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mistyresolve · 1 year

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| His Foresight - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Medic!Reader (Part 3)

Word Count - 3.7k

Summary - It’s been a couple months since you last had contact with Lt. Simon Ghost Riley. While you are repairing your tarnished reputation, Simon is on the other side working from the shadows and doing everything he can to take back his words. It isn’t until the three-month marker that you finally face him again, this time you’re willing to hear him out. If only because you guys are going to be team members.

Tags/Warnings - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Maybe a little bit of angst, Mentions of childhood trauma

A/N - as we near the end of this storyline I would like to thank everyone for their love and support and I appreciate every one of you guys 🤍🤍🤍 I am also going to post a brief POV from Ghost later, and one more part, two at tops.

Part 1 ❤︎ Part 2

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It had been a month since you last spoke with Ghost and since then you learned three things. The first was that he truly was a ghost. He haunted hallways and existed only in rumors and whispers. He made himself seen only when he wanted to be. For the rest of his assignment, he kept his distance. You figured since you have yet to see him it was because he was better at spotting you first and turning in the other direction. Soap would still drop by and fill you in on the latest 141 gossip. It didn’t go over your head that Soap never had any gossip about Ghost. Never once did Soap mention him. Whether Soap figured out that something had gone down on his own or forced it out of Ghost himself was a mystery. You didn’t have the energy or care to ask.

The second is that whatever he had been previously telling the higher up was either rescinded or someone had put in a good word about you. If it was Ghost or not, you also didn’t know. Nor did it matter if it was him, the damage was done. You put your hand up for every opportunity, followed every rule, and every patient that came to you left you with positive feedback. You were an HR dream.

The third was that you missed his company. Even a month after you were still fuming, still ready to rip his tongue out should you see him again. Still heartbroken and yet some part of you still missed Ghost. You kept a very tight leash on that part of you and squashed it beneath your boot. How was it fair that his fuck up, and his selfishness resulted in you losing a friend. It wasn’t, and that’s what you were most bitter about.

After two months, you have decided to let go of the anger and hurt. It wasn’t going to help you now. You kept yourself preoccupied with work and more work. You were still based in the new camp, now dubbed Fort Cardinal, which has since become one of the biggest bases.

You were just leaving the mess hall after breakfast when you were intercepted in the hallway.

“L/n?” the private asked.

“Yes?” your brows furrowed.

“Crawford wants to speak to you. He’s in his office.”

Crawford was the commanding officer, and when he summoned someone to his office it could mean only a few things. Most of them were bad. You pivoted and headed towards HQ. You might have taken the scenic route too. Pausing at the entrance to Crawfords office. “Sir,” you stood by the doorway waiting for your CO to acknowledge you, “you requested I come to see you.”

He looked up from the files splayed out on his desk, “Take a seat.”

You pulled out a chair opposite him, your palms began to sweat and you wiped them on your pants. Racking your brain to try and remember if you had done something wrong, or inappropriate, but came up blank.

“How many years have you been with us?” he questioned, folding his hands over the papers.

“Four, Sir,” you straightened your back and squared your shoulders.

He stared at you for a second, his face hard, before nodding and looking back to the papers. They were your files. A collection of reports and logs and records, “It’s of my understanding that you’ve voiced your desire for a transfer.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Since your enlistment, your peers and superiors have had nothing but good things to say about you. Your records show that you excelled in both the field and the classroom. Never missed a work day, never late,” he began listing things off from the note in front of him. You couldn’t tell if he was impressed or irritated, and it was psyching you out. He paused as he flipped through, “Have you fully recovered from your injury?”

“Healed like a dream,” you offered him a tight-lipped smile. It did, after the first couple of weeks you were back at work in full force.

“Good to hear,” he flipped a page back so it was facing you, “Any idea what this might have been for?” It would have looked the same as any other report aside from the fact that it was entirely redacted. Whatever was written beneath had been obscured by a thick black line.

You leaned forward, your smile fading into a frown. You shook your head, “I have no idea. No.” This was the first time you saw your files all laid out like this, so you were just as lost as him. Whoever redacted it must have been of higher status than him if even he didn’t know. Then again, you weren’t sure about what happened behind closed doors. You met his eyes, trying to read what he was thinking and when you couldn’t you wanted to melt into your seat.

“There’s been an opening,” he leaned back in his chair, “Aerospace medicine has requested a combat medic. It’ll be a one year contract. Should you take this position you will be sent out for a three week training program and your first assignment will be right after that. ”

If it weren’t for those four years of service and learning that people like your CO didn’t like a show of emotions you would have hopped around his office. So, you remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“The captain of Special Task Forces 141 has requested you himself for their next mission.”

Your heart dropped.

“Captain Price?” you echoed. Maybe it was a different 141.

“Correct,” he waved a hand, his patience shortening, “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” you answered before you could think it over, and he excused you before you could process your answer. This was what you had been asking for, what you were working towards, and now that it had been offered to you you were left uneasy. Working with the 141 was an honour and a nod to your capabilities. It also meant working with Lt. Simon Riley. You couldn’t unscramble your feelings about the implications.

You determined that professionalism would yield the best outcome.

You were packed and heading out for your training by lunch.

When you entered the briefing room, it was as relaxed as you expected from the 141. Which was not at all. The air was thick and sober. You were half an hour early and still the last to arrive.

“Morning,” Price stepped around the table everyone was surrounding.

“Good morning,” you replied, making your way to the table. Laswell met up with you during your training to give you a rundown on what to expect. You were going to be their combat medic, yes, but you could fight and shoot just as well as any other soldier. You even had the grounds to brag about your close combat skills. Laswell was visibly pleased when you told her your dad forced you into mixed martial arts when you were ten years old, and could take down a full-grown man like he was a bag of flour.

You scanned the table and the map splayed out was a replica of the one Laswell had provided. You tried to hide the smile and pointed to the empty medicine vial on the map, “Is that supposed to be me?”

“Aye,” Soap puffed his chest out, “that was my doing.”

When you looked up at Soap, you purposefully ignored the large burly man dressed in all black beside him, “Creative,” you noted how Ghost seemed to shrink back into the shadows at your indifference towards him.

Soap had actually picked everyone's avatar, a sniper bullet, a lighter, a toy skeleton, and an angel wing that looked like it used to be a necklace, and a battery. You couldn’t decide whether to laugh at the figurines or the fact that everyone accepted them.

Price ran through the plan, the target, and his expectations of everyone. He revealed that the target was going to be “Cameron Rowe” , a former sergeant turned rogue. His headshot was stabbed into the table with a knife. You recognized it as Ghosts, the blade usually fixed to his thigh.

“Since we have no real idea as to where Rowe will be we’ll be splitting off into teams.” You had to suck your lips into your mouth to keep from making an argument when Price moved your vial next to the skeleton on the map. “Soap and Laswell with nest at the top of these two buildings,” he pointed to the two highrises in front and behind Rowe’s apartment building. “Doc and Ghost will take watch at the port,” he dragged his finger to the loading docs, which was usually Rowe’s meeting place. “Gaz and I will be tailing his informers and hopefully, catch them in the act.”

You had a sneaking suspicion they stuck you with Ghost was to balance out the teams. Ghost was a one man army, you were basically going to keep him company. Or so they thought. You didn’t plan on sharing a single conversation with him, and you knew you could easily hold your own. The 141 had plans of not only taking down Rowe but finding out whoever he was working with. So, they couldn’t just pick him off in his apartment building.

After the briefing and everyone knew their role people started to filter back out. You stayed behind to speak with Price, having a few questions of your own.

“Captain,” you started and he turned back around, “Why ask for me?” This assignment was only temporary, you weren’t a part of the 141, but Price could have picked anyone in the world to help with this job.

“I read your file,” he closed the door behind him, coming to meet you by the table again, “You have an impressive background, and it makes me wonder why you chose the medical field.”

You were at the top of your class for both basics and medical school, so it was a genuine curiosity. He also probably had access to your life before enlistment, “It’s what I wanted,” was the only answer you could give him, and it’s the only one you had.

He hummed, his eyes turning to slits, “Then why agree?”

“I’ve been waiting for something like this since day one. How was I supposed to say no?” You’ve been waiting for an opportunity to show your versatility. This mission might have been overkill but it was what you wanted. Beggars can’t be choosers.

“You’re a strange one,” Price crossed his arms over his chest, “You’ll fit in great,” he looked like he had something else to say but changed his mind. He tilted his head towards the door, “Better go and get some rest, we leave at 0400 tomorrow.”

You nodded, parting off with a “Thank you,” before heading to the door.

“Can we talk?” Ghost was waiting outside the door when you left the room.

You shot him a blank look, “About?” you kept walking down the hall not waiting to hear his answer.

He followed after you, “I want to apologize.”

You exited the building and met with a blast of the hot sticky air of summer, the sun was getting low in the sky, “Go ahead, Judas” you turned to him, making eye contact with his chest. You gritted your teeth when you had to look up at him, “I’ll keep it civil for the sake of the mission but I don’t want to be your friend.”

His shoulders loosened as if he had just received the best news, “I understand,” he shifted back on his feet, his tired eyes scanning the area, before returning to you, “I was out of line. I was mixing private affairs with work, I see that now. And I’m sorry. I was being selfish and I wasn’t taking your needs and wants into consideration. So, if you’ll give me some grace and let me show you how good I can be.”

“Keep your fingers out of my business and I’ll think about it,” you quipped.

He lifted his hands before him, splaying his fingers out before curling them into a fist, “They’re put away,” he might have broken your trust and crossed you but he was still the friend you lost and missed. He was going to have to work for it either way. This was a start.

“We can talk more later,” where there were fewer listening ears and watchful eyes. “I’ll come to you when I’m good and ready. For now, just stay away from me,” you’d think after 3 months you’d have figured out what you’d say to him, but you didn’t. And tomorrow you were going to be trapped in a room with him, so you were going to have to cross your t's and dot your i’s tonight to present them to him for tomorrow.

He physically flinched at the dismissal, but he took a step back, providing you with space, “Of course.”

Your chest twisted at the sight, you didn’t like treating him like a disease, but you refused to let it blind you of the truth. Still. You sighed, cursing yourself for what you were about to say, “Thank you, for apologizing.”

His eyes crinkled in the corners and you could have sworn they gave way to a smile. The awe-worthy occurrence was sadly hidden underneath his mask. You rolled your eyes at him before pivoting and walking towards the barracks.

You sat with Laswell on a stray crate on the tarmac while you waited for the rest of the team to arrive. The two of you just people watched, with her occasionally pointing someone out and telling you a little about them. This guy was grounded a couple of weeks ago because he arrived at work still drunk from the night before. That guy had a crazy, entitled wife.

The chopper started its engine and was ready for lift-off at exactly 0359.

“Doc, about our talk yesterday. I also figured you want to take part and get some revenge for yourself,” Price bellowed over the sound of the chopper, and he ducked below the propellers. Realization sprung to life in your chest. Price had asked for you to be on this mission because you had something to gain from it. This Rowe guy, this squealer had been the one to rat out the convoy to the enemy. He was the reason you were injured, and the reason Butters was dead. This wasn’t the sleight of hand of Ghost but Price. It put your nerves at ease and allowed you to be a little less angry with the former.

“I appreciate it, Sir,” you nodded at Price. He clapped a hand over your shoulder and hopped into the helicopter after you. Being squished between Price and Soap made you feel a little safer with the fact that there were no doors on the heli. Ghost took his spot on the side of the heli, letting his legs hang out the side, his gun at the ready. Gaz sat opposite him and Laswell adjacent to you. Her pack and gun took up an entire seat. She reached into her front pouch as the heli lifted off the ground, pulling out a chocolate bar. Your mouth watered. Chocolate was hard to come back at base, people traded whole MREs for one bar. Soap handed you a headset for the chopper just as she noticed your drooling expression.

“If you promise you can get an appointment with the chiro, I’ll give you some,” she waggled the bar in front of her, a trade.

“I know both the chiropractor and the masseuse,” you countered. She made a look of delight, before reaching into her pack and tossing you your own bar.

Oh, you liked her.

You stuffed the back into the small day pack at your feet, saving it for later. Acutely aware that if you opened it here at least two people on this aircraft would put their hand out for a piece. You eyed Gaz and Soap.

The helicopter had been an hour's flight, and they had landed on a field. Without permission, you might add so you had to be quick on the exit. A line of blacked-out SUVs and trucks was waiting for a quick escape. Price ordered everyone to join up with their duo, and head to their discussed position.

Ghost strode for one of the SUVs, opening the back to place his pack and guns. He stepped to the side to allow you to do the same and closed it after you. He was spinning the keys around his finger when he turned to you, “Who’s driving?”

You didn’t respond, instead, you opened the passenger door and slid in. From the side mirror, you could see him look up at the sky, take a couple of deep breaths, then clasp his hands together before moving to enter the car. He was silent the rest of the way, his attention on the road. Even through the mask, you could see his jaw tighten and flex.

He parked the SUVs at the back of the building, between the wall and another vehicle. He lead you into the building, a warehouse or collection center of some sort into the offices on the second floor. He pointed out exit routes and potential areas to hold our position. The gravity of his pointing stuff out like that said a lot about how he thought this mission was going to pan out. The thought should have frightened you but knowing that the Ghost was fighting on the same side as you had the opposite effect. The office he brought you into was already vacant, with nothing but an empty desk and a chair on each side. He locked the door and placed his gun on the desk, and informed Price over the radio that we were in place. You made your way to the window, pulling one of the vanes down to peek outside. The window gave a good view of the entrance of the port and a decent view of the sea cans.

“How long will he have to camp out here?” you asked, letting go of the blinds.

“The day. Maybe into tomorrow,” he shrugged, as he started pulling things from his pack, “Depends on Rowe, really. Price and Gaz have the biggest probability of catching him. Laswell is going to be our eyes in the sky, and Soap already has access to the cameras in Rowe’s apartment, and a couple in this harbour.”

You took a seat in one of the swivel chairs, “And you?”

He paused, his eyes refusing to meet yours, “I’m more for after we catch him,” he cleared his throat. The question made him awkward, he didn’t want you to know what exactly it was that he did. You had your ideas and presumptions already but his hesitation had you second guessing.

“You the one who’s going to get the information out of him?” he picked up one of the blades he had laid out on the desk, turning it over in your hand. He watched you, following your movements with predatory grace.

“Is that why I’m here?” you continued, “To make sure he stays alive long enough to give you that information?” He was the butcher and you were the surgeon. A strange dichotomy.

He stilled, “I don’t want you to see it.”

“It”, being what he was going to do. What he was trained to do. What he was good at. You placed the knife back on the table, pushing away with the wheels on the chair. You prepared yourself for the upcoming confession. Playing this out in your head last night was way easier than actually doing it.

“You know, I think you and I have very similar pasts,” you looked down at your hands, at the lines and curves etched into them.

“Don’t say that,” he shook his head, and his shoulders rolled forward.

“I also think we took very different paths, though,” you saw it in his eyes the moment you met, the wounds that were too deep to see on the surface. It was why you understood him, and why you were going to forgive him, “You don’t have to hide it from me, Riley. I’ve seen the worst in humanity, and I know that you are nothing like them”

You didn’t think he was breathing, didn’t think he was in his body. When you met his stare, his eyes were wide, and his pupils were pinpricks. You stood up from the chair and walked to his side of the table, “Can I touch you?”

It was barely noticeable but he nodded. You wrapped your arms underneath his arm and pressed your cheek to his shoulder. He immediately returned the gesture, his arms encircling your shoulders, his one hand reaching up to cradle your head to him. He released a shuddering breath, and if you closed your eyes and focused hard enough you could hear his heart hammering against his chest.

“There isn’t anything you can do that will make me think you're a monster,” you whispered into his shoulder, “Aside from maybe sabotaging my career,” it was almost a joke.

“Noted,” you could hear the smile in between his words. Feel the relief thawing his muscles. You pulled back just as Soap and Laswell confirmed their position. Ghost took a step back himself, “We should get set up.”

He pushed the desk so it was against the same wall as the window, propping his gun onto and looked down the scope to the entrance of the port.

You settled down and at the end of the desk, it was going to be a long, boring wait. You set to counting the bullets in the magazine Ghost pulled from his pack if only to find something to distract yourself. You were elated when he pulled a deck of cards from his pack and the two of you played a couple of rounds of poker, then switched to go fish. There was also the occasional chatter about what each other did in the three months you were separated. The both of you had become incredibly busy.

It was nearing dusk by the time anything of importance aired over the radio.

Price’s eager voice came through, “Ghost, Doc, we’re following the informants to the port. Be at the ready.”

Part 3.5, Part 4

Masterlist ❤︎ Tag List Form

A/N - the sniper bullet is Soap, the lighter is Price, the toy skeleton is Ghost, the angel wing is Gaz, and the battery is Laswell. Also, also, Price is definitely playing Cupid.

Tag List - @thychuvaluswife ❤︎ @shuttlelauncher81 ❤︎ @marytvirgin ❤︎ @stickygumchewer ❤︎ @lauraliisa ❤︎ @jungcoccc ❤︎ @lovelyladymayyyy ❤︎ @lululandd ❤︎ @chrissyfishywissy ❤︎ @naxxsstuff ❤︎@sididakra-jo, @yukisawer ❤︎ @q8852p ❤︎ @lostinsideourminds ❤︎ @kat-nee

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod ghost #ghost mw2 #MW2 #cod #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley angst #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #mw2019 #mw2022 #call of duty #MistyGhosties

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arachnidamoon · 9 months

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Overtime (Muzan x GN! reader)

(CEO AU) Part 1.

"Repeat all of this."

You yelped in surprise, more from the harsh slam on your desk than the authoritative remark. A complaint almost escaped your lips as you grabbed the documents he had left on your desk. Those papers—you have already reviewed them. Several times, too. Still, you nodded, taking a pen from your desk, ready to redo them again. Muzan’s eyes narrowed as he saw you grabbing the documents. He leaned closer, whispering a very clear warning.

"Don’t do such an awful job again. Or I’ll have to rescind of your service."

As the male finally left back to his office, you heaved a sigh. Muzan’s obsession with perfectionism had long taken a stroll on you; eye bags now decorating your once lively (e/c) eyes. You didn’t know why, but he had especially taken a habit to review your work to the uttermost detail, forcing your already exhausted self to work extra hours in the office. Much to your dismay, today didn’t seem different.

"Did I really do such a terrible job?" You mumbled to yourself, studying the paper in front of you for what you hoped would be the last time.

You reread it. And reread it. And reread it again. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Every single number was perfect, and there weren’t any grammatical mistakes either. With your eyes squinted, you stared at the paper again. Hoping, in vain, to discover what had angered your boss.

After a long, continued scrutinizing of the document, there was still nothing amiss with it.

"It’s probably due to my lack of rest that I can’t see what is wrong with it." You thought, your gaze moving from the papers to the window in front of you.

The murky clouds were slowly covering the sunset, making it obvious a storm was coming. Not that it mattered. Besides correcting the document, there was still a pile of work on your desk that needed to be completed. So you weren’t going to go home. Not for a while.

It would have been different if you weren’t the only one who was going to stay there besides Muzan. Most of your coworkers had left or were about to do so, goodbyes filling the air. You mentally cursed yourself at the scene, taking a mental note to review everything properly from now on.

Once there was no one left, Muzan stepped out of his office. Taking the seat next to you as he always did when no one else was around. For you, it was to make sure you kept working. For him, it was because he enjoyed your company. In a twisted way, he loved it so much that he always made sure you had more work than the rest. Just to spend those last hours before closing the company for the day with you.

"Muzan, I can’t see what’s wrong with the document you required me to change. Could you please tell me so I can make it better?"

Muzan stopped arranging his files on the desk, getting closer to you. He snatched the document from your hand, studying them. There was a brief moment of silence, interrupted only by him turning the pages.

"You are terribly useless lately." You clicked your tongue at his rude remark. Muzan ignored it, putting the document in front of you. "You have mixed these clients. Their numbers are correct, but their names aren’t. Change that."

"My apologies."

You were quick to obey him, correcting what he said. Once you were done printing the documents, you left them on his desk. You were ready to continue with the huge pile of work on your desk, but Muzan’s voice stopped you.

"You can continue with those tomorrow. Go home and rest."

Was the same man who overworked his employees telling you to take a break? As much as you wanted to believe he had suddenly turned softer, you knew better. Still, his expression was still warning you not to retort. To obey and leave.

"Thank you, Muzan. I hope you have a good night."

After picking up your belongings, you quickly left. Muzan was lost in thought as he observed your departure. Even if you had just left, he would never admit that he already missed your presence. His gaze moved from the door to the documents you had placed on his desk, smirking.

"They are my cutest employee, that's for sure."

#muzan x you #muzan x y/n #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #demon slayer x reader #kny x you #muzan kibutsuji #muzan x reader #demon slayer muzan #kny x reader #demon slayer x you

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corpsebasil · 1 year

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The Snow Queen Part 1

The princess of a distant, more ruthless kingdom is engaged to the prince of Ravka against her will, though he tries his best to find a place within her heart.

The prince trailed after her like a godsdammned puppy.

She was a princess made of ice, her personality a brick wall to reach, and she’d thwarted Nikolai’s every attempt at flirtation since she’d been send to Ravka to wed him. She’d even refused to speak the common tongue when she’d arrived, her handmaidens and herself speaking their native language alone. The ring on her hand still felt too heavy as she tried to fill her days with good things, refusing to let her sorrow at leaving her kingdom crush her underfoot.

But he was so. Damn. Insistent.

He’d bought her gifts, extravagant presents from all regions of the world. Jewels and exotic teas, gowns of silk and chiffon, necklaces and books and paintings for her rooms. He’d even found her a companion, a small Siamese cat that cuddled her every night as she slept. He’d realized quickly that endless flirtation and roguish behavior would not win her over, and had changed tactics to attempting to befriend her with kindness and generosity.

He was a good prince. A man with a golden heart, and he’d never stopped trying to win her over, no matter how cold she was to him. Until the day he’d came to her, face heavy with disappointment, and asked her for an audience.

She stood from her chair, raising a hand to her accompanying handmaidens, bidding them to leave her alone as they protested in her common tongue. Nikolai didn’t understand a word, though he’d tried to learn it, greeting her with a few severely incorrect words of her language from time to time.

“Your highness,” he greeted her now, sketching a small bow that suited her rank as a princess. She stood, knowing already that if he was calling her Your Highness and not love or darling or sweetheart, it must’ve been a serious matter.

“Your highness.” She repeated, nodding her head in deference as he made to sit in the chair closest to her. His hands folded over his lap, his expression pained, as he looked to her.

“It’s come to my…realization..that you’re not at all interested in a marriage to me.” Her heart dropped into her stomach at his next words, a strange desperate feeling rising up through her. “So I’m going to rescind our engagement. You can go back to your home and—”

“No.” The words snapped out of her so fast she startled, and confusion was etched across his handsome features when he looked up. “I have a duty, Nikolai. And I—” she searched for the correct words, unsure of why she was suddenly desperate, desiring, to stay at the palace. “I think that you’re…nice. And maybe if we hadn’t been forced into this we could’ve..” she trailed off, face warming as she avoided eye-contact with the man she was engaged to. “I’m saying I’d like to know you. Properly. Before I decide if I’m going to return home.”

Nikolai’s breath was short as he stared at her, at the princess he’d been unable to woo, and wondered at his sudden rush of lightness. He’d liked her—of course he had—and it had hurt him more than he wanted to admit for her to shun him so thoroughly over and over. So he smiled, tentatively, and pulled out what he’d thought would be a parting gift.

“Combs,” he said, passing her the small box. “from your country. I’ve heard the women love them there. I think—I think you’d look beautiful with them.”

Her face turned redder as she opened the lid, examining the whirls of gold and emerald, the dragons that wound themselves around the teeth of the accessories. They were stunning, and she smiled warmly as she shut the lid and glanced up at him.

“Thank you.” She said, meeting his gaze. “This was very kind.”

Nikolai stood, glancing around awkwardly all of a sudden, before continuing.

“There’s a party tonight. At the lake. Drinks, boat rides, the lot.” He paused, taking in her attentive expression. “Would you accompany me?”

Her head dipped once in a nod, thick-lashed eyes peering at the prince, and he allowed himself a quick smile before bidding her farewell and exiting the room. Y/N’s handmaidens rushed in almost immediately afterwards, practically tripping over themselves, the girls whispering and giggling as they made their way to the princess’s side.

“He’s so cute.” One said, sitting on the couch and sighing.

“He’s like a prince from a storybook.” Another laughed, dashing over to scoop up the princess’s cat when the Siamese stalked out of the bedroom.

“What did he say?” Another asked, carrying in a tea-set and placing it on the counter.

“Not much,” Y/N began slowly, running a hand over the box in her lap. “but he convinced me to stay.”

The party that night was larger than Y/N had expected. She wore a sheer gown, stunningly beautiful, with the dragon combs pulling back her hair. Her eyes took in the groups of people and felt suddenly shy, but kept her expression one of neutrality and steel. Lanterns hung from the trees, casting a lovely orange glow against the grass and tents. Tents which held delicious smelling foods, drinks, and desserts.

Y/N took half a step towards the revelry before he heard her name called and turned her head, watching as Nikolai approached her with a mug of something steaming in his hand.

“You don’t drink.” He told her, casually enough to suggest she’d told him and he wasn’t simply observant, and offered her the mug of tea. It smelled lovely as she took a sniff, the steam warming her face. At least, she told herself it was only the steam. “You look—” his words halted and she glanced up, raising a brow. “Very nice. Beautiful.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“No just—just Nikolai. Please.”

“Alright, then.” She took a small sip of the tea, almost sighing at how refreshing it was. “Nikolai.”

He smiled, taking her arm, and she was forced to realize how handsome he truly was. She’d been so focused on going home that she’d tried her best to ignore that fact, and now she allowed herself to really take in his features. A strong nose, smooth face, and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. She usually wasn’t attracted to blondes, but…

He seemed to read her mind as he glanced over, watching her study him, and she knew he was still looking at her when her eyes fixed intently on the lake they approached, her face flushing with pink. She gave him a sidelong glance and saw him smiling, watching the lake too, and she almost rolled her eyes before she saw what they moved towards.

“Are we going on one of those?” The princess asked, eyeing the very small boat with a perplexed look.

“Rowboat.” He explained, nodding to the oars. They were decorated with tiny lights and cushioned seats, and a few couples had already gone out on the vast lake. “Would you like to?”

“I think I would.” She mused, finishing up her tea and looking at Nikolai, unsure of where to put the mug. She watched when he took it, returning it to a nearby vendor, and then guided her towards a boat. He held her hand as he did so, his grip soft, and damn her if her blush didn’t deepen at the feeling of his fingers wound with her own.

“Here,” he said, helping her climb into it, and she tensed when it rocked, quickly settling herself on the cushions. He followed, moving in front of her, and they sat so close in the small boat their knees almost touched.

He rowed them out, pushing away from the shore and farther out onto the water. Y/N marveled at the clear blue of the lake, stars reflecting on its surface in the darkness of night. The tiny lights on the rowboat caught on her combs, shining with gold as she leaned over and trailed her fingers through the water, relishing in the cold.

Nikolai only watched her, his eyes softening as a smile lit upon her face. Then she gasped, startling him, and pointed down at the lake, leaning over to see something he couldn’t.

“Look,” she said, voice excited. “I think there’s fish.”

He glanced over and, lit up by the dim light of the boat, there were indeed a few minnows dashing under the surface. They disappeared when the princess poked at the water, startling the tiny fish, and her laugh sounded like coming home.

“I’m glad.” He said, and she looked up at him. “That you decided to stay.”

She smiled, and then that smile turned slightly wry as she propped her elbows on her knees.

“Someone has been pining after me for months. I felt it was only fair to give him a chance.” Then she examined her nails, flawless as they were, and said, “but it might not be simple. You’ll fine I’m not easily seduced.”

Nikolai huffed a laugh, his expression saying he knew exactly what she meant, and her smile grew. But it faltered at his next words, something soft and unusual crossing her stunning features.

“Trust me, darling,” he chuckled, giving her a lazy grin that made her heart pound. “however long it takes to seduce you is worth it.”

She swallowed, and he took in her expression, his blood heating a fraction when he noted the color on her cheeks and the confusion—no, desire—in her eyes. Y/N glanced away, but snapped her eyes back to his when she felt him leaning a bit closer to her, her face already close to his as it was. But when she leaned into him involuntarily, lost in those blue eyes of his, she allowed him to reach out and touch her face, the pads of his fingers soft.

Her breathing hitched when he bent his head down, her eyes closing at the first tentative brush of his mouth against hers. And before she could press herself into him, really feel him, a sudden jolt under the boat made it lurch, and they crashed into the water as it flipped.

Y/N coughed when her head broke the surface, her eyes wide with cold and surprise as she held onto the bottom of the boat for support. She had no idea what could’ve possibly caused the flip, but Nikolai did. Because he was eyeing the giggling group of Grisha on the distant shore with a look that promised a good scolding once he’d dried off.

Y/N couldn’t help it. She laughed. She laughed and then covered her mouth with a hand, eyes crinkling at the corners as Nikolai looked her. He feigned annoyance even as a sparkling smile pulled onto his face, and he moved closer to her in the water.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, close enough to kiss, and her stomach churned with nervous excitement.

“You.” She said, still giggling, and didn’t balk when he reached out to adjust the combs that were slipping from her hair.

“Wouldn’t want you to lose those.” He murmured, fingers lingering on a strand of her hair, his eyes marveling on the softness and color. She gazed at him, feeling bold, and extended a hand to touch his own hair, her hand slipping to the back of his neck and pulling him into her.

She could’ve died. She didn’t think she’d ever had such severe butterflies with any man, not as much as she did when the prince of Ravka leaned into her touch and pressed his mouth to her own, a soft, gentle kiss that made her feel adored. She let out a soft sound that made Nikolai’s heart pound, nearly letting go of his one handed grip on the boat and sinking back down into the water. He could only hold on, marveling at the feeling of the princess’s mouth against his own, as she hooked her own free arm fully around his neck, crushing him against her.

“Easy,” he whispered against her lips, pulling back a fraction for air. “those girls might drown us if we look too into each other.”

“I can handle jealous women.” She scoffed, turning that radiant head to shoot a menacing look at the Grisha. They’d scattered, but the ones that lingered suddenly found themselves busy. “The women in my court are much more ruthless. These girls are nothing.”

“Ruthless how?” He asked, voice still low as he turned her face back to his and kissed her again, allowing her to speak after. She seemed breathless, though, her gaze having had softened again.

“Broken glass in your shoes. Poison ivy infused soaps. Oh and—” she giggled, though Nikolai was horrified. “—one time, a girl put a snake in my room. A snake.” She grinned fiendishly, and Nikolai was surprised to realize the princess that had such a cool, calm facade had metaphorical fangs of her own. “She was an idiot. It was not even venomous.”

“Did it bite you?” He asked, expression still wary. “What happened to the girl?”

“I had her whipped.” Y/N said, as calmly as if describing a stroll down the garden-path, and then let go of him to show him her arm. He saw the gouge marks of scars looked like two raised dots on her otherwise flawless skin, and he balked at the sight. She lowered her arm, suddenly worried at his reaction, and spoke quietly. “Do you think me…too violent? My kingdom too vicious?”

“No, I—” he swallowed, running his fingers through her hair again. “it’s just surprising. You seem so…calm. Sweet.”

“The most beautiful frogs in the world carry the most lethal poison, prince.” She told him, eyes glittering. “In a ruthless kingdom you must, sometimes, become ruthless as well. That is why I have begun to enjoy Ravka. The worst someone has done to me is glare or force me to swim a little.”

Nikolai chuckled at that, his hand moving to her waist as he looked to the shore.

“I think we should swim back.” He told her, eyeing the dimming lights as the night grew darker. The princess nodded and turned, swimming gracefully through the lake as her hair streamed behind her.

Y/N laughed as she exited the bathroom, a large, lavish robe wrapped around her delicate nightgown. Nikolai sat on the couch, playing with her cat, their late night teas sitting warm on the coffee-table.

They’d both gotten back to the palace and immediately showered, but one of her handmaidens rushed in to tell the princess that the prince had wanted to have tea with her before bed. And since they’d skipped dinner and opted instead for a lovely swim in the lake, why not have dinner together as well? The girl had asked about a million questions that the princess shook off, telling the girl to leave her be.

So as Y/N began to brush her long hair, she approached the tea-set and nibbled on the corner of a cucumber and dill petite sandwich, then moved to her vanity to apply her night creams and lotions.

Nikolai watched her ministrations, basking in the friendliness of her presence, of the wonderful smells in her room, of her lotions, and admired the beauty of her when her face was bare. It made her look younger—more girlish. And those lips of hers, free of cosmetics, looked softer than ever. His heart seemed to ache in his chest at the memory of the kiss. He desperately wanted to kiss her again.

And then his mind drifted to what she’d said about her kingdom, about the vicious things women pulled on one another. He left the cat alone, ignoring its sassy meow as it stalked to Y/N’s bedroom while he thought. He knew girls could be competitive, jealous more so, but…a snake? Someone had tried to kill her with a snake? And over what?

“Prince,” she called over a shoulder, looking to where he sat on the couch. “what are you thinking about?”

He startled, glancing up.

“Nothing. Why?”

She clicked her tongue, raising a brow.

“I can see you in my mirror. You were frowning.”

“Ah,” he said, taking a breath. “I was just thinking…did it hurt? The bite?”

Y/N finished up her routine before she spoke, and moved over to him, taking a careful sip of warm tea before she turned to him. She sat so close her leg brushed his own; it thrilled him, having her be so casually close when a day ago she’d looked at him like he was nothing more than a bug.

“I didn’t see it at first.” She said, raising her robe’s sleeve to again examine the markings, as if seeing them helped her remember. “It was curled up on my vanity. I sat down and it struck. It did hurt. Rather a lot actually.” Then she smiled, a bit wickedly, and Nikolai tried to ignore the rush he felt at that look. “I always carry a knife on me when I’m home. There are more threats than women, so I killed it. I was a bit more than relieved to see that the ditz had found a common snake and not a venomous creature.”

Nikolai smiled cautiously, his eyes flickering over her face. No fear. No fear was in his face as he looked down at her, and something in her warmed. She liked him, she realized. And she knew, somehow, that no matter what parts of her she showed, violent or not, he would care about her anyways. Would accept it. So she told him, ignoring the blush that surely spread on her face.

“I like you, Nikolai.” She said, reaching down to toy with his hand. His fingers readily grasped her own, warm and comfortable. “I think you are very…” she thought of the word. She was fluent in the common tongue, but some words…

“Gorgeous?” He offered, smirking when she rolled her eyes at him. “Devilishly handsome? Seductive?”

“I was going for persistent.” She scoffed, but smiled. “I appreciate your efforts. Tonight was…nice.”

“Would it too persistent,” he asked, tucking a strand of damp hair casually behind her ear. “if I asked to kiss you again?”

“You don’t need to ask.” She said simply, her sweet face tilted up to his, and felt as if she was melting when he kissed her.

#shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai x reader #wattpad #shadow and bone imagine #fluff #patrick gibson

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crispylilworm · 8 days

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last i’m posting about this xoxo sorry about the watcher spam recently but i feel the need to put my 2 cents in since my opinion on this doesn’t align with the vocal majority on this site

gotta admit my first youtuber drama experience was a 0/10 not because of what the creators did but solely because of the insanity of the fandom. because…wow. i have never seen a group of people throw around demands and accusations of betrayal in such a dramatic way lol. maybe i’m in the minority here but i felt the majority of responses and criticism just were any lacking basis at all.

my first thoughts with the announcement were literally “oh good for them new streaming service, i won’t be going for it, but maybe after a few months i’ll consider paying for a 1-time sub to catch up on everything”. sure some disappointment i wouldn’t get regular updates but overall excited for the new content this pay structure would give them the flexibility to create.

maybe because i didn’t get into youtubers until the pandemic when watcher was already it’s own independent thing i don’t have that same (*cough cough* parasocial) level of connection, just really enjoy the videos they put out. maybe because i go through subscription-of-the-month stints of paying for a patreon or twitch or other creator channel and rotate what i watch, this didn’t feel outrageous to me. i hate the subscription world we live in so i go out of my way to never pay more than a strict budget limit per month because that’s my ability and that’s my mentality on this. i thought at best maybe i’d consider rotating this in when they put out more.

don’t like the idea of it? you don’t have to pay for it. can’t afford it? i understand the disappointment from this aspect but creators don’t actually owe you anything for free - even if it was free in the past. overall and for whatever reasoning you have: it wasn’t that deep.

if anything i am in a way thankful that they rescinded on their decision because that means me & others will continue to enjoy videos for free. but overall i’m disappointed that this means they’re sacrificing their own creative wants and financial needs of whatever they had planned. we won’t actually know the extent of what, if anything, this prevents them from creating because y’all wouldn’t even let them attempt to try this next phase out.

fans saying “well we don’t want high-budget content” well maybe they want to explore more than what they’re currently able to do? maybe they want to create more beyond their buzzfeed-format videos they know will rack in views from the nostalgia-obsessed side of the fans? i, too, personally love their humor and would just enjoy them chatting and being silly, but i do also think this holds them back. remember those hilarious self-made commercials from their most recent videos? that's probably just a glimpse of what new flavors of content they’re able to think up.

this whole fan response was just disappointing (and pretty scary ngl) to me, and i know saying that is like kicking a hornets nest but i really think if they continued with the plans from their original announcement it would have been ok. i actually think it would have been more than ok! but the response imploded so hard i’m sure we’ll never see them try something new again lol.

my personal thoughts are that if your opinion in any way revolved around something they “owe” to fans, feelings of “betrayal”, thinking they’re “sell outs” for wanting to transition to paid content - i think you really need to take a step back and reflect, and i mean that with zero malice. watcher is a business, not your friends, not “the boys”, not your guaranteed source of a specific type of content either. ultimately they made a business decision that they thought would help them grow that would have either succeeded or failed, that's it. for better or worse, we wont get to watch that play out.

i will continue my quiet enjoyment of their videos, and happily move on past what i frankly think was the most unnecessary internet drama i’ve seen in a minute lol. the takes overall were dumb but tame, i only blocked a handful of accounts for posting things i thought were totally out of line that i won't get into but i'm sure you've either seen or heard people discussing.

i didn't even get in to my hot takes lol like how this plays into the dangerous trend of the expectation of art to be free....and the overall devaluing of creatives and why AI is thriving in these areas...but ill defend that thesis another day lol. y'all aren't ready for that.

#watcher #my thoughts #long post #putting this in read more so yall dont jump me lmao #overall conclusion is #its not that deep

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athina-blaine · 3 months

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you can't carry it with you if you want to survive (Nimona 2023) - Chapter 2 (Preview #2) (New)

(Note: this is not the finalized draft; anything featured is subject to edits or deletion)

Preview #1 (Updated 01/21/24)

Crouched beneath the desk, scanning the floor for one last stray budget document, a sudden, sharp chime rang from his pocket, startling him so badly he jumped and banged his head into the underside of the drawer. Eyes watering, he settled back onto his haunches, bringing his phone to his ear with one hand and rubbing the back of his throbbing head with the other. “This is Ambrosius,” he said, vaguely noting the late hour and the unfamiliar number, but primarily relieved that his words hadn't emerged as a slurred, incoherent mess. “Sir Goldenloin?” At the unfamiliar woman’s voice, Ambrosius narrowed his eyes, confused. “Yes?”

At his reply, the woman's sharp sigh of relief crackled the receiver, her voice straining with tears. “Thank Gloreth. I am so, so sorry, sir, I know this isn’t exactly protocol and it’s late and I'm not technically supposed to have your cell but I didn’t know what else to do and I–”

“Hey, whoa–” Ambrosius’ eyebrows shot up in alarm as he hoisted himself to unsteady feet. “Who is this? Are you hurt?”

“No! No, sir, I’m just–” The woman’s voice hitched with a wet sniffle. “I’m sorry. This is Officer Laurel, sir, reporting from the Starcrest hotel over on Willowbrook. The patrolmen's guild has received reports of a disturbance, sir.”

His stomach lurched. It could be a coincidence—the Cynarian workers weren't scheduled to arrive at the Starcrest until next week, why would there be any trouble now? And yet, apprehension flooded him as fleeting images of the angry, fearful faces he'd seen in the crowd earlier that afternoon raced through his mind.

“What kind of a disturbance?”

“Around 2100 hours, a group of five young men were witnessed breaking and entering the lobby of the hotel and have begun vandalizing the property. One witness believes she saw one carrying a bat. Sir, they—” Her voice wavered. “We suspect they’re a group of knight-cadets, sir.”

Drawing in a sharp breath, Ambrosius pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to keep his frustration from bleeding into his tone. “Where are you exactly? Are you in the lobby?”

Silence, followed by a sheepish sigh. “I’m in my squad car, sir. I’m– I gave them a stern warning, but I’m not a knight, sir, I'm just a meter maid! I’m not even authorized to carry a baton!” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m pretty sure they’re inebriated, sir.”

Understanding surged through him with a jolt. “You’re alone? Where’s your backup?”

“I, um, am the backup, sir. Captain says we’re stretched real thin and–” She let out another shaky sigh. “He said the kingdom comes before a bunch of foreigners, sir.”

Ambrosius clenched his jaw as he grappled with his escalating anger towards the captain, the cadets, but most of all, himself. Of course. The patrolmen’s guild had been spread thin for months. He’d known that. He just hadn't thought to do anything about it until it had already been far too late to take any meaningful action.

He’d need to take care of this before it grew into something he couldn't handle. He could argue with the patrolmen’s captain and demand they send proper authorities to take care of this, but that could just make things worse. On top of wasting time, he might just receive a gaggle of meter maids and other ill-suited ilk, and Gloreth only knew how things would spiral from there.

The involvement of the knight-cadets ensured that news of this incident would be plastered everywhere by tomorrow morning. It could hand Ambrosius’ detractors even more fuel in their campaign against him, and that wasn’t even mentioning what Ambrosius would do if the Starcrest's belligerent executive officer, after receiving word of this, decided to rescind their agreement. He would have nowhere left in the whole damned kingdom willing to give the Cynarian workers a place to sleep.

It would unravel everything he's been building towards. Six months of late nights and skipping meals and suffering the unfathomable growing gulf between him and Bal, and he’d be right back to where he started.

No, this required a delicate touch; better to take the initiative and get as far ahead of the situation as he could than risk leaving it to someone less capable. It would grant him much more control over the fallout, and, besides, Ambrosius had never been very good at sitting back and watching someone else do his job for him.

Never.

“Let me take the lead, Director,” Todd had said, eyes glittering with malice. “I’ll make it hurt. I’ll make it–”

“I’ll do it.”

The words had spilled out before Ambrosius had a chance to consider them. Not that it would have made a difference. He knew, with a fierce, burning certainty, that there didn’t exist a world where he didn’t, at that moment, assume command. The agony of taking the lead himself paled in comparison to standing aside and allowing Todd, cruel, bloodthirsty Todd, take charge of Ballister's manhunt in his stead—even if the difference amounted to little more than having to choose between carving his heart out or just driving the knife clean through his chest.

No. Ambrosius had never been very good at sitting back and watching someone do his job for him. Not when he couldn't live with the consequences.

He could still hear the patrolwoman’s sniffles over the receiver. “Officer?”

She hiccupped. “Yessir.”

“Officer, I need you to call your captain and let him know what’s happening. Confirm there’s no other patrolmen or knights else available to assist.” He doubted it would manifest anything useful, but he still had to do things properly. “Keep me informed of any changes at the scene, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Stay calm,” he said, reaching over to grab his messenger bag. “I’m on my way.”

A shuddering gasp broke the receiver’s pitch. “Thank you, sir. Really, sir, I don’t know what I would have– I’m sorry, I know this isn’t exactly standard procedure–”

“None of this is your fault.” If Ambrosius had a better handle as to the goings-on of his own damn kingdom, perhaps none of this would have come to pass in the first place. This was his mess, it was only fair he cleaned it up. “Stay where you are. I should be there in about 20 minutes. Maybe 30.”

“Thank you so much, sir. I’ll keep you updated just like you said. Those boys won’t be able to sneeze without me letting you know, sir.”

Ambrosius chuckled. “Let’s not get carried away, Officer.”

“Yessir! I won’t let you down. Officer Laurel, out.”

He hung up the phone and brought it back to his ear just as quickly to phone a cab. With his car on the way, he grabbed the liquor bottle by its neck and shoved it into the back of the dark, dusty cabinet.

Glancing down at his phone again, he pulled up Ballister’s contact ID, thumbing the side of the screen. Taking a deep breath, he started typing.

Hey Bal

Something came up. Shouldn’t take more than an hour

I’m sor–

But he deleted that part. After the things said that night, Ballister deserved to hear any apology from his own lips, not from behind a screen.

Instead, he said,

I love you

The response didn’t take long.

Okay. Just keep me posted

I love you too

With a weary sigh, he pocketed his phone and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder. The cab wouldn’t arrive for another five minutes—just enough time to brew a hot, sobering cup of black coffee.

#nimona #goldenheart #fanfiction #fic #and we're back!#the PLACES this fic has taken me #let it be known i am not exaggerating when i say i have 30k words of scrapped content for this thing #and yes ive also gone ahead and tweaked the first preview if anyone wants to give it another look #nothing too major but it flows much better now

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samglyph · 9 months

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Wait did you listen to all of Red Valley in like one day? What did you think of it? What do you think of the characters? I found that it went a little slow for me but I ended up really enjoying the characters tans their relationships.

Thank you for this ask I love talking about my thoughts.

1. I listened in 2 days, thank you. I also still haven’t listened to the more recent Clive episodes? I will. I just don’t like him so I was putting it off.

2. My thoughts are kinda middling? It wasn’t bad (I would, in fact, say it was good) but as stated previously it wasn’t my cup of horror. I prefer my horror to be “scary” (scary being a loose term not actually meaning I get scared) but at least for season 1 I didn’t find any of the horror elements scary, just gross. I like eldritch, fantasy stuff more than sci-fi, and the only thing gooey sounds do for me is make me kind of uncomfortable. This isn’t a critique, it’s just not my thing.

(Moving into a slight critique) I also thought the first season was rushed (granted I did listen to it in a day, and maybe it’s better consumed slowly, but I mean cmon the episodes are so short) and while they set up mystery elements, they didn’t set up key ideas well enough and put too much emphasis on things that were quickly abandoned by the plot, that frankly I’m not sure how they’ll wrap up in a third season, if they continue the kind of slow limited story scope they’ve had up til now. (If they do, great, I’ll rescind my critique then) There was just a lot of exposition, but in the end not a lot of plot movement until the final ep of the season, which honestly is kind of a common thing for first seasons so I don’t fault anyone. I did think the second season was more narratively sound, but considering I found the two mc’s voices a little close at times, some scenes still took me a second to follow.

3. The characters are FANTASTIC. The characters , dialogue, and relationships save the show for me. Once I finish my last commission from this batch you will definitely be seeing some art from me. Aubrey ended up being my favorite (so you can see why I prefer season 2 lol) but I like Warren and Gordon too. It is funny to me, I started the show thinking man this Warren guy is a bit of a jerk I bet he gets some kind of karma and now I feel sooooo bad. Baby I’m so sorry you deserve so much better and also some dbt because I think you’re experiencing some manic depression but hey that’s just me.

So yeah, overall, pretty enjoyable quick listen, not that scary (it felt more like straight whump than horror lol Warren again I’m so sorry) story is a bit shaky in some areas but I would rec it to folks who enjoy sci-fi horror. Or who enjoy listening to people being melancholy and experiencing constant dehumanizing trauma.

Anyway sorry for all my run-ons, thanks again for the ask!

I also liked the bits.

#and you may think oh you feel so bad for Warren I bet you’re thinking of a lot of comfort stuff for him #sadly no. we’re sexualizing that poor man/j #that’s a joke I promise. I need someone else to do that #ask #red valley

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gayofthefae · 2 years

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Obviously a person can’t actually rewind time to when they had a different perception but...I am really good at depersonalizing super hard so I can get pretty damn close (this isn’t a good thing but we’re just gonna pretend it is and brush past it mkay?):

And I rewatched a scenepack thinking of how I was thinking while a general audience member and...I would have been bummed about how it was unrequited. Near the entirety of the season. The entirety of volume 1 for sure. Glad Mike was apologizing and treating him well again etc but overall bummed for Will in the longrun. BUT.

The one thing that stands out from that. The exception. Is the van scene. Because of course it is. This is the scene where it is clear from how intently Mike is listening that he is hanging on every word Will is saying. Every word Will is saying. Not every word passed on from El. Now, we have no idea how much Mike knows. But emotionally, he was hanging onto every word Will was saying here. And this is the first moment to me that makes it explicitly clear that Mike has thus far been acting the way he was out of a lack of knowledge; oblivion.

And most importantly: that provided the knowledge his behaviour would change. Including the kind, friendship behaviour seen in Will’s room and earlier in this scene itself. This scene being in his POV through his reactions the entire time is really what sealed the deal for me. Because, if I’m not mistaken, this is the only Mike and Will centric scene this entire season that has been from his POV and focusing on his reactions. Which is to say that he has a point of view; opinions, thoughts on the situation. Even if as soon as it’s over he stuffs it back in a box and goes “that was El talking not Will”, we got to see him during the moment so we know the truth.

We get to see his POV for the first time here and that also implies that this is the first time he’s seen what we’re seeing in these scenes; the first time his point of view has mattered because it was at all different from any other platonic, day to day moment for him. You can see on his face that he is on the edge of absolute epiphany. It’s honestly sort of like a record scratch moment, the complexities of “oh my gosh I never realized to think of him this way he makes me feel so love *scritchrecordscratch* from El. This is from El, he is speaking from El. Ahaha what was I thinking? I sure don’t remember...”. Likely cut off just in time to keep it in that box in his head (or maybe not, who knows). And I know this has been a bit rambly and kind of repetitive the past few paragraphs but the point is:

This scene established that when Mike gets so much as a glimpse of what’s really going on, he is taken aback, he is hanging on every word, the look in his eyes is hopeful. Will’s feelings become more clear to the audience and when that happens, Mike’s reactions are different than they have been in the past. When Will’s feelings become objectively clearer, Mike. is. hopeful. And that is the distinct detail that stands out. The first one to really break through by saying “he only seemed uninterested because he didn’t know. Do you see how he didn’t know?” And even with the I love you scene; even with whatever is seemingly going back on it. It can be contradicted, but it cannot be rescinded.

The seed has been planted for Mike. He’s opening his eyes. The general audience is seeing that that is the only reason he seemed to not reciprocate before. And I can’t wait to watch it grow next season.

Now, everybody say “thank you, gayofthefae’s dissociative disorder” :).

#mike wheeler #mike wheeler is gay #stranger things #byler #byler analysis #general audience byler #sort of but I had dissociative amnesia like El so I can fuck up my perception nice and good and accurate don't you worry #me straight up pulling a chrissy and rolling my eyes back into my head for y'all lmao bc that happens when i disorient sometimes #van scene

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itsyourchoicedevotionals · 2 years

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The Third Strand

“Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” Ecclesiastes 4:12NIV

For years, I’ve been warning in various ways of difficult times coming. (I believe we’re about there.) A secondary drum I’ve been beating is— don’t be a lone Christian. Satan is out to eat us alive. We need each other. With the weirdest Presidency, following a fake election, laws and executive orders meant to destroy our nation, it’s time for Believers to come together en masse and exercise our authority. “Then Jesus came to them and said, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to Me.” Matthew 28:18NIV

Do we realize our Christ-given authority? Look at Luke 9:1HCSB “Then He called His twelve disciples together, and gave them power and authority over all devils, and to cure diseases.” When Jesus gave this authority over devils and diseases to His disciples, He didn’t put a time limit on their use of power and authority.

There’s no scripture where Jesus rescinded His authority transfer. John 14:12NIV “…whoever believes in Me will do the works I have been doing, and they will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father.” Hence, we have all the power and authority of the original twelve disciples at our disposal.

Lou’s favorite motto is: ‘Be prepared.’ This motto is so appropriate in this time of attempted communist takeover, civil unrest and unprecedented evil— it’s time to circle the wagons and obey all of God’s instructions. ***Put on the whole armor of God�� “Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil.” Ephesians 6:11ESV. ***Find prayer partners, someone like-minded who agrees with you— “Can two walk together, except they be agreed?” Amos 3:3KJV. Let’s double up our authority over the enemy. ***Find one to intertwine prayer power, like the three strands, “I say to you, if two of you agree on earth about anything they ask, it will be done for them by My Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in My name, there am I among them.” Matthew 18:19-20ESV ***Repent for known sins and pray—“…humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways.” 2 Chronicles 7:14KJV ***Pray for every government official, (even Biden, Pelosi and Schumer)— “I urge…that petitions, prayers, intercession and thanksgiving be made for all people— for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness.” 1Timothy 2:1-2GNT “The king’s heart is like a stream of water directed by the LORD; He guides it wherever He pleases.” Proverbs 21:1NLT We may ask God to overrule the demonic leaders’ authority with laws good for us. ***Begin to pray in agreement with heaven— “Truly I tell you, whatever you forbid and declare to be improper and unlawful on earth must be what is already forbidden in heaven, and whatever you permit and declare proper and lawful on earth must be what is already permitted in heaven ….if two of you on earth agree about anything they ask for, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven.” Matthew 18:18-19AMP Know what God allows and doesn’t allow in heaven.

The third strand is God joining with our authority to begin calling —God’s kingdom and God’s peace into rulership over our nation, and over all situations: —Halt and cast out every Jezebel spirit, spirits of jealousy, division, murder, strife and greed from operating here in our nation. —Stand our spiritual ground in demanding change. Are we able to walk together? Please join me? It’s your choice. You choose.

LET’S PRAY: Lord God I choose to walk in the authority You’ve given. Help others join in with this choice making it a reality, in the name of Jesus Christ I pray.

#Jesus Christ #lord of lords #word of god #holy spirit #god #it's your choice #devotitonal #third #strand #authority #spirit #jezebel #pray #peace #communist #love #hope #faith #agreed #together

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chokemeoutiguess · 3 years

Text

Bend the Knee

You are royalty. Duties and responsibilities were all your life consisted of, and who better to help you than your dearest aide? They serve you so dutifully, isn't it time for a reward?

Tags say it all, I have terrible taste but if we’re talking game of thrones, the bar was on the floor to begin with.

Game of Thrones series: Part 1/?

CW: manipulation, physical abuse, canonical character death. Implied smut.

Petyr Baelish - Debts and Regret. Part 2: Link.

You found it so hard to believe that Littlefinger of all people would be loyal. He was in the business of pleasure after all, and even the most honourable men fall to their baser instincts, loyalty be damned.

Your poor father was no exception, being the king on the iron throne he was actually well known for his... hobbies.

So oftentimes you ended up visiting Littlefinger in his brothels, in search of your father or sometimes your uncle, if needed. There was no place for a princess in those places, but you had a habit of humbling the nobility you saw there. You’d even seen the maester there a few too many times.

You were no more than snarky acquaintances, like passing ships on the open sea, in sight, but never close enough to collide.

“My lady, I have yet to see a flower as beautiful as you stalk my hallways, even rarer my bedrooms.”

“Likewise, you should really look into finding some more beautiful women, my father is coming here less and less, is the room service so lacking as well?”

“Well, I can guarantee that our service is always to his needs, unless you’d like to sample our services as well? We cater to all wants, my lady.”

“If your girls could fix my father’s bad habits, I’ll be thankful.”

“My lady, no whore is that good.”

The light banter was almost enough to keep you coming back, no one ever had the gall to be so cheeky with a princess.

You didn’t really get to know him until he stepped into his role as the master of coin. He was downright cunning, and you were almost envious of the power he wielded.

It was nothing compared to true power, the power that comes with a throne, but it was impressive. You often wondered how terrifying it would be if he had it.

But, when you were handed a proposal to wed the red viper himself, you knew exactly who to turn to.

“Baelish, if I may request your services.”

“Mine? Well I am flattered your highness and I’m sure we can make arrangements-”

“Don’t be daft, take me to your offices. Or shall I ask my dearest knight to escort the both of us?”

“Is he not a few doors down, enjoying a young brunette if I remember?”

“Is he? I was certain he was with a red head.”

“No... I recommended her myself after all.”

Past all of the pleasantries he was more than willing to support you in escaping your marriage. He said it wouldn’t do the country well if it’s only viable heir was off popping out children, or something of the like.

It’s sweet he considered you an heir, knowing full well your mother would rather birth another child then watch you take the throne.

“You are far too brash, just like your father. A lady does not go to whorehouses.” She had scolded, her beautiful blonde brows so tightly wound after hearing you had gone to hunt your father down once more.

“Neither do kings, and yet that is where ours resides, mother.”

You couldn’t leave the castle for a month after that. And your cheek was a less than healthy shade of red as well. But you can’t help that, it seemed nothing you did pleased her, so you did what you wanted, consequences be damned.

His plan was simple, yet... odd. You didn’t argue of course, there were very few in the palace you could trust, yet you found yourself trusting him. Foolish, but perhaps a necessary risk.

The plan was to sway public opinion of you, to the point it would reach the ears of the Dornish, and they would rescind their proposal. Your reputation would take a hit but your hand would remain free.

First you would change yourself, your style of dress, your manner of speech.

“Become more like... one of my girls”, he had suggested.

“I’d rather get married, thank you”.

You almost walked out, but agreed. It was only temporary, you’d told yourself.

Second, socialise like you were to die tomorrow.

“Your connections are poor your highness, worse than mine.” He’d said with a smile.

“Unsurprising, you’re the most well-connected man here”. He said nothing, smiling a bit more genuinely this time.

Third, create a scandal.

“Fuck a few nobles, steal them if they're married, or better yet, have a child.”

“In that order? Or can I make amendments?”

“Your Highness, I’m starting to think you’d do well in my business.”

And so it was agreed, you were to become the epitome of a reckless noble who knew nothing but luxury and indulgence. You were going to be the spitting image of your father, if you weren’t already. It wasn’t difficult given your already similar looks and your reputation for causing a stir in the whorehouses.

Step one went by with no problems, you mother was more than happy to help you ‘become a lady befitting her title’, and was even more delighted when you started fulfilling your duties at events.

She wasn’t happy when you started taking things too far, your dresses became more immodest and she stopped calling on you when you started returning to Littlefinger’s brothels.

You’d still attend social events when possible, and if anything your poor reputation made them all the more fun when nobles would make snide comments.

However, you had gained the respect of some of the visiting northerners. Young Sansa and Arya also hated the political pleasantries of the south and were more than happy to see nobility squirm.

They didn’t like it when you flirted with married or engaged nobles, but you can’t win them all. (You’re the child of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister, of course you’d have a terrible personality).

If your father did any of this on purpose, you could see the fun.

Step two was well underway, when you then hit a block.

What noble were you supposed to steal? Your own options were limited, unless you wanted to men who could be as old as your own father.

You settled on Loras Tyrell, he was young, good looking enough and you'd heard of his bedfellows, or lack thereof of female company. It'd be perfect, create a scandal without actually having to bear some man's child and he could finally shake off some of his own rumours. It was a matter of getting him to agree.

When you'd informed Littlefinger of your choice and plan, he smiled so sweetly that you would never had guessed something was wrong. He was of no help this time though, you assumed perhaps this was as far as your relationship went. You thanked him for his support thus far and agreed to pay him back bountifully if his plan worked.

When you'd approached Loras, he was shining in the sun at the latest tournament. He'd done so well in the tournament so far, he was talented. You can see why women and men were so taken with him. You could also see your accomplice, Littlefinger himself sat in the stalls becoming cosy with the Stark girl. Ah, that’s where he was.

"Your highness, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"The pleasure is all mine, would you be able to take me to my tent, good ser? I seem to have lost my way."

It was a load of crap, but he agreed nonetheless. He looked curious, if not bored.

When you'd propositioned a deal, he rejected at first. He was a Tyrell, what could he possibly benefit from you?

"Oh? That's a shame, and here I thought we'd get along so well. You seem to with my uncle..."

The moment Renly was mentioned, he started stuttering like a fool and you know you had him.

He didn't leave your tent that night. Nothing of excitement happened, sadly, he was ‘loyal’ to your uncle it would seem.

It caused a larger stir than you’d hoped for. Too large, unfortunately, as it placed you between your grandfather and father.

“I hoped you’d do better my gradndaughter, this endangers your marriage to Dorne. Loras Tyrell will not wed you.” He was so disappointed to have lost such a useful piece, such a shame.

“I apologise, grandfather. I wasn’t aware we were family again”

Your father snickered, and you knew you were safe.

“You’re a Baratheon, no one dares stand against the king or his children, as long as my daughter is happy, she can fuck who she wants.”

Your heart swelled. He was your father, no amount of drinking would take that title from him.

The wedding was called off, the Dornish couldn’t have a princess who they couldn’t ruin. So they betrothed Myrcella instead. For good measure, she’d been sent to Dorne as a ward until her wedding day. They’d already lost one candidate after all.

Your mother’s beautiful face looked like that of a snake, ready to wring your neck, you could see that much. Thankfully she couldn’t touch you with your fathers protection.

But, that only lasted as long as he did.

He died.

No warnings, he came home injured from a hunt, and then lay on his bed for the last time.

He spoke his last words to Joffrey.

No matter how much he claimed to care about you, you were a fool to think he’d let you ascend him. Or even Tommen. That tyrant was going to make your life hell soon, and you were ready to lose it.

That’s when you realised, you had never actually used a brothel’s services despite being a frequent visitor. But there was a first for everything.

“Princess, you’re in mourning”, Littlefinger spoke with such softness that you were convinced that he was the best liar in King’s Landing.

“Are you always this astute, or are you feeling particularly clever today?”

He smiled, you had never wanted to claw it off of his face as much as you did today.

“Sharp tongue as always princess, shame you haven’t made much use of it until now.”

“Oh I’ll be sure to use it soon, Baelish, I’m in a whorehouse, not the castle.”

“I don’t doubt you’ll be using it soon, but I was hoping to offer my condolences.”

“What more could you offer me Baelish? I’m already in your debt.”

A Lannister pays her debts, as much as you hated it, you were already in his.

He took your hand, tugging it towards him. He unclenched your fingers which you hadn’t realised had dug into your skin, and placed a soft kiss atop your hand.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to comfort you in my own way. And... put that tongue to use myself.” His eyes gleamed and you wondered how long he had been preparing for this moment.

You should’ve said no, berated him, screamed at him. But you didn’t. You were too tired, too sad. You’d gained an inch, to have lost the mile. Your life is in the hands of your mother now. This would be your last act of rebellion.

You let him pull you to the a room across his office, your guards were given rooms of their own, services complimentary of the owner.

His mouth tasted like a fine aged wine, and the grip on your waist felt so comforting yet set your skin on fire.

He held your hand tightly as he laid you on his bed, tighter so when he had fucked you too. You had to give him credit, for a few moments you had completely forgotten your grief and he most definitely put your tongue to good use.

When you awoke, you were surprised to him still with you, though you were always a late riser, you hadn’t expected him to sleep in either.

“Is this a debt paid or a debt taken?” You ask, your voice hoarse and dry. You could feel your muscles ache and areas sore, but the best soreness you’d felt in months.

He stirred before he lazily opened his eyes. You never paid attention to their unique grey-green colouring.

“I’m still collecting.” He smirked again, but this one didn’t anger you as it should’ve.

“Still? Can your old bones manage?” You joked, his age didn’t show, but all men were sensitive about their age.

He didn’t miss a beat, “Of course, unless it’s too much for the princess.”

You took the initiative this time, and wasted no time to crawl under the blankets to show him the tricks you’d learned the night before.

When you returned to the castle late into the evening, marks on your neck, with a certain glow to your skin, everyone knew exactly where you were and what you were up to.

Your mother didn’t hesitate to slap you so hard that her nails scratched your cheek, drawing blood. Joffrey laughed as he played with his crossbow, while Tommen flinched, yet stayed silent.

“You better pray that you are with child or so help me, I will burn his whorehouses myself.”

You wondered when she became religious, as you’d missed your moonblood twice. Your mother had yet to notice as you simply left drops of blood among your sheets, a sore but necessary cut on your thigh was enough to stave off her suspicions.

But when you told Littlefinger himself, he was still. His mouth twitched, to you he appeared very very pleased with himself.

“I know it’s not the news you wanted to hear but-”

“No, no. This is a pleasant surprise.”

“What?”

“I was hoping you were coming back to pay a debt, but I see you’ve paid in full.”

“Really? Because I feel I’ve deeper debt with your bastard.”

He reassured you, he was in your debt. During your brothers wedding he whisks you away with him on a ship, joined by Sansa. You know exactly what this looks like.

You come to wonder how you could’ve possibly fallen from the princess of a proud king, to the mistress of a man to be married, now being ferried to his wedding with another pretty bird who, no doubt, also has his interest.

Rubbing your belly, you look down. At least, if this little one has half the smarts of their father, they may escape to a fate greater than yours.

#GOT #game of thrones #look i like slimeballs a lot #like i have bad taste in men #BAD OVERALL TASTE YES I KNOW #petyr littlefinger baelish #petyr baelish #petyr baelish imagine #GOT imagine #asofai #Bend the knee series #game of thrones imagine #got x reader #petyr baelish x reader #game of thrones x reader

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fatefulfaerie · 3 years

Text

Witch

Linktober 2021 prompt day 1/31

Word Count: 698

Incarnation: BotW AU

for @dyventus

She was a statue.

Hands folded in front of her royal gown, she was the epitome of grace and elegance. She wore a mask of justice, her green eyes determined and her lip still as the executioner raised the axe, so sharp that the sunlight was reflected within the edge.

A disembodied head lopped into a basket and she still breathed, still had an intact neck, still stood by her father’s side with her knight attendant behind her. It was no secret her and her protector were courting. That wasn’t the secret she kept in her throat during today’s execution.

The kingdom rejoiced in peace for the rest of the day. The witch they found doing magic in the woods was dead. Those sacrilegious acts were now paid for and Hylia, according to the public, was satisfied.

Later that day, Zelda found herself massaging her neck as she laid in bed, watching Link dress himself after their most recent dalliance.

“Can you hand me my cap?” Link said as he pulled on his knee-high white boots. “I think it’s on the other side of the bed.”

“Sure,” Zelda said, walking on her knees across the large bed and reaching her hand down to the floor, as if searching underwater for a seashell. “Here,” she said once she grabbed it handing to Link over his shoulder.

Yet he didn’t put it on, merely staring at it. Zelda took no notice of the anomaly, having made her way to her vanity to brush the tangles out of her hair. Link’s fingers always made it terribly unkempt.

“Zelda?”

“Hm?” she hummed, her head popping over to him.

He stared at his hat, thumb running up and down the blue fabric that was now singed and burnt in the shape of Zelda’s hand.

Zelda stepped forward cautiously as she noticed the error, the accident. Fear struck her heart and she felt her blood pumping.

“Are you going to arrest me?” Zelda asked, already knowing the answer. Wielding magic was punishable by death. Zelda knew she wouldn’t be able to convince the people that this power just came to her a couple years ago, that she tried to control it, suppress it. Despite Link’s feelings for her, he would no doubt turn her in.

Link shook his head.

“I can’t.” He looked up. “I just can’t.”

He dropped the hat like it didn’t matter and walked towards Zelda, taking her into his arms.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Zelda stammered for words.

“I…I didn’t want to die.”

Link sighed and embraced her completely.

“I wouldn’t have said a word then and I’m not going to say one now,” Link said. “I’ve been loyal to Hyrule but I’ve never agreed with that law. Besides, they would never allow their own princess to be executed.”

Zelda shook her head.

“They see it as treason, betrayal, sin,” Zelda said. “And they would rather have me killed than have me produce an heir that might also be able to wield magic.”

She held Link yet she pictured herself, hands folded in front of her royal gown, the epitome and grace and elegance. She wore a mask of justice, her green eyes determined and her lip still as the executioner raised the axe, so sharp that the sunlight was reflected within the edge.

But she wasn’t watching this time, she was lain upon the guillotine, golden hair splayed and ready to be mixed with hues of red.

“I’m so scared, Link,” she said, feeling him rub the back of her head. “For me, for you, for when we have children. The entire kingdom will be against us.”

“Then we run,” Link suggested. Zelda rescinded to look at his face, to make sure he was being serious. “We run away, far away. We never look back”

Zelda’s green eyes swam with fear, fear of leaving everything behind, everything she ever knew.

But even then, the unknown seemed so much more preferable and with Link, she knew she would be happy.

Zelda nodded and meant to say yes, but ended up expelling tears, diving her head into Link’s shoulder as she bawled.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you.”

#linktober #botw au #zelink #zelda #link

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airplanned · 3 years

Text

All the Trashy Novels Part 10

Part 1...Part 9

The court poet had a new song. He was secretive about it, but insisted it was a masterpiece akin to the odes of a forgotten age. The fact that he'd written it just for Zelda made her nervous. She really did not want there to be a song about her. And to have it sung in front of the whole court filled her with dread.

Couldn't he at least give her a sneak peak before he preformed it in front of the entire court? A private show just for her? She fluttered her eyelashes, and thanked all the romance novels she'd read, because for a second she thought she had him. His eyes unfocused and his jaw hung a little slack. But then he pulled himself together and smirked at her. "I'm sure you can handle the anticipation." He winked.

Zelda gave him an indulgent smile, even as her insides screamed. Finding out what he had to say about her at the same time as the rest of the court was sub-optimal to say the least.

She looked up to find Link glaring so hard at the back of the court poet's head that it was shocking he hadn't caught fire. Or noticed.

Her heart fluttered. How could she get Link to glare that way at her?

It took her knight a moment to notice her watching him, and when he did, she lifted an imperious eyebrow. Instead of looking chastised or directing his anger at her, he took a deep breath, clenched his jaw, and turned his face away.

Also sub-optimal.

She was preparing for bed--and by bed she meant reading the book she had tucked inside her pillow-- when there was a knock on her door. Odd for that time of night. Her lady's maid paused brushing her hair, and went to the door to hold a quiet conversation. When she returned she looked troubled.

"Your knight protector has a message for you." She handed over a few pages sealed with the generic wax stamp of the royal guard. "He said it was urgent."

Confused, Zelda broke the seal and unfolded the letter. A single line of Link's familiar handwriting looked back at her. "I'm going to kill him."

What?

She turned to the next page to find sheet music. Sheet music? And not in Link's handwriting--thank the Goddess. Oh, this must be the court poet's song.

Her sight reading was not as good as it should have been given how much time she spent memorizing all the prayer songs and practicing the lyre (or...given how little time she spent practicing), but she gave it her best attempt, humming the tune as she skimmed over the words.

Oh, a peach in summer./Brush my lips over your skin so soft/ and inhale your enticing scent./With a blush upon your swells/your curves./I trace them./And the flesh inside so ripe./I devour it./And the juice runs down my chin.

Her hand was slapped over her mouth to hold in a scream. This was what he'd written for her? He wanted to preform this in front of the entire court!?

"Your Highness?" her lady's maid asked, her voice timid. "Did...Sir Link write you a song?"

She crumpled the pages in a fist, her horror turning to rage. She pushed herself from her seat and hurled open her door. The guard outside startled, and she did a bit too. She refocused and demanded, "Where did Link go?"

"I'm...not sure, Your Highness. That way?"

She narrowed her eyes and took off down the hall. If Link wasn't here, then he was following through on his threat to murder the court poet, and she had to stop him in time to do it herself.

Sure enough, when she threw open the doors to the music room, Link was already there, Master Sword drawn with the point pressed to the court poet's sternum. An ineffective way to kill someone, but it had the poet scared. He had both hands raised in surrender, one still holding a lute.

"What is the meaning of this?" she shouted.

"Your--Your Highness, I was--I was just explaining--"

"Oh, were you? Well this should be interesting."

"The old love songs--"

"Were pornographic?"

"What!? No! The literary merit--"

"So you don't find this song inappropriately arousing?"

"If it stirs emotion--"

"Sir Link, having heard this song, have you now thought of me in an impure manner?"

His eyes cut to her, and she lifted an eyebrow. He looked away to glare down at the poet, shrugged one shoulder and said simply, "Juices."

"Exactly! My juices! How dare you? Especially after announcing that the song is about me, this is so far beyond the pale."

"Your Highness, please--"

"Play a different song tomorrow or I will have your patronage rescinded. And I will not stop Sir Link from murdering you a second time. Am I understood?"

"It...it was about peaches?"

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms under her chest. The poet's eyes slipped lower to follow the movement, and then didn't rise again. He swallowed hard.

She looked down to see her robe had come open, revealing the thin, silk nightgown beneath. She'd never had sharper proof that the goddess hated her than the fact that her nightgown was peach colored.

Her nostrils flared as she pulled the robe tight in front of her and knotted the silk belt with a sharp tug.

"I am displeased," she growled, then turned on her heel and left.

Link was not far behind and pulled even with her in the hallway. His face was as stormy as her own.

"The audacity!" she hissed. "Describing me in such--such vulgar detail. As if he would even know! As if he wanted to imply that he'd experienced...In front of the whole court! I would have been a laughing stock. My father would have...I don't even know what he would have done."

They'd reached her room again, and Link's arm darted out in front of her, pressing against the wall, blocking her path. Her heart stuttered as he leaned towards her, his face boasting all the emotion she'd fantasized about. His hand squeezed around the hilt of the Master Sword over his shoulder.

"Do you want me to kill him?"

She pictured it: Link defending her honor, his nose crinkling with anger.

She shook herself and sighed. "No. No, my reputation is already in tatters. There's no reason to make a larger scene. We prevented him from performing the song. I think he's learned his lesson. And no one has heard it."

"He heard it."

"Yes. Well."

"I heard it."

Her eyes snapped to his, suddenly aware again of the tension in his arm across her path, of the way his eyes were narrowed with intention, of the way her breath had caught. It would be so easy to grab the back of his neck and yank him closer. He would come easily, mold against her, strong and protective. He would enjoy the silk of her robe and nightgown in his hands. Enjoy the low cut. Enjoy the way her nipples were most definitely visible.

He'd probably been enjoying that last part this whole time.

She rolled her eyes and snapped, "It's a song about peaches, Link. Don't get excited."

He dropped his arm and straightened, the intensity wiped from his face. "Wouldn't dream of it."

She shut herself in her room and leaned back against the door to close her eyes and breathe.

Part 11

#Zelda #My fic #All the trashy novels

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screamingatanemptyroom · 3 years

Text

Please Fix the Story pt 22 - Sci Fi

New part is here! Just a few more in this world. Just realized that it's been about 1 year since I've started this story. Wow.

Masterpost linked here.

Enjoy!

____________________________

The school was greatly relieved to hear that I had made a Connection and was no longer a danger to myself and others. They immediately rescinded my suspension and "encouraged" me to resume training with my new partner as soon as possible. I found the quick 180 amusing, but didn't argue.

It took multiple video calls with Alaira’s father to reassure him that everything was okay, and a few more to prevent him from throwing a parade for Liam to thank him for matching his daughter. His tears of joy at the news was a complicated moment for me.

I had felt a deep sense of joy, but it was an emotion that didn’t belong to me... it belonged to Alaira. Watching him celebrate his daughter’s recovery felt hypocritical, knowing that in the world that I hadn’t taken over, his daughter hadn’t had a good end. She had died alone and afraid, her mind fragmented.

But there was no way to tell him that.

The mission completion status on my communication device had risen quickly from 1% to 42%. Liam and I spent every waking moment together, talking, joking, and learning about each other. We practiced making the connection with the Mech, powering and controlling it now a smooth, painless process. It was natural, coming as easily to me as breathing. Working with him felt less like learning with a new partner as gaining back a missing part of me.

I was happy.

But not everyone was glad to hear we had matched.

Shortly after our match was made public, Liam and I were walking down the hallway after class, and were forced to stop by a young, angry woman blocking our path.

“It’s a lie!” Princess Ilene glared at Liam as she faced us down. “William can’t be a real Connector! He’s always been just a useless waste. He's a stain on the royal family!”

Liam seemed unfazed by his sister’s cruel words, as if he were used to it. The lack of reaction and the implications behind it made me even angrier. I stepped forward, hiding him partly behind me, and smiled pleasantly. My expression and pleasant tone obviously confused the princess, who took a step back.

“Ilene, Ilene, there’s just so much wrong with what you said… I don’t even know where to begin!” I shrugged. “ But, correcting idiocy IS my calling in life, so let me give it a shot:”

Ilene’s face was red with rage, but I ignored her incoherent sputtering, holding up a finger.

“First, Liam is capable of making the connection. He just had a strong barrier. Obviously it isn't impossible, or he and I wouldn’t be matched. “ I held up a second finger. “Secondly, and more importantly: even if he COULDN’T make the connection, he still wouldn’t be useless. He’s a kind, wonderful person, and that’s more than you can say about most Guardians or Connectors… present company included.”

“ How dare…” Princess Ilene took a step back. “What are you trying to say?”

I blinked, shocked “Oh, was I not being obvious enough? I don’t like you. I think Liam is a much better human being than you, and find it pitiful that you try to derive your self worth from putting him down.”

Liam stepped forward, grabbing my hand. “It’s ok…”

“No, its not. You don’t deserve for people to call you trash.” I felt emotional, as if something deep inside me was trying to break free.

“It’s always been like this.” He shrugged, “I’m used to being alone.”

____________________________

“Friends, family?”

The man in front of me was smiling at my question, but the expression was so sad it made me want to cry.

“None.” He twisted his hands in his lap, looking away. “I’m supposed to be alone.”

“Why?”

“Supposedly that’s my fate.”

____________________________

“You are not trash.” I tightened my grip on Liam’s hand. “ and you’re not alone anymore.”

“I know.” He smiled, “Thanks.”

Princess Ilene spoke up, obviously tired of being ignored. “How dare you trample on Chris’s kindness and reject him for this tr…” She started to say the word “trash” but seeing my face, nervously trailed off and started again. “You don’t even know if you two have a high enough resonance match to ward off your mental degradation…!”

“We do. It’s gone.”

She paused, thrown by my matter of fact tone. “… But what if you’re a higher match with Chris…”

“Don’t care. I hate him.”

“… But…”

“You do bring up a good point, though.” I turned to Liam. “We should see what our resonance match rate is.”

He looked nervous. “What if it isn’t very high?”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re already partners. I’m just curious.” I grinned. “Plus, I’m pretty sure it’s really high, and I’d love to use that to shut people up.”

He chuckled at that. “If it means that much to you to rub it into people’s faces...”

“It does.”

We walked towards the match center, leaving Princess Ilene stunned into silence behind.

____________________________

Liam got more anxious the closer we got to the match center. “You promise you won’t break our partnership if our match score is low?”

“You know I wouldn’t do that.” I didn’t feel insulted at his questioning. I could feel his insecurity, the need for me to say out loud what he thought he knew. “Low or high, we’re partners. You’re stuck with me.”

“Good.” He sighed, grinning. “I like being stuck with you.”

Finally, we were facing the machine that had failed us both so many times. Irrationally, I felt a little nervous, the many prior failures of the past few weeks too fresh and painful to completely forget.

Liam stepped away from me, reaching out and placed his hands on the panel first.

“Unrecognized tester. Please let down your mental barrier to proceed with Match testing.”

I rubbed my forehead tiredly as the robotic rejection echoed loudly around the room; “I forgot your barrier is still around since it doesn’t effect me anymore.”

“Honestly, I had forgotten too.” He responded with a happy smile.

A crowd was starting to gather, curious at our actions. As more and more people realized what we were doing, I began hearing the whispering between them.

“Didn’t she go crazy?”

“...thought she couldn’t match?”

“He has a barrier? ...never could match.”

“I heard they already formed a connection.”

“Heard her dad is a general, spread the rumor of her matching so she wouldn’t get kicked out.”

“Isn’t she matched up with Chris?”

“Why are they here?”

I grabbed Liam’s hand again, feeling relieved when I felt his warm skin against my own. “Don’t listen to them.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” He stared straight at me, ignoring the hostile words and gazes of the crowd. “You’re beside me, and that’s all that matters.”

I squeezed his hand in my own. A strong desire welled up within me to be worthy of the trust he gave me. I wanted to show everyone what Liam could do, the bond we had... but of course it couldn't be too easy.

“We just have to figure out how to get your barrier down enough for the machine to read you." I glanced down at my hand that was still holding his. "I mean, I’m touching you now, right? There’s no barrier between us?”

He stared down at our clasped hands, his cheeks tinged pink. “Yes, I feel you. I mean, no, there’s no barrier.”

“Good!" I gestured to the pad with my free hand. "Then why don't you try again while we're still touching each other?”

He placed his hand back on the machine.

“Please let down your mental barrier to proceed with Match testing.” The machine's voice repeated itself calmly.

His hand fell away, frustrated. I could feel his anxiety, and worried deep down that I had made a wrong choice. I did this to reassure him that we are a good match. To shut up everyone saying that it's a made up story to justify the removal of my suspension. To prove to everyone that Liam isn't useless, even by their own stupid standards.

But none of this will happen if he can't use the machine.

I thought it over, and grinned as I came up with a plan. “Hmm… Well, there’s one other thing we can try…”

I leaned in and kissed him, grabbing his free hand with my own and placing it on the pad together. His breath caught in his chest and he froze in shock very briefly before kissing back. In that moment I almost forgot why I had kissed him in the first place, but the robotic voice quickly reminded me.

“Resonance match detected…. Scanning…. Resonance Frequency Match...100%.”

The voice had barely faded before there were shouts of shock from the crowd. The room descended into chaos at the announcement. I broke away from Liam, who was still distracted, and stared at him.

“Did that machine just say… we are a 100 PERCENT match? I didn’t even think that was possible!”

Liam blinked. “I’m sorry, I dinwhat did you say?”

“We’re a perfect match, Liam.” I laughed. “I knew this was a great idea!”

Definitely didn't completely doubt the plan halfway through... yep.

“So… no one can separate us then?” His body relaxed, and he reached out, pulling me against himself and hugging me tightly. I felt the trembling of his muscles and knew that the anxiety he had shown was only the tip of the iceberg. His true fears and insecurities were still well hidden, even from me.

I hugged him back, waiting for him to back away. The crowd’s murmuring were now a loud roar, as everyone discussed a match rate that most thought impossible to achieve. And there, in the back of the crowd, I saw a solitary figure standing there, watching us with a blank stare.

Chris.

I shuddered, holding Liam tighter. The first thing I had done when Liam and I announced our match was to report to the authorities Chris holding me in his room. I suspected him of drugging me as well, remembering the prick of the needle before falling unconscious.

I was laughed at.

“Why would a student with a crystal clear reputation go out of his way to kidnap a general’s daughter? He already had a match, a better one than his resonance with you if I recall. If anyone had motive to kidnap someone, it would be you to him!”

The words were cutting, made worse by the pity on their faces.

“It’s obvious: your mind was breaking down due to the strain without a Connector, and came up with this fantastical plot of being kidnapped.”

And despite my objections, the claim was dropped. I hadn’t seen Chris since the day we parted in his room.

Until now.

His gaze held mine. He was expressionless, watching us with a detached, almost clinical air. I would have almost thought he was bored, or at least uncaring about the situation in front of him… if not for his eyes…

His eyes were burning with rage.

I looked away first feeling an odd sense of familiarity, as if something similar had happened before.

____________________________

A few days later Liam and I had our first mock battle. Suspended together in the Connection chamber within the Mech, the constant physical and mental connection with Liam made operating the Mech much easier than it ever had been alone.

I fought with a sword, having abandoned the dual guns completely. I breathed a sigh of relief at the speed I could move at as I ducked under the enemy Mech’s attack. Turning with the spin of my dodge, I used the momentum and I swung around to slash the torso of our opponent with the sword.

“Nice hit!” Liam’s voice in my headset was excited. He was cheering me on along the way, spurring me to show off with more complex moves when possible, hoping to impress him.

I pressed the attack, slamming the Mech with the shoulder of ours, and kicking it to the ground before it could recover its balance. The movements were smooth, and my head was clear of any pain. The prior drain and discomfort of controlling the giant robot was completely gone.

As our opponent fell to the ground, I pressed the tip of the sword into the Mech’s neck. The referee called out our victory, and the crowd around the arena cheered, but it was just noise to me. All that mattered was Liam’s excited babbling in my ear.

“That was awesome! I’ve always wondered what it felt like to win a Mech fight, and it’s so much cooler than I ever imagined! This is great! When can we fight again?”

“Glad you had fun, Liam.” I laughed at the innocent delight in his voice. After the stress and pain I had experienced since waking up in this world, the uncertainty of who I was and why I was here, there was something simple and healing about being by Liam’s side.

I feel happy.

I was nervous about admitting it, even to myself, as if the simple acknowledgement of the positive emotion would be enough to destroy it. But I couldn’t deny it. I WAS happy.

After we had undocked and changed, Liam and I relaxed in the fighter’s lounge. Liam as always, had a container that he pulled out of a bag, opening it to reveal a slice of cake. I took it from him with a murmur of thanks, and after the first bite sighed with joy.

“I've been meaning to ask you: Where do you get this cake? It's obviously not from the school shop, it’s way too good!”

Liam smiled at the question. “I made it myself.” Usually more quiet and shy, he seemed very confident when it came to matters such as food. The change in his attitude was something I loved to see.

“Really? You made it? This is too delicious… if only I could have this all the time.” I took another bite, savoring it. As I swallowed, I looked up at him and joked. "Yep, I think the only solution would be for me to just marry you.”

“…” There was a strange silence in the room. I ate some more cake, unconcerned at first, but as the awkward stillness stretched on I paused in my actions, turning towards Liam again with a questioning look.

His face was bright red, and he stared at me with a look of shock and joy.

“Liam?”

He nodded, and blushing more, pulled out his communication device, dialing a number.

“Who are you calling…?”

Alaira’s father, General Gladus showed up on the holographic projection from his device. He stared at Liam, confused for a moment, before barking out with a frown. “Who is this?”

Liam sat up straight, staring at the man with a solemn expression. “General Gladus, my name is William. I am the third born of the Royal family, and a first year student at the academy, and a Level S Connector.”

General Gladus grinned. “I know who you are, son. You’re the wonderful young man who matched with my daughter. I’ve been wanting to talk with you and thank you…”

“Your daughter has asked me to marry her and I have agreed.”

“What?”

My father and I asked in unison.

“I was very happy to receive your daughter’s offer of marriage. I will do my very best to support her in all her endeavors.”

“She proposed?”

I silently mouthed an echoing question as my father burst out loudly. “I proposed?”

Liam nodded. “I wanted to let you know so that you could arrange for military leave and be present for our wedding. I know the paperwork can take weeks to months. ”

“…” General Gladus looked stunned. Slowly, his hologram turned towed me. “Alaira, is this true?”

"Yeah, military leave paperwork is notoriously slow..."

He interrupted. "No I mean about the engagement!"

I glanced over at Liam’s excited face.

____________________________

“I don’t believe it’s real.” He whispered, staring down at our hands that were clasped together. “I thought that I was always going to be alone. I thought my fate… my role… ”

I fiddled with the silver band in my hand, trying it on his finger. “Screw fate. We’re getting married now.”

“Yeah.” He grinned, the smile lighting up his face, making the whole room brighter. “Screw fate. I’m your husband!”

____________________________

I shrugged. “What can I say? We’re a destined couple.” I briefly explained about our 100% resonance match.

“… Did you say 100% match?” At my nod, General Gladus opened up his arms. “Welcome to family! When's the wedding?”

After a few more minutes of discussion, Liam hung up, still looking happy.

“Should we notify your parents?”

His face froze. When his gaze finally rose to met mine I shrunk back from the dull look I saw there.

“No reason to.” He reached out, tucking back my hair. “A family without love is just blood related acquaintances. You’re my real family, wife.”

I hugged him again. “That’s right. I’m your family.” I hadn’t really meant to propose… it was just a joke. But the second he called me wife, my heart had felt a sense of recognition. It was happy, but also hurt, a deep remembered pain. A panicked feeling rose up within me, as fear, despair and sadness came in waves, before leaving quickly, overwhelming me without warning or reason. I desperately wanted to remember something, to tear open the fog clouding my brain and peer at what was hidden behind it. But I couldn't.

You must accept your fate. A metallic voice rang in my head, cold, dispassionate, filled with undeniable.

“No.” I whispered, tears filling my eyes even if I wasn’t sure why they were there.

Liam noticed my distress. “Alaira?”

“I'm fine." I think we should go back to practice.” I pulled him to his feet. “We’ll talk more about this later.”

“You’re right, let’s continue working hard so we can save the world like you wanted. But on our next break, we have a wedding to plan!” For the first time, Liam was more excited than me to get to practice. He grabbed my hand and raced forward.

____________________________

Later that night, I went back to my dorm room, still thinking over my last conversation with Liam. He was energetically talking about wedding plans, making lists and drawings with the hologram on his communicator, storing them in special file with my name on it.

When I asked him why he was so excited, he paused, staring down at his hands. “Have you ever felt a desire that was so strong, it seemed to be beyond anything you’ve experienced before?” He glanced up. “I feel this, Alaira. Deep in my soul. I want to be by your side. I want to marry you, but even if you didn’t want that, I’d be your minion or your sidekick. Being by you… helping you… it’s such an integral part of myself, I couldn’t separate from it if I tried.”

“Liam…”

“I think I believe in reincarnation and soul mates.” He smiled. “I’m so happy right now that I think this has to be a hallucination, it can’t be real.”

“I don’t believe it’s real.” I felt the memory of the young man’s whisper in my head again, and pushing it back, I leaned forward to kiss Liam gently.

“It’s real.”

Now alone in my room, I couldn’t help but feel bewildered by the connection with Liam, the emotions and memories that accompanied every moment with him.

“Who am I?” I leaned against the wall and whispered to myself.

“That is the question isn’t it?”

At the unexpected answer I straightened up, falling into a defensive stance. Recognizing the intruder did not make relax, however. If anything it made me more tense.

“Chris. What are you doing here?” I kept my voice calm, trying to hide my inner tension.

“I’m getting tired, Bel.” He sat down on my bed and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m just… so tired of all this.”

“What did you call me?” The name resonated with me, much more than “Alaira” ever had.

He ignored me. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were supposed to give up right away. It promised me…”

The room fell into silence. I stood as still as a statue, barely daring to breathe. I was desperate to hear more, terrified to let him continue speaking. Chris’s voice was different, his tone filled with years of regret. His eyes when they stared at me, seemed to look right through me, as if seeing through my skin to something deeper and more profound.

“Why can’t you just accept your fate, Bel?” He sighed, the sound seeming to drag on too long. “Everything depends on it.”

“What do you…?”

“The lower realms you treasure… the friends you’ve made… even…” He hesitated. “Even his existence depends on everyone having their role and playing their part.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Chris.”

“MY NAME ISN’T CHRIS!” He yelled, the sound startling in the otherwise silent room. “Just like yours isn’t Alaira. Just like his… it wasn’t supposed to be…”

“Liam?”

”THAT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HIS NAME!” Chris, or whoever he was, stood up, his face red with rage. “He corrupted it! He refused his role, and ended up tricking you to do the same.” He stepped closer. “Why do you always force me to be the one who has to carry the weight of the realms on my shoulders? Why does he get to be the only one who is happy? I don’t want to play these games anymore, Bel.”

“I’m not playing games!” I shouted back, frustrated. “I don’t remember anything!”

“And you won’t. Not until it’s over. But it will be soon. Because I’m going to end it.” He walked towards the door, preparing to leave, only stopping when I grabbed his arm.

“No. You aren’t leaving until you explain what you meant.”

His eyes lit up briefly at our contact, and I pulled my hand away quickly. “You made a bet, Bel, and these are rules you can’t escape. All it takes is one failed mission. One failure before you can finish the task of piecing together your soul.”

“Piecing together…?” His words struck a chord within me, but I shook my head. “I may not understand anything going on, but I’ll tell you this: I won’t fail my mission.”

The light is his eyes dimmed. “You started this. Just remember that, when you regret everything. You. Started. This.”

He left through room, slamming the door behind him. I stood in place, staring blankly, my mind racing.

Realms, real names, missions and bets… I don’t understand any of it.

But I knew one thing, as certainly as if it were imprinted on my soul.

I would not accept my fate.

Even if I couldn’t remember what that fate was.

Even if I had to destroy fate itself to escape it.

#writing #please fix the story #sci fi #lost memories #a little more liam #plot for the sci world about the speed up.

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eideticmemory · 3 years

Text

TWO GHOSTS II | MATTHEW G. GUBLER

It’s been 15 years. 15 years has to be long enough . . . right? Part 2! Read Part 1.

Set 15 years after the end of Ever Since New York, so give that a read first!

Word Count: 3.1k.

Warning: Usual angst, porn, and poor communication amongst characters.

SOUNDTRACK:

After Hours - The Velvet Underground

Mr. Loverman - Ricky Montgomery

Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now - The Smiths

“Ramona . . .” you whine.

“I know . . . a mess.”

“I, uh,” you set your phone down, keeping Ramona’s voice on speaker. “I have to get out of this hotel, I have to get home.”

“[y/n], no.”

“No?”

“No.”

You begin changing out of your pajamas, your hands trembling as you slip on a pair of jeans. “Are you telling me I can’t go home right now? Seriously?”

“Seriously. Unless you wanna get swarmed by paparazzi, and risk leaving the hotel at the same time as him, you need to stay put.”

“This . . . this . . . is a mess. This is a huge mess, I — Ramona, I’m leaving.” You ramble, grabbing your things from the bedside dresser.

“[y/n] [y/l/n].” Ramona says, sternly. “You are my boss, but I have direct orders from your publicist to make sure you stay put. So, sit down, chill out, I’ll be there in five. And, honestly . . . you should have some wine.”

“Wha — wine? It’s seven in the morning.”

“Y’know what? You deserve it. Be there soon.��

She was already on the way when she hung up, and when she knocks on the door, you’re sat criss-cross on the bed, sipping a glass of wine. She’s right, you deserve it. You hold the fragile cup in your hand as you open the door, and she waltzes her way in.

“You calm now?” she asks.

“Medicated,” you shrug, holding the glass of wine up in the air.

“Perfect . . . so, were you ever going to tell anyone that you used to date Matthew Gray Gubler?”

You scoff, wander through the hotel room, “I didn’t date Matthew Gubler,” you take a seat on the bed.

“Okay, were you going to mention that you used to fuck Matthew Gray Gubler?” She crosses her arms.

“I . . .” you stutter, go silent in response.

“Oh, God,” she groans.

“It was a long, long time ago! It’s no one’s business, and there’s hardly any proof that it’s anything but a rumor.”

“No proof? —“ She shakes her head, pulling her iPad from her bag. As she clicks a few buttons, she adds, “Did you not see what people were saying? . . . The pictures?”

“Pictures?” You gasp, setting you glass down. “What pictures?”

Ramona sighs, and hands the iPad over to you, avoiding eye contact. You slowly take the device from her hands, and let out a shaky breath.

“The first two were posted a, um, John Hearse on twitter . . .” she explains.

“I mean, if you and Gube just . . . I’m gonna say it - fucked - one good time, the two of you could get over this whole rivalry already.”

Ramona’s words start to fade, to rescind to dust and ash, as you absorb the image in front of you. It’s old . . . and slightly blurry, but you recognize every face. John, Steve, Matthew . . . and you, sat in his lap, head on his shoulder with a huge, bright smile on your face. Matthew had his hand on your waist, practically gripping your shirt in his hand, keeping you close. The next picture, he was making you laugh, all three of you, as you looked, lovingly, into his eyes.

They were posted in response to a final picture, of you and Matthew reuniting. You looking, literally, like an idiot, in the daze of seeing him and recieving a hug. Some professional photographer had captured the whole thing.

John’s pictures are captioned: Whoaaa glad to see these two back together!

“They used to be, heh,” you chuckle dryly to yourself as you read the tweet outloud. “Inseparable, wow. Remind me to call John up later and yell at him until he cries.”

“Wh — what happened between you two?”

“Me and John? Nothing much, we were good friends,” you shrug.

“No — [y/n], c’mon . . .” Ramona groans.

“It would take,” you sigh. “So much time, and so much energy for me to tell that story right now. I don’t have it in me, Ramona, I just . . . I just want to go home.”

“The place is surrounded by paparazzi, they’re harassing every celebrity that leaves the building, and I’m pretty sure your high on their watchlist right now.”

“Yeah, I’ve mastered the art of ignoring them, I’ll be fine, just call me a ride, please,” you grumble, setting the iPad down and rising to your feet.

She sighs, giving in, giving up, “There’s one waiting for you out front.”

“Thank you,” you nod.

Your belongings are removed from the room first, carried down by an accommodating bellhop. Ramona followed you down to the lobby, trailing you, like she always did. But keeping a closer eye on you than usual. You stopped in front of the revolving door, lips pursed in a look of annoyance as you came face to face with the hoard of paparazzi.

They noticed you through the glass before you had the chance to take a breath, and if you stood still for too long, you feared it would show as weakness, a reason to be suspicious. So, you held your head up tall, took in a deep breath, and stepped into the spotlight.

You’ve mastered the look of constantly-tired-business-woman-chic. Today, you’re running off a cup of coffee, and as always, throw on jeans and a graphic t-shirt. Comfortable shoes, because those heels destroyed your feet last night.

It’s a short walk to the car, but a million and one pictures are taken of you. You smile, respectfully, do a little wave. Don’t want to look too bitter. You drown out the questions, drown out the comments, because you swear if you hear his name, you’ll roll your eyes.

Ramona gets into the car after you, and closes the door. You let out a long sigh, and sulk in your seat. “This sucks,” you mumble, the car staring the ten minute drive to your home.

“Okay, [y/n] Gubler,” she replies.

“Hey!” You sit up. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” she whines. “I knew something was off last night. I could’ve helped you avoid him, I could’ve gotten his car towed, I could’ve sent him the wrong address. You just have to communicate.”

“That is . . . unprofessional, and Matthew Gubler is, apparently, very professional. And he . . .” you trail off.

“He . . ? What?”

“He, donated a very healthy amount of money to the program, which, has nothing to do with me, by the way. None of it has anything to do with me, he’s just . . . professional.” You roll your eyes.

“What the hell happened between you two?” Ramona asks, noticing your shift in tone.

“Ooh, damn!” You ignore her, looking out the window. “We should’ve stopped and grabbed donuts.”

“Fine,” she surrenders.

You were surprised to find no paparazzi surrounding your penthouse building. Ramona had packed away all your belongings, and sent someone inside to place them in your apartment.

“Stay off social media,” she tells you before you leave. “Okay? No posting.”

“Silent stalking, only. Got it.”

You hold your phone in your hand as you walk into the building, ride the elevator up to the fifth floor. It’s quiet, and it’s what you need right now. To be home alone, with your thoughts.

You crash onto the couch, face first, and groan as you roll over. Last night should’ve been joyous, and fun, and it was. But, it was supposed to be the end. It was supposed to bring peace, knowing that everything you worked for, payed off and went out with a bang.

But, because of him, and John, and these stupid pictures, it’s far from the end. A whole new storm has started, and it’s making you nauseous.

Yet, you can’t keep yourself offline. You spend hours scrolling through tweet upon tweet, instagram post after instagram post, and each and every comment is as gut wrenching as the last. The internet’s made up it’s mind, and you and Matthew Gubler are the perfect couple. You fit together, you look right together, you have history together.

A history that was better left buried.

Because, when it comes up, when you think about, and you think about that one decision that could’ve changed everything . . . you crack. You spiral. You can’t shake it for days. Weeks. You think about him, and what you could’ve been.

It’s a hurricane, and it sweeps you up everytime, even when you know it’s coming.

There’s a knock at the door, and your heart drops. It’s naive, and childish to think that maybe, just maybe, it’s him. Coming to apologize for being a dick. But the idea of it has you racing to the door, and flinging it open before you can think about it.

“Hey, Aunt [y/n]!”

“Hey,” Claire smiles. “We brought donuts.”

This is better.

The seven year old held onto your hand as you guided her and her mother in your apartment. “Oh, my goodness,” you beamed to Dorthy, earning a bright smile from her. “Is Roni with you?” You turned to ask Claire.

“She had to help her mother with something today, but I told her that I had to help you through a serious crisis.”

“Ah,” you nod. “You’ve been online, huh?”

You take a seat with Dorothea on the couch, turn on the TV. “Wanna pick something to watch?” You smile, and she nods happily, taking the remote from you.

You join Claire in the kitchen, and she hands you a cookies and cream donut. You hum happily as you take it from her, take a seat on the counter, “God, thank you.”

She nods, “Yes, I’ve been online. I’ve been tracking everything about you and your big, big night,” she chuckles. “So I was ready to run over here when I saw those pictures going around.”

“You saw them?” You gasp, horrified, with the donut hanging from your mouth.

“Oh, yeah, I don’t remember when they were taken, though?”

“Vegas, 2001,” you tell her. “You didn’t — you didn’t come with us.”

She sighs, tilts her head at you, “[y/n] . . .”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you nod, reassuringly. “I’m not going down a Matthew rabbit hole. Not right now. Y’know why? Because he is an ass, he’s rude, and disrespectful, and stirs shit up for no reason, and —“

“Whoa!” Claire exclaims. “Did I enter a time portal to 1999 or something?”

“Oh, fuck off,” you roll your eyes.

“[y/n], you knew seeing Matthew was a possibility last night, and that it would bring back all these emotions, and you swore you could handle it —“

“I did handle it! I handled it very, very well. He’s the one who lost his cool. You should’ve heard him, Claire,” you ramble. “Nothing I did tonight has anything to do with you? I’m a professional? I didn’t do it to cushion your feelings? He’s a dick! He — he threw everything in my face the minute he could, and now my name is connected to his, our history is out there for everyone to see, and . . . he probably fucking hates me,” you laugh.

You laugh.

It’s a dry laugh, a sad laugh.

Claire frowns, and steps over to you, putting her arm around your shoulders.

“He hates me,” you say. “And he probably has every reason to. But I can handle it. I can handle the emotions, I’ve handled them for a long time,” you look at her. “And it’s not my fault if he can’t do the same, right?”

Claire sighs, pushes your hair back, “No.” She shakes her head. “No, you’ve moved on. You should want him to do the same thing, and not cause anymore hurt. You deserve that.”

“Mom! Aunt [y/n]!” Dorthy calls from the couch. Her head pops up, and she grins at you two. “Best and Ballet is on!”

“Ooh, what show is that?” You chuckle, hopping down from the counter. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

“Hey,” Claire calls, grabbing onto your arm before you can walk into the living room. “It’s like everything else in show business, right? People will talk for a few days, maybe a week, right? And then it’ll fade. It’ll pass.”

You give her a nod, let her know that you hear her, and that you’re going to push through this. Because you have no choice. Because above being a celebrity, a figurehead, a boss, a producer . . . you’re a teacher. A damn good one, and the last person who’s going to change that is Matthew Gubler.

You pack him away. The idea of him. Tie him off with a neat, little bow.

Because the show must go on.

“Rolling!”

You walk across the studio, behind the cameras, watching your students on screen. “Can you get a wide shot? You’re not getting the best lighting, nor every student in one shot.” You say to the cinematographer.

“[y/n],” the director calls. “We film from this angle every episode. Why change it?”

“Because every episode, some of my best dancers are cut from the shot beside of sloppy angles and the light from the windows blinds the mirrors the cameras?”

“Those are things out of our control.”

“Oh, yeah?” you turn to him. “You wanna tell that to someone who didn’t go to film school? . . . Twice?”

He gulps, motions to the cinematographer, “Change the shot.”

You grin, order the camera woman to make the correct adjustments, “See?” You beam. “No glare.”

You walk off, Ramona trailing behind you, giving the director a pitiful smile. Once you’re away from the cameras, and the studio, you grumble, “Remind me to never be talked into hiring a male director again.

“You’re turning into Medusa.”

“What?” You look at her, furrowing your eyebrows.

“What? You’ve never seen Grey’s Anatomy? Medusa? Turns people into stone? A . . . bitch?”

“Actual Medusa was not a bitch, she was cursed by a man.”

“Okay, fair, you were cursed by a man —“

“Dooooon’t!” You roll your eyes. “I’m not Medusa, I’m very nice.”

“You’re nice to me, and to your students, and the nice ladies that do your hair and makeup. Everyone else, stone.”

“Stop.”

“I wish you would tell me what happened,” she groans. “It’s not like I’m gonna tell anyone! I’m just, worried about you, and a little nosey.”

“Ramona . . . it’s been how long since that weekend?”

“Well, well,” she stutters. “Only a week.”

“A week is a long time, I’ve moved on. I’ve avoided any and all questions on the subject, from everyone. I’ve been actively dodging it on social media. I’m doing well.”

She nods.

“Now,” you continue to walk down the hall. “I have a talk show interview tonight? What time do I have to be there?”

You stop when you realize Ramona isn’t following you. You turn around, and she stuck in her spot.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“Can’t move. Been turned to stone.”

You hated the Medusa comparison wholeheartedly. But, right now, you just want to yell at whoever booked you for a late night talk show. You’re tired after a long day of work, and you’re cranky, and crabby, and maybe, just maybe . . . the comparison isn’t too far off right now.

You’re charming, sure. Let’s go with that. But now, it’s all starting to dawn on you. Here, in this dressing room that’s lit up like a christmas tree. Revealing every ounce of exhaustion in your face, in your eyes. It’s nearly ten o’clock at night, and you’re placed in an elegant, black dress that stops just above your knees. Black heels cover your feet, and your hair and makeup were done half an hour ago.

You have to figure it out. You test different ones out in the mirror. Different smiles. You have to nail the I-have-to-talk-about-myself-for-an-hour-and-laugh smile. The happy, glowing, kind smile. You think you have it when there’s a knock on the door.

You keep the smile on, don’t want to lose it. You call Ramona in, and she looks at you, curiously. “You okay?”

“Yep,” you nod, brightening your smile. “Show time?”

“Are — are you having a stroke?”

“Okay, I’m trying to put on my interview face here, you’re not helping.”

“Sorry, sorry, you look great!” You smiles.

“Ramona,” you whisper, stepping close to her. “There’s a good chance they’re gonna ask me about him, right?”

She takes a breath in, prepared to answer, but no words come out. Your eyes are wide, innocent, hopeful. And she hates to lie to you.

“Yes . . .” is all she can say. “There is a, very, very good chance they will ask you about him.”

You sigh, duck your head. And when you pick it back up, your smile is on. “Okay, let’s go.” You step out into the hallway, Ramona closing the door behind you.

It was a time portal. The door. The hallway.

Matthew’s eyes land on you at the same time you see him, and you both freeze. Ramona bites at her nails, anxiously eyeing the two of you.

You feel your body, your soul, revert. Regress in every way to embody the spirit of you, at age 18, about 18 years ago.

You scoff, meaning your next words with every fiber of your being, “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

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