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rosewaterandivy · 5 months ago

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ii. bisclavret

Summary: and here he thought he’d hit the bricks when it came to library visits.

Pairing: s.h. x werewolf!reader

W.C.: 5.8k

Warnings: supernatural elements, super sleuth steve, exhausted eddie, poor mother-daughter relationship, general werewolf nonsense, graduation shenanigans

A/N: well, three months later TO THE DAY and here we are. everyone go thank ash (@big-ope-vibes) for gently nudging me to continue this. apologies for the delay & I hope you enjoy! 💜

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There’s a howl from outside his window. Low pitched and haunting as it soars over the other din of nocturnal noises in Loch Nora’s suburban sprawl.

Unmistakable.

Desperate and mournful with just a whisper of familiarity in it.

And his feet hit the floor before he’s rightly awake, drawn to the moonlight as it cascades through the trees just outside his house. His knee knocks against something hard, but he feels no pain.

But in its place, he does feel something. Anxiety, panic? At any rate, some sort of emotional discomfort. The overwhelming sensation that something isn’t quite right.

The howl trails off plaintitively, and there’s something ineffable about it because—

Steve could swear he hears a voice in it.

Sometimes, you felt the only time you could truly be yourself was on a run. And though you despised organized sports, cross-country had some distinct advantages. Namely, that it was almost a solitary activity.

So when you weren’t dropping by Hellfire meetings or loping around due to a paradoxical relationship with the moon, most afternoons saw you toeing on some sneakers and running for a few hours.

And while trail-running wasn’t exactly a medaling event, it was your forte and Coach Reynolds didn’t seem to mind. Other than asking you once to bring Munson aboard because he’d seen Eddie outrun the SRO in a wild sprint at the Homecoming game, the coach generally left you to your own devices.

Breezing by the picnic table that Eddie affectionately calls his office, you stride through the woods back behind the school at an easy pace. Your mind empties and allows you to focus on the breath in your lungs, the myriad of scents carried on the air. The forest smells as it always does, that damp earthy quality of decaying underbrush cut through with fresh saplings taking root.

Further into the woods and at the mid-way point in your run, you’re about to turn back when you hear a dry snapping sound from somewhere ahead of you. Lightning quick, you narrow your gaze only to find a shirtless and sweaty Steve Harrington.

His chest is heaving like he’s been running for some time and he’s wearing a ridiculous bandana as a headband to keep his hair from falling in his face. There’s a healthy rosy hue dusting his cheeks and nose, and you know if you don’t leave now then you might do something worth regretting.

“Hey,” He exhales, stopping a few feet from you and setting his hands on his hips.

Steve leans over to catch his breath as you, meanwhile, stare at him dumbfounded.

And it isn’t like you haven’t seen shirtless men before; Eddie, in fact, is vehemently opposed to wearing any clothing that isn’t strictly necessary, particularly in the summer when the a/c tends to crap out in the trailer.

But to compare the two is a moot point. Because Steve is bronzed with hair on his chest, not the pallor of some sickly Victorian child. He’s sturdy, feet planted firmly in the ground even as his sucks in breaths as if his life depends on it.

He just smells so damn good.

It is precisely at this moment, that you know you’re fucked.

Because several things happen in quick succession.

Kicking it all off, a breeze passes through and you’re, of course, downwind of Steve so you get smacked with a sensorial wall of Harrington’s sweat, musk, and what can only be described as how you believe a raging inferno would smell— sweet and smoky. Enough to make your mouth water.

Then, he takes a step toward you with a concerned look on his face.

“You alright?”

Unfortunately, no, you are very much not alright.

“I, uh,” You say, recognizing all too well the rough rasp your voice has taken on. “I gotta go.”

It’s all you say as you jog past him, shoulders colliding as you run away, a familiar pull in your belly like the coaxing of an ember into a flame.

Fucking coward.

It wallops Steve in face one lazy Saturday, nearly out of the blue.

The kids have descended to watch movies and eat him out of house and home.

They’d made it through Teen Wolf and they’re maybe half-way through An American Werewolf in London when Steve visibly pales.

“Too gory for ya?” Max asks with a laugh, tossing popcorn in her mouth only to miss.

He shakes his head, eyes trained on the screen.

Robin pokes him with a socked foot eliciting no reaction.

Steve thinks back to the bonfire, his moonlit romp through the woods and the ineffeble feeling of being watched, how fucking weird you were the other day on your run.

And then he lets out a low whistle, scrubbing his hand through his hair.

“Shit.”

How he convinces Robin to waste the remnants of her weekend at the library, he’ll never know. When he first pitched it, she looked at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted another head.

“Do you even know where the library is, dingus?”

“Hey,” He says, only slightly perturbed. “I dated Nance, I sure as shit know where the library is.”

Robin cracks a smile, “Sure, big guy.”

And now, they’re rifling through the folklore section of the the Hawkins library after a fruitless search in nonfiction.

“Remind me of what we’re looking for?”

“Uh, like legends about wolves, I guess.”

“Why the sudden interest in our oft misunderstood four-legged friends?”

He stops, puzzled, “What the hell kinda sentence is that, Rob?”

She shrugs and continues perusing. “I dunno, I just think people don’t understand the wolf. They’ve been hunted and poached to near extinction in the U.S. y’know.”

The hairs prickle up on the back of Steve’s neck. He hadn’t considered that, and frankly, it’s a terrifying thought. Because if on the off-chance he’s right—

“I blame recreational hunters, personally.” Robin continues to prattle on, “Because wolves actually provide a natural cull to the ecosystem. I mean, why else do we have such a rampant deer population?”

Steve let’s her continue in this same vein for a while, knowing she’ll run out of steam eventually. He tosses a few books on the table they’ve claimed, mostly Germanic fairytales. And when he’s pulled all he could from the shelves, he hauls them over to the circulation desk.

The elderly librarian, Gladys, gives him a warm smile and opens the cover of each book to stamp the due date.

“Research project?” She asks with a friendly smile. “We’ve had a lot of kids come through for that recently.”

“Uh, kind of.” Steve allows, and thankfully he doesn’t have to painstakingly continue this conversation because Robin slaps a book down on the counter at that precise moment.

“This one too.”

Her eyes glint like she’s found something good, and Steve glances at the cover briefly.

Les Lais de Marie de Fance.

“Really, French?”

“Hey man,” Robin says, jockeying an elbow to his side, “I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, okay?”

Gladys passes back the stack of books to them and Robin opens the tome to pointedly tap her finger underneath one word: Bisclavret.

The next few days pass by peaceably enough.

You lie low, go to school and cross-country practice, hang out with Eddie, and studiously avoid Harrington’s haunts.

Eddie is the one to return the video tapes, as a precaution.

He swings into Family Video that day with the intent to come away with a copy of Evil Dead and an even distribution of sweet and sour candy.

What he does not expect is to find Harrington at the counter with a stack of books and furiously scribbling in a battered notebook. It’s such a shock to see, that Eddie stops short in the doorway.

There’s a grunt and the sound of glass hitting metal that causes Steve to glance up.

Just Munson lurking in the doorway.

He rolls his eyes and says, “In or out?”

Eddie shuffles into the store and drops the tapes into the return slot. He eyes the stack of books warily, and can’t recall the last time he’d seen Harrington carry a book, much less crack one. Recognizing a few titles, his blood runs cold.

Goddamnit.

He beelines for the horror aisle, swipes some candy from the shelf by the counter, and tries to get outta there as fast as he can.

But, of course, Harrington takes his time ringing up the sale.

Eddie taps his fingers against the counter, leg bouncing as he stands there trying not to sweat bullets. Because it’s one thing to warn Harrington off of moonlight strolls, that’s just being like, neighborly? He wouldn’t really know.

The point is this: Steve seems very close to figuring something out.

Something that he should have no business doing in the first place. And not because you’d nearly bitten Eddie’s head off at his less than helpful suggestions.

“Over my dead body,” is what you had said.

And it was a very near thing, at the time, because you had stumbled into Hop’s old hunting cabin without a stitch of clothing on, limping, with your hands and jaw covered in dried blood.

There was also the matter of the bullet that grazed your leg, but that’s what the first aid kit was for.

“Y’know,” He had pointed out, cleaning the wound as you hissed and thrashed on the floor. His t-shirt barley long enough to be considered modest on your frame. “This could all be avoided it you’d just—”

“What,” You bit out, “Tell him about this clusterfuck of a situation?”

Eddie takes that opportunity to put pressure on the wound and pack it with gauze. You nearly kick him in the face, and maybe he deserves it.

Later, after a few hours as he was changing your bandages, he broached the subject again. A different tactic, but the same intent. He kept his voice soft, barely audible under the laughtrack from the TV.

“It’s only going to get worse.”

A grunt.

“He could help, is all I’m sayin’.” Eddie turned to you on the sofa, mindful of your leg as it rested on his lap. The wound healing up quite nicely already. “The shifts wouldn’t be as bad, you’d have some—”

A snort.

“Something to live for?”

“Well, someone, technically. But yeah.”

You wave him over with a lazy smile, only to cuff him on the back of the head.

“You idiot,” You say around a laugh, “I’ve got you to live for. Why drag another sorry sucker into this mess, huh?”

Eddie shakes himself loose, comes back to find Harrington staring at him over the counter. He pays and scoops up his purchases in both arms.

He’s almost out of there, scot-free, but when he’s turning toward the door, a knowing voice says:

“Gladys said to return those overdue books you’ve got, Munson.”

And in that brief moment, Eddie and Steve understood each other perfectly.

He high tails it outta there accompanied by a litany of: fuckfuckfuckFUCK.

Robin is regaling Steve with her painstaking translation of that French story she found.

“So like, the earl of whogivesafuck marries this chick and she notices that for a few nights every month, her new husband isn’t in bed.”

Steve continues typing in the receipts for the day.

“She confronts him about it, and he says that once a month he turns into a wolf and loafs around the forest. He trusts her, obviously, and says that he can only turn back if he finds his clothes, so he usually stashes them in the woods somewhere.”

He hums, trying his best to show the bare minimum of interest.

“But the thing is,” Robin says, chomping down on a piece of licorice. “His wife has this lover, a knight, and she’d much rather be with him than some earl who’s a part-time wolf. So, she waits until his next turn and then steals his clothes from the forest.”

“So, he’s a wolf forever?”

“I mean, for a while, yeah.” Robin chews audibly. “But the earl was close with the king, and in his wolf form endears himself to the court. Some time goes by, and he’s living large as a glorified pet, but then his wife comes to court with her new husband.”

“Sounds bad.”

“Well, if getting your nose bit off is bad, then yeah.” She barks a laugh and tosses the candy wrapper into the trash. “And the king is floored because this wolf has never said so much as ‘boo’ to anyone all the time he’s been at court. So suspicion falls on the now noseless wife.”

She wraps up the tale; the king gives the wolf clothes on the advice of the wife. Lo and behold, what was once a wolf is now his long lost earl. All’s well that ends well.

“Huh,” Steve says. “Weird.”

“Not that you should just randomly hand out clothing to every wolf you come across,” Robin teases with a gleam in her eye. “Just thought it would be helpful for your lil’ project.”

“Sure, sure.” Steve nods and shoves the receipts in the night deposit bag. “And this earl, did he have a name?”

“Bisclavret.” Robin supplies, “It’s like, old ass French, but I think it translates to something like…” She pauses and seems to dissect the word in real time. “Bleiz is , uh, Breton for wolf and claffet means rabid? Ill, maybe? So, my best bet is wolf-sick.”

Curious and curiouser.

Steve files it away to think about later.

Besides, he has a spare bit of clothing lying around somewhere. It would be nothing to just toss them in bag and throw it in his car. Just in case, of course.

Steve thinks there’s sort of a innate brilliance to it all.

It’s subtle, it has to be if you’re to avoid detection, and probable— it really works a charm.

His notebook is full of scribbled lines lifted from library books, loopy curls of a more feminine hand when Robin included her summaries of the French story, haphazard drawings of the moon, teeth, and glowing eyes.

The eyes he’s comes back to more often than he’d like. Shards of moonstone that catch the light, milky white with a flashy vein of blue.

He didn’t know that’s what it was until ambling around Robin’s room one day. She was half-assedly studying for finals, plopped on her bed and surrounded by books and sheets of notebook paper.

Steve, for lack of anything to do, investigates the collection of bric-a-brac on her dresser.

A small square of milky white cut through with specks of gray, blue, and green catches his notice. “What’s this?” He asks, feeling its dull edges in his hand. Turning it slightly, it flashes an icy blue vein.

Robin looks up from where she’s sprawled on her bed, nose in a book. “Oh, that’s moonstone.”

He hums in response, turning the rock this way and that. Phosperescent eyes coming to the fore of his mind, there in an instant and gone in the next. The golden light of the streetlamp cutting across your cheekbone, incisors gleaming and white.

Carefully, he sets the moonstone down amongst Robin’s other treasures, and files it away for later.

Things are becoming clearer as the moon creeps closer to waxing full in the sky.

Steve is a patient guy, he can wait a little longer.

The aconite no longer works.

Eddie has gone through more chains and tow rope than any twenty year-old has a right to. He’s trying to keep it together, but it’s getting pretty fucking dire.

He can see how each day, each new failure, is wearing you down.

To a casual observer, you hide it pretty well. Oh, just cramming for finals, you know how it is! Something to explain away the rings under your eyes, the ‘I just rolled out of bed’ look instead of the more accurate ‘I woke up in the woods again and these were the first clothes I could find.’

You had never, to Eddie’s recollection, willingly worn a Hawkins Tigers anything. Much less a shirt to school, of all places. It’s a slow motion disaster as you pour yourself out of the van and get your bearings on the pavement, because that’s when he sees it.

‘HARRINGTON’ emblazoned on the back of the gray tee, there for the entirety of Hawkins high to gawk at.

And yeah, you might be slow on the uptake today, but Eddie’s tongue is so tied he can’t possibly work his way out of it in a subtle fashion.

Instead, he throws an arm over your shoulders and does his best to cover the name as you walk into the building.

But the damage is done by the end of homeroom that morning. A class you share with Robin Buckley and elected to sleep through that day. Head on the desk, hair fanned around you, Harrington’s name is clear for everyone to see against your shoulderblades.

The whispers start then and Robin makes it a point to hang back as the bell rings.

She watches as you jolt awake, blinking a few times before grabbing your stuff and making toward the door.

Robin catches up to you easily, the students giving you a wide bearth in the halls. Too happy to fall into their cliques, peer at you, and whisper amongst themselves.

You’re so out of it that you don’t even realize she’s tailing you until she pulls you into the girls bathroom at the end of the corridor.

Her scent gives her away— light and airy like fresh laundry hanging on the line, but there’s a sharp sour note of fear, nervousness maybe. And she smells a bit like wood smoke— Steve.

“Woah, um, hi?” You say as the door swings shut behind you.

The few students in the bathroom rush out, leaving the two of you alone.

Robin looks at you incredulous, because she’s maybe figured something out that her best fucking friend in the world was keeping from her.

And she can’t begin to guess why he would do such a thing.

“You’re wearing his shirt.”

“What? Who’s?” You turn to look before realizing that’s a moot point and situate yourself in front of the bathroom mirror instead.

You can feel the blood draining from your face as you read the letters on your back.

Fuck.

This cannot be happening. Not today, not now, not ever.

“I, uh,” You stammer, failing to explain this away.

Robin studies your reflection in the mirror. The near bruises under your eyes, how sloppily you’re put together today, that you’re sleeping every spare moment you can get.

She clears her throat, “Did something happen between you two?”

Narrowing your gaze at her, you turn from the mirror, posture drastically changed.

Where once she believed to have the upper hand, Robin now realizes her grave miscalculation. Shoulders back and standing tall you cooly assess her as you take calming breaths.

There is a razor-fine edge that you are on the precipice of, one false move and it all falls apart.

“Wouldn’t he tell you if it did?”

If you can keep her talking, you can diffuse the situation.

Robin isn’t a threat, she’s Steve’s best friend. She carries his scent on the periphery of her own, it calms you somewhat.

“Then how did you—”

Before she can finish the thought, the door slams open and Eddie waltzes through.

You let your shoulders fall, relieved at his arrival; safe and familiar.

“Ladies,” He greets casually, as if he struts into the girl’s bathroom on a regular basis. “Guess my invite was lost in the mail, huh?”

Eddie tosses his bag near the door alongside yours and throws the lock.

Robin’s eyes flit between the pair of you, curious and wary.

The bell trills out and the din in the hall dissipates.

You can’t afford to linger here much longer, finals to take and all.

“Something’s up.” Buckley says shouldering past Eddie to unlock the door, “And you’re gonna tell me what it is.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Eddie’s voice is low and warning, his eyes cut to you fleetingly before settling on the growing problem that is Robin Buckley.

Her hand grips the metal handle, knuckles nearly blanching white, and barely turns her head to softly say,

“Then he will.”

The door opens and she’s gone.

“Well,” Eddie sighs as he grabs your bags. “If this isn’t a goddamn bitch of an unstatisfactory situation.”

“Yeah,” You agree, “Got it in one, Ed.”

Steve doesn’t see Robin that much over the week. Busy with finals and graduation, she cut down her shifts at Family Video leaving Steve with Kieth more often than not.

It wasn’t the worst but it certainly wasn’t the best; his manager elected to play the Star Wars movies on a loop for two days straight and Steve was fine with that, if not a little distracted.

He’d requested off for Robin’s graduation and was closing on his own for once. He played Fast Times just because he could and gnoshed on the half-open box of Milk Duds Robin had been working her way through.

But he couldn’t escape the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

It itched at the back of his mind all through his shift lingering as he killed the lights and locked the front door.

His skin feels too tight again and he’s exhausted despite not doing much to warrant it.

Steve grabs his keys and leaves through the back door walking toward his car.

There’s a sound like someone stepping on gravel behind him.

He pauses midstride.

And then, there’s that voice again, the one he hasn’t heard since the bonfire.

A low rumble that feels like a caress:

Go.

Steve does as he’s told, mindful of the controlled steps behind him.

He slides into the car and locks the doors.

As the engine turns over, he glances at the rearview mirror only to find the bluest eyes he’s ever seen staring back at him from the shadows.

Blueblue, definitely not moonstone.

The BMW peels out of the lot and onto the main drag, leaving whatever was lurking there to the dark.

A cloying scent of gardenia assaults your senses as you walk through the door.

Your mother is perched on the arm of the sofa, beer already in hand.

“Hi hon,” She greets with a smile that has far too much teeth. “Happy graduation!”

The best thing about your mother, if you were pressed to find one, was the simple fact that she was never around.

“Uh, thanks.”

Your bag drops near the door as you cross your arms and lean against it.

She goes on to say how proud she is of you, that she couldn’t possibly miss her only child’s graduation, that it would—

She pauses mid-sentence, her grip on the can crushing it slightly. She scents the air, her once too-perfect smile falling into a snarl.

“What is that smell?”

Throwing the can aside, she marches up to you and lifts your hair from your shoulders, turns you this way and that, eyes searching for something that isn’t there.

But now that she’s uncomfortably close, the scent is heightened.

The scent that isn’t entirely yours and is subtly laced with wood smoke.

“No,” She says, eyes catching the name on the back of your shirt, “Absolutely not.”

Your back is nearly to the wall as she clenches your arms in an attempt to force you into submission.

“Mom,” You try, voice calm, “Nothing has happened, nothing will happen—”

“After all I’ve done for you,” She sneers, eyes bright and furious, “After all the work I’ve done to raise you, ensure your safety, this is how you repay me?”

She’s always been a stong woman, your mother, forced to by circumstance and the harsh reality that honed her. Her shirt shifts as she manuevers you to the wall, revealing the faded scar of a bite to her jugular.

A souvenir from your father, that she never failed to remind you of. One of two, including you.

You swallow thickly, hating every point of contact you share with her.

The precipice is coming closer and you’re falling headfirst into it.

With a shuddery breath you close your eyes, and try to think of better things.

Summer, freedom, warm nights, cool water, that glint Eddie gets in his eyes when he laughs, running with no destination in mind, bonfires under a starry sky, the sweet scent of smoke—

Threat.

A low growl crawls its way up your throat.

A demand.

“Let go.”

Hands come up and grasp her wrists, shoving her away from you. She stumbles back, balance precarious as you purposefully step forward. Her eyes dim as she glances up at you, feaful and almost cowering.

Because while your mother was a strong woman, you were stronger. Something she always knew and lived in fear of. Let the entire pack fall to ruin under the guise of protecting you from their judgment. Refused to have you be used like a weapon.

But in doing so, she also denied your rightful place there.

Your birthright.

And sure, you mother always claimed it was because people wouldn’t respect a woman in charge. Said you were better off as she packed her bags once again, leaving you with Wayne or Hopper.

“A woman’s place isn’t at the head of the table,” She’d say as a parting blow.

Gravel would spray out from under her tires as she drove out of Forest Hills, and Wayne’s hand would fall to your shoulder in a comforting squeeze as tears leaked down your cheeks.

“Don’t pay her any mind darlin’,” He’d say ushering you inside. “She wouldn’t know the first thing about about leading a pack if it bit her in the ass.”

She looks scared now, terrified to see what you’ve become in her absence.

Strong, loved, and unafraid.

In the chaos of memories, you hadn’t felt your fangs descend. You tongue one briefly before opening your mouth to say:

“Leave and don’t ever come back.”

It is not a request.

She balks at the order, tries to fight it.

Another step closer has her lowly whining and ducking her head.

Your voice is foreign to you, a lower register and stronger somehow, self-assured. It rips through you like wildfire this new feeling, runs like magma through your veins.

Power.

She grabs her meager things and turns to leave, pausing at the door she says, “Don’t bring that boy into this.”

A parting warning as the door swings shut.

This charade goes on for weeks.

But without the excuse of school— Robin, Eddie, and you have graduated— Steve has difficulty keeping a handle on his curiosity.

Curiosity killed the cat…

How does the end of that saying go?

Right, so. Being cool, calm, and somewhat collected, Steve only tails you on certain days of the week. Generally on those evening runs you’re partial to, it’s easy enough to brush aside as a coincidence; you’re a runner, he’s a former jock besides, he doesn’t do much other than observe.

He studies where you go, the places you frequent and with whom. And more often than not, you’re alone, secluded in the woods somewhere. Steve wonders if he’s getting himself into a can’t see the forest for the trees situation, it feels like he’s getting nowhere.

Or less than nowhere, going backwards maybe.

He’s curious why Eddie isn’t glued to your side.

He has to remind himself that he’s looking for a change in behavior. On his calendar, Steve tracks the lunar phases, noting that you grow more impulsive the more it waxes, eyes beckoning like the most precious of stones. Your stride shifts to something corded with tension, you run faster as if you could outrun the skin you’re in. Your hair grows wild and unkempt, snapping hair ties in its ferocity.

Steve watches and makes note of this for reasons he cannot possibly explain. All the while, he tries to convince himself that he’s not being obsessive and weird. Though Robin would cite his notebook as evidence to the contrary.

He’s careful to remain undetected. Quick to duck behind a tree as you loop back on the running trail, and he’s convinced you’re about to glance in his direction.

But there’s something you didn’t account for, on this particular run. It’s the late afternoon the day before the full moon— the Strawberry moon— lying in wait, hot and pregnant in the sky. Steve’s tailing you at what he’s sure is a reasonable distance on your run that day, he’s got you in his sights and goes to wipe away the sweat gathered at his brow.

In that instant, you are gone.

He blinks to clear his vision, glances left and right. And, deeming that you are nowhere to be found, he drops a spare pair of shorts and an old tee shirt at the trunk of an ancient oak tree.

A twig snaps somewhere to his right.

“Harrington,” You greet with a tense smile, voice frustrated and gruff. “Funny seeing you here.”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve replies around the lump in his throat, voice strained. “Great minds and all that.”

You take a measured step toward him, filling the space between you. He notes the slight flare of your nostrils.

“That’s interesting, I could’ve sworn you were a morning run kinda guy.”

“Oh, um,” Steve stammers in response, suddenly overwhelmed by your proximity and the musky tang radiating from your sweat drenched skin. “Well, it gets hot so early now—”

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you,” You warn with a low growl, and shift your stance so he’s forced back against the trunk of the tree. “You know exactly what I’m getting at.”

“Honestly, I don’t—”

You take a deep breath in, brows furrowing as if in great pain.

“I can smell you.”

And that shuts Steve right up.

It seems rather obvious to him now, of fucking course you can smell him. He feels like an idiot for not considering it earlier. God, how embarrassing.

You stare each other down in the subdued quiet of the forest, your eyes boring into his with a harsh intensity. Steve is kind of thrilled and terrified to be able to study them up close, despite the precarious situation at present.

Your irises are blown, from what he can see, like ink splattered across a page and crowding out their natural color. There’s the faintest hint of milky white rimming the edges, fluctuating slightly as if battling for dominance. Your pupils are enormous, so big and…

My, my, what big eyes you have.

All the better to see you with, my dear.

Steve shudders and books it out of there, faster than a knife fight in a phone booth and twice as choatic. And he doesn’t stop until his lungs are fit to burst at the intersection of Pine Bow. He doubles over, hands on knees, gulping in snatches of air.

He shakes his head, unable to get your flickering eyes from his mind. The viciousness in your gaze should serve as a warning.

Well, Steve had never been one to take heed of those.

He wakes in a cold sweat tangled in his sheets.

Struggles to piece together the images from his dream.

Damp earth. Wet leaves. Something wild and free.

He falls back against the pillow and drags a hand across his face. The illuminated numbers of the clock state that it is seven in the morning.

Robin is still dozing in one of the guest rooms, she’d stayed over after graduation and they’d torn into the liquor cabinet while dancing along to Top 40 on the radio.

He’s thirsty but nowhere near hungover as he swings his legs to meet the plush carpet underfoot. Robin will doze off and on until late morning if he lets her, so there’s enough time for a quick morning run.

Steve throws on a shirt that’s seen better days and the blade of Rob’s scissors, the hem barley grazing past his pecs, some shorts, and laces his sneakers. He swings the door open and is about to step outside only to stop short at the sight of a fairly large gray dog at his door.

It cocks its head curiously, mouth falling open in a soft pant as they assess one another.

Now, Steve had always wanted a dog; had begged every birthday and Christmas until it was clear that the Harringtons would not tolerate dog hair and dander polluting their home. Undeterred, Steve wrote to Santa dutifully each year until he was eleven. Then, it was all too obvious that Santa thought Steve was far too old for such things— Christmas presents turned into cash and checks left on the counter, wire transfers from the Cayman Islands.

So it’s really not his fault that he tiredly assumed what was actually a wolf was just a very large and well-behaved dog. And he maintains that fact to this very day, he’ll have you know.

“Oh, uh, hi there.”

The dog, or so Steve assumed, sat politely on his porch, its large paws barley grazing the edge of the welcome mat.

He saw no collar nor leash, and ruminated on what to do as the animal studied him in return with a keen intelligence in its eyes.

Eyes that were oddly familiar to Steve.

But before he could decide on what to do, Eddie Munson’s van careened into his driveway and screeched to a halt.

“Harrington!” Eddie yelled in the bright summer morning, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

He fell out of the vehicle and tripped several times in quick succession striding across Steve’s well-manicured lawn.

The animal cocks its head to the side in interest, light eyes trained on Steve but ears cognizant of Eddie’s approach.

And before Eddie can intervene, Steve grabs something from behind the door and tosses it at the dog’s feet. A wet nose scents the air, dips to investigate the cotton, and deems it satisfactory.

It takes the shirt between its teeth— which strike him as unnaturally sharp— and trots inside the house. The act shocks Steve into silence.

“Well fuck, Harrington,” Eddie curses, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “You’ve really done it now.” He shoulder checks Steve as he enters, grumbling to himself all the while.

So, curiosity may have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

He shuts the door and hears his mother’s voice ringing in his ears—

“No, you know better, Steve,” she sputtered at the puppy on their patio, worrying a dish towel between her manicured fingers. “Don’t feed it, it’ll just come back!”

He shakes the thought loose and follows Eddie down the hall to the living room.

And, well, he’d always wanted a dog, a companion of some kind. Steve figures it’s better in than howling outside his door.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #fic: itws

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ohdarlings · 6 years ago

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donald trump get out me country

#oh i wanna rant so hard but noone gives a fuck #fuck him and fuck theresa may for having absolutely no backbone.#she shouldnt have had the state visit and he shouldnt be treated like royalty #shes .. letting him run rings around us #she needs to at least act like she has some authority ! she needs to say 'listen when brexit inevitably happens #we would like to keep this relationship and the possibility of a trade deal is something we would like to look into #but what we wont do is take your first offer #and though we appreciate this relationship #we are separate countries #we have control over our own government and public services #the nhs is not for sale #and we will not allow any medalling in how we run this country #this includes condemning trumps threats of severing the trust between the countries in the event of a labour prime minister #what hes doing there is medaling in the public opinion of the two main parties in the event of a general election !!#dick ed #fuckin nonce #also .. he doesnt know what brexit is im Screaming #uk politics

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thoughtdump · 3 years ago

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Frustrating as fuck to see Evgenia’s statement on the ban of Russian athletes because I saw her as one of the more sensible/progressive Russian athletes….

They either really do not understand why their athletes are being banned or they do & they don’t give a shit/are being made to say pro-Russian statements. Either way, this whole victim persona they all put on is so fucking ridiculous. The only victims these athletes are are to their own countries abusive regime. Not any other country, not the IOC or ISU, nobody else but Russia. Don’t want to be banned? Have your government not start a genocide on Ukrainian people. Don’t want to have your team medal taken away? Don’t drug 15 year olds. Want your country to be represented? Don’t have a state run doping system where you cheat & lie & steal & expect everyone to just be okay with it because you’re you & we should all bow down to the “motherland”. Do you see any other country doing this shit? You know damn well if it were ANY other country who has the doping abuse Russia does that Russians would be beyond pissed off, throwing their tantrums & everything else because “it’s unfair”. Because guess what …!!! It IS unfair!!!!

And as for the reason they’re banned, the war, you are NOT the victims here. Ukrainian people & children are dying, they’re being raped & slaughtered & dumped around like garbage & their homes, lives, everything they’ve known & loved are being destroyed by YOUR government so shut the fuck up about being “migrants.” Especially when Ukrainian’s are forced to be literal Migrants because of Putin! Wtf! To even compare yourself to such a serious, very real humanitarian crisis is so beyond comprehension. How dare you. You’re so out of touch with reality it’s actually mind blowing. & I feel sorry for Russians who get this fucking brainwashed because it’s not fair to them & it’s not right. Even I gave them more credit but the distortion & overall Stockholm Syndrome of some Russians is so fucking sickening.

So many of us, myself included, tried to give them the benefit of the doubt, tried to cover all the bases as to why they say & think what they do. Is it all the propaganda & brainwashing? Or do they know better? Is it a statement they’re being told to make against their will? Or is it how they truly feel. Was she the vessel they used to spread this message because she did make seemingly anti-war posts so this is her “punishment”? Or do they just need their money now so they don’t care about the war anymore. Do they even know the truth at all? Can you blame them if they don’t know the truth? Is the silence because they can’t say anything? Or is it because they simply don’t want to. No matter the reason, at this point it’s too exhausting to try & hear them out when this type of shit keeps happening. It goes without saying that it’s not every Russian, I know that. The same way it isn’t every citizen of every country that has issues but my god. Two things can be true at once, we can know that they’ve been brainwashed & also not put up with their shit. I have no more patience for them anymore.

Russian athletes should not be allowed to compete & you fucking know it. IMAGINE, if the tables were turned. Hypocrites. No one wants you there because people don’t like cheaters & they want a fair chance at medals. Some of us don’t have to abuse, drug & treat our athletes like machines rather than humans to win medals. Take away all your cheating/abuse & you’re nothing. (& no, I’m not saying abuse doesn’t exist in other places because I know it does & I’m not saying none of the Russian skaters are naturally very talented because of course they are but come on) The ISU/IOC/whoever shouldn’t have even given you the right to be called ROC or OAR or any other bullshit “non representative” label they give you after Sochi just to appease you. There are real fucking issues in the world, people dying & Evgenia’s entitled statement, along with all the other Russian athletes who have done similar shit is so disappointing. Especially from Evgenia for me.

Nobody cares about Russian athlete’s feelings while their Ukrainian neighbors have to wonder if they or their loved ones will be alive for tomorrow. Get over yourselves, take it up with your own federation/country since they’re the problem here, not the rest of the functioning world. This is real life. (I understand that they’re put in such horrendous situations because of their government. I know that speaking out against Russia is serious & they’re in very tricky spots in regards to that but still, others have & regardless, that’s my whole point. It’s sad.)

💙💛

#figure skating #russian figure skating #evgenia medvedeva #Евгения Медведева #sorry about THAT rant #I’m just so sick of it & have a lot of feelings lol #I also do understand that it’s Russia & Russia is dangerous & that they can’t speak out #but unless she was forced to make this statement then she didn’t HAVE to #eteri tutberidze #team tutberidze #kamila valieva #Камила Валиева #alina zagitova #anna shcherbakova #алина загитова #анна щербакова

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outsideratheart · 3 years ago

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You’re My Future (Christen Press x reader)

You and Christen had been together for a few years. You had met when Christen got called up to the senior USWNT.

Over the years you had both made a name for yourself in the soccer world, her being the speedy forward and you being the all or nothing midfielder. You both loved what you did for living but living the dream came with a cost. The cost was finally catching up with the both of you, all of the flights, minutes on the pitch and pressure from the press and fans.

Christen was so happy when it was announced that she was the first player to be signed to Angel City FC but that happiness didn’t last long. You were both trying to get over the olympics, sure a bronze medal was great but you both wanted gold and you blamed yourself personally as you were the captain no matter how many times your girlfriend told you otherwise.

When she told you that she was temporarily stepping away from international duty you were so proud of her. You wish you could do the same but it wasn’t that easy. In order for you to focus on your mental health you would have the step away from the thing that the helps clear you head, it was a lose lose situation for you.

“Y/N you get more stick and are under more pressure than me. I saw the way acted at the olympics when you thought I wasn’t looking. You cannot burn the candle at both ends and still expect to shine bright” Christen told you.

“I know but it’s not the same for me, I don’t have a family waiting for me” You instantly regretting it.

You stand there looking at Christen as she processes what you said.

“After all this time, you still don’t see me as family” She begins to say but you cut her off before things get much worse.

“Christen that is not what I meant and you know it”

“If I’m not family then what are we doing” Christen asks you as tears fall down her face.

This is what happens whenever you guys talk about this, it always ends up in a fight.

You watch as your girlfriend storms off into the bedroom you share.

“Chris, don’t shut me out. Let’s talk about this” you say leaning against the door frame.

She doesn’t answer you so you put you ear to the door and you hear Christen sniffling. Your girlfriend was crying and it was your fault, all because you couldn’t walk away from soccer.

You had chosen football over everything, family and friends included but Christen showed you a life outside of soccer and it scared the crap out of you. She was it for you, she was what you wanted in life and now it was time to show her that.

When christen came out of the bedroom you were gone and by the time you got back she was already asleep.

The next morning started like any other, you went for run whilst Christen did her yoga then you both meditated together. It had been like this since COVID happened.

It was what happend next which shocked Christen. You was watching ESPN when it was released.

“Breaking news! Portland Thorns and USWNT captain Y/N L/N announces that she will be taking a break from club and country. I had the pleasure of speaking to Y/N personally about this last night and she told me that it was time to focus on her mental health which is completely understandable. She captained the team in the highs of winning the world cup and the lows of rio 2016” The new anchor and a close friend of yours says.

Christen hangs on every word the women says before turning to look at you.

She opens her mouth but you cut her off before she even gets the chance to speak.

“ I love you Christen Press” you tell her.

“I love you but I know what soccer means to you”

“You mean more and you are right, I need to take a step back. Soccer occupies after thought I have. How can I play better, how can I be a better leader. I don’t allow myself to be happy” You admit it out loud.

You phone goes off and you see several messages from your teammates.

Christen looks at you in shock as you turn your phone off.

“Y/N you don’t have to”

“I want to”

The both of you didn’t leave the couch until the early evening when Chris told you that she was meeting Tyler for some food.

“You sure you don’t want to come? We are going to that Thai place you like” She laughs as your head perks up at the word ‘Thai’

“I’m going to call some of the girls back” You reply

Christen is almost out the door before you run after her.

She looks at you amused. You look her in the eye before kissing her, surprised when Christen deepens the kiss.

“Bring me back some spring rolls” You ask making your girlfriend laugh.

You run over the window making sure she is gone before putting your master plan together.

A couple of hours later you hear Chris opens the door.

“Honey, I’m home and I have spring rolls” You says but you don’t answer.

Christen looks in the kitchen but its empty, she goes into the living room you’re not there.

It is only when she goes into your bedroom that she finds you.

There you stand in front of your bed which is covered in hiking gear.

You look at her and she is clearly confused by what she is seeing.

You walk over to your girlfriend reaching for her hands.

“After your mom passed you told me you wanted to leave, go somewhere were nobody knew who we were and completely disconnect from the world”

You take a deep breath remembering it well. The loss of Christen’s mother was something you both felt deeply, seeing your girlfriend in so much pain and not being able to do anything about it destroyed you.

“There is this trail in Spain, it is called the Camino De Santiago”

Christen smiles knowing what you are about to suggest.

“It takes 4 - 6 weeks. It will just be me and you”

You look her in the eye.

“What do you say, are you ready for an adventure? Ready to do some soul searching?” You ask playfully.

You watch as christen struggles to speak, she is at a loss for words.

Instead of saying anything she pulls you into her embrace as she buries her face in the crook of your neck.

“Everyday with you is an adventure” She tells you.

“Pure cheese Christen Press”

“Shut up” She says slapping your arm.

“Is that a yes?” She nods her head enthusiastically.

“Good because we leave in a week” You tell her and her smile melts your heart.

That is the thing you loved most about Christen, her smile. Not matter what caused your sadness or pain, that smile would brighten your day.

A week later your adventure began and it was better than you could have ever imagined.

Your relationship with Christen was in a great place before the trip but now you felt closer to her if that was even possible.

Ever minute of every day you were with her and it made to look forward to the future you have with her.

She talked about her mother a lot which you knew was difficult but ever since she passed Christen focused on soccer so she never talked about her, not like this.

You talked to her about your early life, memories with your parents as well as their passing. You never talked to her about it before, she knew that had died but didn’t know when or how.

This trip allowed you both to be completely open with each other and show the other one your vulnerabilities.

4 1/2 weeks later and you were almost at the end of the trail, ahead of schedule but what was to be expected from two pro athletes.

It was the last night, you and Christen wanted to watch the sunset one last time before heading back to reality.

You both sat on the blanket taking in the sights in front of you.

“Thank you Y/N” Chris begins to say “I really needed this. To be away from our hectic lives, to deal with my grief and to find myself again”

“I love you Christen, more than anything in this world. I would do anything for you because your happiness is everything to me”

You stand up.

“Before you all I knew was soccer but you showed that life has more to offer. When we met I knew your were special and I knew that I wanted to have in my life in any way I could. You are my first thought in a morning and my last one on a night. I first told you I loved you when when we won the world cup for a reason, because even though we were just crowned world champions all I could think about was you, I knew that from there on out it was you or nothing. I cannot imagine my life without you in it”

You get down on one knee and open the ring box causing Christen to gasp.

“Where did you get that?”

“I asked for your mum’s permission before she passed, the next day she gave me this and I promised her that no one will work harder to make you happy or cherish you more than me” You explain.

“Christen Annemarie Press, will you marry me?”

“Yes Y/N L/N I will marry you”

You kiss her with every fibre of your being, the kiss growing more passionate with every passing second.

Christen Press was your future and you could wait to spend the rest of your life with her.

#uswnt x reader #uswnt one shot #uswnt imagine #christen press imagine #christen press x reader #christen press one shot

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keepthyfaithandthylight · 3 years ago

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TW: 9/11

You know what? Fuck it, we are getting emotional today, I will allow myself this day to pour out my heart in genuine.

You want to call yourself an American for raiding the capital on January 6th of this year? You are wrong. You are no American. You are the farthest thing from it.

You want to see real Americans? Here are a few.

-Todd Beamer, gave his life trying to take back control of flight 93 on September 11th, 2001. Credited with saving the US Capitol, last heard words were “let’s roll”.

-Billy Burke, a firefighter who stayed with stranded civilians in the North Tower of the World Trade Center, knew the tower would collapse and chose to stay, telling a younger firefighter to leave. Joey on “Friends” wore a shirt bearing his name.

-Moira Smith, a police officer who died in the attacks, she was last seen leading people from the second tower. She was awarded the NYPD’s Medal of Honor after her death. Media described her as having “the face of an angel and the heart of a lion”. One of the first to report the attacks.

-Benjamin Clark, a chef who made sure people made it to safety from the 96th floor. He stayed to help a person in a wheelchair, and died when the building collapsed.

-Danny Lewin, a special forces veteran who perished trying to single handedly stop the hijacking of flight 11.

-Leonard Hatton, was on his way to work when he saw smoke, immediately made his way to the towers to help firefighters in the evacuation efforts.

-William Rodriguez, was in the North Tower and had a key to all emergency exits. He is credited with leading firefighters up the stairs and unlocking all emergency exits, saving countless lives.

-Welles Crowther, a former volunteer firefighter who perished entering the building once more before it collapsed, saved as many as 18 lives.

-Rick Rescorla, saved 2,687 Morgan Stanley employees, and 207 office visitors, safely leading them outside before going back in to save more.

-Thomas Burnett, also aboard flight 93, also helped try to regain control of the plane. His efforts, along with those of Todd Beamer, helped keep the plane from reaching its intended target: the US Capitol or the White House.

-Officer John W. Perry, a police officer who was about to retire. Upon hearing of the attacks, he ran straight to the towers, helped a woman who had fainted before running into the South Tower. The tower collapsed soon after.

-Ronald Bucca, found after the destruction. It is believed that he placed his coat around several civilians in order to protect them, it was found still wrapped around them later.

-Jason Thomas and Dave Karnes, two marines who rushed to the scene shortly after the attack to help find survivors, neither knew the other prior to the event but both are credited with helping save two Port Authority police officers, trapped below the rubble.

-rescue dogs, man’s best friend were used to help locate survivors and those who perished. Just like their human counterparts, these canines were exposed to extremely hazardous conditions. Without them, who knows how many more lives would have been lost.

-Chaplain Mychal Judge, a Catholic priest working for the fire department. Died comforting others.

These people, living and gone, are true Americans.

True Americans can come from any background, any country, and vary from each other in so many aspects. But they all share the same qualities.

Real, true Americans possess courage, hearts of lions. True Americans possess compassion, helping others in their darkest hour. True Americans value their fellow countrymen and countrywomen. They are willing to charge valiantly into the fire to save their brothers and sisters, and are maybe even willing to die for it. They are always prepared to rise to the challenge, they are prepared to serve no matter what manner that may come in. No matter where or when, they will come with willing hearts and determined, kind and courageous souls. These people embody the American spirit more than anything, as well as all of the other heroes of the September 11th attacks who remain nameless.

They are true patriots. They are true Americans. They are our heroes, or at least, they for certain are mine.

Their bravery, their sacrifice, will never be forgotten.

Sources:

https://www.firerescue1.com/firefighter-heroes/articles/13-heroes-to-remember-13-years-later-53kVvEgJI8M0fOvN/

#9/11 #9/11 heroes #this is what Americans look like

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heyimboredtalktome · 3 years ago

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Can you please explain to me where do you get all those crazy ideas? Also do you know that medals taken away in 2014 are still getting returned to a lot of athletes? After 8 years this circus is still on. I don’t see this being covered in the media, but I speak Russian and see a completely different thing. If some other country had Eteri and those medals would be theirs, nothing of this would have happened. This is sickening!

horribly untrue lol:

1) the crazy ideas are from international news channels (BBC, NBC, CNN etc etc) from an official statement by the ITA the WADA. Get your ass off sports.ru, goldenskate and TASS and maybe learn to actually watch the news and you can also get these correct crazy ideas 💞

no medals being taken away from athletes competing in sochi 2014 have been returned because they were literally exposed for state-sponsored doping

the reason they haven't been competing as russia in these past three olympics is because of that, because they're fucking notorious for doping, because they get warning after warning and they're still caught doping

"not being covered in the media" this has become a topic of conversation in countries where most people don't even know about figure skating, that's the amount of media coverage this is getting

you see a completely different thing because thats what russia wants you to see, their state-sponsored state run news channels and their propaganda

if this happened to any other athlete or country, they would already be banned and suspended, RUSFED and ROC have some nerve, its illegal for kamila to be on olympic ice rn while an investigation is being conducted, yet she's there practicing like nothing's happening, thats how much leeway the ROC is getting, even when they're banned for doping and they've been caught doing that again

and yes it is sickening, its sickening that there are skaters who are being denied their rightful team medal just because the playing ground is never level, because a country that refuses to ever play fair, the country that's doping children. it's sickening that so many athletes have been denied their rightful podium places, their medals and recognition because of athletes with an unfair advantage. all athletes who are now injured trying to chase unrealistic unattainable standards to have a chance to compete with the russians. its fucking sickening

y'all need to realize that every time russia gets caught cheating, its not western propaganda, its that they refuse to stop it. got banned from the olympics? make the doping smarter, timed more efficiently, get new drugs instead of the old ones, and if you're not allowed to participate, send a crying 17 year old to an IOC conference asking for them to not deny her her dream of performing at the olympics. this is happening again and again anf agains because the IOC refuses to take action against Russia, they dont give a fuck if they don't get their flag or anthem, what they care about is their medals, and if that means dopo to children then so be it.

if the ioc allows them to get away with this its just sending a signal to others thats screaming "hey dope ur kids we cant do shit because they're minors, they'll be allowed to participate while having an unfair advantage over other athletes" BUT that only happens when you're russian, any other country gets banned on the mere suspicion of doping so there's literally no way you can win if you're not russian🥰 so much for fair sport

i know a lot of the russian people dont support this, more than the country the people should be blamed, the people in charge of all this, of ruining literally uncountable lives

if the ioc wants to force change they need to get stricter even if there are russian athletes that are clean, dont let them participate, stop with the fucking neutral flag it ain't doing shit, and they won't stop unless they're literally not allowed to participate at this point

#asks #anyway you should #go read #actual news #and not #defend abusers #and people who drug children #fuck eteri tutberidze #kamila valieva #beijing 2022 #beijing winter olympic games

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avintagekiss24 · 4 years ago

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day with destiny | b. barnes

→ pairing: aristocrat!bucky barnes x aristocrat!black!reader

→ word count: 3000

→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, sex, biting kink

→ challenge: @cockslut-padalecki not my ninth

trope: aristocratic society

song prompt: crush by jennifer paige

→ square filled: @star-spangled-bingo 2021

g5: clothed sex

→ author note: i was finally able to reign myself in with these word counts, lol. i saw this gif of baby faced sebastian and couldn’t help myself. he looks like a little shit, but look at those pink lips… anyway, these are modern!aristocrats. lyrics to crush aren’t obvious (except for one line at the very end), but worked into the dialogue. i have no idea who made the gif, i got it from google. i also have no idea who made this divider, as i also got it from the google.

Blue eyes peer over at you from across the table, the gaze searing into the side of your face. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, but you don’t dare cut your eyes— this game is entirely too fun to give in now. Instead, you take a deep breath, pushing your chest out— your tits— shifting roughly in your seat just to make your flesh jiggle, before you release the air slowly.

Cabinet meetings are never fun. Rich, old white men going on and on about their views for the country— your family of course bringing the only sense of color into the society. Some old man yammers on at the front of the room behind the podium. Heads nod, claps ring out at random intervals, loud here here’s filling your ears as you roll your eyes. You don’t have the least bit of interest in any of it as it stands today, but your blue blood, and rank in the family— poised to take over for your dear old daddy in the coming years— requires your presence.

Bucky Barnes is quite the same. Young, bored, and too damn pretty for his own fucking good. You squeeze your legs together abruptly, the images of the last cabinet meeting playing back in your mind. Hot, sticky breath. Reddened, swollen lips— against your ear, sucking on your skin. The salt that exploded on your tongue as he shoved his thumb into your mouth.

You stand quick, clearing your throat— sending a silent message to the youngest Barnes at the long table. A hand grabs your wrist, stopping you as you start to move towards the back of the room, “Mother?”

“This is important, daughter,” she whispers harsh— a warning.

“And so is my bladder, mother.”

She sighs heavily, but releases the grip around your wrist, “Yours and the Barnes boy, apparently.”

Flicking your eyes quickly, you smirk as he pushes his chair underneath the table and starts towards the large doors at the back of the room, rubbing at his chin with his hand, the sunlight glinting off of the rings adorning his long fingers. You watch him as he moves— so easy, so confident— as he runs his hand through his dark, perfectly clipped hair, the Loubotins on his feet clicking softly.

You only drop your eyes when he slips through the door and out of view, “Ten minutes, mother.”

She knows. She knows that you know she knows, but she just sighs again and lets you saunter off without a second glance. Dress dragging behind you, bottom lip sucked between your teeth, heart and blood starting to race as each step draws you closer to your silver tongued foe, lying in wait for you in a random, deserted hallway.

He’s leaned against the wall, gazing out over the city beneath, hands drawn into his pockets. He’s a sight, but he always is, each little brown hair in place, chin and cheeks so clean shaven that a hair wouldn’t even dare sprout. Body lean in that black military jacket, gold medals and hand stitched ribbons hanging from the pockets.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” you smile soft, crossing your arms over your chest, leaning against the very same wall.

Bucky glances over his shoulder, that shit grin he’s such a proud owner of spreading on his face, “Then stop propositioning me.”

You laugh— it’s gentle and soft, the dissonance of your long relationship easily melting away. He finally turns and takes a few steps towards you, extending his hand, tenderly taking your fingers. Those deep, emotional eyes stay on yours as he lifts your hand, lips brushing— glancing ever so lightly over the backs of your delicate, manicured digits. Then he smiles, slow, sweet, teeth sinking into his blushed bottom lip as he blinks just as slow.

He’s a sight, this Bucky Barnes.

Keenly aware of his family’s teetering reputation, hanging on by a mere thread as of late due to his fathers extra curricular proclivities, you can’t help but take a swipe, “I’m surprised you’re family’s allowed back in the building. It got a little tense last time you all were here.”

“It did, didn’t it?” he answers quickly, placing your hand on his shoulder before he pulls you in close— a long arm wrapping your waist, pinning you to him, “I don’t remember much though, as my face was buried in your cunt for most of the meeting.”

Shivers race the length of your spine. He feels it— revels in it— savors it.

Lively brown eyes bounce back and forth between heavy, brewing blues, “You aren’t afraid that the rest of them will move to vote your family out, Lord Barnes?”

“Not in the slightest,” you’re met with a defiant shrug, “I hate this shit.”

“Oh, how original! An aristocrat that hates the god given privilege bestowed upon him.” You sigh, tilting your head towards the ceiling as he nuzzles into your neck, your hands sliding up and over his shoulders, “You’re predictable, Barnes.”

“You’re one to talk about privilege, My Lady.”

“Am I?” You retort quick, quirking an eyebrow.

A brilliant smile is cast upon you, blue irises like gems, sparkling under the light, “Your blood is the richest in the room— the bluest of blue— and you speak with such animosity of mine as if you haven’t prevailed your entire life because of it.”

“Bested by the color of our skin, which has precluded my lineage of its rightful place for years,” you scoff, leaning into him, “It was not privilege that got us here, Lord Barnes,” you whisper, “It was persistence.”

He chuckles against your skin, the vibrations rattling through your body, right to your bones. Hot velvet slips along the curve of the junction between your shoulder and neck before teeth scrape and then sink— tenderly— right into the meat, making you gasp. Hands grip, fingers dig into his opposite shoulder as he nips and nibbles.

“You’ll lose everything,” you breathe, heavy, languid as his mouth, his tongue, his lips move to your jaw, your chin, “Your family will be ruined.”

“I’ll be okay,” Bucky hums low, a smile on his face, dark eyelashes splashed over his pink tinged cheeks. His long fingers play with your lips, prodding gently as he rests his forehead to yours, “With a face like mine baby,” he whispers, that devilish smile painting his red tinted lips, “I was born to marry rich.”

He pushes his leg between yours, spreading them, pushing the meat of his thigh right against your sex— the thin silk of your panties sticking to the balmy, wet flesh. The tips of his fingers flirting with the inside of your calf before pushing up over your knee, skirting up your own ticklish thigh.

Bucky takes pleasure in the honeyed giggle that bubbles in your chest and slips out of your mouth, knowing not just anyone can coax such a genuine reaction from you. Metal fingers push higher— sweeping softly, back and forth, over the powder pink silk panties, discovering the warm wet spot, a white hot fire filling his eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

You grunt some, leaning in, putting full lips right against his ear, “Absolutely not,” the words whispered.

“You sure?” he squints, drawing your face back in front of his, thumbing at your bottom lip, pulling it open, “There’s something in those eyes.”

“Let’s not over analyze, Lord Barnes,” you tisk, slipping a hand between your bodies, cupping his cock— squeezing his heat— with care of course, “Don’t go too deep with it. It’s just—”

“What?” brisk, curt— the words cut off by a feverish, deep kiss. Tongue licking into your mouth, sweeping against the roof— heavy, hot, rushed, desperate for you as he groans, “What is it?”

You pull at his belt, at the button and zipper, hand and fingers sinking into his open pants, pushing through a rough, dark, tuft of wiry hair. He whirrs, strained and broken, body clenching up as your warm palm wraps around him. Long, slow strokes pull more tiny sounds from him— a skilled muscle memory, what he likes, what he doesn’t, what he needs— taking over.

A sweet kiss, soft and quick, is pressed against his cheek, your lips against his ear once more, “It’s just a little crush, Bucky. Just some little thing that raises my adrenaline when I need a shot.” His cock jumps in your hand, a quick hiss and stunted grunt filling your ears as you lick your lips, “Don’t make too much of it.”

Bucky grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks hard, puckering your lips before he kisses you feverishly again. The cool metal digits grab your neck, a soft pressure constricting the muscles as he pushes you back, back against the window— using his body to crush you to it.

The smack of his lips disconnecting from yours ricochets off the walls, filling the small hallway. He licks your lips, dragging his tongue from your chin right to the tip of your nose as he anchors your leg on his hip. Hot flesh fingers slip up your thigh, pulling your panties to the side, the cool air sending a shock to the wet, delicate flesh of you. He sucks that bottom lip back between his perfect teeth, tilting his head back slightly to peer at you through those long, dark eyelashes.

You mimic him. Tilt your head back on the glass, sink your teeth into your swollen lip, hand still stroking him slow, wetting the pads of your fingers with his silk. His hips rock soft into your palm as you sweep your fingers over his tip before dragging back down his length, gripping him firm. With a quick blink, you’re staring at him— angry, thick, throbbing in your hand. A bead bubbles out, spills right over, a long string hanging from his reddened tip before his cock twitches again— leaving you breathless. Knees almost buckling. Mouth going dry as your lungs struggle to fill.

“Come on, baby,” Bucky purrs, goading you as you push his cock through your folds, rolling your hips, teasing your waiting slit with his tip.

Surprise sweeps through you when frankly, it shouldn’t as you sink down on him. The muscle memory of your hands don’t translate to the muscles of your cunt— his size, how much you have to spread to accommodate him, like a revelation each and every time. Bucky almost never rushes it, and neither do you, like it’s something new every time.

But it isn’t, no no, it’s ancient for the two of you. Connecting like this in long, skinny hallways, cramped closets, old hotel rooms under the mask of darkness. The muffled sounds of your sex as you try and ultimately fail to keep quiet, filling the abandoned spaces— bringing life to them again.

Loneliness often fills your chest if you go too long without it.

Bucky is buried to the hilt in you now— rooted deep in the tightest, hottest space of your body. He takes a minute, pushing his hips, wiggling— adjusting— before he pulls out slow. All the way, cock bouncing as soon as it breaks the threshold. He doesn’t wait long though. Nope. He’s back inside of you within seconds with a slam of his hips, pushing you up the window. Pulling a squeak and a rush of air from you.

Those red lips of his part, his heavy tongue pushing out to slip along his bottom lip as his eyelids drop, covering the blue you’ve come to enjoy. You can’t help but reach out, place your warm palms and fingers on his blushed cheeks, tracing his nose before they prod at his bottom lip, the tips just sinking into that wet mouth. He draws long breaths, exhales them all over your face as he starts to move.

You let the rhythm carry you away. Up into the clouds as your head rolls to the side, hands fall to his chest and around his neck. Tits bounce with each shove, starting to spill over and fall out of the square shaped neckline of your intricate dress. Hair starts to fall out of place, heat rises in your cheeks, desperate little wet noises beseeching him.

Bucky’s a good fuck. Ever the playboy, never thinking twice of an encounter until— well, you, as he so softly put it one night in one of those dark, old hotel rooms while you both dressed. There’s a filth to it. The way he toys with you. Speeding up suddenly— skin slapping, echoing down the hall— and then, without warning or hesitation, slows down. Down to nothing almost. Soft pulses of his hips, just enough to drive you mad. To make you beg him for more.

To make you weak. To keep you coming back.

That’s how he is now. Barely moving, wanting you to squirm. Two big eyes, pupils blown stare up at you. Mouth agape, the smallest little curve on them. He wants you to beg. To tell him just how much— “Bucky,”

“Yes?” he shoves hard, pushing deep, “My Lady?”

“Please,” there it is, the beg— the want, “Please, Bucky.”

So, the filth is back. Yeah, it’s a little dirty how he grips your thigh, hard, nails digging and scratching into the meat of it. How he licks into your mouth and bites your lips before shoving that metal hand into your neckline, palming the delicate mound of flesh beneath. A brown nipple is soon exposed, tight and hard, after a quick tug of his hand yanks your dress down. It disappears again within a flash, right into his mouth, tongue circling.

An arch curves your spine when he sucks, a deep, low, stressed grunt sounding from somewhere deep in your chest. Your lips pucker, forming an o as you breathe heavy, then gasp quick before digging your teeth into your bottom lip and inhaling sharp. An already tight grip on his bicep and left shoulder constricts even more as he really picks up the pace, desperate and feverish his hips, tongue slipping into your cleavage.

There’s nothing but sounds and sensations— the squelch and squeak of his cock stuffing you, your stiletto slipping off the foot that’s hooked around his waist and thudding against the floor. The gold medals pinned to his military jacket bouncing soft against the thick material. His metal fingers tapping against the windows as he holds his weight.

Flashes of heat ripple through your body— muscles tensing and straining, cunt clenching, clamping. Fists balling. Stomach and head twirling as he gives you his best. And God, do you appreciate his effort.

The fuse proves to be short on this crisp winter day. A coil that had no chance of staying intact snaps earlier than you expect, body tightening hard, nearly freezing you in place the second before you start to come. Crying out— no shame, no sense of care if anyone hears— you just let it take over. Let him drive it home, hips snapping against yours, jutting, thrusting, pushing and pulling, sending you higher and higher.

Goosebumps on your skin. Heartbeat in your ears. A white hot flash, nearly blinding— it’s just that good. Metal fingers sink between your legs, playing with your clit, enticing it further as it spasms— wanting to feel every last bit of what your body has to offer.

Bucky hammers away, until he can’t. You’re just too sweet— too warm and wet and inviting. He’s painting your insides white within minutes, hot, quick shots of silk, filling you up, and then spilling back out. His head falls heavy to your chest as the last digs of his hips work themselves out, lips sticking to your damp, exposed skin.

You wrap him up, hands and fingers splaying out on his back, holding him tight and close as he empties and stills. Then, the two of you just breathe. Let the day, the room full of people, your families, your duties, just fade away. It’s just you and Bucky and that cool window against your overly warm skin.

It breaks— the moment. Just as it always does. Your body becomes empty as he tucks back into his pants. No longer pinned to the window, you bend to replace your shoe, pull at your dress. Bucky runs his thick fingers through his dark hair, you picking and smoothing at your own.

Stepping off after a few sobering moments without so much as a look or a smile, you're caught, a tight hand around your wrist, pulling you back. You crash into his chest, crash against his lips in one last, deep, sweeping kiss. One that once he pulls away, your eyes stay closed, lips stay puckered.

“You sure you won’t marry me?”

You know that if he asks one more time, your resolve will fizzle— and you will, “Very sure.”

A lopsided grin covers his mouth as he tilts his head, “Just a pesky little crush, huh?”

“There’s no vision of you and me quite yet, Lord Barnes,” you sigh, turning away and stepping down the hall, “You just pray that I don’t decide to join the rest of the party and vote you out.”

“Make sure you keep a copy of your vote for me. I’ll want to frame it.”

You throw him a quick glance, “And why would you do something like that?”

“So I can show our children just how mean mommy was to daddy before we got married,” he starts, buttoning up his jacket. He kisses the pads of his fingers and blows on them lightly, sending you a kiss, “I have white picket fences in my eyes.”

Without another word, he spins on his heel and takes off in the opposite direction. A hum vibrates in your throat. The sounds of your heels and his shoes slap against the walls as the two of you walk away from each other.

It doesn’t take a scientist to understand what’s going on, baby.

#notmyninth #ssb2021 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fandom #bucky barnes x you #reader x bucky barnes #you x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x black reader #you x bucky #bucky x you #bucky reader #reader x bucky #avintagekiss24

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rrickgrrimes8 · 4 years ago

Note

Can I get rick grimes x gender neutral reader

The reader was an elite solider in the U.S army when the virus happened. They been traveling the South for five ½ years alone. So now they landed in Georgia when the Saviors and Rick Group are at war. One day Rick is attacked by the Saviors, but the reader saves Rick from the Saviors with a rifle but escapes before Rick ever notices. Days later the reader meets Rick (like how Jesus met Rick.) But Rick captures the reader and interrogates him. In the end Reader reveals how he saved Rick. Rick then forces the reader work/live with the group even though the real.

A Soldier ~ Rick Grimes imagine

hey sorry for the delay ive been super busy coz i just started school back after isolating and i’ve been doing exams all week

also for anyone else who requested i’ll try and complete them soon really sorry please remember i haven’t forgotten about yall i’m just busy

anyways @iawaythrown hope you like this thank you for requesting

let me know if there’s any mistakes so i can fix it thank you x

masterlist

request guidelines

request are open

The sun had set hours earlier but that didn’t stop you. Unrelenting you continued through the heat and the exhaustion. You couldn’t stop. Not now. Not after everything you had gone through. Even before this, you wouldn’t allow yourself to stop. Being one of America’s pride and joys serving as a respected sergeant. You had served 10 years before the world went to shit and it made you laugh now. You always thought that the meaning of your life - the purpose - was to protect and serve against threats to the U.S.A. If only you knew that your greatest threat was against the dead now living. You were grateful, more than anything. You had a lot more in this world than others did. And now 5 1/2 years later you were still going. Never stopping. Not for anything.

Except... when you caught wind of a certain curly-haired man. He was being attacked and was substantially outmanned. You thought the best use of your time was to protect people just like you had in your previous life. The man was cornered now by the time you’d made the decision to help him. Three men dressed in leather charged him with any weapon they could find. He fought against them - to the best of his ability. Which seemed to be skilled at least. You gripped your trusty rifle, aimed the scope and without hesitation fired.

One man fell.

Then the next.

And then the last.

The blue-eyed man scoured the area for you, curious about the location of the shots. You, however, were smarter than that. You didn’t know this man. You didn’t know if he deserved what those men would’ve done to him but you did know trust is to be earned in this world not given carelessly. You ducked away out of his vision. But you never strayed far from the man.

You could say curiosity got the better of you. Naturally and from a very young age, you’d always pester, investigate, fight for answers when they really weren’t warranted. Your mom used to tell you how curiosity killed the cat but you preferred to say it saved the cat. Being curious never hurt anyone and it certainly came as an advantage to you. When meeting people you knew how to hide, how to watch. And yes it may be creepy but it was necessary. You weren’t stupid, far from it, so why stop your ways now?

The man didn’t return back to a camp after the attack - one that you knew he had due to his clean and well-presented appearance. He continued through the area, meeting up with a tall brooding man accompanied with a crossbow. The two seemed close. Although despite how few words conversed between them, you knew they were. If either of them fell into some trouble the other protected. They were family - maybe not blood - but no doubt in your mind we’re they like brothers.

It had been days now and these men were still on their run. By this time you were even doubting if this was worth it but you shook off the thoughts and continued. It wasn’t your intention to draw attention to yourself. Hell, it was something you were taught against. But it happened. You, rather carelessly, stumbled across them. It all happened so fast. You saw someone in the woods - walker maybe. But at that moment you decided against your inner workings and ran. Stupidly you ran straight into this man.

“Watch it,” He growled pushing you back slightly. They glared at you threateningly, guns were drawn.

“Wha’ ta hell ya doin’?” The crossbowman snapped. His deep southern accent growing darker through his words. He was on edge. It being clear that interactions like this hadn’t always been a blessing.

“Was just passing through. Calm yourself, alrigh’?”

Unimpressed he looked to the blue-eyed man who was fixed on your stance. “You looked in a hurry. Trouble heading this way?” The man inquired warily.

“Nah not really,” You paused looking back to the area, “Well maybe I'm not sure.”

“Not sure? What's back there?” He looked at you suspiciously hand still grasped around his colt python. You didn't say anything to them as a sound overcame the atmosphere. It sounded like a twig, perhaps just a wondering dead but they didn't see the rational side. "Who are you? Who are you with?" The blue-eyed man barked edging the pistol closer to your face.

"Hey, chill man. My names y/n, alright? And I'm not with anyone. I'm on my own, okay?" The men shared a look before turning back to you unbelievingly. You opened your mouth to justify your case but was interrupted by a smack to the side of your head. You fell to the ground, gazing at the two men still.

And then... nothing.

Hours later your eyes snapped open. Alert, you searched through the room. It was a cell. A traditional one with an iron gate. One you knew from past experience weren't the easiest to break out of. Especially after spotting a man floating around the exit. "Hello?" Your head burned as you spoke likely due to a concussion but you powered through it. The man stopped pacing and glared at you. He was a dark-skinned man, holding what looked like a stick. But the main thing was that he was clean. You had noticed earlier how the two men didn't look as ragged and dirty as you did. Telling you they had a home. Now seeing him proved it.

"Hello," He said back, "Names Morgan, yours?" Your rational side shut your mouth for you. You didn't know these people. Hell, they kidnapped you. They didn't deserve your name. And you resented how you caved earlier and told those people. "Not much of a speaker, huh?" Again silence, "You didn't have to be afraid of me. I won't hurt you."

Begrudgingly you responded, "I'm not afraid of you." "Your not?" "No, I'm not. Not of you. Not of those men who brought me here. Not of anyone," Morgan almost laughed at your response.

"You're quite brave, aren’t you?" You shrugged etching a smile on his face, "you'll fit right in here."

"Who says I want to stay?" You countered. "I have a feeling," He smirked before another person entered the room.

"They awake?" Morgan nodded and exited.

The blue-eyed man from earlier entered your view. No words were exchanged between the two of you. You understood he still perceived you as a threat, which you knew you very well could be. You'd do what you have to. That's what you told yourself. After years of service to the army that swam around your mind like a mantra. You'd done some horrific things for your country now and before but you didn't let it rot you to the core like your comrades. You did what you had to. There was never an exception. So if these people decided to try something you'd do what you have to.

"Who are you?" He interrogated swiftly. Telling you that this wasn't his first rodeo. He was a cop or maybe even in the army like you.

"I already told you," Coldly you returned.

"Yeah well, I don't believe you," He persisted.

"I don't entirely know what you want me to do with that," you scoffed, "I can't force you to believe me. But I know my name. I know I'm alone. I know I don't mean to bring harm to your people unless I have to."

The man grunted. He hated how he began to believe you slightly. "Why were you running then?"

You sighed, "I was following you."

"You were following us?" He growled, "Why?"

"You were attacked. Those men I killed them," You revealed, "I was curious. So I followed you. I saw a walker or maybe it was a person... I don't know. I ran and bumped into you. That's all. I have no ulterior motive."

"Just because you tell me you have no ulterior motive doesn't make me inclined to believe you," He let out a harsh breath.

"What more do you want, huh? Want me to do a polygraph?"

He chuckled, "No. Of course not. But I don't trust you."

"So let me go," You promoted.

"I can't do that," he shook his head erratically.

"Why not?"

"You're valuable. If what you say is true that you did save me. Then I... we can't let that go, alright?"

You gaped at his confession, "So you're gonna force me to stay here?"

"Not exactly... we'd prefer if you did from your own will but if we have to," He quirked his eyebrow at you, "What do you say?"

Sarcastically you laughed at his proposition, "You're crazy."

"No, I'm Rick. Rick Grimes. And this," Rick gestured to your surroundings, "is Alexandria. Hopefully your new home."

"How do you know I'm not gonna kill you all in your sleep?" You furrowed your eyebrows at his naivety.

"I have faith that you won't. I searched you when you were out," He went into his pocket pulling out a medal you had gotten for serving in Iraq, "A soldier? I was a sheriffs deputy myself and I know I wouldn't have it in me to kill all the people in here - the children. I know you wouldn't either."

"You're right I wouldn't but... but we're not the same, Rick. We never will be," Rick tilted his head.

"I know," He spoke honestly, "But I feel like we're similar. You'd do a lot to save someone you'd never met. That's someone we'd like in Alexandria. Y/n you saved me. And I know you can save a lot more. So what do you say?"

You sighed moving closer to the cell door, "Okay."

#rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x gender neutral reader #rick grimes #rick grimes imagine #rick grimes twd #the walking dead #the walking dead imagines #the walking dead request #the walking dead x reader

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puckyess · 4 years ago

Text

Gold-digger | Dylan Holloway

In a perfect world, all of my boys win gold

Words: 4K

It was surreal how you could sense his presence. You went from anxious excitement to a feeling of warmth, all within one breath. You watched from a distance as his frame cleared the tunneled gateway. An outsider may have pegged him as an athlete, heading back to school, with the way his broad shoulders filled out that red maple leaf hoodie and thighs that looked thick even in his grey sweatpants. They would have no idea that the boy who was ducking his head was a World Junior Champion.

His head lifts, features set into a frown as he searches the busy airport for you. When his eyes finally catch yours watching him, he breaks out into that goofy grin that you love so much. You let him make his way to you even though you want nothing more than to run to him, simply because you find it adorable that he clearly double times it to get to you. His arms engulf you and you swear he feels stronger than when he left 54 days ago. He lifts you off your feet, crushing you into his chest and yet it’s still not close enough. The act is softened when his hand comes up to cup the back of your head and he buries his face into your hair. A word hasn’t been said between the two of you but it doesn't have to because this moment says it all.

He exhales as he sets you on your feet again, the smile still on his face though it’s softer now. “I’ve missed you”.

Your arms still wrapped around his waist you pull back just the slightest to look up and reciprocate the sentiment. “You’re not allowed to leave me again, like ever”, you inform him.

He chuckles and his finger finds his way under your chin so that he can do what he’s been thinking about for months. “You have yourself a deal” he mumbles before smashing his lips against yours. He’s never been one for PDA, always remaining lowkey and content with keeping things private. So this takes you by surprise, it’s way more heated than he’s ever been with you in public and you’re not complaining one bit.

It doesn’t take more than a second for you to give into his lips, letting his tongue slide into your mouth. Your arms come up to snake around his neck, pulling him down to you. He has one hand on the small of your back, supporting you both as he leans into you, the other finds its way to the back of your neck, trying to leverage you even closer to him to deepen the kiss. All of the emotion of the past two months is evident in the way you both pour yourselves into each other.

When you just about moan into his mouth, you have to pull away. You know what you must look like when you see the way his eyes are blown. His lips are well kissed and still parted and his cheeks are the color of his sweatshirt. He looks both stunned and perfectly pleased, a smirk creeping its way onto his face.

“Welcome home, baby”, you greet him, holding his hands as you raise up on your tiptoes to give him one last, much more innocent kiss before grabbing one of his bags.

“Let’s go home”. Your heart flutters at his use of the word “home”. You know exactly where he’s referring to and love that your home has become his too. His dimple pops as he throws that sweet smile your way. He picks up his other bag and slings an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side.

As you make your way through the airport he pulls you closer and places a kiss on the top of your head. “Thank you for picking me up. I really missed you” he breathes out.

Suddenly you stop in your tracks, almost taking yourself out as your fridge of a boyfriend keeps his arm looped around your shoulders as he continues moving forward. He turns around startled.

In all of the excitement of having your baby back in your arms and that kiss knocking you off of your feet you had completely forgotten, but now that you remembered you could barely contain your excitement. “Don’t you have something you want to show me? Like, I don't know...maybe something shiny?” you tease.

He suddenly looks bashful, his face turning as red as it was after he very publicly marked his territory moments ago.

“Come on, D, let me see that gold medal of yours” you squeal.

He pulls you and his bags off to the side so that you’re not in the way and then his hand ducks into the collar of his sweatshirt and comes back out with a beautiful gold medal.

Awe is the only word Dylan can think of to describe you when he finally shows it to you. Your eyes are wide and your perfect lips are formed into a little “o” as you take it all in, the little skater ensignia, the perfect roundness of the medallion, the weight of what it all meant. And then you’re grinning at him with glassy eyes.

He looks so proud watching you take in what is one of his greatest accomplishments so far. But his pride doesn’t even compare to how proud you are of him for working to get to where he is and battling adversity for that medal. You know how much it meant to him to be on the team in the first place, to represent his country, but to actually be part of bringing home the gold brought about a whole slew of emotions for you.

He was a champion and he was yours.

“So what do you think?” He finally asks you, sliding the ribbon around your neck.

“I think you make me the proudest girlfriend in the whole world.”

—

Once you get to your car you throw his bags in your trunk. He walks to the passenger side and opens your door and you smile to yourself, not believing how much you missed such a mundane action. He leans in for yet another kiss before shutting your door and sliding into his side. Immediately his right hand finds yours and he brings it up to his lips to kiss, releasing your hand only to do that really hot thing that guys do when they back a car up and then his grip is in yours all over again.

With the music playing softly in the background and your sunshine back in the car with you it’s like you’re in your own little bubble with him, the good kind this time. You know he feels the same way because he’s much more talkative than back in the airport, in fact there’s hardly a second where the car isn’t filled with his voice. It’s a sound that you’d missed more than you thought your heart would allow and you were more than grateful to have it back. His smile is contagious, as always, but today especially. With every glance your way, his grin accompanies it. He gushes about his journey to the gold medal that was now hanging around your neck.

You make him start from the beginning, how he felt when he first boarded his flight back to his home providence. He admitted how nervous he was since at that point, he was unsure if he would make the team and he knew it was his last chance for that honor. He told you of all things he did to keep himself motivated and hopeful while he quarantined, twice, even though he knew the other guys were out there playing and earning their spots with every minute he wasn’t able to be on the ice. When he says that your daily calls and check-ins were one of those things, you give his hand a squeeze that matches the one your heart does in your chest. He tells you all about the guys, doing his best to describe their personalities and special moments that they shared while in that bubble together.

He indulges your every question, like the best round of 20 questions you’ve ever played in your life. He shares the lows of losing his captain right off the bat to the highs of the calm feeling of the locker room right before that final game. He makes you feel like you were right there by his side.

You don’t want this little moment to end as he pulls into the parking garage and apparently neither does he because he doesn’t make a move to get out of the car. So you continue your attack and ask him what he thought he was doing, looking that good in all of those suits.

When you finally get up to go to the bathroom, Dylan starts to follow you and you have to put your hand on his chest to shove him back on the couch. “I can pee by myself, D, thank you” you laugh. Since the minute you walked through the door, no, the minute you got out of the car he had not left your side.

He looks so sad for a moment and you almost change your mind until you snap back to reality with how ridiculous that would be. “I’ll just be right across the room” you assure him, pointing to the bathroom that was literally across the living room.

“At least leave the door open”, he grumbles.

You roll your eyes, but give him a quick kiss anyway. “You’re so weird, Dylan”, but you do as he requests anyway and he starts a full on conversation with you as you go about your business.

You emerge from the bathroom and head for the kitchen instead of your spot in his arms. When you don’t hear him complain, you turn and look at your boyfriend in alarm, “Are you not going to ask me where I’m going?” you tease him.

He looks guilty like he actually messed up and should’ve asked and you laugh. “You’ve been my shadow for days now, I think this is the first time you’ve actually let me out of your sight”.

The only word that could be used to describe his behavior lately is clingy. You weren’t complaining of course after not having access to your boyfriend in so long, but it was kind of comical how much attention he required. He would follow you everywhere, and demanded to be touching you constantly. Whether it was holding your hand to go get a water bottle or moving your feet onto his lap on the couch to watch a show, he had to be connected to you. If you got up for any reason he would question you, like a lost puppy until he knew what you were up to.

He blushes at your observation, but he doesn't deny it. “That’s the longest we’ve been apart since we met, I guess I’m just readjusting”.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it” you tell him as you crawl back into your spot in his arms after retrieving your drink. “I missed you too”.

The next few days you get reacquainted with each other, falling back into your routines and of course pressing each other’s buttons.

“Stop glaring at me, you asked for this. Literally, if I remember correctly” Dylan points out.

His comment only makes you furrow your brows even more, your glare deepening as you stare at your god of a boyfriend. There he lay on the couch, sprawled out in all of his golden glory. His blonde hair was perfectly tousled, loose strands dancing across his forehead as he shook his head at you. He was wearing your favorite sweats, the ones that sat low on his hips and hugged his ass just right and to taunt you even more, he was shirtless. But that wasn’t even the best part. The ribbon around his neck, the gold medallion laying against his skin was something you couldn’t tear your eyes away from.

You had a paper to write and his appearance was not helping you get anything done. “Well when I told you to wear it around this morning, I didn’t know you’d look like that” you grumble, still unable to look away.

His laughter bounces through the room at your apparent distaste. “You have to wear the medal, Dylan. No, don’t put a shirt on, I like you just like that.” he mimics you from this morning in a high pitched voice. You don’t know what it was about that gold medal, but it turned you on and he knew it.

You roll your eyes, shutting your computer. You go to chirp him, but he picks that exact moment to raise his arms and stretch out, letting out a groan in the process. Your eyes go wide as you watch every muscle in his body flex, the glimmer and shine of his medal matching the one in his eyes. The smirk that spreads across his face makes you want to choke him, or maybe to be choked you’re not quite sure because your mind is a mess.

“I can go put a shirt on, if that’s what you want” he offers, moving to get up off the couch.

The rate at which you jump up to stop him as you yell, “No!”, is almost embarrassing.

He raises an eyebrow at you, clearly amused at how worked up you are.

“What?” you ask him, trying to brush it off, but there was no hiding how flustered he was making you. He had always been more than attractive to you, that much was obvious. Maybe it was the amount of time you had been forced apart, but he was somehow driving you even more insane every time you looked at or even thought about him. You were obsessed, knowing your man was a gold medal champion.

You thought you could handle seeing him walking around your apartment, shirtless, donning that medal, hell you even thought you wanted it. However, the minute you walked into the living room earlier and saw him standing there with his cup of coffee, leaning against your floor to ceiling windows, the city his backdrop you knew you were fucked.

You swallow hard, trying to push the image from your mind and get your head out of the gutter. “You’re the worst”, you glare at him again. Who knew it would be the absolute worst thing you could’ve said. His already apparent smirk widens.

“That’s not what you were saying last night”.

And with those 8 words, he unleashes a monster. Your composure is gone, if it was there at all and you full on whine his name.

This is when you get the confident hockey player side of him. He grins at his work, propping his head up behind one arm and beckoning you with the other.

“C’mere, my little Gold-digger”.

The end of the day was always your favorite. You thrived at night, even when you were exhausted. You loved looking out and seeing the night sky lit up with the city lights, you loved feeling small, tucked away in your own quiet corner of the world. But most of all, you loved those midnight talks with Dylan. Nothing was off limits with him, from outrageous would you rather that had you questioning whether you were dating a budding NHL player or a middle school boy to deep talks that had you believing with every fiber of your being that he was made just for you.

Tonight as you lay in bed with him, you had a question for him that kept slipping your mind. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but why didn’t you just ask one of the boys to pick you up?” you ask, lifting your head off his chest, instead propping your head up on your arm. “I know Ryder’s been dying to see you, he’s been sending me withdrawal texts since we put you on a plane” you joke.

“They don’t know I’m here yet”, he shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

The hand that was tracing patterns on his chest stops and he turns to look at you, anticipating your question. “You didn’t tell them you were back?”

Again he shrugs, “They think I went home for a bit before I’m coming back”.

“Ohmygod your family. Dylan! Did you even see them while you were out there?” you ask sitting up suddenly. As selfish as it was, you had only thought about him seeing his family when he first left. It hadn’t even crossed your mind for him to stay with them before coming back to campus. Now you felt bad that he was with you and not his family, you knew he didn’t get to see them very often.

His hands shoot out to grab yours and he pulls you back into his chest. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I saw them for a little bit before I left, they knew I wanted to get back though. I’ll be out there soon enough, I didn’t want to keep you waiting”.

You know your eyes are glassy when you look up at him to confirm he meant what he said. “And as much as I love the guys, they’re kind of dominating you know? I just wanted to spend a few days with my girl before we get our third wheel back” he says, giving you a squeeze.

At that you have to laugh because Ryder really had become your third wheel and honestly Shay was your fourth. Whether they did it to bug Dylan or genuinely could not be apart from him you were still undecided, but either way, where there was your boyfriend, there was also your two other boyfriends.

“He’s going to be so mad when he finds out” you tell him giggling at your little secret.

“Not if he never finds out”

“I think he has some kind of radar, D. I’m surprised he hasn’t already come knocking”.

“Don’t say that too loud” he laughs.

And as if on cue, your phone dings asking if you knew when Dylan was coming back. Once your laughter dies out you settle in and relish in the warmth of having Dylan next to you in bed again.

You’re on the verge of sleep when his voice cuts through the darkness. “Y/N?”

You hum in response.

“Are you awake?” he asks, as if your response wasn’t enough.

You roll over so that you’re facing him to see what’s keeping him up.

“I woke you up, didn’t I? Go back to sleep” he whispers.

“You’ve got me, babe. What’s on your mind?”

He hesitates and you think he might’ve gone to sleep after all and so you call his name.

“I’m here. I just-. You know what I was thinking of the whole time I was over there?”

You raise your eyebrows even though you know he can’t see them in the darkness, but he continues on anyway.

“I kept thinking everytime I walked into that building that this was going to be my future. That this is where my career was really going to start”.

You had wondered about that, how he felt and what it was like for him to be spending so much time in the very place where he was going to be playing for the next three and maybe more years. But you had been too afraid to bring it up, for fear of starting a talk about the future that you were unprepared for.

But you swallow your fears and ask anyway, “What was it like?”

You can hear the smile and excitement in his voice when he talks about his future home. “It’s amazing. It was such a privilege to be able to experience that before I get there, to get a taste of what’s to come, ya know? Like I can’t believe that that locker room is going to be mine and those stands are going to be filled with people that want to see my team play. It was surreal and humbling. It started to feel real”, and there’s something about his voice and the way he’s talking that you can tell is leading to something big.

You brace yourself for impact when he swallows hard. He doesn't say anything else, he reaches up and brushes your hair back from your face instead. “Come on, Dylan, you’re scaring me. What aren’t you saying?”

“It started to feel real,” he repeats. “I was in my home, so close to achieving my dream and all I could think about was how I wanted you there with me.”

You don’t feel like it’s safe to let out the breath you’re holding quite yet.

“I thought getting to the next level was the ultimate goal and in a way it still is, it’s what I’ve been working for my whole life, but Y/N it just didn’t feel right to not be able to share it with you too. I know it’s early and I don’t know where I’ll be this time next year, but when I do get there, I want you there with me. Edmonton might be where I’m going, but it won’t be home without you”.

When he feels the wetness of your tears falling on his chest he’s concerned. But he knows you so well and knows what your love language is and so he tilts your chin up and kisses you hard. He tells you with his lips how much he loves you, how much he adores you, how much impact you’ve had on his life. And you kiss him right back, knowing you won’t be able to get the words out at this point. You kiss your relief, your love and your commitment into his soul.

“So I’ll take that as a yes?” he asks breathless as he pulls away.

You nod, equally as out of breath, “I’d follow you anywhere, Dylan Holloway”.

No more needs to be said, the perfect words already professed. He tugs you a little closer to him and shuffles down the bed until his head is resting on your chest and the rest of his body is nesting itself a home in yours. It never fails to amaze you how much he loved to be the little spoon and how his fridge of a body managed to fit with yours perfectly. You fingers card through his hair, earning a content little sigh. You feel his breathing even out and you feel yourself nearing the edge of sleep too.

You swore you would never get enough of the way he held onto you, tight enough to know you were wanted and loved. You would never get tired of the way his voice dropped, in tone because he was fighting sleep for you, but in volume because no one else needed to hear him but you. You would always crave the way his fingers would manage to trace light paths all across your face and arms as he opened himself up to you. There was something so vulnerable and honest about your nights spent with him and you prayed that they never ended.

But his raspy voice breaks through the silence yet again, this time to ask, “How do you feel about silver? I’m bringing you home a Stanley Cup next”.

He lifts his head to flash that goofy grin your way as he soaks up your laughter.

“Silver sounds good to me, baby”

With that he’s satisfied, but even with the new goal, your new pet name still sticks. “Goodnight, my little Gold-digger.”

#dylan holloway #wjc 2021 #ryder donovan #shay donovan

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oohnoniall · 4 years ago

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The Lantsov Emerald [Kaz Brekker x OC] - Chapter One (Anastasia)

WARNINGS: cursing.

The Grisha were puppets. She could tell that from the way her father had them paraded before him. No one should be treated the way they were and yet, it was the safest they had ever been. She had not grown up in a time before the Darkling. She had only ever known him to reside over the Little Palace. He kept the Grisha safe.

That didn't stop them from having to perform great feats at the winter fete every year. She had been in attendance every year since she was six.

She still remembered that first one clearly. It had been the first time she had been presented to the court. Her mother had actually come to her room, getting her ready to be shown off like a prized horse. It was the first time she had been allowed to wear a tiara.

Nikolai had teased her for it the entire night. He still teased her for it.

"Annie," a voice hissed to her right. Her eldest brother looked proud in his jacket, his medals pinned to his chest. They showed that he had claimed something in his year of service. Even if she was certain that it was not a brain. "Get your head out of the clouds."

Vasily had never exactly been close to Anastasia. He had always been more focused on learning how to run Ravka, how to be the king that their country deserved. He had never paid much attention to her as Nikolai had. He hadn't paid Nikolai much attention either. Vasily was less their brother and more an acquaintance.

Yet he was all that she had.

Nikolai had left three years before to study and to serve in the military. Anastasia had written him daily letters for the first year, weekly the second. Now, she was lucky if she wrote him monthly. He didn't answer the letters. Too busy with his studies, with forgetting all about the life he had lived back home.

Forgetting Anastasia.

"My head is never in the clouds, Vasie," she huffed as she straightened her spine. She found it somewhat hard to breathe in her gown. Her corset was too tight, her mother had said her waist needed to be smaller and her maids had apparently agreed. Despite the lack of oxygen, there was no denying that the gown was beautiful. It was a shade of cream that matched Vasily's jacket perfectly with sky blue lace detailing on the bodice and matching blue flowers embroidered along the hemline.

It was not the prettiest gown she owned, but it was one of her favorites. If only because she liked that she stood out just a bit from her family. Her mother's gown would be plain, letting everyone focus instead on the Lantsov emerald that would rest on her left hand. Her father and brother would both be sporting their military jackets, the pins and medals gleaming in the light. If Nikolai had been there, he would have at least been the one to escort Anastasia.

Instead, her arm was linked with Vasily's. A bored smile crossed her features, taking away the seventeen-year-old's normal vibrancy. She despised the winter fete. The past three years had all been more disappointing than the last.

It had nothing to do with the Grisha. But it had everything to do with the fact that she had no one to speak with. No one to confide in or giggle with when the night grew boring. Life without her brother had become stale, boring even.

She sighed softly, trying to push out all those negative feelings as Vasily began to gently pull her out of the small antechamber. Her heart pounded in her chest. A four-eighths rhythm that seemed to skip the second beat. She wondered what it would sound like as an aria.

"Presenting His Highness Crown Prince Vasily Lantsov and Her Highness Princess Anastasia Lantsov," a booming voice announced to the waiting crowd of nobles and rich merchants that surrounded Os Alta.

A small smattering of applause greeted them, as it did every year. They were not the show though. They were merely just important guests, visitors to the show of something amazing. Something that none of them were entirely prepared for. At least, not yet.

"Mingle," Vasily murmured in her ear, not bothering to bend. The two were only mere inches apart. A fact that Vasily hated and Nikolai had found humorous. "Just don't wander far from my sight."

"And if I don't?" She did not move to raise a brow or do anything that might cause alarm. She barely moved her lips as she spoke. Speaking with Vasily just meant keeping it quiet and not allowing anyone to hear.

"Then you'll never make a friend that isn't Nikolai." Despite their lack of a relationship, he did care for his younger sister. He cared for his brother as well. Although that relationship was far more strained. Not even Vasily could ignore the rumors surrounding his siblings. Anastasia, however, would never be a threat to him getting the throne upon their father's death.

She gave a very slight nod of her head. If one happened to see it, they would merely assume she had just shifted her stance or something of that nature. They'd never realize that she had agreed to do something for him. Even if it was as simple as mingle with those who gathered with them in celebration of the second army.

Her brother released her arm, allowing her to slip free from him and into the crowd. She would not leave the room. She knew better than to cause Vasily a heart attack. Had Nikolai been there, she wouldn't have had to worry about any of it. She would have been able to do as pleased. He'd just follow after her, his charisma hiding the fact that he was threatening people or watching over the sister he'd never asked for.

Soft laughter, low tenors mixed with high sopranos, filled the air with a gentle melody. One that Anastasia could feel tingling in her bones and in her heart. The melodies of life in Ravka had always seemed to flow through the princess. She just hadn't said a word about it to anyone. Her mother had only ever been told she excelled in music lessons.

She had strived to excel in everything though. Anything to avoid being sent off like her brother.

"Princess," a tall young man stepped in front of her, blocking her from moving forward. He bowed at the waist to her, his left arm going behind his back in a sign of respect. His dark, blue-black hair fell into his face in the softest of waves. Briefly, she thought about reaching out to run her fingers through them. "I was certain we wouldn't be graced with your presence this evening."

"And why exactly is that?" Her tone was soft, lilting and pretty. If she added a bit more breath it would sound more like a song.

"There's a rumor that your parents sent you to Fjerda a week ago," he admitted as he straightened his spine. His eyes were bright, only a few shades darker than the Lantsov emerald. She wondered how many women he had enchanted with his eyes alone.

Anastasia forced a gentle laugh to leave her lips as she looked at the man. "I'm afraid I will not see Fjerda for a few more years. Although, my departure date is not to be common knowledge." Her eyes glinted in the light, matching the sky blue detailing on her dress.

"Of course, your highness," the man nodded his hand once. "Might I have this dance with you?"

She considered it for a moment. A dance didn't mean they'd be courting. Nor did it mean she would be respected. Everything was so political nowadays. If she did not do the right thing, she would create a scandal. However, most of the time it felt as though if she breathed wrong she would cause a scandal or trouble of some sort. It was all quite exhausting if she were being honest.

Slowly, Anastasia took the man's outstretched hand. "Of course."

He led her towards the small dance floor. The winter fete was not a place for dancing. But her mother had thought that it would be nice to have a bit of a dance. She was certain that it had only been in case Nikolai or Vasily had caught sight of a woman that might one day become a queen. Or at the very least it made for a good chessboard.

"What is your name?" She asked as he placed on hand on her waist. She could feel eyes on them. She was certain his family was watching closely, certain that her brother was preparing to protect her honor.

"Dima Antonov," he said as the music began to swell. He led her through an intricate waltz. One that she had danced a million times. It was practically drilled into her feet.

The music spoke to her in a way that nothing ever had before. She loved the way it made her feel as though she were floating on air. Every rest was like holding her breath, the crescendo was the beating of her heart as Dima twirled her across the floor. Her gown floating around them as though there was nothing holding her onto this plane of existence. She could fly away, farther than any bird.

"You're an incredible dancer," his voice brought her back down to the earth. Gravity pulling against her limbs and her hopes.

"Oh?" An amused smile crossed her features. "You're not so bad yourself."

A glint of something was in his eyes. She could not tell if it was amusement or something darker. She prayed to the Saints that she would not have to deal with a pining lordling with dreams of becoming king. It wasn't as though the throne would ever fall to her. Yet, some of these lordlings seemed to believe that they would inherit the throne upon marrying her. Her betrothal didn't seem to matter to any of them either.

Why would she marry a backward Fjerdan when she could have a good, honest Ravakan? Honestly, the whole thing was rather dull.

There was nothing that could be done about her marriage. Contracts had been signed long ago. Although, the Fjerdans were not holding up their end of the bargain particularly well. It seemed as if they assumed they could do whatever they wanted to the Grisha and get away with it. It seemed as though all they cared about was getting another country to trade with them. Something that her parents also wanted.

"Thank you, your highness," Dima broke her out of her thoughts as he dipped her in time with the music. Her long flowing hair nearly touched the floor as strands began to fall from the mess of braids that her maids had put it up in. Her heart skipped another beat as she stared up into his eyes.

Love was such a trivial matter to her and yet, she found it hard to not be wooed by bright eyes and a dazzling smile. She was just a girl after all. A girl with hopes, dreams, ambitions.

Dima's dazzling smile just happened to be distracting enough to keep her mind off of her ambitions.

"I've heard that the Princess of Ravka was a sight to behold, but I didn't expect the rumors to be true." He admitted as he gently pulled her back up. She found that she was pressed rather closely to the young man.

"I take it that this is your first winter fete?" One of her eyebrows rose just a fraction of a centimeter, barely enough for anyone but the man standing in front of her to notice.

"I've been spending my time with the First Army. My father is a general," he admitted as he stepped back enough to make their dance proper once more. "I've finally been allowed leave and thought I would spend my time is Os Alta."

"And this has nothing to do with our new Sun Summoner, does it?"

"Nothing at all," Dima's lips quirked in a handsome smirk. One that sent heat racing to Anastasia's cheeks. She fought down her blush, not wanting a soul to know her feelings.

Her mother had once told her that she was an open book. Her emotions were easy to read and easy to figure out. Her mother had made sure that she knew it was not a good thing. Beauty was what mattered. At least, until she had done what she needed to. Then she could worry about falling in love and being in love. Until then, she had to focus on the Fjerdan prince and providing an heir when the time came.

Anastasia's life was nothing more than a game of chess. She just didn't know if she was the pawn or the queen.

The music slowed to a stop, her heart still kept the steady beat of the waltz. If only to keep it inside of her for a few hours more. Dima stepped away from her, bowing his head politely.

"Thank you for the dance, your highness," he took her hand in his and raised it to his knuckles. He brushed his lips against it once, before he slipped away, disappearing into the crowd and out of her life.

She knew better than anyone that it was easier to dance with royalty than actually spend time with them. It was one of the reasons why Nikolai had been her only friend for so long.

Anastasia did not allow for this to keep her sedated for long. Instead, she slipped away into the crowd. Her eyes searched out Vasily, who was drinking something that was not water while flirting with a lord's daughter. One that he had been speaking with for nearly a year now. She was expecting a courting announcement any day now.

Vasily being preoccupied was a blessing to her. She could escape from his supposedly watchful gaze and find something to do that was not fawn over the Grisha and what they could do. It wasn't like she hated the Grisha. She just thought that they didn't need to be put on parade. There was no reason for them to be a sort of sideshow.

Anastasia slipped out of the throne room of the little palace. The noise of the music and the endless chatter allowed for her to be silent, despite the harsh clicking noise of her heels on the tiled floors.

She could not lose herself completely in the crowd. Others moved out of the way for her, occasional bows were thrown her way while others tried to speak with her about some piece of political jargon that she didn't particularly care about. She was certain that they were only speaking to her because they thought she had her father's ear. It would be quite a shock to them when they realized that she didn't. She had no say in anything political. She was not allowed in council meetings.

All she was was the pretty princess. The one they could trade for marriage and gain political allies through. It was quite aggravating if anyone were to ask for her opinion. Which they more than likely wouldn't. No one ever did.

She kept her head held high, her chin pointed just slightly to show she knew who she was and what power she held, as she walked down the hallways and through the crowds. She rounded a corner, her brow furrowing as she noticed something out of the ordinary.

A man in a guard's uniform. A man that she did not recognize.

Anastasia knew every guard in the palaces. She had trained with much of them under Nikolai's orders. They had treated her with respect and constantly allowed her to win while also ignoring her horrid aim. Seeing someone new at the winter fete? That was quite unlikely.

"Excuse me," her voice was soft, barely carrying above the noise of the music and idle chatter. Yet, anyone who knew the royal family would have stopped at her voice. The man kept walking for two steps before realizing his mistake.

Something was very wrong in the Little Palace. None of the guards should have continued walking. Not even the freshest of faces would have made that mistake.

She could tell that the man was cursing his mistake as he turned on his heel. There was a look in his eye. A glint of rage, of anxiety even. She would never wish to be the one that rage was directed against. His blue eyes seemed to stare into her soul, drowning her as though it were the depths of the sea or the Fold. His cheekbones were high, sharp enough that they might cut her if she were to touch them.

She ignored the thundering in her chest, her four-eighths time had become a sixteenth. Fast, quick, ready to jump into her throat.

The fact that his rage soon melted into the look of one of a new recruit did not help. His features still made him deadly, despite the innocence that he had schooled into his features. Anastasia was someone who wore a mask every day of her life. She had gotten rather good at figuring out who was faking things. She had found different ways to discern who wore a mask and who wore their true face. It was normally in the eyes, in the quirk of their lips, the slightest motion of the eyebrows. There was always a tell.

It didn't matter who wore the mask.

"Your Highness," he bowed somewhat awkwardly. It was almost as though there was something wrong with him. Like he had been hurt before or like he found it difficult to bow before anyone. Perhaps he thought himself a king in his own right. "May I help you?"

His Ravakan was somewhat harsh, the syllables not coming out as easily as they would for a native speaker. She didn't think that was a warning sign. If they had needed more guards, they would have looked to recent immigrants. They'd be too happy to work for the palace and send money back to their families. She just wondered where exactly he was from. The accent didn't seem to be anywhere she could place.

It was too prim for Kerch and too gentle for Fjerda. Maybe he was from Novi Zem, but he didn't have the air. She figured she would find out later. Now was not the time to question anything as simple as where his accent stemmed from. That would be a conversation for later.

"You're new," she said as she stepped forward. She did not step close enough to be within his personal bubble, just enough so that he could hear her without straining himself. "I haven't seen you on the grounds before." She had not sparred with him before. It was just improper for her to say so with the entirety of the court present.

He cleared his throat once, as though he was unsure how to approach her. Or maybe just the topic at hand.

”They’ve had me preparing for tonight for the last few weeks,” he said it casually, as though it were nothing but the truth. It should have been. No one would have been fool enough to break into the palaces on the one night when everyone was on high alert.

At least, that’s what they had all been led to believe. There was no telling if this was the truth or not. No telling if they were actually safe or if they were all just pawns in someone’s chess game.

Anastasia was prone to believing one over the other.

”I see,” her eyes blazed as she looked at him, not daring to back down from his soulful gaze. “Well, in any case, I like to be well acquainted with my guards, Mr?”

”Vanzin,” he said quickly. He no longer looked nervous, the name fell smoothly from his lips. “Nikolai Vanzin.”

”Nikolai?”

”My mother thought it would be lucky to name me after a prince,” his cheeks heated slightly, enough to make her believe the excuse.

”Very well then, Mr. Vanzin. I will see you later then.”

“I’ll be here all night, Your Highness.”

A small smile crossed Anastasia’s lips at that, a gleam in her eye that had nothing to do with mischief and everything to do with the new handsome guard. “I expect to see you on the training field tomorrow.” She did not wait for his answer as she turned away.

Anastasia did not notice the scowl that crossed Vanzin’s face, nor did she notice as he slipped unnoticed into the crowd. Vanzin soon becoming nothing more than a ghost.

A ghost who went by the name of Kaz Brekker.

#six of crows #shadow and bone #grishaverse #kaz brekker #kaz x oc #mobster x princess #kaz x princess #kaz steals an emerald #nikolai lantsov #lantsov emerald #vasily lantsov #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #grisha netflix #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfiction #i'm not sorry #brought over from my quotev

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sometimes-iwritestuff · 4 years ago

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Splash!

Kara was in the zone before she even stepped onto the poolside. It was the National Diving Championships and Kara had been training upwards of 30 hours a week, her season had been great.

She was one of the best 10m platform divers in the country, a shoe in for a spot on the National Team, heading to the World Championships in a few weeks. All she had to do was secure a spot on the podium in this competition, not that she’d be happy with anything else than gold.

The only competitor she really had to worry about was Lena fucking Luthor: she was a member of Metropolis Diving Club and had been Kara’s arch rival since they began

competing more than 10 years ago. Of course National City Diving Club was the best club in the country, no competition, in Kara’s eyes but MDC were up there among the best, majority of the National Team trained in Metropolis.

“Hey, Danvers.” Kara rolled her eyes, she could already hear the smirk in Lena’s voice. She stopped riffling through her bag and turned, scowl permanently fixed on her face. “Aww, don’t do that, you’ll give yourself wrinkles.” Lena pouted.

“What do you want, Luthor?” Kara sighed.

“I just came to wish you good luck. You’re going to need it.” She paired the condescending statement with a sweet smile.

“Shouldn’t you be over there with your team, Luthor?” Alex said, coming to her sisters aid.

“Do you always let your sister fight your battles for you?” Lena pouted, Kara growled and took a step towards her. Lena just laughed, not intimidated at all by Kara “The Human Puppy” Danvers. She tapped her on the nose and sauntered away, swinging her hips.

“You always let her rile you up,” Alex groaned.

“Yes, Alex! I’m very aware of that fact, but she is incredibly fucking irritating!”

“Kara!” J’onn chided, he looked at the floor. Kara growled through her gritted teeth and dropped onto the floor to do her set of push-ups, she kept her eyes on Lena who was stretching across the poolside.

She was shorter than Kara, her body the perfect mixture of hard muscle and soft curves, not the traditional body type for a diver which meant she had to work extra hard to make sure she was perfect.

Kara was tall and muscular with long, lean legs and a natural talent for the sport. That didn’t mean she didn’t work as hard, Kara was the most dedicated athlete on the team, she adored the sport and would put in the same amount of effort in the dryland as she did in the pool.

“Maybe, don’t stare at her the entire time. You’re giving her the wrong impression,” Alex smirked.

“I’m not staring, I’m channelling all my disdain towards her.” Kara muttered, shooting dangers towards Lena who was stripping her team tracksuit off.

“Just don’t let her get to you. This is your last chance to show everyone how talented you are, just compete a solid list and you’ll earn your spot on the National Team.” Alex squeezed her shoulders and Kara nodded.

They warmed up and Kara grabbed her shammy from her bag, heading up to the highest board, ready to start her final training session. Lena was already up there, pressing up into a perfect back armstand and Kara definitely did not stare at her ass while she was doing it.

Kara ran through her dive list twice before getting out of the pool and finishing her session, heading to the showers so she had plenty of time to get changed. She let the warm water run over her muscles, relaxing them, she rolled her neck and shook out each of her limbs. She was feeling loose and limber, fully prepared for the competition.

She heard that distinct giggle and every muscle in her body tensed up again, Lena and her best friend/synchro partner Sam Arias rounded the corner. Kara immediately grabbed her stuff and went to leave before Lena wound her up again.

“Going so soon, Danvers?” Lena teased, Kara didn’t say anything she just scowled at the pair. “You know, your list is really shaping up this season, now you might be able to keep up for once.” Lena ducked under the spray and ran her hands over her hair.

“What are you talking about? I’m the defending champion and my list has been higher in difficulty than yours for the past three years.” Kara spat, Lena may be her toughest competitor but she wasn’t unbeatable.

“Yeah, but your season hasn’t been the best,” Lena snickered. “You’re inward 3-1/2 has been... below par. We both know the only reason you choose that dive is because you need the extra DD.” Sam giggled at the remark.

“Whatever, Luthor, we’ll see who’s on top at the end of the day,” Kara stormed out of the showers before they could see the blush coating her cheeks and went to get changed.

She put her headphones on and laid on the poolside, there were three more competitions before hers, she put a podcast on and relaxed. Alex woke her up just as the third competition started, it was a small one so she made her way to the dryland to begin her warm up.

In a short amount of time it was time for the parade, Lena was too occupied with her own preparations that she didn’t have time to irritate Kara. They both had their own competition routines which meant they didn’t have any interaction during the event.

They’re lists were both relatively the same with only one difference: Lena competed inward 2-1/2 somersaults pike and Kara chose the slightly harder dive: inward 3-1/2 somersaults tuck. It was more of a risk but Kara knew she could score 9’s most of the time.

They were pretty much neck at neck up until the last two rounds of dives, five points separated the top two spots. Kara managed to score 9’s on her dive, Lena on the other hand, scored perfect 10’s, grinning as she climbed out of the pool, knowing she had nailed it.

It all came down to the last dive: front 3-1/2 somersaults pike. They were neck and neck, Kara was ahead by just 3 points due to her higher dive difficulty. Kara took a deep breath and set off on her run up, she knew as soon as she hit the water that she’d over rotated slightly, she could feel it on the back of her calves. Kara scored 8’s, it was a solid score but she knew it would be close.

She watched with bated breath as Lena measured her run up, she ran her shammy over her face once more before throwing it down to the pool side. Lena closed her eyes and visualised the dive going perfectly, she set off and Kara felt her stomach drop and Lena entered the water with a perfect rip entry.

Lena Luthor was the new Women’s Platform National Champion.

“Well done, Kara.” Alex gave her a hug, Kara could help but feel disappointed, silver was still an incredible accomplishment but it wasn’t the spot she wanted. “2nd is still something to be incredibly proud of and the National Team would be stupid not to take you.” Kara nodded, “now, go get your jacket on. They’re presenting the medals in a moment.”

Lena was elated, Sam swept her up in a tight hug, congratulating her over and over again. Lena couldn’t keep the wide grin off her face, smiling from the moment they announced that she’d won the title, all the way to the moment she locked the door of her private shower cubicle. Her team mates knew that she needed time alone after a competition to decompress and reflect on her performance, no matter where she placed.

She heard a soft knock on the door and she opened it to tell Sam she would be out soon.

Instead she was met with bright, blue eyes. She allowed Kara to slip inside the cubicle and pull her into a tight hug, “congratulations, baby. I’m so proud of you,” Kara mumbled into her ear.

“Thank you,” she sighed, it had been a gruelling year for Lena, she was at the pool every single day working as hard as she could and it had finally paid off. It was just a shame that for Lena to win, her favourite person had to lose. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to retain your title.”

“Hey, no, we agreed to leave it in the pool, remember? Besides, you’ve worked your perfect ass off for this title, you deserve it.” Lena chuckled and captured her lips in an earth-shattering kiss, it had been months since they’d last seen each other.

They broke away to catch their breath and Lena looped her arms around Kara’s neck. “Just three more months.” Kara hummed, holding her close.

In three months, Lena would be moving to National City for college and they could finally be together. Lena’s family were incredibly strict, they were hell-bent on their daughter being the Olympic Champion one day. That meant no distractions and no dating, oh and they were also incredibly homophobic so Kara wouldn’t be invited to Thanksgiving any time soon.

The young couple had to pretend to hate each other until Lena could move away for college. They had an agreement that any mean comment they said to each other, they really meant the exact opposite. Kara got so wound up because she couldn’t go up to her girlfriend and wish her good luck or give her reassurance without saying something horrible to her.

“You dived so well today, you don’t have to worry about getting picked.” Lena kissed up to her ear. Lena had already been chosen for the team and they were both still nervously waiting to hear if Kara had a spot.

“What if I don’t?” Kara mumbled.

“Then I’ll sneak you into my suitcase and they’ll have to pick you,” she heard Kara’s small chuckle. “I love you, darling.”

“I love you too.” Kara whispered back.

They had started off hating each other, their clubs had the worst rivalry in the country and the pair were always pitted against one another. Up until two years ago when Lena had placed third at a local competition and Kara had found her crying in the stairwell after her mother had yelled at her. Lena had told her to go away but Kara hated seeing her beautiful, green eyes look so sad. She was so used to them being filled with mirth and mischief, instead of leaving she pulled her into a hug and held Lena’s shaking body. From then on they were friendly to each other, they were still competitive but the comments weren’t as harsh. Until one particular meet when Lena cornered her in the showers and accused her of deliberately putting her off during her final dive. They’re heated argument quickly turned into an, equally as heated, make-out session.

***

Kara was stood in the shower, basking in the glory of her third win this season when Lena came storming into the showers, tears in her eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Kara grabbed her elbow, but Lena pushed her away.

“Just get away from me! This is all your fault,” Kara was taken aback.

“Whaa? What do you mean it’s my fault?” Kara accused, she furrowed her brow and stepped closer to Lena.

“You whistled during my last dive, you put me off!” She yelled, pressing a finger against Kara’s chest.

Kara scoffed, “oh my God. I didn’t put you off! You lost! Get over it.” She said through gritted teeth. Lena didn’t just lose, she came fourth, she hadn’t not medalled in years, her parents were going to kill her. In return, she was going to kill Kara.

“You’re such an asshole! I thought we were friends now,” Lena had gone from teary eyed to full blown rage in less than a second.

“Your head is so far up your own ass, you can’t handle the fact that you messed up on you own!” Kara yelled back.

“I hate you!”

“I hate you more!” They were so close that Kara could see one of her green eyes was slightly blue, she surged forward and captured Lena’s lips in a bruising kiss. Lena let out a squeak of surprise before kissing her back feverishly. Kara gripped her hips and pulled her closer, Lena moaned into her mouth, tugging on her hair. Kara spun her around and backed her up against the tiled wall, she cupped Lena’s face and ran her tongue across her bottom lip.

Lena suddenly stopped and pushed at her shoulders, “I can’t, I’m sorry.” Lena said, breathless. She tried to brush past Kara but the blonde stopped her.

“Wait. Don’t go, please. I’m sorry if I went too far, I just-“

“Kara, it’s okay, you didn’t go too far. It’s just my parents don’t approve of... this.” She gestured between the two of them.

“Screw them! Do you want this?” Kara circled her wrists and ducked her head to look into Lena’s eyes. She searched her eyes and dropped her gaze down to her parted lips.

“Yes,” Kara backed away, leading Lena towards the shower cubicle. She locked the door and recaptured her lips.

***

After that day, Kara had asked for Lena’s number and the rest was history.

They still had to keep up the facade until Lena moved, but Kara quite enjoyed the sneaking around, it meant she could have Lena all to herself and with everyone knowing she was off limits already, she didn’t have to worry about anyone else trying to worm their way in. Not that it would worry her anyway, Lena was head over heels for Kara and vice versa.

“You think you can sneak out of your hotel tonight?” Kara asked.

“Mhmm, Sam is usually out like a light after a day of competing,” Kara began swaying slightly, soothing the girl in her arms.

“Meet you in the parking lot at 9?” Kara suggested, Lena nodded. “It’s a date and I can’t wait to spoil the new National Champion!” Kara grinned.

#kara danvers #lena luthor #lena x kara #supercorp #supercorp fanfic #supercorp fic #supercorp au #diving #diving au #the diving au no one asked for but I wrote anyway #secret relationship #honestly the lack of creativity or effort that went into that name

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dontloseyourpants · 4 years ago

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If pantsing was an Olympic sport, what would you want the rules to be? Do you feel that you could win a gold medal in it?

Okay, this one took some thinking, because there’s a lot of ways to approach it. But it’s fun. It gets a little long, so be aware. Come join me down below for some speculation and a couple of handy pictures to help hold your attention

First, in order for a sport to be included by the Olympics, it must be recognized by the IOC, and in order to be recognized by the IOC, it must be governed by an International Federation. This part isn’t super detailed, anti-doping guidelines, etc. I don’t think doping will be an issue, so let’s move on to being recognized as an Olympic sport.

When petitioning to be an Olympic sport, there are a few checks that need to be hit, so to speak. First of all, the sport must be practiced on at least 4 different continents, in at least 75 countries. I mean, barring any official rules, yeah, that one’s a gimme. Next, the sport must increase the “appeal and/or value” of the Olympics. This is a little up to interpretation, but hunky guys in underwear? I think that fits. I think it fits. There’s also some shit about tradition. Whatever. Tradition is dumb, skip it.

Also, the minimum age to compete in the Olympics is 16. For the purposes of these games, we’ll set a minimum of 18, of course, maybe even bump it up to 20, tbh.

Two other things that won’t necessarily come up but might be worth noting is that “mind game” sports are not allowed. This is why Chess is recognized as a sport by the IOC but not allowed at the Olympics. Also, motorized based sports are not allowed, which is why any racing event involving cars isn’t allowed. I can’t imagine any pantsing based sport using a motor, so I don’t think that one will be an issue.

So, no we’re on to the main question, how is the sport held? Let’s run down some options.

First, a lot of us know that clip from the talk show where they try to pants a lot of guys in a short amount of time. That one used five guys lined up, I think, like seven might be a bit more exciting. The problem here is consistency. Not just clothing, but height, weight, control, etc. But assuming you give everyone the same clothes, it’s probably the most straightforward answer. A simple “most pantsings in x amount of time.”

Second, we could do something more akin to subjective categories. Think of stuff like gymnastics, where scores are based more off of form and expression. This is the hardest, and probably the weakest one, because we wouldn’t want competitors to bring in anything else, since we don’t want money or resources to be too big of a factor. There’s really only so many ways you can pants someone, but as a thought exercise, it’s a fun idea

Third, there are one on one style sports, like wrestling. This is another one that gets points for simplicity, pants the other one first to get a point, pants must go past the bottom of the knee to count. First to three points wins. This one has some variance too, a la the first example, but this time the variance is on the hands of the competitors, which feels like it’s fair to me. Also, according to the olympics website, wrestling is generally regarded as the oldest sport. Which makes sense, you don’t need any equipment to practice.

Last, we could do something like a group vs group sport, in this case, maybe a spin on rugby since that sport already has so many pantsings. But now we get to the complicated part, how is it done?

I’m imaging two teams of 6 guys each. Now if it’s just “go nuts and pants each other for whatever amount of time,” well, that’d be fun to watch, but it doesn’t have much in terms of strategy or excitement. So let’s give them roles, ala roller derby.

We’ll say there are three ‘gold’ members. We’ll call them sharks. In order to score a point, you have to pants them, and to keep them in the throes of things, in order to score a point, they have to be the one doing the pantsing as well.

Then we have three ‘grey’ members. We’ll call them pilots. They’re like bodyguards for the sharks. Help guide them around the field to the other team’s sharks. No points for pantsing them. However, they can’t run again unless their pants are up, so there’s still a strategic advantage to pantsing them.

We’ll say whenever a shark does get pantsed, then we reset the field. This way they can’t just stand around with their pants down to avoid another pantsing. While I would hope they wouldn’t do that, and they’d properly enjoy the spirit of the game, sometimes these rules have to be put in place to stop the spoilsports.

Also, no bonus if the underwear comes down too other than the satisfaction of a job well done

As for could I get the gold? No. not in any of these, I’m not very athletic, nor coordinated. But bring me in as a judge if they ever try the second one. I’m not saying I’m the number 1 pantsing expert in the world, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m top 10. So like, let me judge. I’m an authority, more or less.

I know you guys don’t read much of my short asks, or even just the title on the posts sometimes, but if you read this far, let me know what you think. How would you handle olympic pantsing? Would you compete?

#ask

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cheri-translates · 4 years ago

Text

[CN] Victor’s R&S - So-called Disparity (Eng Translation)

🍒This R&S (“所谓差距”) will not be released in EN or any server as it’s one of the cancelled R&S which came with the Dream Heart Lake gacha event!🍒

This is a full translation, so you can follow along with the narrator if you want to!

Summary: Goldman recognises that the gap between him and Victor isn't actually that large - it simply spans the Amazon River.

Cancelled Victor R&S:

> flashback

> six out of seventeen

> paradise on earth

[ Chapter 1 ]

Goldman entered that university as the third highest scorer in his entire province. Before that, he always felt like students who jumped off buildings in high school were mentally weak, and were making a fuss out of nothing. It was only after entering university that he knew how blessed he was to be a frog in the well.

Goldman has always had a pretty good mentality. A normal person would require a semester to get used to the psychological gap of being a big fish in a small pond instead of a small fish in a large pond. However, Goldman only needed two weeks - to be more exact, thirteen days, to adjust.

In his own words, it was something like this: “There is sky above the tallest mountain, and there is land under the deepest sea. This is very normal. I’ll never do something which puts me at a loss like jumping off a building. I, Goldman, have an eighty year old mother and an eighteen year old girlfriend--” before he could finish speaking, the neighbouring scholar snatched the reins of the conversation.

“I couldn’t tell at all. Just because you say something, it doesn’t mean it’s true. Show me a photograph!” The air in the surroundings of the dormitory, which was originally full of pretension, was altered by Goldman’s words.

In a sense, Goldman had a talent for being a “coordinator”.

The first time he heard of the name “Victor”, Goldman had experienced life as a university student for a month.

“Do you know the guy from 207? The one from the economics department... I can’t remember his name right now, but he’s the one who dresses very stylishly and always has a group of ladies running behind him.”

“Ah, I’ve seen that guy before. I think his surname is Gu. What about it?”

Goldman continued cutting voting slips for the student union, but his ears had long since developed a mind of their own, eavesdropping on the two people engaging in idle conversation.

“He seems to have invested in a business run by a few third year students, and they even promised to return him thrice the principal amount in a month.”

“It’s obviously a trap.”

“Let me finish. I originally thought so too, but that guy actually bought a new car!”

“Could his family be wealthy to begin with? Come to think of it, being able to buy a car means the amount he invested as a principal sum must have been quite a lot.”

“Who knows. Anyway, he has been advertising for those third year students recently.”

“Are you stirred?”

“I am, but it was a recruitment for an intern assistant. The opportunity to earn thrice the amount is gone, tch tch tch.”

“If you think about it, If we could learn how to earn thrice the principal amount, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to be an intern.”

“It’s not rare to see such businesses come to a premature end halfway. What if you end up wasting your time if you can’t prove that you did an internship there?”

“That’s true. Also, I’m not even certain what it is they do... it feels a little weird and scary.”

The speaker didn't mean it, but the listener heard it. That night, Goldman knocked on the 207 dormitory, and heard the name “Victor” from the man whose surname was Gu.

Even though he just experienced the blow of seeing a Gold Olympiad medal in the room of this scholar, Goldman was not to be trifled with. If other people didn’t dare to test the waters, he won’t be the first one to stupidly try.

Which is why in the following year, Goldman adopted a wait-and-see attitude.

[ Chapter 2 ]

Goldman interacted with Victor in person in his sophomore year, after he thought to look for an internship.

At that time, the newly established company which was still in its incubation stage was not Goldman’s first choice. But as a full-time sophomore, it was difficult to guarantee the prerequisite GPA in order to receive an offer from the top 500 companies. Which is why decided to try knocking on the doors of the new company.

At first, what went through Goldman’s mind was - if this company was unable to develop, he’d just go somewhere else. After all, there was still time to find other internships.

In the end, halfway through the interview, Goldman realised that the issue wasn’t whether he wanted to join the company, but whether it was willing to give him a fighting chance. Those who fluently recited their prepared lines and rehearsed repeatedly said that they failed to be accepted into the small company called “LFG”.

In actuality, Goldman’s self-introduction was cut short not even after thirty seconds, by a sharp-eyed man with short black hair.

“I only have one question. What will you do?”, with an emphasis on the word “you”.

Goldman noticed that when the young interviewer asked this question, the other interviewer had a hand to his forehead.

“Huh?”

In just two seconds, Goldman was left dumbfounded. However, as a student leader from the student union for such a long time, he reacted quickly after a slight pause, and started talking grandiloquently about his experience of attracting financial support for businesses.

This was an experience Goldman felt proud of and thought could prove his capabilities, which was why he was full of confidence as he talked about it.

He didn’t expect that... it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the interviewer, who, at a glance, looked like he wasn’t good to get along with.

“I’m asking what you, Goldman, will do.” It wasn’t even a question this time. Separated across the table, Goldman could easily sense the other party’s brimming impatience.

“Ah, Goldman, don’t be anxious. What Victor means is that if you weren’t endorsed by the school, do you think that company would still support you? And what is the reason for that?”

Thanks to the other interviewer, Goldman’s interview could continue.

When Goldman left the company, whatever impression he had of that “saviour” was merely an outline - his short hair was dyed brown, and he looked pretty easy to get along with. Apart from that... he couldn't remember anything.

The thing he remembered was that sharp gaze, that impatient tone, and that emphasis on “you”.

Oh, so that’s Victor.

Always observant, one moment didn’t slip past Goldman: the interviewer with the genial expression looked at the CV on the desk before calling his name.

But Victor didn’t.

On hindsight, Goldman wasn’t sure how he managed to pass the interview. Perhaps it was because Victor chose based on impressions?

Just like the moment he met Victor in person - even though he was stunned by Victor’s aura, there was a sense of expectancy and admiration in his heart.

Vice versa - Did Victor also experience something back then - a shred of “good feeling” which explained why he allowed Goldman to pass the interview?

But Goldman would never have the courage to verify the answer to this question with Victor.

Even more so when the reputation of LFG grew, causing Goldman’s courage, which wasn’t very large to begin with, to shrink even further.

[ Chapter 3 ]

In the year of his graduation, Goldman had a few choices:

One - pursue postgraduate studies in his major as the top of his class. Two - accept one of the offers from the world’s top 500 firms. Three - continue staying in LFG and working together with Victor.

Goldman eliminated the first option - he was in no mood for further studies. Back then, the reason why he entered the country’s top university was to find a good job in the future. Now, since he already had the second option in front of him, doing a postgraduate wouldn’t mean anything to him.

Goldman had a long struggle between the second and third options. He even specially called his parents in his hometown to seek their opinions.

“Being a trainee is essentially meant to train me to become part of the management in the future. If I go to that company, I just have to work hard and one day, I’ll make it big.”

“Mm, and a large platform means a stable job, and a broadened view. As for the salary... it’s around this amount at the start.”

“If I stay at my current company? I’d probably continue getting scolded by my boss every day. Although the prospects aren’t bad, it might close down anytime.”

“Boss? Oh, actually, he’s a senior who’s older than me by two years. I’ve interacted with him for two years, and he’s all right, just that his temper is a little bad.”

“How do I have a bad temper? Mum, you have no idea that compared to him, your son is piteous little sheep who hasn’t even learned how to hurt someone!”

“And I wasn’t mistreated or bullied. Your son’s skin is tough like iron! It’s not like you don’t know it. Also, I'm not the only one who gets scolded by him. If he only scolds me or can’t tolerate me, why would I follow him? Your son isn’t that silly.”

“Anyway... I feel that following him has enabled me to learn quite a lot of things. I’ve also thought about it - to use my youth to give it a try, and if I really can’t do it, I’ll find another job.”

“My classmates from different fields? They’re either inheriting a business, or going overseas for advanced studies, and can’t give me any advice at all.”

“I’ve been so worried these two days. Mum, which one should I pick?”

Talking garrulously on the phone, Goldman was best described as “a baffled person on the scene.”

[Note] The first part of an idiom is used here - “当局者迷，旁观者清”, which loosely translates to “The person at the scene is baffled, but the onlooker sees clearly. It refers to how outsiders tend to have a better perspective on matters.

He was completely unaware that he had already made an important decision during his discussion with his mother.

[ Chapter 4 ]

Although Goldman had indeed made a decision after graduation that only a hot-blooded youth would, he wasn’t the type of person to get frenetically excited over something.

As a man, he even allowed himself to wallow in a gloomy mood for a few days each month. This “dejection every month” became all the more inevitable when his understanding of Victor gradually deepened.

At the very beginning, he wanted to learn things from Victor, and from LFG. Honestly speaking, Victor did teach him how to get multiple returns on a principal sum in a short period of time, and he was also exposed to the many rules of the market. But there were still many things that he just couldn’t get a hold of no matter how hard he tried.

For example, strategising. For example, structuring.

The gap between himself and Victor... how should he put it, it wasn’t that large - it simply spanned the Amazon River. Even though the gap wasn’t as frightening as the Mariana Trench, it was still a distance that he couldn’t cross through sheer hard work.

How did the proverb go? All roads lead to Rome, but some people were born in Rome. Whether it was Victor’s thinking or his vision, these were things Goldman couldn’t learn.

Sometimes, he felt discouraged when thinking about it. Despite being born into a good life and having handsome features, Victor was still so hardworking. In that case, was there even a point for a normal person like Goldman to work hard?

On one particular day, when he was harbouring such a dejected feeling, he accidentally spilt coffee outside Victor’s office. To make matters worse, Victor was sitting in the office, witnessing the scene of the coffee being overturned.

Goldman was certain that he would get chewed out by Victor: Just like the time when he made a mistake and missed an underselling opportunity, had an incorrect financial leverage, and pasted wrong labels on documents, etc...

Or maybe he’d hear a clicking of the tongue, or receive a glare. But he never expected that this time, Victor’s response only comprised of four words: To err is human.

“Boss, are you talking to me?” At that time, Victor was not yet LFG’s CEO.

“...who else? Would I be talking to myself?”

Oh, it’s that familiar tone and familiar taunting, there’s nothing wrong - that was what the junior thought.

“Boss, are you in an especially good mood today?” At that time, Goldman was not yet as overcautious as he is.

“...I guess so.” A pause followed. When the senior opened his mouth again, it was uncertain whether it was an invitation or not. “The company going public is something that is more or less done discussing. When the time comes, I’ll need a CEO assistant.”

Such a light tone caused both parties to involuntary think of what happened during the interview a few years ago.

“...if you do that again.” his gaze was cast towards the mess on the floor. Victor’s tone was as calm as always. “I’ll do an external recruitment.”

Only after three seconds did Goldman understand what Victor was saying.

In just three seconds, the Amazon River became the limpid, clear stream outside his old home.

In this mirror-like stream, Goldman suddenly saw himself clearly:

Actually, Goldman had never sought to possess Victor’s air of a monarch.

To him, it was enough to be acknowledged by such a “king”.

After three seconds, apart from “dejection every month”, this little assistant had another motivation to press on.

Other cancelled R&S: here

Lucien’s cancelled R&S (by other user): here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc victor #cncancelled #Goldman why do you use so many idioms T^T #mlqc goldman

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thoughts-on-bangtan · 4 years ago

Note

This isn’t really an ask but I wanted to share something I was thinking about with you guys who show your sincere love/admiration for BTS in all you post —

Watching the past BTS Run episodes and the behind videos makes me feel a certain way not only because we get to see the boys relax and have fun (even if they get frustrated a bit haha *looking at HS and JM*), but also because I wonder how often they got to play around and do these kinds of things during the age most people do? I’d say teens and early-20s is the age when we do silly things like play mini games with friends, go to amusement parks for the first time, take a stab at cooking — and yet they were working their hardest and truly shedding blood, sweat, and tears during that time (thinking about JK makes me incredibly soft because he really started young). This show really just allows them to have fun. And it’s frustrating to see that others called the show terrible and said it was something the boys were forced to do and didn’t truly enjoy (the article saying otherwise was a blessing).

Watching “special guests” also be on the show I think highlights this feeling (of them enjoying doing these kinds of things) even more! You can see the excited ness and almost shy manners when they have others on (the voice acting, T1, and recent cooking ep come to mind). I’m looking forward to future episodes! Are there any things/games/themes you’d like to see the boys do on a BTS Run episode?

(Ah, sorry, I guess there is an ask — only if you two wish to answer it!)(Catch me listening to Young Forever now in my feels 😭)

I’ve been sitting on this ask forever and I’m really sorry for that! Especially since it’s such a good one, so thank you so much for sending it in. Maybe that’s why it took me so long, since I kind of wanted to think about it a little and offer something (hopefully) good as response.

RUN certainly offers them a bit of time in their schedules to just be silly together, play mini games and other things they normally wouldn’t really be able to do in their own time, like the zombie game episode or try a flower class. In one of the episodes of Break the Silence Yoongi spoke about how things that are mundane for us are special to them since they don’t get to do them without putting thought into how to pull it off; Seokjin spoke about how while his friends said that he’ll never have to worry about rent, he argued that while that may be true, they will never have to worry about something as trivial as walking down the street, or in one of the Bring the Soul (if I remember currently) episodes where Seokjin was apologetic about wanting to visit the zoo in Berlin since it meant that he had to take so many people with him since they were abroad, though it’s less of an issue while they’re in Korea it seems.

It’s curious how different that experience is for the members though, I mean, just look at their vacation in 2019 and how different it went for Namjoon and Jimin. While Jimin was quickly discovered and followed in Paris and Russia, Namjoon toured through Europe in a way that while ARMY from the respective countries knew about it, they kept it so low key everyone else had no idea until Namjoon posted about it himself. On the other hand, except for their finishing trip, we have no idea what Yoongi did during their vacation, or Hobi besides his CNS collab.

But, generally, it’s rather clear that none of the members would be able to just show up at Everland (an amusement park in Korea, the place where they filmed the America’s Got Talent performance of Dynamite) and have a good time without immediately being spotted, or having to heavily rely on disguises (and likely still worry about it not being enough and what would happen if they were discovered, therefore defeating the entire point of going to a place like that in the first place).

There are two sides to every medal. While yes they had and continue to have to give up on certain things, experiences and freedoms that seem so normal to the average person, something we don’t even have to think about much or can just do whenever we want (like going to the cinema at peak hours or go to McDonald’s (even one of the TXT members couldn’t do that without pictures being secretly taken of him and posted on sns and TXT isn’t nearly as famous as BTS)), they also gain a lot in terms of money but also experiences no one but them will have in such a way. They get to live their dream of being artists, of giving giant concerts all across the globe, of sharing their music with millions of people and bringing us happiness and comfort when we need it most.

More below the cut:

In one of the episodes of Bring the Soul Tae spoke about how they had the opportunities to go higher quicker, but they refused, wanted to do things their own way in their own time. It isn’t like they’ve lost control of their lives, like they wouldn’t be able to do things if they truly wanted—after all in the Bring the Soul episode where Seokjin went to the Zoo, Hobi could also walk around in the area close to the arena where they performed largely without being bothered (which might be due to his heavy disguise and security, but you get the point)—but there are limitations, and in a way, it really is a shame, but at the end of the day, many of these things are ones they’ll still be able to do whenever their fame will calm down, or fade away one day in the future. Cinemas and flower classes and amusement parks won’t just disappear, and they are certainly things you can still do once you’re thirty or forty years old, or even older than that.

But, going back to RUN, the show certainly offers them the opportunity to not have to wait until their fame passes, gives them a chance to experience and try things while also sharing that with us, work and pleasure at once. Though it’s clear that perhaps filming episodes isn’t always at the top of their priorities and I can imagine there are things they’d sometimes rather do—I mean episodes that we’ve seen being filmed in hotel rooms between concerts where I’m sure they’d rather spend the day relaxing, though they likely still prefer filming RUN over giving yet another boring and mindless interview in English, since let’s be honest, those aren’t…great, usually.

When it comes to guests on RUN, be it in form of people like the T1 members or instructors like the tennis players or the auntie teaching them how to make kimchi, it’s always so funny to me to see how humble they are about their own fame, how they get all shy as though they are meeting someone exceedingly famous instead of them being the most famous people in any room they enter. Looking at how they speak of their goals and achievements, it’s easy to see though that they’ve carefully worked on not allowing their fame to get to their heads, to remain grounded and as connected to reality as possible despite being them and how different their lives are from those of normal people. I mean, how many of us can say they were mobbed while trying to buy an iPad?

It's also so beautiful and remarkable to me how people who have met them spoke about them, like Isaac the florist who spoke about how interested they all were in the flowers and truly participated and listened, that they were extremely friendly, kind and polite, and if that doesn’t sound like Bangtan, I don’t know what does. I think this is also one of the reasons why they managed to get to where they are now, why they are so strong as a group, why they still enjoy spending time together, still manage to get even closer and deepen their friendships even after a decade has passed—they’ve remained human despite everything they’ve gone through, despite the heights they keep on reaching, despite all the awards and achievements, the number ones and sold out tours.

Tae said the following about V and his relation to Kim Taehyung in Break the Silence: Persona (the movie):

I think V can show parts of Kim Taehyung and parts of V, but Kim Taehyung can’t show V. Kim Taehyung is Kim Taehyung. Kim Taehyung is someone who’s still filled with a lot of curiosity and he’s inquisitive about a lot of things. There are so many things he wants to do. Also I think there’s so many things he is curious about.

This is the important stuff, and while I don’t have such quotes for the other members, I’m sure it’s true for them as well. Even after all this time Tae is still curious about the world, still has things he’d like to do, he’s still himself even while he stands on stage as V, hasn’t lost himself to the stage persona and the fame. We know Namjoon had a whole crisis about where RM ends and Kim Namjoon begins, and if they really are two separate things, if Namjoon even still exists or if RM has taken over his personality. I’m sure all of them had their respective moment of trying to determine who they are as people, who they are as artists, and who they want to be when they look in the mirror, how to not lose the person below the persona. We’ve also had Jungkook question his worth outside of being a BTS member, something I’m sure all of them also experienced in one way or another since it seems like such an inevitable question to ask yourself after you’ve been part of a group for so long, and yet despite it all, they all still want to stay together as BTS for as long as they can, despite mixtapes and thoughts of wanting to at least be able/confident enough to lead a concert on their own (Jungkook BE Weverse interview).

RUN gives them a chance to be them, to have fun, to be silly, to not have to constantly be on guard, to have fun in an environment where they can feel safe and are surrounded by people who have been with them for a long time and have their best interest in mind as well. There was a whole Weverse Magazine article about it, which I also wrote a post about. And yet there are people who want to take this away from them because they don’t like it while disregarding what BTS themselves want. I won’t call them ARMY since most of them are solos/akgae/mantis, and those are anything but ARMY, they’re not even fans of the one member they claim to stan, are merely caricatures of “fans” who want to “save” them, or rather take control of their lives so BTS would act exactly how they want them to. It’s obsessive and wrong, and it crosses every line and boundary of what it means to be anyone’s fan. As fans it isn’t our job to decide what is and isn’t good for their careers. We don’t know anything about the industry, while they’ve been in it since 2010, and we know nothing about their contracts or what happens behind the scenes.

As long as they are happy and have fun, who are we to question it? I don’t know about you but Bangtan have looked nothing but happy and like they were having a good time in the last couple of episodes, even when they were frustrated because they couldn’t pass a game. After all learning tennis properly and over a longer period of time was their own idea, not anyone else’s, but that’s something those people don’t want to hear anything about or will just twist somehow to fit their narrative. It truly is a shame, but also, it’s their loss if they’d rather make themselves miserable than spend forty minutes laughing along with Bangtan as they’re trying to play the harmonica or trying to cook something with less than stellar cooking skills.

As for something I’d want to see them do on RUN, that’s tricky since there’s so much they’ve already done, but something that comes to mind would be even something as silly as sitting them down and having them try to recreate all the members, or one they chose at random, in The Sims 4. It could be hilarious, and we could see how differently they’d tackle something like it. Or have them decorate a house in Sims, which would be especially interesting with our resident lighting fixtures enthusiast Yoongi. Or maybe something to do with painting, like them attending a class or just attempting to draw the same object or person. (A2: maybe given them a wall and spray cans and have them do graffiti or a mural, or have them do each other’s hair and makeup (taking it serious, of course) for a photoshoot or something like that) Or maybe a Bangtan book club where they’d discuss the same book since it would be so interesting to see what different things each of the members would find in a book and their opinions etc.

The possibilities are endless and just like you I can’t wait to see what the future episodes of RUN will have, and especially the tennis match we’ll see in next week’s episode.

#answered ask #answered ask by admin 1 #BTS #RUN BTS #bangtan sonyeondan #discussion #Namjoon #Seokjin #Yoongi #Hoseok #Taehyung

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