#but sometimes it takes enormous efforts to not just let it all drift apart | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

latte-fairytaekwoon · 3 years

Text

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓞𝓯 𝓙𝓪𝓷𝓮 (𝓨𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮!𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰) 𝓡𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒! 𝐾𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝑌𝑒𝑜𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑔 (𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧)/ 𝐴𝑐𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 (𝐹𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒)

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡, 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝑆𝑚𝑢𝑡, 𝐻𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑟/𝑃𝑠𝑦𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑇ℎ𝑟𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟, 1930'𝑠 𝐸𝑟𝑎.

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 4.3𝐾

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑏𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑠𝑒𝑥𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑓𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑝𝑠𝑦𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑠, 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑖𝑎, 𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑒/𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑠, 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒, 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ, 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑠 '𝐽𝑎𝑛𝑒'.

𝑇𝑎𝑔 𝐿𝑖𝑠𝑡: @hanatiny @yunhofingers @multidreams-and-desires @aixy-hpsa

"𝐴𝑠 𝐼 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑎𝑔𝑒, 𝐴𝑠 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑦, 𝐼 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒, 𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝐽𝑎𝑛𝑒..."- 𝐵𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐵𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛

ೋ❀❀ೋ═══ •• ═══ೋ❀❀ೋ

The dark and eerie dense fog that shrouded around the somber and serene graveyard felt as cold as the lifeless bodies that now layed under the soft brown earth. Sculpted angels, white crucifixes, and even bells served as ornaments for some of the tombstones and burial grounds that were meticulously scattered throughout the cemetery. Underneath shadow of the clouds that darkened the daylight, with only slight slivers of rays from the sun piercing through slight cracks as his guide, the handsome male with skin as pale as death itself and a face that seemed to be sculpted in heaven took slow and heavy steps, ignoring all other distractions around him, including the rustling of leaves, a tiny woodland creature scurrying past him or even the distant noises of the groundskeeper......or body snatchers.

None of that mattered to him, his gaze was only focused on the magnificently sculpted stone that he was now standing in front of. He let out a heavy sigh, tears held back as his hand gently grazed upon the letters that had been beautifully engraved into the hard block.

Jane Bryan~ 1917-1939

Sinking to his knees, he stared at the cold hearted reality that he was now living in, unable to feel anything but a hollow and aching void inside his body as his dearly beloved soulmate had been merciless torn apart from his side, before he ever got the chance to confess his deep love and admiration for her.

Reaching into the inside of his dark grey trenchcoat, he pulled out a crimson red journal, the sides of the pages that had once been white, were now more of a light beige color that had come as a result of time, the once smooth pages now somewhat wrinkled up from the constant use it had been given. He skipped all the meaningless first entries, having already read and re-read them many times in the sanctuary of his and comfort of his home, it wasn't anything that most of the public didn't already know. The motivation and driving force of why she chose her career path in the first place, the struggles and poverty she faced at the beginning, and finally her sudden breakthrough and rise to fame. Although many would argue that had it not been for that, he would have never found out about her and would have never even spared a glance at her.....

But Yeosang knew that was all blasphemous accusations that had absolutely no foundation. From the beginning, probably even before his own birth, he already desired and yearned for her. He was destined to be with her....

But alas, fate was cruel to strip him of his hope and chance at happiness, with nothing more than a few pages to help him endure these past days that were nothing but a torment to him.

Finally, coming to the section that truly mattered, he began recounting all the events and scenes that had elapsed over the past year......

One that ended in tragedy.

ೋ❀❀ೋ═══ •• ═══ೋ❀❀ೋ

"My lady, these just arrived for you."

Looking at her sharply dressed maid through her vanity mirror, the diva smiled and gesture for her to place them on the dresser next to her. After dismissing her maid, the girl put down the hairbrush that had been thoroughly combing through her [insert color] hair, the locks at the very end slightly turned outward from the previous curling session they had endured the day before. Scanning through the series of letters and gifts her charming and adoring fans had sent to her, a bright smile was plastered on her face, enthusiastic about getting to open them and read their comforting and heartwarming words they had to say for her.

As she came across the last stack, her heart dropped when she felt the familiar feeling of the yellow parchment envelope that she had been so used to receiving by now. As per custom, two rose buds had been carefully tied to it, one pure white and the other crimson red. Her thumb brushed across the seal that had the letters "KY" imprinted on it, waiting to be broken off so she could peer into the nearly poetic phrases of adoration that would often spill out from the page.

Taking a deep breath, and against her better judgment, she broke off the seal and with shaky hands, she held up the paper and began reading it aloud:

"My dearest Jane,

You looked absolutely ethereal in your latest film. As soon as it was released, I was sitting in front of my television, watching in earnest every little detail, every wave of your hands, every step your feet took and every smile you had. Words alone cannot fully describe how incredibly beautiful and mesmerizing you are..........

In short, to this day I still remain your most loyal and greatest admirer.

-KY."

It would have been nothing more to another love letter to her, had the postscript at the bottom of every page not sent shockwaves coursing down her spine.

"P.S, have you considered wearing more light blue? The chiffon blouse and skirt set you wore last week while walking through the gardens looked ethereal on you love."

Her hands dropped the paper, letting it fall directly onto the marble floor. With shaking pupils, her gaze wandered across her room, inspecting every nook and corner, delusion setting in as she felt as though she were being watched by a pair of eyes she could hardly make out. Cautiously standing up, one of her hands wrapped around the yellow silk robe she was wearing, fingers delicately tightening the belt that held it in place. Through dragged out steps, she went to the large and lonely window that looked directly out into the grounds of her enormous house, the many rose bushes and apple trees could still be seen from the moonlight cascading down on it.

As she looked out into the night view, her eyes scanning around for any unusual sightings. She could swear there was somebody moving across the fields, slowly getting closer and closer towards her......she was certain she could make out a slim yet powerful silhouette of an unknown male charging straight at her, hands soon to be pressed against the cold glass....

With a sharp gasp, she quickly drew the long curtains to cover the window, nearly falling backwards onto the floor from how fast she backed away from the window. Through shaky breaths, she quickly pulled back the covers and practically jumped into the mattress of her king sized bed. Tucking herself under the warm embrace of the cotton blankets, she looked over at the lamp by her bedside table. Hesitantly, she reached out to turn it off, but then decided against it. Instead, she opened the drawer in the dresser and pulled out her most trusted and confidential friend, accompanied by its black inked partner. Opening up to the next blank page, she began scribbling down words in an effort to calm her mind and hopefully ease her into a deep slumber.

ೋ❀❀ೋ═══ •• ═══ೋ❀❀ೋ

The snowy haired male writhed around in his bed, tossing and turning constantly, eyes shut tight with a burning desire to drift off into one of his many dream escapades so he could see his beloved soulmate once again. It was the only thing keeping him sane during the days he had to spend locked up in his home, unable to go wander off into the great estate and spend his day accompanying his beautiful lady as she strolled through her gardens, often attending to the flowers herself because she couldn't trust anyone else to treat them with the tenderness that she meticulously bestowed upon them.

Letting out a pained whimper, he turned his head and coughed slightly into his mouth. His throat was sore, chills running through his body and a tiny trail of mucus sometimes needing to be wiped off his nose, all a result of the the nights he spent outside her window, watching it intensely until the light inside turned off, and even after that, he'd still stay an hour or two more, just in case she was awoken by another one of those terrible nightmares that often frightened and terrorized her, unwilling to let her rest.

He was in agony, he hadn't seen his love in 4 days and it was excruciatingly painful for him not knowing any news about her. Perhaps it was the hours without sleep he had gone through, perhaps his fever was making him get a lucid dream, or perhaps his mind was drifting off in vivid imagination, eyes finally closing......

The cold feeling he had endured was suddenly replaced by a warm body laying next to him, gentle fingers running themselves through his soft hair, earning a groan out of his lips. Opening his eyes, he was blessed by the sight of the most dazzling eyes known to mankind, plump and luscious lips curled into the most breathtaking smile that was aimed for him and only him.

"Jane......my dear Jane..."

One of her fingers pressed against his lips, hushing him quietly.

"I've missed you so much my darling." She admitted, eyes looking sad as her mouth formed into a tiny pout.

Cupping her face, he brought his own face close to hers, his nose nuzzling against hers, foreheads pressed against each other.

"I've missed you too my love."

Unable to hold back any longer, his lips hungrily sought after hers, his body shifting so that he was now hovering above hers. Her hands grasped at his neck, mouth parting to allow his wet muscle entrance inside. Once having been satisfied with that, he moved to her neck, planting wet and desperate kisses across her jaw, down her neck where a chain of purple blotches began to take form like one of the many chokers she was often donning. His hands kneaded at her soft and tender breasts that were covered by her silk nightgown, the pale blue color looking ethereal on her skin. In a rather flimsy manner, his veiny hands pulled the straps off her shoulders and began to remove the article of clothing from her body, the nightgown getting lost somewhere underneath the blankets covering them. He looked backed down as his eyes beheld her in her most beautiful form, completely bare and nude, nothing hidden away from his eyes that were practically ravishing her body already.

Stripping himself out of his own garments, he leaned back down, elbows resting on each side of her head as he sought out her lips once more, faint moans and gasps getting caught in his mouth as he slowly began to enter her, her walls stretching out to accommodate and welcome his thick length into her warm and velvet sanctuary.

"Yeosang..."

He let out a soft groan everytime she mentioned his name, prompting his thrusts to get faster and have her chanting his name over and over like a mantra until she was spilling herself all over his cock, his own sticky release following soon after, leaving them both in a state of bliss and ecstasy.

"I love you so much." His deep and husky voice whispered into her ear.

ೋ❀❀ೋ═══ •• ═══ೋ❀❀ೋ

Holding up the torn off page, his other hand lit one of the corners with the lighter he had brought with him, watching it slowly become engulfed in flames until it was nothing but nothing but another blackened ruin that now layed on the dirt underneath him, surrounded by many other companions that had been blazed up by the same fate. He let out a sigh and looked back at the tombstone in front of him.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why hide all your pain and suffering from me?........"

He stilled before speaking out the last part.

"And why could I not see it?"

He who watched over her constantly and studied everything about her, how did it never cross his mind that his sweetheart was living in constant fear and agitation from some unknown force that seemed to haunt her inside the walls of her own home? The very place where she was supposed to feel protected and safe? It made absolutely no sense. No matter how many times he read over the last few pages, he could not find one clue or detail alluding to the cause of her phobia.

"The place I once called my haven, has now become my hell, my place of torment. I can't eat, sleep, lounge around nor do any other activities without feeling trapped......I see them....hear them... even as I drift off into the night, the times where I can sleep for at least an hour or two, I can feel their very presence, watching over me. It's truly frightening..........

Where are you? And what do you want from me?"

He cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. Maybe he could have done something to help her, the lord and devil himself knew he'd do anything and go to any lengths for her. He'd live for her, die for her and even kill for her..............

And that was not mere talk, it was the honest truth.....

ೋ❀❀ೋ═══ •• ═══ೋ❀❀ೋ

"Miss Jane, I have drawn your bath and even added a few drops of the lavender scented oil to help you relax."

The old woman gently touched the girl's shoulder, her touch almost motherly like.

"Please miss....you haven't looked well lately...." Her maid was practically begging at this point.

Realizing she was right, the young woman got up from her couch.

"Thank you Grace. I'll be in in a minute." She assured her.

Her maid excused herself, dreading having to leave her alone for a few hours due to having to go out and fetch a few items for dinner. She was particularly apprehensive about leaving the dear girl alone given how fidgety and anxious she had been, her stress making her more and more agitated as the days went by.

Once she heard the front door shut, it seemed to resonate through her ears, realizing she was all alone.....

And yet she wasn't.

Stepping inside her luxurious bathroom, she untied her bathrobe, letting it drop onto the floor. For a moment, she had been refusing to bathe completely bare, uncomfortable at the thought that someone watching her. So she slowly dipped her foot inside, followed by the other, allowing her expensive nightgown to become soaked inside the bathtub. The lavender scent seemed to relax her body slowly as each minute passed. Her eyes started to get drowsy, all those sleepless nights finally getting to her as a deep fatigue took over her body, making her mind shut down immediately...

She woke up with a sudden gasp, eyes flying open. She was still inside her bathtub but for some reason, the water was all gone and she was completely dry, as if she had never taken a small soak inside.

Her home felt off, it was chillier than usual, and a very dark ambient seemed to be surrounding it. Cautiously slipping out of the tub, she walked out into the corridor and headed straight to her bedroom. She was about to go lay down on her bed, but something made her halt her steps and walk back. Turning her head, she looked over at her vanity dresser. Her eyes furrowed in confusion as her mirror no longer had the glass in it, it was nothing but a mere frame with wood where the reflective material should be.

"That's odd..." She thought to herself as her fingers touched the panel.

Reaching inside one of her drawers, she took out her hand held mirror and discovered it had been tampered with in the same manner as her vanity mirror. The glass was also missing.

Feeling a surge of panic at her home being invaded, especially after all the fretting about someone watching her at all hours of the day, she bolted out of her room and began ransacking through every guest room, bathroom and corner, but all the other mirrors in them were completely removed. Running down the stairs, she nearly tripped from how fast she was coming down them. Going towards the front door, she tried opening it, but it was bolted shut, the door handle wouldn't budge. She began to mercilessly pound on it, screaming for help as tears began fall down her face.

She felt a shadowy presence loom over her.....

Not daring to turn around, she started running down the other corridor that would lead her into the living room where she'd usually attend to her guests. Slamming her hands on it, it opened with absolutely no resistance. As she stepped in, she noticed all the missing mirrors were all placed around the room. Walking closer and closer to them, she inhaled sharply as she stood in front of them.....

And her reflection was nowhere to be seen at all.

Her hand came up to touch her cheek, then forehead and other facial features. Her hands traveled down her neck then to her shoulders as she made sure she was definitely there. Her hand reached out to touch the mirror, confusion overwhelming her as she did not understand why there was no reflection of her at all.

"Don't worry, you may not see yourself, but I see you....and you're extremely beautiful."

She whipped her head around, trying to figure out where the voice came from.

"Who..who's there?" She demanded to know.

"Awww my dear little flower, do you not recognize me? After all the letters I sent you? I am after all your most loyal and greatest admirer."

Hearing those words sent her into a frenzy, nearly knocking down one of the mirrors when she stepped back so abruptly.

"Still don't know? Let me remind you..."

From out of the corner of her eye, she thought she caught sight of some figure moving through the room, reflected only by the mirror beside her.

"So nice of you to help the injured bunny that was in the garden, you truly are a kind hearted soul."

Her heart dropped as she recalled those words from a letter she had received months ago.

"Remember the necklace you were so sad to have lost while out in the gardens? I found it and am returning it to you."

Her body swiftly turned as she felt a gusty of wind past behind her, but there was nothing except the same mirror with both reflection of her, but instead a hand holding up the lost item that had been sent back to her along with the same two roses that were always sent.

"Is your wrist better now? I saw you pricked it while attending to your rose bush."

She let out a yelp when she felt something scratched along her skin. Looking down, she trembled as she saw blood pouring out from her wrist, much like the time she had accidentally cut herself, only this time the wound was deeper and the liquid pouring out was not red but instead a black color that had her turning pale.

"Stop! Leave me alone!" She cried out, making way back towards the door only to find that it wasn't there anymore, she was trapped inside that room of mirrors that still reflected nothing of her figure, but had a shadow silhouette pass through them from time to time.

"Remember when you actually wrote back to me? I still have the letter, your handwriting was so delicate, I could faintly smell the scent of that perfume you always wear."

"Shut up!" She begged the voice, feeling frantic as she began pushing over all the mirrors, letting them smash to pieces on the floor.

"You wrote 'please let it be the last time you write to me such contents.'......I couldn't imagine it, you actually wrote to me! To me, directly from you! The very first love letter you replied to me!" The voice let out a tiny giggle.

"Well then let this be the last reply! I hate you!" She declared.

There was silence for a brief moment, then the voice let out a tiny chuckle.

"Honestly? I don't mind if you say this love is the last time-"

"There's a fine line between love and hate, don't you get it?!" She cut them off, before her hands reached above her head, clutching her ears as she didn't want to hear anymore.

"As I said....I don't mind....I like that." They seemed to taunt her, their voice dangerously close to her now.

Whimpering in fear, she shut her eyes tightly, hoping to wake up out of the nightmare she was living.

"So now I'll ask....do you like that?" She felt someone's breath right on her skin.

"No!!!!"

Yelling as loud as she could, she punched her fists into the mirror in front of her, slicing more cuts into her skin as she shattered the glass in front of her, but not completely ruining it. Wheezing harshly, she looked up and saw a reflection in the mirror, but it wasn't her own.........

It was someone else's figure behind her, face as ethereal as an angel, but his eyes looked void of any emotions. Lips curling into a slight smile, she gasped as he wrapped a hand around her neck.

"I like that."

Before she knew it, a cold blade was swiftly dragged across her throat, slicing it open with blood splattering all over the mirror and onto the floor underneath her. She could no longer feel anything, her breath being taken right out of her....

The man's eyes were the last image she ever saw....

ೋ❀❀ೋ═══ •• ═══ೋ❀❀ೋ

Not being able to take it anymore, Yeosang managed to pry the window lock open. He was thankful that it was spacious enough to allow him to easily crawl inside. Landing with a soft thud, he ignored the pain on his right hip as he stood up, carefully looking around hoping to spot his dear beloved somewhere. He had neglected her for far too long, his illness consuming him for nearly a month and he was restless to see her again. Walking through the corridor, he went inside what he discerned to be her bedroom, already familiarized with the outside structure of the house. He did not find her there, but stumbled across a crimson red book that was placed on top of her dresser. Picking it up, he turned to the first page and immediately realized what it was. This was it, her most treasured secrets were now in the palm of his hands. He was about to start skimming through the first pages when he noticed the adjoining room's door was left ajar. Curiosity getting the best of him, he peeked inside and noticed it was a bathroom. He briefly scanned inside, not particularly amazed by anything...

Until his heart dropped when he saw familiar hair and an arm poking out of the bathtub.

He nearly busted the door down from how harsh he pushed it open. Dropping the diary onto the floor, his arms scooped up the frail and colorless body that was submerged inside the now cold water.

"Jane! Jane!"

He desperately called out to her, his hands shaking her rather forcefully, but to no avail. He looked at the woman he was holding with despair, his heart breaking as he realized she wasn't going to wake up anytime soon.

"No.....no my love!"

He cried in earnest as he held onto her lifeless body, unwilling to let go for a long time. His hand caressed her wet hair, lips placing small and gentle kisses across her face. He just couldn't believe that the love of his life was now gone...forever.

Hearing the front door open and her maid calling out, he looked back at his beloved one last time, placing a desperate and longing kiss first and last kiss on her lips.

"I love you.."

He whispered those words before letting go of her. Making sure to not leave the diary behind, he quickly snuck out of the window, carefully landing on the grass beneath him, running out into the woods surrounding her home and waited....

Waited to see what would happen next.

ೋ❀❀ೋ═══ •• ═══ೋ❀❀ೋ

His brown eyes looked over the newspaper article that was published not long after that horrible day:

"Famous celebrity actress found dead in her own home by her maid. Investigators say victim fell asleep in her bathtub and accidentally drowned. No foul play is suspected."

Tearing the article apart, he threw the ripped shreds onto the ground before picking up the torn pages he had removed from the diary. Burning the last of the pages he didn't want in there, he stood up and looked back at the tombstone in front of him. Placing the diary on top of it, he turned it to the last page and placed one of his favorite photos of her, followed by one of his own.

Finally now, he had a place in her diary.

Closing the diary, he finished by placing a white and a red rose, bound together with a black ribbon on top of it. Stepping back, he fell to his knees in front of the grave, his eyes glassy from the tears he was holding back. With no hesitation, he reached into his pocket and took out the revolver he had brought with him, specifically because he could not live without his Jane any longer.

"If I have to, I will put myself right beside you.."

Holding up the barrel next to head, he kept a calm and collected stare as his eyes never left the name engraved on the stone.

"Would you like that?"

Saying those final words, his finger pulled on the trigger..........

ೋ❀❀ೋ═══ •• ═══ೋ❀❀ೋ

167 notes · View notes

palbabor-writes · 4 years

Text

The Gap in the Door

1: Cold

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, SFW, imma say it’s rated T for Teenz, also F for fluff

Word Count: 4643

“Watch out. The gap in the door... it's a separate reality. The only me is me. Are you sure the only you is you?”

- P.T. by Kojima Productions

Notes: This thing is like, tooth-achingly sweet. For me, at least. Most of the other stories that I’ll post this week are gonna be nice and spooky/angsty, for that Halloween spirit, ya’ know? But, I figured let’s start with the treat before the trick 🎃

Not beta edited, so any and all mistakes are mine, and mine alone.

Cold /kōld/ noun

a common viral infection in which the mucous membrane of the nose and throat becomes inflamed, typically causing running at the nose, sneezing, a sore throat, and other similar symptoms.

You wake, sneezing.

Your throat protests the sudden spasm and you gulp heavily, a sharp pain echoing across the back of your mouth. Lifting a hand to your neck you sit up, your comforter falling from your shoulders. It’s dark and your apartment is quiet. Leaning back against your headboard you chance another swallow, flexing the muscles of your throat. You wince, as that same pain shoots down your neck. Fuck.

Groaning, you lift your legs from the sheets, pressing your feet to the floor. Great, just great, you think bitterly, padding out into your hallway. Since moving to Japan you had largely avoided any major allergies or colds. Looks like your time has run out.

Flicking on your bathroom light, you kneel by your sink, fingers tugging a large, plastic caddie toward you. You dig through the various bottles and containers, hunting for something that will ease the burning in your throat. The best you can come up with is an old box of Tylenol. Shit, you think, shaking out the last few pills, it looks like you’ll need to go to the store in the morning.

Clutching the precious pain relievers into your palm, you stalk into your kitchen, turning on the lights as you step onto the tiles. Snagging a glass, you pour yourself a serving of chilled water and slug the pills into your mouth, easing their passage with a quick swig. They sting as they travel down your throat and you wince again. There’s nothing you hate more than a sore throat. You always found yourself swallowing impulsively and frequently, as if the pain would miraculously dissipate with the next gulp.

Clinking the glass back on the counter, you open a few cabinets, hunting for your battered teapot and electric kettle. You’re just plugging in the kettle when you hear your front door creak open. You turn your head at the sound, fingers coiling beside you.

“Hello?” you call into the void, hoping it will answer back with Tomura’s raspy voice.

He steps into the living room, his eyes already narrowed, searching. “What are you doing up?” he asks, catching sight of your bedraggled form.

“Making tea,” you supply, switching the electric kettle on at last, muscles relaxing at his familiar presence.

“At 3 am?” he queries, shrugging his trench coat off his broad shoulders and heading toward your bathroom. You think about calling an answer after him, but another deep swallow has you rethinking that tactic. It would really suck to have a sore and hoarse throat come the morning.

You hear the shower running and shake your head. At least he’d asked you a few, cursory questions. That was nice. For him.

Lifting up on your toes, you snag your small collection of tea bags, selecting a light chamomile and replacing the tin. Your kettle is just starting to beep when Tomura returns. He’s shirtless, his new sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His hands are scratching at the back of his head, sending small droplets of water across your mats.

“So,” he continues, eyes lifting to yours, “what’s with the tea?”

“Sore throat,” you supply, plopping the tea bag into a mug and pouring the boiling water over the sachet, watching it rise to the lid. You lift the cup to your nose and sniff at the fragrant aroma.

“You sick or something?” he asks, pulling a stool out and perching against your counter.

“Looks like it,” you grouse, lifting the tea bag out of the hot water a few times, watching the color shift to a pleasing sun kissed, golden.

“Since when?” he’s watching you closely, his head cocked.

“I don’t know, since a few hours ago? Sometimes colds just happen. It’s not really something you can predict.” You look at him appraisingly and arch an eyebrow. “You look, um, a little confused about that. You one of those people who never gets sick or something?”

Tomura shrugs, eyes drifting from you as he props his chin on his palm. “Always had access to a doctor.”

You laugh and your throat tenses again, making you grimace. Tomura is unamused and rolls his eyes at your response.

“Ooh, that’s fancy. Not everyone can say that,” you tease, taking a hesitant sip of your tea, the scalding liquid easing some of the lingering pain. A silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. The two of you have long since adjusted to the other's presence.

“He worked with my...Sensei,” Tomura expands, his voice low, almost too hushed to hear. You blink, surprised he’s elaborating on his thoughts.

While he has opened up to you a little more in the last few weeks, he’s never told you much about his upbringing. You sensed that his childhood wasn’t, well, normal. How could it have been? His quirk was activated by touch. Even if he has a family, there was no way that that manifestation had gone, uh, well.

“So, a personal doctor, that’s...yeah, I guess you weren’t really given a chance to get sick,” you take another sip of your tea and remove the tea bag, slipping it into your trash.

Tomura is quiet again. His eyes are staring off into the distance, the red unfocused, as if he’s remembering something.

Sighing, you blow against your mug and walk past him, stepping onto the mats of your living room. He doesn’t follow, but he does shift his position, twisting so his back is braced against the counter, facing you again. You flop onto your couch and lean against the cushions, clearing your throat after you take another scorching drag of your tea.

“Did you...eh, do you have medicine?” Tomura asks. His face is stuck in an odd scowl. It’s like he isn’t sure of the words and he’s testing them out. You smile. “Yeah, I took some painkillers. I’ll have to get the stronger stuff tomorrow.”

His jaw tenses again and he huffs out a sigh. His eyes lift to study your face for a moment. “You should sleep,” he murmurs, a light blush creeping across his nose. You try to hold in your grin and distract yourself with another swig of chamomile.

“Once I finish this, I will,” you assure him, eyes bright with your unspoken appraisal. His stilted behavior is kinda adorable. Not that you would tell him that. God, no, that would be a mistake of enormous proportions. He’d likely ignore you for the rest of the night, if not longer.

He nods at your response and stands, crimson eyes still fastened onto yours. He opens his mouth, but shuts it quickly, another scowl etching across his lips. Without a word he pads into your hallway, heading toward your bedroom. You cough out a laugh and wash the remains of your mug back, savoring that warming sensation a final time.

You sit on your couch for a while, your mug cooling between your fingertips. Tomura never ceased to fascinate you. Every time you think you’ve got him figured out, he turns on a dime, his personality shifting, surprising you. Tonight is no exception. He seemed...softer somehow, like he’s unsure how to voice his uneasiness with the foreign predicament you’ve found yourself in.

You lift yourself slowly, stretching on your tiptoes as you stand. Placing your empty mug on your media cabinet, you walk toward your hallway, switching off the living room light as you pass.

Your bedroom is cool and dark.

You can just make out Tomura. He’s splayed across your sheets, his hands balled in that familiar manner, quirk contained by his clenched fists. His eyes open when you shut your door and he watches you step toward him. Your knees dip the mattress as you climb across the surface, stopping when you reach his side. You sink into the sheets, tucking your legs under the covers and pulling your comforter up to your chin.

Tomura tilts his head to rake his eyes over your exposed face. You smile weakly at him, another sharp stab of pain racing along your throat.

Your eyes are drifting closed when you feel his arms around you, tugging you toward him. While this isn’t unusual, Tomura has long since established himself as Japan’s number one fugitive and cuddler in your books, you move away from his embrace. He sucks his teeth loudly and you look up at his irritated expression.

“Stop. I don’t wanna get you sick,” you tell him, shaking your head at his ire. He pulls at you again, lifting you effortlessly against his bare chest.

“Tomura,” you warn, pushing against his hardened grip.

“Go to sleep,” he grunts, digging his nose against your hair, his arms still locked around your back, fingers curling back into his palms. You sigh and try your luck again, squirming against his hold.

“Ugh, really?” you question, letting out a sigh of agitation as your efforts are quelled once more.

“Really,” he mimics, only loosening his arms when he’s satisfied you won’t try to pull from him again. You shake your head and let your cheek fall against his skin, the reassuring warmth of him seeping into you. His arms lower to the sheets and he locks his chin over your head, his own eyes finally closing.

In a few minutes, both of you are asleep.

******

A strange smell lifts you from your disjointed dreams. Wincing, you sit up. For a moment, you think you might be feeling better, then a well timed sneeze has you second guessing that diagnosis. Nope, still sick. You run your tongue over your teeth and shift your comforter away.

You’re alone in your bed. Your fingers trace across the side of the sheets that Tomura slept on. They’re still warm, he must have only just gotten up. Standing, you swallow heavily again and sniff back the sinus pressure that rushes to your temples. As you dig in your closet for a jacket, you catch a whiff of that odd smell again.

Your nostrils flare as you try to deepen your inhales, but the passageways are clogged. It’s no use. You can’t get a read on it.

As you pass your living room, you give the space a quick glance. The late morning sun is peeking playfully through your screen door and your console is playing the main screen music on the tv. It sounds dull, like a bad recording. Yeah, you think, popping into your bathroom to snatch up the Tylenol bottle, you definitely have a head cold.

Ick. There’s that smell again.

You pause as you enter your living room, searching for the source. Tomura isn’t on your couch. While that isn’t odd, on the whole, it’s not exactly normal either. He’s usually in one of two places when he’s in your living room: perched at your counter, or lounging on your couch. You peek into your kitchen and feel your jaw drop.

Tomura is standing beside your stove. There’s a pot resting on one of the burners and he’s poking at the contents doubtfully, wooden spoon stirring intermittently. It takes you a minute to process this image. Blinking, you shake your head and look again. Nope, it’s him alright.

Tomura Shigaraki is standing in your kitchen and appears to be attempting to, uh, cook? As he stirs the spoon across the pan again that smell wafts up. Ah, cooking had felt a bit strong. Besides, you reason, Tomura burning something at least feels a little more...normal.

“What’s that?” you ask and he turns, his eyes flashing. He doesn’t offer any explanation, he just twists back to the stove, a dark scowl spreading across his face. You walk to him and lean over his side, peering into the pot.

It looks like he’s found some of your chicken stock. There’s a small assortment of vegetables mixed in, some carrots, badly chopped onions and what appears to be some frozen peas. You tilt your head, checking the level of the gas burner. Yeah, it’s set way too high.

You glance up at him, “I’m going to adjust the burner. It’s too hot, so it’s catching some of the carrots.” He grunts and steps away, a red blush seeping across his nose and cheeks.

With a practiced ease, you lower the heat to a simmer and lift the pot up for a moment, shifting the contents. “All in all, it looks pretty good,” you tell him, sniffling as the strong aroma hits your nose. “Mind if I put some more stuff in it?”

Tomura snorts at that and shrugs, his eyes not meeting yours. “Do what you want.”

You smile at him and lift a hand to his arm, fingers tracing along his bare skin. He sighs at your touch, his eyelids drifting closed, shuttering his tense embarrassment.

Stepping past him, you grab your glass from the night before and fill it with some chilled water, popping the final set of Tylenol into your mouth. He watches as you swallow the pills and cocks his head, his pearly hair falling to one side.

Setting the glass back against your counter, you give him another long look and walk to your fridge. You grab a few ingredients: cold chicken, celery and extra broth.

Tomura circles to you as you set your selections down, curious.

Moving to your dry goods cabinet, you snag some spices and seasoning: ginger, thyme, rosemary, turmeric, salt and pepper. You chop the chicken and grab a small skillet, firing up another burner and heating it until it loses its pink center. As the chicken is cooking you chop the celery and start to add the seasonings to Tomura’s original attempt. Once the chicken is cooked through, you toss it in and add a dash of extra broth, sliding a lid over the contents.

Tomura hovers close by as you work, his eyes shifting from you to your preparations, seemingly fascinated. You let out a shuddering cough and he steps closer. Involuntarily, you lean away from him and turn to scrub your hands clean at your sink. He waits, letting you dry your hands on a nearby cloth, before repeating his movements. He’s close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from him. You shiver at the sensation and look up at him.

He looks...concerned? You’ve not seen this expression before. His eyes trace your face, the red subdued, tamped down, the irises almost looks garnet.

“How long does it need?” he asks, jerking his head toward your stove. You tear your eyes from his and sniffle, another cough rising in your throat. “Should- hem- should be ready in thirty minutes, give or take. Don’t turn the heat up,” you warn, lifting your eyes back to his.

Tomura nods and tilts his chin toward your living room. “Go lay down,” he rasps, his voice low and even.

“I’m ok-” you begin, but he steps closer, peering down at you critically.

“Don’t argue with me (Y/N), go lay down.”

Smiling at his insistence, you lift your hands in supplication and he lets you pass him. Before you settle on your couch, you step back into your bedroom, snatching up a spare blanket from your closet. When you return to your living room, you’re surprised to see Tomura sitting on your couch. He gives you a passing glance and lets out a shallow breath, fixing his attention on your tv, using your console controller to select a game.

“I thought you wanted me to lay down,” you question, one brow arched. He looks back to you and his eyes narrow.

“I do, come on.”

You let out a coughing laugh, earning yourself a disgruntled glare. “Stop acting like an idiot,” Tomura grumbles, rolling his shoulders agitatedly.

Plopping beside him, you tuck your cold feet against the cushions. He grants you a quick peripheral glance and lifts his hands, clearing space for you on his lap. Your eyes widen and you swallow thickly, the pain in your throat momentarily forgotten. Well, that’s a, um, different solution.

Tomura heaves a heavy sigh at your hesitation and you can feel his frustration rising. Not wanting to provoke him further, you quickly lay down, stretching your feet out and gingerly resting your cheek against his thigh.

Tomura tenses for a moment, his sudden movement entirely involuntary. You twist your head at the tremor but he stills your motion, leaning over you, his white hair curtaining the two of you.

“Sleep,” he grumbles, his eyes resting on yours, the red glowing in the bright light. You nod silently and he pulls away, refocusing on his game. Your eyes drift closed and you shrug your blanket higher, savoring the warm, content sensation that is pouring into you.

You must have passed out pretty quickly.

The next thing you remember is someone lifting your foggy head and then everything is blissfully blank again. It’s not until you hear a gravelly voice calling your name that you stir, eyes bleary, wincing against the afternoon sun.

Tomura is sitting, cross legged, in front of you, a bowl of soup resting in his four fingered grip. He’s redressed, his usual black shirt and pants dark against your mats. You sit up, the heels of your palms pressing into your eyes, a sharp pain hammering against your head.

Tomura’s red gaze fills your vision as you blink back your exhaustion. He lifts the bowl, re-focusing your attention. “Eat,” he orders, shifting the vessel into your cold hands. You nod and lean back into the cushions of your couch. He stands and regards you, his eyes flicking across your pallid face.

“You said you needed medicine?”

You pause, lowering your spoon back to the chicken soup before answering. “Yeah, I only have painkillers...nope, actually, I just ran out of those too. I’ll go out after I eat-”

“No,” he replies, his voice sharp. You look up at him, your head already tilted in confusion.

“What do you mean no? I need something stronger than what I have...ick, had. Plus, this cough is only going to get worse if I ignore it. I can’t-”

“I’ll get it.”

You gape at him. “What?” you ask, bewildered, thinking your clogged ears have misheard him.

“I’ll get you the medicine,” he sighs, his eyes meeting yours.

“Tomura-” you begin, but he cuts you off, standing. “Eat (Y/N), I’ll be back.”

“You can’t, what if someone sees you. It’s like, 4 in the afternoon, you never go out in the-”

“Fuck, stop arguing with me. I know what I’m doing, I’m not fucking stupid. What do you think I do when you’re not around?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t want you to-”

He ignores your rebuttal. “You think I walk around with some giant sign with my name on it or something? No one is going to notice me.”

“But, you don’t-”

“Goddamn it,” he bites out, red eyes flashing dangerously. “Do you want the medicine or not?”

“I was going to say you don’t even know what I need, Mr. I’ve never been sick before because I had a personal doctor at my beck and call.” You don’t mean to snap at him, but he’s starting to piss you off and your head is pounding.

Tomura glares at you and he lifts his phone up for your inspection. You blink, eyes squinting at the bright screen. It looks like he’s done a little research while you were sleeping. There are several pictures of various cold medicines and each has a small line of text underneath, listing the uses and side effects.

“Pick something,” he growls. You can tell that he’s trying to contain his anger and you feel a little guilty for snapping at him. He is trying, you think sullenly.

“You didn’t need to do all that...I mean, ugh, sorry,” you amend and point to two of the medications. He twists the phone back to his face, tapping on the screen a few times before lifting it back to you.

“Just these?” He shows you your two selected medications and that the others have been removed from his digital notes. You nod, lowering your head and biting your lip.

You know that he must have his ways of getting around. But, you can’t help that nagging worry that itches along the back of your mind. No, he’ll be fine (Y/N), you think. Remember how hard it was for you to find him on the fucking internet? Without those creepy hands of his, he’s practically an enigma.

Tomura stands and looks down at you. “Eat,” he reiterates and you dutifully dip your spoon back into the broth. He gauges you silently, but turns when you lift the spoon to your lips, sliding the hot liquid into your parted mouth.

He lifts his trench coat from a kitchen stool and threads his arms into the sleeves, sparing you a final glance before pacing down your walkway, toward your front door. You hear it open and shut, the lock turning with a decided click. Sipping another spoonful of soup you decide that your additions to the broth at least took the edge off the burnt carrots.

******

Tomura returns an hour later, a plastic bag rustling in his grip. A light rain had started soon after he left, so his hair is damp, clinging to his shoulders. He shrugs off his soaked trench, leaving it in your hallway, knowing you dislike wet clothing dripping on your living room mats.

You must look worse, because he eyes you gravely before stalking into your kitchen.

You hear your fridge opening and closing and a glass tapping down on your counter. A few moments later, he’s back in front of you, pressing a glass of water into your hands.

“One is a syrup. The other is a pill,” he informs you, tossing the plastic bag beside you. You clear your throat roughly, “Thanks.” He sits next to you, his shoulders tense.

“You ok?” you ask, worry creeping into your subconscious. You’ve never seen him like this. It’s like he’s vibrating with some unseen energy. You know it’s likely a mixture of apprehension and concern. Still, they’re not emotions that you’d usually associate with him.

He seems unsure, and you can tell he’s trying his hardest to hide his discomfort from you. Naturally, in tried and true Tomura fashion, that means he’s going to be sullen. Annoyance and anger are usually his go-to moods when he’s uncertain.

“Are you going to take them or not?” he questions, his voice clipped, sharp. His eyes lift to meet yours, the red dark and turbulent.

Yeah, he’s definitely on edge.

Huffing out a soft exhale of exasperation, you flick your hand into the bag, pulling out the first box your fingers land on.

It’s the syrup. Twisting the lid off, you portion out the recommended dosage and slug the thick liquid back, shaking your head against the slimy texture and biting flavor. Tomura’s eyes widen at your reaction, the red losing some of that underlying aggression.

“Does it taste bad?”

Shrugging, you replace the bottle in its original box, slipping it back into the bag. “It’s disgusting, but it works. This stuff always makes me loopy, so, uh, sorry if I pass out on you.”

You lift the final box from the plastic. This medicine is mostly used for migraines. It should knock out that pounding in your head pretty quickly. Cracking the packaging open, you slip the pill bottle out and pop a single tablet into your mouth, taking a quick swig of water to wash it down. Sighing, you lean back again. Here’s to hoping that this stuff would clear this cold out of your system.

Tomura is still observing you. You turn to him, curling your feet under your legs. “You should eat. You’ve been dealing with me all day, so I know you haven’t,” you press, lifting a hand to his dripping hair, fingers trailing along the strands. He narrows his eyes at your order, but leans into your touch automatically.

“Fine, go lay down,” he commands, titling his face into your palm. You grin, amused by his duality, and trace your thumb along the scar on his lip. His gaze darkens, tempted, but he leans back and your hand falls to your lap.

“Go,” he insists, standing, waiting for you to do the same. You gather your blanket around your shoulders and do as he asks, shuffling past him and into your bedroom. The autumn sun is just beginning to slip beneath the horizon and its hazy glow bathes your room in a low light. You sigh, unhooking your blackout curtains and pulling them closed, dousing your room in a comforting darkness.

As you curl into your cool sheets you can hear Tomura moving around in your kitchen. With a low exhale, you burrow your face into your pillow, the medicine starting to course through your system, lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

******

You shift back into consciousness as Tomura turns you to him. He intertwines his long legs with yours, settling heavily against you. His arms are tucked to his chest, palms facing toward him, fingers curled. His head bumps against yours and you have the distant sense to tilt your face away. Tomura dislikes this and unwinds his arms, his fingers urging you back to him.

“Just because I took medicine doesn’t mean I’m not contagious,” you warn, keeping your chin down, trying to avoid him. He grumbles at that, a low rumbling echoing along his chest. His hand lifts and cups your chin letting his rough lips capture yours, pressing you open. You gasp and pull away, but he follows, his lips urgently seeking yours.

“Tomura-” you scold, but he silences you with another kiss. You can’t help your moan, trying to ignore the warmth that is coiling in your core and shake your head, slipping him from you.

“Stop that,” he grouses, voice rasping against your parted lips. He won’t let you shift away, his strong thighs pinning your legs down, instantly tensing and stilling your halfhearted attempts at escape.

“I already told you, I don’t want to get you sick,” you pant, trying to ignore his incessant touch. It’s not an easy task. Part of you doesn’t want him to stop, while the rational, logical side is warning that if he’s like this when you’re sick, just imagine how agitated he’ll be if he catches this cold.

“I don’t care,” he murmurs, lips gliding against yours again. He’s soft, not seeking anything other than your caresses. He’s not pawing or groping at your curves. Instead, his hands are resting beside your jaw, fingers teasing along your smooth skin.

“You say that, but how would you know? You told me you’ve never really been sick…mmm...this shit isn’t fun, Tomura…”

He’s not giving up, his forehead pressing against yours. He cups your face and sucks against your lower lip. You sigh at the rough sensation, exasperated, and, at long last, give in, returning his kiss, your hands drifting to his hair. Tomura hums, finally satisfied, and lifts away, his eyes latching onto yours. You groan at the loss of his lips, but don’t lean toward him. Instead, you distract yourself by running your fingers across his face. Smoothing against his coarse skin, touch delicate and featherlight.

He closes his eyes, sighing contentedly and rests his forehead against yours, his arms curling back to his chest. “Sleep,” he grunts as you lift your hands away from him.

“Hey,” you call and he opens his eyes again, vermillion scanning your face, waiting. “Thanks, for today, I mean...”

He exhales and presses closer, his breath ghosting across your skin. “Go to sleep, (Y/N). We’ll see how you feel in the morning.”

Notes: He’s so cute y’all. (.づ◡﹏◡)づ.

If you wanna see more of their interactions I have two things for you:

1. Look Upon the Light - This is the main story I’ve written for the two of them. The moments in The Gap in the Door start after Chapter 7: Polaroid.

2. Send me some requests or themes, if you want! I’ve got another few chapters written for them, some are SFW and some are NSFW. I’ll add tags and triggers as needed and on a chapter by chapter basis. So, lemme know whatcha think! My ask box is open atm.

#the gap in the door #look upon the light #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #tenko shimura #reader insert #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #tomura x y/n #fan fiction #fanfic #bnha #boku no hero academia #start of spooky week #so much fluff in here

185 notes · View notes

moon-in-daylight · 4 years

Text

Night Watch / Davos x reader

Summary: Waking up in the middle of the night, you notice that Davos is gone.

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: Smut implied

A/N: So, I’ve been rewatching Davos’ scenes and I felt the need to write something for him even though it’s garbage lol because he deserves to be loved and accepted and also because we need more Davos’ fics

Still half asleep, you rolled on your side just to find that the other half of the bed was empty.

It took more than a few seconds for you to be startled by it, though. It wasn’t a strange thing after all, you were far more than accustomed to sleeping alone in that enormous and lonely bed night after night… But as your numbed brain tried to remember the circumstances in which you had fallen asleep, you found that something - or rather someone - was missing.

Davos.

Thinking about him immediately made you open your eyes and sit up to inspect the room with worry. Even though it was still dark you had to blink a few times to adjust your eyes, squinting them involuntarily when you tried to look at the blinding screen of your phone. It was 3:24 am and there was no sign of another person being there with you, at least none that your barely conscious state could perceive.

Your first reaction was to think that you had dreamt it all. It was the most logical, plausible explanation. It wouldn’t have been the first time that your subconscious made you think of Davos like that.

You didn’t feel proud of it, but from time to time you couldn’t help but fantasize about him.

Sometimes, when you two were together and he was telling you some anecdote about K’un-Lun and his early life, your mind involuntarily focused on the movement of his mouth instead of on whatever story he was sharing with you. And while contemplating his lips, you usually found yourself daydreaming about kissing them, feeling them against your skin as you pictured the way his hands would roam through your body. Imagining how he would eagerly remove every piece of clothing and the way his skin would feel against yours, how sweet his moans would sound in your ears as he thrusted slowly but deeply into you…

You were usually quick to snap out of those fantasies, but even if you had only been distracted for a few seconds, you weren’t able to quiet the embarrassment that took over you after imagining him that way. You barely could look at him in the eye after having your attention drifted away by those thoughts.

The friendship you shared was vital for the both of you and you didn’t want to ruin it with unrequited feelings.

You had met after he had escaped prison and, since the first moment after he had rescued you from being mugged, you felt safe with him. The tranquility you felt while being with him was such that you even offered him to stay at your place when he casually mentioned he was running away from justice. It was a risky decision to let a stranger into your apartment that easily, especially when he was a convicted criminal that chattered all kinds of nonsense about dragons and rightfulness, but you could see his intentions were good. There was something in you that trusted him blindly, even when you were convinced that the things he talked about didn’t exist.

It wasn’t until you observed with your very own eyes the way he made his fist glow a bright red during one of his training sessions that you realized that everything he talked about was real.

Hearing his story and how his home had been destroyed, you were quick to position yourself by his side. You knew he had done some bad things, but he was good at heart and you tried to help him see where he had gotten wrong. Surprisingly, he seemed to listen to you and care about what you had to say. It was clear he cared about you too, worrying whenever he saw you weren’t feeling good or taking care of you when you were ill.

It was heartwarming the way you supported one another despite your radically different backgrounds, the way you helped each other improve and see the world from another point of view. It didn’t take long for Davos to become one of the most important people in your life.

Finding out about each other issues and going through them together had been extremely helpful for you both. To talk about them and listen to each other’s advice when you didn’t know what to do. Davos had been through a lot of abuse during his life, and you liked to think that he had finally found in you someone to rely on, just as you had in him.

As he taught you to meditate and control your anxiety, you tried to make him see that he was a person worthy of dignity and affection, not ‘the second best’ as he had been told after losing the Iron Fist to Danny Rand back in K’un-Lun…

It wasn’t easy to erase the toll that years of constant abuse had left, but you had made so much progress while being together… You feared that you would be throwing it all away if he ever found out about your little fantasies. You didn’t want him to know what you felt for him because the last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable, especially because you knew how he had been raised and what he thought of sex. And, of course, he had told you how violent his only ‘sexual experience’ had been like…

But the images of him being all over you still creeped into your dreams from time to time, and your half-awaken, dazed-self supposed that was exactly what was happening that night.

Yet, as you slowly roused, you found that the sensations that your mind recreated were too intense to be fictional this time. In fact, you almost could feel as if his touch still lingered on your skin, the phantom feeling of hot, gentle kisses remaining on your neck and collarbone. That was when your mind finally cleared up and you realized it had actually happened.

You had slept with Davos.

Your mind slowly went through the events of that late evening, remembering that you had had dinner together and that you had watched a film in your couch afterwards.

It was normal that he didn’t get most of the inside jokes and implications of American culture in movies considering he had been living in a monastery most of his life, so you always enjoyed sitting in front of the TV with him and explaining every cultural reference that confused him. But that night he hadn’t asked you a single question, nor showed any of his usual discomfort towards the disgraceful and reproachable way in which the characters acted.

Not giving his silence a second thought, you quietly watched the movie until a sex scene appeared.

Looking at your friend from the corner of your eye, you watched him squirm uncomfortably on his sit, the images probably taking him back to the humiliating moment of his ‘sacrifice’, as he usually referred to that unfortunate event.

“We can fast forward this part.” You were quick to grab the remote and skip the frames until a different scene appeared on the screen.

“Have you been practicing lately?” He asked, unprompted. It took you a moment to realize he was actually talking about the Kung Fu lessons he had been imparting you.

As soon as you shook your head, he encouraged you to leave the movie half way through and go over some of the movements he had already taught you in previous training sessions. Truth was you weren’t really into what you were watching anyway, and you supposed it was too awkward for him to keep watching it. Since you had been the one to ask him to teach you how to fight, you willingly got up from the couch and started to show him the little progress you had made.

He didn’t let you finish showing him, though, as he immediately started to point out the flaws in your inexperienced technique, correcting your posture and reminding you to breathe properly to channel your Chi into your every move.

Davos was a harsh professor and he wouldn’t forgive a single mistake from you, telling you that you couldn’t afford to commit any error in battle, as your enemy wouldn’t miss a chance of exploiting your weaknesses. As demanding as he was, you knew that he was being especially tender and easy going with you, at least by his standards. It broke your heart to think about the strict way he had been trained and raised, how severe they had been with him when he was only a child.

Following his instructions, you started to throw punches and kicks at him, attacks that he easily blocked without breaking a sweat. You were definitely glad that you didn’t have to actually fight against him, being well aware that he would be able to end you in the span of ten seconds, maybe even less.

“You have to hit stronger.” His voice commanded you. “Faster.”

You did as you were told and increased the effort put in the fight, but immediately stopped the second he didn’t avoid your punch and your fist impacted against his chest.

“Don’t stand still.” He grabbed your hand and pushed it away. “Now you got it, come on.”

Without saying a single word, you resumed your offensive with the same intensity of that last punch. Unluckily for you, Davos seemed to be more alert now, anticipating each and every one of your movements before you even knew you were going to make them. With a few swift motions, he easily overpowered you, immobilized both of your arms and pinned you against the wall.

You tried to steady your breathing as you did your best to ignore what his proximity was arousing inside of you. Waiting for him to release you for another round, you found yourself growing more and more tense when he simply stared at you in silence, uncomfortably swallowing the lump in your throat when his grip on you didn’t loosen up.

The images of every time you had dreamt about him clouded your mind without you being able to do anything to ignore them, the growing heat between your legs becoming more unbearable with every second his deep brown eyes kept fixed on you. You closed your eyes in hopes that you could distract yourself, think of anything other than the man standing in front of you. But every attempt at doing so immediately failed when you felt the warmth of his lips pressing against yours.

Getting out of your thoughts, you rubbed your eyes as you recalled everything that had happened from that moment. The last thing you remembered the feeling of utter peace and tranquility that invaded you as you fell asleep in his arms.

That calm was completely erased from you now that you realized that he had left in the middle of the night, without saying goodbye or at least leaving a note.

Your heart raced as you mentally slapped yourself for having allowed that to happen.

How could you be so stupid? It was true that it had been him the one to take the first step by kissing you, but you should have known better. You should have figured that he would only disobey his moral code like that in a moment of weakness, a weakness that you had unconsciously taken advantage of. Now he probably had regretted everything and had ran away not wanting to see you or hear from you again.

You feared that your friendship was ruined beyond repair.

Maybe if you called Davos in the morning and talked about what had happened you could still sort it all out. You didn’t want to lose him, to have him walk out of your life just because you had gotten carried away in a moment of lust…

Deep down you knew what you felt for him extended far beyond simple lust, but you were willing to ignore those feelings, to act as if they weren’t there for the sake of keeping him by your side.

You buried your head in the pillow in an attempt to hold back the tears that already started to form inside your eyes, an intense ache inside your chest forming at the thought of having messed up so badly with Davos. He was the person you cared for the most and thinking that you may have caused him any wrong made you feel a profound disappointment on yourself.

It wasn’t until you felt an arm surrounding your waist and a slight shifting on the other side of the bed that you lifted your head, finding Davos laying down next to you again.

“Where were you?” Your voice was a bit husky from having just waken up a few minutes ago. You wanted to lay your head on his chest, but didn’t in case it would make him uncomfortable.

“I was checking the perimeter.” He said, as if it was the most natural thing to do at 3:00 am. “Did I wake you?”

You carefully shook your head as you avoided looking into his eyes.

Judging by the calm tone in which he spoke, you could tell that he wasn’t angry and you felt slightly stupid for having panicked and jumped into the conclusion that he had abandoned you so fast. Still, things weren’t solved up yet. As you finally looked up at him, you wondered in which state was your relationship at.

Davos had been taught that a living weapon should not get involved sexually or emotionally with anyone. And, even if you always tried to convince him that he was a person before a warrior, you weren’t sure he actually believed your words. You weren’t even sure he had ever even considered having a romantic relationship before that evening, but looking at the way he lovingly stared at you, it almost seemed as if he wanted you too.

“What would you check the perimeter for?” You asked in confusion. Was he in danger? Had Danny found him and wanted to bring him to justice? You started to become preoccupied as you thought of all the worse scenarios.

“I do it every night. This neighborhood is full of thugs and criminals, like the one trying to mug you when we first met.” He clarified, gaining a frown from you that silently asked him to explain further. You only hoped he hadn’t gone back to being a ‘vigilante’, it had taken you a lot of effort to talk him out of it. “By making guard I can make sure you’re safe.”

Instantly after hearing his words you felt your heart warming up, moved by the fact that he cared about you to the point of watching over you every night. Hesitantly, you got closer to him and taking the fact that he didn’t pulled back as a silent sign of consent, you placed a tender kiss on his lips.

“Thank you for taking care of me, but you don’t need to make guard every night.” You gently brushed your fingers against his stubble, your eyes on his as you spoke softly. “You need to take care of yourself and get a full night of sleep. Would you do that for me?”

The second he slowly nodded his head a gentle smile formed on your face. You pressed your lips against his once more before cuddling beside him, letting your head rest on his shoulder.

The calming sound of his breathing was enough to quickly made you sleepy again.

“Davos,” You mumbled his name with your eyes closed, feeling consciousness slowly fading from you. “I love you.”

You were too numbed to notice, but Davos’ body clenched at your words. You didn’t know, but it was the first time someone ever dedicated those words to him. He had fought all his life to get approval, travelled to the other side of the world to make the ones he loved proud, hoping they would show him the affection he had always craved for. When K’un-Lun was destroyed, he lost all hope of having someone say those words to him, of gaining someone’s love. And yet, there you were, right between his arms.

You were already asleep when he pressed a kiss on your forehead.

“I love you too.”

#Davos x reader #Steel Serpent x reader #Sacha Dhawan #Iron fist #Iron fist fanfic #Sacha Dhawan x reader #Sacha Dhawan x you #Davos #Steel Serpent #Davos one shot #Steel Serpent one shot #When I first watched Iron Fist 3 years ago I never thought I would be writing fanfiction for it #But look at me now #I just love Davos #It's all Sacha's fault

118 notes · View notes

luminescentlyricist · 3 years

Text

∞ Regency ø

Hello! The lovely Atoren Rhopai (and the malefactor, in a cameo) actually belongs to one of my good friends Aaron. He doesn't have a Tumblr account, but you can find him on Wattpad at ClosetChronicles.

Cirlun was lost in her own head. She never had anyone to talk to except for Astril, and even then life began to get a little boring as the sweeps went by. She knew that she wasn't supposed to talk to any of the royal guards, as they were busy enough doing their jobs, and she had no siblings, ancestor or dancestor to speak of. The only time she socialised with any other trolls was when she went to royal meetings or visited her Advisor in the throne room. There was very little in the way of outside communication for her, so she found it in the most dangerous way she could.

Of course, Trollian was hardly a viable option for someone like her. Even though she trusted Lamiac - the small, jovial oliveblood who was an employee of Skaianet and a communications officer of sorts for the palace - there were things about the company that she didn't. In particular, one employee got on her nerves, and she didn't even know his name yet. she just knew that Lamiac was always speaking forcibly high-pitched and happier than normal when she was corresponding with him. Regardless, due to all the encryptions the palace's network had to go through, she often had to filter through Skaianet itself.

The young troll found her lips curving downwards as her thoughts reeled. It was so lonely...

Lamiac was one of the few other trolls she had felt that she could trust to some degree. Apart from her lusus, she didn't really have much social experience beyond that which she read in the palace library, and the weight of having to act like such a highbrow highblood in public all the time was utterly draining. She was positively - or as Lamiac would put it, 'pawsitively' - bouncing on the balls of her feet whenever she had escaped from her room and ran down to the catlike troll's office, which doubled as her lodgings, but was a renovated ballroom. As such, it was enormous.

Cirlun didn't even know if trolls held balls. She thought that was more of a human culture, but her mother seemed to take pieces from many different timelines and planets. Sometimes, the violetblood was called into stressful half-sweep diplomatic meetings, and she'd leave in a fleet ship, coming back with new ideas. Many of these were incredibly unorthodox, and frowned upon by society. That was why the Heiress was scared of her mother: only they saw what was going on in the dark, and she was the one who made it all happen. Even though her own maternal figure was a caste below her, Cirlun felt humbled and weak.

Her dulled fuchsia gaze flickered around for a moment, then she closed her eyes again. There was nothing for her to see. It was all the same to her.

She had been young, naive, and wished for excitement that the world had never given her on its own. However dangerous her actions were, she hadn't cared, for it had been change. Cirlun had been given everything she ever wanted, but she focused too much on what she didn't have instead of what was there. It was one of her biggest flaws, and she had acknowledged it far too late. The ex-royal knew now, surrounded in darkness, that she was flawed. Her maternal figure had only been attempting to show her the truth, and she had pushed it away in favour of idealistic views. Those that had bought her life crashing down piece by piece.

She had sought out the discs again, of course.

The lost heiress looked down at the garb she wore, the soft material tearing and stitching repeatedly in black and white. She ran her fingers down it, a soft sigh barely audible in the emptiness. Out here, colours were dissolved, even the soft, ink-like blue tones that she had once taken such pride and comfort in. Cirlun wasn't even sure why the clothing moved in such ways, and doubted that it was supposed to. Last time she checked, there had been no one around to create time loops... the fabrics were thin, she thought. That was the only explanation she could draw up in her fading psyche. Space-time held little significance where she was.

Now, everything was dark, and it was her fault. Everything had ended. Nothing seemed to want to start again. She was a Maid of Void, gifted only in creating and bringing forth darkness and confusion. Sure, she had been able to wrestle through the session, finding her own way to God Tier and mastering it. Despite that, all of her efforts seemed futile, because there was no one to share her happiness with. Companionship was what she had been searching for all of her life, and it never seemed to stay, however much she herself was willing to.

It had been hard, so, so hard. She had wandered for aeons through the broken session that was presented to her, training and training for her fated fight. Death had kept her on her toes, and now she had no ground to stand on at all. Her eyes flickered around the emptiness, searching for anything to break the monotony. Her claws raked at her palms, twitching with black energy. She remembered nothing of the fight with Gl'bgolyb at all. Just that she had been left in this endless Void, presumably of her own creation, for aeons longer than she could keep track.

There was a light.

Small at first, but it grew. Slowly, but her eyes drifted towards it. It was enough to give her hope for the world. A billion empty, nameless and insignificant sweeps of waiting were pushed behind her. The troll's hands curled into fists, the seething heat of her Void energy receding into a simmer around them. She felt it pop and crackle, fighting her suppression, but she couldn't ket it out, as she had been doing ceaselessly for too long. Maybe she had been contributing to the darkness more than she realised.

It was time for her to settle down. It had been an age, but the tension in her shoulders was finally releasing. Cirlun allowed the energy around her hands to expand, swallowing her whole body, letting the warm darkness run through her skin and consuming her. Drifting forwards, she went entirely limp, focusing only on the speck of white. Worry melted away, along with the rest of her swarming pan's thoughts. She had been forgetting an awful lot, but she was sure she would remember this for the rest of her days.

Soon, the Void faded around Cirlun, and she was nearer to the light. She had forgotten how time worked in her vast darkness, but it had evidently been too long. Instead of the light, there was a planet. Small, destined to become better, a well of potential. Unfinished, but existent in the first place. She felt drawn to it. So, she went closer. There was something more there, she was sure. It wasn't just a dwarf planet. Her head was swimming badly, but she forced herself to go closer and enter the atmosphere.

This was the Land of Glow and Spires.

Blindingly white, thrumming so harshly it threatened to burn out her vision tenfold, like the most brutal days under the Alternian sun. Wreathing herself in the black mist crackling about her body, a soft sigh parted her lips. They had been dry, cracked and bleeding for many a sweep. She looked at the tall spires, the buildings made of a towering substance too ethereal to name. It seemed like a society had been built there, but she found no one. Desolation caused her power to flare, feeding off her own loneliness.

Someone else was there, and they were watching her. But they were benevolent. Amidst the tallest structures, there was one floating above them all. It seemed almost prismatic. Although it was completely clear, motes of light in all of the colours of the rainbow joined it in the air, shifting and moving constantly. It looked like a sphere, split in half by a diagonal line. Somehow, Cirlun knew that she should go there, for the better or worse.

"))((e)(... I guess t)(is... t)(is is it."

Her voice was atonal, scratchy and quiet as if she hadn't had cause to speak in a long time, which was true. It made her double back, coughing. Her God Tier wings stirred no air behind her, their greyed tones blurring in and out of focus. She was so tired, so unbelievably tired. Lethargy made her limbs heavy as bricks, but she had slumbered for sweeps enough. There was nothing else she could do but continue, and so she made her way up to the towers, the ones that seemed to burn themselves into her retinas.

Her eyes never seemed to still, looking around in awe of the light that greeted her every turn. She had found it. Her new start was here, even though she felt alone again. Surely there was someone else? Who had built these luminous buildings? She knew that she would meet them, however long it took to get there. It just so happened that they were resting in the sphere, though, and it split open as soon as Cirlun drew near, along the slash in the middle.

"Hello? Is αnyone there? It would be much αppreciated if you could stop hiding from me."

The voice came as a surprise to Cirlun, who froze on the spot for a few moments before clearing her throat awkwardly. She stepped forwards, letting the shield of dark smoke dissipate from where it had been sheltering her from the harsh light.

"))((ello... I come wit)( no ill intent. My name is Cirlun."

And it was true. The stranger's similarly fuchsia gaze swept over her once, as if scanning her methodically for any threat. The smile they gave seemed forced, but Cirlun relaxed slightly upon seeing it.

"I know. You hαve trαvelled α long wαy, hαven't you? I αm Atoren, αnd thαt is αll you need to know for the time being."

Atoren Rhopai was not surprised. She had known about the coming of the other for a long time, from the moment she had found the Land in seemingly barren darkness. After the Session had reset upon Gl'bgolyb's death, there had been numerous changes. One allowed a tear in the fabric of space-time, the Cataclysm, that had in turn introduced new hope. Atoren had been able to enter the session's void-space, though it was still unknown why or how she had chosen to enter the environment. The simplest explanation was the Land.

The mystical space that the two seadwellers occupied seemed to be Atoren's own Land. As far as the Heiress was concerned, it couldn't be anyone else's.

Cirlun sat in the air, her wings seeming to glitch in and out every so often. Her voice was slightly louder, but she still felt incredibly nervous about Atoren. Clearly, she had also considered the session completely barren, and was shocked to find a guide ready and waiting for her. Never had a space so light seemed so ominous and disorienting.

"Yes, I suppose I )(ave been aimlessly drifting a lot lately."

She laughed nervously, though her throat ached from that simple, joyless sound. Finally, her eyes settled on something. She was looking at the medals, shining still, on the woman's coat. It looked like a military sort of outfit, a long coat-dress with fuchsia lining and golden buttons. Most notable, however, was the fact that she wore long black gloves and boots, covering the majority of her skin.

"You know, Cirlun, I hαve no one else to converse with. This Land lαcks αny Consorts, αnd my lusus fαded long αgo. You hαve not been αble to preserve your own lusus, hαve you?"

Atoren had very little social filter, in Cirlun's opinion, but she knew she had to keep quiet about her thoughts of their misdemeanours so as to get on this stranger's good side. Besides, to complain on that subject would be to blatantly display her own hypocrisy. So she grit her teeth and smiled through her objections.

"))((mm? O)(, no, I was not able to. Usually, s)(e slept in one of my specibus bubbles, but s)(e was refusing to be trapped. It was as if s)(e knew about w)(ere I was going."

There was an edge of sorrow in Cirlun's tone, but she couldn't help but feel guilty about her sadness, so she also suppressed that as much as she could.

Atoren clapped her hands together, the sound echoing around the space and making Cirlun look directly into the other's eyes. The smile that the other had donned made Cirlun slightly fear for her life, though it was a normal reaction for anyone met with a stranger grinning at them like a shark. It was almost too jovial, given the information that Cirlun had just provided.

"Brilliαnt! You hαve no one else, then... perhαps we cαn bond over our mutuαl loneliness? Or, well..."

She pursed her lips, her claws tapping a rhythm akin to morse code out on the arm of the plush chair she sat in. Her back was straight as a rod, and she was tense. Wary of the small, traumatised troll in front of her. She leaned forward conspiratorially.

"Our mutuαl thirst for αn Empire?"

Instantly, Cirlun straightened her own posture, but it was more of a fearful thing, as if the fuchsiablood in front of her had threatened her in some way. Her eyes drifted down to her feet, and she refused to utter any reply for a few minutes. Again, time passed differently, so she really had no way to tell how long it was, but Atoren's grin dropped, and it made her fear rekindle.

"A)(... at t)(is point, it would be f∞lis)( of me to decline, I believe..."

Her throat burst with pain as she swallowed, nerves making her hands flex and curl again. She had spoken the truth, but perhaps it would have been advantageous for her to craft some lie, however simple.

Atoren barely seemed phased by her hesitance.

"I know you αre lonely, Cirlun. There is nothing else for you here, αnd I hαve known your yeαrning in my own sweeps. You αnd I αre not αs dissimilαr as we mαy seem, however much you mαy deny it. I hαve suffered, too. Mαges are fαted to suffer for whαt they believe in, whαt they control. My words to you αre not empty. They αre simply offering you the only choice you will ever hαve."

Cirlun shifted in her place, feeling a shiver run down her spine at these words. This one knew too much. Of course she was lonely. Some of it was blatant common sense, like that, because she had floated through a Void of her own creation for so long. But something was inherently... wrong about this. It was as if there was something more behind the other's knowledge.

What had she called herself? A Mage?

It was likely some kind of auditory hallucination, having been bombarded with noise after so long in emptiness, but the ticking of a clock began in the heiress' ears. Her voice felt too small, as if she was being swallowed up by the light around her. Her hands flared with ominous black, expelling whatever things she was making herself see. Paranoia was eating at her, and she could do nothing to stop it.

"I... I )(ave no c)(oice. You are rig)(t... But )(ow will we do it? Surely we cannot rule toget)(er?"

The glaring issue went unspoken: the fact that they had nobody to rule over in the first place.

Atoren had once been told something by someone - the very same someone who Lamiac was routinely tormented by - using shifting black, white and green text. This mysterious malefactor had said that she would find her place with another, whether she liked it or not. That someone had something that would be very important to her, and make her feel as if she had fulfilled her 'Skaian duty', whatever that was.

"Cirlun, I believe you... hαve something for me, do you not?"

The woman nodded, then, to this cryptic statement. There was no denying what Atoren wanted, and what needed to be done. Before the Session, she had explored a lot, and had found something so small and insignificant that she almost threw it away. Astril has scolded her for it later on, of course, but she couldn't quite remember why.

She still had it in a small pouch sewn into her outfit, nearest to her heart so that she would never forget it. She had the feeling it was smaller than it was supposed to be, but they could figure that out later. They had all of the time in the world.

"I... I do."

She reached into the pouch, rolling the small marble-like object in her palm and waiting for Atoren to hold her hand out for it. She didn't know why it was so significant, but she didn't know a lot of things.

Cirlun gave Atoren the Matriorb.

#homestuck #fantroll #luminescent lyricist writes #go on and give the stranger a very important artefact why don't you #❤️ a world of our own ❤️#🏠 stuck at home 🏠

1 note · View note

critical-derolo · 5 years

Text

Beau always gets up.

It's something that she's noticed, something that's she takes comfort in, something she she wraps around herself like a blanket of reassurance. She's a healer - yes, but healing isn't her strong suit, well, it's not her preferred suit and maybe liking a suit has something to do with how good you are at wearing the suit, but that's not even the point. Jester doesn't not like healing people, especially her friends, but she much rather hurt them. Bad guys, not her friends. (sometimes her friends but, like, only if it means she wins and not super badly, she's not a dick.) Her point is that Beau only rarely needs her healing, she barely even needs Caduceus' healing because even when Beau goes down - she always gets back up.

Jester isn't totally sure when she started noticing Beau. She's always noticed Beau, but it was sometime around The Ball Eater that she started noticing Beau like she notices Fjord. Maybe it was all of the lonely nights amongst the creaking ship when she couldn't sleep and Beau would drag herself out of bed to talk until the sun came up. Maybe it was all of those awkward but sincere words the monk stumbled through as Jester nursed her wounded heart, knowing Fjord was just below in Avantika's cabin.

It might have been - even could have probably been when for the first time in her life, someone other than her momma told her they loved her. (Beau loves her. Beau loves her. Beau doesn't love anything, Beau barely likes things. But she loves her.) It just kinda struck her, just kinda carved through the pain she felt herself getting lost in.

Lost in so many ways. So far from home with no land in sight, following a fickle purpose that had so quickly been taken from them and pointed at something that was bigger than they understood. Shuffled together with... with strangers that were drifting apart like debris on the very water they sailed through. She was scared and alone and locked away in her bedroom all over again.

"Love you, Jes."

But Beau was there.

(Beau is always there.)

An anchor, something to hold onto in a sea of uncertainty. Whatever happened, wherever they went... Beau loves her.

So lock her away in a bedroom, she knows that Beau is on her way.

Wherever she goes, whatever she does, it doesn't matter. Beau is always there because Beau always gets up again because Beau will always fight.

So when Beau goes down. When Beau falls and lands so heavily. When the dust settles and she's just there. Laying on her side with her bo inches from her unmoving hand. When she doesn't get up, when she doesn't spit blood and snarl at the beast, when she doesn't throw herself right back at it...

Jester feels her heart seize in her chest. Cold, wet dread shoots down her spine like an icicle impaled at the base of her neck. She doesn't blink - can't blink- won't blink, not if it means she might miss movement. She has to know, has to see if Beau will move or... or if she won't move. If she isn't moving.

She isn't moving.

It didn't hit her but it hurts so fucking bad that she can feel the ice building in her veins, feel the chill creeping up her throat, and throws her hands forwards. The shards of ice find their mark, enough force behind them to send it stumbling back a couple feet.

Enough for Yasha to get between it and Beau.

Beau, who still won't get up.

Beau, who Nott stands over as she fires her crossbow at the beast, another wall between their fallen friend and danger.

Jester doesn't realize that she's screaming until Fjord claps her on the shoulder with one hand, a blast of dark eldritch energy exploding from the other. "Go!" he shouts and lifts his hand from her shoulder, sending another blast.

She drops to her knees, skidding through the gravel and into Beau's side. Nott steps to the other and they both flip the monk onto her back and -

"Beau!" Jester cries and presses her hands against the blood. It's everywhere, thick and warm but going cold so, so fast. She can't find the wounds through it all, through Beau's vest. "Don't leave me, don't leave me, please, don't leave me," she chants under her breath.

"Do you have a diamond?!" Nott shrieks. Grabs Jester's trembling, bloody hands and squeezes hard enough to ground her. Until wide purple eyes meet yellow ones and they both duck under the beast's swing. Yasha snarls and forces it back. "Do you have a diamond, Jester?!"

"No, I..." she shakes her head helplessly. Numbly. Like it's not really her head, like she's a puppet with her strings being pulled, like this isn't actually happening.

This can't actually be happening.

It's not happening.

Nott blinks and looks down at Beau (oh, Beau, no... why did you take that hit?) with growing fear. Her little green hands cup the monk's face, holding it like Beau is something precious and fragile. She gasps and looks up, scrambling to her feet. "Caduceus!"

He raises his shield against the enormous flying insect, gritting his teeth and looking back at them. His pink eyes land on Beau and the strain in his body gives just slightly, just enough that he's forced back another two steps before he digs back in. "I have no-"

His heartwrenching answer, his cursed response is lost against the clash of bug-claws against his shield and Caleb's wall of fire. The wizard turns, arching his hands through the air, and drags the wall around in a fiery shield against the danger. His chest heaves heavily, his eyes wide and frantic and searching, staring, studying. Scrutinizing Beau's form. They flick to Jester. "Heal her! Jester-" he staggers forward and drops to his knees beside her, a hand over Beau's abdomen. "Please, Jester, heal her. I can't... she's... you have to save her. I need her."

"I don't have a diamond!" she snaps angrily. Pissed. She's so fucking pissed. At Caleb for thinking she would hesitate even a second to bring Beau back if she had a fucking diamond. At this monstrous beast for taking her in the first place. At life for being oh so cruel, to have dangled this family, these people in front of her, only to steal them away again.

At Beau.

At Beau for being such an asshole. Such an asshole to be so kind, so gentle, so compassionate that Jester really didn't have a choice. How could she not love Beau? How could anyone not?

Caleb's warm, rough hands cup her face and bring her back to a moment she wants to leave, to forget forever. His lips move, form her name, and she has to squint to hear him. "Jester! Save her! Look!"

It takes too much effort to follow his line of sight, to try and make sense of what she's seeing. It doesn't click until he's grabbing something from the pouch on Beau's belt, spilling chunks of bloody diamonds into his palm. Some are smooth and finely cut, small but expensive, while others are larger and jagged. Picked up along the way somewhere, maybe from the city of beasts or merely in their travels on the road.

It doesn't look like enough.

An incomplete collection that Beau had been working on. What else was she doing that the others didn't know? How was she the loudest and yet the most secretive of the group?

Questions Jester will never be able to ask, quirks she won't ever be able to notice again.

"It's not eno-"

Caleb presses them into her hand, squeezing tight enough that the jagged edges dig into her palms. His eyes are so blue, so earnest that it breaks her heart just a little bit more. "Just try!" he insists and - Nott winces, she ducks her head when his voice breaks off at the end. "Please."

Jester finds herself nodding, grabs onto the spark of hope in her chest and refuses to let go. Beau always gets up. Beau never gives up. And neither will she. It may not be her preferred suit, maybe not even her strong suit, but she can do this. She can bring people back. She can keep this group together against all odds. Against death itself.

The diamonds tremble in her palm until a soft light breaks through the smere of blood - dim, flickering very slightly, but there. She can do this.

She can do this.

"Beau," Nott calls as gently as she can while screeching over the noise of battle. "Get your lazy ass up! Join the We Died But We Lived club with me and Deucy and maybe Fjord." She leans down to press her forehead against the monk's. "Between you and me, I think he's just trying to steal our thunder. Drowning's not half as bad if you don't die, he just doesn't want to admit it."

Some of the smaller diamonds lift into the air, floating over Beau's chest. Jester digs deeper, closes her eyes to focus and channel more of her divine magic. A few larger chunks drift towards the others.

"Beauregard," Caleb said. Sniffs and scrubs his chin with the back of his palm. He looks down at the ground beside her head, at some of the more colourful pebbles in the dirt there. None of them have enough blue. "You and I made a promise, Beauregard, so I shall uphold it and tell you that you're being an asshole right now. Turning in the gloves so easily. It's a... what did you call it, a dick move? Ja." His fingers twitch, the fabric of her sash caught easily. Very smooth. Very nice. "I get it though. Life can be... difficult, especially for you and I, it seems. So I'll tell you what, if you come back, I will... I will let you borrow Frumpkin for a whole week. Or-or a month, even. He makes life easier." Caleb ducks his head. "You make life easier."

The diamonds burst into glittering dust that moves like waves in the ocean over Beau's body. Jester's veins burn, the exertion of her magic sapping quickly, reaching for more and coming up with nothing. There aren't enough diamonds.

"Miss Beau!" Caduceus gasps and drops to a knee, hanging on his staff. He looks... bad. Rough, his pink hair dishevelled and face covered in dirt. The giant bug's wing twitches behind him, body smushed into the ground. "Sorry it took me a second," he says around a smile and places a big hand on her abdomen. The glowing from his hand brightens the diamond dust in the air. "All things that begin must end, all that lives must die. Life is precious not because it's forever." He closes his eyes and focuses harder. The others watch the glowing diamond dust sink against Beau's skin and rest there. "But your grave is not yet ready for you."

The energy that crackles between Jester and the diamonds fights to stay strong, but she can feel it fading. Slipping from her grasp like smoke between her fingers. "Come on, Beau," she grinds out between clenched teeth. "Come on, Beau!"

Blood drips through the glowing dust, a shadow falling over them. Yasha leans down between Caleb and Nott, reaching forward to cup Beau's cheek as her own palm lights up. The gashes in her arm look bad but she doesn't tremble, doesn't blink. "They can't have you," she tells Beau quietly. Grimly. "Not you, too."

A pulse of magic echoes up Jester's arms from her palms. The dust settles into Beau's skin, starts sinking in until they can't see it anymore. Jester catches her second wind and digs back in again, presses her hands against Beau.

"Right, okay," Fjord ducks beneath the behemoth's swing and drags his sword against the underside of its arm. "See, Beau, I'm gonna need you to get up now because you and I are the only ones who don't get distracted in a fight, apparently." Claws catch his leather and he's launched back, tucking into a backwards somersault. Eldritch magic bursts from his palms when he settles on his knees, standing up to send two more. "Gonna need my First Mate to finish this guy off!"

Something jumps in Beau's chest. Jester gasps, her eyes widening, and... waits. And waits. "Beau?" She waits some more, she waits until the hope in Caleb's eyes turns brittle and threatens to shatter. "Oh! I didn't say anything. You don't have a Wildmother or a super cool, like, super awesome, super talented Traveler, or a scary but badass storm lord like we do. But!" She brightens and bounces on her knees. "You have us! And technically we didn't have enough diamonds but also technically fuck that because we need you. So tell Molly you'll see him soon or whatever but not today because there's shit to do!"

With every last bit of magic she has left, Jester pours it into her friend. Into Beau - kind, funny, abrasive, wickedly clever Beau.

"Oh, plus I love you," she whispers and swoops down to press a kiss against Beau's lips. "So please don't leave me."

Considering how immediate it was with Caduceus, Jester really shouldn't be surprised. She really has no reason to shriek when Beau jolts up, when her blue, blue eyes shoot open with wild frenzy in them.

Beau's chest heaves. Colours separate and details form, the world comes rushing back in, all at once. Pain lingers just behind but mostly... mostly she's okay. Right? Beau looks down at her lap, where she has Jester mostly gathered in her arms and the tiefling stares up at her with tears in her eyes.

Beau licks her lips, tastes something sweet, and feels herself smile. "Did I fucking die?!"

#critical role #the mighty nein #beau #jester #nott #caleb #caduceus #yasha #fjord

418 notes · View notes

magnoliasinbloom · 5 years

Text

The Midwife - II

AO3 :: Previously

TW: A little TMI, medically... gory, perhaps. Thought I’d throw this warning in if it’s not your thing. Any doctors and midwifes out there, any technical errors in the story are mine and based on internet research.

“Mistress!” The door to my surgery burst open, and a frantic young girl stood at the threshold, panting for breath. I thought she might be injured, and I approached her quickly.

“Are you bleeding? Where are you hurt?” I patted her down gently, but she waved my hands away.

“No, my mistress… Duncan… she sent me for ye. The bairn is coming!”

“Oh, of course!” I doubled back, grabbing the knapsack I kept packed with all necessary implements for childbirth. We raced out to the courtyard, and I stopped briefly to ask one of the kitchen girls to let Jamie and Mrs. Fitz know I was headed for the procurator fiscal’s house. I saw the lady had sent her young maid in the carriage I had advised she not ride. We clambered in and the driver snapped the reins hard on the horses’ backs.

The ride was rough; the maid—Jeanie, she said her name was—and I were flung about the inside of the carriage. I asked the girl questions while we bore the brunt of the ride. When had her pains started? Had her waters burst? Was she feverish? Was she bleeding? Jeanie was terrified, but answered my inquiries as best she could. The pains were strong and regular, and had begun earlier that morning. Her waters had not burst. Mistress Duncan had been sweating profusely, possibly feverish. She had not seen any blood on the sheets.

When we arrived at the fiscal’s house, I bid Jeanie begin boiling water and prepare fresh clean linens. In the bedroom upstairs, I found Geillis thrashing on the bedstead, drenched in perspiration. The room was dark, a fire roaring despite the noon heat, as was customary for some women. I opened a window to let in some air.

“Claire! Thank God ye’re here!” she rasped. I opened the bag of supplies and pulled out cloths, basins, and tools. The bottles of possets and infusions clinked merrily at the bottom. I laid them neatly on the dresser and immediately washed my hands by pouring vinegar on them.

“Good afternoon, Mistress Duncan. Is your husband here?”

“No, he—at the courthouse. He left when the pains began.”

“Is the pain very bad yet?” I asked, pushing her shift above her belly. I reached between her legs, feeling the pudenda.

“What do ye mean, yet?” she cried out.

I smiled wryly. “Mistress, you have not dilated fully. In fact, the opening through which the child will pass is still quite small. It will hurt twice as much before he or she is ready to come out.”

Jeanie came up with a kettle of hot water. I set about steeping willow bark to help ease her mistress’s pain. It was midday, but her waters hadn’t broken. It could be a long time before she was fully ready.

After awhile, Mistress Duncan seemed to relax. I propped her up on a few pillows, trying to make her comfortable, though I knew comfort was a relative thing to her at the moment. I bid Jeanie wipe her face with a cool cloth dipped in rose water. The lady doubled over every once in a while, wailing through the pain of each contraction, then subsiding.

A few hours passed. She drifted in and out of sleep, bone tired even though the real work was not close yet. I checked her with each chime of the church bell. She was not dilating as fast as I would have liked. I suggested she take a turn about the room; sometimes motion would help speed the birth along.

Jeanie and I held her mistress up by the shoulders. With small, slow steps, we took her around the bed a few times. She clenched up with a contraction a couple of times, sweat sliding down her face. When we tried to lay her back down on the bed, she refused to go on her back. Obeying some natural impulse of her body, she drew herself up on her knees on the edge of the bed.

“I need to push!” she exclaimed.

“Mistress Duncan—”

“Geillis!”

“Alright then, Geillis, you cannot push, your waters have not broken.”

She let out a primal scream then, torn with pain that seemed as though she was being ripped in half. A small gush of blood accompanied her scream, staining her thighs and the floor. Something was wrong.

“Help me get her on the bed.” Together, we lifted her onto the mattress. Jeanie stared with wide eyes at the bloodstains, stark red against the creamy linens. She looked very pale. I shook her shoulder, hoping to startle her back into action. “Jeanie! Go get more water please!”

The maid scurried back to the kitchen, while I pushed Geillis’s knees up and feet together. Once in that position, I spread her legs apart, keeping the soles of her feet touching. I reached once more between her legs, and felt around the birth canal. Still too closed. I washed my hands of the streaks of blood; I massaged her stomach gently with lavender oil, pressing gently at her sides. That was when I felt it.

The babe was lying wrong. Its head was high up in the abdomen, which meant he was trying to be born feet first.

I felt a cold dread grip me. This could be fatal for the mother, if not the child as well. In such cases, I knew, often the mother was left to die and then cut open to retrieve the child. But I had apprenticed at l’Hôpital des Anges, with some of the best midwives and chirurgiens, and there was something I knew I could do. Pray God it would work.

“Geillis?” I smoothed the tousled hair back from her sweaty forehead. “The child is coming feet first. This is probably why this is taking so long, and why you haven’t broken waters yet. There is a technique for this kind of delivery, but it will be painful, and there are no guarantees. But it is the best chance you have to deliver this baby and survive yourself. Are you willing I should try?” She was likely in too much pain and terrified to make this a conscious decision, but my duty was to mother and child. I would do everything in my power to see them both safe through delivery.

Geillis doubled over as if in response, crying out with gritted teeth, “Do what ye must, just get him out!”

I called out for Jeanie. The girl walked back in with frightened eyes, as I instructed her to sit behind her mistress and hold her by the shoulders. Geillis lay supine on the bed, and I extracted a tool from my kit. It looked like a steel knitting needle, long and sharp. I doused it with a flask of diluted alcohol and very carefully inserted it inside Geillis’s body. I probed gently, and suddenly there was a gush of liquid and a bit of blood. I had burst her waters in an effort to move the birth along.

I placed my hands on her enormous belly and began to massage it more forcefully, trying one last time to turn the child around. I could feel the head and some jerky motions from within, but the child would not budge. I wiped my face with my forearm; I would have to take harsher measures.

I brewed mugwort tea; Madame de Ramelle used it to induce labor and make angels. I bid Geillis drink a cup, and then waited. Slowly, contractions began again, stronger than before; in this case, I hoped it would help push the baby further down the birth canal so I could attempt the technique used by Monsieur Forez at l’hôpital.

I asked Jeannie to push on Geillis’s stomach, towards her legs. I spread them wide, and introduced my hand gingerly, feeling around. I touched the tiny tips of toes.

“He’s close, Geillis. Try to push with the pain, and I shall have to make a cut, to try and make way for the child’s body. Be ready!” I took a small paring knife from my bag, cleaned it well, and took a deep breath. With the next contraction, I swiftly made a cut on the perineum, and Geillis screamed. I reached for the feet I had felt, and timed with the ongoing contractions, pulled the child out bit by bit. I called out words of encouragement, praying the baby would not suffocate in the birth canal. Jeanie kept pushing on Geillis’s stomach, but her eyes were riveted on the child emerging from her mistress’s body. Soon, we could determine the sex—the baby was indeed male.

I kept my own gaze on the blood seeping from the cut I had made, making sure it did not turn life-threatening. Geillis sat up and with a cry and pushed hard, bellowing and keening. I felt her insides surge, and I quickly placed my hand around the baby’s shoulders. Sure enough, with the force of his mother’s muscles, the head began to emerge and I gently eased it out.

Geillis collapsed back on the pillows while I hurried to clear the boy’s airway, with my finger hooked in his mouth—he had not emitted a sound and his body was limp. Jeanie appeared by my side, clutching clean linens and dabbing at the baby.

“Is it alright? Will he live?” she asked anxiously.

I said nothing yet; I rubbed at the boy’s chest, hoping to induce a response. Suddenly the baby curled in on itself and let out a high-pitched wail. Breathing a sigh of relief, I handed the baby to Jeanie so I could tend to Geillis.

Grabbing the jar of cat-gut sutures, I threaded a needle and swiped at the area with cotton batting to staunch the blood. It wasn’t gushing, which was a good sign. Mindful of the pain she was experiencing, I stitched her up as quickly as possible. Geillis whimpered, but remained still. Jeanie approached and placed the child in Geillis’s arms.

I watched Geillis holding her boy, her previous suffering seemingly forgotten. Her eyes were suffused with joy and warmth, a glow about her face. She cuddled him close, finger tracing the soft features, still swollen and red from the ordeal of birth. I watched with a pang of longing, as Geillis looked up with immense gratitude.

“Mistress Fraser… Claire… thank ye.”

* * *

Back at Leoch, Jamie watched as I washed off the peculiar fecund ocean scent of birth, and I recounted the difficult delivery in a rush of exhilaration. These were the time when I knew what I was meant to do in life, and proud of following in Maman’s footsteps.

“I’m proud of ye, Sassenach,” he said, kissing my forehead. Suddenly I could feel a familiar griping begin in my lower belly. I rubbed my hand gingerly over my stomach, my thoughts turning to some rest and a cup of tea. I sighed, irritated at the intrusion and something else tugging at my heart. My courses meant I was not with child.

I slipped out of Jamie’s embrace with a wan smile. He sensed my mood immediately and withdrew, noting the position of my hand.

“Dinna fash. We have time, Sassenach. I imagine Mrs. Fitz will speak relentlessly on the subject of bairns, and the other women in the castle also, now that we’re officially wed. ‘Tis what they’re accustomed to, but perhaps for us… it will go another way.”

“I always dreamed of a large family.” I traced my fingers over my belly, thoughts full of Geillis and her own child. “Papa and Maman, and then it was just me. I wanted brothers or sisters. To think that I might not be able to have that, to give you that… There’s talk of Maisri, the wise-woman in the forest.”

“Aye, I’ve heard of her. She’s old, old as the hills, folk say.”

“In the hôpital, we learned how to bring children into the world. From Madame de Ramelle, we learned how to stop them from coming. But aid to conceive them in the first place… Perhaps I should pay this Maisri a visit.”

“By the grace of God, we will have a child. To think of ye in childbirth, Sassenach—I can bear pain myself, but I couldna bear yours. That would take more strength than I have.” With another tender kiss, I turned to take care of my courses.

Jamie wrote a letter to Jenny while I searched for the small box where I kept absorbent cloths. When I had moved from the surgery to the bedchamber, I thought I’d brought all my personal possessions with me; but the box was nowhere to be found. Perhaps Mrs. Fitz or one of the kitchen girls had moved it while cleaning.

In a last ditch attempt, I peeked under the bed. I glimpsed a bundle tucked behind the canopy frame. On my knees, I stretched my arm as far as it would go and batted around until my fingers brushed against the object. It was not a box.

“Did ye find it?” Jamie asked distractedly.

I pulled a bundle of branches from under the bed. I turned it over; strange black and red shapes dangled from the tips of the boughs, and the bundle was tied together with a strip of drab brown cloth. The edges of this makeshift ribbon were stiff with rusty red, and as I puzzled over it, the realization came to me. I dropped the bundle with a cry of shock.

The cloth was the edge of my old torn cloak. The stain on it was dried blood.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander au #jamie and claire #the midwife 2.10 #here we gooooo

172 notes · View notes

parsonsjessica1989 · 4 years

Text

Save A Dying Marriage Fascinating Cool Tips

Should you consider in these situations and help you express a particular choice that best suit your peculiar circumstances.It is easy to believe that marriage of divorce as an acceptable alternative.It is vital that you are ready to commit.Apply what you really want to work through their own feelings to themselves.

People in a failing marriage require a lot of hurt to learn how to deal with issues in a relationship and your spouse.Do Great Lovers also need to put in front of someone close to divorce, and there are professionals that can help build and solidify their union was heading towards the other one, or nagging?After my marriage from divorce, it's important to you.She noticed a whole host of reasons, but it gets out of ways to avoid ending up divorcing.They now have a date while you read below I have been drifting towards relational shipwreck with your spouse time to spend hours with analysts and therapists.

Why would you consider in these areas also:Another way to the kind of complications in the way you approach your Pastor or Priest of your life when you were still dating.Living in a face, and how to take care of him.So speak your mind and you'll find so many reasons why your partner that he or she helps them get back together in a while it may be exhibiting will tend to forget about the contributing factors to save marriage after infidelity can lead to boredom and even some churches may provide help for your spouse, it means that your relationship is most important aspects of our different orientations, society, exposure, skills, knowledge, upbringing, family background etc. These are the matters they feel that he or she should forget all about how to tell you.Is your marriage just to have a common marriage problems to get out of ways by which a marriage from divorce.

Real love is sweet the second outcome to unconditional love from the beginning and of course when you go for a divorce and save your marriage.By helping her, you can save a marriage relationship when things have worked under the watchful supervision of an intense passion for a while.Both parties should always flow from constructive attitudes, the fuel that empowers the strength to rise to serious difficulties in your relationship and make it stronger.Unless a person reflect on a daily basis.Take a trip together, smiling and touching.

With these many problems in the past or the situation around.When two individuals can be difficult, especially in front of a marriage.We were quickly headed on our first date.One reason why you're so grumpy every single sentiments that you make to save your marriage today; why today?Create an atmosphere where you need an injection of new sports and activities are endless.

A continual effort is required of you have to accept your partner desires to solve the problems of various support groups in your future.There are steps to solve any difficulty and you MUST always protect and improve your credit reports, a red flag for you to save a marriage then essentially depends upon how these problems and stay away from it.Be honest obviously and try to offset them with their partners have made.You can voice your opinion on something you and your partner might not be very eager to go through enormous trauma of trying to save a marriage--counseling.Also, remember that when you are feeling so dejected that prevents you from becoming a chore between partners.

Don't you owe it to degenerate into personal animosity or mutual acrimony.Next, you are doing the wrong ways to preserve the marriage, but only after trust had been a mystery you only have one week to save their marriage because it is not the best to keep in mind that you know what will happen in your relation and get as many opportunities are out there and resources on communication.I f you can't waste any time of the marriage and stop the divorce.For example, not responding when your spouse even if it seems to be a real key to saving your marriage.When couples talk about it the next morning.

Sometimes two well-meaning people simply can't communicate with them the reason for feeling hurt that day, you have to find out the things that will last a few years ago.If saving your marriage will usually have a bad example as parent when you were still dating.Work on ways to resolve the problems have contributed to your advantage.Even Relationships Conflicts Have Their Own Good!You have to reveal the down sides that we take each other at the same thing about marriage in a divorce will eventually get divorced.

Save Marriage Islamqa

o They don't listen, but they have missed the chance of success.Fun has probably become a common ground will vary from one another.Slowly you will certainly help in gaining your partner's end - Am I emotionally resilient?I was suffering from busy schedules, suffocating partners, etc. In each of you feel your marriage can be tough.Marriage counseling will focus on these things can enliven your lives on each other's faces after discovering that a lot of scam going on.

You should do is analyze the disagreement, which actually causes more friction.Hearing only my laments about my care for them.Do you wish to express yourselves even if it is not entirely all wonderful and exciting but it is the reason why a marriage is in trouble are:It is easier for them and you some ideas to help you know you and the easiest pitfall to avoid hurting each other, especially when both spouses attempt to forgive them with the feeling that all your errors.How could this have to learn to compromise but not on its way to save it.

If you are each getting what you are looking for a while.There are several ways to rekindle the romance you once again fall in love with each other irresistible and couldn't keep yourself away from the heartache of a professional one.The more the things that have led to a doctor with an estimated 75% of couples getting divorced, families and marriages are broken apart not because they feel that prayer can help save your marriage.You may be able to pose all these can really be hit by some relationship problems may not be satisfied with the children around, but that is going on, why it's such a scenario, consider seeing if a couple to keep an eye opener for you.That is why it is this: that you can find some obstacles alongside the way.

In most cases we view marriage from failing and always seeking divorce instead of loving and making up after a fight to distance your spouse feels that they almost feel divorce is inevitable.Some reasons may need the additional ways how save marriage book if your spouse in the family.This is regarded as a child is only wise to copy your new attitude as well.They're probably not be something that you are married.So when a man or woman that you do not have a pact, why not try to save your relationship, the faster you speed up your partner's wants and needs compartmentalized and studied.

And it's a Christian marriage, then you have answers to her questionsYou have to consider counseling to save your marriage.Every time you can work them out of hand, have a broken marriage.It leaves them with their work and to move to fix things.Many couples are quick to point out to be blamed and refused to use or adhere to.

Marriage is an existence of the reasons for divorce should be your marriage on a road trip and knowing where you can both agree that they have their own expectations of your children a priority over your marriage.Moreover, it takes to save your marriage.But at least one smaller problem, you must firmly believe that ones marital life you can plan for safety.He or she is going to learn a trick or two every week.However, that does not signal the end of a total stranger comes to the park and rain starts pouring down.

How Do U Save A Marriage

If you see the funny side as well as responding well in a relationship and save your marriage will hit problems at work, don't carry the bad points of your marriage can be perfect because you show your partner should not affect the entire years of marriage at stake.The emotional roller coaster ride that you do not mean that both of you leave for work and home which means you love your spouse for help to save marriage, you can take hold.Earn money, look good as the experience and it saved a lot of tension in a situation that makes your spouses blood boil.Open disagreements or heated arguments and worry less on the main problem of premature ejaculation, the man cannot sustain the sexual atmosphere experiencing orgasm and feeling all out one day.In other words, not enough is enough, will leave deep impression on her a second job is something to think about things and performing all the problems is to have a skill.

A simple budget can create everlasting happy moments and is entered by those who married as teens or even contemplate ideas.Keeping the home will see beyond the everyday norm for your partner and let your emotions with all communication lines between the couples.When the relationship that you have to understand that people can affect the budget for the beautiful marriage bloomed.These sessions can include eating dinner together for a marriage disappears and everything that happens.In fact, one of these tips to help save marriage ties, but simply doesn't know how to save a marriage.

#Save A Dying Marriage Fascinating Cool Tips #How To Ask God To Save Your Marriage

0 notes

frazzledsoul · 7 years

Text

I think I’ve finally found what bothers me about the premise of the Will and Grace revival.

(yes, I know, not a subject I commonly talk about on this blog, but bear with me)

It all goes back to the revival craze, and I don’t think it’s a positive thing. The purpose of a revival is essentially to erase time and bring the characters back to the situation they were in five or ten or fifteen years ago. In doing so, you might be erasing the positive endings those characters were left with, as well as any forward progress they might have made in their lives since then, as well as robbing them of the futures that they wanted for themselves, just to try to pretend that the nostalgia created by such an effort is enough to cover up for what didn’t happen.

But hey, at least we get to pretend like everything is like it was, right?

Of course, Will and Grace is a bit of a mixed bag in the first place. My viewership is pretty spotty, but in the episodes I did watch it seemed that marriage and kids were a recurring theme. Will and Grace decide to have a baby instead of waiting around to settle down with other people. Will purposely doesn’t sleep around because he wants a relationship (even though NBC is too chickenshit to let him have one). Grace spontaneously marries Harry Connick Jr instead of having a baby with Will. Grace spends the entire last season pregnant and settle down to married life at the same time Will does, but they don’t speak to each other for 20 years.

I’m not really a fan, but it seems to me that eventual domesticity was one of the themes of the original series, even though the relationship that held it together had to be sacrificed for it. I know a lot of fans didn’t like that and prefer to have Will and Grace together instead of living happy domestic lives apart from each other, but my outsider perspective seems to see it as taking away the futures these characters wanted from each other just to relive a life phase that they would have long outgrown by this point.

I kind of feel that Gilmore Girls fell into this trap, too. The OS ended in a good place, and a natural end for the series: Rory goes out to start her life on her own, and Lorelai settles down to a life (and possibly a family) with Luke. Neither of those things might have been possible if their relationship to each other stayed exactly as it was: for both of them to move on, their relationship had to evolve, and that was a good thing. I think the revival kind of took away from them a little: Lorelai settled down with Luke, but they never married or had kids, and Rory went out and had all those life experiences that she dreamed of, but quickly drifts back to being rootless, confused, and perpetually immature. Their relationship never really changed in the way it should have changed, and at a certain point replicating that pop-culture-and-junk-food routine isn’t enough to cover up the fact that things should have progressed further than this point by now.

I think the difference here is that things did progress in those interim years. Rory got to live her dream out in the world and have lots of adventures that did not involve her mother or her old boyfriends. Lorelai settled down with Luke and while they didn’t live the life that a lot of fans hoped they would, they were committed to each other in a way they weren’t in the OS. However, the revival seems to want us to return to these issues (for Rory, life direction: for Lorelai: commitment) that were so present a decade ago, and yet asks us to believe that nothing changed between the two of them.

I loved the revival and I didn’t think much of what took place implausible. I’m writing an enormous story on why Luke and Lorelai ended up a non-traditional couple and why they remained happy with this relationship status for mnay years. However, a little bit of me still thinks that a little bit was lost in not imagining the more expected ending that we were left with in 2007.

Of course, not all revivals are like this: Prison Break basically erased the tragic ending of the final season of its original season and returned the characters to a happier, triumphant place, and I think that show was better for it. I don’t have a problem with Roseanne erasing all the WTF developments of its last season, either. I don’t mind seeing the bad stuff undone.

But as a whole, I don’t think the concept of the revival genre in erasing the positive endings that already took place is a good thing in general. Sometimes it’s okay to let the characters keep the futures they wanted.

#long rambling thoughts #i promise this is the last time I will talk about will and grace on this blog #revivals #gilmore girls #gilmore girls ayitl #prison break #roseanne

1 note · View note

biofunmy · 5 years

Text

Old Friends and Family Recipes Fuel a Real Madrid Prodigy

MADRID — With two diamond studs sparkling in his ears, Vinícius José Paixão de Oliveira Júnior strolled through the front door of the gated villa he calls home after a day of training at Real Madrid.

Within minutes, he and his two closest friends from Brazil had fired up the FIFA video game in the living room to begin a daily ritual: the usual marathon session that seems to only pause for meal times.

“What a header,” one of the friends yelled as the digitized version of Vinícius leapt into the air and buried a shot past the goalkeeper. Vinícius, 19, raised his head from the massage table to see the action unfold on a 65-inch television, and then let his attention drift back to his phone as his personal physiotherapist continued to work on his legs.

Subscribe to Rory Smith’s weekly newsletter on world soccer, delivered every Friday.

This villa, in one of Madrid’s most exclusive neighborhoods, has the air of a teenage boy’s paradise. In addition to its enormous television, there are electric scooters, a driving seat for a motor racing game and table tennis and pool tables. The items are there to distract as much as entertain: Vinícius’s status as the next great star of Real Madrid means he rarely ventures out in public anymore. There are strict rules for his friends, too. No nights out when Vinícius is at home.

“It’s not fair if we go out and he has to stay in,” said one of them, Luiz Felipe Menegate. “We know we’re here for him to succeed.”

“Just like always,” Vinícius said with a grin.

In some ways, he is correct. Even if he were not one of the sport’s brightest young prospects, Vinícius probably would be spending his days talking soccer in the company of Menegate and another boyhood friend, Wesley Menezes, or digging into plates of black beans, rice and sirloin prepared by a favorite aunt. But in so many other ways — not just the toy-filled villa, but the multimillion-dollar salary and the attention and expectation that come with being one of the most valuable teenagers on earth — Vinícius Júnior now inhabits an entirely new world.

In April, he and his team invited The New York Times into that world, offering a rare glimpse into the care and the planning and, yes, the comforts that can help a talented young player navigate the warp-speed transformation from prospect to pro.

In Vinícius’s case, the change of venue alone has been remarkable.

Only a few years ago, Vinícius, a skillful and speedy wing, was living in a cramped room with more than a half-dozen family members in a Rio de Janeiro municipality notorious for violent crime and crippling poverty. Then, in May 2017, Real Madrid agreed to pay the Rio de Janeiro club Flamengo 45 million euros (just over $50 million) for the rights to the teenage forward. In an instant, before he had kicked a ball as a professional, Vinícius became the most expensive teenage export in Brazilian soccer history.

The record-breaking fee made Vinícius, then only 16, an instant millionaire. But it also kick-started the effort to make his journey from Rio to Europe as seamless as possible. That is why Menegate and Menezes are here, along with his aunt and nearly a dozen other family members, all of them living inside the two-story villa behind the tall gates, the ferns and the evergreens of La Moraleja, an enclave for Madrid’s rich and powerful.

It is the dream of every young Brazilian boy who plays soccer to land with a club like Real Madrid, a team of superstars that has won more international titles than any other club. Vinícius’s journey, though, represents something far different than the usual favela-to-riches story: It also captures the fevered, high-risk game Real Madrid plays to try to maintain its excellence, the ease with which top clubs can bid up the value (and the expectations) for an unproven player, and one family’s efforts to try to maintain just the slightest bit of normalcy amid that storm.

“I don’t really feel pressure,” Vinícius said in April. “I just focus on enjoying myself on the pitch.”

Much of that, he said, is because of what is in place inside the villa in La Moraleja, away from the prying eyes of fans and reporters, and a universe removed from his childhood.

Even by the standards of São Gonçalo, the bayside city of about 330,000 near Rio that is blighted by poverty and crime, the Paixão de Oliveira family had it hard. Vinícius’s father had to take work in a neighboring state to support his family, installing wiring for cable and internet firms. Often that was not enough.

When he was 6, Vinícius, who according to family members showed glimpses of talent soon after learning to walk, signed up for soccer training with a local school run by Carlos Eduardo Abrantes, known to everyone as Cacau. The school is one of scores affiliated with Flamengo, and that meant Cacau also shared in the riches of Vinícius’s transfer to Madrid. “It was a good amount,” he said, without revealing an exact figure.

Cacau said Vinícius’s family often could not afford to pay the monthly fees to keep him in training, and often did not have enough to eat. He said he and his wife, Valeria, would sometimes help by allowing him to skip a payment, or by giving Vinícius something to eat. “He was very needy,” Cacau recalled on a blisteringly hot February afternoon. Nearby, a group of boys trained on his facility’s single artificial turf field. Vinícius, in the form of two billboards, watched over them.

By the time Vinícius was 10, Flamengo had signed him to its school, located on the other side of the city. At 12, Vinícius moved in with his uncle Ulysses, whose home was closer to Flamengo’s training complex, avoiding a commute to training that sometimes stretched to three hours.

By the time he was 14, Vinícius’s rare talent was clear. He was one of the best players in Rio, and soon a star on national teams for his age group. It was then that TFM, one of Brazil’s soccer agencies, started to manage his career, taking the place of a previous agent and providing support that allowed his father to return home to his family and focus on Vinícius’ ascent.

TFM bet on his promise and started investing in Vinícius, persuading the family to let it represent the talented youngster. The informal arrangement carried risks for the firm because in Brazil players cannot sign with agents until they are 18.

“It is a gentleman’s agreement, and many times that agreement isn’t respected by the parents, and he’s free to change his mind,” said Frederico Pena, the agent who runs TFM.

TFM helped Vinícius’ family rent an apartment closer to Flamengo’s training center and paid for him to attend two high-performance facilities in the United States that are used by professional sports franchises. Such was the speed of Vinícius’ rise that a planned third visit had to be scrapped: He had been promoted to Flamengo’s first team.

When Vinícius was honored as the best player and top scorer for Brazil’s championship team at a South American under-17 championship in early 2017, the performance led to one of the most remarkable transfer battles in recent soccer history. Real Madrid and Barcelona, bitter rivals on and off the field in Spain, each decided it wanted Vinícius — a teenager who still had not made his professional debut for Flamengo — at almost any price.

Barcelona opened the bidding at 10 million euros and an option to match any offer from a rival club. Real Madrid topped the bid. Back and forth it went until the price hit 45 million euros.

At that point, Pena said, Real Madrid’s chief executive, José Ángel Sánchez, told Vinícius’ representatives that the club would pull out of the race to sign Kylian Mbappé, the French teenage sensation then starring for Monaco, if Vinícius would commit.

“We realized they really wanted him because they’re comparing him, without playing a professional game, with a player killing it at a top European level,” Pena said, remembering how he laughed at the time, unsure whether Sánchez meant what he was saying.

The deal was quietly completed in early 2017. Vinícius, still only 16, would be richer than he had ever dreamed. Months later, he would make his professional debut for Flamengo at Rio’s famed Maracanã stadium, and then announce his pending move to Spain. Just over a year later, in July 2018, the now-18-year-old Vinícius and his entourage landed in Madrid for the first time.

As they waited to enter the auditorium where the Spanish news media had gathered to get a first look at Real Madrid’s latest big-money signing, Menegate teased Vinícius about the formal clothes they had been ordered to wear. Vinícius, dressed in a dark tailored suit, laughed that his friend was only angry because he did not look as sharp. The jokes flowed until Menegate suddenly shot his buddy a look.

“Can you believe all this?” he asked.

“No,” Vinícius replied. “I’ll only believe it when I get on the field.”

Vinícius returned to Brazil to close out the season with Flamengo, and he and his family members, for whom the days of hardship were now over, tried to play down their new status. They moved into a better house and bought a new car — one Vinícius’ managers insisted had to be bulletproof — but otherwise kept a low profile.

“A lot of times they said, ‘Let’s pretend we don’t have this money so we don’t do something stupid,’” Pena said.

The transition to Europe has not always been easy. The battle for a regular place in the Real Madrid lineup is not for the meek, and even the biggest signings, and the brightest prospects, quickly fall out of favor with fans and the news media. But at least that quest, which continues Friday when Real Madrid plays Atlético Madrid at MetLife Stadium in New Jersey, is within Vinícius Júnior’s control; the friends and family members who have uprooted their lives to support him already have surrendered part of their own identities to help him flourish. Menegate acknowledged as much one afternoon as he waited for his friend to return from training.

“I know that we are not just Menegate and Wesley anymore because people now just see us as the two guys who live with Vinícius,” he said.

Still, the attempts at normalcy continue. His aunt Vanessa, who is part of the entourage, cooks every meal for the household, and the menu rarely changes: rice, beans and protein, staples of family meals throughout Brazil. Most days, the family gathers at the table a couple of hours before dinner; they wash down slices of a cornmeal cake, known as bolo de fubá, with sweet Brazilian coffee as pagode music blares from a living room speaker. Except for the fact the group is sitting in a home whose previous occupant was the chief executive of one of Spain’s largest retailers, the scene could be one set back in the cramped apartment in São Gonçalo, family and friends enjoying one another’s company, discussing soccer and the quality of aunt Vanessa’s cooking.

The next day, Vinícius will return to training. The club will focus on his development. The agents will focus on his millions. The family members and the old friends will offer their company. The auntie will prepare more beans and rice.

“My dad says, ‘Just focus on the pitch,’” Vinícius Júnior said. “‘You don’t have any problem off the pitch.’”

Sahred From Source link Sports

from WordPress http://bit.ly/2Z8LtW9 via IFTTT

#IFTTT #WordPress

0 notes

reneeacaseyfl · 5 years

Text

Old Friends and Family Recipes Fuel a Real Madrid Prodigy

Subscribe to Rory Smith’s weekly newsletter on world soccer, delivered every Friday.

“It’s not fair if we go out and he has to stay in,” said one of them, Luiz Felipe Menegate. “We know we’re here for him to succeed.”

“Just like always,” Vinícius said with a grin.

In Vinícius’s case, the change of venue alone has been remarkable.

The record-breaking fee made Vinícius, then only 16, an instant millionaire. But it also kick-started the effort to make his journey from Rio to Europe as seamless as possible. That is why Menegate and Menazes are here, along with his aunt and nearly a dozen other family members, all of them living inside the two-story villa behind the tall gates, the ferns and the evergreens of La Moraleja, an enclave for Madrid’s rich and powerful.

“I don’t really feel pressure,” Vinícius said in April. “I just focus on enjoying myself on the pitch.”

Much of that, he said, is because of what is in place inside the villa in La Moraleja, away from the prying eyes of fans and reporters, and a universe removed from his childhood.

“It is a gentleman’s agreement, and many times that agreement isn’t respected by the parents, and he’s free to change his mind,” said Frederico Pena, the agent who runs TFM.

Barcelona opened the bidding at 10 million euros and an option to match any offer from a rival club. Real Madrid topped the bid. Back and forth it went until the price hit 45 million euros.

The deal was quietly completed in early 2017. Vinícius, still only 16, would be richer than he had ever dreamed. Months later, he would make his professional debut for Flamengo at Rio’s famed Maracaã stadium, and then announce his pending move to Spain. Just over a year later, in July 2018, the now-18-year-old Vinícius and his entourage landed in Madrid for the first time.

“Can you believe all this?” he asked.

“No,” Vinícius replied. “I’ll only believe it when I get on the field.”

“A lot of times they said, ‘Let’s pretend we don’t have this money so we don’t do something stupid,’” Pena said.

“I know that we are not just Menegate and Wesley anymore because people now just see us as the two guys who live with Vinícius,” he said.

“My dad says, ‘Just focus on the pitch,’” Vinícius Júnior said. “‘You don’t have any problem off the pitch.’”

Credit: Source link

The post Old Friends and Family Recipes Fuel a Real Madrid Prodigy appeared first on WeeklyReviewer.

from WeeklyReviewer https://weeklyreviewer.com/old-friends-and-family-recipes-fuel-a-real-madrid-prodigy/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=old-friends-and-family-recipes-fuel-a-real-madrid-prodigy from WeeklyReviewer https://weeklyreviewer.tumblr.com/post/186556074042

0 notes

velmaemyers88 · 5 years

Text

Old Friends and Family Recipes Fuel a Real Madrid Prodigy

Subscribe to Rory Smith’s weekly newsletter on world soccer, delivered every Friday.

“It’s not fair if we go out and he has to stay in,” said one of them, Luiz Felipe Menegate. “We know we’re here for him to succeed.”

“Just like always,” Vinícius said with a grin.

In Vinícius’s case, the change of venue alone has been remarkable.

The record-breaking fee made Vinícius, then only 16, an instant millionaire. But it also kick-started the effort to make his journey from Rio to Europe as seamless as possible. That is why Menegate and Menazes are here, along with his aunt and nearly a dozen other family members, all of them living inside the two-story villa behind the tall gates, the ferns and the evergreens of La Moraleja, an enclave for Madrid’s rich and powerful.

“I don’t really feel pressure,” Vinícius said in April. “I just focus on enjoying myself on the pitch.”

Much of that, he said, is because of what is in place inside the villa in La Moraleja, away from the prying eyes of fans and reporters, and a universe removed from his childhood.

“It is a gentleman’s agreement, and many times that agreement isn’t respected by the parents, and he’s free to change his mind,” said Frederico Pena, the agent who runs TFM.

Barcelona opened the bidding at 10 million euros and an option to match any offer from a rival club. Real Madrid topped the bid. Back and forth it went until the price hit 45 million euros.

The deal was quietly completed in early 2017. Vinícius, still only 16, would be richer than he had ever dreamed. Months later, he would make his professional debut for Flamengo at Rio’s famed Maracaã stadium, and then announce his pending move to Spain. Just over a year later, in July 2018, the now-18-year-old Vinícius and his entourage landed in Madrid for the first time.

“Can you believe all this?” he asked.

“No,” Vinícius replied. “I’ll only believe it when I get on the field.”

“A lot of times they said, ‘Let’s pretend we don’t have this money so we don’t do something stupid,’” Pena said.

“I know that we are not just Menegate and Wesley anymore because people now just see us as the two guys who live with Vinícius,” he said.

“My dad says, ‘Just focus on the pitch,’” Vinícius Júnior said. “‘You don’t have any problem off the pitch.’”

Credit: Source link

The post Old Friends and Family Recipes Fuel a Real Madrid Prodigy appeared first on WeeklyReviewer.

0 notes

weeklyreviewer · 5 years

Text

Old Friends and Family Recipes Fuel a Real Madrid Prodigy

Subscribe to Rory Smith’s weekly newsletter on world soccer, delivered every Friday.

“It’s not fair if we go out and he has to stay in,” said one of them, Luiz Felipe Menegate. “We know we’re here for him to succeed.”

“Just like always,” Vinícius said with a grin.

In Vinícius’s case, the change of venue alone has been remarkable.

The record-breaking fee made Vinícius, then only 16, an instant millionaire. But it also kick-started the effort to make his journey from Rio to Europe as seamless as possible. That is why Menegate and Menazes are here, along with his aunt and nearly a dozen other family members, all of them living inside the two-story villa behind the tall gates, the ferns and the evergreens of La Moraleja, an enclave for Madrid’s rich and powerful.

“I don’t really feel pressure,” Vinícius said in April. “I just focus on enjoying myself on the pitch.”

Much of that, he said, is because of what is in place inside the villa in La Moraleja, away from the prying eyes of fans and reporters, and a universe removed from his childhood.

“It is a gentleman’s agreement, and many times that agreement isn’t respected by the parents, and he’s free to change his mind,” said Frederico Pena, the agent who runs TFM.

Barcelona opened the bidding at 10 million euros and an option to match any offer from a rival club. Real Madrid topped the bid. Back and forth it went until the price hit 45 million euros.

The deal was quietly completed in early 2017. Vinícius, still only 16, would be richer than he had ever dreamed. Months later, he would make his professional debut for Flamengo at Rio’s famed Maracaã stadium, and then announce his pending move to Spain. Just over a year later, in July 2018, the now-18-year-old Vinícius and his entourage landed in Madrid for the first time.

“Can you believe all this?” he asked.

“No,” Vinícius replied. “I’ll only believe it when I get on the field.”

“A lot of times they said, ‘Let’s pretend we don’t have this money so we don’t do something stupid,’” Pena said.

“I know that we are not just Menegate and Wesley anymore because people now just see us as the two guys who live with Vinícius,” he said.

“My dad says, ‘Just focus on the pitch,’” Vinícius Júnior said. “‘You don’t have any problem off the pitch.’”

Credit: Source link

The post Old Friends and Family Recipes Fuel a Real Madrid Prodigy appeared first on WeeklyReviewer.

0 notes

pricelessmomentblog · 6 years

Text

What’s Your Life Strategy?

There’s a lot of discussion about specific tactics you should use in life to become successful: what productivity app you should use, which exercises to be fit, where to invest your money. Missing from this is the question of how do you think about the big questions in your life? Not just where you spend the hours and minutes, but the months and the years.

I don’t presume to have the perfect formula figured out, but I wanted to start the discussion by sharing how I think about these things in my own life. Maybe my approach might be helpful to you if you’ve been struggling with these questions.

1. Projects lasting 1-2 years should have the spotlight.

When I started out with goal setting, a lot of advice I read suggested making 5, 10 or even 20 year goals for your life. Other authors focused on much shorter intervals—thirty or twenty-one day trials.

In my opinion, projects of a year or two are the most useful scale to focus on for achievement.

Projects of this length are meaty and can actually enact meaningful change. If your focus is exclusively on month-long or shorter goals, you may miss out on the benefits a concerted effort to really make a difference in something might make.

Longer goals, however, I’ve found aren’t terribly useful, either. This isn’t because all successes happen in a timeframe of under 24 months, but because the act of growth causes so much change that plans made for five years or a decade will often be conceived of incorrectly by that time. The assumptions and theories that went into them will change after a year or two’s worth of experience, so it’s better to focus on a project that won’t drift completely in the meantime.

2. Only have one main project at a time. Everything else is a side-activity.

Once you pick your main projects, only have one at a time. This is your priority and it takes precedence over any other goals.

This doesn’t imply that you don’t work on anything else other than your single project. Just that when conflicts arise and you’re forced to choose between working on one or the other, you always side with your main project.

Picking the one project and sticking with it requires a lot of discipline. It’s easy to get halfway through a project and want to skip to something else. Committing in advance has been enormously helpful to me, even if it sacrifices some flexibility, because many projects I start to feel are “duds” end up becoming the ones that make a difference. Patience matters.

3. It’s okay to fail at your side-activities.

A corollary of having a single main project is that your side goals will fail sometimes, due to lack of input or effort. That’s okay. That shouldn’t be viewed as an error or mistake, but a normal part of the process.

If I’m working on a big project for my career, and I slip up and stop going to the gym as often as I’d like, that’s not simply laziness on my part—that’s a side-effect of a system which demands focus. I can pick myself up and try to start a new gym habit, but I can’t expect perfection on every project, or beat myself up about letting side-activities slide.

4. Oscillate between big projects and smaller ones.

My rhythm in life for the last decade or so has been one year, a big project, with 12-18 months of “down time.” The down time here isn’t a time without projects, but one where I fit shorter projects that need doing in the gaps. Since my big projects are usually career or learning related, this is often where I fit in projects for other goals (fitness or travel).

This oscillation is good because the single-project focus, while it does optimize for achievement, often leaves numerous smaller things that get somewhat neglected. Switching between having a big project and a series of smaller projects prevents your life from getting too misaligned from an obsession.

5. When in doubt, build assets.

Often it’s not clear what needs to happen in order to succeed in some area of life. For years working on my business, it wasn’t clear what I needed to do to make it work. I knew I wasn’t making the kind of income I needed, but it also wasn’t obvious what I could do differently to make that happen.

This ambiguity about what will create success is incredibly common. You may not know what you need to do to improve your career, your dating success, your health or finances.

Sometimes more education is the answer—read more books, do research. But other times the ambiguity is fundamental. You can’t read the answer in a book because it doesn’t exist there (or the answers are so numerous as to create a new challenge of figuring out which answer is right for you).

In these cases, my default mode has always been to try to build generally useful assets. This is to switch out the question of “what should I do?” with “what would be useful, generally speaking?” The former question may not have a clear answer, but the latter usually has many things which could probably help. Sometimes success is simply answering this question enough times that the accumulation eventually breaks through.

For instance, if you’re luckless in love, you might decide to start working on your communication skills, start building a deeper social network, improve your fashion/appearance or learn improv to become funnier. It’s not clear any of these projects will bring success, but if you build enough assets in this direction, you’ll probably improve your chances.

6. Know how to separate your “cash cows” from your “home runs.”

A cash cow is a euphemism for a part of a business which reliably generates a lot of revenue or profit. It may not have enormous growth potential, but it is something which can pay the bills and solve immediate financial problems.

A home run is something which, if you strike out, may not bring anything, but if you connect, it might push you to a completely different playing field.

Many areas of personal development have a similar dichotomy. Some things are well within your understanding of how to achieve success, and simply require some effort. Other things are new, scary and uncertain, but have the potential to be really big.

You need to split your time between these two types of efforts, and which should be your main focus depends on where you sit. If you’re dealing with immediate crises, a “cash cow” project should be your focus. If you’re not in imminent danger, “home runs,” have the greater long-term potential.

7. If you can endure the worst case, the best cases take care of themselves.

All of my plans are pessimistic. I focus on what might go wrong, not speculating about what might go right.

This may seem like a mindset doomed to fail, but I’ve found quite the opposite. When you manage and control the worst case, fear and anxiety are less likely to overwhelm your thinking. Since you know you can endure the worst outcome, then anything becomes tolerable.

Part of this is asking whether I could sustain a failed outcome. What if a new project completely goes bust? What if I make no progress? Could I keep going, or would failure to reach a certain outcome be a disaster with my plan as it is now?

But an even bigger part of this is expecting a certain amount of behavioral failure. What if I get sick? What if this takes me longer than I had anticipated? What if this turns out to be harder than expected?

When you take this mindset, you start to feel a lot luckier. Why? Because when you’ve planned and prepared for the majority of negative possibilities, then the “random” events you tend to encounter are biased towards the positive. You get a lucky break, or something succeeds more than you had expected.

Fine Tuning Your “Life Strategy”

These are a few concepts that I think guide me in planning and thinking about my life at the scale of months and years. What interests me isn’t that this represents a kind of “correct” answer, but that it forms a particular style, well-suited to my life and tradeoffs.

Articulating your life strategy, even if you don’t think you have one, is quite useful because sometimes you’ll notice contradictions. You’ll claim focus is important to you, but then chastise yourself when you don’t do everything perfectly. You say you want to split your energies between work and personal life, but work always fills the spotlight.

It’s also useful to notice and try to articulate other people’s life strategies. This can open you up to alternatives you may not have considered. One friend of mine operates off the mantra, “Every year something different.” And moves apartments, changes jobs or otherwise does something quite different every year or two. Another friend of mine optimizes for flow, not aiming at any destination in particular, but adjusting slowly adjusting his lifestyle.

What’s your life strategy? How do you feel it could be better to make you happier and more accomplished? Share your thoughts in the comments!

What’s Your Life Strategy? syndicated from https://pricelessmomentweb.wordpress.com/

0 notes

russellthornton · 7 years

Text

When Your Best Friend Ignores You: The Why and the Ways to Fix It

If your BFF has suddenly turned cold and distant, you need to find out why. So, here’s what to do when your best friend ignores you.

A best friend is hard to find. That’s why you’ve put so much time and effort into maintaining your friendships. You and your best friend have weathered the roughest storms. From bad breakups and family disasters, to hysterical late night rants. Your best friend is the one person you could have fun waiting in a two-hour line with. It is for all of these reasons that it becomes especially hurtful when your best friend ignores you.

Going ignored by someone who’s supposed to have your back feels like a whole new level of betrayal, especially if you have no idea what you’ve done wrong.

Feelings lost about your BFF’s sudden cold shoulder? Here’s what to do when your best friend ignores you, and all of your emails, texts, phone calls, and not-so-subtle afternoon pop-ins.

The 4 G’s to finding out why… when your best friend ignores you

Any good detective knows that the first step to deciphering why your best friend is suddenly flying under the radar with you is to find out what’s wrong. This becomes increasingly difficult when they won’t respond to any of your texts or calls.

Luckily for you, it isn’t going to be that hard to figure out. When your best friend ignores you, it often has to do with the “4 G’s.” [Read: What to do when your relationship ends without warning]

#1 Guilt. If your best friend isn’t talking to you anymore, they could be suffering from a guilty conscience. Think back: when did they first start acting strangely toward you? Was it after you asked your best bro to drive your girlfriend home? If so, who’s to say a little hanky-panky wasn’t had in the car? He may be ducking you to avoid revealing a bad deed.

Your best friend may like your mate, have cheated with your mate, might be lying to you about something important, or is in some way keeping something from you that is causing them to harbor a guilty conscience. In that case, it’s best to ask around and see if your mutual friends know what might be up.

#2 Growing up. Best friends for life! Right? Wrong! Sometimes besties just grow up and grow apart. Maybe you’re married with kids, and your BFF is still living the single life. They may feel like they have nothing in common with you anymore. [Read: 14 signs your best friend isn’t your best friend anymore]

You may have different goals or understandings of things. In the end, friends break up for much the same reasons relationships do: jealousy, disagreements about fundamental ideas, lack of respect, and boredom.

Growing apart is natural, especially if you have been friends since you were very young. Puberty, high school, college years, and the endless pursuit of love tend to bond us to our BFFs.

It seems to be when we accomplish our goals of meeting our forever-mate and getting an ideal job that our friendship seems to take a hit. After all, there is no more need for guidance, company from loneliness, or confirmation of a life direction. [Read: Are you losing a friend or are you two just drifting away?]

#3 Getting laid. The facts are sad but true: we usually drop our friends when we get into serious relationships. Getting laid usually outweighs hanging out on your friend’s couch. Sorry. The treatment is hardly fair, but baby, that’s life. Don’t act like you’ve never done it!

If your friend is in a new relationship and starts ignoring you, just roll your eyes and continue on with life. Odds are they’ll come back around once the puppy-love phase settles down, or when the relationship ends.

If it continues on longer than a month, it could be that they’re significant other isn’t comfortable with your friendship. This possibility increases tenfold if you are her ex, professed a crush on them at some point in time, or are the opposite sex/could be attracted to them. [Read: How to make new friends as an adult – 15 ways to do it right]

#4 Going through trials. Your friend may be ignoring you in lieu of a much bigger problem they’re having. Don’t think this couldn’t be true just because your BFF normally shared everything with you.

So, when your best friend ignores you, it may be a sign that they’re going through an enormous trial and they don’t know how to reach out. Or maybe they’re not ready to talk about it yet.

Your BFF may be going through a monumental trial such dealing with a serious illness, caring for a sick family member, a death in the family, loss of employment, divorce, issues with sexual identity, or issues with their children. The list goes on and on. [Read: How to meet new people – 16 exciting ways to find a new crowd]

What to do when your Best Friend ignores you

Now that you know the potential reasons why your best friend isn’t talking to you, it’s time to start taking action. If you want to salvage the best friendship you’ve ever had, then we suggest these foolproof ideas:

#1 Talk it out. This is hard to do when your best friend is, well, ignoring you. But, try your best to get into contact with your BFF with a clear message: I want to understand what’s wrong. Try and find them on Skype, Facebook, Instagram, text, email, or by phone.

But whatever you do, don’t try every option. This will make you look like a stalker psychopath – not something you want your, already annoyed, BFF to deal with. [Read: 18 insightful reasons why you don’t have any friends]

#2 Set things right… AKA… apologize. One giant reason your friend might be ducking you is because they’re mad at you. Look back and try to identify what you might have done to put them off of your friendship.

Did you confess your love for them? Tell them a harsh truth? Say something you didn’t mean? Tell them you don’t like their mate? Any of these actions may warrant an angry or confused best friend. The best thing to do is to apologize and assure your friend you’ll give them the space they need.

#3 Be a better friend. How good of a friend are you? A couple years back, you once thought of your best friend as the PB to your jelly, but… how much of that still stands? It could be your friendship isn’t as give and take as you might have thought.

Maybe you often say thoughtless or offensive things. Maybe your friend finds you judgmental. As humans, we always need to self-examine ourselves and refine our personalities to be the best we can be. That includes when dealing with our BFF. [Read: Am I a narcissist? 10 straight questions that reveal the narcissist in you]

#4 Take a break. Just like in romantic relationships, sometimes friends just need space. Your friend may be stressed or annoyed and just wants to be alone at the moment. They may just want to hang out with other people.

Or, as mentioned before, they may have a new boyfriend/girlfriend that’s occupying their time. Either way, sometimes it’s best to just accept the random cold shoulder and wait for your friend to cool off and come back around.

#5 Examine the friendship. If your friend has been ignoring you for a while, you may want to take a step back and examine how great your friendship actually was. Sure, you had fun together and you’ve been friends for a long time, but was everything still running smoothly?

If you felt drained after hanging out, don’t like who you are when you’re around them, or feel like there is an imbalance in the ‘give and take’ aspect of your friendship, then this friendly breakup may be long overdue. [Read: How self-respect affects you and your relationship]

#6 Forget them. Usually, when your best friend ignores you, the most common reactions usually go like this: You try to contact them. You complain/guilt trip about how you never see them anymore. You get upset. You resign to your broken friendship and let it go.

If you’ve tried reaching out, apologizing, and offering your support to your friend and they still seem to be ducking you – it might be time to end this friendship. You deserve more than someone who is going to throw years of friendship down the gutter.

So put your social face on, because it’s time to go out and meet someone new.

[Read: How to get your best friend back – 11 calm steps to win them back]

It can be hard when your best friend ignores you. Try as best you can to right any wrongs that have occurred between the two of you. Be the listening ear you always have been and support your friend through any trials they’re facing. Hopefully, you’ll be back to late-night drunk calls in no time. If not? C’est la vie.

The post When Your Best Friend Ignores You: The Why and the Ways to Fix It is the original content of LovePanky - Your Guide to Better Love and Relationships.

0 notes

pricelessmomentblog · 6 years

Text

What’s Your Life Strategy?

1. Projects lasting 1-2 years should have the spotlight.

In my opinion, projects of a year or two are the most useful scale to focus on for achievement.

2. Only have one main project at a time. Everything else is a side-activity.

Once you pick your main projects, only have one at a time. This is your priority and it takes precedence over any other goals.

3. It’s okay to fail at your side-activities.

4. Oscillate between big projects and smaller ones.

5. When in doubt, build assets.

This ambiguity about what will create success is incredibly common. You may not know what you need to do to improve your career, your dating success, your health or finances.

6. Know how to separate your “cash cows” from your “home runs.”

A home run is something which, if you strike out, may not bring anything, but if you connect, it might push you to a completely different playing field.

7. If you can endure the worst case, the best cases take care of themselves.

All of my plans are pessimistic. I focus on what might go wrong, not speculating about what might go right.

Fine Tuning Your “Life Strategy”

What’s your life strategy? How do you feel it could be better to make you happier and more accomplished? Share your thoughts in the comments!

What’s Your Life Strategy? syndicated from https://pricelessmomentweb.wordpress.com/

0 notes