look off of his face, it was very clear that he knew where to find me. Even if I couldn’t see him, like when I went on walks with Thor or Sam to keep my strength up while I healed, the small hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I felt his eyes upon me.

And each night, when I would wake screaming and sobbing in bed from visions of the Hydra men I had slaughtered, he was there. After the first night when I sent my trusty ole rock flying at, and then through, his expressionless face and learned that it was just a projection, it became routine. I’d wake up shrieking, drenched in cold sweat, and there would be an illusion of the Trickster God sitting on my couch watching over me. Never talking, never approaching me, just keeping guard over me with a steady gaze. Even though he wasn’t physically there, I knew that he was just on the other side of the wall, having woken from my cries and sending his doppelganger to me. Some tiny part of me took comfort in knowing that I wasn’t alone, and it was that part that I clung to as I fell back to sleep each time. That part only grew with each occurrence of his reliable appearances for my night terrors.

Should I have been more creeped out by it? Probably. This could go into stalker pasty vampire territory real fast. But I was so desperate for any sort of comfort that I began to search for him immediately after I was wrenched from my haunting dreams, a sigh of relief huffing out of my mouth when I saw him sitting at his post. It wasn’t good for me in the slightest to become so reliant on his steady presence, but it helped too much for me to put an end to it. What was it hurting? Besides our sleep schedules, of course. But mine was damned either way.

So, with little else to do, I drew him. If he could be a creep, so could I. I kept him in the corner of my eye whenever I would sit and sketch. And through my workings, I continued the exploration of the distant but oh-so-present god that I had begun in the infirmary. My fingers became familiar with the sharp lines of his cheekbones. The harsh angle of his jawbone. The slant and curve of his lips from the ever-present smirk. My eyes knew the breadth of his shoulders and the lean yet defined muscle filling out his standard button-down shirt. His long, spindly fingers were familiar to me not only from touch but now sight as well. And it was easy to fill my pages with his exceptionally well-proportioned figure while carrying on with everyone else. They got uncomfortable as the subjects of my sketches, but Loki was unwilling to talk to me to voice his opinion. As the only one to do so, he became my easiest muse.

~~~

After two weeks of rest, recuperation, and doodling, I was finally allowed to return to my training sessions with Nat and Wanda. And even in those, Loki lingered at the fringes. At first the others took notice, just as I had long ago, and waited for him to take action or say something or do anything to give a reason for his continued presence. It was one thing to always be about in the living room or grounds but harder to explain when he was always fifteen steps behind me. But when nothing happened and no explanations were given they tuned him out as I had learned to. If he wanted to be the ghost of my life, that was his prerogative. I needed to get my ass back in shape.

This was made all the more apparent as Nat slammed my body onto the training mat for the fifteenth time during our latest training session. My back was becoming far too familiar with the dark mats that cushioned my repeated falls.

“Knock the wind out of ya?” she asked, smirking down at me and offering her hand to help me up.

With a gasp and nod, I took her hand and allowed her to yank me gracelessly to my feet. I braced my hands on my knees, taking deep breaths and blinking the stars from my eyes.

“Tony talked to us and we all agree. We’re not leaving you as unprepared as you were before. So, catch your breath, because we’re not done yet,” she declared, holding out my reusable water bottle for me.

I drank heavily from it and even poured some on the top of my head, relishing the ice-cold water on my sweaty body.

“Then bring it on,” I tossed my water bottle to the edge of the mat. “I haven’t had my ass kicked in enough different ways yet.”

And Nat seemed to take that as a challenge. In the next hour she pinned me, tossed me to the floor, and put me in various holds until I tapped out probably 20 more times. At least.

“Good job, Jen. You lasted longer than I expected,” she praised me, tossing a towel on my prone form on the floor.

After she slammed me onto my back for the final time getting up didn’t seem like it needed to happen right away. The floor and I were good buddies by now and I just wanted to spend some more quality time with it. I groaned wordlessly, swiping the towel from my bare midriff and throwing it over my face. My entire body hurt, but my shoulder was the worst of all. An itchy, burning sensation pulsed with my heartbeat beneath the gnarled mess of scar tissue just to the right of the strap of my sports bra. I scratched at it absentmindedly before standing up, throwing the towel around my neck.

“I mean it. You’ve been out of commission for almost three weeks. It’s hard to get back into it, especially with the God of Ghostliness checking you out the entire time,” she teased.

“Oh no, that was definitely not what he’s doing. He feels guilty and he’s just keeping tabs.” There wasn’t a universe where Loki, Prince of Asgard, would be eyeing me for that reason. “Plus, he probably gets a sick thrill from watching me eat dirt over and over again.”

“I know I do,” Nat joked, linking her arm through mine as we walked out of the gym toward the building housing our rooms. “But really. You’re wearing a sports bra and tight leggings, all hot and bothered from getting your ass kicked, and grunting and huffing and puffing. It’s definitely some guys’ thing.”

I rolled my eyes, not dignifying her speculations with a response besides that. I was an unknown to Loki, that was all. He was such an intelligent person that he probably didn’t like not understanding something, and he just hadn’t figured me out yet. Once he was satisfied with whatever mystery of my character that he was trying to solve he would go back to slinking around the Compound on his own.

That didn’t explain his almost-nightly visits to my room after my nightmares, but I had long ago concluded that I wasn’t going to understand his motivation for that, either. Probably something along the lines of wanting me to shut the hell up so that he could get some sleep. That sounded more like his style.

Nat pulled me out of my thoughts with her suddenly enthusiastic tone. “Hey, before I forget, Sam and I were thinking of heading to the city tonight. Maybe hitting up a club and getting some,” she paused, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, “frustration out. You should come. After all, you did say you like dancing.”

“I was kidding! Tony asked me how I was feeling while I was in a hospital bed with a hole in my shoulder and brains falling out of my skull and I’m a sarcastic smartass when I'm tired! That doesn’t count!” I exclaimed, laughing as she pulled me toward the stairs. My jelly legs quickly redirected us to the elevator.

“Doesn’t matter. You haven’t left this place in over a month. You need to get out. You’re coming. After dinner you’re coming to my room, I’m throwing you into the slinkiest dress I can find, and we’re hitting the town.”

By that point we had reached the main living room, and she pushed me toward my door for a much-needed shower.

“It’s happening!”

~~~

True to her word, after we’d all eaten dinner I was dragged into Nat’s room. There wasn’t even time to protest as the assassin plopped me down onto her bed, aiming a stern finger at me before going about her diabolical plans to dress me up like a doll.

She went through her clothes like a madwoman, picking out dresses and holding them up to me, then frowning and tossing them aside onto a rapidly-growing pile of provocative frocks. I didn’t blame her for the struggle considering the differences we had. She was a bit bustier and curvier in all the right places than my taller, boxier frame. With my bigger hips, smaller ass, and longer legs, half of the dresses were tossed aside simply because we weren’t looking to get me arrested for indecent exposure.

Finally, after several minutes of searching and a mountain of rejected dresses, she shoved one into my hands. “This is it, I know it,” she exclaimed, shoving me toward the bathroom to change.

I stumbled inside and closed the door behind me, holding in a groan. Whatever she picked I knew it had to be far more risque than anything I’d ever choose for myself. But she got one thing right from the start: the color was my favorite: a deep emerald green. I didn’t see any sequins or sparkles, so that was a bonus. Mimicking a disco ball had never been high on my list of wardrobe choices.

But as soon as I put it on, after first running to my room and back to grab a strapless bra, I knew it wasn’t happening.

The high halter neckline of the dress revealed my fair, only slightly muscular shoulders, and as such, the twisted mess of raised pink scar tissue I wasn’t too keen on revealing. Following the dress down, more of my pale skin was revealed by cutouts on either side of my waist just above my hip bones. I only ever showed my midriff when I was working out, and that was because Tony seemed averse to air conditioning in the gym. This was a lot of skin. Plus, it was a dress and I just really didn’t want to wear one.

“Nat, this isn’t going to work,” I whined through the door, staring at my body critically in the mirror.

“Lemme see, Pebbles!”

Sighing heavily, I opened up the bathroom door and padded out into the bedroom. I even did a little twirl to prove just how much the dress did not work for me.

“I think that Tony is right about the Poison Ivy thing, especially in that dress. Damn, girl!”

“It’s too much, Nat!” I covered the fair skin revealed at my waist to the best of my ability, crossing my arms over myself.

“No, you look stunning! He’s not going to know what hit him,” she gushed, grabbing my hand and pulling me over to a vanity in the sitting area of her room. She pushed me down in front of it and began fussing with my hair.

“But it isn’t too much?” I asked quietly.

“Trust me, you’ll knock him dead,” she promised, twisting my hair into a bun on the back of my head.

Him?

One hour later, I looked myself over in the mirror while Natasha quickly got dressed, surveying her handiwork.

After existing in the dress for a while, I begrudgingly admitted to myself that it wasn’t the absolute worst. I still felt a little uncomfortable with how tight it was, but I was given some relief and breathing room with the slight flare of the skirt out from my hips. My dark brown hair had somehow been thrown up into a simple bun with just one long gold hair clip, a feat of epic proportions considering just how much hair I had. A delicate gold arm cuff resembling a snake wrapped around my bicep on my right arm, hopefully distracting from the scarring above it that wouldn’t disappear behind the dress no matter how much I tugged at it. My ever-present thumbprint necklace was completely hidden by the high neckline and collar of the dress. And to complete the outfit, much to Nat’s dismay, I snagged a pair of chunky black ankle boots from my closet. If I was going to be dragged out for a night on the town, I was not going to do it in the scary-high black stilettos she had offered to me. Breaking my ankles would probably put a damper on the evening.

At least my makeup was within my comfort zone. With subtle winged eyeliner, heavy mascara, and berry red lips I still looked like I tried without resembling a clown. As Nat said, 'You, but better.' I think it was a compliment.

“Oh! One last thing,” Natasha cried, popping up from finishing her makeup at the vanity and dashing out of the room. She reappeared moments later with Tony by her side.

“Damn, Poison Ivy. You look fantastic. I didn’t even recognize you.” Tony sauntered over to me, wrapping me in a brief one-armed hug before pulling back and holding out a polished wooden box from behind his back. “I know you may be feeling antsy about tonight, so I sent out for this.”

I blushed at Tony’s compliment and took the box over to the vanity. “Y’all really want that nickname to stick, huh?” I asked, rolling my eyes as I opened the surprise gift.

“It’s an obsidian dagger. It’s made out of volcanic glass, so you should be able to control it with your powers if you get in a tight spot. And that’s a thigh holster. It should work over or under your clothes. The leather is reinforced on the inside, so you can't cut through it. But be careful. That thing is sharp as hell.”

I stared at the beautiful, semi-translucent black dagger and holster nestled in the red velvet inside the box. With a flick of my wrist, the dagger slipped from the sheath and flew into my waiting hand. The blade itself was about the length of my hand, and the handle just long enough for me to comfortably grasp it.

“It’s perfect, Tony, thank you,” I beamed, pulling everything from the box and carefully sliding the knife back into its sheath.

Natasha snapped out of admiring the weapon from afar once it was put away and pushed Tony toward the door. “Now shoo! She needs to strap that thing on and you need to go home to Pepper.”

“You kids have fun! The car is waiting out front! Do something I would do!”

I rolled my eyes with a smile at Tony’s shouted parting words before looking back down at his gift. It was beautiful. And he was right. The heavy dread that had settled in my stomach lightened slightly with the promised protection of the deadly weapon. The slim holster easily slipped up my leg and under my dress, which was just long enough to cover it. When I stood up and looked in the mirror, the extra swing of fabric around my legs concealed it. I had been concerned, since, once holstered, the set-up ran from slightly below my hip bone to the middle of my thigh on the outside of my leg.

“Let’s go, Trouble,” Natasha called, leaving the bathroom and shoving her feet into a similar pair of stilettos to what she had tried to force me into earlier. She was stunning in the classic strapless little black dress that clung to her every curve. I don’t know how she thought I was going to get any attention from whoever the mysterious ‘him’ was that she kept referring to when I would be standing next to her drop-dead gorgeous ass.

We both grabbed our bags on the way out of her room, mine a tasteful black leather square clutch on a long, thin gold chain and hers a bright red clutch with black straps to match her heels.

As we left her room, we saw the third member of our party. Sam was waiting for us dressed to kill in a brown leather jacket, white t-shirt, and dark jeans. He was the embodiment of looking cool without trying too hard.

But to my surprise, another man was waiting for us in the living room. I stopped dead in my tracks when I took in Loki leaning casually against the arm of the couch. The slim black pants, dark gray button-down shirt, and fitted black blazer looked like they were made for him and him alone to wear.

Oh. Him.

The arrogant smirk he normally wore fell from his face as his piercing green eyes blazed a path down my body, lingering on the golden snake bicep cuff and cutouts. The offhand comments Nat had made and her very particular styling choices suddenly made much more sense as I watched Loki eye me appreciatively. I was going to kill her and her meddling ass, assassin or not.

She pushed me toward Loki before walking over to Sam and casually slipping her arm around his waist so he could wrap his arm around her shoulders. I stumbled slightly and turned to glare at her, wishing that that dumb green box had given me face-melting laser powers right about now. When I turned back around, Loki was standing just inches away and was offering me his arm with a mischievous smile.

“You look absolutely divine,” he murmured, taking my left hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm.

“Thank you.” I blushed for the second time that night and lowered my gaze to the floor in front of us.

We followed Sam and Nat silently down the stairs, Loki’s arm tightening to trap my hand securely against his body as we descended together. While my dazzling friends in front of us chatted away excitedly about tonight’s plans, I couldn’t get over my shock to think of anything to say to the prince escorting me to the back row of the waiting black SUV. He took one of my hands in his, the other resting politely on the middle of my back as he helped me inside. After I was settled on the rich leather interior, he went to the other side and gracefully slipped in next to me.

Sam and Nat piled into the row in front of us, letting the driver know that we were ready to go. I fumbled with the seatbelt, my hands shaking and missing the buckle once, twice.

Along with the shock of Loki’s presence on our outing, I was suddenly very aware that this was the first time I was going to go out in public since getting my powers. I thought I had a good grip on them, but what if I didn’t? Would wherever we were going have anything around that I could accidentally use against someone if I got hurt? What if I lost it and used my new dagger on someone? Loki's steady hands covered mine and helped me on the third try, bringing me back to the car and making my breath hitch in my throat.

I pulled away and angled my face to look outside. My heart was threatening to jump out of my chest. Not because of how pleasant his cool fingers had felt on my warm skin, but because I was anxious about being around so many people again. Yep. That’s it. I kept my eyes trained outside the heavily tinted windows for some time, listening to Sam and Nat without actually hearing what they were saying. Anything to focus on besides Loki’s leg that pressed into my own each time we were jostled by the car.

After a few tense minutes, I cleared my throat and blurted out the one thought that wouldn’t stop nagging at me. “Why’d you come?”

Loki’s eyes met mine and held them prisoner in his own with their intensity. “To keep you safe.”

And that was that.

~~~

We pulled up to a stop outside of a busy club, a long line curled around the side of the building as people waited in the chilly September air to be allowed inside. After accepting Loki’s hand to help me out of the car, I stifled a groan at the thought of waiting in such a line with just the short dress I had on to shield me from the cold. Neither Nat nor myself had thought about the weather when she was playing makeover.

But I had not realized the power of who I was with as I trailed behind my friends. Loki, Sam, and Nat strolled confidently up to the bouncer, Nat flashing him a jaw-dropping smile and Sam slipping him an even more jaw-dropping collection of bills. With a satisfied smirk and leering eyes ogling Nat’s ample cleavage, the giant of a man waved us inside.

The thumping bass assaulted my ears after we stepped through the door behind the bouncer. The smell of sweat and mixing colognes and perfumes made me crinkle my nose. Multicolored lights flashed across the club, just light enough to illuminate the undulating dancers in the middle of the room without being so bright that they felt self-conscious. Along the edge against the brick walls were various couches scattered here and there, left in shadow to afford those resting from their revelry a bit of a break from the pandemonium.

Nat didn’t seem to notice any of it as she let go of Sam and grabbed my arm instead. She yanked me from Loki’s grip and led me to the nearest of two dark wooden bars. I looked back at Sam and Loki briefly before I was swallowed up by the crowd. The former was already moving in on a very attractive woman, and Loki remained standing tall and proud where I had left him, alabaster skin changing colors with the flashing colored lights around him. His piercing eyes tracked me until I was out of sight. I turned my attention back to my friend, following in her incredibly steady footsteps for her mile-high stilettos. We both leaned against the bar and she flagged down the bartender.

“Vodka cranberry please, make it a double!” I shouted, hoping that the bartender could make out what I was saying over the almost deafening music. I couldn’t even hear what Nat ordered and she was right beside me. She placed a large bill in his hand after our two drinks were in front of us and shouted something else that I couldn’t pick up.

I grabbed mine and took a drink, grateful to discover that he had heard my order correctly. I didn’t have time to savor the drink, as Nat caught my attention by holding up a shot of clear liquid in front of me suggestively.

“No! I can’t hold my alcohol!” I shouted, shaking my head dramatically at her and attempting to push the liquor back in her direction.

She leaned into me, pushing the shot back into my hand. “Yes! What have you got to lose?”

With a groan, I accepted the shot and hastily poured it down my throat, wincing at the burn of vodka that I felt all the way down to my stomach. I chased it with a sip of my drink. It was a smart move for my taste buds, but not necessarily my liver. Too late now.

Her drink now in hand, Nat grabbed my free hand with hers and pulled me out onto the dance floor. I could see Sam off to the side, getting very familiar with the woman he had approached earlier. Loki was nowhere to be found, but he had to be close. He wouldn’t come all this way just to leave. He was most likely off taking advantage of the inebriated patrons and the dark surroundings, God of Mischief that he was. This was probably his twisted version of a candy store.

I felt the shot working its way through my system, warming my body and loosening up the strangled tightness that had gripped my chest in the car earlier. I could feel the power coursing through my veins, but it wasn’t hard to tamp it down and focus on the buzz in my head instead. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all. I allowed myself to give in to the infectious anonymity of the pulsing darkness, laughing and dancing with Nat.

Several songs and one more drink later, I was working my way passed tipsy and toward drunk, and I needed a break. I gestured toward the bar, but Nat shook her head and closed her eyes while she kept on dancing. It didn’t hurt my feelings any. She deserved to let loose just as much as I did and I didn’t need babysitting just to go get another drink and take a load off for a minute. I pushed my way through the crowd of sweaty bodies to the bar and plopped down on a barstool.

I pressed a bill from my clutch into the bartender’s hand when he came around to me, asking for another vodka cranberry. He went off to make my drink, and once he was back and the beverage was lightly grasped in my hand I closed my eyes for a moment to focus on catching my breath.

A cool hand settled onto the exposed skin at my waist and an arm stretched across my back. I opened my eyes to see someone plucking the drink from my hand before retreating quickly.

“What the fuck?” I swore loudly, whipping around to see Loki looking at me over his shoulder as he sauntered away, my drink held tauntingly in his slightly raised hand. He slipped into the crowd and I was just barely able to make out the top of his head among the throng of dancers.

I hopped off of the barstool a little less gracefully than I would have liked. I was at least grateful that I was able to pick my way through the crowd without stumbling into anybody despite the alcohol in my system.

While it had been easy to find him when I had been removed from the crowd thanks to his height, once I was surrounded by people I lost him. A growl of frustration passed through my lips. The God of Mischief was a real pain in my ass.

“Lose something?” The words were passed to me over the din of the club through smooth lips pressed against the shell of my ear.

I turned around to see Loki watching me with a smirk on his lips and mischief glinting in his eyes. I tried to be quick and snag my drink from him, but he lifted it higher so that all I succeeded in doing was looking like an idiot.

He stooped down to speak lowly into my ear again. “Your drink for a dance, little one.”

“Are you serious?’ I shouted, glaring at him as he pulled away. The quirk of his brow signified that his proposal was indeed very serious.

I contemplated just going back to the bar and getting another drink. It wasn’t like I didn’t have the money, with what Tony paid I could retire today and live a modest, but comfortable, life. But it was the principle of the thing that mattered. He was throwing down the gauntlet and I was just stubborn enough and drunk enough to pick it up.

I shrugged my shoulders in light acceptance of his terms and he closed the distance between us to place a large hand on the small of my back. I draped my arms around his shoulders and made sure to press back against his hand as I rolled my body to the beat that reverberated through my boots from the floor.

His pale skin was the perfect canvas for the colored lights to saturate as he stared down at me moving against him. I couldn’t help the smirk of my own as he pulled me closer to him until our chests brushed. I blamed the alcohol and exercise for the cause of my heart beating erratically in my chest and my uneven breaths. It wasn’t the darkening of his eyes as my hips rolled against his. And it was most definitely not the solid muscles that flexed against me with each twist of his body. Nor was it the wolfish smile that pulled on his lips as his hand skated across my back to grip onto the exposed feverish flesh on my side.

He used the leverage he gained from this new position to turn me around so that my back was to his front. I felt every angle of him against me as he pulled me flush against him, from his rigid chest curling into the back of my bare shoulders to his hips grinding deliciously against the padding of my ass. The hand not holding my drink rested on my flat stomach, keeping me against him as we moved together to the pounding bass. My arms reached up above me so that my hands could resume their place around the nape of his neck, consequently opening my body up to him for his perusal.

Surprisingly, he didn’t take advantage. His hand remained stretched across my soft stomach, holding me to him, but the other moved down around me until my drink was poised in front of my lips. Emboldened by the heady mixture of alcohol and his masculine scent surrounding me, I tilted my head forward enough to down what was left of my cocktail after he had seemingly taken his own drinks from it if the low level of liquid was anything to go by. The glass disappeared from his hand, which was now free to trail across my jaw and hook on my chin, turning my head so that his nose brushed against my cheek and his breaths panted out against my sweat-dampened skin.

“You have had your drink. You are free to go.” His words were at odds with his hand, which held me captive against him by digging pleasantly into my hip.

We had fulfilled the bargain that he had given me. I danced with him, and he had given me what remained of my drink. But it sounded like too much work to go find Nat, Sam was most definitely enjoying time with some random beautiful woman, and I had to admit that Loki was an amazing dance partner. Why would I leave him to go dance alone, or worse, have some random brute grind up on me and try to cop a feel? I knew, well kinda, what to expect with him, so I just laughed in response and dragged my nails against his sensitive skin at the nape of his neck.

Over the pounding music, I felt more than heard the rumble of his chest at my actions, and the sound sent chills through me. His large hands took to roaming over my body as we danced, never staying in one spot for too long. Dragging from the outside of my thighs to my hips to brush across my stomach to reach up and trail down my upraised arms and back again, leaving fire in their wake.

I shut down the logical part of my brain that told me that I shouldn’t be enjoying this so much. That this was Loki, the god who hated me and was nothing but his own needs. Future me could worry about that. Right now I was too engrossed in the exhilarating movement of his body against mine to do anything about it. Especially when he ducked his head so that his lips trailed across my bare shoulder. It was intoxicating.He was intoxicating.

“What do we have here?” he purred, voice velvet sin behind me. His hands had stalled their movements on the outside of my legs, and one hand toyed with the edges of my dagger over the fabric of my dress.

I turned around in his arms and moved my hands down to rest against his chest. “Insurance,” I smirked up at him.

He chuckled darkly and looked positively sinister as he loomed over me. “Plan on using it?” he asked, his groping fingers reaching behind me to gather a healthy amount of my backside in their clutches.

I smiled sweetly up at him as I released him to reach behind me and take his hands into mine. “Only if you don’t keep your hands to yourself,” I replied, slipping out of his grasp and walking away.

When I peeked over my shoulder for his reaction, he was where I had left him, watching me stroll away with a predatory gleam in his eye that sent a rush of heat through me. The logical side of me had disappeared some time ago, sent away by the sensual roll of his hips against mine, so I shot him a wink before slipping through the crowd toward the edges of the bar, one of the dark leather couches calling my name.

What the hell was that wink?

I found an empty couch in the shadows and perched on the armrest, taking care to keep my thighs firmly closed together and my skirt draped over the lethal weapon I was hiding. Wouldn’t do for anyone to see anything they shouldn’t. It was much easier to breathe now that he wasn’t holding me so tightly to him, and I bowed my head as I focused on cooling and calming down.

“You need to rehydrate.” The words came from above me as a pale hand holding a glass of water slipped into my field of view.

Like any intelligent woman who had had alcohol in public before, I knew better than to accept a drink that I hadn’t seen made. I lifted my eyes to Loki, expecting to see the same lascivious expression on his face as I had last seem him, but only finding a light concern furrowing his brow instead. But he wasn’t looking at me. He straightened up while I watched him and turned partially around to stare off into the crowd. When he turned back to face me, an urgency had taken over his features.

The seriousness of his expression cut through my buzz and I stood up as quickly as I could manage from my awkward position on the sofa. “What’s wrong?”

He seemed to grapple with something for a moment as he searched my face, indecision in his darting eyes and twitching fingers. When it appeared that he had made a decision, judging by the forced exhale through his nose and his hands reaching out to steady themselves on my waist, he stepped closer and stooped down so that our foreheads were almost touching. “Do you trust me, little one?”

My hands immediately went up to exhibit a light pressure on his chest, keeping him from getting any closer as I studied him. There wasn’t a smirk, mischievous grin, or pleased smile on his face to indicate that he was trying to trick me. The hunger that I had detected in his eyes earlier had been wiped clean and replaced with anxious sincerity. It was startling to see him change so abruptly.

Did I trust him? I mean, he hadn’t threatened to stab me in several weeks, so that was an improvement. And I sure as hell had been dancing with him just a few minutes ago like I did. I had picked to dance with him instead of going at it alone because I knew that he wasn’t going to be a creep about it. But trust implied something deeper. Built on a bond and respect and a mutual understanding. I wasn’t sure if I had that with him. He wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important, though. And it must be, to cause the visible tension in his body.

“Um, I guess so. Sure.” That was the best answer that I could give him. He was going to have to take it or leave it.

“Then trust me in this and do not hit me.”

“Don't hit-”

My words were swallowed by his lips swooping down onto my own. I froze under the suddenness of it. When I didn’t respond to his ministrations he dragged his lips from my mouth to my ear.

“I’m in contact with Sam and Natasha. They believe that Hydra has tracked us here and is searching for us. Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable. We can disappear as another amorous couple seeking our pleasure in the shadows,” he explained quickly.

Nat had told me about that tactic. It was a common one, easy to execute if you had the wiles or knew your partner in a mission. I certainly didn’t have the first, but I had a bit more of the second now than I did at the beginning of the evening. If Nat thought that it would work now, and Loki agreed, who was I to argue?

He was waiting, tensed, for me to decide the next course of action. He was allowing me the option of going along with the plan or backing out. The very notion that he wasn’t going to force me into an uncomfortable situation after I had shown hesitance was one that I wouldn't have expected from him. He was known for taking what he wanted and begging no forgiveness, not for politely doling out options in times of distress.

My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gathering the smooth material into my palms. I tilted my head back enough to look up at him and traced the elegant contours of his face with my gaze, taking in the unexpected kindness that warmed his bright eyes. I tilted my face up to him and closed my eyes before bridging the small gap between our lips in a searching kiss.

I wasn’t sure what I expected kissing him to be like, I hadn’t truly thought about it, but it wasn’t this. His lips were so soft and tasted of vodka and cranberries as they worked expertly against me. His hands splayed out against waist and pulled me until our bodies were pressed together from hips to chest. The contact, so easy to facilitate earlier on the dance floor, was now much more charged and it coaxed a gasp from my throat.

That small noise seemed to awaken something within him, and the gentle exploration of my mouth turned more passionate, his tongue snaking out to tease the seam of my lips and beg for entrance. I granted it willingly and melted into him. My body moved on its own accord as he stoked molten flames beneath my skin. My fingers released their grip of his expensive shirt to wind around his neck and tangle in his long black hair. I lightly scratched at his scalp, remembering his pleasure at it while dancing, drawing a low groan from him that shot straight to the heat that was pooling in my lower belly.

His long body surrounded me. He walked us back until I was trapped between his body and the wall, pinned by his leg slipping between my own. When I wrenched my mouth away to gasp for the air that his embrace had stolen from me he took it in stride and moved his scorching lips to caress the delicate skin of my neck.

Just as soon as his tongue snaked out to lave against the pulse that was hammering in my throat, he froze, his once-relaxed muscles tensing against me. His hands left my body to press against the wall on either side of me as he towered over me. As if he could make me disappear behind his lean frame.

“We have to move. Now,” he panted, taking my hand in his and pulling me quickly behind him as we fled the relative safety of the shadows.

He led us to a metal exit door and we spilled outside. The chill of the air soothed my flushed skin and helped clear the haze that had settled over my mind. Loki held my hand behind his back as he looked around the dark alleyway we found ourselves in. The faint bass from the club stopped, and two gunshots reached my ears through the thin door behind us. Screaming patrons poured out of the front of the club. Thankfully they ignored our dark figures pressed against the rough brick wall.

“It’s Hydra. They discovered Sam and Natasha. We need to leave.” He kept his death grip on my hand as he pulled me deeper into the alley and away from the entrance.

“Don’t take another step.” A voice pierced through the screams, shooting ice-cold fear through my veins.

Loki turned around and pulled me with him, keeping his body between me and whoever had spoken. I peered around his shoulders to see two men slowly approaching us, guns pointed at Loki’s head.

Hydra had found us.

#to keep you safe #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel #loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki friggason #loki fanfic #loki/ofc #language tw #making out tw

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bunchofbooks · 4 years

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It’s Time for Kyrsten’s Opinion: Watch Us Rise Edition

My tenth book of the year was Watch Us Rise by Renée Watson and Ellen Hagan. Watch Us Rise is told as a narrative, but includes poems and drawings of the students. The book follows a group of friends, Nadine, Isaac, Chelsea and Jasmine - with most of the focus on Jasmine. They are juniors at their revolutionary New York high school, but soon realize that the curriculum in the theater and poetry program focus on the “classics” and type casting the students. Jasmine and Chelsea decide to quit their programs and start one on their own - Write Like a Girl, a collection of essays, poems and actions posted online to inspire others to be involved. Their work becomes viral and before they really are able to get their feet off the ground, their school shuts down the club. However, Chelsea and Jasmine refuse to be silenced.

Below the cut is a spoiler - free review of Watch Us Rise. If you have read this book, please feel free to shoot over a message with your thoughts on your experience reading it as well as leave a comment with book recs for people who may have enjoyed it!

Before the actual review I wanted to give a content warning for the following potential triggers: sexual harassment, misogyny, racism, death of a parent, body shaming and victim blaming. If any of these are an issue for you, but you still want to read Watch Us Rise, just know that they are throughout the book and read with caution :D

The major issue I had with Watch Us Rise was how Jasmine and Chelsea saw and treated other women. Jasmine and Chelsea wanted to let the girls at their school know that they didn’t have to look or act a certain way; however, they on a few occasions disrespected women who opted to have plastic surgery. At one point Chelsea and her sister, Mia are watching a reality TV show and when Jasmine says that the show the sisters are watching is garbage, Chelse says that “It’s so I can make sure we rage against the system so that no one ever has to see a Botoxed face ever again” (64). At another moment during Thanksgiving, Jasmine’s mother is cooking dinner and Jasmine asks her mother if she ever feels like her father makes her cook or expects her mother to cook. Jasmine’s mother informs her daughter, “Your dad and I don’t make each other do anything. I like to cook, so I cook. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t” (222). While our main characters want to let the other girls that they speak to know that they don’t have to adhere to traditional roles that women have had in history, they completely discredit the value of women who enjoy these traditional roles. I cook because I want to, not because I have a man behind me telling me I have to, I wear makeup because I enjoy putting it on, not because I have a boyfriend somewhere who expects me to wear it. Within this issue is another problem I have with our antagonist. . . Mostly because the antagonist is a girl at school with Jasmine and Chelsea. I feel like when it comes to books about feminism, especially YA and middle grade books, a great disservice is being done when we have antagonists who are also women who are also victims to the same inequalities as other female characters, and the character Meg is no exception. Meg does eventually learn her lesson, but makes really insensitive comments about Jasmine’s weight as well as dress up in culturally appropriating Halloween costumes just to irritate our protagonists. Isn’t a main idea of feminism to, I don’t know, build women up and show that all women are equals, not continue to pit them against each other?

My other complaint with Watch Us Rise was the health of Jasmine’s father. Readers know from the first page that Jasmine’s father is ill and he is not going to get better. I was expecting this to be another educational point of the book, how black patients in this country are treated differently in medical facilities than white patients. Nope. Mr. Gray died for Jasmine’s pain and only for her pain. The book would not have changed at all if he had been in remission from cancer or if he had never been diagnosed at all. This is a personal pet peeve of mine in books, especially YA books where parents die. It’s almost like wives and girlfriends dying in adult romances to fuel man pain, but instead the parent dies to fuel their child’s pain.

While at this point it might sound like I hated this book, but that is so far from the truth! In fact, during most of the book, I was asking the book gods WHERE WAS THIS WHEN I WAS A MIDDLE SCHOOL / HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT?!?!? Watson and Hagan do this amazing job of showing that even those who have great intentions can really mess up. In one scene, Jasmine’s drama teacher, Mr. Morison tells Jasmine that in their improv class session, she was showing so much energy and tells her that “Jasmine, your “girl with attitude” confidence is perfect. . . I think you may be the only one who can pull it off in such an authentic way” (77). Jasmine reminds her teacher that she has performed a variety of roles and the only one Mr. Morison can think she would be well suited for was one where she was sassy and angry. Let me repeat that. . . Mr. Morison told his black student that she would be perfect for a stereotypical role in the media of a sassy black woman. I believe that Mr. Morison said this as a way to encourage Jasmine, however how many times have women heard the phrase, “you’re pretty for a (insert descriptive word here)” comment. At another point, Chelsea and Jasmine begin making shirts for their group and when Jasmine comes to pick up her shirt she notices that there are no plus size options. Chelsea was in charge of making sure everyone could participate in the t-shirt sale and mistakenly excluded her best friend and co - founder of Write Like a Girl! Jasmine and Chelsea eventually reconcile, but I really enjoy the idea that everyone messes up even with the best intentions and learning from your own prejudices that you might not even have realized you have is such an important piece of being a feminist.

Watch Us Rise is super educational, without reading like a textbook. When the protagnoists introduced feminist icons, it was written like two people talking about a shared interest. I never felt like information was jammed down my throat or it was too dense to handle (textbook authors, I want you to take notes here!!). It made me reflect on my early days of learning about feminism, which was I’m ashamed to say mainly rooted in Tumblr when I was a senior in high school, so it was a very white feminist POV that I am proud to say has greatly expanded and is continuing to expand with new life experiences, but enough patting myself on the back. . .

Chelsea and Jasmine have so many safe spaces provided to them in their school, community, and home. Something that again, I wish was made aware to me when I was in high school. I love the idea of a YA or middle grade reader picking up Watch Us Rise and realizing that just because you don’t have this safe space in your home, you can have on in your school or your community. I just love the idea that books are bringing safe spaces to people who could really use them or need them and making readers realize they aren’t alone. There are adults who want to hear what they have to say, again something that I wish I had known in high school when I was blabbing to my parents about whatever I was interested in when there could have been other trusted adults around me who would have loved to hear what I was obsessed with or even been able to contribute.

Finally, another important aspect of Watch Us Rise that I noted was the importance that the internet played. It was nice that the authors included parts where Chelsea or Jasmine went to there internet and looked up other feminist icons to look into on their own time. The last pages of the book also include other icons to look up, resources to go to and books to check out if the urge strikes readers. So many times I feel like authors just make the characters aware of the political issues they are interested in and it’s refreshing to see some characters coming from a place of ignorance, the way we all do when starting to become socially or politically aware.

Overall, I gave this book ⅘ stars. I would 100% read this again and wish I could somehow learn what the future held for Jasmine and Chelsea. Would I recommend this book? Absolutely. I think that it would be a good starting point for students in middle school if they are interested in reading about feminism, but aren’t quite ready for books like Nowhere Girls and The Female of the Species.

#book reviews #books #ya books #watch us rise #stupid and personal but not sad

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ratwrites · 5 years

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Lies In Paradise 2/2

Requests.

Masterlist.

Prompt/s: "I don't need a babysitter."

Summary: Sam stays with (Y/N) after the Jinn attack.

Warnings: Lil angst? Fluff

Pairing: Sam Winchester X Reader

Word Count: 3,987

A/N: Not gonna lie I totally lost interest in this ;-; So this is just a little quick happy ending thing. I'm working on some other things to get my creative juices flowing. Trying to write through my block

[[MORE]]

I carried her outside panic clenching hard on my heart while guilt tugged at my gut. This my was fault... I shouldn't have let her go alone. She was limp in my arms as I carried her to the impala. I glanced back spotting Dean close behind me. In one arm he held a young boy and in his other was a girl about her size. The boy was wide awake while the girl seemed a little out of it. I carefully opened the back door letting Dean slide his load in first. I didn't want to let go of her.

"Come on Sam, we've got to get them to the hospital," Dean growled. I convinced myself to let go setting her in the back seat. The other girl gently laid her across her lap. I gave her a nod of thanks before closing the door and getting into the passenger seat.

I sat in the hospital waiting room with Dean. My arms rested across my knees allowing my head to hang. My mind was racing. I shouldn't have let her go alone. I ran a hand through my hair the panic still holding onto my heart. I couldn't calm down. "Dylan?" My head shot up. Dean and I jumped out of or seats and headed toward the doctor.

"How is she? Is she alright?" I asked, nervously.

"And how are the kids?" Dean added.

"They're all doing fine. You found them just in time. If your friend or the girl would've lost anymore blood there would be nothing to help them," he explained, calmly. I let out a sigh of relief my heart relaxing a little.

"Their parents have been called. Thank you both," the doctor added, bowing his head.

"May we see her?" I questioned, running a hand through my hair again. The doctor nodded before walking away. We followed after him until he stopped outside her door.

"You check on her, I'm going to check on the kids," Dean said. I nodded and went into her room. To my surprise she was awake.

"Hey Sam," she rasped, turning her head toward me.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, coming to her bedside. I stood only for a moment before pulling a chair over. She coughed, looking away for a moment.

"Little tired, but I've had worse," she chuckled, roughly. Her voice was weak and hoarse. I frowned slightly.

"I'm so sorry-"

"Don't start." She cut me off. I tilted my head in confusion.

"It isn't- your fault Sam," she said. I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off.

"I let my guard down when I saw the girl. That was my mistake," she explained.

"But I-"

"Sam, I went alone because I wanted to. It isn't your fault. I can see it in your eyes- you're blaming yourself... And you don't need to," she finished. I breathed in to speak again but silenced myself as her hand gently rested over mine. Without thinking I shifted intertwining our fingers.

The softest smile I'd ever seen crossed her perfect lips. The panic left me and was replaced with warmth. I stroked her thumb with mine taking a monent to scan my gaze over her face. She was paler than she normally was, but the color was slowly returning to her cheeks and face. Her eyes sparkled even through the dull color that currently occupied her eyes. Her smile held sending butterflies into my stomach. Only one person had ever made me experience such happiness in the roughest times. My heart sank slightly. She was another fine example of how people got hurt around me. I slowly released her hand looking away.

"It's funny... The Jinn showed me everything I've ever wanted.." She huffed, looking up at the ceiling. I turned my gaze back to her.

"What did it show you?" I asked, curiously. She let out a puff of laughter.

"I had my family.. I was married and I lived a normal life as an art teacher..." She sighed, sadness crossing her expression. I stayed silent.

"I had everyone.. My sister, my brothers, my dad, Dean..." She hesitated. "You."

I raised my brows in surprise. My curiosity continued to grow as did my hopes. I'd tried to bury the feelings I had for her, but everytime I thought I was in the clear she'd do something else to remind me of how perfect she was. I'd wanted to tell her for a long time, but I couldn't.

"We had a dog," she added, laughing again. My ears caught at we. We? What did she mean we? When she says married.. Did she mean us? I tried to clear my head. Her eyes met mine and I held it.

"I wanted to stay honestly.." She murmured, looking away her smile fading.

"I had everything I ever could've had..." The question pushed at me.

"Why didn't you?" She looked back at me catching my gaze again.

"I-" she looked away for a moment before catching me again.

"I saw a little boy... When- when I grabbed him I heard..." she hesitated.

"Heard what?" I encouraged.

"I heard you.. Yelling for me.." She continued. My heart stopped.

"I could hear you for a split second calling out to me..." I didn't know what to say so instead I waited.

"I couldn't leave you, which is ironic because you tried to stop me from going too," she huffed. I couldn't help myself as I reached forward taking her hand in mine once more. She squeezed my hand lightly. Her face was sad and it broke me.

"Plus, apparently Dean didn't give me my bracelet and I couldn't live without that damn thing," she giggled, trying to lighten the mood. The sadness on her face only faded a little.

"Damn right you couldn't. You never take it off for christ sake." Dean's voice startled me. I wasn't sure how long he'd been there, but I didn't really care. He came to stand next to me resting a hand on my shoulder. I didn't let go of her hand and she didn't pull away.

"How are ya kid?" Dean asked, calmly.

"I've been better," she said, coughing briefly. Dean chuckled.

"Both of the kids are going to be okay. The little boy is actually going to be discharged in the morning. The Jinn barely got anything out of him before we got there," Dean explained, looking back at the door.

"What about the girl I saw when I got there?" She questioned, sitting up a little more.

"She'll be released in a week or so, but we can get you released now if you want," Dean replied. She let out a sigh of relief.

"Get me the hell out of here. I hate hospitals," she pleaded. I frowned looking up at Dean.

"Maybe that isn't such a good idea. We've got a long drive ahead of us and you need to rest," I countered. She frowned playfully at me.

"I can sleep in the car, plus, isn't there an angel back at the bunker?" She corrected. She had a point. Cas could definitely get her back on her feet in a matter of seconds.

"I'll go get the discharge papers then," Dean said, before wandering out of the room. I turned my full attention back to her looking her over again.

"Are you sure you want to do this? You shouldn't really be up and about so soon." I was concerned about her. She rolled her eyes.

"Help me sit up, will you?" I stood from the chair pushing it aside. I gently reached behind her splaying my hand along her back as she began to sit up. My other hand was braced on her shoulder to steady her. She seemed to tense under my touch which was odd. She shifted with a grunt swinging her legs off of the bed. A nurse entered the room with Dean on her heels. The nurse frowned, but began to unhook her from the machines, silently. I stepped aside taking my place next to Dean.

"Are we sure about this?" I questioned, glancing at my brother.

"She said she wanted out so that is what we're doing. I agree Sam, she shouldn't be going anywhere, but I can remember being in her position and I didn't want to be stuck in a bed either," Dean replied, eyeing her.

"Your clothes are in the drawer miss, and the bathroom is just over there," the nurse instructed. She nodded in response digging out her clothes. Instinctively I moved to her side gently taking her arm and helping her toward the bathroom. Once inside I stood in the doorway.

"You gonna stand there or close the door?" She spoke, drawing me from my blank state. My cheeks flushed a light shade of pink as I backed up closing the door. I sighed and walked back over to Dean.

"I hate it," Dean said, suddenly. I glanced over at him giving him a confused look.

"She shouldn't of had to go through that. Coming out of a Jinn's trance is hard," he explained.

"She shouldn't have gone alone. You should've gone with her," Dean continued, blame evident in his voice. The guilt bit at my gut again causing me to look down at my feet. The bathroom door opened drawing my glance. She was wearing the same clothes that were dirty from the warehouse. Dean approached her offering her his arm.

"Shall we?" She hesitated casting a weary glance my way before reluctantly taking Dean's arm. He began to lead her and I followed behind at a sulking pace.

The drive back to the bunker was quiet. She'd fallen asleep about an hour in which gave Dean time to call Cas. I stared in the side mirror watching her sleep behind my seat with her head rested against the cool window. Her face held the same expression it did when we found her. I looked away watching the road ahead as we pulled into the bunker's gravel driveway.

Dean drove the impala into the garage parking it. I unbuckled and reached over the seat resting a hand on her knee. I shook it gently. I swiftly let go as she shot up from the window with a gasp.

"Whoa easy," Dean said, looking back at her. We got out of the car and I helped her. She leaned against me as we walked allowing me to guide her steps.

"You okay?" I asked, gently. She didn't answer only leaning harder against my side. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder keeping her safely locked against me as we walked. I understood her silence. I'd learned the hard way not to push the matter if she didn't want to discuss it.

Cas met us at the entrance to the library taking her from my side and sitting her down in one of the wooden chairs.

"Can you heal her?" Dean questioned, knowing full well that Cas could. Castiel nodded.

"I'd like to look at the full extend of what the Jinn did to you if that's alright," Castiel began, placing his hand on her forehead. She nodded her approval closing her eyes. We watched in silence as a dim light glowed from his palm. I could make out the movement of her eyes under her eyelids. Cas was reading her. Her grip on the chair tightened suddenly before her eyes shot open with another gasp. Castiel pulled his hand back. I took a worried step forward, but paused. Their eyes met and a sympathic look crossed Castiel. Cas sent me the same glance for a moment rising more questions in me. What did he see? Why did he look at me? What scared her?

"Relax for me again," Castiel ordered. With a shaky breath she closed her eyes again. Castiel repeated the same movements except this time the color returned to her face and cheeks. He backed off again and her eyes opened. Their bright color had returned as well.

"You should get some rest. You may feel unwell for a day or two," Castiel suggested. She yawned clearly not going to argue.

"Cas, can I talk to you?" The angel looked toward Dean and nodded before following him out of the room. She stood from the chair swaying a little on her feet. I didn't ask as I took my place at her side again offering her my arm to help her walk. She took it without hesitation.

I walked her to her room and opened the door for her. I helped her to her bed sitting her down. I had to try.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked, quietly. She shook her head before lying herself down. I took that as my cue.

"If you need anything I'm just down the hall," I offered. She didn't respond. I left her room closing the door behind me. Castiel met me outside my own room which was just down the hall from hers.

"Sam, it would be wise to give her some space," Castiel encouraged.

"After what she has gone through and what she has seen it would be unwise to push your presence on her," he added, almost as if he was threatening me. I let out a sigh.

"Can you tell me what she saw?" My mind replayed the things she had said in the hospital, but I still had unanswered questions bouncing in the back of my mind. He shook his head firmly before walking away. I went into my room closing the door. I was tired. I dropped stomach first onto my bed not bothering to make myself comfortable as I very quickly drifted off.

I jolted awake to a loud cry and a thud. I snatched my gun from under my pillow and ran from my room searching for the noise. My eyes were tired with sleep, but I forced them open alarm going through me. The cry sounded again signaling that it was from her room. I moved swiftly and quietly down the hall my gun drawn and ready. With one movement I opened her door. In the dark I could make out her form on the floor sitting with her legs drawn up to her chest.

I entered the room sitting my gun on her dresser. I dropped down in front of her and reached out for her. She jumped and scrambled back for a moment. I could make out the fear glazing her eyes. "Hey, hey, it's just me, you're-" I grunted as she lunged forward her arms sliding around my neck. Her face buried itself between her arm and my neck. I stayed on my knees wrapping one arm around her lower back and the other across her shoulder blades. Her body trembled against me. I pressed my face into her shoulder rubbing my thumb against her lower back.

I didn't speak as I held onto her taking in the moment. She'd never clung to me like this before and it was odd. After a few minutes she slowly began to let go. I didn't want to, but I followed her lead. I stood up helping her back onto her feet. She sat on the edge of the bed taking her face in her hands. I stood in front of her staring down at her.

"Are you okay?" I asked. Shock washed over me again as she reached out and gripped my shirt pulling me to stand between her parted legs. She wrapped her arms around my lower back burying her face into my shirt. I hesitated for a moment before letting my arms fall on her shoulders tucking her closer. She shook her head against me giving me an answer to my question. I rubbed circled into her left shoulder blade hoping to calm her down. She was still shaking against me.

"I keep seeing it..." she muttered, into my shirt. She pulled back letting go of me. I followed. Her eyes met mine.

"I keep- I keep seeing it everytime I close my eyes..." she repeated. I placed myself next to her on the bed positioning myself so that I was facing her.

"Seeing what?" I asked.

"All of it... The life, the people... the escape." A chill ran up her spine at the last words. I stayed silent showing her that she had my full attention. She gulped avoiding eye contact.

"Everytime I close my eyes I see my family, my dad and my sister.. And I keep seeing your mom and dad... Along with you and Dean," she began. I was surprised that John and Mary were in this, but I didn't say anything.

"I keep seeing my sister happily married to.." She paused the anticipation of her answer tugging at me.

"To Dean..." I raised a brow.

"I keep seeing..." she paused again looking in a different direction.

"It's alright," I encouraged, carefully taking her hand in my own. She squeezed my hand a little.

"Us.. I keep seeing us," she said, finally. I tilted my head. Her gaze suddenly met mine in an intense stare.

"We were married Sam," she blurted, tears stinging her eyes. My own eyes widened in surprise my grip on her hand loosening.

"Oh God..." She choked. She stood up pulling away from me.

"I tried so desperately not to... but after I saw that, I can't just forget," she continued, turning to face me. I didn't move from the bed still shocked by her words.

"We were so happy Sam... and I- and I gave it up," she sobbed, turning her back to me again. I slowly stood realization hitting me. She left because of me. She had the perfect life with everything, yet she left it to come back to me.

"You begged me not to go... But I couldn't. He wasn't Sam, he was just- just a dream." Her voice cracked causing my heart to clench.

"So I-" she paused again. I took a few steps toward her. Her hands came up to rest near her collar bone.

"So I slit my throat.." My heart dropped. Dean hadn't ever told me how he managed to wake up from the trance. I suppose when you die in a dream you wake up. She turned to face me once more her head hanging low and her shoulders trembling with each sob. I came forward until I was in front of her again. I reached out and pulled her close trapping her against my chest. Her hands stayed curled between our bodies as she cried.

The feelings I had buried were surging back tenfold. Her fingers tangled into the fabric of my shirt. I continued to rub circles into her back until she relaxed her sobbing calmed down.

"What's going on?" Dean's voice suddenly called. She pulled back from me looking at Dean who stood in her doorway.

"I- I had a nightmare, that's all," she muttered. Dean's cold stare met mine.

"You okay? I know it can be rough after something like that." Dean stayed at the doorway.

"I'm fine." she defended, taking a step back. Her body brushed against mine.

"Best thing to do is to go back to sleep. Yes, you'll probably have another nightmare, but the more you sleep the faster it wears off," Dean explained.

"I can stay with you if you'd like?" Dean suggested. She turned and walked away from the two of us sitting down on her bed. I turned my back to Dean watching her.

"I don't need a babysitter," she warned, looking away from us. I glanced back to Dean who was staring daggers into my back.

"Alright, if you need anything yell." Without another word Dean left. My heart ached for her. Dean was her best friend, yet she was pushing him away. The silence in the room was overwhelming. I had so many questions and so many things I wanted to say, but when I opened my mouth all of those words stayed trapped in my throat.

"Dean's right... I should just go back to sleep," she muttered, looking down at her feet.

"You need to rest anyway, Cas said you shouldn't be up and about for a few days," I agreed.

"I- I'll let you-"

"Please don't leave me," she whined, her head shooting up to look at me. I stared at her for a moment. She'd told Dean she didn't need someone to watch her, yet she was asking me to stay.

"Please." Her voice was so soft. My mind trailed back to what Cas had said to me. He'd warned me to stay away. Screw him. As I walked back to her bed she slid further onto it making herself comfortable on her side. We'd slept in the same bed pleanty of times, but this was different. I sat on the bed leaning my back against the headboard. She moved closer almost snuggling herself against my leg. After a moment I couldn't contain myself. I slid down onto my own side facing her. She flipped the covers over me trapping our bodies under them.

"You don't- have to do this... I understand if what I told you..." She paused.

"If what you told me...?"

"Makes you uncomfortable." She thought that I didn't care about her. She thought that the feelings she had were one sided.

"No, no it doesn't." I had to reassure her. I scooted closer pulling her to me. I draped one arm over her side locking her in.

"I'm glad you told me," I murmured, catching her weary gaze.

"I know with this job, this life, we are supposed to keep the ones we love far away. We can't afford attachments... But I can't keep you away. I can't keep pretending like these feelings... These feelings don't exist," I admitted. Her eyes widened.

"You aren't the only one who has been burying things.." I finished. The silence that fell between us was comforting. Our eyes never left each others.

"Sam I-" she hesitated. I opened my mouth to question, but was stunned to silence as she suddenly moved capturing my lips with hers. Butterflies exploded in my stomach causing me to kiss back. My eyes slid closed allowing myself to take in everything. I'd wanted this for a long time. She shifted her position keeping us together as she pushed my shoulder. I followed her silent comand and rolled onto my back taking her with me. Her upper body rested on mine her arm bracing herself on my chest.

Our kiss finally broke leaving both of us breathless. I opened my eyes to look up at her. Her hair hung down over her shoulders almost touching my face. I reached up brushing a section of it behind her ear. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead causing me to lean upward into it. She moved back shifting her position until her head rested over my heart. I let one arm slide further up her back holding her close against my side. One of her hands lightly gripped the fabric of my shirt while the other took my free hand intertwining our fingers. I could've sworn I was melting under her touch. She snuggled closer causing my heart rate to flutter. She giggled tiredly her ear resting directly over my heart. "Relax Sam, I don't bite," she yawned. My cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

"You should try and sleep," I mumbled.

"I'm trying, but your voice is rumbling my entire head," she pouted. I couldn't help but chuckle. She raised her head for a moment giving me a playful glare before laying her head back down.

"Thank you for staying with me Sam.." She yawned, taking one last moment to cuddle against me.

"Anything for you," I replied, letting my own eyes slide closed.

Forever Taglist:

@rosierosieelain @xaviersmutcnt @raindrops-on-roses142

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lokikingofasgardslover713 · 5 years

Text

Judas Kiss {Oneshot}

Masterlist

Loki Laufeyson x Jotunn Plus Size Reader

Warnings: Cursing, Angst

Summary: This is my entry for @marvelandotherfandomimagines writing challenge! The reader and Loki have an established relationship. Loki stumbled across the reader when she was traversing between Jotunheim and Asgard, the god having taken to her when he realized she was nothing but a Jotun slave. The intrigue of finding her had Loki deciding she was to be brought to Asgard so that he could assure she was safe from her own people.

A/N: (Before the events of Thor) We pick up after Ragnarok and before the invasion of the Statesman from Sakaar to Midgard. This is my first time writing first person, a thing that I usually do not do. I hope this is coherent and not a complete and utter train wreck!

Thank you to @starscreamloki for the help!

Prompt: 76.) “So, this is what betrayal feels like.” in bold

Words: +2,600

I always have seen through his disguises, his lies, but… he was telling the truth this time. This must be what betrayal feels like. My chest kept growing tighter and tighter. Vision going red the longer I kept focus on Loki and the story he was spouting about Thanos, the attack on New York, the Tesseract. His words still droning on about what this meant for not just the entire ship and what was left of the people of Asgard, but of the relationship between us or in this case, what we once had.

My fist were balled so tight my short nails cut into my palms. All of the sudden I felt as if I was in too close of a proximity to the son of a bitch. Teeth clenched so tight they were about to shatter, deciding it was a good idea to nip at my lip with fangs that threatened to rip his throat out if he looked at me one more time.

Oh gods, this was real, he had… how had he kept this hidden for so long? Had he gotten better at it? Or was I just that naive, that desperate to believe we were all right? That we were going to make it out of the recent Hel intact and have a fucking life? What was happening?

Nervously my mind paced as my body remained stock still beside of the one known as Hulk, the giant beast shifting nervously next to me - I didn’t realize it at the time it was my mood that was affecting him. The shuffling must have gotten Loki’s attention because it wasn’t long before his gaze fell on me. It made my skin crawl. Those emerald orbs I had once loved to feel dancing over my thick curves even when bare before him made me lock his gaze, my own boring into his soul, wishing to burn him from the inside out.

The god, the arrogant bastard he was, made a move to step towards me which made everyone else turn to focus on me. All of the sudden I was self-conscious of all focus on me, the only ones in the room where myself, Loki, Thor, Heimdall, Hulk, and the Valkyrie Brunnhilde, but why were they? Cold wetness sliding down my cheek told me why, forcefully I reached up to wipe it away.

“Are we done here,” I snarled.

Yes, it was meant that hate filled, that vicious and aimed at Loki. A quiet nod from Thor confirming it as I didn’t hesitate to turn and leave, the Valkyrie at my back sure to give me room. Choosing to ignore to the voice speaking to my subconscious, shutting him out completely as I hurried to our shared quarters.

The grumbling under my breath keeping me sane. I suppose, while jerking what had been salvaged from Asgard into a canvas pouch before hurrying out to the cargo hold of the ship. It may be cold but like it really mattered.

A quick look down the corridor telling me he was still occupied with details of the evacuation but didn’t mean I couldn’t start getting the few escape pods readied with supplies. The least I could do for the people of Asgard since concealing the fact the All-father had been hidden on Midgard in a rest home, while I enjoyed my time with the Loki I thought dead.

The Loki I thought I loved. The one that left a cold ache in my suddenly frozen heart. It left me wishing I had never allowed him to coax be back from Jotunheim when I had begun to make my way back through the mountain pass that held a doorway no one knew of but me.

I was shocked the old All-father had approved of me coming to Asgard. Surprised Odin kept my secret from Thor and I was allowed to follow Loki. The only thing stated to me staying in the realm was to hide my heritage but that was understood.

What hopes of survival could a Jotunn slave have in a realm of Aesir, a runt at that. Though it was all revealed why it was allowed when the old king fell into the Odinsleep. It was a shock, but it made since why I was allowed to pursue Loki, he was Jotunn. There was no harm in hurting one of my own.

A jarring of the craft brought me out of the little pity party I was throwing to realize we were under attack.

“Shit,” my voice rasped out to the open cold of the cargo bay.

Throwing the bag in my hand to the floor as I reached into it to pull out the twin swords that had been mine to use on Asgard. Losing no time to throw the belts over my shoulders to latch them quickly as another explosion rocked the ship causing me to stumble slightly. Regaining my balance to hurry towards the doors that opened to the ship to be bombarded by evacuees.

Immediately I ordered them to board the escape pods. Locating one of the gladiators that had survived the battle, making sure he knew to get all he could onboard, taking off around the people to see where else I could help but froze. In the chaos that seemed to still my gaze locked on none other than that bastard Loki.

Shaking my head, I cleared my mind. Pushing forward through the panic, ignoring him. Thrusting past Loki but the bruising, burning cold grip on my bicep made me stop to meet angered gaze. Harshly I was jerked into the room that we were next to.

Not knowing when to shut up, I cursed the god with every breath. Drawing a blade as he forced our heritage to show. The door slamming shut as he disarmed me and slammed my body against it, crimson gaze meeting my own.

“Y/N STOP,” Loki growled in my face.

The tone chilled me to the core for once, he had never taken this cold of a tone with me. A fire burning in ruby orbs as he bared his teeth, making me do the same before I began to snarl back at him.

“I should have gone back to Jotunheim! Back to my master! She would have whipped me, placed me in the breeding pen to learn my lesson but at least…,” I tried to growl just as hatefully back but it earned me another slam into the door to stop me. “Just like a Jotun male! Doing what he feels will shut up a female! You're all beast all…”

“That is enough! I never told you to protect you from him! From Thanos! If he ever knew of you, how I care for you… you have to leave with Brunnhilde. Get on the craft and help our people survive! Is that understood,” Loki snarled in my face.

Both keeping our blue tint, the air cold and freezing around us as his hands gripped bruises and making me squirm. This was the first time he had truly hurt me.

“I…I…Loki, I just can’t abandon you,” I finally whispered. Loki must have realized he was hurting me because his grip loosened yet he did not let go.

Who the fuck was I kidding, I wasn’t about to leave him to face this alone. I was a glutton for the pain, the punishment.

His crimson orbs glittered in the dim light as he searched my face as I done the same worriedly. Loki had forgotten I could feel his fear as the ship rocked again, mouth opening to protest but in an instant his lips were on mine. The hands on my biceps releasing so I could wrap my arms around his cool neck to pull flush. The cold between us a welcome sensation as he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around my waist to pull me tighter.

“It will be OK my little snowflake,” his lips ghosted over mine as we parted, both gazing into each other’s crimson orbs that burned like firebrands, “go help Brunnhilde, take the craft, get everyone to safety. Thor and I will be along shortly.”

“You're lying Loki. I want leave you, not like this,” my voice rasped as he released one arm to lace deep blue fingers into my hair, my eyes going wide. I knew what he was getting ready to do as I shook my head for him to stop, pleading with him not to, trying to fight him. But I am too young, to inexperienced with my seidr, though it was powerful I still lacked the discipline as I held tight to him.

“No, no, please don’t,” my voice quivered, cursing myself for sniveling like a child. My seidr fighting his for control over my own body, a losing battle as I felt it coursing over my nerves like cold fire, numbing every ending as it went. “Loki, stop.”

“I will find you, and we will have us a beautiful place on Midgard. Away from all this. You will be safe, cared for, no more lies, I promise my queen,” was the last words I heard pass his lips. Loki had taken my hearing, but was allowing me one last look, one last memory of him before I was to never see him again.

This was his goodbye. My eyes fluttering shut to the vision of a home in the middle of a clearing, nothing for as far as the eye could see but open fields and a tree line in a distance. I could feel my lips still moving as I was bombarded by this vision, having made up my mind to fight this until my last breath. No way was I going to let him suffer this alone, not when I had cursed Loki like I had, but the moment he had me, the moment my body finally shut down I heard him speak one last time.

“I love you Y/N. Care for you more than you know. You will survive and that is enough for me to carry through with saving us all,” was the last words his voice spoke, before silence took over my being to plunge my senses into nothingness.

Silence for what felt like an eternity trapped in darkness. A freezing cold darkness that made me wonder if I was back in Jotunheim, if I was back with my mistress who had handed me over to the breeders, but the metal digging into my ribs told me no. Nothing metal on Jotunheim existed without having a layer of ice over it. A low rumble around me, a jerk of my arm making having disoriented body sitting up, gasping for air while folding my legs under me. Sensing I wasn’t alone with no clue who was around me and scared shitless when someone dropped next to me.

My body jolted hard as hands grabbed my shoulders to keep me from falling back into the panel behind me. The sharp edge would have surely cut my head open and in this addled state I wasn’t sure it would be beneficial as I finally focused on the one before me.

“Brunnhilde,” my hoarse voice gasped out, realizing it felt as if I hadn’t been breathing as the Valkyrie jerked me to my feet to slam me back into a white padded seat.The action had me cringing at how harshly she flung my muddled body into it.

“Thank the gods! I thought Loki had killed you,” the Valkyrie spoke worriedly, come to think of it my head spun, and stomach lurched.

“Loki,” I gasped when I found my voice, meeting the warriors cognac gaze, knowing I could trust Brunnhilde to be honest.

“The ships destroyed. You’ve been out for over a week… we had a transmission from Thor…,” she began to explain. I knew what was next, soul in denial as I pushed the bronze warrior away to get to feet that had to yet regain their feeling and fumbling at the controls to… to…

“I don’t know,” I uttered, falling into the pilot seat.

My clean hand hovered over the controls to pull up the last communication that had to have been Thor. Swallowing hard, cursing Loki for lying to me, hands balling into a tight fist to smash the control but tanned fingers wrapped around them to pull them to cross over my chest. The Valkyries arms wrapping around me, pining me back into the chair as her head laid to my shoulder.

“We are on our way to Midgard. The people are safely behind us. You did what Loki asked. You survived. We are going to make this right, but our job isn’t done and that means you continue to survive. I am here to make sure that happens. It is my duty and I will see it through,” the Valkyrie spoke into my ear, evident Loki had spoken with Brunnhilde about the matter, my body going limp in the seat for her to finally release me and take the other seat.

“We are less than 30 minutes from earth,” the Valkyrie spoke, my chest aching as Loki’ last words bounced in my skull.

My head beginning to ache, at least until that part of me shut down. Trading my Aesir form for the Jotunn. It was fitting since my soul began to harden, spreading from the ache in my chest while I gazed off into the blackness, crimson orbs picking up on the blue orb far away.

“Hey, you with me,” Brunhilde called out making me cock my head at the warrior that hinted to the change in the hue of once Aesir skin, calmly I nodded to her that I was indeed with her.

“Yeah. I'm done hiding,” I admitted, “there is no longer any reason for the waste of seidr to keep up the appearance. Don’t worry, I want burn anyone if they touch me.”

Damn, my voice was dead, but the Valkyrie nodded to me before going back to the controls. If anyone knew how I felt, what I was going through, it was her. Brunnhilde would know the emptiness, the hollow used up and damned feeling of a shattered soul.

“When we reach Midgard, I want you by my side in this fight. You are the only one I trust to have my back”’ was all Brunnhilde spoke the rest of the trip, my mind turning over what it meant.

Was this a ploy to keep me from doing anything stupid? Or did she truly trust me? A look over to the warrior had me noting the readout from the ships trailing behind us. Something looked off about them, the pods weren’t full so to say, how was that so?

“You have to leave with Brunnhilde, get on the craft and help our people survive! Is that understood,” Loki’ words cut through my thoughts like a hot blade. Forcing my eyes shut to stop the flow of tears threatening to spill while taking in a ragged breath. This would have to be enough for now, see myself through this, opening crimson clear orbs to gaze over to the Valkyrie.

“Understood. I’ll fight by your side until neither of us has breath left. Is that enough,” my voice spoke calmly, some life edging back in as she smiled at me, cognac orbs sparking with fight.

“Aye, that is enough,” Brunnhilde spoke, holding her hand out for me to place a blue lined one in hers to grasp it firmly.

Yeah, this was my place no. The fire igniting in my chest, this is what I was born to do, this was what I needed to do before I could enter Hel with my head held high and claim my rightful place at Loki’ side.

Tags open! And re-blogs are ALWAYS welcomed!

Tags: @dark-night-sky-99 @prettybubblesintheair @gramaeryebard @reallyheckinggay @jovanna-shewolf @andiyholly @katstablook @nickyl316h @beets1bears1battlestargalactica @aslandia726 @moonfaery @furstinnajoelle @itsbqueenthings @lookwhatyoumademequeue

@whovianwookie86-captainxev@jazzieomega @tomhardy41 @get-loki @drakonwild

#loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki x ofc #loki #loki (marvel)#loki x you #loki x reader #loki x plus size reader #loki x oc

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everythings-coming-up-aces · 6 years

Text

A Sanders Sides AU

Feat. Dad!Remy

A little something I had to write up after being inspired by a snapshot of a dream. It woke me up at 3am, so like any sane person, I got out of bed (braving the cold winter temperature, bow before my dedication) to write it down. It’s my first time writing anything for Sanders Sides, or even in general, so sorry if this ends up being a big mess of nonsense. Remember, it was late, I was tired, and what even is proofreading?

So like I said, the whole AU idea was inspired by an image my half-asleep brain created, of Remy and his young son Virgil, chilling outside a coffee shop, Remy in his usual leather jacket and dark shades and the largest, most caffeine laden coffee in the entirety of the city. Virgil, like any kid, wanted to look as cool as his dad, so he’s wearing a spare pair of Remy’s sunglasses that keep slipping down his face.

Virgil’s also got his purple patchwork hoodie that’s a few sizes too big, but his dad made it for him, so you’d have to pry it from Virgil’s tiny hands. He’s sipping at his chocolate chip Frappuccino, because Remy may be a pretty relaxed parent, but there’s no way he’s letting his son develop a caffeine addiction at his young age. (That comes in the later years. Being Remy’s son, Virgil’s practically made of half caffeine anyway, it’s an inevitable eventuality)

A few other points in this Universe;

Remy is trans. He came out to his family in high school, who struggled to accept him. It popped into my head that Remy’s “Gurl” catchphrase came from him saying it to his dad/brothers, who would always get uncomfortable and defensive when Remy would say it to them. It was one of Remy’s petty acts of revenge, making them feel uncomfortable when they made him feel bad about himself. Eventually, he said it so often it became habit (like how I used to say lol ironically, and now I disappoint myself every 2nd text message, and the occasional spoken sentence) even when he later stopped talking to the family that wouldn’t accept him, the phrase still fit with his whole AestheticTM so he just embraced it, and it turned into an endearment towards friends.

Remy is Pan. Who cares what you’ve got, if you know how to use it, and you’re not a shitty person, Remy is up for it. Remy is the one who carried and birth Virgil, who was conceived through a one-night stand. This was probably the catalyst for the complete cutoff of his family, who couldn’t understand how Remy identified as male, but still chose to go through his pregnancy. Remy relied heavily on his high school BFF/ roommate Emile Picani’s support during this time, as he didn’t have any other support system. Emile was of course named Virgil’s godfather.

When he first left home, Remy had a bit of saved money that he used to help Emile with rent/food plus things for baby Virgil. Luckily, the landlord was a family friend of the Picanis, so Emile got a fair discount on the rent. Remy would get an odd job here and there over the years, but it was hard to keep a steady job while also looking after a baby. Remy struggles to find employment, (it doesn’t help that you seem to need 5 years of experience for an entry-level job) but thanks to his skill with a pen and his imagination, he eventually found a decent paying job as an artist in a shady all-night tattoo parlor. He has to work the night shifts, so Emile looks after Virgil overnight and Remy gets home in time to wake Virgil up and get him ready for school. The two walk the 10 minutes to the school together, Virgil holding tightly to his dad’s hand. They get a few odd looks on their way, due to Remy’s slightly eccentric style, but Mrs. O'Neal who lives down the street from the school always waves at little Virgil from her porch every day.

Once Virgil is at school, Remy practically passes out the second he gets home, in order to get some sleep before his next shift of work. Emile works nearish to Virgil’s school, so he picks Virgil up after work and drives them both to the apartment. When he gets home, Virgil sits quietly at the table and does his homework, asking Emile for help when necessary. At 5.30 on the dot, Virgil runs into his dad’s room and jumps on the bed to wake him up in time to get ready for work. (It takes a while for Remy to wake up, and there’s usually a tickle fight at some point in the wake-up process)

Most nights Emile will have dinner ready by the time Remy has woken up and showered, and the 3 will sit on their couch and talk and laugh. Virgil ‘helps’ Emile cook (perhaps washing the carrots, or half peeling vegetables or stirring a mixing bowl.) and Remy makes a big fuss on complimenting every meal Virgil makes. He and Emile have noticed Virgil is a bit of a quiet, anxious kid, so he acts like it’s the best meal he’s ever eaten, until Virgil collapsed into proud giggles. Some nights Remy and Virgil whip up a meal together, of varying states of creativity and edibility (think Misha Collins cooking with his kids, levels of creative)

Remy always tries to be one of those parents that lets their kids be kids and explore their creativity. He lets Virgil pick out his clothes and toys, never makes him only pick ‘boy’ things. Remy himself has a bit of an alternative style, dyed hair and tattoos and the like (the last tattoo he got was Virgil’s name over his heart), and Virgil is constantly wanting to emulate his dad. Almost every year, he asks Remy to give him ‘tattoos’ for Halloween and Remy draws elaborate designs (with skin safe markers of course) that Virgil loves with all his heart. He goes around showing them off (as much as someone as shy as him shows off). Maybe one day Virgil asks if he could have his hair dyed similar to Remy’s (after checking if there was a school rule against colored hair as he doesn’t want to get in trouble. Fortunately, no such rule exists). Remy obliges happily, and dyes Virgil’s hair in their living room that weekend, Black Cauldron playing on the TV in the background.

Virgil is ecstatic when he sees his purple hair for the first time, running up to Emile to show it off. Unfortunately, other people aren’t as accepting Remy and Emile, and Virgil has his first confrontation with bullies at school. Remy was ready to throw hands when he heard some little shits were making fun of his son, but Virgil convinced him not to do anything drastic.

Since Virgil is a pretty quiet keep-to-himself kind of kid, on the rare occasions Remy is called into the school, he knows it’s serious. And heaven help any teacher if they call him in for an easily resolvable issue because Remy is pure sass and no restraint when he is tired. The poor principal was near tears the time they called Remy over Virgil having punched a kid. Remy was furious when he learned the kid had been threatening to cut the purple out of Virgil’s hair, to the point of grabbing a pair of scissors, and Virgil had been defending himself. (this actually happened to me once in primary school. I have curly hair, and another kid wanted to take a piece home with them. I was not enthused)

The important Saturday morning coffee outings have been a tradition for a few years now. Remy needs the caffeine to stay awake during the day after working nights during the week. Their regular place is a 15-minute walk from their apartment (which Virgil spends getting piggybacked by his dad) and is across the road from a park, so once they’ve finished their drinks, Remy takes Virgil across to work off the sugar at the playground. They go so often, the coffee shop staff know them both well, and everyone always fusses over Virgil in all his adorable glory. They are some of the few people he is excited to show his Halloween tattoos to, and his purple hair makes them all squeal at the cuteness.

I have a few other ideas here and there, and some possible ways for the other sides to be incorporated. I don’t know if this is gonna interest anyone though, so I dunno if I’ll write any more up.

#this is probably all pure nonsense #sanders sides au #sleep sanders #remy sanders #dad!remy #virgil sanders #ts virgil #ts remy #emile picani #ts emile #ts dr picani #dad!remy au

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thetigarchives · 6 years

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THE TIG ARCHIVES│BEAUTY│MORE THAN AN ‘OTHER’

“What are you?’ A question I get asked every week of my life, often every day. ‘Well,’ I say, as I begin the verbal dance I know all too well. ‘I’m an actress, a writer, the Editor-in-Chief of my lifestyle brand The Tig, a pretty good cook and a firm believer in handwritten notes.’ A mouthful, yes, but one that paints a pretty solid picture of who I am. But here’s what happens: they smile and nod politely, maybe even chuckle, before getting to their point, ‘Right, but what are you? Where are your parents from?’ I knew it was coming, I always do. While I could say Pennsylvania and Ohio, and continue this proverbial two-step, I instead give them what they’re after: ‘My dad is Caucasian and my mom is African American. I’m half black and half white.’

To describe something as being black and white means it is clearly defined. Yet when your ethnicity is black and white, the dichotomy is not that clear. In fact, it creates a grey area. Being biracial paints a blurred line that is equal parts staggering and illuminating. When I was asked by ELLE to share my story, I’ll be honest, I was scared. It’s easy to talk about which make-up I prefer, my favourite scene I’ve filmed, the rigmarole of ‘a day in the life’ and how much green juice I consume before a requisite Pilates class. And while I have dipped my toes into this on thetig.com, sharing small vignettes of my experiences as a biracial woman, today I am choosing to be braver, to go a bit deeper, and to share a much larger picture of that with you.

It was the late Seventies when my parents met; my dad was a lighting director for a soap opera and my mom was a temp at the studio. I like to think he was drawn to her sweet eyes and her Afro, plus their shared love of antiques. Whatever it was, they married and had me. They moved into a house in The Valley in LA, to a neighbourhood that was leafy and affordable. What it was not, however, was diverse. And there was my mom, caramel in complexion with her light-skinned baby in tow, being asked where my mother was since they assumed she was the nanny.

I was too young at the time to know what it was like for my parents, but I can tell you what it was like for me – how they crafted the world around me to make me feel like I wasn’t different, but special. When I was about seven, I had been fawning over a boxed set of Barbie dolls. It was called The Heart Family and included a mom doll, a dad doll, and two children. This perfect nuclear family was only sold in sets of white dolls or black dolls. I don’t remember coveting one over the other, I just wanted one. On Christmas morning, swathed in glitter-flecked wrapping paper, there I found my Heart Family: a black mom doll, a white dad doll, and a child in each color. My dad had taken the sets apart and customized my family.

Fast-forward to the seventh grade and my parents couldn’t protect me as much as they could when I was younger. There was a mandatory census I had to complete in my English class – you had to check one of the boxes to indicate your ethnicity: white, black, Hispanic or Asian. There I was (my curly hair, my freckled face, my pale skin, my mixed race) looking down at these boxes, not wanting to mess up, but not knowing what to do. You could only choose one, but that would be to choose one parent over the other – and one half of myself over the other. My teacher told me to check the box for Caucasian. ‘Because that’s how you look, Meghan,’ she said. I put down my pen. Not as an act of defiance, but rather a symptom of my confusion. I couldn’t bring myself to do that, to picture the pit-in-her-belly sadness my mother would feel if she were to find out. So, I didn’t tick a box. I left my identity blank – a question mark, an absolute incomplete – much like how I felt.

When I went home that night, I told my dad what had happened. He said the words that have always stayed with me: ‘If that happens again, you draw your own box.’

And I tried. Navigating closed-mindedness to the tune of a dorm mate I met my first week at university who asked if my parents were still together. ‘You said your mom is black and your dad is white, right?’ she said. I smiled meekly, waiting for what could possibly come out of her pursed lips next. ‘And they’re divorced?’ I nodded. ‘Oh, well that makes sense.’ To this day, I still don’t fully understand what she meant by that, but I understood the implication. And I drew back: I was scared to open this Pandora’s box of discrimination, so I sat stifled, swallowing my voice.

I was home in LA on a college break when my mom was called the ‘N’ word. We were leaving a concert and she wasn’t pulling out of a parking space quickly enough for another driver. My skin rushed with heat as I looked to my mom. Her eyes welling with hateful tears, I could only breathe out a whisper of words, so hushed they were barely audible: ‘It’s OK, Mommy.’ I was trying to temper the rage-filled air permeating our small silver Volvo. Los Angeles had been plagued with the racially-charged Rodney King and Reginald Denny cases just years before, when riots had flooded our streets, filling the sky with ash that flaked down like apocalyptic snow; I shared my mom’s heartache, but I wanted us to be safe. We drove home in deafening silence, her chocolate knuckles pale from gripping the wheel so tightly.

It’s either ironic or apropos that in this world of not fitting in, and of harbouring my emotions so tightly under my ethnically nondescript (and not so thick) skin, that I would decide to become an actress. There couldn’t possibly be a more label-driven industry than acting, seeing as every audition comes with a character breakdown: ‘Beautiful, sassy, Latina, 20s’; ‘African American, urban, pretty, early 30s’; ‘Caucasian, blonde, modern girl next door’. Every role has a label; every casting is for something specific. But perhaps it is through this craft that I found my voice.

Being ‘ethnically ambiguous’, as I was pegged in the industry, meant I could audition for virtually any role. Morphing from Latina when I was dressed in red, to African American when in mustard yellow; my closet filled with fashionable frocks to make me look as racially varied as an Eighties Benetton poster. Sadly, it didn’t matter: I wasn’t black enough for the black roles and I wasn’t white enough for the white ones, leaving me somewhere in the middle as the ethnic chameleon who couldn’t book a job.

This is precisely why Suits stole my heart. It’s the Goldilocks of my acting career – where finally I was just right. The series was initially conceived as a dramedy about a NY law firm flanked by two partners, one of whom navigates this glitzy world with his fraudulent degree. Enter Rachel Zane, one of the female leads and the dream girl – beautiful and confident with an encyclopedic knowledge of the law. ‘Dream girl’ in Hollywood terms had always been that quintessential blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty – that was the face that launched a thousand ships, not the mixed one. But the show’s producers weren’t looking for someone mixed, nor someone white or black for that matter. They were simply looking for Rachel. In making a choice like that, the Suits producers helped shift the way pop culture defines beauty. The choices made in these rooms trickle into how viewers see the world, whether they’re aware of it or not. Some households may never have had a black person in their house as a guest, or someone biracial. Well, now there are a lot of us on your TV and in your home with you. And with Suits, specifically, you have Rachel Zane. I couldn’t be prouder of that.

At the end of season two, the producers went a step further and cast the role of Rachel’s father as a dark-skinned African American man, played by the brilliant Wendell Pierce. I remember the tweets when that first episode of the Zane family aired, they ran the gamut from: ‘Why would they make her dad black? She’s not black’ to ‘Ew, she’s black? I used to think she was hot.’ The latter was blocked and reported. The reaction was unexpected, but speaks of the undercurrent of racism that is so prevalent, especially within America. On the heels of the racial unrest in Ferguson and Baltimore, the tensions that have long been percolating under the surface in the US have boiled over in the most deeply saddening way. And as a biracial woman, I watch in horror as both sides of a culture I define as my own become victims of spin in the media, perpetuating stereotypes and reminding us that the States has perhaps only placed bandages over the problems that have never healed at the root.

I, on the other hand, have healed from the base. While my mixed heritage may have created a grey area surrounding my self-identification, keeping me with a foot on both sides of the fence, I have come to embrace that. To say who I am, to share where I’m from, to voice my pride in being a strong, confident mixed-race woman. That when asked to choose my ethnicity in a questionnaire as in my seventh grade class, or these days to check ‘Other’, I simply say: ‘Sorry, world, this is not Lost and I am not one of The Others. I am enough exactly as I am.’

Just as black and white, when mixed, make grey, in many ways that’s what it did to my self-identity: it created a murky area of who I was, a haze around how people connected with me. I was grey. And who wants to be this indifferent color, devoid of depth and stuck in the middle? I certainly didn’t. So you make a choice: continue living your life feeling muddled in this abyss of self-misunderstanding, or you find your identity independent of it. You push for color-blind casting, you draw your own box. You introduce yourself as who you are, not what color your parents happen to be. You cultivate your life with people who don’t lead with ethnic descriptions such as, ‘that black guy Tom’, but rather friends who say: ‘You know? Tom, who works at [blah blah] and dates [fill in the blank] girl.’ You create the identity you want for yourself, just as my ancestors did when they were given their freedom. Because in 1865 (which is so shatteringly recent), when slavery was abolished in the United States, former slaves had to choose a name. A surname, to be exact.

- Written by Meghan Markle for the July 2015 issue of Elle UK

#meghan markle #the tig #the tig archives #meghan markle family #doria ragland #thomas markle #more than an other #tigbeauty #i put this under a read more because it's very long

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waywardrose13 · 6 years

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The Hunter Diaries- The Final Chapter

Series Masterlist // Rose’s Masterlist

Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester had been your best friends for as long as you could remember. Being Bobby Singer’s adoptive daughter, it was sort of inevitable to know the brothers. You knew you’ve had a crush on the elder brother for a long time, but you always thought nothing would happen between the two of you. You’re not the picture perfect model and you aren’t the image every girl strives to be. But maybe, just maybe, you were wrong, and he’d like you too.

This is a story of love, death and demons. A story about a girl who fell in love and hopes to survive long enough to act on it.

Pairing: Dean x Plus Size!Reader

Warnings: Language, character death, lewd comment, blood, angst, Aamon

A/N- I can’t believe we’ve made it to the final chapter. I love this series and I’ve had a blast writing it but I wouldn’t have got this far if it wasn’t for you guys. Your kind words and encouragement helped me through my writer’s block and kept myself from deleting the series. Again, thank you so much. I love you guys and I hope you’ve enjoyed the series and I hope you enjoy this chapter... Although you most likely will not.

ALL TAG LISTS ARE OPEN

I HAVE NOT GIVEN PERMISSION FOR MY FICS TO BE REPOSTED TO ANY OTHER ACCOUNT OR PAGE. IF YOU SEE MY WORK ON ANOTHER SITE OR ON HERE UNDER A DIFFERENT NAME, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. REBLOGS ARE OKAY, REPOSTS ARE NOT. THANK YOU.

“I still don’t understand,” You said. You were stalling, asking questions to keep him occupied. He mixed a few ingredients inside a bowl, measuring everything precisely before dumping it inside. “How do I have angel grace? My biological parents were human.”

Aamon glanced up at you, ignoring your question and walking over to you. He reached over and plucked a hair from your head, inspecting it and walking back over to his bowl, dropping it in.

“An angel had injected their grace inside of you when you were a baby,” Aamon said. “He had done it to hide his grace. It was traceable, you see. He had disobeyed heaven, hiding it into an infant- you. It’s dormant and deep, but the angels found you nonetheless. Of course, the angel who the grace belonged to was smart. You were a baby, a newborn life that the angels wouldn’t take. But they had trouble extracting the grace within you and they left some.”

“The angel who gave it to me… He’s dead?” You asked.

“Oh yes,” Aamon said. “He died long ago. An angel blade through the heart. And when he died, the angels had done their job, leaving you with a residual grace that they didn’t bother cleaning up.” He sighed, his crystal blue eyes scanning the large, leather bound book atop the table in front of him. He walked over to you again, a knife now in his hand. Panic swelled in your chest at the sight but he slice himself, using his fingers to draw intricate symbols in a circle around you.

You twisted your hands in the cuffs, trying to see if there was any leeway. But there wasn’t. The metal dug into your skin painfully and red welts soon showed up on your delicate skin.

You knew there was no getting out of this. Aamon had searched for you for so long, trying desperately to get you in his grasp. Yet each time through the years, you had slipped away, your life almost in his ashen hands, but you always managed to get away at the last second, leaving him back at square one. But then he had found you again. After murdering Carter in cold blood, he knew you’d be sloppy. And you were. You had forgotten one of your hex bags one day. One you always had in your back pocket. But you had washed your jeans, being too caught up in Carter’s death to remember to put it back in your pocket. And with that tiny sliver in your warding, Aamon was able to peek through, capturing a glimpse of where you were located.

But it had always ended up that way.

Andrew Graten was your first boyfriend and your first everything. He had loved you with every inch he had and that’s what got him killed. Aamon had found him one night, gutting him after he demanded he told him where you were. But Andrew refused, and Aamon had left your boyfriend’s house covered in crimson.

Your parents were killed when you were ten. You were at school when Aamon showed up. Your father had quickly sent one of his old friends, Bobby, a message, telling him something was going down and to take care of you, that Aamon had finally found them. The hybrid drank your parents dry and waited for your arrival. One that never came, since Bobby went and got you from your elementary school.

Aamon had always been right on your tail. And everyone around you had died. Their blood was on your hands and you never forgave yourself for any of their deaths. Which is why you so easily gave into Aamon’s deal. You couldn’t allow another person to be murdered because of you.

But honestly, you were also tired. You spent your whole life running and you didn’t want to do it anymore. You wanted it to be over. Of course, you’d rather it be Aamon’s life that ended, but if it meant the people you loved were going to be safe and you wouldn’t have to run anymore, you were content with your life ending, for there was time you may have done it yourself.

Aamon snapped you out of your thoughts as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back so you could look at him. He smiled down at you, his fangs poking through his gums.

“I want to thank you. It’s because of you that we’ll be one step closer to rising our king and allowing my powers to be brought to full potential. It’s because of you that I’ll be one of the most powerful creatures to walk the planet.” He kissed your forehead, making you cringe in disgust.

You spit in his face when he pulled back.

He released your hair, your scalp aching, and he made his way over to the table. “It’s time, love.”

He looked up into the skylight, the moon directly above you now, its silvery light casting an eerie glow into the dim room. He licked his finger and turned the page of his book, the old paper crinkling at the movement, and he began to read.

“Locutus sum ergo ad caelum et infernum. Da lunae patiuntur lumine solis calore mihi,” His voice bounced off the cobblestone walls, echoing in your ears. You struggled against your bindings, knowing it was no use.

“Non est me. Im 'potestate. Demones inferni, angelis caeli.”

Your heart began to race as sweat began to bead on the back of your neck. You whined a bit as you struggled, the feeling of utter defeat sinking down into the pit of your stomach.

“Victimae meae tibi placere posse adduci patiar.”

Your head began to feel fuzzy as the symbols began to glow.

“Et sanguis te, et tu de sanguine ego dabo vobis pro me-”

Aamon snapped his head over to the door as it suddenly burst open. His blue eyes flickered to their burning orange color as he snarled, baring his fangs to the intruders.

Sam and Bobby stared horrified at the sight of them, while Dean’s eyes were on you; staring vacantly with milky eyes, blood seeping from the corner of your mouth, glowing symbols surrounding you.

“You fools!” Aamon growled.

“Sorry to rain on your parade, freak,” Dean hissed. “But I’d prefer my girlfriend alive. I’m sure you understand.”

“Oh yes,” Aamon spit. “I understand. But I’m afraid I can’t deliver.”

Sam charged then, the blade of Ruby’s knife gleaming in the moonlight. He slashed at Aamon, who dodged the attack gracefully. The knife wouldn’t do any good of course, but it would distract the hybrid from Dean rescuing you.

Meanwhile, Bobby worked on breaking the symbols. He grabbed his own knife, scratching through the blood, breaking the circle, the glow dying down to nothing. Your eyes returned to their normal E/C color and you slumped in your chair with a groan.

“Hey, baby,” Dean said, cupping your face. The spell had exhausted you, the draining of your life force taking a toll on you. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

“No, Dean,” You croaked as he picked the locks on the cuffs. He ignored you, cutting the ropes off your legs before pressing a quick kiss to your lips and helping you out of the chair, ready to get you out of there.

But he didn’t make it far.

Aamon grasped onto the collar of his jacket, yanking him back and throwing Dean behind him. You stumbled backwards, holding your hands out in front of you. Your eyelids were droopy and you struggled to even stay awake, but you continued to fight, knowing you had to. For Dean.

Dean rushed Aamon, sending them both to the ground. The hybrid snarled and snapped at the older Winchester, his fangs grazing your boyfriend’s neck, a cut appearing on his skin.

Aamon laughed maniacally, grabbing the attention of everyone in the room.

“You taste delicious, Deano,” Aamon said. He looked over at you, his orange eyes flames in the low light of the room, a smirk tugging at his blood tainted lips. “Taste almost as good as your girlfriend. Tell me, is her blood as sweet as her cunt? I haven’t gotten the chance find out for myself yet.”

Dean brought his fist back, rearing it into the Hybrid’s face. He did that again, and again, and again, his fist soon becoming bloody and bruised.

Aamon laughed, blood seeping through his teeth. “I see why she likes you so much, Dean,” He said. “You’ve got bite. Unfortunately, it seems you don’t have much brain. Fugere dorsum!”

Dean was suddenly shot through the air like a bullet from a pistol, his back slamming into the cobblestone wall. Aamon looked at Bobby and Sam, doing the same thing until they were pinned against the wall, thrashing against the invisible hold. He bent down, using his blood to re-apply the symbols, the glow reappearing, as did the sickening smile on his lips.

You swayed on your feet, a wave of dizziness crashing over you like waves on rocks, and Aamon swiftly reached out and grabbed ahold of you, pulling you tightly against his chest.

“Well boys, I suppose we’re going to have to do this the fast way,” Aamon said. He moved your head to the side, exposing your neck, the bite he gave you earlier scabbing over. He briskly sunk his teeth into the wound, your eyes squeezing shut at the searing pain it brought. You cried out, tears pricking your eyes as he drank deeply.

“You son of a bitch!” Dean roared. Aamon’s fangs retracted and he lapped at the wound. He smiled up at the men, licking his lips clean of your blood.

“Don’t talk about my mother like that, boy,” Aamon said mockingly. Your limbs felt like led hanging from your body. You were tired and quickly fading and you knew the end was close. You brought your eyes up to meet Dean’s, his green eyes full of agony.

“Now, where were we?” Aamon whispered into your ear. “Oh yes, the spell. We’re so close to the end, love. Just a little longer.”

“No!” Dean growled. Aamon smiled up at him before finishing the spell, your fear so profound, you felt physical pain in your chest. You watched Dean’s eyes well up with tears, knowing this was the end.

“Pro inferno; Nam ego do tibi. Iam tecum est sacrificiorum pertinentes. Potestas mea!” The symbols grew brighter and a burning pain split through your head, ripping a scream from your throat. Aamon laughed, his face lit up with absolute joy as the thought of finally being whole sunk into his heart.

He reached behind him, retrieving the long, golden knife from the sheath attached to his belt. He gave a few kitten licks to your neck as the pain in your head began to die down, leaving you gasping and with tears streaming down your cheeks.

Dean watched panic stricken as Aamon brought the tip of the blade to rest at your back. Tears flowed down his cheeks and he knew this was it. The woman he loved was going to die, and no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t save her. His emerald eyes, the eyes you had fallen so in love with, locked with yours and you found tranquility in them, your fear fading away as you kept your gaze on the man you had fallen for all those years ago.

“I love you,” Dean croaked. His tears flowed like rivers down his cheeks. You let out a shaky breath, your own tears dripping down onto the stone floor beneath you. Your heart began to shatter at the look he gave you, knowing this was the last time you’d see the man you loved again. So giving him a small smile, you allowed the fear and haunting thoughts to drift away from your mind, finding solace in Dean Winchester’s eyes.

“I know,” You said. Your last words cut through Dean like a hot rod, bringing him back to that first time you had told him you loved him. He watched as you gave him a small nod. And he watched as your lips curled into a tiny, reassuring smile. And then lastly, Dean watched in horror as Aamon brought his arm back, plunging the blade through your back and into your heart.

THD series tag list:

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Forever tag list:

@jennalyncarrigan1230

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SPN tag lists:

@impatient-witch

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@ain-t-bovvered

Dean/Jensen tags:

@aubreystilinski

@whimsicalrobots

@dean-winchesters-bacon

@polina-93

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