#if you want to have an allegiance to truth you have to trade in the comfort of constant certainty | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reminiscingtonight · 2 years ago

Text

Begin Again

Millie Turner x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

[WOSO Masterlist]

You don’t know what you were expecting. When Millie approached you after practice the other day, face a little pink as she asked you out to coffee, you weren’t sure what to expect.

Manchester has been nice. After your last relationship crashed and burned catastrophically, it was only a miracle that your friends got you to agree to playing for a new team in the league. Originally set on the decision to leave the country and never come back, everyone took it as a win when you agreed to trade your Arsenal red for Manchester red, still managing to keep your allegiance to the reds alive despite the turmoil present in your personal life.

It took a lot of convincing for you to actually take Millie up on her coffee date. When you first arrived in Manchester, the blonde was one of the first people to welcome you. Obviously the two of you ran in the same circles. Both having been in and out of national camps all your lives, the two of you were definitely aware of the other, or at the very least faint acquaintances. But it isn’t until now, when the two of you are finally playing for the same club team for the first time that you become something akin to friends. Carpooling to practices turn into coffee shop excursions after the fact, days showing you around the city turn into late nights dinners at her place. Soon it’s rare to find one of you without the other somewhere close by.

In all honesty, you should’ve seen the signs. Your last relationship started the same. You started as teammates, became the closests of friends, and then eventually lovers. After the brutal end to what was a beautiful friendship turned relationship, you didn’t know if you could handle ruining your friendship with Millie in the efforts of pursuing a relationship.

The first time she asked you out, you told her exactly that. It was after one of your joint dinners, Millie casually reaching for your hand as you strolled the streets, gently swinging your hands between the two of you. The whole night had been magical, fun really, but the thought had been nagging at the back of your mind all night. When you quietly asked her if this was a date, Millie simply turned pink and nervously admitted that she’s been trying to ask you out for the past couple of days. With a heavy heart you told her the truth.

“I think I could really like you. But I don’t know if I’m really ready to start dating yet. Or if I want to risk dating a friend again.”

The disappointment was obvious, but Millie simply gave you a polite nod and shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

You thought that would be the end of it. That Millie wouldn’t want anything to do with you or your friendship after your rejection.

That couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Millie still showed up the next morning, laughing at your jokes as she drove you to practice. She still took you out after practices, hanging around all the haunts of the city, still kept a steady presence in your life. The soft looks still lingered, but Millie respected your decision.

It didn’t take you long to start thinking you jumped the gun in protecting your heart.

It was after a game, when the two of you were cooking something in Millie’s kitchen that you brought it up.

Millie simply blinked when you asked if she was still interested in going on a date.

You had expected her to ask you out again right there. Instead, she gave you a sly grin and let you stew in it until the next day. She let you stew for the rest of the night, for the drive over to practice the next day, and during said practice. It isn’t until you’re tiredly pulling off your shinpads and changing back into your street clothes that Millie skips over, bashfully asking you out to coffee.

It’s the abrupt silence ringing in your ears that startles you back into the present. Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t even realize you had arrived at the cafe. Reaching up, you quickly pluck your airpods out, making sure to carefully tuck them away.

A quick peek at yourself through the window suddenly makes this all the more real for you. You’re going on a date. With the one and only Millie Turner. With a startling fact, you remember that you haven’t been on a first date in a couple years now. You haven’t had a reason to, at least not until eight months ago. Do you even remember how to go on a first date?

Shaking your head, you try to dispel all of the negative thoughts. You could do this. At worst, if this date goes poorly, you and Millie will have something to look back at and laugh about.

With a deep breath, you push open the door.

The first thing you notice is how homey the cafe seems.

This is one of the places that Millie had put on a list for you to visit, but you haven’t quite had the time to yet. With its quiet yet still bustling atmosphere, you can understand why she likes it so much.

You’re scanning the room when your heart skips a beat, realizing Millie’s already sitting down at a table.

Millie instinctively looks up at the sound of the bell above the door, instantly breaking out into a smile and giving you a small wave. By the time you make your way to her, she’s already standing and pulling out your chair.

“You’re here early,” you muse.

“So are you,” she points out with a grin.

You chuckle at her response. “Touché.”

“I love your heels by the way.”

You blink. “Really? You don’t think it’s overkill or anything?”

A strange look passes Millie’s face as she takes in your words. She cautiously drops a hand on top of yours, internally celebrating when you don’t pull your hand away. “I think it looks lovely on you. Truly.”

You can’t help but duck your head, a faint blush coating your cheeks at her compliment.

Conversation falls easily between the two of you. Other than Millie getting up to buy both of you coffee (though you vehemently try to persuade her to let you pay), the two of you stay locked in conversation. There’s not much one of you doesn’t know about the other, but somehow you still find ways to fill the air.

“You can’t be serious.” Millie’s looking at you with an incredulous look just as you start on your second cup of coffee.

You put your hands up in the air, laughing at the defender’s half offended look. “I’m sorry, I’ve never seen it.”

“How have you never seen Elf? That’s-- you’re-- No. Like no, that can’t be possible! Elf is probably the first movie playing at my mum’s house during Christmas every year!”

With the holidays coming up soon, it almost seems logical for the conversation to head that way. It started pretty tame, with you telling Millie about your plans to go home during the break from football. And it remained pretty calm, at least until Millie found out about your lack of Christmas movie knowledge.

Your nose scrunches up. “Doesn’t that get repetitive? Or like boring? To watch it every year--”

“You did not just say that,” she gasps. “Elf is a cultural staple of-- why am I explaining this to you? Why do I need to explain this to you?” Millie breaks off with a despondent sigh. “I can’t believe I like a girl who’s never seen Elf,” she grumbles, quickly taking a sip of her drink to stop herself from saying anything else.

You try to hide your smile, in part due to the way Millie’s kind of adorable when annoyed, but also due to her admitted fondness for you.

Too soon for your liking, the skies start to get dark. Millie’s trying to be subtle about it, but you see her checking her phone, calculating how long she can draw out this date before she absolutely has to go home and let Nala out. As much as you wish this date could never end, you’re more than aware of the obligations the two of you have outside of this quaint cafe.

“Nala probably needs her mum, huh?”

Millie drops her phone, an alarmed look on her face. “I’m sorry, I swear I’d love to stay longer--”

“It’s okay, Mil. Really. I get it. You really shouldn’t leave your baby waiting.”

The two of you are out the door when she reaches for your arm, stopping you in your steps.

“Did you park close by?”

Light blue eyes are peering at you inquisitively, and you nod. “I-- yeah. Less let me take her car.”

Millie snorts. “One day you’re going to have to get a car for yourself.”

“Why should I when I have you guys to drive me everywhere?” you grin, nudging her back.

She huffs out a laugh, but it quickly fades away as she scratches at the back of her neck. “Can I walk you to your car?” It’s only the slight fidgeting of Millie’s hands that give away her nerves.

Nodding, the two of you fall into step.

The two of you walk in comfortable silence. Occasionally your hands brush, causing both of your faces to slightly pinken. You’re trying to come up with the nerves to hold her hand when Alessia’s car comes into view. You push down your disappointment by pulling out your keys.

“So.”

“So,” you echo back, turning around and leaning against the side of the door so you can look at MIllie.

The blonde’s eyes are locked on the ground, trying her best to act nonchalant. “If I were to ask you out on a second date… would my chances look good?”

Your heart flutters a bit at the prospect of going out on another date with Millie. “I don’t know, you’ll have to ask to find out.”

“Are you serious?”

“Millie,” you giggle. “Just ask me.”

She rolls her eyes, but you can see the amusement written across her face. “Will you go out with me again?”

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Millie slaps your arm. “(Y/N)!” she whines.

“Yes,” you laugh, trying to dodge her hands. “I’ll go out with you again.”

“Why are you so difficult,” she groans, trying to hide her amusement. But you can see right through her.

She leans in and for a second you think she’s going to kiss you. You’re not sure if you’re relieved or disappointed that she pulls you in for a hug instead. You sink into her arms, only pulling away after she gives you a light squeeze.

“I’ll pick you up for practice tomorrow?” she questions.

You nod. “Don’t miss me too much in the meantime,” you tease.

Millie sends up a middle finger as she walks away, chuckling under her breath.

You look after her for a moment, watching as she walks away. Today has been amazing. It’s been wonderful. Millie’s shown you that there is in fact life after heartbreak. There’s such a thing as finding love after the end of something you thought would last until the end of time. Millie’s not something you were expecting, but she’s someone you’ve grown to care deeply about.

But even then, here, in this moment, you can’t help but feel like something’s off. Something’s wrong and you can’t quite put your finger on it.

You’re calling out before you can stop yourself. “Mil, wait.”

The blonde turns, half expecting you to tease her again. Instead, she’s met with soft hands on her face and even softer lips on her own as you dart forward. Her hand drops to your waist on instinct, steadying the two of you as you bask in the feel of her lips against yours.

When you finally pull back, your face is hot, heart beating out of your chest. You drop your hands, but before they can get far, Millie is lightly grasping them in her own. It’s only the light squeeze of your hands that has you lifting her eyes to meet hers again.

Millie simply raises an eyebrow at you, but you don’t say a word.

You can tell she’s waiting for an explanation. You don’t give her one.

Instead, you give her another light peck. Millie’s grinning so hard that you have to break the kiss prematurely.

“Drive home safe,” you whisper.

She huffs out a breath of laughter against your lips. “You too.”

The third time’s the easiest. When you lean forward to kiss her again, Millie meets you in the middle. And with just a simple kiss on this regular Wednesday evening in Manchester, you feel your heart start to heal again.

#millie turner x reader #millie turner imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes

244 notes · View notes

andythecorsair · 4 months ago

Text

“If you want to have an allegiance to truth, you have to trade in the comfort of constant certainty” —Hank Green, 2024

#hank green #quote #politics #facts #feelings

12 notes · View notes

magnolia-sunrise · 3 months ago

Note

a few oc asksss!

10,15 for wolf and bastien maybe?

20 for wolf?

16,17 for thorne , if its not too many!! (these are fun questions/prompts)

getting to these a bit late--- thank you sm! <3 i will skip some a bit to keep this shorter

OC ask meme here

10. Is your OC sentimental or pragmatic? Do they keep mementos or only what they need to survive? Have they always been this way or did something happen to make them change?

i've talked about Wolf's sentimentality and emphasis on memory other times, so let's talk Bastien. he tends more towards pragmatic - largely because that's the cards they've been dealt in life. moving to the city with not much to his name to study medicine, losing even that little when they dropped out, stepping into a life of lavish comfort but all of it is owned by Matteo-- he doesn't really tend to be sentimental because he has nothing to hold onto. his beat up truck and the clinic is one of the things that feels like fully *theirs* and even that is something Bastien only realizes on the cusp of losing it. even their room upstairs in the clinic building is pretty barebones, only the basics. i think he definitely changes after Wolfgang's murder and that whole period of time, he really re-evaluates a lot of his life and starts holding onto even small things more (like the one sleeveless tee that Wolf steals from him becomes really precious)

15. What places hold significant meaning or memories for your OC? Do they have a positive or negative association with those places?

switching to Wolfgang - i think the big one for them is the yet-unnamed city itself. so much of strife of their lives is tied to it and the games and politics and violence within the walls of it. so many memories. and so much love. one place they really painfully miss once the story moves them on the road, is a hill a bit out of the city with a nice view of it. they would go there at night when they needed to sort out their feelings or thoughts about a case

20. Has your OC ever done something terrible and lied about it? Did they run away or blame someone else for it? How long did they maintain the lie and did the truth ever come out? for Wolfgang

details of their backstory might come up eventually in other ways so i will just say yes, and its a big point of shame and guilt and they run from it all their life

16. How does your OC make money? Do they have a respectible profession or work a series of odd jobs? Are they a criminal? Or do they get creative in the pursuit of coin?

Thorne - she is an information broker. she actually financially deals in valuable information of various levels be it pharmaceutical trade secrets, information about whereabouts of highly private and secure individals, government secrets and the like. she buys and sells information to the highest bidder (allegedly) no matter their allegiances.

this is in fact criminal behavior that puts peoples lives in danger but let a woman have hobbies etc

17. Does your OC have an enemy? What happened between them? Is it mutual or one-sided? Is it petty or serious? Is one party seeking revenge? Does one person want the other dead or are they content to hate them from afar?

by the nature of her work she makes a lot of enemies, and a lot of powerful allies. Thorne and Wolfgang have a very uh.. strained, business relationship as they suspect her dealings caught them in the crossfire and got them captured, tortured and almost killed cca 8 yrs ago.

they're not outright enemies, because Wolf needs her info and her network, but they sure are not on good terms. Thorne was unavailable for comment about the situation

#answered #wolfgang #bastien #thorne #this took a while ahhh ty again for asking #happy to come back to little doodles for asks #sketch

7 notes · View notes

envihellbender · 7 months ago

Note

Teen Hezekiah killing his monster in the final boy support group AU

Rating: Mature

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Hezekiah Wakeley, Nathaniel Beale

Content: Murder, serial killer, sexual assault mention, addiction, abuse, age difference, gore, buried alive

Summary: A letter Hezekiah wrote to Nathaniel about his experience with a serial killer.

—

Found within patient Hezekiah Wakeley’s belongings: a letter, never sent.

Dearest Nathaniel,

I have wanted to discuss this in person but it seems you have been reluctant to come visit me in the hospital. I suppose it would make things difficult for you if the lecherous journalists and photographers gathering outside were to spot you. I have decided you are owed an explanation, despite the fact I think it must be rather obvious given recent events. Since no individual from our St Columba’s Church has been to visit me, despite me attending since I was a babe, I assume their rhetoric on the subject differs from my account. I think it is only fair I give you both sides of the tale and I leave the matter of your own morality and allegiance to you.

You are aware of the story up until we left the aptly named “St Columba’s Rehabilitation for Wayward Teens” I am sure, or rather the story you prefer to tell yourself. I do not intend to list the ways in which you and the others failed us. As you also know, it turned out that the forest retreat was nothing but a well crafted lie, in reality the Monsignor took us to a house instead of a camp site, we were kept in a cellar with several mattresses. The cold stone did not have the same heart and life to it that I craved from the ground, we were allowed books to read I suppose, the others did have mobile devices that did not have any ‘signal’ or enough ‘battery life’. Junia was taken first, she was the loudest, she screamed when the Monsignor would check on us and fornicated with Zion when she thought we were asleep. Zion was next. The both of them were just like us in a way, following the rules of the rehabilitation centre only to have someone visit to rip the sacraments to shreds. Junia had a friend who brought in water bottles filled with vodka, Zion had a boyfriend who injected him with varying substances, and I had you slipping me red wine in a flask. I think that was why it was so difficult for us three, the cellar quickly became filled with the stench of vomit, it was not cleaned up as much as it should have been.

I cannot tell you what they went through. I can tell you Bridget’s abduction hurt the most. Back at the chapel we were almost perhaps friends. We would swap books, I would never be able to return her copy of Turning of the Screw. I still have it. I cannot bare to be rid of the thing. She used to help run the garden with me. I do hope someone is still taking care of the plants there. Whilst I am glad I am alive, seeing all of them be taken past me was quite horrific. I would not trade it for anything. Whilst Junia and Zion were loud in their removal, Bridget went quietly, she simply nodded and got to her feet. All I could think about were if you took my warnings seriously, we would have been safe - but I suppose there is little to be done now. Judah, Naomi, and Claudia. They were next. Would hearing of the descriptions of those you helped doom to the earth truly help? I know not.

When it was simply I left in the cellar, that is when I can regale to you the entire truth. I am unsure how long I was there for. I slept, vomited, and hallucinated much of the time I was there up until I was brought up to his small cabin, he had me bathed by some nurses who were too thorough, he had me an intravenous drip, and made me a rather delicious meal with a glass of rich expensive red. Of course I was suspicious of the entire display but I was too starved and desperate not to play along with the charade. From this entire story, I expect this next part will be the elements you dispute and argue against, as if being a pederast is anything compared to serial murder. After I finished eating the old man came up behind me, pulled me up by the hair, slammed my face into the table, and decided to use my weak body however he saw fit. It was not long, but it was not quick, it was painful and repulsive. He would use me in various ways six more times from either my behind or mouth depending on his fancy. I did tell you he had wandering hands, did I not, Nathaniel? I told you of his fingers brushing my thigh, of him slipping his hand into my trousers during confession, and you had told me I misunderstood. Will the church look upon his deeds in the same way?

It is most odd, for when he brought me to my feet I had no strength to fight back. He began to beat me, he punched, kicked and slapped me. He pulled my hair and forced my face into the table again and again. He had a cane he used to whip my thighs and between my legs. Eventually I was a whimpering, crying dog on the floor, curled up and desperate for mercy. He picked me up into his arms, he carried me into the forest like a babe, he kissed my forehead and after a few minutes in the cold and dark he dropped me. The fall was quick yet slow, numb yet overwhelming. My head was particularly loud upon hitting the earth, my cranium bled internally as it felt as if it had split in two. My body felt so angry, weak, and sore that I was pleased to be against the earth. I felt the mud around me and my eyes closed. I felt a smile spread across my face. Can you believe it Nathaniel? A smile! A smile for heaven’s sake! I felt as if I was returning to the earth, and I was at peace. That was until I felt the dirt be shovelled onto my body, a strength I did not know I had filled my body. I may be one with the earth, a peace I will never part from, but I knew I shall not return to it by the hands of this evil, sinful, rotten man.

I waited for the shovelling to pause before I made my escape. The Monsignor had not been wise enough to pack the soil in tightly. The loose dirt was easy to displace in a way, the hard part was pulling myself out. I was buried around four feet downwards, a pathetic attempt I agree. I was able to aid myself and this is when God I am certain must have been with me. For he sat on a lawn chair facing away from me looking upon a bare patch of ground between the trees. I noticed that there were six rocks in the ground two feet apart from each other and realised this is where they had been buried. I picked up the shovel that had been leaning on a nearby tree, and without a moment’s hesitation I began to beat the devil’s cranium. I hit him again, and again, and again. I did so until his head was concave into his body. It feels so small now I write it down, perhaps that is why it was so easy for you to dismiss my fears.

When I called the police, I anticipated an arrest, not a mug of tea. Not a safe house with a comfortable bed and a garden. I did not anticipate the kindness, the understanding. To be admitted into a secular hospital with a secular rehabilitation facility and psychiatric ward. I know I am one of the lucky ones, but I cannot say I was lucky when the only person I had to aid me was you.

I will forever be yours. I do love you. But I must beg of you: Please do not contact me again.

Hezekiah Wakeley

#envi writes #the Magnus archives #tma fanfiction #hezekiah wakely #final boy support group au #serial killer au

7 notes · View notes

non-un-topo · 1 year ago

Note

Hi, this is going to be a weird ask, but what the hell! I'm an art history student and I have a memoire to write, and I want / need / crave to make a connection between europe and the new world during the modern period, so like 1600's to late 1800's. I was hoping for something connecting France (where I'm from) to Canada, and I saw your post asking for strength not to write a fanfic about that period, and I thought, what the hell! 1/2

Salut!! I admit you've stumped me a bit and I had to think about this one! (Ontario + Quebec education system leaving out important parts of their colonial history etc etc).

First thing I could think of in terms of artifacts or art, that I know of, would most likely have been beaver furs purchased in Canada and sent back to France during the fur trade. The French were very involved with the Algonquin peoples (Anishinaabeg) during the time of the fur trade, and they had a relative peace going on for a while including intermarriages between French settlers and Indigenous peoples, specifically for the prosperity of the fur trade. You still had some Indigenous peoples converting to Christianity in an attempt at cohabitation with the French settlers, who weren't very keen on sharing land. But yes, most people --- settler or Indigenous --- made their money in the fur trade, and beaver cloaks were pretty common and valuable.

Other than that, there was of course Jacques Cartier who did some truly despicable things in the 16th century (so not quite what you were asking for, I apologize!)... On his first expedition to what is now Quebec, he abducted two of Haudenosaunee Chief Donnacona's sons (Domagaya and Taignoagny) and brought them back to France to essentially show off their "primitiveness" and prove that they could be easily conquered. On his second expedition he abducted Donnacona himself along with a number of his people and never returned them home.

THEN there's also the Acadians, of course, along the East Coast. But since they were the descendants of French settlers, I'm not sure about artifacts leaving the land or coming and going to/from France except in regards to the deportation of the Acadians. There was a lot of fighting between French and British settlers over this land (now Nova Scotia), and eventually the British forcefully deported the Acadians when they would not swear allegiance or neutrality to the crown (1755, I believe), some of whom safely ended up in France. It's hard to find information on what happened to the people who resettled in France, but I know some of them went from there to the French Caribbean or Louisiana. I don't think they carried much with them when they were deported, but it might be interesting to look into that! I know my Cape Breton relatives would probably love to hear about me doing research on the Acadians lol but the truth is they've always been a big question mark to me!

Mostly when we talk about colonial history in Canada, we just talk about early colonization or later land treaties. I'm sure, though, that there are stolen artifacts sitting in museums across Europe but I unfortunately couldn't find anything specific in my searches! But likely textiles, weapons, beaded artifacts and art, wampum belts, maybe even entire totem poles. Hell, we have tons of stolen artifacts in museums here in Ontario. And mummies / human remains. Finding an artifact that was given would be really interesting, as I'm sure they exist!

EDIT: Aha! I did find some Algonquin artifacts (among others) in a collection at the Musée du quai Branly in Paris, that seem to be from the 18th-19th century. I'm not sure how the donor acquired these items, though. If it was ethical or not.

I hope some of that was a little helpful!! And also not grossly inaccurate!! I'm wishing you lots of luck on your work <33 It sounds really interesting and I'd like to hear more about it if/whenever you get the chance!

#this was fun!! and you've made me want to call my mom and ask if she knows anything sdfgfds #she will not but it's always fun to ask!

8 notes · View notes

lynxmuse · 30 days ago

Text

Mindfulness Moment

“Humans make up categories to understand the world – that’s what we do. But part of being human is also interrogating those categories, questioning how they can serve us better and more equitably.

– John Green

“If you want to have an allegiance to truth, you have to trade in the comfort of constant certainty.

– Hank Green

(I find this pair of quotes by the Green brothers dovetail into and complement each other very well, especially reminding us both that so much of our reality comes from inherited contexts and of the strength of our s desire to avoid being uncomfortable or to have to spend effort to engage with something slightly unfamiliar and to make a thinking choice.)

#mindfulness #philosophy #ontology #possibility #practice #categories #truth #examination

0 notes

magmaprincess · 2 months ago

Text

A lot was said, and a lot also went unsaid. What went on between Naruto and Mei Terumi was solely for them to know. Tsunade seemed to have picked up on something, but formalities due seemed to limit it only into piqued gazing. Mei remained unmoved, her mannerisms with the young boys in her life was one of those things not dared questioned.

No arguments were made, and as easy as this meeting was opened, it ended just as quick. A date was assigned, an estimate to the rest of Naruto’s belongings, any items once belonging to his family tribe being able to be returned to its rightful owner, the only surviving Uzumaki.

From young jinchuriki once upon a time ago to the sole survivor of the legendary Uzumaki Clan; Naruto was on his way into being the next Mizukage with being a part of such an important meeting and learning the tools of the trade. There was no arguing any better successor than he, no one else more qualified. Kirigakure was his home, always has been as a matter of fact.

Melding further into the couch together, the mizukage hasn’t faltered her own gaze off Naruto. She was impressed by his turn of authority. He wasn’t the kage yet, and he singlehandedly inspired the allegiance they have with Konoha now, believe it or not. The tides have been to his favor the moment he dominated the entire meeting.

“You said what needed to be heard. Making your mark in a world that was as much yours.” Her fingers dance at a curl that bounced off his ear, before fixing it back gently in place. “You have no need to apologize, I think it all came out at the right time it needed to. If you ask me, the truth could not have come at a more opportune time.” It was a big revelation, no doubt about it. But as the Mizukage has in her deepest beliefs: there are no wrong choices, only unexpected results. This was one of those moments, and it turned out for the better for everyone involved.

“The Kyuubi seemed to have not wanted it at any other time either.” She smiles at him, enjoying the peace they both had alone together. She had put so much onto him, and through all of his fear Naruto came out all the stronger because of his feats today. It is becoming that she can’t stifle the grin any longer. “Naruto darling...I knew you could do it.” Melding her weight further into the decreasing space in the couch, she couldn’t have been prouder to have Naruto as hers. ♡

Naruto had laid everything out on the table - a fifteen year old stunning a room of adults. It wasn't the most common thing in the world of shinobi, but Naruto wasn't some common shinobi. He was a scion of a clan, a jinchuriki, and a boy made to be a man far faster than most--even compared to the Warring States era so long ago. "I will not argue against that--it wasn't my intention to ask for that given that we thought him dead for two years." Tsunade spoke with a regained composure. The Hokage, famed for her gambling and her healing prowess, was now not enjoying being put on the back foot because of her own shinobi. "As a show of good will, I will have all that belongs to Naruto brought here by people I can trust. My...predecessor kept much from him." Tsunade had to grit out the word predecessor. Oh if she could revive the dead and kill again she would. Tsunade then clasped her hands together. "But...as for the rest that doesn't involve, well, all of this?" The negotiations began properly from there. Terms on trade, assistance, and more. Naruto did learn quite a bit about Kage-on-Kage discussions. He wasn't too surprised by how quickly it went after the dust had settled. What he didn't notice or catch on was how Tsunade seemed to look at him and Mei. He was unaware just how easy things were to read by those older than him. Especially by someone as, past her gambling and rough outer shell, wise as Tsunade. By the time it was done, an alliance between Kiri and Konoha was forged. The revelations of the day sunk in and all went on their own ways - all except Naruto and Mei. They were left to be alone in the meeting room - given space to go over everything that happened. Naruto ran a hand through his hair with a sigh leaving him. Scar-touched cheeks moved with a slight hint of a scowl before it settled down. "That was...not how I expected it to go, but...I could tell my words stung. Made their mark." He stared at the couch that once held their guests. A blank stare that was common when he was thinking about a lot at once. He then exhaled and glanced to Mei. "Sorry. For dropping that on you as much as them. I wanted to tell you ahead of time about...my heritage. About what I've been finding out thanks to my meditations with the Kyuubi."

#kyuubinosennin #ic #verse: home at sea #you’ve inspired me with npc’s being involved in a plot as such and am more than happy to take some if necessary!#admittedly i am enjoying this verse as is a bit /too/ much~#we are right on schedule with the foreword to arrive near the next chapter of their lives <3

33 notes · View notes

crimsontroupe · 1 year ago

Text

❝ in such troubled times, it is hard to know friend from foe. ❞ - @muraenide asoiaf: sword of storms starters (accepting)

"But not impossible." Is that not such a simple answer? Diamont agrees with Jade, and that much is obvious. Pen hurriedly scribbles something into the large tome the sorcerer carries with him always, and he looks up to the other man for a moment. "How would you define a friend?"

A question a bit more difficult to explore. A concept that he has only been recently introduced to. He would offer to help with whatever his companion was doing at the moment, but something tells him he would only disrupt this odd peace. "Are you the kind of person who thinks as 'friends' as 'allies'? Allies can shift their allegiance, while friends... there is something else attached to it."

Truth be told, neither of them looked like they had many of the latter. "You make transactions with allies. You owe favors to friends. You help with less expectancy of something in return.

At least that is to my understanding. I am admittedly not well-versed in such social matters. And personally dealing with them is more confusing than reading a trade treaty." He admits, albeit a bit shyly. Diamont shrugs it off right after, closing the book. "I have much that I want to learn here." A declaration. "So I would rather firmly place myself in the 'friend' space, if that is alright.

... But. More importantly." And quickly proceeds to put it away, safely storing it inside the oversized sleeves on his clothes. Something about being proactive, and his curiosity getting the better out of him. "What are you doing? If you are willing to teach me, then I can help. Would be better than just sitting here and letting you do things by yourself."

#muraenide #thousand shard soul ; diamont #>:3c #tiny lizard peeking over your shoulder

1 note · View note

cheekygreenty · 3 years ago

Text

Little Witch - Part 21

The Darkling x Reader

The atmosphere in the Palace was welcoming and enjoyable yet you couldn't help but dampen the mood of those around you. Your smiles were visible fake, your laughs as forced as the diplomacy of the evening. It was hard to focus on anything but the Queen's request, you could still feel her cold touch on your hands, could still hear her voice as if she was standing next to you. Some would say being in the presence of the Royals was a blessing by the Saints, but to you it was a sudden blight; a curse.

The duties and obligations you had were out the window now as you looked for the particular head of red flame hair, completely ignoring the Kerch ambassador and his slurring words of trade agreements.

Did Genya tell her General that the charming Lantsov Prince was soon to be wed to the Deputy of the Second-army? Or did she keep that part to herself? You had a feeling it was the latter given Aleksander's behavior earlier but what if he knew- What if his obedient spy told him everything and he was looking at your predicament as an opportunity, even though it would hurt you to the core and shatter your moral values. There's nothing he wouldn't do for more power.

'Deputy Y/L/N, I presume?' A man in a military uniform adorned with colorful medals approached you from the side, silently shooeing the Kerch man away and taking his place despite your obvious air of hostility. You were in no mood for diplomacy.

'The one and only.'

'So I have heard.' You could make out the smallest tinge of an accent reminiscent of a Fjerdan rhythm through the spoken words. His blonde hair and long beard tell-tale signs of his druskelle service and enough for your anger to flare. 'Tell me, what kind of Grisha are you?' You didn't miss the disgust dripping from the word as he forced it through his teeth. No doubt he hated himself for being here.

'A powerful one.'

'More powerful than the Sun-Summoner?'

'Much.'

'I won't forget that.'

'I hope you don't. Tell your people too, it'll save me some time and perhaps some lives.'

'Is that a threat Deputy?'

'Yes' He snorted and looked around the lively room.

'Fjerda isn't here to fight tonight, we're here to party. I thought it would be the same for you, no?'

'I don't keep peace with people who wish my kind dead.'

'Neither does your General. But the West, I'm not too sure they're on the same page'

You bit back the urge to smack the tall man stone-cold. The West was a tricky situation that had been playing heavily on your mind for as long as you could remember. Although it was Ravka, Grisha were no longer safe there. Zlatan was coercing with the Fjerdans to capture Grisha in exchange for military backup and as much as it angered you to keep the First-Army General alive, it would create a whole other problem if he was found dead.

'West Ravka is Ravka. All Zlatan is is a mere General of the First-Army. He's no King.'

'You would be surprised. People would listen to a stableboy if he spoke of truth and justice.'

'And would Fjerda back him up too?'

He smirked and gave a nod of his head in amusement at your raging eyes. 'You drüsje get so worked up over words. It's actions that matter.'

'Not here in Ravka. Remember where and what you are. Then think of what half of this room can do to you' Without so much as a goodbye, you walked away from him with a huff and continued looking for Genya. You hadn't even seen Aleksander make an appearance yet but you didn't think you wanted to see him, not after your conversation with the Queen.

We wish for you to marry my son

Every time you thought you had shaken the haunting request, it came back with a shiver up your spine. It went against everything you ever believed in. You hated the crown, the Lantsov line, you hated the Ravka they created. But this didn't feel like something you could reject. It wasn't a proposal, it was an alliance.

You turned your head to the doors and watched as Zoya clambered up the stairs in her stunning blue silk kefta. Behind her, a Suli performer climbed up on her silks as if it were all she'd ever known. Her body swung gracefully and smoothly, not batting an eyelid at all her observers. It was memorizing and distracting, something for which you were thankful.

'Haven't you got some Dukes and Ministers to babysit?' Zoya appeared beside you, eyeing up the empty glass in your hand.

'Let them roam free for the night'

'As long as they're not groveling over me'

'Because your presence is so much more captivating than the Sun-Summoners' You rolled your eyes and made your way to get a new, full, glass.

'Thank you for finally admitting it'

'Where's Genya Saffin?'

She made a face and took a glass to, bringing it up to her lips and taking a small sip.

'With Alina. Why?'

'Oh nothing, just some details to hash out about Marie attending dinner' You covered up. 'I spoke with a Fjerdan dignitary. He had no problem hiding that West Ravka is coming to their aid.' Zoya was a good soldier and a great tactician, if you were to tell anyone such sensitive information, it would definitely be Zoya.

'I overheard a Zemeni ambassador say they were spotted at Zlatan's rallies. He's raising his ranks whilst our own coffers run out. We can't afford a war with each of our borders'

'Try telling the King that' The Lantsov King. Nikolai's father. Nikolai.

'Saints are you alright?' Zoya looked at you with wide eyes, then to the broken glass crumbling in your hand. You had been clutching it so hard you managed to smash it and slice the palm of your hand.

'Oh umm- I need a moment' You disposed of the glass on a nearby table and basically ran to the nearest washroom. Crimson red blood dripped slowly from your fingers as you tried to keep it from staining your kefta while you closed the door behind you.

This was the first moment since your talk with the Queen where you were alone. Truly alone, no ambassador looming over your shoulder or a Duke at your side. Alexander, Alina, and Genya were still nowhere to be seen and the demonstration would begin shortly but all you wanted to do was stay in this tiny and stuffy room, shut off from everything. You washed your hand down with water, hissing in pain as the water tinted red and carried away the signs of injury. The quarters were quiet and calm, a stark contrast to the liveliness in the hall not often seen in the Little Palace.

The Little Palace tended to be quiet, but the Grand Palace was different. The Grand Palace. The winter home of the Lantsovs. Nikolai. Marriage.

The gentle tears came like a surprise, rolling down your face with grace. 'Fuck me' was all you could say as your head rested on your uninjured hand. You still felt exhausted and overwhelmed now even more so but you liked to think you hid it well. What good was a Deputy in emotional turmoil at a party full of political vultures?

The door to the small space suddenly opened and none other than Genya Saffin walked in with ease only she possessed. She looked at you in shame then fixed her attention on her shoes, not meeting your broken gaze.

'I take it you spoke with Tatiana?'

'Why didn't you tell General Kirigan?' You sniffed and wrapped your hand in a handkerchief, not bothering to wipe away the tears that you continued to cry.

'I felt it wasn't my place'

'Why?' Your voice cracked, slightly distracting you but the meaning to your question was obvious. Why me?

'She wished to squelch his bastardry rumors with your standing reputation.'

'Does he know?'

'She wrote him, but he has yet to respond.'

'Why not Vasily? Is it to make sure a Grisha never sits on the throne?'

She stayed quiet, toying with her sleeve. 'She says you have the air of a false Queen but the mind of a demon'

'Nothing new there' You laughed and straightened up, using the handkerchief on your hand to pat your face dry, diminishing any last sign of your weak moment away. 'Is Alina ready?' She looked at you with pure pity on her face, the compassion bursting on her face busting at its seams.

'Yes. Last I saw she was with the General.'

'Thank you Ms.Saffin'

***

You didn't mean to miss the demonstrations, but you took your time walking back to the main hall anyway. It was only when you saw the darkened room and searing light did you stop dead in your tracks at the door. Alina stood there on the podium, the image of a Saint. Her black and gold kefta shimmered in her light beautifully, illuminating her face and smile. She was glowing. Her powers had brought her not only luxurious life but good health, something everyone prays for. The black looked well on her too. It set her apart from the sea of bright keftas and gowns. In a Palace full of Grisha and powerful members of society, only Alina and Aleksander wore the black keftas, not even you wore it tonight and it made you feel surprisingly insecure.

He stood to her side, enthralled by her show of strength and skill. He was fascinated with her, it showed in his eyes and on his face but it definitely wasn't a facade. Even watching them from afar you could see that he looked at her as if she was his Sun, the only thing capable of lighting up his night sky.

You didn't know how to look at her. Everyone around you was worshipping her, whispering silent prayers to Sankta Alina: the Sun Saint, but you stayed frozen and still. You were never faithful to the Saints, they never listened to you, so what good would pledging your allegiance to Alina be if you knew Aleksander planned to extort her?

The whole room was kneeling now, heads bent down in symbols of submission yet you stood. No doubt you stuck out like a sore thumb, but a leader does not bow to anybody, not even the Saints. He momentarily turned his head to look at you but his eyes were far from the softness he gave Alina. They spoke more than his smooth words ever could yet this time the silent exchange did nothing to soothe your muddled head.

A tap on your shoulder caused you to break your burning gaze away from the summoners and to a guard instead.

'Deputy, we have 2 First-Army soldiers who claim to have found Morozova's Stag' The Stag. Just my luck.

'Tell the General, I have no business with the stag' You waved him off and returned your stare back to the room, scanning the crowd like a hawk when her eyes caught yours. Queen Tatiana was looking through to your soul, demolishing any confidence you could muster at that moment.

Marry my son.

----------------

Part 22

Taglist (tell me if you want to be added to the Little Witch taglist!!) @theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal @eireduchess @lunas1x1 @adoringb @grisha-of-shadow-bone @rosiethefairy @carlywhomever @allisjustok @keepdaydreamingbb @luciadiosa

#shadow and bone #the darkling #imagine #the darkling x reader #ben barnes #grisha #alexander #alexander morozova #alina starkov #fanfic #general kirigan x reader #six of crows

120 notes · View notes

wallacejwriting · 1 year ago

Text

Okay so. These are super super rough. Have fun.

You might recognize the first three. Good. They're the OG Starmont kids.

Julius "Jules": Transgender, They/Them. 18 | The one who really really shouldn't be here. Jules isn't a witch. Has no magic in their family. And yet when they found the egg, it hatched, and Jules found themself as powerful as any witch. Now, forced into the academy to train as a soldier, Jules wants to go home. That's all. But as Jules gets deeper into the school, they find themself helping the other outsiders around them, like Wren, who struggles to keep up physically, or Sabine, whose problems seem much much deeper. And as Jules steps further, they find they hold one of the ancient powers thought to be only legends - one capable of hunting truths and hearing through lies. One that allows Jules to know the horrors of Sabine's life, and to vow to save her no matter who they have to go through to do it. "There's no third option, all right! Either one of us kills it, or it kills us. If you won't make that choice, I will."

Wren: Transgender, They/Them. 19 | Wren has struggled their whole life to get people to take them seriously. In a military driven society, any disability that slows you down is looked down upon, and Wren struggles to walk with their forearm crutches some days. But Wren has never seen strength solely in the body, and they are determined to prove they can be as good a dragon rider as anyone else. But their weak magical aptitude might prove their downfall - unless they can find a way to trade for help instead of ask. Because Wren's tired of asking for help. No one ever looks at them the same way, after. "It's not much of a trick, but it's more than most students are using. And besides, I'll take anything I can get."

Sabine: Cis, She/Her, 18 | Sabine is one of the children of the most powerful cursebreaker in the entire kingdom. Logically, this should keep them all safe. Except her father is also the greatest cursemaker in the kingdom, too, and has been secretly experimenting on Sabine and her siblings for years. Now, with a dragon to pull her free of his shadow, Sabine struggles to find a cure to the last hex he placed on her: if she does not return in one year's time to swear her allegiance to him, she will die. Painfully. And Sabine is running out of time, and ideas, before Jules shows up like a blessing and hears the words Sabine has been cursed not to speak for as long as she can remember. "You can hear me? No one's ever been able to hear me."

Saoirse (Sear-Shu): Transgender, She/Her. 18 | Saoirse has spent her entire life weighed down by titles. Sole Heir to one of the Five Families. Sole Survivor of a Tragic Accident. Sole Transgender Higher Up in the Families (that's not true, Wren's been out just as long, but no one counts Wren because they don't go out much, which is bullshit if you ask Saoirse). She is a woman of firsts. A person to watch. A person others expect great things from. And yes, Saoirse wants to make her father proud, but can't she just... be normal for five minutes? Five minutes where she isn't the heiress, isn't the face of the gender movement, isn't some icon people look up to. But she won't get that wish. Being a dragon rider is already special enough, and when Saoirse is revealed to be the carrier of an ancient power thought to be only myth, one capable of tearing down the fiends, and perhaps closing the Rift, for good, she fears no one will ever see her as a person again. "I have my whole life to be special! For once I just wanted to... fit in."

Lucian "Lulu": Cis, He/Him, 19 | Don't call him Lulu if you aren't Saoirse. He'll shove you through a wall. And not in a fun way (though Kiryu disagrees on that last part). Lucian was an orphan in a small work house before Saoirse bumped into him one day when they were both small boys. She took a liking to him and often snuck out to play with him. But they were caught and Lucian found himself brought before her father, the Head of one of the Five Families. The man was so overjoyed that Saoirse had found a friend that he inducted Lucian into the Family - but only as Saoirse's companion and bodyguard, not an official member. If Saoirse tosses him aside, he's history, and he spends every day too aware of this. Lucian is a naturally friendly guy, and he's a little too protective for his own good (comes with being a golden retriever Beastie, along with the tail, nose, ears, and other senses). He's desperate to claw a permanent place out in this world for himself, one that is dependent only on his skills and not on anyone's good will. "I'll make this simple. You want her? You go through me."

Kiryu: Cis, He/Him. 18 | It's the bastard man!!! This dude has exactly two life goals that are in direct opposition with each other: protect his mother & half sisters, who he loves more than anything in this world & fuck over his father, who claimed him as a bastard years ago when Kiryu proved to have talents that could aid his father's business pursuits. Kiryu is half-fae by way of his mother and this makes him stick out more than any beastie at the academy, as he is the only one of his kind at the place. You'll often find him picking fights with anyone bigger and louder than he is - in his mind, the best way to deal with his feelings is to get punched in the face three or four times. "Come on! Just fucking hit me!"

Malachi "Mal": Bigender, He/Him or She/Her depending on the day. 18 | Mal is a healer and the assigned medic of the main cast's flight. Mal believes deeply in the sanctity of life and works hard to protect the various riders under her charge. He was assigned to Jules and Wren's flight due to shared gender reasons - basically they wanted to hand off the trans medic to the trans flight. Yup. But Mal likes that. It means the whole flight respects him and his identity. Mal's love of life and respect for it extends so deeply that when a human shaped fiend appears and starts speaking, Mal is quick to accept that there are people in the nether, too, and that perhaps they can find a way to work together. "I won't let you hurt someone just because you think they're different from you."

"Zim": He/Him. Approx. 200 | Zim is a demon. He climbed out of the Rift one day and was the first human shaped fiend anyone had ever seen. He calls himself a demon, hence the title. Zim is not his real name, but a nickname and shortening given to him by Mal, as his full name is not pronounceable without a forked tongue. He sees himself as an ambassador for his people and is seeking diplomacy, connection, and assistance. Unfortunately, only Mal seems interested in listening, and Mal must keep him secret, for fear of Zim being torn apart and studied like a bug. "I think I like the stars. They're beautiful."

Other Info:

Jules, Wren, and Sabine start out on the same Flight (a group of dragon riders being trained to work together), with the others being added over the early parts of the story as they are pulled out of their own Flights.

Kiryu and Wren are both members of the same Family in the Five Families. Wren is much higher ranked than Kiryu.

Sabine is from a second of the Five Families.

Saoirse is from a third of the Five Families, of which Lucian is also a member.

Mal is not a member of the Five Families but her families pays tribute to one of them (I don't know which).

Jules has no association to the Five Families.

Saoirse, Lucian, and Kiryu are going to end up in an enemies-to-lovers versus friends to lovers total brawl love triangle that ends in them all getting together and making each other better.

Jules and Wren end up getting together. I love them a lot. Tol and Smol.

Sneak peak of some Dragon Rider/Starmont characters (you know, Jules and Sabine and Wren and then all the new ones, like the poor little meow meow Kiryu, as well as Mal, Lucian, Saoirse, and Zim)

I'll explain more later.

Have fun with speculation though.

#starmont v2

9 notes · View notes

sapphicknightaesthetic · 3 years ago

Text

Prompt #2: The winds call me back to you

Ireland had proved to be more than Eivor had bargained for. She sailed home on the wind-tossed sea, wondering if the trade routes, outposts, and alliances she forged would prove to be worth it in the end, compared to their exorbitantly high cost. She remembered Barid’s eyes, soft but desperate, pleading with her to ensure King Flann’s allegiance with his last breath, paired with an intensity of his love for his son. He had built a thriving city all so that Sichfrith could prosper...

“...Valhalla need not be a place, Eivor. It can be a legacy…”

She thought about her own legacy. Her intention had always been a life dedicated to fighting for honor, for the glory of her people, for some measure of peace where she no longer needed to pick up her axe to defend them at every turn. But is that what England had given her? She had spent much of her energy and immense skills at the whims of others with political aims and goals, not always aligning with her own. She had placed more than one puppet king on a throne, often needing to choose between the better of two evils. Was this honor? Was this a legacy worthy of entrance to Valhalla?

Eivor felt exhaustion roll through her like the tide, filling every crevice. She felt unsure of her place in the world, and just needed the comfort of home. Of Randvi. That was her raison d'être, as Estrid would say. Her reason for being. If she fought for the betterment of her clan, if she made connections and alliances to ensure their safety, that was all that mattered. She shook the sad cobwebs from her mind, determined to have a genuine smile for her wife when she returned. She leaned against the firm wall of the longship, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Birna shook her shoulder. “Come on Sunbeam. Home time.”

Eivor’s eyes fluttered open, she blinked sleep back to its void. “Have we docked?”

“Not yet. We’re just around the bend.”

“Thanks for waking me, Birna.”

“I’m so glad to be rid of Ireland! Those Druids were something else, eh? Giving decent Pagans a bad name.”

“Mmmm.”

“Eivor, I don’t mean to pry. But you spent a lot of time with that red haired witch...what’s her name…”

“Ciara. I did. What’s your question, Birna?”

“I’m just wondering if you made any Druid magic of your own in that wet bog of a land?”

Eivor rolled her eyes. Birna knew full well she hadn’t, though this question seemed to pop up after every major journey they undertook. Eivor had tried to tell her multiple times that she would never be unfaithful to Randvi, that she could not bed anyone for the sake of it if her heart wasn’t in it. The concept had been lost on Birna, and so the questions had persisted.

“You know I didn’t.”

“I’m just checking. You do have a type, Sunbeam. That red hair burns like fire.”

Eivor grinned ruefully, shook her head, and turned to look at their surroundings. They were just passing the trined point in the river that led to Grantebridge, the ruins of Duroliponte looming to the Southeast. One more bend and they’d be home. She wondered if Randvi would be there waiting; she had sent Sýnin ahead with a note. The evening was well on its way, Randvi might even be asleep. She pictured their bed, warm and soft, furs piled on top of them as they snuggled together, limbs entwined. More and more, this was what she wanted. The return home was always worth it, and was always something she looked forward to, but lately she no longer wanted to return, she only wanted the simple everyday fact of her and Randvi together, because she had never left in the first place.

She watched, wistfully, as the crew lowered the sails and started rowing, this part of the river too narrow to traverse safely. Her heart rate increased as the Raider’s hut roof became visible, growing closer with each stroke of the oars. She felt a swell of pride as more of her village emerged from the lowland fog. Her village . She had built this place from almost nothing, discarded hovels of canvas and sticks. Sigurd may have claimed it as theirs, but Eivor had been the one to turn it into something to be proud of, something worth protecting. She leapt to the back of the ship’s tail, standing on a ledge. “...Valhalla need not be a place, Eivor. It can be a legacy…” This was her Valhalla, and it would never be complete without the person at it’s centre, at its heart.

Eivor realized then that while she was proud of Ravensthorpe, Ravensthorpe, much like her former idea of Valhalla, was only a place. Randvi was her true home. She’d go wherever Randvi was, without question. Their love, with all of its storied history of waiting, longing, and hiding, was her legacy. She saw copper hair, cloaked against the oncoming chill of the evening, waiting like a beacon between the posts of the village entrance.

The ship glided silently up to the dock, and Eivor immediately leapt off, running as fast as her exhausted legs would carry her. She grabbed Randvi, lifting her off the ground in a tight embrace, spinning her around. She inhaled Randvi’s scent, spice and fire blending with earth and ink and smoke. Her heart beat Randvi’s name in fast repetition, her hands holding onto her wife as tightly as she dared without hurting her.

“My love,” Randvi whispered, as she held fast to Eivor. “How I’ve missed you.�� Her hands caressed the back of Eivor’s newly shaved head, luxuriating in the velvety feel.

Eivor couldn’t speak, she did not want to break the moment with words, but slowly set Randvi down, quickly finding her mouth and communicating everything she couldn’t say with a long, slow kiss, paying attention to the feel of Randvi’s lips, the warmth of her mouth, the teasing nature of her teeth.

Claps and pats of hands landed on her back and shoulders from the crew as they walked past the pair. Their hearts never failed to be happy for their Jarl, for the love that she had found and fought for. For all of her sacrifice, for the enormous work she had devoted to make their lives better, they gladdened at the sight of Eivor and Randvi together. They knew how hard her road had been, how much she had suffered, often silently, from such a young age. Her happiness was their happiness, and they showed her whenever they could. Birna let out a whistle.

“You better get her to bed, Jarlskona.” Birna wrapped an arm around Petra, who had walked down to meet her wife when she saw the familiar Raven sails from her hut.

“Leave them be, love. I’d better get you to bed.” Petra wrapped an arm around Birna’s waist.

“You’ll hear no complaints from me, Petra. Good night, Sunbeam!”

Eivor and Randvi watched them leave, as Eivor sent them off with a wave. Randvi turned back around, seeing the edges of something in Eivor’s face. “What’s wrong, darling? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. I have a few cuts and bruises, nothing to worry about, my heart.”

“Thank you for sending Sýnin. I have a bath prepared. And some roast boar, thanks to Petra.”

Eivor felt overcome at the thoughtful care Randvi showed her in all things. “Randvi...thank you.” Was all she could manage.

Randvi smiled at her, her wife was always so ready to display gratitude, a custom she never tired of, but she furrowed her eyes, wondering what was troubling her usually contented drengr.

“Let’s get you home.”

Randvi and Eivor sat in deliciously scented hot water. The worry and tension Eivor had carried home with her evaporated into the steam drifting to the longhouse ceiling. A satisfied smile now constantly fixed on her face.

“This was a great idea, possibly the best you’ve ever had. And that’s truly saying something.”

“I aim to please, my Jarl.” Randvi felt self-congratulatory at the obvious change in her love’s mood. Years of observing Eivor, of seeing her come home in different states of health and happiness, of finding different ways of tending to that glorious body and soul made Randvi an expert in the proper care and maintenance of her physically ferocious wife. But one truth prevailed among her experience: Eivor always recooperated faster with a bath.

“Are you ready to talk about Ireland?”

Eivor exhaled. “I will do my best. It still feels...fresh.”

Randvi sat up in the bath, giving Eivor all of her attention.

“You know I went to Ireland to help my cousin, Barid. And I did help, although Barid fell in battle. His High King did not heed Barid’s warnings. We were able to beat the Druids back, but I have been wondering if his death was needless, no matter how good and glorious his end. He died a hero, and is no doubt in Valhalla, but had his words been listened to, he would still be the King of Dublin, and his son would still have his father.”

“It is not up to us to change fate, Eivor. It sounds like the Nornir gave Barid a good death. What else can we ask in this life?”

“The love of the most beautiful and intelligent of women, for a start, at the very least.”

Randvi rolled her eyes and laughed, pleasure and embarrassment mingled together. When she looked back at Eivor, sorrow still crept in the periphery. “Is that all that troubles you, Eivor?”

“The Druids of Ireland are much like us, trying to carve out a life for themselves, trying to hold onto their traditions and culture, though the Christians would willingly wipe them, and us, away if given the chance. There was an extremist faction, the Children of Danu, that were causing all the strife while other Druids were forced to live in fear and even secrecy. It made me wonder if we will ever truly pacify this land. The Christians make no room for anyone else. I…I had to kill a Druid priestess who I thought was my friend, all for a Christian King who would rule over all. Was that honorable? I feel...stained, Randvi. I wonder if the decisions I’ve made in my time here are hurting our people, rather than truly helping. She was misguided, angry, she caused a lot of pain in the land there. I think King Flann Sinna saw the error of his ways in his treatment of the Druids, and he will make amends - he said as much. But these Christians...they can be false as well as unyielding. I’m not sure how far he can be trusted.”

Memories of Fulke and King Aelfred made her skin prick involuntarily. The Norse and Danes were often met with a great deal more than suspicion and hostility, labeled as barbarians and savages for their voracity in war. But there was something honest and forthright in them as a people; they hid nothing, they lived openly and celebrated the customs and cultures of all who chose to live among them. Sharing resources through a community was their way, regardless of the people that community comprised; yet this was not the way of the Christians. From what she had seen, they feared all outsiders. She was unsure if this was unique to Anglo-Saxon Christians or not, but from all she had experienced, she was not keen to go looking for other examples.

Randvi found Eivor’s hand under the warm water, and stroked soothingly. Her love never lost sight of the broader view and what it meant for her people. It was one of the many things she adored and cherished about her. She took Eivor’s fingers and brought them to her lips, kissing them lightly.

“These are large questions, my love. Too large to confront in one night. But I promise I will help you as much as I can in our time come in this land. You try to take care of so many, Eivor Varinsdottir. I fear the world is too big, even for your very broad shoulders.”

Eivor felt her heart flutter. After all these years, after all this time, being with Randvi made her feel like she was falling in love with her over and over again. She never stopped falling.

“But maybe, just for tonight, you can let me take care of you?” Randvi leaned forward, kissing one cheek lightly, then the other cheek, her nose, her chin, across her forehead, until she found Eivor’s lips, nipping lightly, until Eivor pulled her forward and kissed her with earnest desire. She opened her body, as Randvi lay on top of her in the bath, relishing the closeness after too many months apart.

Eivor leaned her head back slightly, looking into Randvi’s eyes, darkened to forest green between her desire and the dim candlelight around them.

“Barid said something to me, before the Valkyrie came to claim him. He told me that Valhalla need not be a place, that it can be a legacy.” Eivor held Randvi’s gaze, needing her to feel how much she meant what she was about to say. “I think perhaps for me, it is not so much a legacy, as it’s you, Randvi. You are my home, my Valhalla. After all of our time in England, all of the campaigns, the politicking, the alliances we have paid for with sweat and blood, we could walk away tomorrow and I would not care. The winds always call me back to you, wherever you are.”

Randvi felt strangely vulnerable, though deeply moved. She felt her heart race to echo and return Eivor’s sentiment. If Eivor ever left Ravensthorpe, Randvi would follow without hesitation. She used the moment to lean down and kiss Eivor again, with unashamed love and lust and pride and longing and hope. Their lives together had not been easy, but it had been worth every moment they had paid.

She felt Eivor’s hands slide down to her lower back, holding her closely. She felt a hot rush in her center, and decided it was time to leave the bath.

“Shall we adjourn to our chambers, my Jarl?”

Eivor smirked, knowingly. “Indeed, my Jarlskona.”

Randvi made her way out of the bath, as Eivor followed suit. Randvi spied some new blade slices over Eivor’s body, and some fresh bruises getting ready to bloom; she’d be sure to kiss them all later. She took Eivor’s hand and led them naked to their bed. Their bed . A place she was never tired of acknowledging.

Eivor pulled Randvi to her, wrapping her in strong, solid muscle. “I missed you, Jarlskona.”

“And I you, my Jarl.” Randvi pressed her teeth against Eivor’s neck, nipping and sucking her way along the tender flesh under her chin. She heard Eivor’s breath catch, and a gasp after she released skin from her teeth. She moved a hand, cupping Eivor’s sex, feeling the wet traces of her want on her fingers. Eivor bowed her head resting it on Randvi’s shoulder, her breathing deepening with anticipation. This fierce drengr, terror of England and Ireland, great Jarl of a proud clan, was made vulnerable and soft with a single touch. It was a power Randvi knew only she wielded, and she never took it for granted.

She brought Eivor to the bed, guiding her down. “What would you like, darling?” She purred in a way that drove Eivor wild.

“You. I just want you.”

“I am yours, Eivor.”

And the sound of those words, said by the only woman in the world she needed to hear them from, snapped Eivor out of the worry she brought home with her. As the sounds of their love-making filled the longhouse, Ravensthorpe sighed relief, and for tonight at least, everything was well in the world.

#eivor x randvi #eivor randvi #lady eivor #lady knights #women in armor #my writing #randivorprideweek #randivorprideweek2021

57 notes · View notes

meda-stark · 3 years ago

Text

♔ → westeros presents meda stark, the princess of winterfell / the north a raven sent word that she bears the resemblance to adelaide kane. the twenty eight year old cis woman was astute & compassionate before the dawn of winter, but have now become proud & hot-tempered. when songs are sung, their verses speak of the regal tilt of a head born for glory; a long wooden map table strewn with sigils and banners; a she-wolf circling her pack, baring her teeth at intruders. whispers throughout the seven kingdoms claim that their allegiance lies with house stark / the north, where they conspire to end the war of the northern kingdom and unite the north under stark rule, and secure the safety and prosperity of the subjects of the northern kingdom but in the end, fealty means little when you play the game of thrones. ( hayley, 21, cst, she/her. )

She is born just before the worst winter in recent memory, and that is how they know she will have to be strong. She cries coming out of the womb, as all babes do, but soon quiets down, as if she already knows she is a princess and must present the proper decorum. From the moment she comes into the world, she is loved and doted on, as only the single daughter in a family of boys can be, and she wants for little in their close-knit little pack, but she is always reminded of what it means to be a Stark: honor, loyalty, duty; these above all else.

She takes it to heart, and learns her lessons well. Not just the lessons of how to be a lady, though she watches her mother closely and tries her best to emulate the older woman’s grace, but also the intricacies of running a kingdom, the nuances between the ruling houses and their vassels, and the needs of the people who are by right partly gets to protect. She will never be a Queen, unless (gods forbid) they send her South to marry, but she can do her duty to her people all the same, by learning enough to know how much grain will need to be stored for each upcoming winter, how much will need to be planted and harvested in the spring and summer, and how to distribute it all so that it benefits the largest number of people. They are hard decisions, but they need to be made, and she learns how to do so.

The truth is, the lesson she learns best is how to play the game. Though she doesn’t meet many outsiders, with the Stark-held North being cut off by the rebel Red Kings from most of Westeros, she practices on her family’s sworn Houses. She learns who resents whom over a trade dispute, or an inheritance claim, or an old slight that happened so many years ago that everyone has all but forgotten how it started. She learns which young lords and ladies have been betrothed, and which old ones must settle their affairs soon before they die. She learns how to show she cares, listening to the small folk who come to Winterfell to petition the King, or inquiring after an aging lord’s grandchildren by name. It’s important that others feel important, and Meda learns how to make them feel like the only person in the world.

She learns other lessons too, lessons of laughter and love and happiness. She learns of loss and grief and war, though these lessons she would rather forget. She learns how to climb trees and wield a sword and a bow, though she’s not nearly as sharp with those as she is with her mind. There are good and bad times, lightness and darkness, sorrow and joy.

There is light and dark in her too, though she’d be loath to admit it. She’s far too proud for her own good, rarely able to own up to her own faults and mistakes. She takes slights to herself or her family extremely seriously, and she’s quick to anger and slow to forgive. She believe in her perceived duty so much that she’s never bothered to ask if her goals are what’s best for the people she wants to see thrive, if a war to establish Stark control of the North is worth the amount of bloodshed it has cost. She knows the Stark’s to be the rightful rulers, just as she knows the sky is blue and the snow cold. She may very well be right, but the fact that she’s never bothered to even wonder is troubling.

She also may be too ambitious for her own good. While most of the North distrusts Southerner’s, and she does too to a certain extent, she’s eager to fashion alliances that she feels will benefit their people. She doesn’t want the North just to survive, she wants it to thrive, and she thinks she can play the game well enough to juggle the politics of all the other kingdoms in order to secure the North’s best interests. Perhaps she can, but it seems an awful lot to put on one mind, no matter how sharp it is. Learning to ask for help is the one lesson she never quite mastered.

#pro.intro #subject to editing as i plot with the other stark family members!

7 notes · View notes

a-room-of-my-own · 4 years ago

Note

Have you read "An Apology to JK Rowling" by Petra Bueskens on Areo? I'm pathetically grateful to read something so clever and well articulated on the subject after the amount of abuse JK has been subjected to

It's a great piece so here it is, thank you anon!

Rowling recently published an eminently reasonable, heartfelt treatise, outlining why it is important to preserve the category of woman. There’s only one thing wrong with it: it assumes a rational interlocutor. Rowling outlines why the biological and legal category of sex is important: in sports, in rape crisis shelters, in prisons, in toilets and changing rooms, for lesbians who want to sleep with natal women only and at the level of reality in general. Rowling marshals her experiences as an androgynous girl, as a domestic violence and sexual assault survivor and as someone familiar with the emotional perils of social media, in ways that have resonated with many women (and men). Her writing is clear, unpretentious, thoughtful, moving, vulnerable and honest. At no point does she use exclusionary or hostile language or say that trans women do not exist, have no right to exist or that she wants to rob them of their rights. Her position is that natal women exist and have a right to limit access to their political and personal spaces. Period.

Of course, to assume that her missive would be engaged with in the spirit in which it was intended, is to make the mistake of imagining that the identitarian left is broadly committed to secular, rational discourse. It is not. Its activist component has transmogrified into a religious movement, which brooks no opposition and no discussion. You must agree with every tenet or else you’re a racist, sexist, transphobic bigot, etc. Because its followers are fanatics, Rowling is being subjected to an extraordinary level of abuse. There seems to be no cognitive dissonance among those who accuse her of insensitivity and then proceed to call her a cunt, bitch or hag and insist that they want to assault and even kill her (see this compilation of tweets on Medium). She has been accused of ruining childhoods. Some even claim that the actor Daniel Radcliffe wrote the Harry Potter books—reality has become optional for some of these identitarians. Rowling’s age, menstrual status and vagina come in for particularly nasty attention and many trans women (or those masquerading as such) write of wanting to sexually assault her with lady cock, as a punishment for speaking out. I haven’t seen misogyny like this since Julia Gillard became our prime minister.

The Balkanisation of culture into silos of unreason means that the responses have not followed what might be loosely called the pre-digital rules of discourse. These rules assume that the purpose of public debate is to discern truth and that interlocutors on opposing sides—a reductionist bifurcation, because, in fact, there are many sides—engage in argument because they are interested in something higher than themselves: an ideal of truth, no matter how complicated, multifaceted and evolving. While in-group preferences and biases are inevitable, these exist within an overarching deliberative framework. This style of dialogue assumes the validity of a persuasive argument grounded in reason and evidence, even if—as Rowling does—it also utilises experience and feeling. By default, it assumes that civil conflict and opposition are essential devices in the pursuit of truth.

Three decades of postmodernism and ten years of Twitter have destroyed these conventions and, together with them, the shared norms by which we create and sustain social consensus. There is no grounding metanarrative, there are no binding norms of civil discourse in the digital age. Indeed, as Jaron Lanier shows with his bummer paradigm (Behaviours of Users Modified and Made into an Empire for Rent) social media is destroying the fabric of our personal and political lives (although, with a different business model and more robust regulation, it need not do so). The algorithm searching for and recording your every click, like and share, your every purchase, search term, conversation, movement, facial expression, social connection and preference rewards engagement above all else—which means that your feed—an aptly infantile descriptor—will quickly become full of the things you and others like you are most likely to be motivated to click, like and share. Outrage is a more effective mechanism through which to foster engagement than almost anything else. In Lanier’s terms, this produces a “menagerie of wraiths”—a bunch of digitised dementors: fake and bad actors, paid troll armies and dyspeptic bots—designed to confect mob outrage.

The norms of civil discourse are being eroded, as we increasingly inhabit individualised media ecosystems, designed to addict, distract, absorb, outrage, manipulate and incite us. These internecine culture wars damage us all. As Lanier notes, social media is biased “not towards the left or right but downwards.” As a result, we are witnessing a catastrophic decline in the standards of our democratic institutions and discourse. Nowhere is this more evident than in the contemporary culture wars around the trans question, where confected outrage is the norm.

This is why the furore over Rowling’s blog post misses the point: whether we agree with her or not, the problem is the collapse of our capacity to disagree constructively. If you deal primarily in subjective experience and impulse-driven reaction, under the assumption that you occupy the undisputed moral high ground, and you’ve been incited by fake news and want to signal your allegiances to your social media friends, then you can’t engage in rational discussion with your opponent. Your stock in trade will be unsubstantiated accusations and social shaming.

In this discombobulating universe, sex-based rights are turned into insults against trans people. Gender-critical feminists are recast as immoral bigots, engaged in deliberately hurtful, even life-threatening, speech. Rowling is not who we thought she was, her ex-fans wail, her characters and plots conceal hidden reservoirs of homophobia and bigotry. A few grandstanders attempt to distinguish themselves by saying that they have always been able to smell a rat—no, not Scabbers—and therefore hated the books from the outset. Nowhere amid this morass of moral grandstanding and outrage is there any serious engagement with her ideas.

Those of us on the left—and left-wing feminists in particular—who find trans ideology fraught, for all the reasons Rowling outlines, are a very small group. While Rowling is clearly privileged, she has also become the figurehead of a rapidly dwindling and increasingly vilified group of feminists, pejoratively labelled terfs, who want to preserve women’s sex-based rights and spaces. Although our arguments align with centrist, conservative and common sense positions, ours is not the prevailing view in academia, public service or the media, arts and culture industries, where we are most likely to be located (when we are not at home with our children). In most of these workplaces, a sex-based rights position is defined a priori as bigoted, indeed as hate speech. It can get us fired, attacked, socially ostracised and even assaulted.

As leftist thinkers who believe in freedom of speech and thought, who find creeping ideological and bureaucratic control alarming, we are horrified by these increasingly vicious denunciations by the left. The centre right and libertarians—the neo-cons, post-liberals and the IDW—are invariably smug about how funny it is to watch the left eat itself. But it’s true: some progressive circles are now defined by a call out/cancel culture to rival that of the most repressive of totalitarian states. Historically, it was progressives who fought against limits on freedom of speech and action. But the digital–identitarian left split off from the old print-based left some time ago, and has become its own beast. A contingent of us are deeply critical of these new directions.

Only a few on the left have had the gumption to speak up for us. Few have even defended our right to express our opinions. Those who have spoken out include former media darlings Germaine Greer and Michael Leunig. Many reader comments on left-leaning news sites claim that Rowling is to blame for the ill treatment she is suffering. Rowling can bask in the consequences of her free speech, they claim, as if having a different opinion from the woke majority means that she is no longer entitled to respect, and that any and all abuse is warranted—or, at least, to be expected. Where is the outrage on her behalf? Where are the writers, film makers, actors and artists defending her right to speak her mind?

Of course, the actors from the Harry Potter films are under no obligation to agree with JK Rowling just because she made them famous. They don’t owe her their ideological fealty: but they owe her better forms of disagreement. When Daniel Radcliffe repeats the nonsensical chant trans women are women, he’s not developing an argument, he’s reciting a mantra. When he invokes experts, who supposedly know more about the subject than Rowling, he betrays his ignorance of how contested the topic of transgender medicine actually is: for example, within endocrinology, paediatrics, psychiatry, sociology, and psychology (the controversies within the latter discipline have been demonstrated by the numerous recent resignations from the prestigious Tavistock and Portman gender identity clinic). The experts are a long way from consensus in what remains a politically fraught field.

Trans women are women is not an engaged reply. It is a mere arrangement of words, which presupposes a faith that cannot be questioned. To question it, we are told, causes harm—an assertion that transforms discussion into a thought crime. If questioning this orthodoxy is tantamount to abuse, then feminists and other dissenters have been gaslit out of the discussion before they can even enter it. This is especially pernicious because feminists in the west have been fighting patriarchy for several hundred years and we do not intend our cause to be derailed at the eleventh hour by an infinitesimal number of natal males, who have decided that they are women. Now, we are told, trans women are women, but natal females are menstruators. I can’t imagine what the suffragists would have made of this patently absurd turn of events.

There has been a cacophony of apologies to the trans community for Rowling’s apparently tendentious and hate-filled words. But no one has paused to apologise to Rowling for the torrent of abuse she has suffered and for being mischaracterised so profoundly.

So, I’m sorry, JK Rowling. I’m sorry that you will not receive the respectful disagreement you deserve: disagreement with your ideas not your person, disagreement with your politics, rather than accusations of wrongspeak. I’m sorry that schools, publishing staff and fan clubs are now cancelling you. And I’m sorry that you will be punished—because cancel culture is all about punishment. I’m sorry that you are being burned at the digital stake for expressing an opinion that goes against the grain.

But remember this, JK—however counterintuitive this may seem to progressives, whose natural home is on the fringe—most people are looking on incredulously at the disconnect between culture and reality. Despite raucous protestations to the contrary, you are on the right side of history—not just because of the points you make, but because of how you make them.

#Jkr #Team jkr

415 notes · View notes

buckyjustbelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

The Fiction of Fairytales: Chapter One

Title: The Fiction of Fairytales: Chapter One

Characters: Stucky x Reader

Summary: (a/b/o au that is non-cannon compliant) After being captured and forced to live as Brock Rumlow’s mate for years you are kidnapped by the Avengers. They plan to interrogate you for information on Hydra and Rumlow, but after Steve and Bucky realize they are your true mates, they realize that their kidnapping was more of an unexpected rescue.

Warnings: Mentions of assault, kidnapping, death, and abuse, and strong language.

Word Count: approx. 3000

A/N: Hello lovelies! 💕 I’m so sorry for the late update. Life has been really crazy both personally and globally. I hope the longer chapter makes up for the wait. Let me know if you want to be tagged or if you have any suggestions or comments!

Previous Chapter

You followed his instructions until they reached the tower. As you were driving you had the urge to cry passing by the buildings and civilization you had been kept from for so long. But the freedom was a placebo, a momentary feeling that reality is plotting to destroy. You knew you were trading one cage for another. One where you were trapped with a murderer and one when you are considered one. Tony Stark fought for good, and he proved that Brock had turned you into something only recognizable as bad.

They arrived at the tower and the moment you placed the car in park your hands were put into high tech handcuffs. Stark’s hand firmly gripped your arm, and though it was not soft, you breathed a sigh of relief when it felt nothing like the force of Brock’s hands. Stark led you to an elevator that seemed detached from the main part of the building. You hoped he didn’t feel the slight tremble of your body. You were used to the danger of being a captive of Brock, but here, you didn’t know what to expect. The floor you arrived at looked like a police station. There were containment rooms and what looked like interrogation rooms. There weren’t many others on the floor, but the guards scattered throughout looked at you in disgust as you entered. You knew that you did not participate in any of the violence hydra had committed, but being looked at as if you did made you feel dirty.

Stark led you into one of the interrogation rooms, and sat you down on an uncomfortable metal chair. He sat opposite of you and placed his feet on the table between you.

“So, are you also a mass murderer or do you just have a fetish for murders in cults?”

His question reminded you once again that he did not save you, you were considered his enemy. You didn’t know the use in arguing with him, you were unsure if they would ever really believe you, and whether the reality of the circumstance would really save you, or if you were considered damned.

“I’ve never killed anyone.” You stated with as much confidence in your voice as you could muster.

“A girl like you bonded with an evil person like that has to get her hands dirty a little once and awhile.”

You met his statement with silence. Staring at the metal table and wishing all of this would be over. When he realized you were not going to respond to his previous statement he placed photos down in front of you.

“Do you recognize any of these men?”

Your body involuntarily shivered as you had looked at the faces of men who had taken part in your torture. You recognized Pierce first, and other Hydra members that had brought you so much trauma.

“Yes.”

“Are they all still alive?”

“I don’t know.” It was your honest answer but it made you feel hopeless. Stark wasn’t going to trust you if you couldn’t tell him anything useful. You hadn’t seen a lot of them in a while, but you would never be informed of those kinds of details.

“So you’re telling me you recognize all these men and we are supposed to believe that you know nothing about hydra?” You didn’t have to look at his face to recognize the skepticism in his words.

As Steve and Bucky were walking into the interrogation room they were hit both with the most intoxicating smell, it smelled like warmth, like vanilla and caramel, and it reminded them of the cookies Steve’s mom used to make them when they were younger. Underneath the overwhelming scent was the unmistakable wave of distress. At first they didn’t understand where the scent could be coming from, or who. It didn’t take long for them to narrow down the fact that there was likely no one else nearby besides the Hydra member, who was also Brock’s omega, that Tony just brought in. They glanced at each other in apprehension before entering. They knew that whatever they were walking into it was not the happy meeting of their omega they had dreamed of, but their instincts were screaming at them to open the door.

Steve couldn’t ignore the protectiveness he was feeling towards Bucky in the moment. Whoever this omega was, they were somehow involved with the same people that had hurt Bucky. He was ignoring the protectiveness he felt towards the omega he had not even met yet, as far as he was concerned they did not deserve his protection, Bucky was his priority right now.

“Stark, Captain America and Sergeant Barnes request access to the room to aid interrogation.”

“Let them in, Friday.” Stark responds with a sigh, obviously frustrated he got nowhere on his own.

As the two men entered the room your heart stopped. Their scents felt like home. The dark haired man smelled like freshly brewed coffee, and the blonde haired man smelled like ginger and licorice. You knew without a question these two beautiful men in front of you were your alphas, your true mates. After your mind cleared from the fog that their presence brought you immediately diverted your eyes, cursing yourself for forgetting your position, if Brock was here he would have punished you for looking at an alpha, even if they are his enemy.

Bucky felt consumed by you. You were more beautiful than he ever could have pictured. He was hyper analyzing every frown, every tremor that your body was making, the way that you diverted your eyes from them. The distress and feeling of hopelessness that surrounded you suffocated him. He just hoped your emotions were not fueled by you missing your mate. Though he didn’t like the alternative. He could not win in this situation, and underneath his calculated demeanor, Steve could also feel the feeling of hopelessness Bucky tried to bury, he could not hide his emotions from his mate.

“We have reason to believe they are trying to capture and reactivate the winter soldier, what are their plans?” Stark spoke completely unaware of what was going on.

“The winter soldier?” You were thankful to be snapped back to the reality of the moment, but his questions once again made you feel useless.

“Me.” The dark haired man replied, or Sergeant Barnes as the AI called him.

Your face fell. Though you didn’t know whether to trust your true mates or not, you knew you had very little chance of gaining their love. Not only did you bond with someone else, but they were someone that obviously hurt one of them, and might be actively planning to do so again. You would be pissed if fate gave you you as well.It seemed fate cursed them and is turned your life into a farce.

“I don’t know.” You sounded like a broken record, and you knew with each repetition there will be dire consequences.

“How convenient, it seems you know nothing.”

“I’m sorry, I promise I’m telling the truth.”

Steve’s composure fell, he no longer could quiet his rage.

“Bullshit! What kind of sick joke is this? We are mated to an omega not only bonded with hydra, but obviously she has blatant allegiance to them as well.”

“Mate?” Stark questioned in shock.

“Steve...” Bucky interjected, still not as convinced as his mate was that you were lying and trying to get him to relax.

“No Buck! You deserve so much better than her, than this. And not only does she not have the decency to wait for her true mates, but she mates with a member of Hydra, and is actively covering for an evil organization.” Steve said, looking into Bucky’s eyes while ignoring Stark’s question.

“She’s your true mate?” Tony tried again.

“No.” Steve said, though the message behind his words was heard loud and clear by everyone in the room. He was rejecting her.

You felt like you couldn’t breath. You knew what was going to happen, but God, you didn’t know how you could live with it. You knew his words were the truth, he didn’t even know the full extent of how broken you were and he could already tell you would never measure up.

“I’m sorry.” You tried to show your honesty behind your words, but your voice was weak. You did not understand why you were mated either, but you knew they were good people, they were alpha’s sure, and there are parts of that that scare you, but you know that if you had met them before ever meeting Brock, they would be everything you had ever dreamed of. Your eyes remained diverted, but you could tell just from his voice, his love for Bucky. You felt like it was ripping you in two, all you had ever wanted was a fraction of that love, but the universe deemed you unworthy, adding validity to all of Brock’s claims.

While Steve was filled with protectiveness, Bucky wasn’t so sure of what to make of everything. The ways your eyes never met their own, the pain and fear he could detect though you tried to hide it, and the apology only filled him with questions. Your behavior reminded him of his own when he first got out of Hydra, part of him hoped this wasn’t the case. He would rather be mated to evil, than to be mated to someone that had to withstand the kind of pain he had to.

“What is it exactly you are sorry for?” Bucky asks, his voice still cool, but not laced with the anger Steve’s words were entangled with.

“For being mated with someone else…” you cut yourself off there, not sure if you should list all the reasons why you were sorry you ended up their mate. “And for not being able to help you all with the information you want.”

“Not being able to and not willing to are two different things.” He replied.

“I.. I know. I promise you if I knew I would help you. I understand you don’t like me or trust me. I would feel the same considering who Brock is, but please believe that more than anyone, I don’t want him to be able to hurt anyone ever again.”

“Then how the hell can you justify being with him? For not waiting for your true mates, for him?” Steve almost yells as he tries to keep his cool. He was hurt but he was masking it with anger. Bucky reaches out his hand and lays it on Steve’s shoulder, he gives him a look that pleads for his silence.

Bucky could see the tears pooling in your eyes as you fought them away, and his fear that his suspicions might be true was nagging at his mind.

“How long have you been with Brock?”

This was something that you had fought over the years to know the answer to. You weren’t sure of time when he first took you, the days blended together, but once he started giving you more freedom you decided to keep track of how long it had been.

“Eight years.” you said.

“Okay.” Bucky said, his voice calming. “We have no records of you before Hydra, so can you tell us how old you are?”

“25.” Your voice was still breathy and quiet, unsure his intentions behind his questions.

The fear nagging at Bucky became more pronounced when he learned that you weren’t even of age when you got together.

“How did you meet?”

He watched you as your body froze, panic entered your eyes and your breath became shorter. As you shrunk into your chair you winced at the metal pushing against your bruised body.

Steve started to sense the reasoning behind Bucky’s questions, especially when he saw your reaction. Things started to make sense to Tony too, especially when knowing how little you went out, and the way you looked for the cameras. He suspected you feared him and tried to find safety in knowing that Brock could see you in the surveillance footage, but now he was starting to think your fear was more of the cameras than him.

You didn’t know what to do, he asked about one of the worst days of your life, and you feared they would be disgusted by you if he understood. You saw Bucky move closer to you in an attempt to calm you down, his alpha instincts telling him to soothe the anxiety of his omega. But the closer he got to you the more you shrunk away from him. Trying to hide within the cold metal of your chair, as your pain became more pronounced.

“Hey, it’s okay, we want to help you, but we can’t do that if you don’t talk to us.”

His words calmed you and you cursed that he was able to have an effect on you. He knelt down beside your chair, trying to get a better view of your eyes, despite you doing everything in your power to hide your face behind your hair. You decided to rip the bandaid off, maybe if they understood then they would realize you were no use to them, and then maybe you could let you die on your own terms. You knew there was no other alternative. Brock would always find you, and you had no way of defending yourself, and you would not let yourself become a burden to them as an unwanted mate. You wouldn’t force them to deal with that, it would be wrong of you.

“He killed my parents and he was supposed to kill me too, but he took me as his mate instead.”

“He forced you to bond with him?” He was trying to suppress the rage overwhelming his body, he did not want to scare you away. Steve was still at a distance, now battling his own guilt from what he said to you.

“Yes, I promise, I meant nothing to him, I was just a body, everyone in Hydra viewed me the same. I promise they never discussed any information with me around, and if they did I would tell you, please believe me.” You spoke through your own tears.

“We believe you.” Tony spoke, laced with the same guilt Steve feels.

“Thank you... But they will find me, and what they will do to me is worse than death, I can’t go back, and I won’t be a burden to you, you both deserve to find an omega who is good enough. So please, I’m begging you to kill me.”

Steve and Bucky both started to growl. Unhappy with the words they are hearing from their omega.

“No!” Steve and Bucky both blurted out.

Your whole body was shaking, and it got worse knowing they wouldn’t allow you the kindness of a quick death. “Please, I know you don’t owe me anything but please. I can’t go back. Please.”

Bucky’s hand reached out to calm you, but he immediately realized it was a bad idea when you flinched away. Your face contorted in pain once again and Steve and Bucky wished more than anything that they could fix everything for you right then and there, no matter the cost. Bucky resigned his hand to himself, but Steve came up and knelt beside Bucky.

“No one is going to hurt you again. I promise you. We will protect you sweetheart. I’m so sorry we thought you were Hydra.” Steve spoke to you. His voice soft, and laced with pain for his mate.

“We are your Alpha’s and we will protect you.” Bucky said firmly, assuring you that they weren’t going anywhere despite what Steve had said earlier.

You calmed yourself enough to reply to their assertions.

“You don’t have to protect me,” you wiped your tears from your face with your still handcuffed hands. “I’ll be fine. Please, like you said earlier, you deserve better, and I understand that.”

“No, no. That is not true.” Steve said distressed at what his omega was saying to him.

“Honey, I was a captive of Hydra for years, they made me do horrible things, I understand what they are capable of, but that is not a reflection on you. Did you want to be there?”

“No.” You sniffled.

“Do you agree with the horrible things that they do?”

“No!” You stated, trying to convince them.

“Then there is nothing that could change our mind.”

You still felt unconvinced but Steve didn’t give you much time to reject what Bucky said.

“Are you hurt?” Steve asked, assessing as much of your body as he could.

You nodded. “I’ll be fine though, Brock wasn’t happy with me this morning.”

You could see Bucky and Steve’s body both tense up at your words.

“What happened?”

“It was my fault, I looked up at him.”

Both men started growling again, even Tony joined in already becoming protective over his teammates and friends’ omega.

“You did nothing wrong, sweetheart.” Bucky spoke to you.

“But I’m an omega.. and I shouldn’t have done that.”

Bucky wished he reached out and guided your chin up so you could look him in his eyes, but he was afraid of scaring you even more.

“Doesn’t matter if you are an omega, doll. You are not lesser than other people, especially not him.” Bucky said his voice caring.

“Can we take you to the medical wing to get you checked out?” Steve asked.

“S-sure.” You replied, still not knowing if you could trust them and their words, but the fantasy of their words of love was too enticing. You decided that even if this didn’t last, it was worth it to escape, even for just a moment, in fiction.

Next Chapter

Tags (open): @snakesonastarship @thanossucks @yomama-umbridge @grandluminaryearthquake @laughsandlivia @bloo-moon-freak @this-is-a-chilis-drive-thru @sergeantrosabellaswan

#stucky x reader #alpha stucky x reader #stucky #alpha bucky barnes #alpha steve rogers #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader

497 notes · View notes