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marvelstoriesepic · 4 months ago

Text

Ocean’s claim

Pairing: Lifeguard!Bucky x Amateur!Surfer!Reader

Summary: Seeking a thrill, your friend Natasha convinces you to go surfing during stormy weather conditions - a bad idea as you come to experience.

Word Count: 5.9k 🌊 🫧 💧

Warnings: Reader is a non-professional when it comes to surfing; vivid descriptions of near drowning; mentions of death; slight hypothermia

Author's note: Felt like some angst since my last fic was fluff city. (There is still some fluff in it because it’s me) I'm also already taking notes for a possible second part, so if you like this and would like to see some more, please let me know. 🩵

Masterlist

“Nat, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time in the past half hour, voice trembling with urgency.

Each step feels heavier than the last, your heart pounding in your chest as you draw closer to the beach. You barely hear the playful groan of the redhead in front of you over the howl of the wind whipping around you, making your ears ring uncomfortably and your eyes water slightly.

Natasha struts forward, strands of her hair dancing wildly in the gusts, but she doesn’t seem fazed by the worsening weather. She has her surfboard casually tucked under her arm as if it’s just another sunny day at the beach.

“Come on, buzzkill,” she calls back, her voice light, teasing. “This is the perfect time! Nobody out here to hog the waves.” She glances over her shoulder at you, grinning, eyes bright with excitement that only amplifies your anxiety.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your footing steady as a strong gust nearly knocks you off balance. Your own surfboard feels heavy in your arms, the wind tugging at it like it wants to rip it away from you. Grip tightening, the rough texture of the wax sticks against your palms as your fingers dig in, fighting for control.

The wind picks up as you feel the sand underneath.

Glancing at the sky there are dark, doomy clouds over the horizon, swirling like an angry beast ready to pounce. The ocean beneath them churns restlessly. The waves are massive, their white crest crashing unforgivingly against the shore, louder than normal, almost angry.

Jagged shards of shells skitter across the beach like lost treasures and the wind tugs the sand into tiny tornadoes. The beach is deserted, foreboding, and your heart squeezes at the way the waves crash with unruly vigor.

There is a warning in the air, heavy and electric and your body aches to listen. The hair at the back of your neck stands on end. Every instinct in your body is screaming at you to turn around, to leave before it’s too late.

“Nat!” you shout, your voice barely carrying over the deafening whistle of the wind. It comes out almost as a scream, your desperation clawing at your throat as you try to get across how badly this could end.

But Natasha just throws a glance over her shoulder, her face just as bright as moments before - resolute and unfazed - as if the danger you can practically taste doesn’t exist.

“Come on, Y/n, it’ll be fun!” she shouts back, her voice carried away by the wind before it fully reaches you. Her steps quicken as she nears the water, eagerness fueling her, despite the gusts pushing against you two. She’s practically running, buzzing with adrenaline, her surfboard bouncing under her arm as the storm closes in.

It had been Natasha's idea to come out here, of course. She loves chasing a thrill, convincing you that surfing under those weather conditions would help you two get skilled. “No crowds, no waiting, just us and the ocean.” It’s what she said.

Though the ocean doesn’t seem welcoming at all right now.

You knew she would have gone either way. If you agreed or not. That’s basically the only reason you’re here right now, because as reckless as she could be, there was no way you were going to let her walk into danger alone - or her grave as it seems.

You’re not a professional surfer - neither of you are. The two surfboards you’re clutching onto for dear life are borrowed, a generous loan from the instructor who had run the beginner’s surf class just last week. He’d been a laid-back guy, happy to hear you and Natasha were interested in keeping up with the sport.

Unfortunately though, when he let you take the boards, he couldn’t possibly have any idea that you’d be sneaking out to the beach in the middle of an impending storm.

How could he? This is crazy. The wind tears at your clothes forcefully and your stomach churns, knots replacing your insides.

You’re not ready for this. The boards surely aren’t made for such waves - neither are you for that matter. Your experience amounts to a few rides on gentle waves under the perfect conditions. But this? This is something else entirely.

You watch in dread as Nat wades into the water. She pauses briefly to recheck the leash wrapped around her ankle, the heavy surfboard snug against her body. Your heart races as you hold your breath, bracing yourself for what comes next.

For a fleeting moment, you survey the beach again, hoping against hope to spot someone, anyone, who might help knock some sense into her, to pull her back from the brink of this reckless decision.

The stretch of sand is empty save for the lifeguard’s wooden stand in the distance, its white rescue board secured to the side. You squint, trying to make out if there is someone inside, but the fog of the approaching storm blurs everything, and it’s impossible to tell. Even if there is someone, you’re sure he’d have difficulty to even catch sight of you and it’s too far to run.

You turn back toward the water but the second your eyes meet the rolling waves, a stone lodges in your throat, pushing your heart to the depths of your body. Panic flares up inside you.

She’s gone.

The spot where Natasha was just moments ago is empty, swallowed by the towering swells. The dark water rises and falls, chaotic and aggressive, and your friend is nowhere in sight. Terror seizes you, cold and sharp, tightening your chest as your mind boils over.

The ocean looks so alive, merciless, and indifferent, pulling her deeper, under, with every second that passes.

“Natasha!” you scream, voice raw with fear.

Your body moves before your mind can tell you otherwise, and there is no longer hesitation, no second-guessing as you run to the shoreline. Your legs pump through the sand, lungs protesting and you fight against the force of the wind with everything you have. It feels almost personal.

The freezing cold instantly numbs your legs as your body hits the water. You charge forward, the surf breaking against your thighs. The water threatens to knock you down with each shaky breath but you push deeper, ignoring the icy shock and the way the current pulls at you, fighting your balance.

Blood rushes in your ears, your heart hammering so loudly that it drowns out the roar of the ocean for a second.

Every pulse of the water feels like a living force, hurling you in every direction, a relentless barrage that leaves you gasping for control. The waves slam against you from all sides, tossing you like a leaf caught in a storm.

You grit your teeth, trying to remember what your instructor had taught you. “Don’t fight the waves, use them, move with the water. It’s your friend, not your enemy.”

Well, fuck that, because friendly feels different.

You try to stay calm, arms trembling as you cling to the board, the slick surface cold and uncomfortable under your fingertips.

With a desperate effort, you manage to stay on the board long enough to scream Natasha's name again, your voice strained and choked by the salty wind. Just then, another monstrous wave smashes into you, enveloping you in a wall of water. You’re plunged into darkness, swallowed whole by the chaos, and for a disorienting moment, this doesn’t even feel real anymore.

But then your head breaks the surface again and you gasp for a breath, lungs burning. You clutch the board with a grip so tight it sends sharp stings all the way to your fingertips. The rough surface digs into your palms but you’d be damned if you let go of that thing.

With every ounce of strength you can muster, Natasha’s name leaves your lips again but the sound is ripped away almost as soon as it leaves your throat, swallowed by the howling wind and the whizz of the waves. It feels like screaming into a void, hopeless and hollow.

Then another wave slams into you - so hard, you feel the entire impact - and you’re under again.

Cold water surrounds you, suffocating your head. Your vision is nothing but an unfocused blur and salt stings in your eyes. All sense of direction is once again lost on you, your body twisting in the currents. You feel like a ragdoll, losing all control you have.

Each wave drags you further from the shore, further from safety, and the cold grip of despair tightens around your heart.

Breaking the surface, you gasp like you’ve never breathed before. Each gulp of air is a frantic, panicked effort as if the wind might steal it from you at any second. Each breath that follows fills your body with urgency, littered with the stifling sensation of the sea.

A few waves and more salty water later, you manage to regain some sense of balance, moving back up on your board and scanning the horizon, head whipping around hastily and eyes wide. You would be proud of the second of control you have but your heart sinks lower the longer the water lacks any sign of her.

The panic spreads like ice, the cold seeping into your bones, but the fear for yourself and your best friend burns hot.

You try to focus, to do what you’ve been taught - stay on the board, ride the wave, don’t let it pull you under - but it feels like a losing battle.

Another wave crashes and saltwater fills your mouth and lungs, scorching your throat, gurgling with every ragged breath. You’re still on the board. That’s a surprise you let sink in for a moment.

A voice cuts through the storm - Nat’s. Desperate and terrified. Your name. It sounds like it’s coming from the shore, but it feels impossibly distant like she’s miles away instead of just down the beach.

The realization hits you like a crash with as much power as the waves around you. How far off are you? You twist your neck to look toward the beach, but the looming waves obscure your view, and the horizon is just a blur of grey, indistinguishable from the sea itself.

You have no idea how far you’ve drifted, but it feels like the beach might as well be a world away.

You scream back desperately. This isn’t just fear anymore. It’s a raw, primal terror that digs into the fabric of your being, knitting utter despair tightly with the frantic rhythm of your heart. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever known - this paralyzing panic that roots itself deep inside your bones.

It’s the kind of fear you always imagined would come with the knowledge that death would follow. That slow, creeping certainty that there is no way out, no escape. It wraps around you like the icy water that threatens to pull you under and your clothes that cling to you pressingly, only weighing you down.

You’ve heard of drowning, read about it, seen it on TV, but never once did you think it would happen to you. Not like this. But is this how it ends? The thought flashes through your mind, bitter and cruel. You never envisioned going out this way - suffocated by the ocean, your last breath stolen by the waves.

Sometimes, you’d like to imagine that drowning would be a quiet, perhaps even peaceful descent into darkness. But this is a cacophony, a battle of breath and will, a struggle against an unforgiving beast that demands tribute.

Drowning isn’t an elegant surrender. It’s ruthless and visceral and you’re defenseless in the face of its power.

You cling to the surfboard as if it's the only thing tethering you to life, your muscles blaring in protest as the water laps at you greedily, eager to pull you under, to claim you as its own.

The water is relentless, an unfeeling, unstoppable force. It doesn’t care about your fear, your pain, your will to live. It just keeps coming, wave after wave, crashing into you with a ferocity that feels almost personal.

Your strength is ebbing, but the sea shows no sign of slowing. It’s a living thing, testing your resolve. It’s waiting for the moment when you will lose your grip, when the board will slip from your fingers, when the leash that binds you to it will snap, and you will be claimed.

The dark water beckons, yawning wide, promising oblivion - a cold quiet grave beneath the surface where you would lie, not as a person, but as a forgotten droplet, swallowed by the depths. Because that’s all you are - a speck; a drop of water in its vast, uncaring expanse. The thought terrifies you. The image that the sea will take you and forget you in the same breath.

There is tightness in your throat, a swelling of emotion so overwhelming it feels as if the ocean itself has seeped into your heart. You can’t tell if the salty water on your face is mingling with your tears, can’t tell if you’re actually crying.

You feel like you’re unraveling, piece by piece, your strength, your hope, your very sense of self slipping away with every wave.

Perhaps the water has already masked your sorrow, each rush of water a reminder of your frailty - the fight for one more breath, one more heartbeat.

Numbness creeps through your limbs, a heavy fog settling over your consciousness. It’s strange how empty you begin to feel, devoid of sensation. Not just your body, though that too is beginning to lose its fight against the cold, the chill sinking deeper into you, making it harder to move, harder to care.

But there is a nothingness inside you, like part of you has already accepted what’s coming - an abyss that waits with patient malice and a gaping mouth.

You fight it. Of course, you do, but in the back of your mind, a small voice whispers that it’s only a matter of time. The sea is stronger than you, more patient. It’ll wait for you to falter, to let go, and then it will take you.

There are more wails and screams coming from the shore, all faint and distant. They became as constant as the waves around you. Though the deeper you are engulfed in the surf, the fainter the screaming feels, slipping away like grains of sand between your fingers desperately reaching out for solid ground.

For a moment you imagine letting go. Letting the deep, dark silence of the ocean swallow you, pulling you down to its unreachable and endless depths. A cold, quiet grave, the kind you never expected but that now feels so close you can feel it on your tongue.

Another towering wave rises before you like a mountain, its treacherous crest poised to unleash its ferocity. In a single, brutal shove, it hurls you from the board, and for a heartbeat you’re airborne, a marionette cut from its strings, suspended in an agonizing moment of uncertainty.

But something deep within you ignites, a primal need - a will to live - stronger than anything you’ve ever felt and it pulls you to the surface and up the board again with a strength you didn’t know you had left.

You gasp for air and every single part of your body wants reprieve, but your mind sharpens with a clarity that sears through the chaos. You won’t let the ocean take you. You need to find Nat.

Determination fills your veins like fire and you whip your head around to pinpoint where her relentless screams come from. Her cries, frenzied and panic-stricken, echo from everywhere suddenly, piercing through the tumult like a siren’s wail.

But as you strain against the tide, attempting to hear her better, something halts you for a dangerous moment.

It’s not just Natasha’s voice.

There’s another voice, calm and steady, weaving through her frantic cries, almost soothing in its cadence. The words are impossible to make out over the sound of the storm, but you can tell it’s a man. He’s speaking to her, perhaps trying to calm her down.

You don’t have time to process that before something else grips your attention. A third voice; deep, more resonant - another man - drifts in and out between the wafting waves. It’s closer, much closer than the others.

Your heart pounds so loudly, you can hear it over the storm. You strain your ears, desperate to catch that voice again, to make sense of it, but the wind tears the sound away before you can latch onto it.

With every ounce of focus you can muster, you whip your head around frantically, eyes scanning the water, and then you see it. A flash of white, cutting through the churning grey of the sea. A board?

Your breath catches.

Nat’s board is blue. Yours is still beneath you. The only white board you’ve seen was back on the beach, strapped to the lifeguard’s post.

Could it be?

Is your mind playing tricks on you? Are you that far gone?

But then it appears again. A flash of white and then red between the flooding currents, coming closer to you.

Hope flickers in your chest, fragile but bright. You squint your eyes, willing that shape to appear again, your heart racing in anticipation. But the sea remains relentless, making it impossible to get a clear view.

Your concentration costs you.

The next wave blindsides you, slamming into you with a blow that knocks the breath from your lungs. You yelp in shock as the water swallows you whole again, dragging you down beneath its unforgiving surface once more.

Your body tumbles, twisted by the current, and for a moment, you’re lost in the dark, cold world beneath the waves.

You are weightless. The ocean’s embrace is absolute. You can’t tell where the surface is anymore, can’t feel which way is up or down. Yet, there is that voice again. It’s blurred by the water filling your ears but it seems to surround you.

An urgent shout, muffled and distorted, yet oddly comforting, like it’s reaching through the water just for you. You can’t make out any words, but the tone is strong and deep, cutting through your panic, grounding you for just a moment.

You feel the leash around your ankle tugging, pulling you as your board drifts with the current, but you no longer have the strength to reach for it. You let it pull you along, your limbs flailing uselessly in the water.

Your body is beyond exhausted, each muscle burning with fatigue, your arms and legs barely responding to your desperate attempts to swim. You’re too drained to fight anymore. You feel the air still trapped in your lungs, but your body’s energy is slipping.

Slowly, you let your eyes fall closed and everything blurs. The only thing in focus is that voice. It almost seems like a part of the water, surrounding you, enveloping you. You want to hold onto it, but you’re so tired.

Then, suddenly there is a slight splash nearby - different from the waves. It cuts through the water like a jolt, a ripple of something deliberate. For the first time, you think you might know where the surface is.

Before you can do anything to react, a firm hand clamps onto your arm.

The grip is solid, unwavering, and with a sharp pull, you’re yanked upwards, your body dragged through the water with a sturdiness you couldn’t summon on your own.

Another hand grasps your other arm, and now you’re being lifted, hauled out of the water, breaking the surface.

Your body moves limply, like it’s no longer your own, the weight of exhaustion too much to fight.

Air hits your face, cold and bracing and you feel your lungs expand in relief of it. The sound of the ocean and the wind rushes back into your ears as you’re pulled up onto something hard - a board beneath you.

The tug on your ankle leaves you but you don’t have it in you to question it. Panic ebbs as more air floods into your chest, aching and yet so sweet. You feel the warmth of skin at your back, around your body, keeping you from slipping back under.

But you’re too weak to open your eyes. Too drained to look back at your savior, to see who has pulled you from the water’s grasp. You can only feel the firm grip, the solid presence behind you, and the way the board keeps you afloat.

The world feels so distant, the sounds around you muffled, your body so heavy it’s almost like you’re still submerged.

Fingers are pressing down on your wrist, as steady as the rest of him, perhaps feeling your pulse or just to balance you.

A thought strikes through your weak frame, igniting a flicker of energy fueled by adrenaline. Natasha. Worry surges within you. Is she even safe? Sure, you’ve heard those voices but what do they really convey?

With a sudden burst of resolve, you push away from the muscled body behind you, choking on the saltwater that clings to your lungs, gasping wildly for breath, your throat feeling like sandpaper.

A sharp exhale of relief sounds out from your rescuer, his grip loosening just enough to give you the space you need to find your breath, but your focus is somewhere else entirely.

“Thank god,” he mutters under his breath, but you don’t even register it.

“Nat!” you rasp out, voice trembling and barely more than a croak. “Where is she?” You’re not sure if you’re asking him, yourself, or pleading with the vindictive ocean still around you. The question is ripped from your chest with a feral need to know. She has to be okay.

“Hey,” your savior tries but you shake your head fervently, panic closing in and you snap your head around for a glimpse of her, only feeling his arm tighten around you, pulling you back against his chest.

“You need to get Natasha! She’s somewhere out there, she-”

“Hey, hey,” he interrupts, his tone firmer and louder by your ear, yet still soothing and gentle, and you let it ground you for a second just like in the water moments earlier.

“Your friend’s alright. She’s safe. Sam is looking out for her,” he sweetly explains to you, his thumb brushing tender circles against your arm while his other arm works to maneuver you two back to the beach.

You barely hear him, your gaze still flickering across the waves, but then he turns your head gently. “There, look.”

He nods to the shoreline that’s slowly coming into view. There, through the haze of wind and saltwater, you see her. Natasha is waving frantically, her face pale as a ghost, her mouth moving as she shouts something. Her voice is hoarse, barely audible.

Next to her stands a tall, dark-skinned man, his arm securely around her shoulders, making sure the blanket wrapped around her stays in place at her distressed movements. He is speaking to her in low tones, his hands rubbing warmth into her skin.

She looks wild with fear, the strands of her hair looking dark as they are pressed to the sides of her head. And she is shaking. But she is visibly safe.

Relief crashes into you like another wave, but this time, it doesn’t knock you down. Instead, it lets you breathe again. The tension in your chest that had kept you moving and looking for her, releases. Your body grows heavy, muscles giving in to the exhaustion that had been building since you hit the water.

Your body slumps back against the chest behind you, and you feel the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing. He only tightens his arm around you, pulling you closer, letting you breathe in his warmth.

Your head rests against a sturdy shoulder, your cheek brushing his wet vest. And for the first time since you entered the water, you feel safe.

As you reach the shore, your body betrays you. A violent shiver takes over, teeth clattering uncontrollably, as the wind continues to bite into your soaked skin. But all you can focus on is Nat’s words finally reaching your ears.

“Y/n!” she screams, her voice cracking with emotion. “Oh my god, Y/n!”

You’re barely aware of the man behind you guiding you up to your feet, now both of his arms wrapped around your waist to keep you steady as you stumble forward.

The ground beneath you feels wobbly, the world still swaying like you’re trapped in the rhythm of the waves, but his unyielding grip keeps you from collapsing.

Natasha breaks away from Sam, or at least you assume that’s who he must be, and runs toward you with so much hurry, you’re scared she might knock you over. But again, the strong presence behind you balances your wavering body as she crashes into you.

Her arms sling around you in a tight embrace that makes you forget about your current situation for a second. You feel her sobs against your chest as she pulls back just enough to look at you, her tear-streaked face filled with regret and agony.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out, her hands gripping your shoulders, afraid to let go. “God, Y/n, I’m so sorry!”

You try to shake your head, to give her some semblance of reassurance, but your face is too numb, muscles too drained to manage more than a faint twitch of your lips. “It’s okay,” you whisper.

But Nat shakes her head so fast, it overwhelms you, her eyes wide. “No, it’s not okay. Don’t say that. It’s not.” her voice cracks and you see the guilt warring in her eyes. “I should’ve never asked you to come with me. I should’ve never done this. Fuck, I’m so stupid.”

This time, you’re able to shake your head with more conviction, pulling strength from the man’s touch at your back. “Stop, okay? Please!” you ask, your voice more certain. “I’m just… I’m just glad you’re okay.”You offer her a real smile, though your lips tremble from more than just the cold.

Natasha curses under her breath, shaking hands pulling you into another tight hug. You close your eyes, sinking into her.

You hug for what feels like an eternity, her grip never loosening, and you realize your rescuer doesn’t even attempt to leave your side. At some point, he drapes a warm blanket over your shoulders, which Sam must have given him, and the slight weight of it makes you blink, pulling you back to reality.

The shivers don’t stop, but it’s a comfort to feel the warmth seep into your skin.

When you finally pull back from Nat, strong arms immediately wrap the blanket all around you from behind, his hands unshakable as he rubs in the warmth of it. Sam returns Natasha’s blanket over her own shoulders and you watch the curt nod he shares with the man behind you, a silent acknowledgment that everything went well.

You don’t make a move to do anything, mind still a hazy maze, exhaustion heavily wearing down on you, so you’re thankful to hear the gentle voice again near your ear. “Let’s get you warm, yeah?”

All you do is nod, but it seems to be enough and you let him guide you to the wooden lifeguard post down the beach. Wind is still whipping around you, but you don’t register that anymore.

He gently walks you up the ramp and you notice the missing white rescue board, the one he used to pull you from the water. Another shiver whacks your spine.

He pushes open the door and you step into a small room that seems to be well-organized. The air inside feels warmer, a welcome change from the biting cold you had been under way too long, though it still carries that smell of salt.

There is a wooden bench in front of you with a neat stack of folded towels and blankets in bright red and yellow. He sits you down, layering the blanket over yourself so it is completely enveloping your shivering frame.

He kneels in front of you, moving slowly and deliberately, as if careful not to startle you too much too soon. His presence is calming and you don’t shy away at the intense way he searches your features, the soft expression he wears soothing your aching muscles.

The warmth that radiates from him makes your heart flutter in a way you don’t quite expect.

“Is it okay if I ask you a few questions? Have to make sure everything’s alright.”

His voice. God, you love his voice. There is that slight rasp in it and a boyishness that makes it so soothing, so grounding. It’s as enveloping as the blanket that already surrounds you.

He only makes you feel reassured, and the quiet curve of your lips turns into a small smile as you nod in agreement. His gaze sweeps over your face, checking for any signs of pain, discomfort, or lingering fear. The way he studies you is careful, but not invasive.

“Alright,” he whispers, blue eyes not leaving your face. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

You can’t help the stretch of your smile at the almost bashful way he runs his fingers through his tousled and slightly wet hair. It’s endearing, considering the fact that he just saved your life. The confidence and the sureness he carried while saving you from the water seem to melt into quiet humility now that you’re safe.

You tell him your name and age after he asks. Watching his facial reactions to your words feels so calming, it’s all you can do to slow your heart rate down a notch and stop the involuntary shaking of your body.

There is a small tug at his eyebrows, and a frown threatens to overcome his features, revealing a hint of underlying worry and he keeps drifting his eyes over you, watching the way your shoulders are still shaking.

A little hesitantly he moves his hands up to your knees and rubs the blanket over them softly, hoping to warm up your legs.

“Are you feeling okay? Do you have any trouble breathing? Anything that hurts?” The concern you see on his face is evident in his voice as well and a swell of warmth rises within you, spreading through your body. You relish it.

Sam, who attends to Natasha a foot away, raises an eyebrow in Bucky’s direction, a question in his eyes, but teasing in his smirk.

“Normally, you wait for your patient to answer, before moving on to the next question man,” he chimes in with playful sarcasm. He looks up to you for a second before his gaze moves back to Bucky.

Bucky straightens up before you, the teasing from Sam seemingly lost on him as he clenched his jaw. His face flushes slightly and he looks down at his hands, still gently rubbing circles on your knees. “Yeah, right,” he mutters under his breath, but you pick it up.

A small giggle rises in your stomach and you let it pass, coming out a little breathless and weak, but genuine enough for Bucky’s head to snap back up. His eyes soften, a sparkle shining in them you are able to make out because you watch him so intensely. A smile brightens his face and his momentary embarrassment is lost.

You answer Bucky’s questions one by one, recalling the disorienting moments of your rescue after he almost hesitantly asks you to do so. His hands still soothingly rub your knees.

Bucky listens intently, his eyes never leaving your face, nodding softly at your words. You see him trying his best to remain calm but you notice the tension in his stance, the tick in his jaw, and the slight frown never leaves his face - the weight of his concern lingering in the air.

Sam, who has been standing nearby, leans in slightly. “Gave us a pretty good scare there, sugar.” His tone is light, clearly trying to cut through the tension with a bit of humor, but the moment the words leave his mouth, Bucky’s head snaps up. His gaze hardens drastically as he shoots Sam a sharp look, his voice laced with frustration and irritation.

“Now imagine how she must feel, you fucking idiot.”

His tone catches you off guard. It’s the first time Bucky’s words carry an edge, so different from the gentleness he’s shown you since. Sam raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, licking his lips as he tilts his head slightly.

“Alright, grumpy pants, my bad. You’re right,” he concedes. His demeanor shifts and he becomes more serious, sincere as he steps closer, crouching down to your height and laying a hand on your shoulder. “No, but really,” he says with a nod of his head, “I’m glad you’re okay.” His words hold weight, and the smile he gives you is genuine, toothy even.

You offer him a smile in return, and Sam nods back, satisfied. You can feel Bucky’s gaze still on you, but it’s Nat’s soft, broken voice that cuts through the moment.

“It’s my fault this happened,” she whispers, barely audible. She is hovering nearby, her eyes red and swollen, shoulders hunched under the weight of guilt and her fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket. Her words hang heavy in the air, filled with regret and self-blame.

You react immediately, not letting her fall into that pit of guilt. “Nat!” you say firmly, facing her. “It was my decision to come along.”

Your best friend looks almost childlike in her distress, eyes glistening again with unshed tears. “You came along because you didn’t want me to go alone,” she counters, voice thick. “You and I both know I would have gone without you. I basically pressured you to follow me because I knew you would. You always just want to make sure I’m safe and now-”

Natasha’s voice falters, the words catching in her throat before a heart-wrenching sob leaves her. The sound pierces your chest, and you can’t handle it longer, feeling tears sting behind your eyes.

Without thinking, you push yourself up from the bench, your legs shaky but driven by the need to embrace her. Bucky, still kneeling before the bench, opens his mouth as if to protest, clearly concerned for your state.

You’re sure he was about to remind you that you should be sitting down, but the urgency in your movement stops him.

Nat clings to you immediately, her fingers gripping the blanket around you, sobs muffled into your shoulder. You start to gently shush her, whispering words of comfort as her body trembles in your arms.

You basically feel Bucky and Sam share a meaningful look behind your back.

Sam clears his throat softly, not wanting to intrude on the fragile moment. “Hey,” he says quietly, his voice gentle. “You two are going to be okay.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything but you can feel his quiet support behind you, like ever since he saved you.

“To feel safe around someone's energy is a different kind of intimacy”

- Petra Rush

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #Lifeguard!Bucky #Surfer!Reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #james buchanan barnes #marvel bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fanfiction

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mysticheathenn · 8 months ago

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Messages From The Art of Not Giving a F*ck

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is all about messages from things that you should not be caring or giving a f*ck about. This could be you having the fear of being seen. What does the world think of you at the gym? Basically, petty things that stop you from living your life.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help. Tarot should be used as entertainment and not a for sure answer to your problems but as a guide, a sense of hope, and amusement.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

MasterList

Patreon Link

Pile l:

What should you not give a f*uck about? Tarot: 8 of Cups, 7 of Wands (reversed), Awakening, 9 of Cups, The High Priestess

The opinions of others concerning any and everything you do. You are meant to shine and show up as your most authentic self pile l. You do not need anyone's permission, advice, or even guidance on knowing who you are or what you should do with your life especially if these people are doing the exact opposite of what they try to preach to you. For some of you, I am getting that there is a family member or even just family in general who likes to dictate everything that you do and who you are. While I can't tell you what to do and can only provide you guidance for your situation, please ask yourself are these people happy? Do they ask anyone what they should do with their life and who they should be? Are they paying any bill of yours or financially supporting you? If you have answered no to any of these questions, my suggestion and only suggestion and opinion is to stop paying attention to anything that comes out of their mouth when it regards to you. I have a story for you once upon a time a little mystic heathen had parents and family who would dictate and tell little heathen what to do up until it got time to actually put their money where their mouth was and would back out while telling little heathen still what to do. Little heathen wanted to major in English while her parents medicine or computer science. It wasn't until little heathen saw that no one was paying the bills but herself that the only opinion that mattered with what she majored in, where to move, what career, and who I should be friends with was the opinion of her own. She broke free and stopped giving a dam because once you give someone the power to mold and control you it never stops. Unless the opinion from others saw red flags that I did not see everyone's opinion or suggestions could fuck off. Again this is all a suggestion and my opinion as you're an adult and can make your decisions for yourself but if you have been looking for a sign as to what you should do, this is it. Be free and release yourself from the holds of others that hold you at a standstill or make you unhappy.

Pile ll:

What should you not give a f*uck about? Tarot: 10 of Pentacles (Reversed), 2 of Cups, Queen of Cups, 5 of Swords (reversed), Knight of Cups, Queen of Wands (reversed)

Validation from romantic partnerships. I get the strong feeling from this pile that you love to watch and read future spouse pick-a-card readings. No matter the topic of love when it comes to tarot you are there waiting to see what it has in store for you. It is also similar to how you are in a relationship. You see the validation from your partners that you are good enough. Some of you might even have a small bit of pick-me energy. Whenever your partner says jump you don't ask how high you keep jumping and ask them if this is good enough and if it's not you keep jumping higher until they are satisfied not realizing that you, darling, are the prize. People should be jumping through hoops for you and not the other way around unless the energy is being reciprocated but I need you to understand that you are powerful just you alone without the opinion or approval of a love interest. You don't need anyone by your side at all. I know you're thinking I know I don't need anyone but I want someone...do you know pile ll. Do you really know that you don't need anyone? You are the Queen of Wands and the Queen of cups pile ll, you turn a house into a home, food into a cooked meal, etc. Anything someone gives you, you multiply it and tax interest and you are out here answering questions like "What do you bring to the table?" as if you aren't the table, the napkins, silverware, plates, and whole packaged deal. See yourself through the lens of a goddess/god. You are powerful, start acting like it, and stop putting yourself through hoops for someone who wouldn't do the same or doesn't even wash their own ass not knowing their shit stinks, they are no one special.

Pile lll:

What should you not give a f*uck about? Tarot: 2 of Cups, 3 of Swords, 6 of Cups, 6 of Pentacles, The Wheel

Pile lll you may have also been slightly drawn to pile ll as both your piles kind of go hand in hand. Pile ll is all about validation from being in a romantic relationship while yours is simply you acting as if being single is the worst thing in the world. As mentioned in Pile ll you probably watch and read a lot of love and Future Spouse pick-a-card readings because you have a hard time being by yourself. If not pick a card readings you read a lot of romance novels. Your favorite authors are probably Emily Henry, Ana Huang, Ali Hazelwood, Lauren Asher, Elsie Silver, etc. You watch as others around you fall in and out of love and you want that for yourself. If romance was oxygen you would die the moment you're not with someone within .5 seconds and I need you to release the need for romance just for a split second. Enjoy singlehood and realize that not everything is about love. There is more to life than being in a partnership with someone. You may not think that but have you tried and I mean really tried to enjoy being single? Travel to other places, dining out alone, watching a movie all without someone constantly talking or ruining the moment with spoilers. This message is only for a small few of you as it is very specific but you need to leave your ex alone. Stop thinking, dreaming, looking at their social media, or even reaching out to them. What's done is done...don't let someone tell you they don't want you more than once. This also goes out to those who are in situationships wanting a relationship from their person. They are telling you with their actions for some time now that they don't like you they just want you for your body and the things you can do for them. You are a placeholder until they find that person they want a commitment from. That was a specific message for those who resonated with the message but to continue on with the general reading love is beautiful, kind, and sweet, but it's not the end of the world if you don't have someone by your side. You are free to live life beautifully without someone else there to witness it. You remind me of the era when everyone would always post that they were going to the gym on Facebook and the meme was "If you don't post that you're at the gym, did you even go." If you have fun without someone being there with you to also have fun...did it even happen. Yes...yes it did pile lll. One day you will find a beautiful and harmonious relationship but until then enjoy singlehood. Also, give the love readings a break. Go outside and touch the grass for 30 mins everything will be fine.

Pile lV:

What should you not give a f*uck about? Tarot: 3 of words, The emperor, Ace of Swords (reversed), Page of Swords (reversed), The Empress (reversed)

Pile lV You are my only pile where I have to tell you to give a f*ck about something. You've been through heartache, after heartache, and loss to the point you have closed off your heart to the world because of how many times you have been hurt. This is leading you down a path where sometimes you can't focus or make the best decision because you have closed off your heart to the world or even love in general that anything where you need to involve feelings, showing a small bit of compassion, or even empathy goes out the window. Sometimes even logic goes out the window because you are so strung on not getting yourself tangled up in anything where it could lead to heartache or betrayal. For most of you I am getting this is a relationship or several might I add. While others of you probably had a shining light. You were a lighthouse pouring your beautiful light, energy, and guidance out onto the world for others to take advantage of you and make you cold, aggressive, or deemed in the eyes of a few, an asshole. I need to remind you that it is okay to open your heart to others or even love again Pile lV. I get it, it's scary thinking about the chances of being hurt again but I have to remind you that, this is part of life. You get knocked down and you get back up again but don't harden yourself off to the world. Not when the world needs so much kindness and love right now. There is already so much hate and lack of compassion in this world, open yourself up again even if it is for a little bit or for certain situations. The things that happened to you weren't meant to harden you up but to teach you lessons about boundaries and having self-respect and love for yourself. Instead, you hardened up instead of doing the work that is necessary to establish standards and boundaries for yourself. Do the work. Open yourself up again. The world needs your kind and gentle heart the way it was always intended.

Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.

Stay safe and be blessed

#spirituality #witchblr #tarot reading #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #pick a card #tarot cards #pac tarot #pick a pile #pac reading #pick a photo #pick a picture #pick an image

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pm-my-beloved · 2 months ago

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heyo! i've doing some analysis on some lcb egos in my spare time but i can’t for the life of me figure out a semi decent analysis of wingbeat ishmael, so i wanted to see if you have any analysis on wingbeat! [sorry if this comes off weird! >.<]

I was asked about EGO analysis in DM's! I have made it! Preface, as stated earlier, I am not an Ishmael scholar, having read only a few chapters of her book as of now, but I will still try my best in interpretation

Lets start with what Fairy Festival itself is as an abnormality. They are the originators of the "Fairy" abno cathegory, where every abnormality has heavy ties to gluttony and predation, If I recall correctly, all of them also use trickery to try to lure their prey in, attempting to appear as hospitable. An interesting divergence that happens with Fairy Festival specifically, is that its Ruina form, and in Limbus, is more openly predatory, AND FAMISHED. My personal reading on it is that in a perfect enviroment for them, they are such hyperpredators that they run out of prey, putting them into starvation.

So, how does that relate to Ishmael? Partially it can be explained by my post about predatory themes in Ishmael when making prediction for the Christmass E.G.O., so I will focus on alternative angle of interpretation.

Remember who was Ishmael BEFORE even the voyage? She was a feather, so utterly bored with her existance that she sought out ANY way out of her current life, one could even say that she was starved for excitement. This goes along with early book presentation of Ishmael, where the character seeks to go out on voyage specifically because he's about to go nuts from boredom.

So what did our Ishmael do? She hard jumped onto ONE OF THE MOST DANGEROUS JOBS IN THE CITY, HUNTING MERMAIDS AND WHALES, Literally a form of predation of humanity upon natural life, solely to satiate that hunger inside for some adventure.

I believe of course, that this exists ALONGSIDE the Ishmael being perfectly suited to be a predator in her own right within the city, even with a persona of proffesionalism.

When it comes to her Awakening line "Very good. Sit still and be gentle. Scarred meat isn't... tasty." I think its mostly the abnormality channeling her metaphorical hunger into a more literal one.

Corrosion is more interesting on the other hand "Y-you suspected me, didn't you...? Bastards harboring such evil thoughts must be...!" This, together with the fact that Corrosion gains bonuses from harming its allies, leads me to specific line of thought. Throughout the story of Limbus and her Identities, we see how strongly Ishmael attempts to keep up her facade of detachment and professionalism. Thus, I think this might partially be a clue that Ishmael is very averse towards her persona being seen through, not wanting others to see her thriss seeking behaviour for what it truly is, even if she herself is unaware of it.

Lets move onto Sin costs now shall we? At 3 cost we have Gluttony, which just plainly makes sense as going out of ones way to get more thrill and excitement than one is exposed to is pretty gluttonous behaviour. Then we have 2 Pride cost, which is somewhat difficult of a read to me. The main one thought that comes to mind is a sense of superiority over other living beings that would be required to pursue hunting as ones way of life when its not some need (As opposed to bloodfiends) And lastly, we have 1 Lust cost, which in my opinion, reflects how Ishmael in spite of everything, genuenly enjoyed, and still enjoys, the thrill of the hunt.

The last aspect that is to read, is the Sin Resists. Pride Fatal, with weakness to pride being emotional subservience, imho relates to how Ishmael upon getting onto the voyage let her decisions be guided entirely by Ahab at the time. Envy Fatal I believe could reflect either the judgementality she put onto Ahab after the encounter with Pallid Whale, OR judgementality towards her own previous way of life that she grew so bored with. Gluttony ineffective I think reflects how in that life, her need and pursuit of that excitement were satisfied, not having to go out of her way in pursuit of more. And finally, Lust Endured comes from the reluctance that came from realisation of the struggles and issues that come from both being a sailor, and being Ahabs sailor specifically, she was not completly seduced by that world, which is also partly why managed separate herself from the crew after the failed attempt to defeat Pallid Whale. Phew, thats it. I hope this made some sense.

#lcb analysis #limbus company #limbus ishmael #Wingbeat

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bitethedevil · 2 months ago

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The True Meaning of Fear

Warnings: NSFW, Arachnophobia, Choking, Very Violent Oral, Abusive behaviour, Fear Play, Non-Con, Devils Who Are Deviling.

AN: I'm having fun writing more angsty and loving stuff for other characters like I mentioned in my update post, but sometimes you just got to write some fucked up Raphael stuff to clear your palate a bit. Seriously: mind the warnings. It’s…yeah…pretty fucked. I will be seeking professional help and saying some Hail Mary's to repent for my sins🚶‍♀️‍➡️Enjoy! 🫶

”Pleeease, Raphael,” she sobbed. ”It won’t happen again. I promise.”

“Please what?” he asked with a smile and a soft tone that made him seem like the perfect image of innocence. “We are only having a conversation …”

She was not buying this attempt at lulling her into a false sense of security. She knew him. He had brought her to a cell in the bowels of the House of Hope. Had he simply wanted to talk, he would now have done it here.

“I will ask you again,” he said, still in that soft tone. “What did you see?”

She gave a small sob and shook her head. His yellow eyes narrowed slightly at her, but the smile stayed on his lips. He was in the cell with her too, on a chair in front of her sobbing form on the floor.

“What was it that frightened my little bird so much that she neglected all of her duties? I do so hate to repeat myself…”

Her bottom lip quivered as she tried to hold in more tears.

He had come home to find his house in complete disarray. Multiple dead debtors had laid scattered across the floor, as they had tried to defend the house against intruders. He had found her shaking in the corner of his office. A powerful fear spell had made her hide instead of dealing with the intruders or alarming Raphael.

He had been furious when he found her. He had lost a small fortune in gold and an invaluable staff that dated back to the early days of the Netheril Empire. He had yelled at her, but due to her fearful state, he did not receive the reaction he wanted. She had been too out of it to properly react to his words, so he took her here instead.

She could see from the way his tail flicked and the way he drummed his claws on the arm of the chair that he was running out of patience. She had to give him an answer.

“Death,” she lied and dried her tears with her sleeve. “I saw my own death.”

The corners of his mouth turned upwards in an amused smile and gave a huff of laughter.

“Death, hm?” he repeated. “Are you truly such a simple creature? I find that difficult to believe. If death was what you feared the most, you would not dare lying to my face in such a manner. Try again. The truth this time, if you would be so kind.”

She started shaking again and she could feel her skin become clammy. She had a good idea what would happen if she told him. She also knew what he would do to her if she did not. It was hard to decide which was worse.

“Come now,” he said, his tone softer again. “You will receive no judgment from me. Is it something embarrassing? Something completely irrational? Those do tend to be my favorites…”

She remained quiet.

“Or,” he said and looked at her with a bored expression. “I could bring the Omuan dreamcatcher in here, present you to every fear known to man, and I can deduce what it is from there. I’m certain that Hope would not mind if we borrowed it for the day.”

“No,” she said quickly. “No-no. Please don’t.”

She had seen how Hope had been after her time with the dreamcatcher. She was an empty shell of a person after those sessions.

She swallowed hard and looked at the floor in front of her.

“Spiders,” she admitted quietly. “I’ve never liked spiders…”

“Ah,” Raphael said with a satisfied smile. “A classic.”

She looked around. Her skin was tingling at the thought. She was already becoming paranoid.

“When did you acquire this fear? Were you always afraid of them?”

Her hand shot to the back of her neck where she felt a tingle. Nothing. It had only been her hair touching her. Her skin was becoming increasingly sensitive.

“As a child,” she said.

“Do elaborate,” he purred with a smile.

Her breath hitched at the memory a bit.

“I was in my bed,” she explained. “I turned to lay on my back and looked at the ceiling. I saw it just before it fell down into my face.”

“Mm,” he hummed. “That does sound rather unpleasant.”

His eyes slowly turned upwards to look at the ceiling above her. She flinched and looked up. Nothing. Raphael chuckled at her movement.

“I can almost hear your heartbeat from over here,” he purred. “Such a pretty sound…”

“I beg you, Raphael,” she pleaded. “I’ll do anything. Just please don’t—”

“Shh-sh-sh,” he hushed gently. “We are only talking.”

He leaned forward slightly in his chair.

“I am a jealous man, my dear. It’s one of my less attractive qualities, I’m afraid, but it is so. So, you must understand how it irks me to find that your fear of me is only second to that of the eight-legged vermin you seem to hate so much.”

Her hand darted up to her hair where she scratched her scalp. She swore that she could feel them everywhere, even though she knew that it was only her fear that made her feel things. For now, anyway.

She felt something hit her shoulder from above and squealed. She brushed her shoulder in a panic and swore that she felt something furry touch her hand as she did. She quickly moved her body away from the wall she had been sitting against, closer to Raphael and let out a whine. Her eyes searched where she had just sat but once again: nothing.

“Tell me,” Raphael said in an amused tone. “What do you think causes this fear of yours?”

She was practically sitting between his legs now. He ran his claws slowly over her scalp and it made her shiver in her overstimulated state. She wrapped both her arms over her head like a stubborn child refusing to let their parents comb their hair. She knew that she was pathetic, but she could not control it at this point.

Raphael brushed two claws against the back of her neck in a featherlight touch, making her flinch again. He still wanted an answer, and maybe as long as she spoke, he would not do anything. She quickly tried to construct a sentence in her scattered mind.

“I—I don’t know,” she said. “Too many limbs maybe. I don’t know.”

“Well,” he said with a mocking laugh. “I am one limb short of eight in this form. That doesn’t make you fear me any more than your eight-legged friends, evidently. It must be something else, mustn’t it?”

His claws tapped her arm in a way that mimicked a spider’s legs, and she flinched away from him. She moved back to where she was sitting before. She could see on his face that he was enjoying every second of this.

His smile widened as he unstretched one hand and snapped his fingers with the other. A fat, long-legged spider hovered over his hand, and she started crying again. She did not want to look at it, but on the other hand, if she did not, she could not know where it was. She watched in horror as the small creature clumsily and frantically tried to move in the air but could not.

Raphael studied it with a bored gaze while she pleaded for him to stop.

“Have you ever noticed how the creatures humans fear irrationally are rarely mammalian?” he mused over her sobbing. “Spiders, insects, snakes, birds…I do suppose rats and mice are an exception, but there is a theme, isn’t there?”

She had backed herself into the corner of the room. She could not get further away, and she was still uncontrollably crying.

“Cats, dogs, horses…Feeble-minded creatures, but the human need to anthropomorphize makes you believe that they are perhaps not so different from yourself. A spider, on the other hand…”

She let out a long whine as he pinned the spider to one position in the air and made it hover slowly towards her face. She screamed when it came to a stop in front of her. Its legs were still moving, but it was facing her. She could not breathe.

“It’s scared,” Raphael cooed mockingly. “Terrified, like you. Yet you cannot sympathize with it. Your brain will not let you. So much for human compassion, hm?”

He got up from his chair. He snapped his fingers, and the spider disappeared. He leaned down slightly and loosely put his hand around her neck. The claw on his thumb dug into her as he tilted her head back to look at him.

“Look at me.”

She whimpered and looked up at his face.

“Tell me, my sweet,” he purred. “What is it like to stare into the eyes of a creature and realizing that they do not work like you? That they do not have feelings in any way that you understand them? That there is nothing human in there…”

She looked into those yellow eyes of his and felt the same way as he just described.

“Terrifying…” she muttered.

“Good,” he said in a low growl, smiling at her. “Terrifying, yes.”

He snapped his fingers, and she felt something on her shoulder. She frantically tried to move away, but Raphael’s grip around her neck tightened. He pushed her head back against the wall.

“Don’t. Move,” he said firmly. “You are not leaving this cell before you realize that the only thing in this world you will ever need to fear, is me. Serve me well, and you will never have to fear at all…”

She felt the spiders furry legs move slowly over her skin. She gasped for breath as her tears started rolling down her cheeks again. She knew that Raphael would not stop this before she did as he said. His grip loosened when he saw her freeze instead of continuing her attempt to flee.

He let go of her and stood up tall to admire her pathetic state on the floor. He began unbuttoning his doublet while he watched. She felt the spiders legs on her collarbone, slowly making its way across her chest. She sobbed quietly and did everything in her power not to move.

“I think it likes you,” Raphael purred in an amused tone.

He hung his doublet over the chair. He was only in his white shirt and pants, and she could now see just how excited the whole situation was making him. His erection strained against his pants. He walked closer to her so that he was now towering above her.

He slowly tipped her head back with a claw under her chin.

She screamed but the fear had now paralyzed her so much that she could not move even if she wanted to. There were hundreds of them above them on the ceiling, and they were all the size of a palm. The scream turned into a sob as she stared upwards.

He was smiling in an almost fond way as he feasted on her terrified expression. She felt his hand cup her cheek. He wiped the tears on her cheeks with his palm, before moving his hand to his now freed member. He gave it a few lazy strokes, using her tears to lubricate his length while he watched her with a heavy-lidded gaze. He gave a content sigh.

He put his thumb and index finger on each side of her jaw with his free hand, forcing her to open her mouth.

“If I feel teeth, I will show you the true meaning of fear,” he warned.

He ran the tip of his cock over her bottom lip, smearing his precum on her trembling mouth. He pressed his cock inside and her mouth closed around it. A deep groan escaped his mouth.

“Such a good girl,” he purred with a smile.

He began slowly moving in and out of her mouth with languid thrusts. His hand moved to where the spider had nestled in her cleavage to pick it up. He gently placed it on her head, making her sob around his cock. She choked as she forced herself not to bite him. He growled in pleasure.

“We are making such wonderful progress, my dear,” he said. His voice was slightly breathier and huskier now. “I believe that you are beginning to understand… Fear does not excuse negligence.”

Her eyes closed shut as she could feel the spider’s legs on her face. She whimpered, but the sound came to an abrupt end when he shoved his cock further down her throat. He gently shushed her and caressed her tear-stained cheek with his thumb. She could not breathe.

She gagged but he did not seem to care. The sounds she made, the way her crying and trembling was making her throat feel, the way she looked so utterly pathetic: it was pure bliss for him. He suddenly snapped his fingers. She felt the spider on her face disappear. Her eyes opened and she looked at the ceiling: nothing.

She did not get to revel in her relief before Raphael started fucking her face with hard, violent thrusts. His hand clasped around her throat again in a hard grip. She could not breathe at all, and she started squirming and panicking. Her limbs flailed as she tried to get away, but her back was up against the wall. There was nowhere to move.

She tried pushing him away, hitting his legs, but he was unmovable. She looked up at him with panicked and pleading eyes, and it only seemed to excite him further. He did not cease his violent assault on her face.

“I lost a small fortune,” he growled. “All because of a frightened, stupid, little girl.”

She tried everything to move, but his grip on her only tightened when she did. Soon, she would not have the energy to fight anymore. Her throat was hurting so much. The grim thought that this might be how she died flashed into her mind, making her panic even worse.

“Nothing would excite me more than watching the life leave your eyes,” he growled as if having read her thoughts. “Instead, I think I will let this be a reminder to you, dear girl: the next time you feel tempted to let your fear control you, remember what it gets you… Nothing.”

She stopped moving and she could feel herself slowly beginning to lose consciousness. He shoved his cock as far down her throat as it would go. Her nose was brushing against his pelvis. It was painful and she felt like throwing up. He gave a deep groan as he came down her throat.

She gasped for breath when he pulled out. She coughed hard. She spat a mix of blood, cum, and saliva onto the floor in front of her as she wheezed for breath. She felt like throwing up, but she couldn’t.

When she finally looked up, Raphael was watching her with a small smile as he began buttoning his doublet.

“I trust you have learned your lesson?”

She nodded quickly. She could not stop coughing, and every cough felt swallowing knives.

“Good,” he purred. “You did well…”

He turned and opened the door to the cell with a snap. She tried to scramble to her feet to follow him out. Just as she had gotten up off the floor, he stepped outside the cell and closed the door in her face.

He smirked as he looked at her for a long moment. Then his eyes slowly drifted to the ceiling above her. Her lips began trembling again as she kept looking at him.

“Korrilla will come get you in the morning,” he said in a cold, even tone. “If I have decided to forgive you by then…”

There was the softest thud as she felt something land on her shoulder. Then another on the floor. Then another as she felt something fall off her head. Then another.

There were no more tears in her, and no screams came out of her ruined throat. Just a quiet, broken wheeze came out of her mouth as she looked upwards.

#raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #bg3 raphael #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #nsft

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buckets-and-trees · 1 month ago

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Huffily Ever After: A CindereLloyd Story [3/?]

Chapter Three - The Panel Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 4k Summary: It's the morning of the panel you've been invited to be part of and there are both friendly and unfriendly faces in the crowd.

Content/Warnings: modern Cinderella adaptation, unknown identities, enemies to lovers, toxic coworkers, eventual smut

Notes: Same as last chapter, I'm no PR or Marketing expert! I have some functional knowledge due to some aspects of my own work and I know how to Google articles, videos, and research up some stuff because I want reader's industry knowledge and experience at the conference to feel plausible and not just be completely glossed over. If you actually do anything with PR or Marketing, please just be gentle!

Additional Note: Please do imagine/channel Angelica Huston as Baroness Rodmilla de Ghent in Ever After as your toxic boss Amilla Tremaine. I fully did. Wicked step-work-mother-boss.

Previous Chapter | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

On the second day of the conference, you woke early, a mix of excitement and nerves fluttering in your stomach. You spent extra time getting ready, wanting to look polished and professional for the panel. After a quick breakfast and the pre-panel meeting with Claude and the other speakers, you found yourself with a few minutes to spare before the big event.

You slipped into the women's restroom near the conference hall, wanting one last chance to check your appearance. The restroom was a luxurious affair, all gleaming marble and soft lighting. You approached one of the ornate mirrors, taking in your reflection. Your hair was neatly styled, your makeup subtle but flattering. You had gone with your navy blue blazer again, but it was the most professional piece you’d brought with you and it looked crisp and paired perfectly over your cream silk blouse.

As you did whenever you needed a little steadying, you touched a finger to your mother’s necklace for good luck. The pendant briefly caught the light - it was only sometimes visible with the length of the chain and where your blouse buttoned up to today. Now seeing it also reminded you of your mystery man from the masquerade. But you pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.

The sound of a stall door opening and the click of heels behind you drew your attention. You looked up in the mirror and your heart sank as you recognized the familiar figure of Amilla Tremaine emerging behind you. Your boss looked immaculate as always, her sleek black hair pulled into a tight chignon, her crisp white blouse and tailored charcoal suit speaking of effortless power. Her blood-red stilettos clicked against the marble floor as she approached the sinks.

"Well, well," Amilla drawled, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "If it isn't our little rising star."

You forced a polite smile. "Good morning, Amilla. How was your flight from Shanghai?"

Amilla waved a perfectly manicured hand dismissively. "Oh, you know how it is. First class makes everything tolerable." She turned to the mirror, touching up her already flawless lipstick. "I hear you’ve been incredibly busy, and of course there’s your very important panel coming up.”

You felt a chill run down your spine at Amilla's words. Her tone was casual, but you could sense the underlying tension. "Yes," you replied carefully. "It was an unexpected opportunity. I hope my email explained the situation adequately."

Amilla's eyes met yours in the mirror, her gaze sharp and calculating. "Oh, it explained plenty. Though I must say, I'm surprised you didn't consult me before accepting such a high-profile engagement."

You bristled slightly at her implication. "I apologize if I overstepped. I assure you, I didn't seek this out. Claude Dumont and Professor Mortimer offered it to me-"

"Of course they did," Amilla cut in smoothly. "And I'm sure you were just thrilled to accept, weren't you? Never mind that you're representing our firm without any proper vetting or preparation."

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. "I understand your concern, Amilla. I assure you I've been preparing diligently and will represent Nexus to the best of my abilities. This is an incredible opportunity not just for me, but for our team and the firm as a whole."

Amilla's eyes narrowed slightly. "Is that so? And I suppose you think this little panel appearance makes you qualified to speak on behalf of our entire organization?"

You felt a flicker of hurt at her dismissive tone. "That's not what I meant at all. I'm honored to have been asked and I plan to share insights from our work, not speak for the whole firm."

"Hmm," Amilla hummed, her tone dripping with skepticism. "Well, I certainly hope you don't embarrass us up there. Remember, you're still quite junior. Perhaps it would serve you well for me to clarify the reality of the situation. You work for me, and by extension, for Nexus. Your little moment in the spotlight is all well and good, but don't forget where you’ll be this time next week."

You felt a surge of anger at her words, but before you could respond, the restroom door swung open. Maggie Mortimer bustled in, her face lighting up when she saw you.

"There you are!" she exclaimed. "I was just looking for you. They’re wanting to get us mic’d up and do a quick sound check.”

You felt a wave of relief at Maggie's interruption. "Of course, I'll be right there," you replied, grateful for the excuse to exit this tense encounter with Amilla.

Maggie's eyes flicked between you and Amilla, clearly sensing the tension. "I don't believe we've met," she said, extending a hand to Amilla. "I'm Maggie Mortimer."

Amilla's smile didn't quite reach her eyes as she shook Maggie's hand. "Amilla Tremaine, Nexus PR. I'm her director and supervisor," she said, nodding towards you.

"Oh, how wonderful!" Maggie said, her tone warm but her eyes sharp. "You must be so proud of her getting to participate on this panel. She was one of my star students, you know. Her insights are always so fresh and innovative."

You felt a rush of gratitude towards Maggie for her words of support. Amilla's smile tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Yes, well," Amilla said, her tone clipped, "we certainly encourage our team members to... stretch themselves."

"How lovely," Maggie replied, her voice sweet but with a hint of steel beneath. "Well, we really must be going. Can't keep everyone waiting." She linked her arm through yours, gently but firmly steering you towards the door.

Amilla waved a hand dismissively. "By all means. Break a leg, darling. And do remember what we discussed.”

As you left the restroom, you caught a glimpse of Amilla's reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were narrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line. You suppressed a shudder, realizing this encounter was far from over.

"Thank you," you murmured to Maggie as she led you away from the restroom. "I really appreciate your timing back there."

Maggie patted your arm reassuringly. "Of course, dear. I could sense the tension from a mile away. That woman seems... challenging to work with."

You let out a soft, humorless laugh. "That's one way to put it. She wasn't exactly thrilled about me being on this panel."

Maggie's eyes narrowed slightly. "Hmm. Well, don't let her get in your head. A large part of this field is navigating the difficult personalities that it’s teeming with. You're here because you deserve to be, and you're going to do brilliantly."

As you approached the conference room where the panel would take place, you took a deep breath, trying to push thoughts of Amilla from your mind. The encounter in the bathroom had rattled you, but you were determined not to let it affect your performance.

The room was already buzzing with activity when you entered. Technicians were bustling about, adjusting lighting and checking microphones. Claude spotted you and waved you over to where the other panelists were gathered.

"There you are!" he said warmly. "We were just about to start the sound check. Are you ready?"

You nodded, mustering a confident smile. "As ready as I can be."

Stepping onto the stage, you felt a mix of nervous energy and excitement coursing through your veins. The spotlights above cast a warm glow over the panel setup, illuminating the sleek black chairs arranged in a gentle curve. The audience area before you was still mostly empty, but you could hear the growing murmur of attendees filing into the room.

Victor Chen took the seat to your left, flashing you a reassuring smile as he settled in. "Nervous?" he asked in a low voice, leaning in slightly.

You gave a small nod, appreciating his perceptiveness. "A little," you admitted.

"Don't be," Victor said, his eyes twinkling. "You're going to knock their socks off. Just pretend we're back at dinner, having another riveting discussion."

His words, coupled with the warmth in his expression, helped ease some of the tension in your shoulders. You took a deep breath, settling into your chair as the technicians approached to clip on your microphone.

As the final preparations were made, you scanned the rapidly filling audience. Your heart skipped a beat as you spotted Amilla taking a seat near the back, her posture rigid and her gaze fixed on you. You quickly averted your eyes, not wanting to dwell on her presence.

Your eyes widened as you spotted Gus near the front, giving you an enthusiastic thumbs up. Next to him sat Anya and Holly, their expressions a mix of curiosity and barely concealed disdain, but you could handle them.

Just then, a flash of movement near the side entrance caught your attention. Lloyd Hansen slipped into the room, his tall frame unmistakable even from a distance. He leaned against the wall at the back, arms crossed, his piercing blue eyes scanning the stage. When his gaze met yours, you felt an unexpected jolt of electricity.

You quickly looked away, focusing on Claude as he stepped up to the podium, his presence immediately commanding attention. "Good afternoon, everyone," he began, his voice carrying easily through the room. "Welcome to our panel discussion on 'Blending Audience Insights and Brand Expertise to Build Trust and Social Relevance.' We have an exceptional group of experts with us today, each bringing a unique perspective to our discussion on building trust and social relevance in today's rapidly evolving digital landscape."

He gestured to his left. "First, we have Victor Chen, renowned crisis management specialist and author of 'Navigating the Storm: Crisis Communication in the Digital Age.' Victor's innovative strategies have helped countless organizations weather public relations challenges and emerge stronger than ever."

Victor gave a modest nod, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the stage lights as he smiled at the audience.

"Next, we have an emerging star in our field," Claude continued, gesturing towards you, and you fought the urge to squirm and sat up a little straighter as he announced your name despite the butterflies raging in your stomach. "She brings fresh insights and innovative approaches to audience engagement and brand authenticity from the work she’s done at Nexus PR.

"Dr. Seth Rossi joins us from the London School of Economics, where he leads groundbreaking research on consumer psychology and brand perception.”

Claude then gestured to the man seated next to Dr. Rossi. "To his right, we have Aaron Lang, Chief Marketing Officer of Tidewater Industries. Aaron has spearheaded some of the most successful rebranding campaigns of the past decade, transforming staid corporate images into vibrant, socially conscious brands that resonate with modern consumers."

Aaron Lang, a man in his late forties with a neatly trimmed ginger beard and wire-rimmed glasses, gave a friendly wave to the audience. His casual demeanor belied the sharp intelligence in his eyes as he scanned the crowd.

"And last but certainly not least," Claude continued, his voice warm with affection, "we have Professor Maggie Mortimer who now lectures at Johns Hopkins, Purdue, and Columbia University's School of Journalism. Maggie's groundbreaking research on the intersection of social media, journalism, and public opinion led her to quite literally wrote the book on social media's impact on brand perception with her bestseller 'The Digital Mirror.’”

Claude paused, letting his introduction sink in before continuing. "Now, let's dive into our first question. In today's hyper-connected world, brands are under constant scrutiny. How can companies effectively build and maintain trust with their audiences while staying true to their core values?"

Dr. Rossi led out on the first question. As the professor began to speak about the psychological foundations of trust in brand relationships, you felt yourself relaxing slightly, absorbing the insights and mentally preparing your own thoughts.

When it was your turn to speak, you leaned forward slightly, your voice clear and steady as you addressed the audience. "Building on what Dr. Rossi said about psychological trust, I think it's crucial for brands to understand that trust is not just about what they say, but what they do. In my work with smaller, emerging brands, we've found that consistency and transparency are key. This means not just being open about successes, but also owning up to mistakes and showing how you're working to rectify them."

You paused, gathering your thoughts before continuing. "For example, we worked with a sustainable fashion startup that faced criticism over some of their manufacturing processes. Instead of getting defensive or trying to sweep it under the rug, we advised them to acknowledge the issue publicly, explain the steps they were taking to improve, and invite their audience to be part of the solution. This approach not only mitigated the potential damage but actually strengthened their relationship with their customer base."

As you spoke, you noticed heads nodding in the audience. Even Amilla, despite her earlier hostility, seemed to be listening intently. You felt a surge of confidence and continued.

"In today's world, consumers are savvy. They can spot insincerity a mile away. So authenticity isn't just a buzzword - it’s the lifeblood of a brand.”

Victor Chen jumped in, building on your point. "Absolutely. And in today's social media landscape, that kind of authentic engagement can spread like wildfire. We've seen countless examples of brands turning potential PR nightmares into opportunities for growth and connection with their audience."

The discussion flowed smoothly from there, with each panelist building on the others' points and offering unique insights. You found yourself relaxing into the conversation, your initial nerves giving way to genuine enthusiasm for the topic.

As the panel progressed, you couldn't help but notice Lloyd Hansen still leaning against the wall at the back of the room. His piercing blue eyes seemed to follow the discussion intently, his expression unreadable. You tried not to let his presence distract you, focusing instead on the engaging dialogue unfolding on stage.

About halfway through, Claude posed a question that made your heart race: "In an era where cancel culture can make or break a brand overnight, how can companies navigate controversial issues while maintaining their integrity and audience trust?"

Aaron Lang started to answer, discussing the importance of having a clear set of values and sticking to them.

Once he finished his thoughts, you jumped in, eager to contribute on this topic. "If I may add to that," you began, "I think it's crucial for brands to recognize that staying silent on important issues is no longer an option. Consumers, especially younger generations, expect the brands they support to take a stand on social and environmental issues."

“Can you expand on that for us?” Claude asked.

You nodded. "Authenticity is key. It doesn't mean jumping on every trending hashtag or making empty statements. Brands need to carefully consider which issues align with their core values and where they can make a genuine impact. Then, they need to back up their words with concrete actions."

You noticed several heads nodding in the audience, encouraging you to elaborate, and you went on to describe what a tech company had done to address the gender gap in STEM fields by launching a comprehensive summer bridge program for female high school students in the city of their headquarters and how they were planning to expand to the other two cities where they had offices.

When you finished your example, you noticed another ripple of approval through the audience. Victor Chen leaned in, nodding enthusiastically.

"That's an excellent point," he said. "It's not just about making statements, but about taking tangible actions that align with your brand values. I've seen companies falter when they try to jump on every trending issue without a clear strategy or genuine commitment."

The discussion continued to flow, with each panelist building on the others' insights, and with fifteen minutes left , Claude opened the floor for questions from the audience. You were pleasantly surprised when several hands shot up, and even more so when some of the questions were directed at you.

One attendee, a young woman with vibrant blue hair, asked about strategies for smaller brands to compete with larger corporations in terms of social responsibility initiatives. You felt a surge of confidence as you answered, drawing on your experiences with Nexus's smaller clients.

As the panel drew to a close, you felt a mix of relief and exhilaration. The discussion had been lively and engaging, with each panelist bringing unique insights to the table. Claude expertly guided the conversation, ensuring that everyone had a chance to shine.

"And with that, we'll conclude our panel," Claude announced. "I want to thank our exceptional panelists for their invaluable insights. Let's give them a round of applause."

The panel had gone better than you could have hoped, and the positive energy in the room was palpable. As you gathered your notes, Victor Chen leaned over, a warm smile on his face.

"You were absolutely brilliant," he said, his eyes twinkling with admiration. "Your insights on brand authenticity and social responsibility were spot-on. I particularly loved your example of the tech company's STEM initiative - it perfectly illustrated the importance of backing words with actions."

You felt a flush of pride at his words. "Thank you so much," you replied, your voice filled with genuine gratitude. "It means a lot coming from you. I've admired your work for years."

Victor's smile widened, and he leaned in a bit closer. "Well, the admiration is mutual now. You know, I've been in this industry for over two decades , and it's not often I come across someone with such a fresh perspective. The way you blend theoretical knowledge with practical application is truly impressive."

His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he continued, "I particularly enjoyed your take on the importance of transparency in crisis management. It's a delicate balance, but you seem to have a natural intuition for it."

You felt a warmth spreading through your chest at his words, a mix of pride and something else you couldn't quite place. Victor's gaze was intense, his body angled towards you as if you were the only person in the room.

Victor was undeniably charming, with his salt-and-pepper hair and warm brown eyes that seemed to sparkle when he spoke passionately about PR strategies. But he had to be at least fifteen, maybe even twenty years your senior.

But then the moment passed, and he casually said, “We should connect again before the conference is over.”

"That would be great," you replied, keeping your tone professional.

“I’ll let you address your new adoring fans now,” he smiled and nodded off to the side of the stage where a small knot of people were waiting and looking directly at you.

And as you approached that knot, you spotted Gus pushing his way to the front, a huge grin on his face. He pulled you into a big hug.

"That was amazing!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining with pride. "You absolutely killed it up there. I knew you would, but wow!"

You laughed, feeling a mixture of relief and elation. "Thanks, Gus. I can't believe it's over already. It felt like it flew by."

As you chatted with Gus and a few other attendees who had approached to ask follow-up questions, you noticed Anya and Holly hovering nearby, their expressions a mix of surprise and something that looked almost like grudging respect. You caught Anya's eye and gave her a small, professional nod, which she returned after a moment's hesitation. Holly looked away entirely.

Gus left with your coworkers, and just as you were wrapping up a conversation with an enthusiastic marketing student, you felt a presence behind you. Turning, you found yourself face to face with Lloyd Hansen. His piercing blue eyes met yours, his expression unreadable.

"Not bad," he said, his voice low and smooth. "Your point about authenticity in crisis management was... insightful."

Coming from Lloyd Hansen, this was high praise indeed. You felt a flutter in your stomach, but kept your composure. "Thanks. I'm glad you found it valuable."

He nodded, then bent his head closer so only you would hear. “Just enjoy your flash in the pan conference fame, pumpkin, because it takes more than a couple of clever questions and answers to make it longterm in this business.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, anger flaring inside of you, but you pulled it together and responded with, “Well, not all of us have nepotism to work with.”

Lloyd's eyes flashed dangerously at your retort, a muscle in his jaw tightening. For a moment, you thought you might have pushed too far. But then, to your surprise, the corner of his mouth twitched upward, giving something not quite a sneer but certainly not a smile.

"Touché," he said, his voice low and smooth. "Maybe you've got more fire than I gave you credit for."

You held his gaze, refusing to be intimidated now. "You really don’t know me at all, Mr. Hansen."

He studied you for a moment longer, his piercing blue eyes seeming to look right through you. "So it seems," he murmured, almost to himself. Then, abruptly, he straightened up. "Enjoy your moment in the spotlight. We'll see if you can sustain it."

Before you could respond, Lloyd's attention was drawn away by someone calling his name.

To say you were put out by him was an understatement, but you didn’t linger over it as a moment later Maggie appeared at your side, beaming with pride.

"You were absolutely brilliant up there," she remarked.

"Thank you, Maggie," you replied, feeling a rush of warmth at her praise. "I was so nervous, but once we got going, it was exhilarating."

Maggie's eyes twinkled. "That's the sign of a natural, my dear. You have a real talent for this. I’m so glad we reconnected here." She glanced over your shoulder, her expression shifting slightly. "And between you and me, I think you outshone some of our more... seasoned panelists."

You felt your neck flush, loving her confirmation you’d done well, but still finding it hard to accept the compliment. "I'm just glad I didn't embarrass myself up there."

"Embarrass yourself?" Maggie chuckled. "Far from it. Now you must agree to be my plus one tonight at the awards gala!”

Your heart skipped a beat at Maggie's invitation. The awards gala was one of the most prestigious events of the conference, typically reserved for industry veterans and VIPs.

"Are you sure?" you asked, trying to contain your enthusiasm. "I wouldn't want to impose."

Maggie waved her hand dismissively. "Nonsense! After that performance, you've more than earned your place there. Besides," she added with a mischievous glint in her eye, "I could use some youthful energy to keep me entertained during the stuffy speeches."

You laughed, feeling a surge of affection for your former professor. "Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse?"

"Excellent!" Maggie clapped her hands together. "Meet me in the lobby at 6:15. Wear something fabulous, it's time to - oh,” she paused when the look on your face changed, “what’s that thought that just crossed your mind?”

"I... I don't know if I have anything suitable to wear," you admitted, thinking of the limited wardrobe you'd packed for the conference.

Maggie waved her hand dismissively. "Nonsense. We'll find you something fabulous over the lunch break then. We’re in Paris! It won’t be hard. And before you say another word, it’s my treat!”

“Maggie, I couldn’t!”

“No, I really do insist. I had ulterior motives in getting you on the panel today so I wouldn’t be surrounded only by men, and I’m selfishly coercing you to play that part again tonight."

“But-”

“I have no children and my husband left me with far too much money when he passed away two years ago, so we are going to a fancy shop and getting you a gorgeous dress, and I may get another one for myself if the mood strikes me while we’re there, and I’m almost one hundred percent certain it will, so don’t spoil my fun, dear!”

Before you could protest, Maggie had linked her arm through yours and was steering you towards the exit. "Come on, we only have so two hours to get there and back before the afternoon keynote.”

next chapter: The Awards Gala

Well, lovelies, you did a good job participating in that panel! I'm as proud of you as Maggie and Gus!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #chris evans characters #aspen wrote something #huffily ever after

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grits-galraisedinthesouth · 8 months ago

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20 minutes of my life I'll never get back. 🤦‍♂️

I must be a glutton for punishment because I actually watched Kinsey Schofield's 20 min interview w/Valentine Low. May this rant save you from making the same mistake:

Valentine Low & Kinsey Schofield just reminded me that the British press is in desperate need of a grief recovery workshop to let go of their palace manufactured PR image of Sparry, "the CONSERVATIONIST," and accept the REALITY: Sparry has ALWAYS been a member of the lost boys who never intend to grow up. He loves drugs, perverted soho house sex play pens, and living a secret lifestyle in San Francisco, CA. As we saw in the South Park Documentary, Sparry has always wanted to be left alone so he can just bang on his drums all day.

The British media needs to accept that they never knew the Sparry aka Prince Harry. Much like Fergie & Andrew: The Meghans are two (2) intellectually below average individuals who married in haste. Both their academic & professional work histories indicate that these two (2) immature adults, lack even the basic skills necessary to function in society without the help of a PR "machine" whose job is to clean up their messes and repeatedly rebrand them into more acceptable members of polite society. It's past time for Valentine Low and other UK journalists to admit that they never really knew Sparry. All their Diana goodwill should now be invested into the future of the BRF (the family of Prince William)

No amount of hoping for the best or "covering up" for Sparry's misdeeds can transform the moral rot in his character. They bought and sold the PR image manufactured by the palace. It was the paparazzi & other "undesirables" who had the misfortune of observing the REAL Sparry. They watched him mistreat drivers, security, staffers, etc long BEFORE he was seduced by MEgain.

V Low believes Sparry flew a helicopter! 😳 Come on! Too many REAL service members have spoken out about Sparry's military character and performance and there's nothing good about it.

Sparry, like his wife is also a liar and a bully. He's not intellectually bright, he never was... He even bullied his grandparents before the "spectacle," he bullied Meghan's father...we heard reports about seeking a left wing wife and his interest in living in the US----all before MEgain.

Low also thinks Sparry loves his children. Has Valentine Low ever seen the invisibles? No. He's transferred a PR image to a couple of never before seen kids and their so called father. A so-called "father" who is willing to destroy his brother's children (and the innocent children of other couples) through the spread of destructive lies, has zero interest in the REAL wellbeing of anyone's kids, least of all his own.

As for the Wife: her ability to earn a college degree as an American teenager/young adult without even the offer of an ACADEMIC scholarship means that she too is mediocre and overrated. Her university commencement program states that she was a candidate for a degree in "communications" NOT some whip smart area of study like biochemistry or engineering! 🤦‍♂️

As a university student, thanks to her dad's brother (mike), she spent a measly six (6) weeks in Argentina on an exchange program (paid by her father) until she failed an exam that would have allowed her to apply for (real) jobs in the States. An intellectual or any hard worker would have studied until she passed the test. Not Rachel Meghan Markle. If no one was willing to make an exception for her low marks, then she would whore her way up a series of ladders until she found someone dumb enough to give her a platform.

No, this is NOT a "smart" couple. This couple is a cautionary tale about how Water seeks it's own level: Sparry's mother and teachers did him a disservice, just as MEgain's father did her a disservice: SPARE the rod & SPOIL the child

Kinsey believes that MEgain is "smart" because she achieved a Duchess title. (What does this tell us about Kinsey's IQ. 🤦‍♂️😳)

MEgain became a "Duchess" because she was a professional "seductress" employeed by Markus Anderson & Soho House. Everything this couple achieves is smoke & mirrors based on TRANSACTIONAL relationships where they bully & harass anyone standing in their way.

They don't even possess good work ethics, let alone above average IQs. Please call a spade a spade (or in this case a spare a spare) and stop gaslighting the public about what Sparry could have done had he not been involved with the wife.

We watched the wife verbally abuse KP staffers over bereavement flowers and feckless Sparry stood by in AGREEMENT. Wicked queen Jezebel 2.0 and traitorous king ahab 2.0. Let them go!

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hugintheraven · 2 months ago

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How to fix Amy Dallon

This is mostly me getting my thoughts in order. I doubt I will ever write Amy fix-it fic, but I want to have this just in case.

So the thing is, I don't think wretching Victoria was inevitable, far from it. That took a very specific set of circumstances. HOWEVER, "Amy does something selfish and harmful with her power that she can't fix, spirals and blames herself, does worse stuff in response"? I think that was fairly likely.

The problem is...a problem is...the various problems are...well I'll simplify. First, she has no support structure. Mark is useless, Carol is actively exacerbating her issues, and the rest of the family is their own kettle of fish. Victoria is the only person looking out for Amy, which quite aside from how that affects Amy, means that when Amy is in trouble, she turns to Victoria for help. If Victoria isn't around, then Amy has literally no one. Any friends she has are friends through Victoria, and I doubt the teenage superhuman is on friendly terms with her coworkers at the hospital(though seriously the professionals there should have noticed her issues LONG AGO).

Then we have Amy's power. Which is pushing her to use it in aggressive, selfish, and harmful ways. She's holding that off through sheer force of will, but that's not sustainable.

There's also her physical and mental limits. She's working her power to the limit normally, not sleeping, and straining herself to do more. Which isn't good at the best of times, let alone long-term.

All of which is tied up with the psychological issues package, her self-hate, feelings of inadequacy, severe dichotomous view of the world, etc.

Her crush on Victoria is a problem for her, don't get me wrong. But I don't think it's at all the main source, or even a significant chunk, of what was needed for Amy to screw up SOMETHING.

Here's what I see as needed for Amy to end up going villain(in her eyes and possibly the eyes of the law): A significant crisis that strains her control further, and Amy not being able to talk to Victoria about it. That's it. That leads to Amy losing control of her power and not having anyone around to keep her from doubling down. The specific circumstances in canon(she screws up Victoria, after a month of fighting with her family, post-Endbringer, and then her downfall is pushed along by Jack Slash) is what led to the Victoria flesh-coffin etc, but "Amy breaks someone she can't fix, freaks out, makes things worse" was a pretty logical place for her to end up given...everything.

So how can this be avoided? We can't stop constant crises from occurring, this is Brockton Bay. And the longer things go, the more tired she gets, thus the smaller the needed crisis would be. And fixing her mental issues probably takes a team of professionals a few years.

Step one, therefor, is bulking up her support structure. Doesn't matter if it's Taylor, Lisa, a SI char, having Amy join the Wards/Travellers/Uber and Leet/a book club, whatever. Just have her talking about her life on a regular basis to SOMEONE who she isn't related to. Preferably more than one person, otherwise there's still a risk of her turning a child into a Nilbog creation while her new friend and Victoria are both busy.

Next, we remove her from some of her sources of stress(meaning Carol). Anything you try to do while Carol is still around will just be undone by Carol's pressures.

THEN we introduce the team of professional head-shrinkers. This could happen earlier, since a therapist is one more person Amy can call with "I just screwed up", but I distrust Carol's reaction to her disliked daughter seeking professional help. (and it doesn't have to be a professional TBH, just someone to help work through her issues, but a professional is both trained in not making things worse and also is disconnected from the broader cape community, which lets them be objective in a way that, say, Lisa isn't).

Now I don't think this stops Amy from eventually losing control of her power and hurting someone. And she probably still can't fix it, her shard is canonically a dick. There's enough crises in the Bay to both make her overwork and to make her break her rules at some point, even if it's not specifically the S9 who does it. But if she screws up when she has multiple people she can call for advice, when she's been away from Carol's additional stress, and when someone's been unpacking her list of issues, I think further damage could be prevented and Amy could keep helping people despite the bumps.

#Parahumans #Wormblr #Amy Dallon

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raventao · 1 year ago

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DCxDP idea

What if ...

Reveal gone wrong, Danny and Dani are discovered by Jack and Maddie who react badly, to say the least. They expirament on them for a weekend (Jazz was gone and they wanted to be done before she got home. Obviously they wouldn't want to upset their daughter with confronting her with the knowledge that Danny was dead, had veen for a wbile now, and that Phantom had killed him and was wearing his body like a meat puppet.) Before they literally sell them off to the GIW. Vlad and Team Phantom don't find out about this until it's too late and aren't able to break them out. They try anyway, of course, but Vlad isn't even able to get on the premises due to a ghost shield, and Team Phantom is just liminal enough to ping the alarm despite being human enough to get past the shield. They all get captured as well. No one knew where they were, and the GIW denies Mayor Master's claims that the kids were being held by them.

Out of options, Vlad makes a call. He's going to fix this properly his way. It takes a week of back and forth and several bribes all over the east coast, but Vlad has finally found what he's looking for. It takes considerably less effort to set up a meeting with Deathstroke than it took to seek him out, but now that he has his attention, he places two folders in front of him. "I have two jobs for you. One is more time sensitive than the other, but both do need to be taken care of immediately should you accept." He states seriously. Inside one folder are two pictures and a small dossier on both Drs Fenton. Inside the other is everything he and Technus had been able to dig up on the GIW, the facility they were keeping the kids in, and the Anti-Ecto acts as background for why the government thought they could commit the atrocities Vlad knew they were deep inside the compound. There is also a small list in the back of the folder: Daniel Fenton, Jasmine Fenton, Samantha Manson, Tucker Foley, Danielle Masters, and Valerie Gray.

"I want the Doctors Fenton dead. I don't care how. Preferably slowly and painfully, but I am aware that could take time away from the other job." Vlad says, tapping the second folder. "This is a government facility, one that has stolen my daughter, my godchildren, and their friends. I want it, the ground it stands on, and all of the agents inside it razed to bedrock. Not even ash or bones left." He seeths.

"Rescue missions seem more like a professional hero's scene." Slade muses flatly. "Have you considered the Juatice League?"

"Heros won't kill these bastards, and prison is too good for them. My daughter, Danielle, is likely already dead by their hands. She was already only tentitvly stable before the Fenton's expiramented on her, and I doubt the GIW have been treating her any better. I will be damned to the burning lake of fire before I let Daniel and Jasmine meet the same fate. I will pay whatever I must to ensure my children be returned to me alive. Their friends too, I suppose. I would never hear the end of it if I left them. Daniel might even try to go back in for them, even at the risk of his own life. Just name your price, money is no object." Vlad argues back.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #Vlad is still an asshole but he's an asshole that cares #he isn't going to let Danny die #mainly because if it gets out that he didn't do enough to save him the Infinite Realms will riot and make it his problem #so he hires Deathstroke the Terminator #only the best for his kids after all #reveal gone wrong

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alexusonfire · 2 years ago

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Old Wounds, New Dances

Larissa Weems x teacher!Reader

A/n: My heart always cracks a little at Weems' face when she recalls her own Rave'n; thought a little dance to cheer her up was in order 🤗 Came up with this during the scene when Wednesday confronts Tyler at the Rave'n, and this song is playing in the background. Hope y'all enjoy!

"Larissa?"

You'd seen her disappear into the little alcove off the side of the Great Hall, having kept somewhat of an eye on her all night. She looked beautiful, her hair twisted up elegantly, silver dress hugging her in all the right curves; you'd tried not to stare, but whilst her gaze was fixed elsewhere you couldn't help but admire her for a few seconds more. She'd greeted you cheerily when you entered the dance, and you didn't miss the way her eyes flicked down your body before giving her most professional smile and wishing you a fun evening.

Now, tucked away from the flashing lights and booming music, she seemed softer, an air of wistful melancholy hanging over her. You slowly approached her, catching her gaze before continuing.

"Are you alright?"

She gave you a sad smile, ducking her head for a moment before regaining her composure, straightening her shoulders back and clasping her hands in front of her.

"I'm fine. Needed a moment is all. Are you enjoying yourself?"

You could tell there was more to it, and you had a sneaking suspiscion it had to do with the conversation you'd overheard between her and Marilyn earlier; your heart had sunk upon hearing of Larissa's own devastating Rave'n experience. Admittedly it confused you, how someone could so easily reject the stunning woman in front of you, even all those years ago.

"I am. It's nice to see the students so excited, especially after the Outreach incident."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it."

Her fingers began to twitch, as they often did when something was on her mind. You knew you should probably just leave her to it, give her the space she had obviously been seeking out, but her face when recalling her rejected youth flashed through your mind again and you were overcome with the urge to comfort her.

"I probably shouldn't say, but I overheard your conversation with Miss Thornhill earlier. Whoever that boy was, he was clearly blind, stupid, or both, and missed out on a wonderful opportunity."

At that she laughed, a real laugh, and it made your heart soar to see her shoulders relax and a pretty blush creep up her neck.

"Thank you dear. Truthfully I wonder if it's the boy himself who upsets me still or simply the teenage angst I suffered. I suppose neither matter now though do they?"

You nodded in agreement, a slow song floating through the entryway giving you an idea. With her eyes twinkling down at you, you felt the air rush from your lungs before finding the words to the question you'd wanted to ask since you first laid eyes on that damn dress of hers.

"Would... would you like to dance Larissa?"

Her eyes widened for a moment, and you prepared for her to politely refuse, perhaps even ask you to leave her be once and for all-

"Yes."

It was quiet, so timid you nearly missed it. You blinked once, twice, then shook yourself back to reality. Slowly you reached out to grab her hand, placing it on your shoulder before sliding yours onto her lower back. She bit her lip (nearly sending you toppling to the floor) and pulled you slightly closer as you began to sway to the music. At first it was somewhat awkward, needing to adjust your steps a couple of times and neither of you being used to such physical closeness, but you got the hang of it, relaxing into eachother's embrace and enjoying the small bubble of peace...

Until a couple of students started giggling behind you.

"Awe, you guys are so cute together!!"

Larissa fixed her most serious glare onto the group of girls, but that only seemed to encourage them, the giggles growing louder as they pushed eachother back out to the dance.

"I told you Ms. Weems liked her!" one exclaimed to the other in a not-so-quiet whisper as they left, the girls tittering amongst themselves at the idea. You couldn't help but chuckle yourself, remembering how you used to pair up the teachers in your school days too.

"Well... they aren't... wrong I suppose."

You looked up at her, surprised by her statement. She attempted to pull back, but you tightened your grip on her waist ever so slightly, willing her to stay.

"I... I like you too Larissa. Quite a bit actually. And um... if you're up to it, I'd like to take you out for dinner sometime. On a date. If you'd want to, that is-"

Larissa laughed at your rambling, finding it rather endearing, and silenced it with a kiss to your cheek and a squeeze of your hand.

"I look forward to it. Now, shall we finish our dance before facing the rumors I'm certain are already spreading amongst the students?"

It was your turn to laugh, and you simply nodded in agreement. You dared to pull her flush to you, her head tilting with a flirtatious smirk as you started to sway once more. As you lost yourself in her sapphire gaze, her body heat mingling with yours and her sweet perfume the only thing you could focus on, she encompassed every sense you had in the most delicious and delightful way.

Indeed what an utter fool, that mystery boy was, to have passed up on this.

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #gwendoline christie

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sams-venting · 29 days ago

Note

Since no one wants to listen to the truth I am actually sorta making my own direct response because I'm so so tired of it being treated like my trauma is a controversy, like what I and my friends went through wasn't a big deal because of how it happened when they don't know everything. It's not fair I was a kid, I didn't know better until Alex came to me asking if Mothy ever talked to me like that knowing my age and do you know how horrifying that is? Finding out something you thought was fine wasn't actually okay? And Mothy you knew our ages I know you knew them because we all stated our ages at least two to three times near you and in conversations near you we even displayed it bright and shiny in our tumblr bio's which we were mutuals on. If Mothy is really as innocent as some of you wanna push I'm providing a list of all the side affects I suffered throughout the friendship, the after affects, and till now. It's not fair Ikami and Mothy can push this idea we never said our ages and that we framed them and we wanted this to happen, we never would of wanted this. I never wanted to get hurt so bad I didn't ask for it. I didn't want any of it I just couldn't say no.

Increased paranoia, so bad I was getting into repetitive hourly cycles checking if something went wrong.

Feeling like I had to defend Mothy, automatically putting all blame on myself at first because I never told them no directly. Feeling as if I didn't have the right to say anything Mothy did to me hurt me because though I didn't want it I was trying to make as little problems as possible. Feeling the need to beg to not have any information out because I feared what Mothy would do.

Relapses in self harm and self destructive habits due to how I had to read the blame that was being shoved on me and my friends, breakdowns due to feeling dirty and shame for ‘letting’ what happen happen and not knowing better.

Anxiety heightened due to the fact Mothy tried to rip me away from my friend groups and even turn my (online) brother and father onto me which caused deep horror that I would lose my loving support system I was starting to build.

Struggling to eat, sleep, and do my day to day regular tasks, due to how far Mothy pushed things, feeling as if I wasn't allowed to tell Mothy no or that I was uncomfortable or else I would lose my social group and everything I loved and even now I feel like I can't even tell my parents.

Constantly putting my emotions to the side because I felt I always had to comfort Mothy even when they overshadowed me. Even when I was experiencing bad harassment (death threats and general harrassment) and she'd vent in front of my own rants. I'd always comfort her. She'd at times make me feel like I was an amazing person and so helpful and good to her for helping her when I originally did so.

Feeling like I couldn't complain if my limits were broken or I was a bad person.

Having to seek out more professional mental health assistance due to the fact all the drama and fear was leading into suicidal ideation and not being able to be left unsupervised for certain periods of time.

Feeling small in any conversation Mothy was involved with, and feeling uncomfortable and like I wanted out of the conversation no matter the topic, but feeling like I couldn't because she made it clear it upset her when I did so.

Needing nonstop help from my partner and company due to the fact my anxiety would spike up to extremes once I was left alone.

Feeling as if I needed to isolate myself and hide from everyone around me that was associated with her because I felt as if she was best friends with everyone I was close to because of how she acted about people, she especially made it seem like she was super close to people I idolized.

Feeling a sense of dread whenever their mere name was brought up.

Upon arrival of Mothy coming back having to be retraumatized and have emotions run back to me, in a mere few days regressing back into the bad habits I had when abuse was actively taking place and barely being able to be away from my partner. Having to deal with memory upon memory popping up. Panicking upon each post and crying on and off and being unable to properly complete schoolwork due to the fact them coming back was on the front of my mind and put me into fight or flight that has made it hard to focus on anything else. The fear I felt from being name dropped causing my asthma to act up due to how alert and worked up I became.

#sams venting blog #tsams venting blog

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eleanorblythe · 6 months ago

Text

Romantic Homicide - Anton Chigurh x Original Female Character - One Shot

This is supplemental to my first three chapters and explores Anton and her before the events of Romantic Homicide.

This is what happened to Carson on November 28th 1979

Also on Ao3 with authors notes - here

Curiosity Killed The Colonel

November 28th 1979

There had been rumours. Albeit very hushed and tentative - mostly uttered by people who had an obvious death wish.

For everyone else, they were easily dismissed as last ditch pleas of desperate people. For what they said was too outlandish, too unfathomable to be true.

And yet, Carson Wells, couldn’t let it go. He knew he shouldn’t get involved, it was never going to end well, and seemed a lot of risk to take, just to confirm or deny a ridiculous rumour.

He was aware that the two had met. More than once. He was aware of their reputations. Who wasn’t?

But Anton was a psychopath.

And she was dead.

The idea that they were not only involved (in any way other than professionally), but married?!

Carson found that hard to believe.

And yet, here he was. Acting as a lookout as he tailed Anton - on one of his days off, evidently.

It was odd to see a man, such as Anton, do something as mundane as grocery shopping. He went to the bank, he picked up some dry cleaning and-

And bought some flowers.

That was strange. Anton holding a small bouquet of flowers was as out of place as a cactus in a snowstorm. Carson started to feel a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He started to clear the mess of wrappers and papers on his dashboard away, ready to get the hell out of the city, when a dull tapping hit against his window.

“Hello Carson,” a muffled voice came.

Wells slowly looked up and tentatively rolled the window down.

“Hey, Anton,” he hid the quake in his voice.

“What are you doing here?” Anton seemed quite relaxed holding flowers in one hand and his dry-cleaning slung over his shoulder with the other, but Carson could sense underneath his cool and easy going demeanour - he could strike at any moment.

“Short layover before heading off on next assignment, you know how it goes.”

“And why were you watching me?”

There was no getting around it.

“I didn’t want to disturb you,”

“Nobody sent you?”

“Like anyone would be stupid enough to put a hit out on you,” he disguised the fear in his voice with a chuckle.

Anton stared at him. Although he seemed to be staring through Carson. He must have known it was bullshit, but he didn’t seem worried.

“You’re not a very good liar, Carson. For someone in your position, that’s quite a defect.”

“My only defect here, is my own morbid curiosity.” Carson admitted.

Anton tilted his head to the side with a small smile of satisfaction.

“What curiosity?”

“Do you have any ideas about the rumours that have been passed around, about you?”

“I don’t concern myself with gossip, Carson.” He then leaned forward and in a significantly darker tone added. “And neither should you,”

Wells tried to swallow, but his throat was dry.

“It’s no harm Anton, no one’s asked me to seek out this information, I can just drive away, right now.”

Anton suddenly pulled back and opened the car door.

“You should come by the house, it’s been a while since we’ve caught up.”

Anton trying to sound friendly was almost more terrifying than having the man simply hunt you. Carson knew he didn’t have a choice, he reluctantly got out of the car, sneakily trying to grab his pistol shoved down the side of the seat before he heard Anton tut.

“No, Carson, I think not.”

Wells knew.

He was fucked.

He followed Anton, in silence. Rode in the passenger seat, in silence. Walked up the front yard path, in silence. He was forced to carry the grocery bags and balance the dry-cleaning Anton tossed to him as he retrieved his house keys and unlocked the door.

Carson couldn’t help but watch the front door close behind him, Anton twisting the lock in place.

But if this place was to be his tomb, at least it was well decorated. Wells was pleasantly surprised, he spotted a brand new television set and top of the range furniture. He couldn’t imagine Anton picking out swatches and arranging furniture.

Unless there was another.

Now Carson was really sweating bullets. He cursed himself at the deep chasm of shit he got himself involved in. He thought knowing the truth might give him some leverage, should he ever need it, but now he could only scold himself for being such a fool.

A fool with a death wish. Like all the others who crossed paths with Him and Her.

Then Carson had the recurring thought. She was dead. They all knew this, it was big enough news, Carson was half surprised it wasn’t shared in a hitman newsletter(!) She hadn’t been seen in nearly a year. True there was no body, but everyone just assumed the cartel disposed of it in some creative way (God help them) or she slipped away and died somewhere unknown. Buried in an unmarked grave.

Anton directed him to move the grocery bags to the kitchen. Equally as high end - Why did Anton need a fancy coffee machine? The man lived off of crappy diner food and lukewarm coffee from a chipped hostess pot.

“So Carson,” Anton started as he began putting the food away. “What are these salacious rumours you’ve been hearing?”

“Who said anything about it being salacious,”

“I have found, when it comes to me, people are very interested in who or what I care for, of that nature. I never understand why,”

“It’s because you’re unnatural,” Carson helplessly gestured to himself. “Us normal folk always want to solve the unsolvable,”

“What did you hear?” Anton’s eyes pinned him to the spot.

“There was whisperings that you…” Carson couldn’t even believe what he was saying, how childish it all sounded. “Got hitched.”

“Hitched?”

Anton knew what it meant. He just wanted the satisfaction of hearing Carson utter it, out loud.

“Got married, for Christ’s sake, Anton!”

Anton, damn him, was as still as a statue, completely unmoved by what was, to anyone else, a pretty shocking revelation.

“I see.” He said quietly. “Who told you this information?”

“Come on, Anton,”

“Names.”

In that moment, Carson had no trouble throwing those people under the bus. There were only three names, but he watched Anton nod his head at each name, making a mental note for later. Carson didn’t want to think about what came later.

“If it helps, most people don’t believe a word of it,”

“But you do.”

“I don’t.”

“If you didn’t you wouldn’t have come all this way to find out. To sate you ‘morbid curiosity’,”

Carson had no answer to that.

“And who am I married to?” Anton asked.

“Anton, please,” he practically begged.

At that moment a new voice made itself known behind him.

“Yes, I’d like to hear this, what are they calling me these days?” She had obviously been listening for some time and she held back a chortle, seeing Carson jump at the sound of her voice.

“Jesus,” Carson breathed. “You’re supposed to be dead,”

“Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you,” she said bluntly. Anton gave a dry chuckle and came around the kitchen island to clap Carson around the shoulders.

“Let’s sit, shall we?” He looked over at his wife, then nodded towards the flowers resting on the counter. She gave a grateful smile and went about cutting and arranging them in a vase she took out from under the sink.

Carson was led into the living room and prompted to sit down on one of the plush sofas. At least he’d die comfortably.

She soon came into the room with her vase of beautifully arranged flowers (where did she learn how to do that?) and placed them on a table by the window before sitting on a nearby armchair. Carson noted she had triangulated her position with Anton to cover each other if things went south.

Not that Carson would even attempt to fight those two in any sort of encounter.

The silence was palpable, his eyes flitting between the two killers, both of whom were sitting, relaxed with small smiles gracing their faces.

“So how long have you two…?” Carson started awkwardly.

They both tilted their heads curiously. Carson looked and nodded down at her wedding band and impressive engagement ring on her left hand. Neither of them dignified Carson with an answer until he finished his sentence.

“…been married.” Carson finished in a defeated tone.

“Two months.” She answered admiring her own ring. “Are you here to drop off a wedding gift?”

“He came to see if it was true.” Anton answered before Carson could open his mouth.

“Oh. That’s a shame. I was hoping you’d brought a gravy boat or something.”

Anton’s eyebrows furrowed, slightly confused.

“Why would you want that?” He asked, with a quiet curiosity.

“Well, it’s not like we can register.” She then turned her attention to Carson. “Unless your presence here changes things?” She posed it as a question, but Carson knew it was a threat.

Have you already opened your big mouth and exposed us?

Anton smirked and leaned back in his seat, it had been a while since he’d seen her in action…

Lubricating his dry throat, Carson swallowed and went to say something when the chipper sound of a doorbell cut through the silence. He watched as the newlyweds quickly glanced at each other then stared, almost pointedly, back at Wells.

“You expecting company?” Carson asked.

“No.” They said in unison.

She stood up, suddenly, making Carson flinch and went to the front door. Anton kept his eyes locked on Carson.

She looked through the peep hole and suppressed a wry smile. She opened the door to greet her friendly, if overbearing, neighbour.

“Hey, sugar! I hope I’m not interrupting, I saw Anton’s car in the drive.”

“Hello Mrs Miller.”

“Oh, Ruby, please! I have something for the two of you.” As she looked down she could see Mrs Miller holding a plate wrapped in aluminium foil, and couldn’t hold back her genuine smile.

As if he could hear the quiet rustling of foil, Anton suddenly appeared behind her, patiently waiting to see what dish awaited them today.

“Oh Anton! There you are. I just wanted to drop this off as a thank you for your help last week.”

“This is not necessary, Ruby.” She futilely tried to argue.

“No, darlin’ I won’t hear it. Anton, talk some sense into your wife. She needs to eat. She’s far too skinny.” Ruby said reprovingly.

“I’ll do my best.” Anton said, barely containing his mirth. “But she is right, this is not necessary.”

“Are you crazy? After you both saved my life?!” Mrs Miller scoffed.

Mrs Miller was prone to extreme exaggeration.

In reality, Anton had been looking out of the window from the kitchen and saw Mrs Miller precariously carry overflowing bags of groceries up a slippery driveway. He had wondered why she bothered wearing heels in the rain. Soon enough he saw her roll over her ankle and plummet onto the concrete, hitting her head in the process.

Anton watched on with a medical eye. Definitely a concussion. He wouldn’t know if she had dislocated her ankle or just sprained it without closer examination.

He felt the hand of his wife close around his waist and squeeze affectionately before moving him out of the way so she could wash something in the sink.

“What’s Ruby doing laying on the ground?” She asked when she saw what was happening outside of the window.

“She fell.” Anton answered, kissing the top of her head.

“How long has she been there?”

“A couple of minutes. I think she’s unconscious.”

He heard her faint tsk and she went to the freezer to take out some ice cubes to put into an ice bag.

“What are you doing?” He asked as he saw her moving around the kitchen.

“Anton, we can’t leave our neighbour there.”

“We can’t?”

She fixed him with a stare. After a few moments, Anton uttered a quiet “alright.” and grabbed his medical bag from one of the cupboards.

It turned out to be a simple sprain and only a very mild concussion. Anton was almost disappointed the situation didn’t call for much more than ice and a comfortable chair. Anton checked Mrs Miller over and his wife put away the spilled groceries and changed the ice when it melted.

Hardly in the realm of ‘life-saving’.

And now Mrs Ruby Miller was here with more food. She had dropped food around The Chigurhs before. When they first moved in and when they had done relatively small and ‘neighbourly’ things in Mrs Miller’s eye.

She and Anton were too proud to admit that the food was heavenly and had once almost devolved into knife fight over who got the last slice of flan.

Looking at the tented plate Ruby was holding now, Anton hoped there wouldn’t be a repeat performance like the flan. She was stronger now and could probably win - if it was knives.

“Now, I have to admit I’ve never made this before. I did multiple tries before I got it right, but you’ll have to let me know what you think,” Ruby said excitedly pushing the plate towards them. Anton did reach, but his wife was quicker, holding it protectively close to her.

They both thanked Ruby, bordering on enthusiastically, and promised to let her know soon.

Carson, having overheard the entire exchange, was at a loss. At this point he was almost certain he had already been killed and what he was witnessing was just a bizarre version of purgatory (or hell - let’s face it).

She came back into the living room still cradling the plate, like it was a newborn, and placed it on the coffee table. She peeled away the foil to reveal a beautifully formed and decorated cake.

“Oh. Tres leches cake,” she admired before looking up at Anton. “She must think you’re Mexican, darling.”

Anton simply hummed noncommittally and sat back down.

“I hope you’re not expecting a slice.” Anton said. It took Carson a couple of seconds to realise Anton was addressing him.

“What? No. Of course not!”

“Correct answer, Carson. Keep answering like that and you might make it out of this alive.” She said jovially.

“I wasn’t aware that was an option.”

“Oh I’m sorry. Would you prefer that we kill you?” She said sucking some cream off of her thumb.

“What exactly do you want from me?” Carson answered, starting to get frustrated.

“Careful, Colonel,” she said darkly. “You found us. Remember?”

Carson seemed to remember himself and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“You know I wouldn’t…” Carson let his sentence trail off. He wanted to say he would never reveal their secret, that through all his foolishness in coming here today, he knew where he stood. He respected them both too much. He also wanted to live.

Oddly enough, he did feel a small amount of joy seeing the two psychos together.

He was a sentimental idiot.

Deep, deep, deep down.

“And what will you do for us?” She asked, gazing longingly at the cake, her eyes briefly flicked up to meet his. He was lucky he didn’t turn to stone. She obviously had an idea in mind.

“What would you like?” Carson asked, weary of the answer. He watched her smirk mischievously at Anton. Anton nodded once and looked to Carson.

When Anton spoke, Carson wished he was already dead.

“Oscar Brekker.”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” Carson was aware he was about one decibel away from screeching.

“A gifted bounty hunter like you, it shouldn’t take you too long to track him down.” He couldn’t tell if she was being genuine or not.

“Even with the best equipment and intel in the world, it would be near impossible.”

“Nearly. But it’s possible.” Anton added.

After a series of starts Carson finally settled on; “But why?”

Wells saw her eyes drop down to her right side and Anton, following his wife’s gaze, clenched his jaw.

“He’s the last one left.” Anton said quietly.

The puzzle pieces clicked together. Oscar Brekker was the ‘Big Cheese’. He was everywhere and nowhere. The kingpin and the wraith. Powerful and anonymous. Carson should have known. Oscar Brekker only worked with the best, and anyone would concede that she was one of the best in the business. She was often on his payroll - she was on his payroll the day she died.

It also explained the rash of unexplained murders of high ranking gang members over the last year.

“Taking a man like Brekker down is not only impossible, but insane. He controls damn near half of the east coast. It would put our world into chaos.”

“You wouldn’t be taking him down. You’d be using your wonderful people skills and contacts to find him.” She said. “I’m sure we can take care of the rest.”

“There’s plenty of people ready to fill Brekker’s vacancy - I’m not worried about a civil war.” Anton added.

You wouldn’t be. Carson thought bitterly. Nothing mattered to Anton as long as he could have his bloody revenge. Her bloody revenge. For a moment, Carson put aside his panic and incredulity at being given such a task and really looked at them.

Behind her cool, sarcastic and deceptively frightening persona, Carson could see how much this mattered to her. And to Anton. In his own twisted way, Anton was the chivalrous sort.

“I’ll probably be dead before I get anywhere close to him,” Carson mumbled.

“Despite your many flaws, this is something you are actually good at, Carson.”

Backhanded praise from Anton Chigurh, was about as bizarre as it got.

“I can’t promise you anything.” Carson hedged.

She just simply grinned, even Anton managed to lift the corner of his lips, briefly.

……

It was a strange sensation, walking out of the mouth of hell and into a quiet, peaceful suburban neighbourhood. Birdsong, kids shouting and playing in the distance, sensible sedans driving at sensible speeds.

He shouldn’t have done (he’d risked enough today already), but Carson looked back at the house and through the living room window.

Anton was holding two plates and a knife gesturing down at the cake. They seemed to be in deep thought, figuring out how to divide it up. She picked up the cake and licked a long stripe across the top, cream spreading messily around her mouth and chin. Anton put the plates and knife down and advanced towards her. She quickly put the cake down, before Anton gathered her up in his arms. He paused for a moment before leaning down to kiss her senseless, cleaning up as much cream as he could. If Carson listened carefully, he could hear her peals of laughter and halfhearted cries for him to release her. Instead he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her out of the room.

Carson couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. But now he really needed to leave. The adrenaline didn’t hit him until he was out of the suburbs and stopped at a red light.

He had to pull over.

Several months later

She went to the mailbox and was surprised to see a parcel staring back at her.

God, she hoped it wasn’t a bomb.

She carefully brought it inside and put it on the kitchen counter. She spent a long time just looking and listening (just in case).

When she was, fairly certain it wasn’t a bomb she opened the box and read the note neatly placed on top of the tissue paper.

She was elated.

She felt hands wrap around her waist and a warmth against her back. Anton read the note over her shoulder then kissed her temple.

“Good work, Carson.”

The note said:

Happy hunting.

And below that, an address.

And underneath the tissue paper:

A gravy boat.

#fanfiction #anton chigurh #no country for old men #anton chigurh x reader #ncfom #anton chigurh fanfic #Carson wells

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mysticheathenn · 10 months ago

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What Will Make You Financially Abundant?

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is for my Patreon All Tiers. This pick-a-card reading is all about what will bring financial stability and abundance into your life.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

Extended Patreon Includes:

What do you need to let go of to bring this to fruition?

What will this abundance bring or gift me?

Extra Messages

MasterList

Patreon Link

Ko-Fi Donations

Pile l:

What will bring you Financial abundance? Tarot: 4 of Pentacles, Knight of Cups, Strength, 4 of Cups, King of Swords, Ace of Swords

Following your truth. I know you are probably looking for a straight answer like me saying your current career, a sugar daddy, or the lottery but pile l you are what will bring financial abundance to you. A lot of you are constantly sleeping on the many ideas that spirit has given you because you are either too scared to take the leap, don't believe you are good enough, your idea isn't good enough, or you believe it's already been done before. Either way, you are the key to bringing in this abundance into your life by acting on the ideas that come to you no matter how ridiculous or "bland" they may seem. You are basically sleeping on your own potential and what you can bring into your life. Some of you are even hold yourself back by having a scarcity mindset, not believing that you can bring in financial stability or abundance. Stand in your power or for a few of you stand in your purpose that keeps knocking at your door that you keep ignoring because of fear. This reminds me of a pile in my previous reading. I believe it was pile 3 from my "What Do You Still Need to Heal From?" Reading. Wake up. Smell the coffee and get to work. Stop putting off your ideas. Stop ignoring your ideas. Stop ignoring the path that keeps popping up in your life for you to take. This reminds me of the scene from Barbie where she didn't want to find out why she was "malfunctioning" but she had to find out because if she doesn't she would end up like weird Barbie. This is you pile l...if you don't walk the path you were meant to walk, listen to your ideas, and release this scarcity mindset...you will continue to struggle. Patreon Post Link

Pile ll:

What will bring you Financial abundance? Tarot: 10 of Pentacles, Ace of Pentacles, 3 of Cups, 4 of Pentacles, 4 of Cups, 2 of Cups, King of Wands

Sugar Daddy by Qveen Herby is playing in my head as I try to listen for your message pile ll. For some of you this is between a wealthy benefactor or you marrying rich. Especially with the 2 of cups being a card mostly related to romance but it can be used for business opportunities. Another song playing in my head is Finer Things by FEYI. This is my materialistic pile that wants the tips and trips to the island - Money Honey by Lady Gaga. You are all about living a luxurious lifestyle one way or another. You may resonate with wanting a soft life than constantly always being in your masculine energy and bossing everyone around. For some of you, you don't want to work because you believe that you were meant to be some CEO, NFL, NBA, or Tech's spoiled Girlfriend, and others, you want to have the option to work. Maybe you want a small side business like most Trophy Wives living in Beverly Hills where they have a side business to keep them busy instead of always shopping. I can already see you sitting at a cafe, or a spa trip, and international trips with your closest friends. You're surrounded by your spoiled girlfriend friends living the good life sipping champagne while receiving just because gifts from your lover and even push presents for those who want to be a stay-at-home wife. A push present is where you get a gift for your hard work in carrying a child. This pile reminds me of the TLC special that used to run called The Secrets of a Trophy Wife with Jennifer Stano and Layla Milani (I love both of them, especially Layla) her husband absolutely adores her and that's what you want pile ll. (Click the show name for the show trailer of what I was talking about). You want that soft life where you are adored, pampered, and living life of luxury filled with beautiful things and love. Patreon Post Link

Pile lll:

What will bring you Financial abundance? Tarot: The Fool, High Priestess, The Sun, 4 of Wands, 10 of Wands, The Hermit (reversed), 2 of Wands (reversed)

This is more my spiritual, philanthropy, and humanitarian pile. What will bring you financial abundance is walking in your purpose where you were meant to help others in some shape or form. This could be you working in the medical field, being a lawyer, a spiritual guru, life or spiritual coach, tarot reader, dietician/herbalist, whatever it is you were meant to make your abundance by being of service to other people. I feel some of you know this but you don't want to answer the call because of fear or because of the amount of hard work that comes along with doing this kind of thing. Yes it is taxing some days on the soul but overall all this is what you were meant to do, help others. Bring awareness to certain things in life that will get people talking. I don't want any of you to think the list of occupations is only it, it can also be a techer or whatever else occupation where you are making a difference for the future and in others lives. But it is something that will be hard work to the point some days you will question if it worth it because of how much you have to do in order to bring in this success but you will always be reminded in some form that it is definitely worth it and to keep going. Patreon Post Link

Pile lV:

What will bring you Financial abundance? Tarot: Ace of Swords, Ace of Cups, 3 of Pentacles, 7 of Pentacles, 6 of Pentacles, 6 of Swords

This pile is a mixture of walking away from your current job for something better, following a business venture, or even just doing freelancing (Etsy, Fiverr, Upwork, etc). I don't know what you are up to pile lv all I know is that you are unsatisfied with where you are currently because of either a toxic workplace or knowing that you can make more money elsewhere but aren't sure where to start. Here is your sign to leave and go where you are meant to go. Again this is a general reading and everyone has a different job. Leaving your job for a better environment and higher pay is one thing but for most of you I feel you want to open your own business, or just freelance your work or maybe even work from home is what I am hearing for a few of you. Either way, this idea you have is completely doable it just involves you leaving where you are currently at. Some of you aren't scared you just aren't too sure about the future and just need a push to get there while others of you are waiting for a sign or a more solid reason to leave because you listen too much to other people who wouldn't understand why you left because of XYZ and I am here to tell you to just do you. You do not need to answer to other people on why you left a job to pursue something better. Not every wave was meant to be chased or followed and this goes for where you are currently especially since you are miserable where you are now. Patreon Post Link

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Stay safe and be blessed

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