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pregnanttangerine · 1 year

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Birth of a little bird

So the last month of my first pregnancy was very full but mostly uneventful in the lens of the pregnancy itself. I finished my linear algebra class with an A (although I had cautiously taken it pass-fail so that A did nothing for my GPA, but I was happy enough with it). We did Christmas. I took my insurance license exam and passed on almost no sleep on New Years Eve . We did New Years. I took my leave from work coinciding with the new year. I spent a week very antsy and bored yet tired? Just waiting around for a baby to come. The doctor set up an appointment to induce just in case. I waited.

Then on the evening of 7th of January, I started getting contractions. They were crampy, like my whole belly was tightening up for a few seconds, but not unbearable. Boyfriend and I played Call of Duty for an hour or so. We timed them. They were still pretty far apart and it started getting late. I told him we should go to bed. He fell asleep and I dozed, waking up when I was gripped with a particularly strong contraction. At about 1am I was starting to get them pretty close together, so I woke him up and told him we should make our way to the hospital. We got the bags and made our way to his car and got in. Just before we left, he realized that he wasn’t wearing the right shoes (sidenote: this is very characteristic of my boyfriend both to have a proper pair of shoes planned for the delivery of his child, and to have forgotten to wear them thus needing to run in and change at the last second). So he ran inside to correct his footwear. As I waited in the passenger seat of his Jetta, my water broke. So after he got back in his proper shoes I sent him back once more to get a towel, and then we were finally off.

We arrived at a quiet middle-of-the-night hospital. We had previously toured so we would know where to go, and went straight for labor and delivery. At this point the contractions were pretty strong and getting uncomfortable, but I was able to breathe through them and felt much better when I was able to walk than I had sitting in the car.

They took me into triage and laid me on my back which made me pretty uncomfortable. The admitting nurse checked the fluid that pooled around my feet and confirmed that my water had broken. She checked my cervix and was surprised to see that I was already at 6cm, and noted this baby was probably coming soon. They took my blood pressure and it was high. This is when things went sideways. Because my blood pressure was high, they wanted to do a blood draw, and they also wanted to get me on an IV. I was having pretty significant swelling at this point, and I will give these nurses the benefit of the doubt that it was me and not them, but they could NOT find my veins. Proceed with fifteen minutes of various women sticking me with needles over and over in various locations while contractions racked me in the most uncomfortable position possible. I was in pain and I wanted to move, but they wouldn’t let me until they hit those veins that were alluding them. Finally someone called in the anesthesiologist, and bless his talented heart he got that IV in where it needed to go

At this point I was clearly in pain writhing on my back and groaning like a heifer in heat, and the staff are telling me they will get me something for the pain. As the doc finally gets my IV in yet another nurse stressfully announces that communication is down with the pharmacy and they are unable to get whatever opioid relief they had sent for. One of the nurses tells me they can just get my epidural now instead and in desperation I agree.

I didn’t talk about my birth plan in my previous posts, but I had decided on delaying the epidural. The reason being is the opposite of what I had been experiencing: being able to move is good for labor. It is good for getting the baby into position, it is good for working through the pain, and it let’s you do things that can give relief like get under a soothing shower or curl up in a child pose or whatever makes you feel better. When you are numb from the waist down, you can’t really do any of that stuff.

While I was desperate to ease my discomfort, I had been told this baby was coming soon. Everything in triage had been rushed. So much urgency to get me hooked up on my IV, get my blood tested, get me into the delivery room, it all felt like this was about to happen NOW. So while I went along without question when the epidural was suggested, I didn’t really feel like I wasn’t delaying it either.

I barely remember the epidural. I remember them swabbing me with numby stuff and telling me to be really still. I had so much fear of this big shot in the backbone during the months leading up to my labor, and it turns out it was the most insignificant part of the whole thing.

The epidural worked its wonders and I went numb. I was flooded with relief. I could no longer feel my contractions. The pain ebbed away and all of the adrenaline and stress melted off of me and suddenly I was in a nice dark room with my boyfriend in the earliest hours of the morning and I was exhausted. We called my parents and my best friend to let them know it was time for baby, and I slept.

I lose track of time here. I don’t know how many hours I slept. My parents showed up at some point. Brittany drove down from LA and came in the morning of the 8th but I don’t remember what time. My boyfriend got a migraine. He ate crappy Carls Jr from down the street, and vomited in the delivery room bathroom. Their presence is a blur. Only three people were allowed in the room at a time, so sometimes it was my parents, sometimes one of them with Brittany, my boyfriend was always there of course. They hovered and would sometimes be at my bedside, rubbing my back or my leg. I was comforted by having them there, but also they seemed far away, almost like I was scary to them and they didn’t want to get too close. I yearned for someone to hold me, but I’m sure it wasn’t easy with me being hooked up to wires and tubes and all.

In between it all I was visited my nurses and doctors. I wasn’t allowed to eat, but I could have popsicles. They would turn me from one side to another to keep the epidural from pooling on one side or the other. They would take my blood pressure, they would take my temperature, they gave me medicines. At one point a nurse checked my cervix and said I was 4cm. This still confuses me to this day. Did I reverse? Was the first nurse wrong in her estimate? How did I go backwards in dilation? The epidural had lessened my contractions and this lovely nurse told me with unveiled contempt that I wasn’t even in labor and if my water hadn’t broken they would have sent me home.

After awhile someone came in and noted that frequent checks of my cervix increased the chance of infection, and since I hadn’t progressed in my labor they recommended starting on Pitocin. While I had heard nothing but horror about Pitocin, I was feeling tired and oddly guilty that I had been taking up everyone’s time to nap in the delivery room, so I agreed.

A few hours later I was having contractions again and I was feeling them. I kept smashing the epidural button and at some point it maxed and I was still in pain. An anesthesiologist came in and topped me off. More hours of contractions. Slowly I progressed again up to 8cm. The epidural wore off. I was topped off again. They upped my Pitocin. My contractions started getting very strong. They were having trouble monitoring my baby from the belly band and placed an internal monitor.

Somewhere in the late hours of the 8th I was back in pain again. The pressure in my pelvis was tremendous. I felt like I was holding in the largest poo I had ever needed to take and I just wanted to go. I had been stuck at 8cm for hours but everything in my body was telling me to push. I didn’t think I was pushing but I kept getting scolded to NOT push and that if I did push I risked rupturing my cervix. For some reason I correlated the pain with the internal monitor. I was sure the thing was making my contractions more painful. I begged for them to take it out. Around this time I began to run a low grade fever of about 100.

Another anesthesiologist came in and told me that the doctors were recommending an emergency C-Section. My fever meant I was risking sepsis, and I was still sitting at just 8cm. My baby was positioned backwards, with her spine up against my spine, when ideally her spine would be up against my belly button. We were both under tremendous strain but she wasn’t budging through my pelvis at that angle. The anesthesiologist told me that the epidural would be less and less effective since I had already been topped off so many times. I cried and nodded. She let me know that the anesthesia for the C-Section would feel different, and might feel like I can’t breathe because I wouldn’t feel my lungs expanding, but she assured me as long as I could talk I could breathe. She got down beside me and held my hand. She put her face close to my face and she told me to think of a calm spot where I would feel safe. I told her I thought of the beach. She asked me if I liked margaritas and I told her I do. She told me to picture myself on my favorite beach with a margarita in my hand. She told me to think of the smell of the sea and the taste of the drink and the cold glass in my hand. She pulled my mind out of the room and onto the beach and I began to ease in my pain and lose the unbearable feeling of helplessness that had gripped me. I wish I knew that doctor’s name. I would have loved to have sent her a thank you note and I would send her Christmas cards forever. She was an absolute angel when I needed one badly.

I remember describing this to my best friend later, and she had noted that she looked around at the rest of them in the room with me and they felt she was calming them down too. I didn’t voice it because I had no interest in guilting anyone, but I wondered if that doctor wasn’t looking to them to tell them THIS is what THEY were supposed to be doing rather than spreading around the comfort.... I took a birthing class and in the first one I had my mom with me and the doula leading it taught this exact technique for the partner of the pregnant woman. I went home and told my boyfriend about it (he had to work that night) and it was reviewed the following class. Yet neither my mom nor my boyfriend did anything like this during all those hours. I don’t blame them when suddenly in that stressful situation, and I certainly wouldn’t expect bestie to know it, but damn that shit WORKS. If I ever end up in delivery with a friend I’m jumping right in and doing the damn thing because as intimate and awkward as it might be feel it really is effective. I only wish I could have had my own wits about me to understand and voice what I needed at the time.

So shortly thereafter parents and best friend were ushered back to the waiting room, while boyfriend and I were prepped for surgery. We were separate while he was washed up and given scrubs, and I was wheeled into another room. I was introduced to my surgeon and yet another anesthesiologist. He explained that I needed a spinal rather than an epidural because I needed to be numbed further up my abdomen than the epidural had done but that he could administer through the same port. He gave me the medicine and waited a few minutes. After awhile he tested for sensation and I still had feeling on my belly. He seemed astonished that I would feel anything, gave it a few minutes more and tried again, and I felt it. He poked me with a needle, saw me jump, and shook is head in disbelief. I needed yet more drugs. My labor and delivery nurses painstakingly propped me into a seated position and barely kept me from wobbling as the anesthesiologist administered the spinal.

Then I was NUMB. I lost all feeling in my abdomen. Then my neck. Then my face. I could feel nothing. I was wheeled into the operating room and met back up with my boyfriend who sat just behind my head to the right of me, with the anesthesiologist sat directly behind me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t move anything. I couldn’t feel myself breathing, and mentally ran over the angel anesthesiologist’s words over and over like a mantra in my head to avoid falling into a complete panic. I cannot describe how awful this type of paralysis is, to be fully conscious but unable to feel or move anything. The anesthesiologist asked how I was doing, and with horror I realized I couldn’t talk. Suddenly my mantra seemed shaky since I couldn’t talk maybe I wasn’t breathing??? With tremendous concentration and effort I mouthed that I can’t talk. He couldn’t understand me, I tried again. His eyebrows wrinkled in concern and he assured me I was alright.

I was so exhausted from the effort of trying to stay calm. I don’t really remember much about what was happening during the surgery. I vaguely remember my boyfriend looking anxiously back and forth from the operation to me. For some reason I remember a sheet being laid over my face, but that might have been the anesthesia/paralysis instead of an actual sheet? At one point the anesthesiologist seemed to notice my effort and let me know it was ok if I fell asleep. I think I dozed then, but probably not for very long.

Then I heard her cry. A tiny high pitched sigh of a noise in the middle of conversation and machine beeps and I was flooded by relief. My boyfriend left my side and I waited in my drowsy immobility for them to bring her to me. The moment didn’t come. After a few minutes my boyfriend’s worried face reappeared in my vision. He told me that she had come out with fluid in her lungs and they were taking her to the NICU. He asked me if he should stay with me or go with her, I whispered for him to go.

And then I was alone with a room full of strangers. I had no more worry or panic left in me. I was filled with a lonely apathy as I dozed in and out of consciousness. I remember the casual work-place conversation between the surgeon and attending nurses and doctors as they chatted about the colleges they attended. It seemed so surreal and a part of me was sure I was dying, that I had exerted all I had to give and was slipping away and that it was ok because my daughter was born and alive her dad was with her and he would do whatever needed to be done.

After however long I had been sewn up and was wheeled to yet another room for recovery. Slowly the anesthesia wore off enough that I was able to speak and move my head to look around me. I was in a long line of empty beds and one of the nurses that had been with me sat typing at a computer. The nurse let me know I was to rest there for some given amount of time while she monitored me and then I would be taken to my room. I asked when I would be able to see my daughter or if she knew anything about her condition. She told me she wasn’t sure but it would be awhile until I could see her because they had to wait for the anesthesia to wear off completely. After what seemed like an excruciatingly long time, my boyfriend came in to see me.

He showed me a picture of my baby. The first time I saw her was an image on my boyfriend’s cell phone. She was so tiny with a surprising amount of dark hair and big alert dark eyes. She had tape across her face holding a breathing tube in place. My heart ached to see her. It didn’t seem real seeing a photograph of her. I was supposed to be with her. How could she be ok in some other room on some other floor far away from her mother. I cried with joy in seeing her and sadness at how far away she seemed. We looked at each other and we both agreed that we now knew what to name her. All of her hospital labels and plaques said “Baby Girl Phelps,” but her birth certificate would eventually read Rosalie Jenn Enriquez.

I had to wait a full day before I was able to see her. I was taken to my recovery room with a massive TV and was revisited by my parents and best friend. I was told with amusement how my mother viewed the photo of my daughter the first time and squealed with delight, “a little Mexican baby!” The day dragged on, I gained sensation and then discomfort but wasn’t in too much pain. I was only anxious to meet my kid. Eventually a nurse said I should be able to see her soon, but they had to find someone to take me down in a wheelchair. This maybe took a half hour to an hour? I’m not too sure, but it felt like forever. I remember being irritated that my boyfriend couldn’t do it since he had already been down to see her several times and was perfectly capable of pushing a wheelchair, but some protocol required a professional to do it.

Finally, a nurse came in to wheel me down. I was so anxious going down the elevator, rolling down the hall, getting checked into NICU, getting a name tag... just let me see my baby already! At last I was wheeled into a tiny room with a little plastic crib and encountered a male NICU nurse holding my daughter. He handed her to me, I know he told me that she was doing great and should be released to be in the room with me soon, that she had been drinking a bottle, encouraging me to nurse, etc, but all I really remember was the shock of seeing her for the first time.

It’s impossible to put into words. To say it was a “rush of love” in the way I so often hear described by new parents falls flat. That sounds too cuddly, too mushy, too soft. This feeling was fierce. My life revolted away from everything it had been in an instant. In one moment my whole world tipped on its side and revolved around this one tiny person. I was faced with all of the joy and love inside me and all of the fear and anxiety inside me all at once, with a deep knowledge that this was to be the way it was for the rest of my life, and she was looking up at me and SEEING me. She was laid on my chest against my skin and I was so overwhelmed with relief that we were finally together I could have stayed there in that tiny room holding her like that for an eternity.

I don’t remember what roused me into leaving eventually. I know it took about another half of a day for them to release her from NICU to stay with me. My boyfriend and I alternated carrying for her, making our novice attempts at swaddling her and changing her diapers. She wouldn’t latch and I began what would become a grueling 8 week journey of constant pumping and an eventual frenectomy in my determination to breastfeed that eventually paid off.

We had a few visitors, friends and family from both sides. All were taken aback at how CUTE she was. I kept thinking I was obviously biased but I heard it from everyone. Nurses would pop in unscheduled just to look at her. I was told over and over that she was the cutest baby in the hospital. One nurse in particular was so doting I joked with my boyfriend that we had to keep an eye on her or she’d walk off with her one of these stops. I forget that often newborns spend their first few weeks rarely opening her eyes, because my daughter was constantly looking around her. It seemed like she was able to see much more than newborns are able to, because she would snap her eyes in the direction of sounds and voices like she could see across the room. She had a musical high-pitched cry unlike how most newborns cry as well. When the resident pediatrician made her first visit, my daughter cried at the touch of the cold stethoscope, and the doctor gasped, “she cries like a baby sparrow!” From that moment on she has been my Little Bird.

It was nice having the staff to assist in taking care of my baby while we were there, but it became apparent pretty quickly that the hospital stay wasn’t going to be restful. Of course I had a newborn to feed every few hours and tend to, but I also had nurses stopping in every few hours to give me medicine, take blood, take blood from the baby, take my blood pressure, etc. After four days I couldn’t wait to go home. They told me I could stay for a few more days, but I politely declined and was so so so happy to finally get back in my boyfriend’s car and take our baby home.

Now that it’s a few years later and I’m facing a second delivery, I’m just opting for the scheduled C-Section. Of course every labor is different and my doctor has assured me that the risk is minimal should I choose a VBAC, but I given the shock, pain, and trauma of the first one, I’d rather just skip all that and deal with the recovery I’m familiar with. As hard as it was, it was worth it of course. My daughter is a constant delight. Watching her grow and learn and develop her own personality is just a never-ending amazement. I am looking forward to finding out how similar and different her brother is going to be.

#birthstory #c-section #labor and delivery

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giorno-plays-piano · 3 years

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Vicious

Part VI

Pairing: Steve x reader, Bucky x reader, Thor x reader, Loki x reader, Peter x reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, possessiveness, theft, mention of blackmail, all characters are adults.

Words: 1567.

Summary: Transferring to Stark Academy that has only allowed to take in female students last semester, you realize you are just one of three young women among hundreds of students. Your things are constantly being stolen, and soon you begin fearing for your safety.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

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You spent the rest of your evening like a somnambulist, barely able to concentrate on your projects before you went to bed, barely finishing half of the things you planned for today. Even the change of locks didn't make you as happy as you thought it would. It felt like something between a dream and a nightmare.

Lying in the dark, you stared at the ceiling, thinking of what happened just a couple of hours ago. Why did he do it? Was it just out of habit and didn’t mean anything? Naturally, with his appearance and easy-going attitude, he probably dated many girls and didn’t think much before kissing someone he liked.

Remembering the way he talked to you in the morning, you thought he must have pretended to be shy around you. Thor certainly wasn’t sheepish.

Was it all a sham? Was Loki right about all of them, playing their roles to get close to you? You couldn’t forget the way Thor looked the moment he told you about being smart. It was like something switched inside him, and for a second you saw the real Thor who was far from being your simple, good-natured athlete.

Why did you keep thinking about that stupid kiss even after seeing the man could be dangerous?

Aroused and angry, you tossed and turned until you fell asleep.

____________

Waking up was especially tough, despite the fact you didn't really do much yesterday, meaning you were going to spend your weekend studying. Shoot, and that's when you planned to visit that new chocolate boutique in the city. Maybe you could still make it if you spent more time studying today?

But then again, going to the city alone might be a bad idea. Even if the guys who stole your things were beaten, it didn't mean it had always been the same people following you. The school was full of weirdos, in the end. What if somebody went after you? Steve would definitely say you had to bring one of your guards with you.

Damn. It was better staying in the dorm then.

"Good morning! Are you ready?" Peter's voice broke through the silence, and you flinched, hurriedly applying some lipstick because you didn't have enough time to put your makeup properly.

Well, at least you were fully dressed.

"Just give me a second!" Picking up your bag, you put your shoes on and opened the door, looking at a young guy who's face was lit up like a Christmas tree. "Hi!"

He definitely liked what he saw, and you felt your cheeks growing hot from embarrassment. From the very start of the semester Peter acted very sweet around you, and you thought you could be friends with him. He wouldn't do something as ugly as blackmailing, would he? Thor said it too. Clearly, Steve was exaggerating.

"Did you sleep well? I've heard you changed your lock, so now it'll be better."

"Ugh, I hope so. But I still sleep with my dresser blocking the door." Sighing, started walking, afraid to look in the faces of other students, hurrying off to school.

They must have been disgusted, watching you being friendly with one guy after being all lovey-dovey with the other just yesterday. Although you didn't see anyone in particular, you were sure somebody saw Thor kissing you. And now you were walking the corridors with Peter.

"By the way, what's your Insta?"

What? Your Instagram? Whatever for? Although you had no idea why he needed it, you let him add you, by the time leaving the dorm and walking towards the main building.

Suddenly, Peter got pretty close, his arm on your waist as he lifted up his phone and hummed, "Look here and smile!"

Before you realized what he was doing, the boy kissed your temple, and you heard the sound of a photo being taken by his front-facing camera. What the Hell?!

"Peter!" Pissed at him, you quickly break free and stepped back, but he was already looking at his phone, editing the photo and posting it almost immediately.

You heard your phone buzz when he marked you on the photo.

"That's a good one. You look very cute here."

"What are you doing?!"

"Making a proof we're dating, of course?"

You were taken aback by the sincerity in his voice, and Peter smiled from ear to ear like an excited teenager, showing you the picture: it wasn't that bad, and you looked as if you were slightly embarrassed by Peter's closeness. Oh, of course. He had to convince his friends he was dating you, but he didn't kiss you on the lips that could make other people too suspicious. Instead, friends of Barnes or, say, Thor, would still think it was all for show, and it was their friend who dated you for real.

Shit, Steve's plan was incredibly complicated, and you didn't like it at all.

"Oh, alright." You mumbled, lowering your eyes to the ground, and Peter laughed.

"We'll make a TikTok dance later. If you wanna make people talk, just use your social media." He winked at you and put the phone in the pocket of his pants, resuming walking, and you moved along, your face still hot.

God, what did these guys got you into? You felt like you were lost in the middle of a play, not even having a script to read what was your role in all this.

Before you parted your ways, going to a different classrooms, Peter talked about videogames, the upcoming Resident Evil - apparently, his favorite franchise - and some Dota tournament, but you didn't know much about it, and Peter offered to show you his favorite games "because you can't spend all your time studying!"

He was as careless and sweet as always, but you couldn't get Steve's words out of your mind. Damn, if only you could know for sure that Peter didn't blackmail anyone. Who could you talk to about it? Obviously, not Peter himself, but every time he spoke you had that nagging feeling you needed to talk to him. You barely kept your mouth shut before he went to a different room.

Ugh, why didn't you transfer anywhere else when you still had a chance? Obviously, now you could only drop out of school, and it definitely wasn't something you were going to do.

Luckily, the next couple of hours you were busy with your classes, trying your best to prepare for the upcoming exams. The academy held high standards, and even though you were a good student, it still took lots of efforts to keep up the good work. How Thor even managed to get enrolled, judging by the fact he hated studying and often skipped classes?

Ah yes, he mentioned something about getting a scholarship from the academy for his success in the sport.

By the lunch time you were drained, listening to Peter chatting with an absent-mindedly epxression on your face. Funny enough, Peter's grades were better than yours, even though he spent much less time studying. What, was he some genius like Loki? You felt a little envy.

"I gotta go take my tracksuit, I have PE next," the boy said, and you nodded, throwing away the leftovers of your lunch.

As you stood close while he grabbed his sportclothes, you heard two guys talking behind the lockers to your right.

"Have you seen her today? She's with Parker!"

You tensed immediately. Of course, they were talking about you.

"Yeah, so what?"

"She was with Thor yesterday!"

Watching you froze on the spot, Peter stilled too, listening carefully. Oh shit, you hoped no one cared about who you went with - why should they, in the end - but, apparently, you were drawing too much attention simply because you were a girl among hundreds of male students.

"So what?" The other guy asked impatiently, growing tired of this conversation.

"Are you stupid? She's going out with them! I bet she's looking for a guy." The first student said with excitement, and you cringed. No, you weren't going out with anyone, you wanted to stop the weirdos from following you and steeling your things. Was it too much to ask?

"Yeah, who cares?"

"We have three fucking girls in the whole school, and you don't care if one of them could be going out with you? Besides, this one's pretty. I'd fuck her!"

You felt like you were going to puke any moment. Why on Earth did you decide to transfer to an all-boys school? It was like the whole school were a men’s room filled with stupid-ass guys, and you were locked inside, forced to listen them talk junk.

"You'd fuck a sheep, weirdo. Go get yourself a girlfriend if you can’t stop thinking with your dick.”

Laughing, the guy left, and his friend followed him, shouting something stupid while you breathed out a sigh of relief. Of course, you knew there would be some talk, but you didn’t expect it to be so... gross. Were you really gonna spend the two remaining years here?

Watching you getting frustrated, Peter gently touched you by the arm and said softly, “Don’t worry. They won’t talk rubbish about you.”

“What do you mean?” Suddenly thinking of Steve’s words, you blurted out exactly what you were thinking of the whole day, “Are you going to blackmail them with something?”

“I... what?”

Part VII

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Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherub @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @biiskuitx @stupendouslovegardener @iheartsebandchris @lovelydarkdaydream @soleil-dor @illyrianprincess @vampirestrawberries @goodgodimaweirdperson @frontmanash @freya-heya @yandematic @mariatietacapitu @d3monslust @maybesandohnos @ibeatuptwinks @mangobangi

#bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #thor x reader #loki x reader #peter parker x reader #dark steve rogers #dark bucky barnes #dark loki #dark peter parker #dark thor #yandere

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years

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holly's august extravaganza day 26: slowly becoming lovers

for sonia (@pragmaticoptimist34)! i have to confess something - i got so caught up in writing this that i actually forgot to include either of the other two prompts you sent me 🙈 i hope you like it anyway!

second confession - it was supposed to be longer and then it kind of got away from me so i had to draw a line somewhere oops

thanks to @ravens-words, @cosmiicmalex, @halsteadmarchs and liz (sorry, i don't know your tumblr!) for enabling me and to @noxsoulmate for beta'ing!

ao3 | 2.9k | falling in love, fluff, tiny, tiny hint of hurt/comfort, soft tarlos, set between s1 and s2

Things don’t get fixed overnight. They agree to give them a shot, but that doesn’t change the fact that TK is still reeling from his break-up and overdose, nor that Carlos is still hesitant and afraid of pushing too hard at once.

But, slowly, they get to know each other. And, slowly, they start to fall in love.

i. food preferences

“You have to be joking.”

“It tastes like soap, Carlos!”

Carlos groans and drops his head into his hands, shaking his head at this latest revelation from his boyfriend. His boyfriend, who has just made his life—or at least his cooking—a hell of a lot more complicated. “My mamá would have a fit if she could hear you now.”

He almost regrets the words as TK’s eyes alight with interest; he’s been dancing around the topic of his parents for a while now, but it’s not like he can deny what he said. His mom would be having a fit, or possibly attempting to kill TK with a wooden spoon, if she found out that Carlos’s boyfriend was not only a gringo, but one who hates coriander.

“I swear, you won’t even taste it when it’s mixed into the food,” he tries, because coriander is a staple of his cooking, and he can’t even fathom not using it.

But TK just levels him with a firm look. “Yes, I will, Carlos. I’ll always taste it.”

Carlos rolls his eyes at his boyfriend’s theatrics, but sighs, relenting. “Fine. I suppose I can—” He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, as TK throws his arms around him and plants a noisy kiss on his cheek.

“Thanks, babe,” he says, grinning cheekily.

“Yeah, yeah,” Carlos grumbles, but he can’t help but smile.

There’s very little, he’s finding, that he wouldn’t do for TK.

ii. nicknames

It slips out by accident one day.

“TK,” Carlos groans, followed by a gasp as TK moves just right, sending sparks of pleasure down his spine. “TK, Ty—”

TK instantly freezes on top of him and Carlos’s eyes open, concern rising in him as he takes in the pensive look on his boyfriend’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

“I…” TK shakes his head and forces a smile. “It’s nothing. I’m good, I promise.” He ducks down to kiss Carlos again, but the mood is all wrong, and Carlos gently pushes him back, raising an eyebrow. TK holds out a moment longer, then sighs and rolls away, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s stupid.”

Carlos tuts, reaching over to brush a hand through TK’s hair. “Bet you $20 it’s not.”

“Hope you have $20 then, Reyes,” TK says wryly. He looks over at Carlos and sighs again, biting his lip. “It’s just… You called me Ty.”

“Oh.” Carlos’s eyes widen and he props himself up on an elbow. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking; it won’t happen again—”

TK presses a finger against his lips, cutting him off abruptly. He smiles softly, then removes his finger and caresses Carlos’s cheek. “It’s okay,” he says. “More than okay, actually. I… I’ve always hated my name, but, I don’t know, I guess it sounded right? Like, when you said it? I think I’d kill anyone else who tried, but I really liked it coming from you.”

“Are you sure? You’re not just saying that because—”

Carlos is again cut off, this time by TK’s lips on his. TK moves so that he’s straddling Carlos again, hands pressed against his chest. “I’m sure,” he whispers, a grin playing at his mouth. “Now, weren’t we in the middle of something?”

iii. religion

Christmas sneaks up on him that year. Between helping the city recovering from the solar storm, work in general, the pandemic, and building his relationship with TK, Carlos has completely lost track of the months, until it’s a week before the date and he has nothing planned.

Really, it’s never been a big deal for him; he and his family used to attend mass and make an event out of it when he was a kid, but now he’s an adult, he’s often working, and he hasn’t been to church regularly since he was a teenager. But this year is different. This year, he’ll be spending it with TK, their first Christmas together, and he wants to make it special.

But he’s left it too late—nothing he orders online will arrive in time, the shops are becoming a nightmare, and he honestly has no clue where to even start. So Carlos resigns himself to another quiet Christmas, frustration and disappointment welling in him at the thought of telling his boyfriend.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out one night over dinner, the thought having been gnawing at him for days.

TK raises a brow. “For?”

“Christmas,” Carlos sighs, looking down into his stew. “It’s our first one together and I had all these plans, and then I just sort of… I didn’t forget! But things have been so crazy, and—”

He’s cut off when TK lays a hand on his. When Carlos looks up at him, TK seems to be fighting back laughter, which is confusing at best and potentially mildly insulting at worst.

“Babe,” TK says, grinning, “it’s okay. You might not believe me, but I forgot too. Christmas wasn’t really a thing growing up—my mom’s Jewish, so I used to celebrate Hanukkah on the years I stayed with her, and Dad was working more often than not. I don’t care, I promise.”

Carlos blinks. “You’re Jewish?” Surely he would know if… But they’ve never discussed religion before, and Carlos had kind of assumed TK had the same ideals as him about the church. In hindsight that was stupid and presumptuous, and Carlos can’t quite believe he’d do something like that. An apology is on the tip of his tongue, but TK just shrugs, going back to his stew.

“Half,” he says. “I don’t really practice anymore but I still keep the beliefs with me, if that makes sense?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

TK smiles at him, and Carlos suddenly realises that this holiday season will be special after all, even if they don’t celebrate anything. Because he’s with TK, which is the most special thing in the world.

iv. how they sleep

Carlos has been sleeping alone for a long time. He’s had a couple of short-term boyfriends and the odd hook-up here and there, but he’s never had someone else in his bed regularly—certainly not regularly enough to get used to it.

TK was hesitant at first to stay over, but once he started to be more comfortable, it was almost a given that they’d be sleeping together whenever their shifts allowed.

And it had been an adjustment.

TK had warned him he tended to move around and be clingy in his sleep, but Carlos hadn’t quite understood what that meant, until now. He is, essentially, trapped under TK, his arms pinned to his sides and one leg thrown over his hip. TK’s head is pillowed on Carlos’s shoulder and his breath is fanning in soft puffs over his skin.

The only way he can move is if he wakes TK up, and there’s no way Carlos is going to do that. His boyfriend looks so peaceful, and Carlos is more than happy to be clung onto like a koala to a branch if it keeps that expression on his face.

In fact, he thinks he can get used to this very easily.

v. pda

In private, their days are filled with gentle touches and stolen kisses. Carlos will be cooking breakfast and TK will slip his arms around him, kissing the back of his neck. TK will be doing one chore or another and Carlos will brush a hand over his back or gently nudge him as he walks past.

But in public, it’s a whole other story.

It’s almost reflexive, the way TK reaches for Carlos’s hand as they’re walking down the street. It’s something they do all the time at home, and even with their friends, but this time, Carlos immediately tenses, seemingly automatically pulling his hand away.

“You okay?” he asks, frowning.

Carlos takes a deep breath, then obviously plasters on a smile, retaking TK’s hand—and TK can feel the tension in the gesture. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” TK gently lets go of Carlos and smiles reassuringly up at him. “It’s okay if you’re not comfortable with touching in public.”

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. This is all on me; I should have asked.”

“But—”

“But, nothing.” He carefully bumps their soldiers together. “You’re entitled to your boundaries, I’m just sorry for overstepping. Tell me next time, please?”

Carlos hesitates, but nods, a gentle press of their arms a silent acknowledgment of agreement and understanding.

vi. scars

Carlos, TK has noticed, likes to pay extra attention to his bullet scar. Whether it’s pressing a gentle kiss over it when they’re in bed, or brushing it with his fingers when wrapping an arm around him, it happens too often for TK to believe it’s anything but intentional.

He doesn’t understand it at first.

Then he discovers Carlos’s own scars.

“What’s this?” he asks, tracing over the thick raised scarring on Carlos’s side. It stretches along the curve of his waist and round his back, and TK has no idea how he hasn’t noticed it before.

Carlos cranes his neck, letting out a hum when he sees what TK’s looking at. His head flops back down on the pillow and he closes his eyes, absently stroking up and down TK’s sides.

“It was...three years ago, maybe?” he says. “I got stabbed on a call. They told me it was pretty touch-and-go for a while, but they fixed me up and I was back at work in a month.”

His eyes are still closed, body completely relaxed, but TK can’t take his eyes off the scar. He reaches up to his own scar, and he gets it.

Carlos’s eyes crack open. “TK?”

“I’m good,” TK murmurs. He breaks his gaze from Carlos’s abdomen and smiles at him. “We both are.”

And if, after that day, Carlos notices him paying more attention to that scar, he doesn’t say anything.

vii. penguin or panda

“You’re out of your mind!”

In Carlos’s defence, a zoo date had seemed like a good idea. He knows TK loves animals, and he himself grew up around them, so in theory, a trip to Austin Zoo should have been the perfect time to get to know each other better while enjoying the day.

Turns out, TK has some very strong opinions on animals, and is willing to budge for absolutely no-one.

“I can’t believe you think penguins are cuter than pandas! I mean, look at them, Carlos!” He gestures emphatically to the panda enclosure, where one is napping on a log. It’s pretty cute, Carlos has to admit, but…

He shrugs. “But remember when the penguins were all huddling together?”

TK makes a noise of outrage, and Carlos has to laugh, then some more at the wounded pout he gets for it. “Is this really a thing for you?” he asks. “Like, is this going to be the dealbreaker for us?”

TK folds his arms and levels him with a stern look. “That depends,” he says. “Meerkats or koalas?”

And, just because he knows it will rile TK up more, Carlos grins and answers, “Meerkats.”

(They don’t break-up over it, but Carlos isn’t so sure that TK will be forgiving him any time soon.)

viii. special interests

“Say you could go back to a moment in history, but only once,” TK says, out of the blue, breaking the comfortable silence of the front room. Carlos stops carding his fingers through TK’s hair and looks down at him, curious. “Where would you go?”

Carlos opens his mouth, but TK doesn’t give him a second to answer. “Is it cliché if I said I’d go to Stonewall? I mean, I’d really like to see dinosaurs in the flesh, or—oh! I was, like, obsessed with pirates as a kid; I thought they were the coolest things ever, and I pretty much idolised Anne Bonny. But I’m pretty sure I’d die immediately if I went to either of those places, so…”

He trails off, a blush rising on his cheeks. “Sorry, I’m boring you.”

“No!” Carlos rushes to say. “No, you’re not. I love history, I just… What makes you ask?”

“It’s something we got into at the station earlier. Mateo brought it up first, I think?”

Carlos hums, pursing his lips in thought. “I guess…” He sighs and shakes his head. “It’s too hard. There’s so many places I’d want to go and people I’d want to meet.”

“But if you had to pick?” TK pushes, sitting upright and looking at Carlos with interest.

“I really want to meet Eleanor of Aquitaine, but if I could only go to one place…” He hesitates and thinks it over some more, but then his eyes catch on the masks hanging along the stairway, and he’s sure. “Tenochtitlan, but before Cortés arrived. It was a whole society, and I just think it would be so cool to see it up close and to know what it was like first-hand. I mean, I’ve read a lot of books, but we don’t have much from the Mexica people, a lot is from the conquerors, and—”

Carlos stops and huffs a laugh. “Now I’m the one boring you,” he says, but TK shakes his head, eyes bright.

“Tell me more.”

ix. coffee order

TK accepts the coffee without even thinking about it, even taking a sip before he realises he never told Carlos what his order was. He curses himself but resolves to drink it anyway; TK isn’t too much of a coffee snob, and he’s certainly not going to reject anything his boyfriend brings him.

He takes a second sip, and he’s so caught up in making a mental note to tell Carlos next time that it takes a minute for the taste to register. And…

It’s his order.

He looks sharply up at Carlos, who is smiling into his own coffee—therefore dispelling any notion of this being an insanely good guess. “How did you know?” he asks, bewildered.

The tips of Carlos’s ears turn pink, but the smile doesn’t leave his face as he looks up at TK. “Our first real date,” he says. “You mentioned that this was your go-to order.”

And TK can’t do anything but stare, because their first date was weeks ago, and Carlos still remembered, and it’s just…

He thinks—no, he knows—he’s falling in love.

x. fears

“Weirdest fears, go.”

TK has to laugh at the perplexed look Carlos sends him at the question, the straw of his boba hanging out of his mouth. Now that they’ve figured a sort of rhythm out between them, they decided to try the boba place again—there have been no emergencies or disasters so far, so TK is counting it as a win.

“Come on,” he continues. “Last time we were here, you said we barely knew each other—which was true—so now we’re going to fix it.”

Carlos’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “By telling each other our weirdest fears?”

“Exactly!” TK grins. “I’ll go first if you’re too chicken. Mine is slicing my hands open or cutting some fingers off with ice skates.”

“What?” Carlos breathes, disbelief all over his face. “I’ve never been ice skating but I’m pretty sure your hands aren’t supposed to go anywhere near the blades.”

“I didn’t say it was rational.” TK sips his boba, raising an eyebrow at Carlos. “Your turn.”

Carlos swallows, suddenly very interested in the table. “I, uh. When I was a kid, my Tía Lucy had a snake get into her pipes. She only discovered it when she went to the toilet one morning and it was just...sitting there in the bowl. I was terrified for years that the same would happen to us, and it’s kind of become a reflex to check.”

“Oh my god.” TK can’t help but burst out laughing, even though he feels bad for it as Carlos covers his face with his hands. “I’m sorry, I know it’s a real thing for you, I just…”

But Carlos’s shoulders are shaking too and, bizarrely, TK really does feel closer to him now.

It’s a good feeling.

xi. long-term commitments

Carlos is surprised when TK is the one to bring it up first.

“Do you ever think about the future?” he asks one day, head in Carlos’s lap, staring up at the ceiling.

Carlos pauses the show he’s technically supposed to be watching and quirks an eyebrow at his boyfriend. “Sure,” he says. “What about the future exactly?”

TK hesitates, and his voice comes out a lot quieter when he next speaks. “Like…” He sighs, a small flush rising on his cheeks. “The future. Our future. Us. Maybe...marriage, or…”

He trails off, practically whispering by the end of it. His gaze has shifted from the ceiling to the frozen TV screen and he’s chewing on his bottom lip, body stiff with tension. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Forget about it.”

But Carlos is learning to read TK, and he knows he was looking for reassurance. “I mean, yeah,” he says. “I think about it. Do you?”

TK stares up at him, wonder in his eyes. “After New York, I thought… But yeah. Yeah, I do.”

They share a smile as they lock eyes, and Carlos knows that they’re on the same page here. That, distant though they may be, both of them can hear wedding bells in their future.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #911ls #lone star #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #holly's august extravaganza #pragmaticoptimist34

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ncssian · 3 years

Text

A Favor: Part Twelve

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: this took so long bc ive been reading chain of iron and in general agonizing over things i cant control instead of being productive 🥴 that being said, absolutely none of the events in this chapter were planned in my outline, but here we are with something new!

***

December brings more snow and bone chilling weather, to the point where Cassian has to drag Nesta out of bed, either physically or by phone call, to get her to therapy appointments on time.

She’s in the waiting room one freezing morning when, in her utter boredom, she musters up the nerve to turn to the girl sitting next to her. “What are you in here for?”

The girl blinks her large blue eyes, taking notice of Nesta for the first time. Nesta uses the opportunity to take in her freckle-painted face, a little wan but beautiful. Reddish brown hair hangs around her face and shoulders, creating a thick curtain from the rest of the world, and Nesta’s curiosity piques like she’s just found a shiny new toy.

It probably isn’t right to compare people to toys, but then the girl says, “This isn’t prison, you know.” Her voice is deep, almost sultry— completely at odds from her huddled-in posture and sickened expression. “I didn’t commit a crime to have to be here.”

Is she insulted by Nesta’s question, or is she poking a joke? Nesta decides to play it safe by murmuring, “Sorry, never mind.”

She starts to turn away when the girl says, “We’re trying a new type of trauma therapy today. I had to get here half an hour early because I couldn’t swallow my nerves.”

Nesta might lack many social skills, but she isn’t stupid enough to ask what kind of trauma the girl is being treated for. Instead, she nods casually as if she understands the struggle. “I’ve been coming here for weeks now and I’ve barely discussed shit. That’s mostly on me, but you know…” She actually doesn’t know where she’s going with her train of thought. “It sounds brave to do whatever you're doing,” she states finally. “I don’t think I’ll be able to open up that much about myself, ever.”

The girl gives Nesta a weird look that she immediately recognizes. Nesta uses it every time she doesn’t know how to respond to someone who takes her by surprise.

The door to Lana’s office clicks open, and the woman herself pokes her head out with a plain smile. “Ready, Nesta?”

Nesta bites down on her frown. She has a feeling today won’t be as easy as her past sessions.

She’s about to leave without another glance at the girl beside her when that low voice speaks up. “I’m Gwyn.”

Nesta looks back at her as she gets up from her chair, and says the first reply that comes to mind: “Good to know.”

***

Nesta is contemplative hours after she gets back from her therapy session, bundled up in her bed with a coloring book. The repetitive motion of filling in the mandala drawing lets her mind wander, picking up and dropping different thoughts like she’s inspecting stones.

She keeps her wrist light as she colors in with red. She finally said Tomas’s name in therapy today, though the action left a slimy feeling in Nesta’s stomach that lingers even now. She also spoke about her sisters, which somehow ended up leading to a discussion of her uterus.

“How have you been dealing with the endometriosis news?”

Nesta shrugged. “I’m getting treated, and my last period was more bearable than usual—”

“I mean mentally, how are you doing? With how your condition could affect your future?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “Affect me how?”

“Have you never considered the impact it could have on your ability to bear children?”

“Not everything in life is about bearing children, you know.”

“We’re humans. It’s definitely something to consider.”

“Not for me. I’ve never wanted kids.” A mistruth at best. “I don’t care what endo does or doesn’t do to me on those grounds.”

In a way, Nesta told herself, the health risks were actually for the best. If she ever did, by some stupid loss of sanity, try to have children, then her body would act as a safety net from her decisions.

Lana only said, “You’ll never know how much you care or don’t care until you talk out your feelings.”

“Then I guess we’ll never know.”

Nesta lets the memory of that conversation drop like a stone on a shore. That’s not something she has to face for a good long while. No, right now she has to face her past.

Her sisters, and her ex, and even her father—

I wonder if I came off too strong with Gwyn today.

Her hand stops drawing, and she switches out her red marker for an orange one. This thought she doesn’t mind inspecting for a little longer: she and Gwyn ended up leaving their sessions at the same time, which meant they were forced into stilted conversation on the way down to the parking lot.

Not forced, Nesta self-corrects. She willingly initiated a conversation, and it didn’t go terribly. She wonders if making friends in therapy waiting rooms is a real thing.

Her phone vibrates beside her, breaking her hours-long mental bubble. Blinking dazedly, she answers the phone call.

“How are you?” is the first thing Cassian says to her. He makes sure to ask her that at least twice a day, like a gauging of her temperature. It makes Nesta wonder what she’s ever done in her life to call for such… attention to her well-being.

“I’m good,” she answers honestly. “My head’s a little loud right now, but I don’t mind it.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No, I’d rather hear you talk.” She slumps back against her pillows, coloring book forgotten. “What’s up?”

“Ah...” Cassian sounds hesitant for the first time since their relationship started. “It’s just that I haven’t gotten my Christmas decorations up yet, and I was going to ask if you wanted to help.”

Nesta takes a moment to absorb his words. “It’s December fifth,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“You just seem like somebody who does their decorations the day after Thanksgiving.”

“Well, this year is a little different, with you moving out and being busy with school…” He pauses. “I was waiting to do it with you.”

When she doesn’t reply, Cassian adds, “I don’t even know if you care about Christmas. I know you and your family sort of ignored holidays. It’s fine if you don’t want to—”

“I’ll be over right now,” Nesta blurts.

Half an hour later, Cassian swings open his door with a smug grin on his face; a vast difference from the stammering hesitance he displayed over the phone earlier. Nesta’s own lips want to pull up into a smile just at the sight of him, but she holds back and narrows her eyes instead. “What’s got you so worked up?” she questions as she steps into the warmth of the cabin and out of the freezing cold.

“The way you ran over here as soon as I asked.” He looks her up and down, still amused. “You didn’t even bother to change, did you?”

It’s true: she’s in the same sweatpants and long sleeved tee she wore around home, and her socked feet are shoved into slippers.

“Get that smirk off your face.” Nesta flicks his nose before tossing her coat off. “If this is a competition about who’s got a bigger puppy-crush for whom, you already won when you delayed putting up your Christmas decorations for me.”

“Fair enough,” he grins. The words send an unexpected pang through Nesta, because it’s partly true, isn’t it? He cares more openly for her than she does for him.

She looks away in guilt, not knowing how to fix the imbalance. Her eyes land on the living room coffee table, where their half-finished jigsaw puzzle sits. It’s been stored under the couch for the past few weeks, forgotten by Nesta and Cassian alike as they moved on with their lives, but now it’s sitting out again.

“Have you been working on the puzzle without me?” She raises an inquisitive brow, about to feel— hurt.

“Never,” Cassian promises, saving her from that irrational hurt. “I just brought it out because I figured we should get to finishing it one day.”

She pads over to the table, picking up a puzzle piece and turning it over in her hand. “I don’t know if you remember, but we had a terrible time working on this,” she scoffs lightly.

“Oh, I remember,” he says, coming up behind her and stealing the piece from her grasp. “I think it’s safe to say those evenings were the worst fights we’ll ever have together.”

Nesta leans back against Cassian’s chest and hums. “It made us a stronger couple, don’t you think?” She turns her head up and back to meet Cassian’s eyes, finding that he’s already looking down at her.

Hypnotized, she leans into his warmth. She only manages to land the smallest kiss against his lips when his hand squeezes her ass cheek. “You’re here for a job, remember?” He taps her butt before pulling away, gesturing to the Christmas tree in the corner of the living area with his chin. It stands bare. “You do tinsel, I’ll do lights.”

Tinsel is harder to work with than Nesta remembers. She only manages to get half the tree done before plopping onto the Persian rug, exhausted and covered in silvery material. She doesn’t mind laying there while Cassian continues working; it’s her revenge for when he napped on her bed while she moved in.

“You know the stair railings still need to be wreathed, Archeron.”

Nesta declines to respond, tilting her head on the carpet for a better view of her boyfriend’s ass instead. “All this decorating,” she starts. “Is it just for you?”

Cassian turns to her, surprised. “Well…”

She pushes up onto her elbows, catching her mistake. “Are we doing Christmas together? Or are your friends coming over?” She hasn’t bothered to celebrate Christmas in years now, and she doesn’t care much what Cassian’s plans are either way.

“I was hoping for both?” He sounds hesitant. “Christmas Eve is all the way over in Velaris, but I was thinking we could go together, open some presents, and come back and spend Christmas here.”

Nesta purses her lips. She doesn’t actually hate that plan. Both Feyre and Elain have been pestering her with the annual texts asking her to visit for Christmas, and for once, she feels like responding to them. The invitation is more of a formality than an actual request at this point; she doubts her sisters want her there after years of rejections, but… what’s the harm?

“Is that a yes?” Cassian asks at her unreadable face.

“Yes,” she states unflinchingly. She refuses to overthink the possible consequences of this choice and chooses to focus on the broad grin overtaking Cassian’s face. “Really?” he says.

“But there has to be rules.” Nesta sits up fully now. “No one can know we’re together, no matter how much you trust or love them.”

“We already agreed to that, baby.”

Yes, but Nesta knows the secret weighs on him heavier than he shows— even if he agrees with her that it's for the best. “It’ll be different when we’re together in the same room as everyone else,” she says. Cassian wears his beating heart on his sleeve, and she doesn’t think he’s ever had to hide it before.

“You’ll also be different,” she adds. “It’s a huge change of pace.”

Cassian drops the remaining strand of lights and smiles confusedly down at her. “What do you mean, I’ll be different?” He sits across from her, before the blazing fire.

“You know how you get around your friends.” Nesta shrugs without a thought. “Like your personality readjusts to mirror the people around you. I used to find it a mix of sad and adorable, like a neglected puppy desperate for love, but now I— okay, I still feel the same way.” She waves a hand in a dismissive gesture.

By the look on Cassian’s face, he does not find her words so easily dismissed.

Coldness curdles in the pit of Nesta’s stomach, the realization that she’s said something wrong. She can’t fix it until she knows where she fucked up, though.

“Is that what you think of me?” Cassian finally says lowly. His usually expressive mouth is drawn tight and narrow.

“Um… What would you rather I think of you?”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “Seriously, Nesta?”

Nesta’s back stiffens, refusing to cower. “I only described what I’ve observed in the past.”

“And what you observed was a desperate puppy?” His voice is cold in a way she’s never heard before.

Okay, she’s starting to see how that might be offensive. She forges onward, “Tell me what you think about yourself in the presence of your family, then.” It’s a private victory that she says family instead of clown circus. But she’s not trying to turn this into a fight.

Cassian is silent, but his stare continues to rage at her.

“Tell me,” Nesta repeats.

His hands curl into fists on the rug. “I think I’m empathetic, easy to talk to, and easier to be around. Is it a problem if I’m likable?” Unlike you are the unsaid words.

Nesta inspects the space between them like it’s a chessboard. “And what part of yourself are you giving up to be so likable, Cassian?” she says quietly.

“Nothing.”

Nesta disagrees, if only because she’s been watching him out of the corner of her eye for years. “I think you base your personality off of those you love, and you lose a little bit of your true self every time you put others’ needs before your own.”

She shuts her mouth, not having expected such honesty to come out of it. Cassian is taken aback, too, she can tell.

“And I guess it’s natural that you’d see all of that as a bad thing, considering your history of being closed off and self-serving to a fault,” he fires back with the flatness Nesta utilizes so often.

One for one. Fair enough. “We’re both right then,” Nesta says. “You work for your best friend because you have no ambition beyond serving your family, and I have no such family because I can’t bring myself to care about those things. Are we even now?”

Cassian furrows his brows, those defensive walls melting away as he realizes she’s completely serious. “What? No, Nes—” He shakes his head. “Okay, so maybe you’re right about me. Maybe I agree with you a little bit, but… If we see flaws in each other, then we should be working to overcome them instead of weaponizing them.”

Now Nesta’s the one shaking her head, quickly lifting a hand to stop him. “Relax there, sweetheart. I have no expectations from you or myself to go on some self-improvement journey now that we’re together. Talking about my feelings with a professional every week is hard enough.” Yes, agreeing to go to Feyre’s Christmas party is improvement. Slow, barely there improvement, but enough to wear her out for the rest of the month. For Nesta to fully let people into her life, to treat them as lovingly as she treats Cassian— that’s a long way away. She can’t envision it, doesn’t even know if she wants it.

Cassian must understand some of what she’s thinking, because he nods and backs off. He gets back up and returns to stringing lights, tossing a handful of tinsel at Nesta as if to say Get back to work.

She stands and obeys, thinking their not-argument is officially over when Cassian says, “You’re wrong about one thing.”

She looks up from where she threads tinsel through fir leaves. He doesn’t take his eyes off his work as he says, “You do have a family. And deep, deep down, you care about them as much as I care about mine.”

***

Nesta catches Emerie’s eye as the dark-haired beauty walks into the pub. Raising a hand and waving, she gestures Emerie over to the booth she’s sitting in.

“Look what I found,” Nesta says with a hint of pride, pointing to the redhead sitting beside her. “A third girl for girl’s night!”

“I was kidnapped,” Gwyn speaks up. “Jumped on the way to my car.” She’s out of her usual hoodie and in a tight-fitting blouse, looking stunning even while seeming out of place in the dim bar.

“She came here consensually,” Nesta retorts. “Emerie, this is Gwyn. We met at therapy.”

Gwyn offers Emerie an awkward smile.

Emerie slides into the booth across from them with raised brows. She looks between Nesta and the new girl and back again. “You invited her here? All by yourself?” she asks.

Nesta nods firmly.

Emerie breaks into a wide grin and reaches over the table to grab Nesta’s hand. “I’m so proud of you!” If Emerie were anyone else, she’d be squealing in excitement, but Emerie does not squeal.

Nesta waves off her friend’s praise, though a part of her wants to beam at it, too.

Gwyn glances between the two of them with slight amusement. “I mean, it’s not that impressive,” she says. “She came on a bit too strong, probably a five out of ten on the asking-someone-out scale.”

“‘A bit too strong’ is all you’re gonna get with Nesta,” Emerie says, lifting her hand to order drinks. “She’s all-or-nothing, and most people would pray she doesn’t give them her nothing.”

Nesta doesn’t know if that’s a compliment, but she supposes there are worse things that could be said about her.

“So, Gwyn, what do you do?” Emerie leans forward. “All our friends are law students and it’s starting to get boring.”

Gwyn goes off about her librarian job as Nesta orders their drinks, and Emerie rests her chin in her hand and listens eagerly. Christmas music plays softly in the background and snow flurries gently outside. Nesta thinks she can’t be doing that bad in life, if she’s managed to carve out this little slice of happiness for herself.

***

a/n: i promise shit actually happens next chapter! we're getting christmas with nessian and the ic in the same room for the first time

taglist: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #ncssianwrites #a favor #nessian fic

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hufflepuffhermione · 3 years

Note

43 for the prompts? Thanks :)

Prompt: “I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Am I overly emotion about the parallels between Rosslyn and Gaza? Absolutely. So what can I do but make everyone else partake in my suffering?

You never really realize the things you take for granted until suddenly they’re stolen from you.

Breath, for one.

Josh wonders if he’d ever given his breathing a second thought before all of this. Maybe during all those meetings with Hoynes jogging along the Potomac, but even his gasps for air were unconsciously displaced by his mind going a million miles a minute on policy or strategy. Maybe, further back, when he had played the trumpet in his high school band for all of three weeks, until he realized that it reminded him too much of Joanie and quit without a word in hopes that he might remember less. They had told him to be consciously aware of his breathing back then, in the hot, windowless band room filled with kids who didn’t appreciate the music the way Joanie did. Maybe the last time he consciously considered his breathing was even before then, when he had been all of eight and his lungs had been filled with smoke and he hadn’t been able to stop coughing. But even then, it hadn’t been something he thought about; he had been too consumed with watching everything he knew in life go down in flames and trying to find Joanie within the chaos. He had failed her, but he could still breathe, so how could he complain about his own shortness of breath when there was no longer air in Joanie’s lungs?

But now? Breathing is about all he can think about.

His pain medication has worn off just enough to allow him to drift into consciousness, so the pain is not awful, at least not compared to how it was when he drifted off however many hours ago. The medication, however, is not at all effective in disgusting the tightness in his chest, or the shallowness of his breath, or the lightheadedness he feels because he’s definitely not getting enough oxygen.

It takes him a minute to realize why everything feels so off, but when he focuses enough to realize just how difficult it is to breathe, he begins to panic. His breaths grow even faster and shallower, and one of the many monitors begins to beep incessantly, and his mind is too addled by drugs to notice Donna until she comes to stand over him and clutches the hand that doesn’t have IV tubes coming out of it. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

He blinks back tears. Where did those come from? In the two days since he woke up from his surgery, he hasn’t cried at all. If he had the capacity to be embarrassed or frustrated, he would have been, but he can’t think about anything else than his struggle to get air into his lungs.

“I feel like I can’t breathe,” he whispers. His voice is still raspy from the ventilator that he was on during surgery; this is probably the longest sentence he’s spoken since he woke up.

“I know,” Donna says. “Your lung collapsed and they had to repair it, that’s why.” She squeezes his hand.

He looks up at her with panicked desperation.

“I called the nurse,” Donna continues. Josh is reassured by the sounds of her voice; if she keeps talking, maybe the panic of breathlessness will go away. “They said they might need to switch you to an oxygen mask for a little while. But that’s okay, it’ll help you breathe better. Just breathe with me if you can.”

Josh still can’t do anything but stare at her. He’s not sure that she’s gone home since he was shot; his memory is still fuzzy, but he thinks the clothes she is wearing are the same that he saw when he first woke. He wonders how long it’s been. She has bags under her eyes and her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, a tell-tale sign that she hasn’t washed it in a while, but in his drugged mind, she’s never been more beautiful. Her chest rises and falls steadily, and unconsciously, he tries to match her breathing. He can’t exactly, since something in his chest keeps hitching and he keeps beginning to hyperventilate, but as long as he keeps focused on watching her breathe, it suddenly doesn’t seem so hard to get air into his lungs.

A nurse comes in and checks his oxygen levels, frowning as she moves around her bed. “Mr. Lyman, are you having trouble breathing?”

Josh summons all the energy he can to nod.

“He woke up and started to panic and I think that’s making it worse,” Donna explains, still not letting go of Josh’s hand.

The nurse nods and moves around the bed. “Your O2 levels are low, so I’m going to switch you to an oxygen mask, okay?”

He feels like he’s about to drift off again, too tired to fight against his breathlessness, when the removal of his cannula suddenly makes it even harder to fight for oxygen. The difficulty is relieved quickly after by the placement of an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth, but this induces a sense of claustrophobia that seems to increase the panic rather than relieve it.

“Josh,” he hears, and he thinks it’s coming from Donna but his brain is so fuzzy he can’t quite be sure. “I know it’s hard, but can you keep breathing with me?” She takes in a loud, deep breath and exhales slowly. “Just try to breathe with me.”

It’s a little easier now that he has more oxygen, and as he focuses on matching Donna’s breathing, he can begin to feel the panic melt away.

She reaches out to stroke his sweat-beaded forehead. “It’s going to get easier,” she says. “I promise. We’re just going to breathe through it.”

Donna blinks against the light steaming in through the blinds. God, she aches everywhere, although her leg throbs with a vengeance unmatched by the rest of her body. But worse than any of that is the tightness in her chest, the difficulty of getting air into her lungs.

She reaches for the morphine clicker and presses the button; she’s not sure how long she’s been out, but surely it’s been long enough for her to have another dose.

That won’t help with the breathing, though.

She looks to the figure in the chair by her bed. He’s asleep in a position which cannot possibly be comfortable, but he’s here. How is he here, all the way in Germany? He shouldn’t be here, he should be in DC. Surely the President needs him.

But Josh is here.

It takes a minute for her to remember that he had been here before, too, the minute she had first woken up. How had he managed that? Why did he bother?

She tries to take in another breath, but starts coughing instead, a painful, sharp cough that seems to tear at her insides.

Josh is up in an instant, on his feet, his eyes meeting hers. “Donna,” he says, and she’s certain she’s never heard her name spoken so softly, so reverently. “Donna, do you need something?”

“I feel…” she stars, and it strikes her just how difficult it is to get the words out when she doesn’t have enough breath, “I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Josh’s face falls, but he tries to disguise it as best he can. “Yeah. They said you’ve got a collapsed lung, that’s why it’s so hard to breathe,” he said. “It’s not too bad, though; you didn’t need surgery for it and it’ll reinflate in the next few days.” He cracks a smile at her, although she can tell it’s taking everything in him. “If your goal was to outdo me, Donnatella, I think I’ve got you beat since they had to go in and patch up my lung when it collapsed.”

Donna manages a ghost of a smile, but it disappears when she tries to take in another breath and feels like she can’t get any air.

Noting the distress on her face, Josh takes her hand. “Hey, it’s going to be okay, alright? I know better than anyone how much this sucks. It’ll suck for a few days or weeks, and it might even feel worse when they bring in a respiratory therapist to torture you, but I’m not going to let you slack off on your breathing exercises because you never let me.”

Josh settles himself on the side of the bed, deciding the chair is not nearly close enough. He still hasn’t shaved and his pallor might best be described as ‘gray’, and Donna wonders if she looked that bad after spending days without leaving the hospital when their roles were reversed. Her thoughts are interrupted again by the panic rising up in her when she tries to take a deep breath.

“Hey, I know you don’t think I remember this,” Josh continues, “but when I woke up and couldn’t breathe, you did it for me. Not literally, but you told me to breathe with you and that kept me calm enough to avoid completely panicking. So I’m going to breathe in and out slowly, and try your best to do it with me. It might hurt and you might not be able to do it, and that’s okay, but here.” He takes a sharp, loud inhale, and follows it with a slow exhale. “Breathe through it, Donna. It’s going to be okay.”

Having a private office to change in is really quite a step up from changing in the dingy West Wing bathrooms. She’s wearing a new dress, one Josh gave her at Christmas (although she suspects he might have asked CJ for some help picking it out). She notices, with a tug of her heart, that the slit goes up the left side of the dress, and it is otherwise not short enough to reveal her scars. That, she’s sure, was something that Josh thought of.

The first state dinner of the Santos administration is upon them, with the Prime Minister of Germany as the guest of honor. She knows Josh is a little nervous about the event—he had a run-in with the Prime Minister back when he was Deputy Chief of Staff that did not go so well—but he’s matured and she hopes that all will be forgotten.

She pulls on her heels, takes a minute to steady herself, and heads towards Josh’s office. One of these days, she’ll make him come over to her office so she doesn’t have to make this trek in heels, but she knows that he’s barely got time to breathe, let alone walk across the building.

Donna knocks on the door to his office and enters, grinning as she does.

He holds up a finger without even looking up to see who it is. “Sorry, just gotta finish reading this,” he mutters.

She rolls her eyes, but allows an indulgent smile that he won’t see. He works so hard, but he really is trying to make time for her. He’s already dressed in his tuxedo, although his jacket is lying on the couch in the corner, and his bowtie is, unsurprisingly, hanging undone around his neck.

Finally, he stands up from his desk and really begins to take her in. “Donna, you look…” He shakes his head, and clutches his hands to his chest dramatically, collapsing back into the chair. “God, Donna, I feel like I can’t breathe?”

“What? What’s wrong?” Donna asks immediately, her mind running through all of the horrific possibilities before she can manage to notice that he has a smile on his face. “Is it your lungs? Your heart? Josh…” She realizes she’s standing right next to him, clutching his hand, and he’s grinning up at her.

“I was going to say, I feel like I can’t breathe because you take my breath away, but you didn’t let me get that far,” Josh replies, chuckling.

Donna frowns. “You were so dramatic about it, I thought…”

“What can I say? I enjoy being a little dramatic from time to time.”

“It’s just… Josh, don’t do that to me again. You scared me?”

His face softens. “I scared you?”

“I don’t know, it’s just… the last time you said that was after you’d been shot, and I thought…” she shakes her head as if the memory will dissipate. “And then you were clutching your chest…” She doesn’t want to think about it anymore, but there’s a part of her that will never not be worried about him.

Josh stands up and wraps his arms around her. “I’m sorry, I really wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“I know,” Donna says.

“The compliment still stands, though. You look incredible in that dress,” he says. “I mean, I think you’d look even better out of it, but I’m not sure the Prime Minister of Germany would agree with me.”

Donna reaches to his shoulders and takes the ends of his bowtie in her hands. “Need me to do this?”

“Always,” Josh replies.

She steps back and takes a look at her handiwork. “You know, once in a while, you look good enough to take my breath away too. In the best way possible.”

“I can think of another way to take your breath away,” Josh says, reaching forward to take her face in his hands and kiss her until they both have to come up for air. “Was that good?”

“All of a sudden, I think I like feeling like I can’t breathe,” Donna teases, before going back for more.

#josh x donna #josh lyman #donna moss #the west wing #tww fic #anonymous #alli's writings #look the rosslyn/gaza parallels GET ME #i have like two other fic ideas in my head about the parallels but those might have to wait until i get to gaza on my rewatch #but anyway so many feelings

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comphersjost · 4 years

Text

All for You | 2 ➸ Brady Tkachuk and Matthew Tkachuk

hi, its 3 am, and i couldnt stop until i finished this. ik i promised yall another part on thursday so im sorry this is later then i was hoping. i hope you enjoy it :) i took a different approach to brady here than ive normally seen, let me know how you guys like it!!

It’s been 4 and a half months since that day in the basement. With Christmas just days away and Matty on a flight back home, you and Brady take a risk, leaving Matt to wonder where he went wrong.

word count: 4.6k

warnings: this is really angsty yall, like actually, smut, sir kink, brady is Mean, uh moral ambiguity sorta (thinking abt someone else during sex), d/s undertones sorta, unprotected sex (be safe), oral (m on f), some choking, alcohol (wine), sex under the influence, pls ignore any typos fkakldfa

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

masterlist

Even with how utterly fucked the situation was that Matt had found himself in, there was one thing he couldn't stop thinking about. It was the way his logo and his last name and his number rested against your back that drove him insane.

It was burned into his retinas.

Even now, on a plane back home to St. Louis it was all he could think about. Every time he closed his eyes it was you you you.

It had been months since he had seen you. Nearly 5 months had passed since that night in the basement. And it killed him.

He was in a slump. Everyone knew it. He knew it, his teammates knew it, the damn front office knew it. And it was because of you.

His teammates had quickly put together your absence at any sort of gathering and Matty’s sulking. 4 and a half months later he resembles a shell of the man he used to be.

He had called, of course he had. Over and over, hoping, pleading, praying to any deity that existed out there to hear from you again.

Matthew’s prayer was answered one day, when he had come out of practice to find a text from you. His heart rate accelerated, time felt like molasses as his phone camera ID’d his face. As the facial recognition unlocks his phone, the message is revealed.

Please stop calling me. And tell the boys to stop too.

The text tears his heart to shreds. It was the last straw. Before he had been mopey, but now - now he was spiraling. His play was abysmal - a shit show on the ice really. He drank until he blacked out every time, not even looking at another girl.

He had contemplated going to your work, but decided a player in the middle of a slump having a restraining order filed against him would not go over well with the Flames management. Every time he went out for the most mundane task, groceries, dry cleaning, he couldn’t help the hope that he would run into you. Even if you didn’t give him the time of day it would be enough for him to just see you.

He hadn’t seen you since that day. Not for lack of trying, though. Matthew had been to all the spots you used to frequent—the grocery store you love, the clubs you two used to go to, even the 7/11 you had both been to after the both of you got so drunk that you could barely walk. You weren’t on the flight you had booked back together. In fact, he had no idea about anything that’s been going on in your life, his mom just told him that you’re okay and that was all he got.

Now it was 3 days before Christmas and the idea of seeing you again both filled him with dread and also made him feel more alive than he had in months. He was equally utterly terrified and buzzing with excitement. His hands itched to hold you again, though he knew there was a bigger chance of you slapping him than letting him kiss you the way he wanted.

As Matt stares out the window at the clouds, he lets his mind wander. He wonders how you're doing; are you okay? After everything that happened did you pick up right where you left off? He wondered if you missed him, if he was on your mind as much as you were on his.

He still wondered if you loved him back.

“Mom, I really just, I really want to stay home and do nothing tonight okay? I'm tired.”

Your mom rolls her eyes at your attempt at getting out of going over to Tkachuk’s house tonight. You’d been trying since 9 am.

“Honey, I know you said you and Matthew don’t hang out anymore, but he won't be there!” she tried reassuring you, “Brady and Taryn will be there to hang out with you until Taryn goes to spend the night with the Johnson’s.” That made you groan even louder - you had to be alone with Brady. Great, now you had to steel yourself for a night of utter humiliation.

Brady isn't even downstairs yet when you enter the Tkachuk’s threshold, Chantal’s call for her kids brings Taryn down in an instant, ever excited to see you.

“Y/N!” she squeals, running down the stairs, “You're here, you're here!”

“Y/N?” you hear faintly, and then the slam of Brady’s door and rapid footsteps. He nearly slides down the stairs, freezing at the bottom when he spots you. Taryn lets you out of her embrace, leaving you to stare wide-eyed at Brady. Unsure how to navigate your way out of this situation, you keep staring at Brady as your parents and Taryn follow Chantal to the kitchen.

“Hi, B,” you say meekly, unsure of how he’ll receive you after so long.

“Hi, buttercup,” he responds, a bright smile pulling at his lips. It’s all he needs to take a few quick steps in your direction and draw you into his arms.

“I missed you so much, buttercup,” he whispers against your hairline, “More than you know.”

Despite his warm welcome, the night is tense. You still don't know what he thinks of that night, not wanting to ask him in front of your families - well, most of your families anyways. You didn't even let yourself think about what would happen when you saw Matthew at the next dinner party. You sat at the table and ate your food, barely speaking to Taryn and answering Keith and Chantal’s inquiries about your life in Calgary with a tight smile.

You’re so zoned out trying to make time go faster you barely register your parents telling you that they’re going out with Keith and Chantal.

“Mom, wait-”

“Y/N,” she warns, looking at you with that look, and you sigh in resignation. She smiles at you, a silent promise to make it up to you.

Taryn had left 30 minutes ago, announcing that she had somewhere to be before leaving as quickly as she could, uncomfortable with the palpable tension between you and Brady.

You watch your parents leave, wincing for a moment at what awaits you when you turn around. To your surprise, what greets you is a glass of wine hovering in front of your face.

You take the peace offering gingerly from Brady’s hand with a tiny smile. And it’s a really bad idea, the way you let him keep refilling your glass, and his own, let him draw you in during The Grinch on the couch, let him hold you tight under the blanket that was covering the both of you.

You can hear your common sense screaming in the back of your mind when you snuggle closer into Brady’s chest. It’s near 11 now, and your parents are still together, laughing and drinking in the living room of your house before Keith and Chantal are supposed to head to the airport. You're cuddled up to Brady, shifting every few minutes to try and get closer, even though nearly every inch of your body is practically glued to him.

He hums when you shift again, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. “Gotta go home,” you say, your voice muffled against him. It’s not like you haven't spent the night with him before; you just haven't since that night.

“Probably,” he mumbles, arms tightening around you. “But I don't want you to.” And like, you've had way too much wine and you should probably go before Matty gets here cause you really can't handle that conversation like this so you push off of Brady, standing up but stumbling, wine sloshing over the lip of the glass and splattering on your pants.

“Fuck,” you hiss, the red wine surely staining the gray leggings you wore. Brady takes the glass from you, placing it on the table and stabilizing you with his other hand.

“Go change upstairs,” he says softly, looking up at you with those eyes you're such a sucker for. “Stay.”

And - how can you say no to that? You can't, because it's Brady and you're so damn easy for him it didn't matter what he’d asked you to do, you would do it without a second thought.

That's how you find yourself stumbling to Brady’s bedroom, barely finding your way to his bathroom to change out of your stained leggings and wipe yourself down. You rummage through Brady’s dresser, searching for - there it was. A pair of Brady’s sweatpants from high school that he stopped wearing approximately 2 months after he got them [mostly because he couldn't find them (mostly mostly because they were either in your room or on your body)].

You place the worn sweats on top of Brady’s dresser, fumbling to close the drawer and find your balance. Someone clears their throat and your head snaps towards the doorway. Brady is leaning against the doorframe and through the fuzziness of the wine, you register the thought that he looks so good like this - in his comfort zone.

“Hey,” he says, pushing off the doorframe towards you.

“Hi,” you whisper back, eyes too focused on Brady moving towards you.

“We should give it a shot,” Brady husks, hooded eyes trailing down your body and back up again. Suddenly the room feels too cold, the oversized sweater you had on stopped at the top of your thighs, barely covering the pale pink panties you were wearing. The sweater paws gave an air of innocence around you that Brady knew was fake.

“What are you talking about?” you whisper meekly, both concerned about what was going on in that head of his, and intrigued.

“You know how you feel about me,” Brady states - which isn't entirely true anymore, but you don’t interrupt. “I don’t know how I feel about you, and neither of us actually knows if this-” he motions between the two of you “-is it for us, so I say, we give it a shot and see how it feels. Let’s give it until we go back?”

When did he get so close to you? Brady’s taking more steps forward, and you’re taking as many steps back, until the back of your thighs hit the corner of the bed and you instinctively sit.

Which - in retrospect, was probably a mistake, because now Brady towers over you even more than before and now - you’re really intrigued. His fingers trail over your jaw, thumb swiping gently across your bottom lip.

You part your lips out of habit, eyes widen when you realize what you’ve done. Brady laughs darkly when he catches your slip up, stroking your face affectionately.

His thumb slips between your lips for a moment, and your eyes flutter shut as your cheeks hollow around him.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, and you do, opening your eyes to stare up at him again; Brady, your best friend. He smiles proudly, murmuring a soft, “Good girl.”

The words are uttered at the same time he withdraws from your warm mouth, wrapping his fingers gently around your throat. You can’t help the whine that escapes, mortified when Brady’s grin widens.

He leans down, mouth next to your ear to whisper, “Matty always did like it when they’re needy. Needy girls drive us crazy.”

Really, the thought of Matt shouldn’t be driving you crazy, but it is. And when you feel Brady’s nose nudge against yours, his mouth just millimeters from you - your biggest fantasy for nearly 20 years - you knew you were going to hell.

A needy moan escapes your throat before Brady’s hand tightens around your throat and you give in, looping your arms around his neck. You pull him down to meet your lips, nearly clawing at him in your desperation.

Faintly, you think that this is a bad idea, this would only hurt you more later on.

But the longer you kissed him, the less you cared about the consequences. You wanted - you needed Brady so fucking bad right now you were willing to deal with whatever the aftermath presented you with. Brady’s other hand finds the bottom of your sweater, slipping underneath the fabric to lay against your rib cage.

You needed more.

“Brady,” you whine as you break away from his lips, tugging at his hoodie. “Need you.” Brady chuckles darkly, tugging you by your throat to kiss him again.

“Ask nicely,” he husks against your mouth.

“Please,” you whimper again, pulling harder at the fabric to just get him closer. “Please, Brady, I need you so bad.”

“Try again.” Brady pushes you - nearly tosses you really - further up the bed with a snarl, ignoring the yelp you let out at the suddenness of his mood shift. You stare up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. You're unsure of your next words.

“Please…Daddy?”

A cocky smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. “Not quite.”

You think for a moment, watching him bring his hand behind his back and pull his shirt over his head. The dark look he gives you makes you shrink, as if to say ‘Still?’.

Suddenly your eyes light up, and Brady can see it. He's already on the bed, crawling up your body as you attempt to control your breath. The words are barely out before he's kissing you again.

“Please sir?”

Brady groans into your mouth when he hears you say the words, slotting himself between your thighs to grind his hips against yours. You mewl into his mouth when his clothed cock catches against your clit, pushing your hips up against him for more. He growls as he pulls away again, swatting your thigh as a warning.

“Careful, princess,” Brady warns - voice low and dangerous - and his grip on your hip so tight you knew there would be bruises in the morning, “or I won't be.” His words are thick with intention, both a threat and a promise.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe shakily, letting yourself fall against the sheets to look up at him.

Brady’s eyes soften for a moment, reaching up to brush your hair out of your eyes. “Hi,” he whispers, leaning down to steal a kiss.

“Hi,” comes your response. He steals another kiss before pulling away again, and you can't help but think that he looks beautiful like this.

I love you. I'm in love with you.

You want to say it, the voice inside you is screaming it. It’s screaming for you to say it, and Brady is looking at you almost like he wants you to too.

The feeling of his hands pushing your sweater up distracts you from your plight. Brady’s movement is slow, and he’s looking at you intensely, giving you time to stop him. You only nod, and the softness is gone as soon as it had come. You lift your arms to help him bring the material over your head. He tosses the sweater to the side, catching your wrists when you reach for him. He guides them back over your head, smirking as you suppress a shudder when he leans in a whispers against your mouth. “Be a good girl and keep your hands there princess.”

You nod quickly, grasping the sheets in anticipation. Another slap to your thigh has you rethinking.

“I’m sorry!” you gasp. “Yes, sir.”

Brady hums in acknowledgment, kissing down your throat until he’s staring up at you from the valley between your breasts. You whine softly when he pulls a nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing the harden peak before soothing it with his tongue. His hand is pinching and pulling at your other nipple, making your noises significantly louder. He alternates, playing with your nipples until they're swollen and sensitive and sore.

He sits back on his heels to look at you, hands on your knees now, sliding up your thighs. His eyes roam your body unabashedly, while his fingers play with the waistband of your panties. There's a burning look in his eyes as he says, “You're gorgeous. You're so fucking beautiful.”

You don't know why hearing him say it makes you tear up. Brady had told you that you were pretty before, that you cleaned up nice, always telling you how hot you were when he'd see you dressed up before events. He was your own personal hype man but he'd never called you beautiful.

Not like this.

Not like Matty.

The thought makes your blood run cold.

“Please,” you mewl, starting to reach for Brady before remembering what he told you. Your hands fly back above your head, twisting in the sheets, whispering, “I’m sorry, sir, I forgot.”

Brady smiles softly, slipping his finger under the waistband of your panties, tugging on it before letting it snap back against your skin. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss softly at your stomach. “Trying so hard to be good for me.” He shuffles himself backwards as he kisses his way down your body, sliding your panties down your legs at the same time until they've fallen to the floor.

“Wait,” you say softly, causing Brady to pause, his expression quizzical. “Please, I need you.”

Brady grins wickedly. “Just a taste princess.”

It turns out, ‘a taste’ actually means Brady edging you with his tongue until you were nearly crying. He's brought you to the brink three times now, each time getting you closer and closer before pulling away. At this point he's holding your hips down and your hands are as tangled in the sheets as you could get them, not wanting the repercussions of disobeying.

Brady’s tongue is sliding through your folds again when you finally break.

“Please!” you sob, tears finally sliding down your cheeks as your back arches from the pleasure. “Please, Brady, please, sir, please please, I- I need - please just - fuck - please.”

Brady hums against your cunt, the vibrations tearing a scream from your throat. Suddenly the warmth of Brady’s mouth is gone, leaving you chasing him with a buck of your hips. He pins you back down again easily, his lips glistening as he smirks. You hate the way the sleazy look on his face does it for you.

It reminds you of Matt.

You whine again, wiggling your hips as much as you could in Brady’s grip. “Please just fuck me,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. You feel his lips press against your hip, smiling against your skin.

“Anything my girl wants, she gets,” he murmurs against your skin.

My girl. The words echo over and over again in your head. My girl my girl my girl.

Two words you've been waiting years to hear come out of his mouth, and the only thing you could think of was how you liked it better when Matty said it.

Your eyes stay shut as Brady kisses up your body, fingertips dancing over your skin. His mouth finds yours, emptying your brain of all other thoughts but him.

“You ready for me, pretty girl?” he asks you, a hand coming up to stroke your cheek gently, wiping your tears away. Your eyes flutter open, to look at him, nodding as you bite your lip. His thumb tugs your lip out from between your teeth as you feel the tip of his dick brush against your thigh. You didn't even realize that he had taken off the rest of his clothes, but you weren't complaining. Not with him so close like this.

“Please,” you whimper, and after stealing another kiss, Brady sinks into your heat.

“Fuuuuuck,” he groans, gripping the back of your thigh to spread your legs even further. “You're so fucking tight, fuck you feel so good.” Once he’s bottomed out, Brady leans down to kiss you, swallowing your desperate noises.

He gives you little time to adjust, and really - you don't need it considering the way he tortured you with his mouth and fingers. You're whining into his mouth as his hips move against you, the drag off his cock inside you so fucking good after being denied like you were.

You're close already, and Brady knows, delivering sharp thrusts and hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars.

He finally breaks from your lips, breathing heavily as his hips slam into your cunt. “I'm so close,” you tell him, gripping the sheets above your head so hard you feel like you might rip them. “Please, please let me cum, sir, please.”

It seems like Brady finally thinks you've had enough torture, because he brings his hand from your thigh to your clit, rubbing quick tight circles. “You've been so good for me baby,” he grunts, his other hand holding him up so he can look down at you. “Come on baby, you can touch me now, come on princess, cum for me.”

That's all it takes to send you over the edge. Your hands come flying from above your head to grasp at Brady, his shoulders, his back, tangling in his hair, anything to just touch him. You cry out as your orgasm hits, your back arching under Brady as he relentlessly fucks you through it.

You faintly register Brady’s filthy encouragement in your ears, telling you how good you are for doing what he says, for not touching him this whole time, for cumming for him like this. You writhe against him as you feel him spill into you, grunting as he fucks into you, chasing his orgams with shallow, sloppy thrusts. It feels like you've been riding your high forever; your vision is blurry when you finally come down.

Brady’s breath is hot on your neck, his hands stroking your skin gently as the two of you catch your breath. He shushes you gently as you moan when he pulls out of you. Brady practically collapses next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you into his chest. He peppers kisses across your skin, nudging his nose against your cheek to grab your attention.

You can barely turn your head, suddenly so tired you feel like you'll pass out right that second. “Hi,” he murmurs, kissing you gently. You hum and bury your face in his neck.

“‘M sleepy,” you mumble against his skin, eliciting a soft laugh from him.

“Then sleep,” he says, before smirking devilishly, “don't worry there's lots more where that came from, but in the morning.” You snort at his words, squeezing the back of his neck before burying your fingers in his curls.

“Night, B,” you mumble.

“Goodnight, buttercup.”

Matthew was going to kill his brother. He was going to straight up murder him. On top of not being there to pick him up from the airport, he also didn't answer any texts or calls from Matt.

So yeah, when Matthew got home, he was going to kill Brady. When the Uber finally pulls up in front of him, Matthew is nearly halfway done with his plan to get away with it.

He fiddles with his phone as the driver pulls away from the curb, scanning the random notifications that he had popped up when he got off the plane. It's when he opens up Instagram that he really pays attention, the 3 stories in a row at the top of his feed catching his eye.

Taryn’s, yours, and Brady’s. Against his better judgement, he taps Taryn’s magenta-rimmed profile picture. The story takes a moment to load, but when it does, he sees a picture of you in front of the Tkachuk’s Christmas tree. You had your arms out in a ‘ta-da’ fashion, the fingers barely poking out through the sleeves of your sweater. Taryn’s caption reads “didn’t need an angel for the tree cause we already got @y/n/y/l/n”. He can't help but smile fondly, so distracted by how cute you look that he just stares at you until the time is up - but not before pressing on the screen so he could screenshot the photo.

Your first story was a repost of Taryn’s, a simple white heart emoji in the bottom corner. The second was a shot of the TV in the Tkachuk’s living room displaying the Grinch’s title. The caption reads “heart grows two sizes bigger when i’m home :)”. The location is tagged as St. Louis, with Taryn and Brady tagged in the corner of the photo. The third post makes his blood run cold, it's a video of you and Brady, your back against his chest as you lay on the couch, the caption the cross-eyed emoji and Brady’s handle. Brady is facing away from the camera in the beginning of the video, your eyebrows raised as you wait for him to notice. When he does he laughs and reaches for your phone. The video cuts off there.

Matthew taps the left side of his screen to replay it, an unpleasant feeling twisting in his gut. He doesn't want to watch Brady’s story, but he taps the right side of his screen anyways. It's a photo of you on the couch, one knee pulled up to your chest with the other in Brady’s lap, and a glass of wine in your hand. Your hair is piled into a messy bun on top of your head as you wink at the camera and make a peace sign with your free hand, tongue peaking out of the corner of your mouth.

Matt screenshots the picture.

He’s angry; angry because his brother left him stranded at the airport. Angry because he said he hadn't spoken to you either, that you didn't answer any of his texts and calls since that night. He's angry because Brady managed to get you back, and Matt didn't.

Matty’s angry because he loves you, and he's pretty sure you still love Brady.

When the car finally pulls up to the house, he’s almost relieved. He notes that the lights are off downstairs as he lets himself in, pausing when he sees your shoes still by the door. The glow of the TV is visible in the living room, and as Matt pads towards it, the uneasy feeling grows.

There's two partially filled glasses of wine on the coffee table, as well as yours and Brady’s phones. He taps on Brady’s phone, revealing the unread texts and unanswered calls from Matt, as well as an unread text from Chantal, telling Brady that he would have to be the one to pick up Matty from the airport.

The pit in Matt’s stomach only deepens as he climbs the stairs, duffle bag in hand. He goes slowly, trying to prolong his inevitable heartbreak, but it doesn't change what he sees at the top.

Brady’s bedroom door is half open, the light from the hallway streaming in.

Matthew knows it's a bad idea when he takes one, two, three steps and he's in front of Brady’s door. He takes a deep breath and pokes his head inside the room. The sight nearly knocks the wind out of him.

You're tucked under Brady’s arm, your nose squished against his cheek and your hand curled around his neck. He can see the bare skin of your back and stomach pressed against Brady’s bare torso. A blanket covers the both of you from the waist down. Brady’s hair is a mess, and so is yours, and suddenly Matt feels nauseous.

He feels like he would do anything - anything - to make the feeling in his chest go away. It feels like pressure, too much pressure, in his chest, and he nearly clutches his heart. The blood is rushing in his ears, he can't breathe, he feels dizzy.

Why does it hurt so much?

Before he can think it through he’s stumbling to his room. He kicks the door shut behind him, tossing the duffle back on the floor near his bed. His hands are reaching for the backpack on his shoulders and pulling out his laptop before it even hits the ground. He doesn't even sit, placing the laptop on his bed and bending down to type into the search bar.

He barely pays attention to the final amount when he hits “confirm” - he has more money than he knows what to do with anyways. The moment it’s done he sighs, watching the Gmail notification light up on his phone.

“Flight Confirmation, December 23rd, 2020 11:25 pm

St. Louis, Missouri to Calgary, Canada”

#hehe #matthew tkachuk #brady tkachuk #calgary flames #ottawa senators #nhl imagine #hockey #smut #matthew tkachuk imagine #brady tkachuk imagine #angst #all for you series

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moldisgoodforyou · 3 years

Text

you’re my favorite (iv)

wordcount: 1.6k

part one | part two | part three

______

The next morning, Rafe didn’t wake up until nearly noon. He checked his phone with a groan, seeing a single text notification.

Sophie: hey. can I see you?

When Rafe finally woke up, head pounding, he rolled over to check his phone like he always did first thing in the morning. (Then he was sorely reminded that the only time he didn’t do that was when Sophie stayed over.) When he saw the text from her, he practically shot out of bed, yanking his phone charger out of the wall in the process. He dialed Sophie’s number almost immediately - only taking a split second to have to scroll through his contacts, as they hadn’t talked on the phone in weeks.

She’d been up since seven am, anxious as she waited for his reply. Both Julia and Allie had told her to wait, text him later in the day when he was actually awake so she wouldn’t stress herself out, but her nerves won out. Sophie was a little surprised to see him call first, expecting the cold shoulder through text for a moment.

“Rafe? Hello?”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Soph, hey. I got your text.”

Just the nickname alone made her feel sure of herself again. “Yeah...can I come over and we can talk? Is that okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. You can head over, I’ll see you soon.” He smiled, almost instantly forgetting about the last two weeks he’d had. At her expense. The second he hung up, he caught the look James was sending him. “What?”

“You’re gonna let her off the hook that easy?”

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.” Rafe frowned.

“She’s the one that hurt you here. Then she calls and you’re smiling like an idiot.” Colin told him, standing to give him space. James promptly whacked Colin upside the head. “It’s been two weeks, he’s not hurt. Don’t listen to him, Rafe.”

He regarded the two of them with a little confusion. “Uh. I think it’ll be okay. Do you guys mind giving us the room?”

“No, not at all.” James dragged Colin out of the room and Rafe could hear an argument brewing between the two of them, but decided not to listen in. Instead he hurriedly made his bed - and on second thought, Colin and James’ too - to make it look like he hadn’t spent all his free time in their room for the past two weeks.

Sophie let herself into Delt, like always. (It felt oddly formal to have to text Rafe and ask to be let in.) She passed through the living room to the stairs and James called out to her, him and Colin pretending to study. “Hey, Sophie!”

She turned and gave them a hesitant smile, hands shoved in her pockets. “Hi James. Hi Colin.”

“It’s good to see you around. Just, uh, go easy on him, okay?” James returned the smile easily, while Colin stayed silent and didn’t look her way.

Sophie frowned and stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Huh? I don’t understand.”

Colin sighed exasperatedly, always blunt. “If you’re gonna hurt him -”

“What? No!” She shook her head quickly. “No, I don’t want to - I’m not going to - look, I want to talk this out. Promise.”

“Oh.” James nodded. “That’s not what I expected.”

“I would never.” She emphasized.

“Hm. Carry on, then.” Colin sat back into the couch and Sophie gave them one last look before nodding and heading up the stairs. She felt slightly more confident now, figuring the boys wouldn’t react that way if Rafe didn’t want to stay together. She paused just before entering his room and knocked, just once.

Rafe took a deep breath before opening the door, then turned the knob and stepped back to let her in. She bit the inside of her cheek once she saw him, offering a small smile. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He did the same, a slightly awkward tension growing between them.

“Are you okay?” She frowned, looking over his expression, then her eyes flitted around the room for any sign of heartbreak.

“I’m alright.” He paused. “I missed you.”

“Fuck, I missed you too. So much.” Sophie lifted her hands just a bit toward him, then shoved them back in her pockets. “I’m so sorry, Rafe, I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t want this.”

He cocked his head a little, floppy hair falling into his eyes. “Then why did you say yes? When I asked about the break?”

“Because! I thought you wanted it!”

“You thought I - what? No, god, I offered it hoping you wouldn’t want it!” Rafe exclaimed, letting out a quiet laugh.

“Oh my god.” Sophie reached out, arms extended for a half-hearted hug, then stopped herself. “I’m sorry, can I -?” She barely got the rest of her words out before Rafe stepped closer too and crushed her in a tight hug. She wrapped her arms securely around his waist, burying her face in his chest. He held one hand to the back of her head, thumb stroking over her hair as he pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Missed this.” He mumbled.

She nodded, growing a little teary. “Me too. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Me either.” He confessed, not wanting to let her go. The two stood there for a moment until she pulled away first, only to reach up and kiss him. He kissed her back slowly, hands tight on her hips. “Soph.” He murmured.

“Hm?” She mumbled back against his lips.

“Still need to talk.” He pulled back, resting his forehead on hers. She nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. Let’s talk.” Sophie paused. “I’ll be open, promise.”

Rafe kissed her shortly again before taking her hand, pulling her to the couch. He turned to face her but kept ahold of her hand, not willing to let her go just yet. “Can I ask you something?”

She faced him, cross-legged. “Yeah, of course.”

He hesitated, careful with his words. “Am I wrong to say you’ve been acting a little off? Since the Christmas party?”

Sophie avoided his gaze for a moment, thinking over her answer. She was surprised someone could read her so well, almost so sure she had kept herself guarded enough from Rafe for him to pick up on it. “No. You’re not wrong.”

He frowned, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles over the back of her hand. “But why? I thought we were in a good place with the two of us.”

“We are, we are.” She reassured him quickly. “I just...” She paused to think, not sure how much she wanted to tell him, to truly let on how insecure she’d felt. “I just - you have this whole world around you, and people treat you differently because of who you are. Your dad looked like - I don’t know, disappointed that you brought me, and -”

“Sophie.”

She kept rambling, more talking to herself now than anything. “I’m not in the same position as you, I can’t give you expensive things -”

“Soph -”

She barreled on anyways. “- and take you to fancy places, I can’t really measure up to your expectations -”

He reached out and squeezed her knee to break her train of thought. “Hey, hey, stop! Shh, please. Listen to me.”

She bit the inside of his cheek, preparing herself for what he might say. Rafe laughed a little as he sensed her nervous anticipation and kissed her cheek, trying to lighten the mood. “I don’t expect any of that from you, baby. I don’t care. I really don’t.”

“But I’m not like you.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want to date someone like me anyways.” He pulled her close, his arm around her shoulders.

“What about your dad?” She frowned.

He shifted, a small scowl on his face. “I’ve talked with him. It won’t be an issue.”

“Oh.” She fell quiet and leaned into him, cuddling into his side.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I hope I didn’t make you feel that way. About any of what you said.”

“No, that’s the thing.” Sophie lifted her head to look him in the eye, giving him a shy smile. “You’re the constant in all this. It’s just me being dumb.”

“Hey. Don’t call my girlfriend dumb.” He nudged her, grinning when she rolled her eyes. “Look, Soph, I want to treat you, okay? I know you like your independence, that’s part of why I -” Rafe stopped himself abruptly before he could finish the sentence. “Part of why I like you so much. But I want to do things like take you out for dinner and not have you worrying about when you’re going to pay me back.”

She nodded, slowly. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” He kissed her, short and sweet. “I just need you to talk to me. I can’t read your mind.”

“You should work on that.”

He laughed and flicked her arm. “I’ll get right to it. Are we okay?”

Sophie nodded again, meeting him with a kiss. “We’re okay. I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

“I will too, I should have picked up earlier that something felt off.” He tucked a small piece of hair behind her ear and gave her a wry smile. “You should have seen me the past two weeks, I was a wreck. Don’t wanna go through that again.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t great either.” She admitted, dropping her head back to his shoulder. “I do have a really busy schedule this semester though. Like, way busier than I thought it’d be. So I might tell you I’m doing something, but I’m not making excuses, promise.”

He hummed in acknowledgment. “We’ll make time, Soph. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You mean it?”

“Always. You’re my favorite.”

#rafe x sophie #mine #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #college rafe #frat rafe #obx fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction

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ballerinaroy · 3 years

Text

no other way pt IV

pt I // pt II // pt III

“Come on,” Ginny urged. “It’s New Years, you deserve a night away.”

“That’s not going to work again,” Ron told her in a final tone. “You got me at Christmas, didn’t you?”

Ginny sighed, but didn’t point out that he’d only stayed an hour. Instead she looked pleadingly to Harry. At least he seemed to understand, not pushing and instead withdrew a bottle of champagne from within his bag. He raised an eyebrow at Ron.

“Alright,” Ron agreed, “But we’ll have to be quick.”

“You do remember your sister at her birthday, don’t you?” Harry teased and Ginny flushed, but didn’t try and correct him.

Ron let out a laugh, it felt good, even if Hermione wasn’t there to share it. Into salvaged tea cups three drinks were poured, the bottle hidden should they be interrupted and they cheersed one another.

“To the New Year,” Ron said. “May it be a better one than this.”

“To 2000!” Ginny said. “And to the muggle’s notion that the world is going to end.”

“To Hermione,” Harry finished, the thought on all their minds. They all looked over, and she remained as still as ever.

Most of her scaring he hadn’t been privy too, but now it was only her chest that was wrapped so tightly. Her right arm left to breathe. Not that it didn’t show the signs of her attack. But the scaring there was fading, white already in places. The kind of bravery badges she would live with. She had to live.

“To Hermione,” they echoed, clinking their tea cups together and drinking healthy portions of their drinks.

Drinks were refilled and the three settled down into their regular seats. Ron was grateful for the company, though he knew they wouldn’t stay all night. Not that he blamed them. They deserved to celebrate like normal twenty year olds.

“What did the Healer have to say?” Harry asked as though he wasn’t there every day.

“Nothing new,” Ron said, shaking his head. “They say that the skin graft on her abdomen isn’t taking as fast as they’d like, but she hasn’t rejected it. We’ll know more in a few days.”

“And her kidneys?” Ginny asked.

“Just had a bad day,” Ron said, glancing over at Hermione and taking her hand. “Nothing since.”

Weeks now spent waiting. Treatment after treatment with the healers to repair the damages. Potions, so many it made his head positively spin trying to keep track of them all. He knew when Hermione woke she would have question and he’d be damned if he didn’t know the answers to them.

“You two don’t have to stay,” Ron told them. “I’m sure you’ve got a dozen parties to get to.”

“Twenty six to be exact,” Harry said, sounding already exhausted at the prospect. “The balls on these people, I don’t even have twenty six friends.”

“That’s just because you’ve got good taste.” Ron said, puffing his chest. “Cream of the crop we are.”

Harry snorted as Ginny checked her watch.

“Are you sure we can’t keep you company?” Ginny asked. “Honestly, they’re just parties.”

“Go on, I’ll be fine,” Ron told them. “Just, leave the bottle, will you?”

“Just you and me,” Ron said, dragging his chair around so it faced Hermione. “You did tell me last year that the parties were pretty worthless and we could have more fun staying in. Didn’t think this was how you’d win that argument.”

Ron chuckled at his own joke, sitting down and propping up his feet.

“Though, after Ginny’s birthday I think we might have fulfilled our quota for disastrous nights for the year. Not to mention Dean’s.” Ron cringed at the memory. “My sister might actually have a problem around champagne.”

He glanced at Hermione and could picture her displeased look perfectly even as she opened her mouth to argue about the double standard of men getting plastered and no one saying a word.

“Ah, well, she’s Harry’s problem now, isn’t she?” Ron said and mused. “Their wedding is going to be a fun one. Who knows, maybe we can even convince you to get in on the excitement.”

Again he let out a little laugh, wishing he could witness her lips twitch as they always did when he was teasing her. When they didn’t, he sighed, settling back into his chair and taking another drink. It was a cruel joke. She was right here, right beside him. He could stare into her features as much as he liked and yet she wasn’t Hermione.

“Miss you,” he said before he could sensor himself. “Miss you so much, Hermione.”

It was one of those restless hospital nights that nothing could hold his attention.The wireless was too upbeat, and too often reminding him of what he was missing out on with their dedications of this one goes out to all the love birds or to all the sweethearts or congratulations to-

“We get it,” Ron mumbled, shutting the thing off. “Everyone is happy and in love.”

It wasn’t even the point of the holiday. It was supposed to be about fresh starts, new beginnings, wasn’t it?

He’d tried reading his novel, filling out paperwork but not even flipping through quidditch weekly could hold his attention. Still, he’d gotten lost enough in thought that when noises echoed from down the hall it took a moment to orient himself. Then the street echoed the cheers and he realized, with a twisting feeling that midnight had come.

He tried to compose his face though there was no one there to see it and stood up, smiling for Hermione.

“Happy New Year!” he said brightly and from down the hall, Auld Lang Syne echoed from a wireless. He bent down, pressing his lips to her forehead, wishing, for the thousandth time that he might find life in her eyes. “Happy New Year, Hermione.”

And then, incredibly, he felt her hand twitch in his. Ron glanced down at her fingers. Had it just been a figment of his imagination? A wish he’d been making for days?

“Hermione?”

She answered with the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, a long, low moan of pain.

“Hermione!” he said, unable to process what he was seeing. All those days and night spent waiting for this very moment and now that it was here- “Hold on, let me grab a healer.”

She grunted at him, and he rushed to the doorway, “Hello! Help! I need someone in here!”

He didn’t wait for a reply, rushing back to her bedside and taking her hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m here, I’m here Hermione.”

There was a flurry of moment as others rushed into the room but Ron refused to be displaced, holding her hand as tenderly as he could and watching, with amazement, as the body that had been still for months began to show life. Her eyes fluttering open and shut, her hands twitching, coughs echoing from her lungs.

The healers were saying all sorts of things, running spells all

Hermione’s eyes opened and she scanned the room worriedly until, at last, they landed on him. Her lips twitched upward as her mouth sounded his name. Ron.

“I’m here,” he told her, his voice cracking with relief and he pushed past the person separating them, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “I’m here, Hermione.”

Her eyes darted around again, and he could see the question in her eyes.

“There was an accident, at work. You’ve been out of it, God Hermione it’s been a minute but it’s okay, I’m here.”

The hand that he’d refused to let go of twitched in his, a squeeze and he laughed again. “Oh, Hermione. I love you.”

She closed her eyes, tears squeezing out the sides and he pressed his forehead to hers, his own tears of relief mixing with hers. He had never felt joy as he did in that moment.

“I love you,” he whispered again, “I love you.”

Send me a prompt!

#roywrites #ROMIONE #romione fanfic

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latristereina · 4 years

Photo

There are fifteen personal letters exchanged between Isabel and Fernando in the years 1474-1502, that survived to our times, the originals are stored at the Archivo General de Simancas. Their original language is Castilian. Thirteen of them were written by Fernando and two by Isabel. They were gathered in the work titled Cartas autógrafas de los Reyes Católicos de España don Fernando y doña Isabel que se conservan en el Archivo de Simancas, 1474-1502, transcribed and analyzed by Amalia Prieto Cantero, published in Isabel la Católica en la opinión de españoles y extranjeros: siglos XV al XX. Apéndices. Tomo 3 by Vicente Rodríguez Valencia.

I translated only eight of them, six from Fernando to Isabel and two from Isabel to Fernando. I don’t plan on translating more, considering it’s not an easy task in itself, especially for a non-native speaker like me, who translates from her third to her second language respectively, and as much as modern language isn’t a problem, the language and grammar they used in the XV and XVI centuries is a whole new ballgame, some constructions and words are either hard or impossible to comprehend even for some native speakers.

Fernando to Isabel:

My Lady

After having the other note written, I received a letter from the King, my Lord [John II of Aragon], which I send to Your Ladyship. By which you will see how the matters in Enna are, and how he orders me to come with all the people of this kingdom to the aid of this city. Seeing this I cannot express my sorrow; I think that if I were in hell, I would suffer much less than I do now, and so many times I wish death upon myself that I think I may fulfill my thoughts, I do not know why our Lord gave me so much good and so little time to enjoy it, since, for three years, I have not been with Your Ladyship at times even seven months in a row. Now I have demonstrated and I say that I have to go to make them move quicker in order to do the service, which cannot be faster than before Christmas, and if during this time Your Ladyship could make the King [Henry IV of Castile] call me to be sworn in [he is referring to the swearing-in as the Princess heiress of Castile and her consort], I would quickly come, but otherwise, I do not think I would have an excuse for the King, my Lord [John II of Aragon]. However, I will do everything that is in my power to be able to come, but this bad honor [charge of Lieutenant in Aragon which did not let him join his wife] makes me feel so bad that what I am saying does not make sense. I beg Your Ladyship for the Archbishop [of Toledo] and Cardinal [Mendoza] to help in this matter, I do not ask Your Ladyship because you have enough yourself, and do not Your Ladyship think that I need something more than your order [to come to Castile], under different circumstances, I would come, but for now, other reasons are required for me to leave. I beg Your Ladyship to forgive me because being angry and disturbed, I do not know what I am saying, even with all that, I will delay my departure until I get a response from Your Ladyship, which I beg you to be soon, and it is how this slave of Your Grace concludes, The Prince-King [Prince of Aragon and king of Sicily].

Zaragoza, [1 December 1474]

My Lady

At last, now it is clear which of us two loves best, judging by what others write to me about Your Ladyship, you can be happy [while] I cannot sleep… There are so many messengers over there that come without letters [from you], not for lack of paper and not for not knowing how to write, but for insufficient love and haughtiness, for you are in Toledo and I in small villages, but someday we shall return to our first love. If you do not want to make me kill myself, you should write and tell me how you are… There is nothing more to be said about the matters from here, except what Silva will tell you and what Fernando del Pulgar has already said. I beg Your Ladyship to believe Silva and to write to me and not to forget about the Princess, who, for God’s sake, is not to be forgotten, as well as about her father, who kisses the hands of Your Ladyship and is your servant.

The King

Tomorrow, on Wednesday, I am going to Medina.

Tordesillas, [16 May 1475]

My Lady

It took me one day to pass from Valladolid to Cabia, and I decided to come to this city only because I knew it would be of no harm to rest here; I informed people of the city (city of Burgos) about the arrival, upon which the Bishop of Burgos escaped along with others, who are not much at our service. These of the city sent emissaries to me, begging me not to enter (the city) until after the meal, and I did so. Given the little time they had, the reception they gave me was marvelous and with so many people, and with such great love, that it is not an earthly thing, the love they have for us, but a Godly one. I must tell Your Ladyship that I never saw a thing that I would like more than this city nor more honorable. I saw las Huelgas and la Iglesia Mayor which in their way are miraculous. Tomorrow I will go to kiss the hands of King Don Juan for Your Ladyship and for myself*, and for the love of friar Alonso, I will go to see the Monastery of San Pablo. In two days I will depart and soon I will arrive at Valladolid. […] for what is in the letters that I got, I kiss the hands of Your Ladyship. Because I am tired, I do not respond except to what Your Ladyship tells me about how it was necessary for us to see each other, if it had not been for this city, I would have already gone, but the hurry was such that the Cardinal and the Constable put on me, that I could not do so. It seems to me that it is very necessary and that Your Ladyship ought to come because in getting together we help each other more than anything in life, and now is the time that all our power should be jointly exerted. Tired, I finish, kissing the hands of Your Ladyship.

Your servant: The King

Burgos, [12 June 1475]

*he meant la Cartuja de Miraflores where Isabella’s father was buried

My Lady

I have put off writing until the night, in order to see the people that came; infantry has come and the Constable with very good and many people; others have come except for the Admiral and the Marquis of Astroga. The people of the Count of Lemos, the Viscount of Palacios, the Count of Castro have not come, and now the Marquis of Santillana wrote to me that he and the Duke of Alburquerque would join me on Sunday, and they begged me not to move until then; given all of this, it seems to me that for us to go with more ease, in order to not detain anything until arrival in Toro, we should not depart tomorrow; either Your Ladyship from there or I from here, considering the distress you felt about the people [distress there would not be enough people at their service], Alonso de Quintanilla is already in Mojados; it is what the situation looks like over here, but if Your Ladyship orders otherwise, I shall do it with few or with many. God knows how it weighs on me that I will not see Your Ladyship tomorrow, for I swear by your life and mine that never have I so loved you. And I finish with more desire to serve Your Ladyship more than ever.

Real of Tordesillas, Monastery of Saint Thomas, [14 July 1475]

In regards to what Your Ladyship wrote to me about the two fractions that are being formed, I knew about them before, Your Ladyship will take care of it better than I being here.

Without date or direction.

Amalia Prieto Cantero’s commentary: This note touches upon some negotiation that was being conducted by the Queen or tendencies that she noted at the Court, in regards to which, the King was in favor of Doña Isabel resolving it on her own because she could do it better than him. The sense is obscure and imprecise. Perhaps by the two fractions he meant tendencies of the nobles.

Isabel to Fernando

My Lord

I kiss the hands of Your Lordship a hundred thousand times for such care that you have to know about me, and I have already written to you that I am well and I had that fever no more nor I have felt any bad thing afterward, and even though Your Lordship had already known this by my letter, procure for your life, and since in this case there should not be any hesitation at all, I ask you to answer me after you receive this courier; I beg you to let me know what you determine, and on what day the siege is to take place, where you would like it to be. May our Lord help you to determine and act, and aid Your Lordship in everything and guard you more than me, and I finish by kissing [your] hands, and all our children kiss them, and they are well. At Córdoba, on 18 May [1486]

My Lord

May our Lord continue with the victory He has granted to Your Lordship in the conquest of these suburbs until He gives you the city and the entire kingdom. This has been a marvelous thing and the most honorable in the world; now it seems well how the Moors are doing in Loja who die while defending it [Loja] and our people do it [die] as well. The dead weigh on me heavily but they could not have gone better employed nor could have died better people in their professions than Pedro Valenciano and Velasquillo. I cannot forget Velasquillo and how he was afraid to die such honorable death, it is enough the madness was good for he knew how to live and how to die. All that Your Lordship has ordered has been done and people were summoned, even more than it was said in the memorial, and because I thought the term given for them to depart was too late, although they say that it cannot be less, I ordered people of this city and these of Master of Calatrava to depart [from here] tomorrow; we were doubting whether they should take sacks with supplies or not, because to take them more time was needed, and still it was agreed that they would take them for we do not know if el Real is that well provided; and from now on I will do everything, I want to know what should be done and on what day for we do not want to err in anything. Regarding Alhama, the mayor commander had already talked about it with the Master, and what is done, Your Lordship will see in this memorial. I marveled a lot at the concert of the Moorish Kings which is so disadvantageous to them. In order to leave the Kingdom, it would be better to concert with us and I hope that God’s mercy lets this happen, for him to leave the Kingdom it would be good to have a treaty with him, if Your Lordship were to grant him [Boabdil] Baza and Guadix and their lands in act of perpetual truce, so that they could be his, although Your Lordship won all the Kingdom, maybe the necessity in which he is, would make him agree and hand it over. Pardon, Your Lordship, for I speak of matters that I do not know, it might cause damage, they might become arrogant, thinking there was some necessity for it to happen, for they are fickle, they rise and fall quickly. May God tear them down, and the desire for it all to be done without risk or work of Your Lordship and all your army makes me rave. For now there is nothing to be said about matters from here, except that we all are well, and I close by kissing the hands of Your Lordship, May our Lord guard you, and give you victory as I wish. At Córdoba, on 30 May [1486].

Amalia Prieto Cantero's commentary: At the end of January 1487 the Monarchs left Salamanca for Córdoba, in order to finalize the campaign of Málaga and locations in its proximity, which had been planned since the previous year. At the beginning of March their Highnesses had already reached the city of Córdoba. The men at arms, who had been summoned, gathered at las Yeguas River. The King’s departure from Córdoba, to lead the said men, took place on 7 April - on Saturday - on the eve of Palm Sunday, in direction of la Rambla. According to the chroniclers, Fernando del Pulgar and Mosén Diego de Valera, the night before the King’s departure, at 2 a.m, there was an earthquake in the city, particularly noticeable on the terrain of the Royal Palaces. And even though some people saw in this occurrence a bad omen, the King did not alter his plans. Although las Yeguas River was the destination of the King’s trip, it had its first phase at la Rambla, where the King spent the night with his army, and from where he wrote his wife a letter that is being analyzed, dated on Palm Sunday. In the text of the missive we can discover an extraordinary emotional state in which the King was, although dominated with great effort, to uplift his spirits. It could be a consequence of the impression the earthquake caused in him, coupled with the fact it took place shortly after he left his wife and children in Córdoba. In the letter Don Fernando tried to console his wife with the hope of quick reunion at some place, where they would be together with much joy, and expressed the anguish that he had gone through that night, being alone, already separated from his family, the anguish he had overcome with great strength of will…Such expressions, like many others in the analyzed letters, display the affection of the Monarch for his wife and confirm the judgment of the historian Vicens Vives about Don Fernando, endowed with great ability to love or hate, reserve and dissimulation, among other qualities.

My Lady

I beg you to let me know how you are, and be very merry, because I hope that with our Lord’s help, I will soon send for you, to beg you to come to me, so we can be together with much joy. It pained me, I could not sleep this night of solitude, but I do not dare to think of sad things. The last night don Alonso de Aguilar came over here, for I had summoned him, to go to the sierras of Loja and Antequera, in order to provide them with more guards; he told me that yesterday an alhaqueque* from Málaga had come to his house with a few hostages. He [alhaqueque] said they had been split over my departure, and 300 Gomeres* went displeased to Vélez; I do not know why they did so, I reckon all this quarrel happened because they wanted to provide for Vélez, apparently thinking it was not done well. Our Lord will save their thoughts. I beg Your Ladyship to let me know how my children are and I kiss your hands. May our Lord protect you more than anyone else.

At la Rambla, Palm Sunday [8 April 1487]

*alhaqueque - a person who managed contracts and at times purchased the freedom of captives and set them free, or acted as a courier between Christian and Arabic population

*Gomeres - inhabitants of la Gomera

@ablooms, @kittyparr, @eyes-painted-with-kohl, @daario-naharis

#perioddramaedit #historyedit #women in history #men in history #isabella i of castile #ferdinand ii of aragon #isabel tve #multiple episodes #michelle jenner #rodolfo sancho

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consultingsister-aa · 3 years

Note

five times kissed (seb and cee but alt politics for spice)

THIS MEME for: @epiitaphs verse: alt poltical

It had started on their very first lecture with Professor Campbell. Celia has answered his question with ease, she knew all the dates, all the facts, all the names. She was just getting ready to bask in the glory of already identifying herself as best in the class when a voice, a male voice, two rows back started.

“Actually, wasn’t it Nicholson, not Nicholas?”

It was a ridiculous, unimportant fact. There was no need for him to even point it out; it didn’t change any fo the facts of the case. As Celia turned to shoot daggers at the boy, he smiled at her. Not a friendly, apologetic smile but a gloating, lazy grin. She hated Sebastian Moran.

Over the term, they continued in this fashion. Every time Celia or Seb raised a hand to answer a question, the other would sit up, lean closer, wait for someone to slip up. If there was nothing to be corrected, they offered a rebuttal. “While I see where Miss Holmes is coming from…” matched “I can understand where Moran would get that idea, however…”. It was a careful and considered game of intellectual tennis and no one was enjoying it quite as much as each other.

Six weeks in, Campbell would pause after every comment made by either and look to the other. On their final day in class before the Christmas break, after Celia had offered an almost perfect argument for the case, Campbell looked to Seb. As did Cee. Seb simple raised his hand and offered a shrug. “I think she’s right.”

Celia was furious.

They had never spoken outside of class before, other than to offer snide remarks as they waited outside the lecture hall. She found out where his room was from a friend and, upon finding it, knocked gently. And then harder. And then, harder still, banging her fist against the door. She could hear him shouting I’m coming, I’m coming from inside but continued to hammer, until he yanked the door open. As he took her in, that stupid arrogant smile returned.

“What did you mean when you said, I think she’s right? What did you mean by that?”

Seb gave a disbelieving laugh. “That you were… correct? Do you want to have a fight over that?”

“No, but you fight me on everything else. So why not today?”

“I thought you were right today.”

Celia gave a furious little huff and stormed away from his door, only to storm right back to him. “You know what I think? I think-- I think you’re an arsehole, with no manners.”

“Yeah? Well, I think you’re a spoiled brat who’d never heard the word no, in her life.”

Cee steps closer to him, teeth bared in a snarl. In fact, she’s so close she needs to tilt her head to talk to him. There are only a couple inches in their heights, but with their chests nearly touching, it matters. “I am cleverer than you. I will do better than you. I will bury you.”

His smile doesn’t drop as she hoped, in fact, he arches an eyebrow. “Is that a promise, Holmes?”

An actual growl escapes her before she throws her arms around his neck and smashes her lips against his. He reciprocates, despite himself maybe and before long, he’s letting her pushing him back into his room, slamming the door behind her. A whole semester of foreplay had been leading to that moment and they did not disappoint.

II.

Celia loved being married. Although she had not taken her husband’s name, there was something in the way her lecturers said Ms. instead of Miss that set her apart from her fellow students; especially the girls. It was that drawn-out zzz sound that did it. She was a head above the rest of them; one step closer towards the finish line. When her friends said boyfriend, she might have laughed at them, how immature. How childish. They wouldn’t know until they knew.

And this wasn’t all in her head either. Despite themselves, despite their education and personal ambition, the girls around Cee felt it too. Celia knew things they wouldn’t know for years; the secrets of a wife. Even though some of the girl’s condemned marriage as a modern form of slavery they too fell into the trappings of 1950. Everything had changed and nothing had. When Celia lay out her hand on the table, catching her ring in the light, they sighed enviously as Celia had hoped. What did it matter about her masters in law, when she had a man. Personally, she’d rather have the degree but she knew, as she moved forward in life, it would be her ability to find, capture and keep a man that everyone would be really impressed by.

It was for this reason that they gathered with her outside the lecture hall, where she had agreed to meet Seb on that Friday night. They wanted to be witnesses to it, as if being in close proximity to a married couple brought them closer towards marital bliss themselves. Cee didn’t say very much. She played it off as unbothered coolness but in reality, she was distracted by the conversion by her own excitement. It wasn’t exactly Seb she was excited for, but just to be seen with him again. To become the weekly gossip; what did Cecelia do with her husband this weekend? They all wanted to know what these strange married creatures do.

“Oh, is that him now?” A friend piped up, trying to cough over her excited squeal. Cee might have laughed at her; as if you don’t know. She looks up and lazily closes her book.

“Yeah. Alright, see you on Monday.”

“Are you not coming to Sunday study night then?”

“Oh, I forgot. I’ll see what Seb is doing. I actually might need to go into the city with him for a dinner with his boss, or something.” She rolls her eyes to make it look like she can’t be bothered with it. It’s not even true, there was a dinner the week and no partners were invited but it gave Celia a prick of pleasure to imagine them all discussing it at the Sunday study night.

She doesn’t run into his arms, instead closing the gap between them with a slow, casual walk and an easy smile. They were close enough that Seb could call out to the other girls and wave. It was nice of him to throw them a bone, Cee thought.

When she did greet him, it was with a hand on the back of his neck so she could pull him down for a long, deep kiss. In fact, knowing the girl’s eyes were on them, she stayed longer than normal.

“What was that for?” Seb asked, pulling back from her.

“Nothing. Just happy to see you. How was your train?”

III.

It wasn’t fair to say that Cee and Seb weren’t affectionate. Sure, they didn’t hold hands unless they needed to and loving embraces tends to either come before or after sex but they had their moments. People noticed the way, if Seb was setting, Celia would stand behind him and squeeze his shoulders. Or, if something thrilling, shocking or wonderfil happened, they would immediatly look towards one another, if to check in, or delight in it. And while they slept on the same side of the bed due to the fact Seb refused to get buy a double bed for the four years they slept together in university, they still did it. They had to count for something. There was cards or flowers or weekly dates but that didn’t mean there wasn’t love. Cee loved Seb more than anyone in the world and she was quiet confident he felt the same way.

Which is what made Katherine’s death all the harder. A casm had opened up between them and she saw no real way to get over it. The evening they had returned home to an empty nursery, Celia had feverishly Googles how she was supposed to feel; how to deal with the loss of a child; the staged of grief. Her own feelings didn’t align with any of them.

What she really felt was annoyance. The plan that they had agreed to had fallen apart. All that work for nothing. And there was now a black stain on her history. A bump on the road. They would have to tell people, for the next couple weeks, everyone would skirt around her like she was a wounded animal they didn’t know what to do with. How did you comfort Cecelia Holmes when she had no interest in being comforted? How to comfort Sebastian Moran, then?

She stood in the baby pink bedroom, gripping onto the cot rail, willing herself to feel the loss. The sweet little baby; that looked like every other bbay she had ever seen. So a future lost; one likely filled with trauma and resentment, with her as a mother. She banged her palm against the wood and swore. It was only then she realised Seb was behind her. Her movement was guilty, spinning around and holding her hands begind her back as if she had something to hide.

“I was just thinking of packing some things away.” She cleared her throat, motioned around the room. “I’ll ask someone if there is somehwere we could send it. Thinking of others in our time of grief, it’s a good look.” She could hear herself plotting and regretted it but it was all she wad capable of. Celia let go of the cot and moved to hold him, her arms around his shoulders, her mouth at his ear. “We’ll get through this. I think it was meant to be this way; just the two of us.” She almost said she preferred it this way but that felt too harsh; too soon. “If you need to talk to someone, perhaps you should? Better to deal with it now then have it drag out.”

When she pulled back, she held onto his face, more tired than she had seen it in a long time and she knew she was getting it all wrong. Cee, who always knew what to say, had nothing. So she kissed him instead and tried, probably failing, to put more into it than she could manage. The key phrase however was, I’m sorry. Sorry she’s not a good wife, sorry their child died and she’s talking about press opportunities, sorry he got his hopes up, sorry nothing will come of this.

IV.

“--THE PRESS ASSOCIATION IS REPORTING MULTIPLE CASUALTIES AND UNCONFIRMED FATALITIES JUST OUTSIDE THE HOUSE OF COMMONS--”

“Sydney, turn that up, turn that up!”

The TV’s picture, perched on top of a filing cabinet only offered shaky phone camera footage of the street Celia knew well. In fact, with one of the sudden movements upward, she was sure she could see Seb’s office window. The clipped tones of the BBC new anchor filled the room.

“--IS UNDERSTOOD THAT THE LONE MAN DROVE INTO A CROWD OF PEOPLE OUTSIDE PALACE OF WESTMINSTER AND THEN CONTINUED ON FOOT, WHERE HE BEGAN STABBING--”

“Call my husband, call him now, his mobile.”

Celia is already pulling on her jacket, eyes glued to the TV but listening out for the rings. By the third ring, she’s heading to the door. Usually, no rings meant he was in a meeting; the phone was on don’t disturb and she’d have to call back another two times for it to even go through; something she hadn’t ever had to do yet. If he was talking with someone, briefly, he would hang up after one ring. Past three rings, with no pick up? She didn’t remember the last time.

“Cee, you shouldn’t go into--” Syd stood up behind her desk but Cee held up a hand.

“Text me if there are any updates worth knowing. Call him again, keep calling him.”

There was no point trying to get a taxi, if there really was a terrorist attack happening in the middle of the city, it would be gridlock and the police wouldn’t be letting anyone in any way. So she would walk the twenty minutes to Seb’s office; she could cut it down to fourteen minutes if she kept up her brisk walk, ocassiaonlly, if panic set in, a restrained run.

Police tape, camera crews, ambulances and armed police officers surrounded most parliamentary buildings. The end of street was cordoned off but from her vantage point, she could see at least three sheets covering bodies. It was ridiculous to imagine Seb under one of them but it’s exactly where her mind went. She couldn’t explain it, not even to herself but she’d had a nagging feeling all day that something terrible was gong to happen, not just this, in London, but to her personally. She stares, unseeing at one of the sheets before a voice drifts across to her, one of the offers. “--Moran is going to--”

“What did you say?” She barks at him and a man seems to used to follow commands to argue with her, although she seems to have also scared him. “What did you say about Moran?”

Sheepishly, he draws closer. “Only that Mr Moran was directing his staff to--”

“To where?” Of course, of course, he’s alive. “Where is he?”

“I think they were going to Lady Chapel,” and then, as an afterthought, “ma’am.”

Celia didn’t hang around any longer that she needed to. She didn’t know why she ran this time, heels hitting the pavement with an ungodly amount of noise. If Seb was well enough to be directing people somewhere, there was no real need to worry. But something had shaken her when she had heard the news. It was the first time she had really considered what it might be like if Seb did die. They had been partners, in one way or another, for nearly fifteen years and all her future plans and hopes were pinned upon him.

She rounded the corner and stopped to catch her breath, smooth out her coat, look less worried. When she looked up, she saw him immediately; standing by the church’s doors, talking seriously with a police chief. He only glanced in her direction and had to do a double-take.

“What are you doing here?” Seb asked, moving over to her.

“You weren’t answering your phone.” Annoyingly, she’s still breathless.

“Bit of an emergency. Did you run?”

Maybe to avoid the embarrassing question, maybe because she was so relieved to see him standing, she threw her arms around him and kissed him, with slightly more passion than normal. She couldn’t say for sure, but she thought Seb kissed her back with a matched ferocity and held her a little tight than normal too. Maybe he was glad to see her too.

#terrorist attack --#epiitaphs #( i. message )#child death --

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star-wars-multishippers · 3 years

Text

Get to Know Me(me) - The Members of SW Multishippers!

This was an event hosted on the Discord server to do a sort of re-introduction of both old and new joiners to the server. Everyone who wanted to participate filled out the survey below to share a little about themselves and about their faves in fandom.

Survey (for anyone who wants to join in below in the comments):

Who Am I? - Name, username on other sites, mini bio if you'd like Where do I fit into the SW fandom? - Prequels, Sequels, EU, etc. What do you do? Fic, art, lurking and reblogging? My Top Faves - 2 or 3 max please! My Own Stuff - 1 or 2 max please!

MBlair

Who am I?

MBlair both on Discord and on AO3, maggzblair on Tumblr (MBlair, maggzblair)

Where do I fit into the SW fandom?

Mostly lurker/reblogger/occasional writer, mostly Original Trilogy and Sequel trilogy.

Fics I Love to Rec

Of Queens, Knights, and Pawns (and associated fics) by chancecraz

Hand of Fate by sweetestcondition

My Fics I Love to Rec

Reyuxmas 2019

A Wonderful Winter on Hoth

I’ll Love You ‘Til the Suns Burn Out

feckyeslife

Who Am I?

Feckyeslife#2003 on Discord, firelord65 on AO3

Where do I fit into the SW fandom?

I'm pretty solidly a Sequels fan, but I have a special place in my heart for the Prequels. I'm a fic writer who dabbles mostly in canon universe AUs, what ifs, that sort of stuff. Primarily my fics have Rey with a tendency to focus on the First Order characters and plots.

My Top Faves

A classic Reylo fic from an old friend - Beneath the Facade. It technically has a prologue fic before it in the series, but this piece was the one that I really enjoyed way back in the EARLY days of Reylo.

Because I'm an insufferable Reylux fan, I have to rec at least one. This piece by @every-day-is-star-wars-day a oneshot that ever so masterfully crushes my heart every time - Thread

My one Original Trilogy rec, this is a beast of a long fic but so, so good - Dark Times

My Own Stuff

Reylux, medieval AU - La Vita Primus - is the first in a small series of this AU

Reylo, TROS Fix-It - Oh but it's a dark future, my star. Oh but it's a soft morning for us soon.

apple-au

Who Am I?

Call me apple. she/her/hers. I’m gold_pen_leaps on dreamwidth, ao3, and pillowfort. @[email protected] on mastodon. I am doing my best to boycott tumblr, but I've been known to use a tumblr link embed on pf from time to time. (gold_pen_leaps (DW), gold_pen_leaps (AO3))

Where do I fit into the SW fandom?

I’m mainly into the Sequels and the Mandalorian. I joined the server for Hux/Kylo/Rey and all the combinations of the characters in my ot3. I can edit better than I can write. Sometimes I comment on fics.

My Top Faves

A Dance of Titans by @lucidlucy is a really long reylux fic. The delicious slowburn makes all the flavors combine in an amazing way. Love how they battle the main villain!

My Own Stuff

I helped give feedback on the second part of a series. Does that count? This is knight_of_dance's fic. It's really cool to see writers' takes on Modern AU, and this one has influenced my ideas of what sort of kinks those characters have. :smirk: Switch Up

Mizz

Who Am I?

hi! tho im much more...a lurker around here im mizz (she/they/he). im badarmada on tumblr, badwrong-gimme on pillowfort, gimmemrss on twitter, badwrongprincess on ao3 (i have so many usernames XD, ive got a dreamwidth, wordpress, and art insta too if youre interested lol)

(@badarmada, gimmemrss (twitter), badwrongprincess (AO3))

Where do I fit into the SW fandom?

i liked the prequels as a kid (still do kinda), rouge one, i do like clone wars tho i havent finished it and the sequels (well tfa and tros tho only one of them is good imo) i reblog stuff mostly and read fanfic, tho i write some stuff too. finn is my fav and pretty much my center character (ie the one i focus on the most) and i like most finn ships (favs being finnhux, finnlo, finnrey)

My Top Faves

the things we do for love by glare is an unfinished finnlohux fanfic that i love a lot

worlds are built for two by synergenic (Losseflame). this is a poefinn fic from finns pov

My Own Stuff

um...im still working on this fic -(Be More Chill, Hux) very slowly this year has been super hard on me writing wise and ive been drawing ocs and for another fandom mostly but I will finish this one day!

Arsanimo - Marion

Who Am I?

Hi, I’m Arsanimo, self taught artist and nerd from Germany that’s mostly lurking. You can find me with this username on tumblr, twitter and instagram. I draw mostly Reylo at the moment. ( @arsanimo, Arsanimo (Twitter), Arsanimo (IG))

Where do I fit into the SW fandom?

I‘m in my thirties and an OT fan since birth, because my dad was obsessed with Star Wars and we watched it a lot as kids - they are the go to christmas movies in our family. Even as a very small kid I loved Vader. I didn’t like the ST quite as much when it came out in cinemas but still watched them multiple times. I’m much more fond of them now. But my love for Star Wars really got renewed with the ST. I really liked TFA and TLJ a lot. Not a great fan of TROS though, but to each their own. I recently started watching TCW, if you haven’t go watch it! The Mandalorian is also great and feels more like the OT for me, which I love. Oh, and R1 was awesome, I loved that one! Solo also was good. I think I will be a lifelong fan because it’s such a rich universe and everybody can pick a favorite. I’m also good at ignoring the parts I don’t like, lol. But I‘m mostly exhausted about all the drama on social media, so at the moment I take a bit of a break from social media and only post from time to time. And I’m of the firm believe to ship and let ship and if the art and fics are good, you can also find me enjoying ships outside of Reylo (honestly, some Kylux art out there, woah... and Finnrey is always so tender but Stormpilot has two hot guys in it... and don’t get me started about Finnrose! You probably get the gist)

My Top Faves

It’s hard to name so few, there are so many good artists out there. But Winter of Her (Twitter) has some outstanding art in her own style. Than I really like the style of Khallion (Twitter), check her out.

My Own Stuff

And last but not least two pieces of mine that turned out pretty good

https://twitter.com/arsanimo/status/1275789997426311173?s=21

https://twitter.com/arsanimo/status/1258757927910989825?s=21

Knight_Of_Cookies

Who am I?

Allo allo, I go by many names but many know me as cookies here. Lol I'm from the US and I've been a lifelong A+, gold star , nerd my whole life. I love writing among 5 million other hobbies. I am on Tumblr and A03. (@knight-of-cookies, Knight_of_Cookies (AO3))

Where do I fit into the SW fandom?

It all started with the prequels which I fell in love with and even wrote my first fan fic on. (I dragged it from fanfic.net to A03 for my own form of personal torture) I dropped out of star wars until I was in Japan and a close group of friends got me to watch Roque One and play a star wars based table top role playing game, which dumped me back into this fandom hardcore. I fell in love with the sequel trilogy and now I'm stuck forever. Lol

I have been writing on A03 for around 2 years now for star wars and it's been the most productive and progressive work I've ever done thanks to ya'll.

Also, hey, I created this multishippers discord, because multishipping rocks and everyone should do it. :P I know I've never active enough but I love this space and the people in it! My fav part about multishipping is how I'm always discovering yet another ship that is awesome. It never ends. ^^

My top favs - (of things no one should be surprised by)

Beastie by @feckyeswriting. It spawned a written series(multiple actually)

Glutton by Witchoil. Just very good dark and wonderful kinky smut. Always go back to this one.

In the house that skywalker built by @aicosu. This story got me into Reylux in a way I'll never recover from.

My own stuff

Nothing but Themselves - This is my favorite beast of a story I've ever written and it will be beautiful when I finish it. One day. Lol

Tanzaku - One of my most polished pieces thanks to the Reylo Anthology. My best combo of: insert culture nerding here and captive Ben as personal tropes.

#Get to Know Me(me)#Server Event #Fic Recs #Art Recs #Star Wars fic #Star Wars fanart

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web-of-fics · 4 years

Text

Worlds Away

Requested by @spaghetittiesbcimgay : hey! could i get something with our boy peter with a really smart reader?? who’s an intern at nasa or smth? and is obsessed with her instruments (guitar, bass, etc) and also space? (can you tell i’m projecting?) idk if this would be wayy to specific (if it is, totally leave out the last bit!! :) ) and i have no idea where to go from there but ive been dying for some peter x smart!reader sooo.. thank u so much in advance xx

Summary: You and Peter Parker are two of the smartest kids at Midtown High. So why are you both completely clueless at the fact you both have massive crushes on each other?

Words: 1391

✎_____________________________________________________________________

Obviously Midtown was full of students with extraordinary smarts and subsequent extraordinary internships because of it. Naturally, Peter had gotten a lot of attention when word spread that he’d swung (no pun intended) an internship with Tony STARK. The superhero hype around the school was real even months later. And after news broke about aliens visiting earth and all that a couple years ago, every hyper intelligent teenager’s hopes were directed on working with space tech: protection or exploration, it didn’t matter. But that was mainly Tony’s domain now and the world knew it, so Midtown’s students scrambled to find prestigious positions in other areas.

When you got accepted to intern as a research assistant for NASA, you immediately shared the news with a few close friends. And they were, of course, absolutely stoked for you. They were also huge blabbermouths so by the time everyone returned to school that Monday, the entire grade knew. Jealousy emitted from them like the energy of an exploding star. But unlike a star, the only visible evidence were the side-eye glares and slight shaking of the heads in disbelief. If you could read minds, they would be a mix of chatter saying: ‘why does SHE get to work for NASA?’ ‘I’m twice as smart as her—that should be my job’ ‘I bet she paid her way in—they’re not even accepting interns in the middle of the school year’ ‘she’s two years younger than me! I need that internship more than she does!’ Etcetera.

But not everyone was so green. Peter Parker, for example, was over the moon (still no pun intended) when you told him. He was also your number one suspect for blabbing. At least with him and his big mouth, you knew it was from a place of pride rather than an attempt to spread gossip. As if anyone went to Peter Parker for gossip. Maybe that was part of the reason you found him so appealing.

“If they send you to space will you let me know?” He said earnestly. You just laughed.

“I’m doing research, not training to be an astronaut. I don’t have the physical endurance!”

“But you’re smart enough to engineer a spaceship.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not on my own.”

“Still!”

“They’re not sending me to space and I’m not engineering a spaceship for other people to go to space,” you laughed.

“Well what are they not paying you for then?” he pressed.

“I’m joining the student research team that assesses alien remnants from the battle of New York to help find ways to improve our own space technology. NASA’s actually working closely with Mr. Stark on a lot of it--I’m sure he’d tell you more...”

You stopped talking at the awestruck expression on Peter’s face. He leaned forward.

“No way,” he gushed. “Mr. Stark didn’t tell me any of that. Wow, you sounded really smart just then.” He paused, thinking. “This is gonna be awesome for you, y/n!” he beamed, sounding just as enthused as you felt.

“I know!”

“When do you start?”

“Not for a few weeks.”

“Good,” Peter said.

You raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, I--I’m going to miss being able to hang out with you and stuff when you’re off doing space stuff.”

“Well, I won’t actually be in space at any point, so we should be good,” you smiled.

“Well, you’re definitely smart enough to go to space, so when you do eventually end up on a spaceship--” Peter held up a finger to cut off your objections before you could open your mouth. “--You could entertain your fellow astronauts with some tunes.” Peter mimed an air guitar.

“Shut up,” you laughed, swatting at his arm. “I think a theremin would be a better soundtrack for outer space anyway. Acoustic guitars have college-student-on-the-quad vibes.”

“Not when you play.”

“Okay Peter,” you rolled your eyes, flattered but embarrassed by his persistence. “I’ll show up on the first day of my internship with a guitar slung on my back and ask if they’d prefer the sounds of Brian May or John Mayer.”

“Perfect,” Peter said without a hint of sarcasm behind his smile. You blushed.

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After school that day, Peter came by your house as usual so you could work on homework together. You asked him once why he preferred to work at your place—not that you minded whatsoever, but you became curious after picking up on the pattern—and he said because your place was more “stimulating” than his. Stimulating! You had laughed so hard that his confusion had circled around until he worried he’d said something offensive.

“Stimulating? Really?” you had said after composing yourself.

“Well, yeah,” he’d replied. “You have all these cool instruments and your whole room looks like space.”

As you both entered it now, you bypassed the light switch and plugged in the strand of white Christmas lights that encircled the ceiling. Instantly the room was bathed in a soothing glow. You weren’t allowed to paint your walls black ("But it would look so much more like space, mom!”) so you’d ordered four giant tapestries with different galaxies on them and hung one on each wall. A sun-shaped lamp rested on your nightstand. It was one of those sunrise lamps that woke you up by gradually getting brighter in the morning to mimic the elusive wintertime sunrise. Your precious string instruments—an acoustic guitar (Gary) and electric bass (Lily)—stood opposite your bed. You couldn’t think of a better definition of a safe space.

And now school felt like worlds away. Minus the fact Peter was here with you to do homework.

Peter assumed his usual position in the bean bag chair furthest from the door. You collapsed into yours, closest to your instruments. A long ottoman served as a makeshift desk for you both to dump your school materials.

But today you both melted into the cushions without moving to open your backpacks, abandoned at your sides.

Peter--usually a ball of energy that would lead you to believe he was a puppy in a former life--closed his eyes and laid his head back. It had been an especially long week.

Without giving it a second thought, you leaned sideways and removed Gary from its stand. Humming a little, your fingers grazed the guitar strings until the notes strung into the beginning of one of your favorite songs.

After you finished you looked up and spotted Peter watching you. Of course you’d known he was there, but you’d half expected him to drift off before the first chorus. Your face burned.

His forehead creased. “Was that ‘Here Comes The Sun’?”

You lit up. “Yeah! You listen to The Beatles?”

Peter nodded, feeling confident. “John Legend is the best.”

You stifled a giggle. “Yep,” you said. You had an unreasonably strong urge to hug him.

You hesitated, not sure if you wanted to stop playing or continue.

“Can I hear another?” Peter said after a moment, making the decision for you.

“Sure,” you said, suddenly feeling shy. “What do you want to hear?”

“Anything.”

“Okay,” you steadied your breathing. Deciding to stick with the space theme, you strummed the beginning chords to Muse’s ‘Starlight’ and sang along quietly, losing yourself to your music and completely missing the infatuated grin that found its way onto Peter’s face as he got lost in thought:

Not only was he hanging out in the coolest bedroom he’d ever seen, he got to spend it with the coolest and smartest person he knew. He wanted to spend as many hours with you as he could, even though you would probably have a lot less free time once you started the internship. But until then, he would enjoy every moment he could. Like this one.

And who knows, maybe one day space travel would be a regular thing and then you could both hang out on the moon together for real and get away from it all. Peter could listen to you play guitar and sing random songs all day. He might even tell you how he really felt about you once he built up enough courage.

But Peter realized those possibilities were still worlds away. And right now, his world was sitting across from him, humming like a windchime that told him he was home.

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Just one more before bed? Click here for a masterlist of my fics!

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phantoms-lair · 4 years

Text

Some more of the serious Freakzoid thing

Dexter hated how relieved he felt as he closed the bedroom door. He loved his family, even Duncan (Turing knows why), but never felt like a part of them.

He knew it was mutual, that they didn’t understand him either, but still loved him. The proof of that was in his hand.

The Pinnacle Chip, something he’d never dreamed he’d own. He was surprised his parents had even known what it was, much less purchased one for him. They must have even pre-ordered it, since they were sold out everywhere.

There was love in that he just...just needed to hold on to it.

Dexter removed the side of the tower and began the process of installing his Christmas gift. He heard his door crack open, but didn’t look up. The privacy of bedrooms were sacred in this household, and there was only one resident who’d open his door without knocking. Thankfully it was the one he didn’t mind being in there with him.

Sure enough, the feeling of the family cat rubbing against his back brought a smile to his face. Dexter paused a moment to pet the cat, getting a deep rumbling purr in return.

Something caught Mr. Chubbikins attention though and he bounded off, letting Dexter finish he work. He left the side of the tower off in case he needed to fix anything quickly and booted up the computer.

He couldn’t help but grin as it whirred to life, the Linux based system loading faster than it ever had before. The Pinnacle chip really was amazing!

A small bug floated past his screen and suddenly twelve pounds of feline hunting instincts landed squarely on his keyboard. “Mr. Chubbikins, no!” Dexter scolded, grabbing the cat and putting him on the floor.

It looked like the boot process had been halted. The GUI hadn’t loaded and there was simply a command line with @[=g3,8d]\&fbb=-q]/hk %fg typed in. Sighing Dexter hit delete, ready to start over again.

“No-no-no,” Dexter moaned as everything went wrong. The screen turned blue and the tower made a loud whirring noise that got louder and louder. The fans went into overdrive, trying to cool the rapidly heating apparatus and electricity sparked around several of the circuit boards. In the center of it all the Pinnacle Chip glowed a light blue.

If asked what he should do before or afterwards, Dexter would have answered that his should pull the plug from the wall, cutting the power supply, then dissembling the computer to replace any damaged parts and not use the Pinnacle Chip until he understood what had happened.

But in the heat of the moment, seeing his beloved computer he’d built piece by piece destroying itself from the inside out, he did the first thing that popped in his head, which was to try and grab the Pinnacle chip and pull it out.

He felt a surge of power hit him, but it didn’t feel like the electrical shocks he’d gotten in the past. His head ached and random things came to mind. Facts and figures, codes, emails, he couldn’t process it all!

It was with a feeling of relief that Dexter finally blacked out.

Roddy swore to never say a bad thing about his cousin Jeb again.

Well, he wouldn’t have anyways, speaking ill of the dead and all, but Jeb had been a decidedly odd duck when he was alive. The man never met a conspiracy theory he didn’t believe and upon his death (caused by an entirely treatable infection he’d refused to see a doctor for, didn’t trust them) had left Roddy the location of what he could only call an apocalypse bunker.

It had been built into a cave system, deep enough in and reinforced enough to survive a nuclear strike. It had it’s own generator system, years worth of food, medical supplies, and a rough (by his own standards) computer bank hard wired to the internet in a way Roddy was fairly sure was illegal. At the very least, it wasn’t being paid for.

At the time he’d gotten the bunker, Roddy had thought it’s existence was a gigantic waste of time and money. Now it was probably the only reason he was still alive.

He’d gotten himself to a hospital after his near fatal fall. He’d thought he’d made it, that the worst was past. Then he’d awoken to a pillow being shoved over his face. The assailant clearly hadn’t expected him to fight back and he’d managed to club him with his IV.

It was clear his former boss wasn’t going to let him live, so he’d gone to the one place he figured no one would find him. He’d lain low in the bunker, slowly healing and trying to keep track of things as best he could.

He’d been resting on the couch when an alarm on the computer went off. Roddy’s heart sank. The alarm was from a custom program he’d made. One meant to track the internet for any sign of a mass download of the kind the Pinnacle Flaw would cause. It had happened, just as he said it would. And on Christmas day, no less.

Roddy struggled with himself for a moment, just has he had that day months ago. Leaving his bunker would put his life in danger, but...no, he owed answers to whoever had fallen victim. Or at the very least their family if the worst came to pass.

He could only hope he could make Gutierrez pay, one way or the other

#Freakazoid #Freaking Out #Ghost Writing

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years

Text

part vii

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

Welcome back, friends! I know it’s been a long time since I updated, and I’m sorry for that - I just finished up my junior year of college, and combined with all of the protesting an unrest going on in the US (where I’m from) it’s been hard to write on schedule. On that note, I want to say that as a person and a writer I unequivocally stand with the Black Lives Matter movement and those protesting for an end to police brutality, the demilitarization and downsizing of the police, and equal rights for all - noting especially that these issues particularly affect LGBTQ+ people of color, particularly Black trans women. I am always striving to keep myself as educated and informed on how to be an antiracist, and encourage everyone to take a look at https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/ for resources to educate yourself, donation links if you’re able, and petitions to sign. Breonna Taylor’s murderers still have not been arrested. I love writing, and I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. Please reblog as always, and pop into my inbox and let me know what you think!

part vii

February 14

Dress like I’m going to a diner? Cass was more than a little confused as she pulled one leg through the pair of her good jeans (the ones without ripped knees, she wore them out with Mat and to less-important meetings and even to church once or twice when she was feeling particularly daring) as she slipped into her pea coat, toying with the button by her wrist as she opened the door to the crisp February air. It wasn’t snowing, but it was cold enough that her hands were still jammed firmly in her coat pockets. She could see her breath when she breathed out. Matt pulled up a few minutes, an apologetic look on his face as he slammed his hazards on and scrambled over the chair to push her door open.

“Sorry I’m late,” Mat said breathlessly. “Parkway was backed up.”

Cass waved him off. “It’s not a big deal, just crank the heat up.”

“I know you said you didn’t want anything too fancy, so I hope you like it,” he added hesitantly, looking in between her and the road as he turned a corner.

Cass squeezed his hand that was hovering just above the gear shift. “I’m sure I’ll love it, Mat.”

It really had been hard for Mat to figure out what to do for Valentine’s. He was leaving the next day for a weeklong road trip, but it was still, you know, Valentine’s, and he wanted so badly to get it right. So he tapped Jordan, called Tito, even somehow got ahold of her roommates to ask them what they thought she might be interested in. He wouldn’t admit it, but there also might have been a text or two back home to his sister for a second (third? fourth?) opinion. He wanted it to be perfect, but even more than that, he wanted it to be her. Dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant and a Tiffany’s necklace might be all well and good, but it didn’t really matter if the proverbial shoe didn’t fit. The handful of Valentine’s dates he’d gone on in the past had mostly been the standard roses-and-chocolates type, and while Cass did love chocolate, this evening meant so much more to him than any previous attempt.

He didn’t want to do anything to mess it up, anything to jeopardize what was hands-down the most meaningful and serious relationship he’d ever been in. He’d dated girls for longer, sure, but there was something about what he had with Cass that made him feel like she had been in his life forever, like she was already a permanent fixture who made everything else make sense. They drove down the island of Manhattan, his thumb running back and forth over the palm of her hand until he pulled into a hotel parking lot. Cass looked at him quizzically. “Easiest place to park,” Mat said by way of an answer.

He parked, opening Cass’s door and helping her out. “Where are you taking me?” Cass said with a small laugh, looking across the street at the dozens of couples taking an early dinner.

Mat held up a finger. “It should be...right up here,” he said, double-checking his phone. “Ah-ha!”

A dusty green awning and flyer-covered window greeted the couple. It was a pizzeria, and it was perfect. It wasn’t just the fact that, like any sane person, Cass loved pizza, but the fact he knew what she wanted and prioritized that over any expectation or preconception about what the “right” way to celebrate was. And she could really go for a dollar slice.

They squeezed into a two-top table in the corner. Cass hung her bag on the back of her chair, scooping back to go order at the counter. When it came to food, Mat was a simple man with simple tastes. He liked pepperoni. “I got us garlic knots because it’s Valentine’s day and I love you,” she said, setting down the trays, “and also because I’d willingly murder a man for garlic.”

Mat picked one up, biting in and nearly moaning. God, these are good. “Babe, you’re going to be a lawyer. You can’t just go around getting yourself arrested for murder. I don’t think your garlic defense would go over well with the judge.”

Cass shrugged. “I can get myself off.” Mat raised an eyebrow. “Ew!” She threw a packet of red pepper at Mat, promptly hitting him square in the chest. “Get your mind out of the gutter. There are children present.” To be fair, aside from them the restaurant was filled mostly with high school students, nervously holding hands and sipping each others’ Cokes while they tried desperately to make small talk. And to be fair, she could get herself off.

“Are you finally going to tell me what we’re doing?” Cass asked, biting into the last bit of her crust.

“In a minute,” Mat said, twisting around to rustle through the pocket of his leather jacket. He pulled out a small, flat square box, sliding it over the table to her. Cass traced the edges delicately with a finger.

Mat smiled softly at her. “Open it.”

Cass tapped the box against her palm until the bottom fell softly into her hand. Inside, nestled in a cloud of cotton, was a beautiful silver bar necklace. It was simple, elegant, not too flashy. But it was her, and it was hers.

“I know you don’t like me spending money on you,” Mat shrugged, “but you deserve nice things. You deserve to be treated well.” He reached over the table to tuck a curl behind her ear.

She picked it up, touching the chain, clasp, pendant. “Turn it over,” Mat said pointedly, with a smile on his face. Cass flipped it. There was an engraving on the back — well, two, really. 10-28-20. That one she knew. That one was their anniversary. WWRD. That one she didn’t know. Glancing back up towards Mat with a confused look on her face, she raised an eyebrow. “What would Ruth do,” Mat supplied. It took Cass a moment, and once she realized, she almost fell over, dissolving into peals of laughter. What would Ruth do? “I know I’m nothing but a filthy Canadian,” Mat started, “but I also know you love her and look up to her. You don’t just have a mug with someone’s face on it for no reason.” That was true. For Secret Santa last Christmas, Ryanne had 100% gotten Cass a mug with Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s face on it. And she 100% used it every day for her morning tea.

“Plus, I read on Wikipedia that before she was a judge, she was a lawyer and did a lot for women’s rights and stuff. Which is really cool.” Cass nodded. That’s sweet, she thought, he actually did his homework.

It was Cass’s turn to turn to Mat, leaning forward and cupping his cheek gently. He leaned into her touch. “It’s beautiful, Mat. I love it.”

“Let me put it on for you?” Mat asked. Cass nodded, he stood up and shuffled behind her, delicately grabbing the necklace and brushing her hair to one side. Cass shivered at the touch of his fingertips. After a few seconds, he managed to clasp it, leaning down and brushing a kiss on her shoulder before walking back to his side and grabbing his jacket. “You ready to take off?” His eyes flickered down towards his watch. It was nearing 7:30. “We’ve got to be somewhere by 8, but they said to get there early.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Cass asked curiously.

Mat cracked a grin, sliding her hand into his as they walked out of the restaurant. “You’ll see.”

Two minutes of walking later and Cass was staring into the lights of Broadway. Even living only a few hours away, she had only been once before. The Lion King, in 5th grade. Her little sister Eliana was more of a theatre kid than Cass; field hockey and lacrosse kept her too busy in high school, any spare time she had between sports and work study was spent spending time with friends or reading old books. Eliana was four years younger than her, and when she got the lead in Heathers, Cass had never been happier to live only twenty minutes away from home. El killed it, she got to have a night at home, and was able to make pancakes with her mom in the morning. It was a win-win-win scenario. But Cass still loved musicals, listened to soundtracks while she studied, tried to make the drive once a year to Boston — Eliana was at BU — to see a winter or spring show.

So when she was suddenly looking up at the ten-foot-tall poster for Waitress, her mouth kept opening and closing like a fish. “Do you like it?” Mat asked hesitantly. “We can find something else to do if you’re not into it, I know —”

Cass cut him off, squeezing his hand tightly and standing on her tippy toes to press a kiss to his jaw. “It’s amazing, Mat. I just didn’t know what to say. I still don’t, really. This is such an...unexpected gift. But I love it.” Mat relaxed. He genuinely was nervous about the choice; her roommates had told him that she liked the soundtrack and she had recommended that Sara Bareilles album to him way back in October, but he didn’t want to assume that meant she’d want to see it live. Mat was glad that he was wrong.

Mat gently pulled the tickets out of his coat pocket, flashing them to the usher and handing Cass’s to her. “You ready for a show?”

---

“So, what did you think?” Cass asked as they walked out of the theater.

“I liked it!” Mat said. And he really had liked it. Some of the music definitely confused him, and he didn’t understand how quick changes were physically possible, but it was good. “Earl’s a class-A dick, though. Jenna’s much better off without him.”

Cass nodded. “Correct.”

March 4 (thurs)

Cass glanced down at her watch, making sure it was a good time to call. It was just after 6 in New York, which would mean it was...5 in Winnipeg? Was that right? Mat probably hadn’t gotten to the arena yet, or if he did, it was more likely dinner than training or warmups. Clicking on his contact, it rang for less than ten seconds before Mat picked up.

“Hey babe! You good?” It wasn't per se unusual for them to call each other — especially during road trips, they tried to talk or FaceTime every day — but it was usually Mat who called first, and usually just after games. So it was understandable that he was a little confused.

Cass giggled. “I’m good, really good. Got some good news, just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Awww,” Mat teased, “you loooove me.”

Cass didn’t really blush, but if she did, her cheeks would be scarlet. “Yes. I do. Shut up.”

Mat let out a laugh. “Just teasing you, babe. Good news, eh? What kind? Did you hear back from any of the places you applied yet?”

“No,” Cass huffed. “Not that.” She had sent out her résumé to somewhere around ten different firms and nonprofits, mostly in New York, but some as far south as D.C. and as far north as Boston. She had also sent in an application for a clerkship at the Supreme Court months back as some sort of pipe dream, but hadn’t heard anything back and had long since abandoned it as a lost cause. “I’ve done a few interviews, but nothing permanent. It’s still pretty early, though.” And that part was true — out of everyone in her circles back at school, there were maybe a handful who already had jobs lined up after graduation, most of them having evolved from summer associate positions they’d taken with some highbrow firm in Manhattan. Or D.C. One was even going to London to do something very intellectual-sounding with trade negotiations.

“I know you’re probably a little nervous, and I totally get that. But don’t worry, Cass. You’re incredible and so smart and so qualified and someone’s going to see that, even if it takes a little longer than expected.”

“Thanks,” Cass said, breathing out deeply and smiling softly. Mat was getting good at reading her, so good that he could tell when something was bothering her even without being face-to-face. And he gave damn fine pep talks.

Mat cleared his throat. “So. Good news?”

Cass screwed up her face. “Good news. Right. I just got out of the office, and you know how I said I was almost done with my hours?” It had taken Cass longer than usual to finish her experiential requirement, since nearly all of her peers got it knocked out in a summer and she, obviously, was a little more busy when it actually came to term time. “Mhm,” Mat responded. “I just got done with the last of them today!”

Mat was confused. “So...your good news is that you’re finished? I thought you liked working with Chris?”

“Right, yeah, I do.” Cass tried to backtrack. I should have explained. “Chris told me I’m welcome to stay on, and I’m going to. I genuinely like what I’m doing. Since I’m not doing it for school anymore, he put in a request for a status change with HR, and it just got approved. So,” she paused for dramatic effect, “the good news is that now I’m getting PAID.”

“Awesome!” Mat said. “You’re going to be the one making the big bucks now.”

“I’m making 16 dollars an hour. It’s barely above minimum wage, but it’s nice to finally get something back.”

Ten minutes later, after they had hung up, Mat leaned back in his hotel bed. He really was proud of Cass, unbelievably so, but hadn’t yet admitted to himself just how nervous he was. Not about their relationship, really, but about where things were headed. He absolutely saw them together as a long-term thing and at least from what Cass made it seem like, so did she. But they hadn’t really spoken about where they saw this whole thing going, or what it would look like, or really anything beyond vaguely discussed plans for the summer after her graduation. The uncertainty wasn’t really concerning him. Mat’s new contract locked him in through 2026, so he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. And he wouldn’t want to, he loved hockey and loved New York and loved his team.

Cass was a whole different story. She was probably the smartest person he’d ever met, and Mat knew that she could and would be able to go just about anywhere for a position. She didn’t have to stay in New York if she didn’t want to. And sure, New York was a pretty good place to be a lawyer — it didn’t take a genius to know that — but the worry kept popping up in the back of his mind that she’d get an incredible offer somewhere like California or Chicago or even somewhere international and would leave the city. Leave him. Mat would never dream of holding Cass back from her dreams. It would be a dick move and she’d worked way too hard to let everything go to waste. But the idea of doing something long distance, like true long distance, scared the shit out of him. It wasn’t just that he’d miss the sex or seeing her in the stands at games or early morning coffee dates, but Mat thrived on closeness, he thrived on intimacy of all kinds. It would terrify him to have to be away from someone who meant so much to him for so long. But this was Cass, his Cass, and if he’d go through it for anyone, it would be for her.

I’m overthinking this, Mat thought, as he flipped his phone over and over in his hands. Don’t make up problems where there are none.

March 13 (sat)

Cass tapped her fingers nervously as she walked through the doors of the Islander’s practice rink. It was family skate, and Cass couldn’t help but feel like she didn’t quite belong.

“There you are!” Mat said, his bag slung over one shoulder as he greeted her with a kiss. “You ready? I know Tito and Paige are already down there and they’re starting to get on the ice.”

“Yep!” Cass said brightly, forcing a smile and grabbing his hand a little too quickly.

Mat raised one eyebrow. “Alright, what is it?”

Cass dropped the face. “It’s just...this seems different than all of the other things I’ve gone to. It’s not like when I’m in the box at games or we go out with the team or I hang out with the girls when you guys are on a road trip. It’s like,” she let out a huff, “this is small. This is close. This is meant for family, wives and kids, and I’m not...I’m not family. I’m your girlfriend, sure, but…” She trailed off.

Mat squeezed her hand. “I plan on keeping you around for a long time, Cass. You’d better get used to it. And besides,” he said, looking at her softly, “wives have to start somewhere.”

Luckily, Cass didn’t have time to get too into her head, because she was suddenly engulfed in a bear hug from Paige. “I know we got coffee on Monday, but it’s been too long, Cass. I swear, you’re working too hard.”

Mat chimed in. “Tell me about it.” Cass swatted at him. “She’s been studying and editing and sending in her résumé to every office she can get her hands on.” He sat his chin on top of her head, arms crossing in front of her chest to hold her hands.

“Alright, Mr. Clingy,” Cass giggled, twisting her head to look up at Mat.

“But you looove your clingy boyfriend,” Mat whined, leaning down and softly kissing Cass.

She scrunched her nose. “Regrettably so.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “You ready to go out on the ice?”

“Yeah.” Cass nodded, taking a pair of skates from the rack. By the time she had unlaced her boots and set them to the side, Mat had already tied his hockey skates, an extra pair he kept in his practice bag.

“Let me,” Mat said, gently taking the skates and kneeling down in front of her.

Cass rolled her eyes, but her cheeks heated all the same. “If you insist,” she said, holding her left leg out.

“Okay, Cinderella,” Mat chuckled, holding her ankle for support as he wiggled her foot in, pulling the laces tight and tying them. “Double knots are more secure,” he said, blushing, as he finished the second skate.

“You’re cute when you blush,” Cass said, pinching Mat’s cheeks, which only made him go more scarlet.

He straightened out the knot, reaching out a hand so Cass could stand up. She steadied herself on the skates. “How much skating have you done?” Mat asked as he led her to the door.

Cass shrugged. “A little? I went a few times as a kid and the girls and I go to Rockefeller Center around Christmas every year, but not a ton. Skating’s an expensive enough sport as it is, and my parents were already having to deal with coming up with the fees for Noah before he started working.”

Mat grimaced. “Yeah, I get that. I hate it, how cost prohibitive the sport is, and I try to help out back home when I can, but knowing that there’s so many kids who love the sport and could be so good,” he took a tense breath, “but aren’t able to because their families don’t have the means. It’s really shi—” He cut himself off, noticing his teammates’ children skating around. “It sucks.”

“It does.” Cass nodded. “But I know you have a good heart, and I know you’re helping where you can.” She gave a half-smile as they stepped onto the ice, her hand gripping his forearm as she tried to find her balance on the slick surface, which had been passed over by a zamboni right before the group’s arrival. “Wipe that smile off of your face,” she said, sticking her tongue out.

“Yes ma’am,” Mat said with a grin, pulling her along.

---

After an hour or so of skating, Cass had gotten the hang of it enough to where Mat was good to step off the ice for a few minutes and talk to some of the boys. “They have goldfish,” he had mentioned. “I think the snack table’s supposed to be for the kids, but I’m not above theft in situations like these.” So Cass skated around with Paige, Lauren, and some of the other WAGs, nearly all of whom were much, much better skaters than herself.

“For someone who grew up on hockey, you’d think this would be way easier for me than it is,” Cass grumbled, tentatively pushing off from the sideboards.

“You’ll get it eventually. I believe in you,” Paige said, poking her cheek.

She grimaced. “Hopefully. I can see the Athletic’s morning headline now: ‘Cassidy Cabrera Shaw, Girlfriend of 2018 Calder Trophy Winner Mat Barzal, Falls on Face While Attempting to Skate.”

“Sue them,” Paige suggested.

Cass laughed. “That’d be nice, wouldn’t it? Wish I could.” She stuck her hands in her jacket pockets. “No grounds for defamation if it’s true.”

“Laws are dumb.”

“They can be,” Cass admitted, looking over to the bleachers. “You want to go get drinks? I think I saw Whiteclaws in the adult’s cooler, and I know how you feel about those.”

Paige was already halfway across the rink. “Only if all the limes haven’t been taken!”

Cass shook her head, turning like Mat had taught her and skating over to the benches. Paige had gone over to sit with Anthony, a lime Whiteclaw successfully in her hand, and it took Cass no time to find Mat. He was sitting in the second row next to some of the other guys, and he was holding a baby. A very cute, very small baby. She gingerly made her way over to the group, catching Mat’s eye. He beamed at her as she took a seat next to him.

“And who’s this little cutie?” She asked, smiling at him.

“This is Milo,” Mat said softly, turning him slightly so she could wave at him.

Cass absentmindedly remembered asking whose son it was — an offseason trade from Colorado, she vaguely recalled processing the contract at work — but she really couldn’t say which one. But she stroked Milo’s face with one finger, puffed out her cheeks at him, and suddenly he was in her arms and everything else fell away. She bounced him for a few minutes, easily falling back into her old routine — she was an older sister, after all — before handing him back to Mat, who was clearly having some separation anxiety.

Lauren sat on the edge of the bench, gently touching Cass’ shoulder with Collins on her hip. “He looks really good like that, doesn’t he?” She asked. Cass’ cheeks burned. She didn’t know anyone had seen her looking over at Mat and Milo. “Yeah, he does,” she said, a soft smile crossing over her face.

March 26 (fri)

A steaming cup of tea in her hands, Cass threw her head back against the couch, knocking her reading glasses askew. She straightened them with a huff. There were two days until the deadline for the law review, and she still had two articles to get through for last-minute edits and spelling checks. It was just past 11, which normally wouldn’t have been all that late for her, but she had been staring at her computer for hours and it was beginning to take a toll. She had been at the library until 8 or so, making more than one trip to the coffee cart in the lobby before she realized that she wasn’t going to get anywhere sequestered away in a cubicle on the fourth floor. The Islanders were playing that night, so Cass shot Mat a text that she was headed over, packed up her bags, and headed over.

He had just given her a key the week prior, and it was her first time using it. Even though he constantly told her she was welcome to go over, whether he was there or not, she had more than her fair share of nerves as she jingled her keychain, thumbing over her apartment key and mail key and car key and key to the house back in Connecticut before she opened the door. She set the kettle to boil and grabbed the little-used box of English Breakfast from the cabinet before crashing on the couch, where she had been pretty much ever since, save for a bathroom break after a thrilling review of a paper on recent intellectual property rulings of the 2nd Circuit Court.

The doorknob turned and Mat walked in, shower-damp hair, still clad in his gameday suit with his duffel slung over his left shoulder. “Hey, babe,” he said, dropping the bag and walking over to the couch to plant a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “Still at it?”

She nodded ruefully, rubbing her eyes. “Yeah. I ordered takeout earlier in case you’re hungry, there’s an extra gyro in the kitchen,” she pointed to a bag on the counter, “and they threw in free baklava if you’re still hungry.”

His eyebrows perked. “Baklava?” Cass had discovered early on in their relationship that hidden beneath his curated meal plans from the team nutritionist and smoothie kits was a surprisingly committed sweet tooth. She was a stress-baker, and Mat had been more than willing over the past few months to serve as her taste tester for cookies, pies, and anything in between.

Cass giggled. “Yeah. Better get it before I steal the last piece, though.”

Mat returned later with the pastry on a napkin, shrugging off his suit jacket and collapsing onto the cushion beside her. “Anything else interesting happen today?”

Cass shrugged her shoulders. “I had yoga in the morning like usual, which was fun. I tried a hot yoga class today, though, and you would not believe how much I sweat. It hurt my soul.”

“No pain no gain, baby,” Mat chimed in. Cass rolled her eyes at him.

“But then I had law review and my Entertainment Law seminar before I headed over to the office. Pretty normal, they had me looking over some leasing agreements for the next season. Called my grandma, she’s shipping my serape stole over next week and needed my address,” Cass added.

“Serape stole?”

Cass adjusted her position on the couch so she was facing Mat. “It’s a Mexican thing. You know how graduation gowns usually have stoles for the school or whatever?” Mat nodded. “It’s pretty common to have cultural ones too, Black students will often wear what’s called a kente cloth stole and Mexican and some other Latinx students have serape stoles. Give me a sec,” she said, grabbing her phone and scrolling through her photos. “Here’s a graduation photo of me and the girls from UConn, Ryanne’s in her kente stole and I have mine.”

Mat looked bewildered. “Why are you wearing so many of them?”

Cass laughed, realizing which photo she pulled up. “Okay, fair enough. So there’s the normal school one on the bottom, then I had one for the honors program, then on top of that is the one from my sorority, then on top of that is the serape. Most of the other photos it’s just one or two, like in the ones when I’m with the sorority or the Mexican Student Association or whoever. We thought it would be fun to take one where we’re just drowning in stoles and leis. Made us feel fancy.”

“You do look very fancy,” Mat said, leaning his head on her shoulder. “You also look very tired, Cass. You need to go to sleep.”

Cass scrunched up her nose. “I’ve only got the two papers left to look over, and I’d really like to get them done before I head back. Get them all knocked out, y’know?”

“Stay here,” Mat said easily, as if it wasn’t even a question. “Stay here, you can finish reviewing them in the morning. Plus, I’d feel a lot better if you weren’t taking the subway alone at half past 11.”

Cass sighed. He had a point. “Fine,” she said slowly, “but you have to promise to wake me up if I don’t get out of bed by 8. Okay?”

Mat gently took her laptop, setting it on the coffee table. “Okay. Now go take a shower and hop into bed, pretty girl. You’ve had a long day.”

“Thanks,” Cass said, smiling gratefully and padding down the hall to the bathroom. Shedding her clothes, Cass stepped into the shower, expecting to use Mat’s Old Spice shampoo — which, to be fair, didn’t smell half bad — when a white floral bottle caught her eye. She had mentioned offhand once that she was picking up a new bottle of shampoo, and Mat must have been listening more than she gave him credit for. Because, without asking, he had gotten one too.

#hockey imagine #hockey writing #nhl imagine #nhl writing #mat barzal #mathew barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal imagines #nhl #nhl imagines #nhl smut #hockey #hockey smut #hockey imagines #New York Islanders #islanders #islanders imagines #islanders writing

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radramblog · 3 years

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Game of the Year 2020...?

Ive scrolled the list of games that came out this year to see what my GOTY ended up being, but turns out the only game I played in 2020 that released that year was, uh…….

Fucking good game but like I’m not gonna hand it GOTY by default (That goes to Hades, based solely impressions from other people). Actually, I’m not handing out any awards, really. So I guess I’m just gonna go over a bunch of the other games I did play last year, regardless of whether or not they came out then.

Hyrule Warriors: Definitive Edition

A mate got me this for my birthday in December 2019, and unlike the other games I got then (Kirby Star Allies which I burned through that month and Octopath which I still haven’t played) I spent a fair few hours playing it last year. This was before the sequel was announced, and also a little bit after the fact- figured I should try and finish one before playing the other. Unfortunately, I have yet to purchase Age of Calamity nor finish Definitive Edition, because the former is expensive and the latter is expansive. Holy shit there’s so much fucking content in this game. I don’t think I ever will finish it to be honest, though despite the repetitiveness it never really felt boring to me. It’s the only Warriors/Musou game I’ve played, and I’d be interested in trying others based on the experience.

(I’m not playing Fire Emblem Warriors though fuck that)

Pokemon Sword and Shield DLC: The Isle of Armor and the Crown Tundra

Sword and Shield felt somewhat lacking on release, and while the DLCs released this year did much to try and fix this its still a bit shit that it required an extra paycheck out of you to get the full game- outside of outsourced mobile games like Go and Shuffle, or services such as Bank or Home, Pokemon has never actually had DLC/microtransactions, so this was a little disappointing. I’d argue that it absolutely wasn’t worth it when Isle was released, as fun as the content was it was again, lacking. Crown Tundra I would argue exceeded my (admittedly low) expectations, however- the new and returning mons are cool and welcome (I despised Calyrex’s design on first reveal but their behaviour in story redeemed it more than enough), and the Max Lair Adventure offered a surprisingly replayable romp that has been great to just try and grind out with friends. I can’t say I’d recommend the DLC pack though- only if because you’ve probably made up your mind already as to whether or not you’re getting it, or this doesn’t apply to you at all. I could also put basically every main series Pokemon game on here, seeing as I’m pretty sure I nuzlocked every region at some point during the year, but I don’t want to make this *that* long.

Super Smash Bros Ultimate Expansion Pass

Smash is still Smash. I don’t find myself playing it much on my own, and even in Perth get-togethers weren’t super common last year. As neat as the DLC characters released this year are for the franchise as a whole, none of them convinced me to play significantly more than usual, and I can’t wrap my head around half of them, so.

Also, I’m still salty about Byleth, and I actually really liked Three Houses, it was my first FE game. Why the fuck wasn’t it Claude????

Rivals of Aether

On the other hand, in the last few months I’ve found myself grinding match after match of Rivals with one of my best mates and the game is a fucking blast, holy shit. I still haven’t bought it for myself, but its basically 100% of the reason I have played 0 smash for the last few months since we’re too busy mashing Orcane vs Ranno over and over and not really getting tired of it. It requires a specific type of person to get into it, but if you’re in that group then its just an excellent game.

VA-11 Hall-A

I first played VA-11 Hall-A (Vallhalla, since typing that is a pain) by pirating it and playing it on my laptop in the dead of night.

It quickly became one of my favourite games of all time.

When the Switch port dropped, I felt obliged to actually pay for it this time around, since the developers had more than earned my money. And then I replayed it again, playing it on my switch in the dead of night (At least this time I had the excuse of being a nightshift worker). With the sequel unfortunately delayed into 2021, it might be time to run it back once more or drag more of my mates into Glitch City since I already forcibly exposed a few of em to it.

The post-credits title screen is still my phone background.

Fallout: New Vegas

I don’t really have much to say about FNV that hasn’t been said already, especially considering HBomberguy’s recently released video, but it is also on my top 5 list and I only got around to playing Lonesome Road and Dead Money this year. Also went out of my way to 100% achievement complete the game on Steam, which I believe is the first time I’ve done that for a game.

Zero Escape Series (Nine Hours Nine Persons Nine Doors, Virtue’s Last Reward, Zero Time Dilemma)

The Danganronpa series’ less colourful sibling, Zero Escape was a series I finally got around to finishing after having borrowed a friend’s copy of VLR back in high school and playing it wrong due to not deleting his save file (oops,). I think VLR remains my favourite, and I really hope the series continues at some point (unlikely as it seems now) considering how ZTD missed the mark pretty hard. The first 2 games are still excellent mystery games and a lot of fun, though you do need somewhat of a tolerance for words.

A Hat in Time

Oh god this game is so fucking cute. Also, just an excellent platformer. Is the DLC still on sale? I should buy that.

Fallout 4

Its just not New Vegas. It just isn’t. I really tried with this game, I really did. The gunplay is great, modding and building shit is fun, but its just not the same.

The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past

A couple years ago I bought a SNES Mini, but until 2020 I didn’t really have a convenient way of playing it seeing as my monitor didn’t have an HDMI port. But now I do have one with one, so I got to start playing this classic! And then stopped because of uni. Should finish that, probably.

Pokemon Super Mystery Dungeon

Shit Keara I still have your copy sorry I’ll get back to it :<

Pokemon Stadium

I also managed to get my N64 up and running, and despite being the wrong region for most of the games available in local shops, I somehow managed to get Stadium for a great price. Got to dig out my old Red cartridge and anything. Fuck me though, this game is brutal. Seriously, Gen 1 battle mechanics are tough to deal with at the best of times, having to do battle after battle with said mechanics without losing is just nuts. I still haven’t managed to get Round 2 unlocked.

God, fuck you Blaine. Goddamn fire spin Rapidash motherfucker.

Super Mario 64 Speaking of, I managed to pick up a Japanese cartridge of SM64, complete with BLJ glitches and 3 entire save files. After much effort, I managed to actually get it working, and spent most of the night of Christmas getting smashed and trying to beat Bowser in the Fire Sea. I played a lot of the DS remake as a kid, and I feel like an idiot for struggling as much I did with the original.

This is all of course a buildup to the fact that I was lying about not assigning a GOTY. Because there is only one N64 game in my small collection deserving of Game of the Year, because its deserving of Game of the Year every year since its 1999 release.

BEETLE ADVENTURE RACING MOTHERFUCKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER

#ramble #video games #retro games #pokemon #for real tho beetle adventure racing is actually good #mario kart who?

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