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azrielbrainrot · 9 months ago

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I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 2

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: You're back home right when Azriel was starting to lose all hope, but is the person standing in front of him the same who disappeared all those years ago?

Warnings: Angst, mentions of blood, injury

Word Count: 6670

Notes: The original plan wasn't to write more of this story but I had a few ideas of where to take this and decided to turn it into a mini series, don't think it will be longer than 3-4 chapters. Also I don't know if the HoW has cells in the books but it does here and they're normal, not dungeon-y like, and the story is set after acosf but Amren never got turned into fae because I like her better like this. A lot of people liked the first part so I really hope this one doesn't disappoint. I hope you enjoy!

Part 1 ○ Part 3

Azriel was at the townhouse before he even fully realized what was happening. Didn't even give anyone an explanation, simply letting his shadows take him, barely hearing the questioning cries of his name. He didn't need to hear anything else aside from your name to know that's where he should be, his body moved before he even had time to formulate the thought.

Your sweet scent invaded his brain before he even arrived at the house. He'd be able to recognize it anywhere, he'd longed for it for so long after all. Every day when he opened his eyes, he hoped he would wake up to your scent floating around this house as it once did, as it did right now. He's not one to go into anything blindly, to run head first and only think about the consequences later, but this felt like his last chance. The loneliness that had settled deep in his soul had been replaced with hope with one word.

His shadows move to different corners of the room as soon as he's dropped off, leaving him uncharacteristically naked, unguarded. Even the shadows that would form naturally from the faint glow of the moon seemed to move off his face. They wanted him to enjoy this moment in full, this was his and only his.

In truth he barely noticed them leave, too preoccupied with the figure in front of him. He wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't witnessing it with his own eyes. How many times had he been haunted by this exact vision in his dreams? There you were standing in the sitting room, shining like a goddess under the moonlight filtering through the windows. You hadn't changed since the last time he saw you, only had gotten even more mesmerizing if anything.

Your hair was a bit shorter than you usually wore it, the tight pants a contrast to the usual short skirts you preferred. Then there was a scar running across your neck, even with the distance and darkness in the room he could tell it ran from ear to ear. It was a painful reminder of what you've been through, of the night he couldn't protect you. But it meant this was real. You were actually standing in front of him. This was something he had dreamed of many times, almost every night since you've been gone.

He calls your name and it feels amazing. Just the sound of your name leaving his lips, not in mourning or wistfulness but as a greeting, is enough to bring a face splitting grin to his face. Gods, he missed saying your name without almost feeling suffocated by the weight that formed in his chest.

You startle at the sound, seemingly not expecting company at the house. He has no time to study the strange expression on your face though, he needs to touch you first, to feel your skin against his, your warmth against his body, your heart beating behind your ribcage. He needs to make sure this is real and not some cruel dream or hallucination his mind thought up to torment him. He needs you to be really back.

As soon as your eyes meet his form, he clears the distance between you in two hurried steps, but, before he can hug you, he feels your hand reach out to him. He doesn't even have time to realize you're reaching towards his thigh, to Truth Teller. He doesn't know if it was confusion holding him back, the strangeness of the whole act or if he's simply willing to take anything as long as it comes from you, but he makes no movement to stop you from grabbing his knife, allowing you to pierce it through his stomach, never so much as looking away from your beautiful face or even flinching at the blade.

He can feel every inch of the dagger inside him, can feel the blood quickly seeping through his shirt. Still, the pain in his gut can't hold a candle to the relief and joy running through his veins. You're real. The knife went through, so you have to be real. He can clearly hear your heartbeat now as well, it sounds strong aside from how fast it's going.

Azriel reaches a hand out to you again, slower as not to startle you. He can't help the fluttering of his own heart as you finally let him make contact with the softness of your skin. You haven't moved your hands from the knife, your wide eyes staring at your now blood covered hands. He caresses your cheek lovingly and tilts your face up so he can meet your eyes at last.

He can tell something is wrong, as if it hadn't been glaringly obvious by his favorite knife currently stuck in his stomach. Your eyes seem unfocused, a bit panicked, maybe even angry. But he can't bring himself to care in this moment.

He doesn't know if this is your revenge for letting you die, for not finding you, or even if this is what you had wanted out of him from the start, maybe your whole relationship had been a lie. It doesn't matter. He'll gladly die at your hands if that's the fate you chose for him. At least he'd spend his last moments with you, a privilege he didn't think he would have the pleasure of experiencing.

His heart threatens to stop altogether when your eyes meet, it feels like time stopped around him. “You're home, my love,” he breathes out, letting out a soft disbelieving chuckle, “You're finally home.” He raises his other hand to your face, caressing both your cheeks with his scarred thumbs, he almost forgot how soft your skin felt against his rough hands. He's been clutching at faint memories for decades.

His smile falters when his thumb moves down, stroking down your jaw to the column of your throat, where a scar runs across your neck. He watches his thumb following the clean line, his scars had always been awful reminders of what was done to him, it ate at him even five centuries later, but seeing yours hurt even more. You should have never known this kind of pain.

“What?” Your voice was barely a whisper, confusion and fear holding it hostage. He looks back up into your eyes, seeing the same emotions swim in your gaze even more heightened. He didn't like that, you would never have any reason to be scared of him. He goes to tell you as much when he feels power surging into the room.

“Azriel?” Cassian's voice cuts through the moment and he has to close his eyes to keep himself calm. He wanted more time with you, wanted to talk to you before they got here, before they saw the blood but had gotten too distracted. His mind wasn't working properly, his thoughts were all over the place, he wanted nothing more than to hug you but was too aware of how strangely you were acting. He couldn't keep you and his family in check, not with every instinct inside him screaming to just pick you up and winnow you to the other side of the world.

He calls his shadows to him, a desperate attempt at hiding his injury. He knows it's in vain when he feels Rhys let go of the damper on his power, letting the suffocating night fill up the room. You look positively terrified now, he can even smell it mixing in your sweet scent. Letting go of your face, an act that takes more effort than he could imagine, he turns around slowly, trying to be mindful of keeping you covered, protected from his family.

Your hands don't stop holding onto the dagger, as he moves away from you, the force of it is enough to pull it out of his stomach and let the blood run free with no resistance. The pain was getting worse, it didn't look like you hit any vital organs but his healing wasn't fast enough to keep it at bay on its own.

Feyre is the first to move towards him when she sees the blood, but he simply holds up a hand, effectively stopping her in her tracks. Trying to keep a leveled head was proving to be a near impossible task as he saw the anger in everyone's faces, it was directed at you. He holds onto his abdomen, the pain was making itself known.

Seeing Azriel stop his mate from approaching, Rhys walks closer to the shadowsinger himself. His face was a mix of regret and fury as he spoke up. “What happened here, Azriel?” If his mind was in the right place he would have noticed the restraint his brother was showing at seeing him bleeding out in his house, restraint only present because of his own feelings towards you. Unfortunately, Azriel's instincts were winning against logic.

He hears you finally drop Truth Teller behind him, your body must have started listening to you when Rhysand got too close, recognizing him as a threat. He makes the mistake of looking back at the knife, not hearing the snarl that curls his brother's lips in time. Rhys winnows behind him in that moment and you had gotten too close to the window for him to reach you.

“Don't touch her,” he warns Rhys viciously. He doesn't want to think what he was capable of if anyone hurt you again, even if it was his own brother.

He sees you fall to the floor before he registers what happened. His heart almost leaps out of his throat, letting out an anguished cry of your name as he runs to you, pushing his brother out of the way and holding you up from the ground. Searching for a pulse frantically, he finds you were only unconscious. A breath of relief escapes him as he pushes your hair out of your face, it almost brings tears to his eyes. You will be fine. Rhys had only entered your mind to keep you asleep and stop you from escaping. You will wake up. You will not leave him again.

He hugs you closer to him, too focused on making sure you were alright and keeping his breathing leveled to hear what they were saying behind him. He felt as helpless as when he was still a child being subjected to his father's cruelty. It takes him a while before he finally calms himself down enough to hear the argument behind him.

“Let's talk to him first,” Cassian says, the emotion clear in his voice.

“He put up a shield around them,” Rhys was sounding less like a High Lord by the word, “He's not in his right mind.” A shield? He checks the air around them to find that his brother was right, there was a shield around them both, even his shadows had moved to cover them, separating them from the world.

“Neither are any of you,” Nesta's voice cuts through everyone, finally silencing them.

“We already called for Madja,” Feyre uses the silence that settled to speak, “We can get him treated and hold her somewhere until she wakes up.”

“No,” he drops you gently on the ground, letting his shadows cover you, protect you, before turning to face his family.

Feyre hesitates before continuing, seeing something on his face that makes her choose a different approach. He never mentioned being married to her but your name had been brought up before, he knew Rhys had filled her in on what happened, still she couldn't understand what he was feeling. Even he couldn't.

“The cells under the House of Wind are safe. It's just for-”

“You will not put my wife in a cell,” the words came out clipped, slipping through clenched teeth, the shadowsinger was barely holding on to a sense of restraint against his High Lady.

“She stabbed you,” Rhys yells, looking down at the wound in his brother's torso, thankfully already starting to heal, “it doesn't matter that she used to be your wife.” The growl Azriel lets out at his brother is nothing short of vicious, a feral and lethal thing rising straight from the center of his being.

“She is still my wife,” Azriel says behind a snarl, “And you will not hurt her.” Even if it was in the clean cells of the House of Wind, he could never bear to see you caged. He was ready to go to any lengths necessary to make sure of that. If helping you escape the Night Court was what it took he knew of a few ways not to get caught.

He could see Rhys' shoulders tense up, his own face morphing to match Azriel's fury. He didn't know if his mental shields were down or if his intentions were just uncharacteristically clear on his face but he was sure that his brother knew what Azriel - his spymaster - was thinking.

“She can stay in one of the rooms up in the House,” Cassian offers quickly, trying to settle the rising tension between his brothers, “She can't winnow out because of the wards and we can watch her until she wakes up.” Deep down he knows they don't want to hurt you either, that they're only worried but it's difficult to pay attention to the voice of reason within him during this whole situation. His greatest wish had just been answered. So why does everything seem to be falling apart with it?

Mor winnows in with Madja before he can give them a response which is a good thing because anything he could come up with would probably only put you and him in a more precarious situation. There were too many emotions warring inside him, the same going around almost everyone in the room if only more intense. The healer's presence seems to dissipate most of the tension automatically as Rhys even turns to look out the window and allows his mate to hold onto his hand, probably telling him soothing words in his mind.

Madja moves to Azriel with no hesitation, only stopping briefly when she senses the shield. She merely gives him a look before he drops it so she can reach him. He knows she wouldn't hurt you, knows he needs the wound in his stomach taken care of so he can focus on you, think about what to do when you wake up.

“You need to sit down so I can treat you,” she tells him while inspecting the wound.

“I will not leave her.”

“You can trust her with us, Az,” Mor tries to reassure him, but with the way the last minutes have played out he wasn't trusting you with them, or anyone else for that matter. He'd just gotten you back, no way is he letting you out of his sight for a second, he could bleed out for all he cares.

Suddenly, he sees Nesta walk to the table and grab a chair through his peripheral. She appears to be mumbling something to herself but he can't quite hear her to understand. She walks to him and drops the chair in her hands on his right, before giving him a narrow eyed look and returning to her mate's side.

He's not sure how much she knows of the situation. The three sisters probably all know by now that he used to be married but none of them has mentioned you to him, warned by whoever told them of the consequences of doing it.

He sits on the chair and lets Madja work on him. The wound wasn't too bad, even if he didn't have access to a healer it would close in a short time. You stabbed it cleanly through, just like he'd taught you. If he hadn't been the practice dummy he might praise you for it. By the Mother, he thinks he still might. He wonders if you'll grace him with a bright smile and flushed cheeks for it like you used to.

Azriel looks over to your sleeping form under the moonlight. He's calming down enough that he's starting to feel the uncertainty bubbling inside him. Truth Teller still laid on the floor beside you, covered in his blood just as your hands were.

“Is she…” What did he want to ask? Is it really her? How did she survive? There was so much blood on the ground that night. He didn't need to be a healer to know it was too much for someone to survive with no immediate help and an absurd amount of luck. “Is it really her?” He whispered the question, not bearing to look away from you as he does.

“You know that better than me,” the healer answers calmly. He can sense some emotion in her voice. You had asked her to make tonics to help him sleep and relax many times, to teach you basic healing and how to put on bandages to help him when he was too stubborn and not gravely injured enough to go see the healer. She probably missed you as well. “She's healthy.”

He feels a rush of relief at the words. You're healthy. The confirmation allows him to relax further. Finally looking away from you to see part of his family still watching the scene before them. He knows they too were thinking about the blood, the sleepless nights they spent searching for any sign of you. His eyes meet Rhys' briefly, knowing they'll need to talk about what happened.

He closes his eyes and leans his head back, letting out a soft sigh. You're back. He never thought he'd see you again but you're right here next to him. You're not a dream or a hallucination. You're healthy. The thought almost brings a smile to his lips despite the situation. Anything else can be dealt with now that you're by his side again.

“Are you sure you don't need to rest, Az?” He looks up from the familiar ring, still twisting it around his finger. It felt right putting it back on, he was almost giddy at the sight of the silver in his finger, but it also left him with immense guilt eating at him for taking it off in the first place. He studies Nesta's face for a second, giving up on trying to decipher what she was thinking in favor of looking back at you.

When everyone calmed down enough and Azriel was treated, it had been decided that you couldn't be left alone even in the room, they needed someone to keep an eye on you. It had also been quickly added that Azriel wasn't enough, his brother had seen right through him, he knew Azriel wouldn't try to stop you from killing him or trying to escape if you put your mind to it.

Cassian and Mor refused to stand watch unless it was truly necessary. He knows they wouldn't want to be put in a position where they had to stop you, knew they would not only feel guilty for hurting you but also wouldn't forgive themselves for hurting Azriel.

Even Rhysand, used to the weight and impartiality of the High Lord's title, looked hesitant in keeping him company, he had already forcefully invaded your mind to take your consciousness away, something he had vowed never to do to his friend. He could definitely stop you both from any of the worse case scenarios but at a cost he couldn't bear to pay.

That had left him with the two trained Archeron sisters and Amren. They set shifts to make sure Azriel was never left alone with you, he thinks they might not even trust him not to take you away from the room himself and help you escape. He can't really be sure himself if he wouldn't do exactly that if you asked. He'd follow you to the end of the world and beyond just to hear you call his name one more time.

“The wound is healed,” he whispers, keenly aware of your sleeping form, a habit that came to him naturally after seeing you. You always liked to sleep in and waking you up before your time was close to a death sentence.

“That's not what I meant.” Nesta walks closer to the chair beside your bed, the one he hasn't gotten up from since tucking you into the bed carefully. She placed a hand on his shoulder and studied you for a moment, something she's been doing since her shift started. “She stabbed you,” she says in an usually hesitant tone coming from her, “Are you sure it's her?”

“I would sooner forget my own name than mistake my wife for someone else,” the words came out clipped even with him trying to hold back his anger. It wasn't her fault for being suspicious, Nesta never got the chance to meet you, barely even heard about Azriel's marriage. She just wants to protect him, protect her friend.

“Why would she hurt you then?”

“Maybe it's my punishment,” the words leave him before he can think them through. It doesn't matter anyway, they all saw the state he was in at the townhouse. No point hiding now.

“Punishment?” She took a step back from the chair to be able to face him, her perplexed face coming into view. “You didn't do anything wrong.” The notion was almost laughable. Azriel had done plenty wrong in his life.

“I didn't find her,” he whispers, facing away from his friend in favor of watching you, “She's been out there for almost a century, on her own,” he clenched his fists at the thought, “and I didn't find her.”

“I know you looked for her as best as you could. I know you all did.” And what good did his best do?

“You don't understand, Nesta,” he says as he looks down at the ring once again, closing his eyes briefly at the burn he felt in his head. He didn't want to talk about this anymore, didn't want to explain his feelings to any of them.

“I do,” she starts, “If something happened-”

“If,” he cringes at how he raised his voice, immediately looking over to your sleeping form to make sure he didn't disturb you, and then added more quietly, with the same conviction in his tone, “If something happened to Cassian you would understand. But it hasn't and so you don't.”

Nesta lets out a defeated sigh, moving back to her original seat by the window, patting his shoulder comfortingly on her way. His eyes are focused on you once more and he has no intention of letting them stray until you wake up, and long after you do.

⋆｡°✩°｡⋆

You wake up slowly, your mind aware of your near consciousness before your body can follow. It feels like you've never been this deeply asleep, even the dreams that usually haunt you were quiet. Perhaps that's why it takes you so long to remember your current situation, it could also be the strangeness of it. You keep your eyes closed as your body and mind slowly come to.

You didn't expect to be lying on a bed, an unbelievably soft bed at that, after being caught stealing from the High Lord's home and then stabbing someone from his so-called Inner Circle. You're not sure when you lost consciousness but, in the split second the High Lord stood in front of you, you were more than certain you wouldn't be able to escape death again.

The sun is high in the sky, meaning you failed your mission, not only because you had been caught but also for not getting to the meeting point on time. Whether at the hands of your captors or your employers you were already as good as dead. The thought has heat burning behind your eyelids and your throat threatening to close up.

You don't even know what happened. This whole mission had seemed above your expertise from the start. You had never been sent on a mission to Prythian and the fact that you were sent to steal from a High Lord's home, the strongest in history at that, had sowed doubts inside you from the moment you heard about your mission from your handler. That and the sinking feeling in your gut as you listened to their descriptions of the city and people working for the High Lord. Every cell on your body was trying to reject this idea.

Deciding to trust your gut, you even brought up your doubts to your superiors, going as far as asking why you were being sent to retrieve some book when there are other fae more experienced in working there. There wasn't even any time to study the place or come up with escape routes. You had never been sent into any mission like this. Your worries had been quickly dismissed. They seemed completely convinced you wouldn't be caught, that you were the only member capable of this job.

Sneaking into the city had been simple enough, there seemed to be some celebration happening since so many fae were drinking and dancing around bars and even on the street. Your uneasiness only got worse as you walked through the streets. Something was wrong, every single one of your instincts was screaming at you, but you couldn't figure out why.

You walked to an alley close to the High Lord's house and surveyed the perimeter, making sure your intel was correct and the house was truly empty. After postponing the inevitable long enough, you took a deep breath and winnowed straight into the house, and, just like your handler told you, there were no wards or shields stopping you from entering. You thought this was peculiar for a High Lord but many powerful fae think themselves invincible to the point of arrogance and at the sacrifice of their own safety.

As you walked quietly through the hallway, your feet seemed to have a mind of their own, carrying you into a big room with sofas and a fireplace instead of the office you were supposed to be already searching through. You had the same feeling of deja vu as when you were walking through the illuminated streets before, something about the portraits on the walls and the peculiar chairs had your heart sputtering in your chest. It was an intricate design but you could swear you'd never seen anything like them before.

You moved closer to the window, far enough that no one could see you through it, and looked down at the city once more. Taking in the lights, the colorful houses and the fae cheerfully walking around the streets despite the late hour. There is no place like this in Montesere, not even close, so you don't understand how you could be confusing it, you really feel like you've been here before. Everything down to the names of the stores and smells wafting through the air look strangely familiar.

As you got lost in your thoughts, you had completely forgot about your mission. Letting your guard down, enough so that you didn't hear or feel anyone's presence in the same room until you heard them call out someone's name. The sound had goosebumps traveling through your entire body, your breath getting stuck in your throat. What scared you the most wasn't even the fact that you had just been caught but that voice, that name, almost brought tears to your eyes.

You stood frozen for a moment before turning around slowly and your entire body went still at what you saw. The male in front of you was the same one that haunted your dreams ever since you could remember, you would recognize that figure, those wings, those eyes anywhere.

You almost doubted you were awake at all but when he moved closer to you, standing in front of you before you could even blink, your body moved to protect yourself on instinct, to do as you had been taught at the guild. Your movements were a lot slower than usual, almost like something inside you was trying to stop you from hurting him but you had still managed to grab the long knife strapped to his thigh and stab it through his stomach in one clean movement.

The knife went in smoothly and he simply took it without trying to stop you or even letting out a sound. You've taken countless times before, killing was part of your life, of your job, but watching his blood run and coat your hands had made you feel incredibly guilty. You couldn't move, couldn't even let go of the knife.

When his hand reached to touch your face - a movement you didn't even register until his rough skin came in contact with your cheek - your wild eyes had met his and, suddenly, it felt like the world was spinning. The bright hazel was so familiar you could cry. He'd been starring in your dreams for so long but you'd never seen him quite this close. As you slowly let your mind catch up to you, you noticed he was smiling.

“You're home, my love,” he whispered softly. Your heart had felt like it was going to beat out of your chest at that point. You were missing something, a piece of information that felt like it was swimming right on the edge of your brain, but you couldn't quite reach it. His hands had both moved to cup your face by the time you found your voice.

“What?” What is going on? Who are you? Why do I feel like I know you? Why is your touch so familiar? My love? Your brain was filled with questions but you couldn't even find it in you to ask them. Couldn't look away from his eyes, the former joy seen in them giving way to something else.

“Azriel?” Both of you had tensed at the voice behind him. It seems he didn't hear anyone else arrive either, too caught up in each other and whatever mysterious tension was tying you together.

Your hands had tightened around the dagger on instinct, you could feel the power rippling through the room. You should have ran away while it was only him, he had let you stab him so maybe he would let you run away as well. But, as night incarnate filled the room, you knew every chance you had at an escape was lost.

The rest of the events were a blur, one moment you were watching more and more people winnow into the room, sending your heart further into disarray, and the next the High Lord himself stood in front of you with fury and what looked like disappointment etching his features, and then everything went dark.

As your memories from the night before fade, you become more aware of your surroundings. You could hear two separate breaths close to you, could smell two distinct scents, you suppose it was lucky enough that they had let you sleep on a bed, it's only natural they'd have someone keeping watch.

If they'd been watching you this whole time they would have to know you were awake by now, so you open your eyes slowly, blinking a few times to adjust to the brightness in the room. You study the intricate gold designs on the dark navy ceiling. Why did even the ceiling seem familiar? It feels like you are losing your mind.

Your head turns to the nightstand, where a cup of water sat over a flower shaped lace coaster. You almost gulped at the sight of it, your throat was so dry you weren't sure you could speak, but you were in a stranger's house, one you had tried to rob the night before, there had to be a catch somewhere and you didn't want to end at the cruel hands of poison.

Two pairs of eyes burned into you, and since you're not going to drink anyway, you decide that there's no delaying this confrontation any more. You turn to look at them, not surprised at finding the winged male sitting close to your bed, but he was accompanied by someone else, something else.

You sit up in bed slowly, not wanting to appear as a threat and startle them into thinking you had intentions of escaping or attacking you. You really didn't know why they hadn't just dumped you in a dark dungeon - you heard about their less than kind reputation before coming here - but you wanted to keep in their good graces if you could help it. They're probably keeping you to know more about who sent you, shame you can't tell them anything, maybe they'd even let you go if you could.

When you sit up against the headboard, your eyes meet the male's immediately, as if you were called to do it. Some of the same emotions you had seen last night were still shining in his eyes, but today there was so much more, so much so that you couldn't even begin to pick them apart even with the difference of a calm mind.

Your captors don't move so you take the moment to study the male before you. He always showed up covered in shadows in your dreams, you had barely caught glimpses of his face in the almost century of seeing him. Which was a real shame if you dared to admit it. He has an exceptionally beautiful face, the sun filtering through the window was giving his tan skin an ethereal glow, his eyes shine brightly, allowing you to make up the different tones of green and brown within them. His hair was stark black, curling slightly at the ends.

You had noticed the large wings that stood at his back the first time you'd seen him. You've never met any species of fae with wings but his were definitely peculiar. You always thought they were black but, with the brightness in the room and his shadows away, you can see they lean more to a crimson and gray-ish color. Trailing down to his torso, you notice that there doesn't seem to be any blood or sign of injury. He had already gotten healed then. For some reason, your heart calms at that and you try telling yourself it's because it might lessen the trouble you got in.

A shadow moves across him to reach up into his ear, almost like it was whispering something to him. You knew the Night Court's Spymaster was a shadowsinger, the only of its kind, but you didn't know what his shadows could do, what they could see and tell him. The hair on the back of your neck raises as his eyes watch you intently while listening to his shadow's words. They had to be talking about you. Could they read through your thoughts?

“Leave us alone, Amren.” Your eyes finally stray from the male when you hear her name, finally taking in the short creature behind him, and you almost regret it when her bright silver eyes meet yours. She was nothing short of terrifying, you think even the older assassins in the guild would feel unnerved under her gaze. You weren't even sure what she actually was but it had to be something other, something ancient and powerful. She seems displeased at the look you give her, though you doubt she's unacquainted with seeing fear on people's faces, or bothered by it.

Amren narrows her eyes slightly before looking at the male. She studies him with an intensity that could make most fae run for their lives, makes you consider it, but the male doesn't seem to care, his eyes never leaving yours. “I hope you know what you're doing, boy.” She walks out of the room with no hesitation, leaving you alone with the male that walks your dreams once again.

You stare into each other's eyes for what feels like an eternity. Neither of you seem to find the right words. You know why you're having trouble finding them. Between getting caught stealing in his house and the turmoil going on inside you, you're surprised you've been managing to keep your composure at all. But you can't understand why he'd be in the same position as you. Could he also be haunted by dreams of you the same way you were of him?

Leaning forward in his chair, he says the same name you heard last night, the one who made your heart tighten painfully in your chest. You had been too confused and scared last night to even consider it but now you can clearly see he's using it to call you. He seems to think that's your name.

“That's not my name,” you manage through your dry throat, the words coming out so rough and low that you're sure he wouldn't have heard you if it weren't for the quiet in the room. Your answer seems to hurt him, his face drops, the sunlight that was shining through his skin seems to vanish, and you see his wings tighten behind him. Your own body seems to respond to it. You want to make him feel better but you don't know how or why.

He nods almost imperceptibly, as if accepting a fact he was unwilling to, and rises up from the chair, tensing slightly when you press yourself further into the headboard. He seems to try to ignore it as he moves to the nightstand, picking up the glass and handing it to you.

You eye the glass sitting in his brutally scarred hands, momentarily wondering what could have done such a thing if he healed up from a stab wound in mere hours. He senses your hesitation but simply holds it closer to you. You look up to meet his eyes again.

“It's not poisoned,” he offers, “I promise.” You're not entirely sure why but you trust him, or maybe you were just in desperate need of water, reaching up to take the glass from him and almost drinking it in one go. He seems at least pleased enough with this, moving back to sit in his chair. As you observe his movements, you almost miss the way the glass refills on its own. You blink at it, deciding it's not worth considering, and take another slow sip.

Since he doesn't start asking you questions, apparently content enough with watching you drink, and you start to get unusually shy under his intense gaze, you start asking them yourself, seeing this as your chance to know the male of your dreams.

“What's your name?” You play with the glass as you ask, trying to appear nonchalant despite your perilous situation and the tension between you.

“Azriel,” his deep voice cuts through the silence. You repeat it, goosebumps spreading over your body at the act. Nothing is making sense anymore but his name feels right on your tongue.

You say it one more time, letting it linger in your mind. There is something inside you trying to claw its way out at the sound. You can feel it now, can feel how wrong it feels, how wrong you feel. There was a growing pressure inside your head. You let go of the glass and watch it vanish into thin air before it has the chance to make contact with the covers.

The sensation that you've forgotten something really important is back. You look up at the male one more time, seeing he has moved closer to you and noting the worry in his gaze. He wasn't supposed to be worried about you, he's a stranger and you had just stabbed him a few hours ago. So why does it feel right for him to care? Tears line your eyelids, your hands shaking slightly at the strange feelings building inside you.

“I don't know you,” you whisper, more to yourself than him, “I feel like I should.”

taglist: @thisblogisaboutabook @chessebookgirl @going-through-shit @starcrossedsan @macimads @janebirkln @dr4g0ngirl @harrystyles2686 @tothestarsandwhateverend @queensl1234 @lisanna2000 @starryhiraeth @shadowsaz @sakurafrost3-blog @evergreenlark @sisterjuliennes @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @historygeekqueen @writingcroissant @abysshaven @pablopascal @that-girl-reading @less-chaotic-brain @naturakaashi @tenshis-cake @sharknutz @isa1b2h3 @thehighlordishere @tarathia @sfhsgrad-blog @acourtofbatboydreams @starsandnightmares @cuethedepession @emryb @mybestfriendmademe @fxckmiup @adharanotfound @b0xerdancer @ervotica @aria-chikage @serendipityx150 @fanboyluvr @rogersbarnesxx

(for some reason I couldn't tag some of you. check your settings because you might have tags disabled)

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #azriel fic #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar

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chaengluva · 6 months ago

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Dare

Regina George x Fem!Reader. 1.1k words (sorry its short)

This story will have a part 2

Regina gets dared to date the loser, no one thinks that she could make Y/n fall in love with her, (Resulting in a bet with Shane) Regina ends up doing the unexpected

Warnings: Nothing too extreme, just light bullying and mocking, slight mentions of death

"Let's play truth of dare!" Shane's voice echoed through Regina's house, she rolled her eyes, not wanting to play the stupid child game, but all of her friends agreed so she felt like she had too.

Everyone was seated in her living room and there was a bottle of the middle, making Regina roll her eyes again.

She sat down next to Aaron and Gretchen and the game began, and she groaned when shane spun the bottle and he landed on her, she didn't want to confess anything because the look on Shane's face was disturbing her just enough.

"Dare." Regina said and Shane rolled his eyes in response, sitting back and thinking about a dare. "I got it!" He said. Everyone was excited as they waited for Shane to say his dare.

"I dare you. To make some pathetic loser to fall in love with you, and date them for 6 months." Shane said and Regina rolled her eyes in response, "Who?" Regina asks, knowing that the school is filled with pathetic losers, he thought for a few seconds.

"Y/n L/n." Shane smirked and Regina's heart dropped and her facial expression said it all, "Her? seriously! I'd rather Janis than her!" Regina exclaimed, making all of her other friends smirk.

"Oh so, you can't do it?" Aaron challenged and Regina quickly shook her head, "I never said that. I can make anyone fall in love with me." Regina smirked, taking a sip of her drink. "I bet she won't" Aaron said. "She may be a loser but she's not stupid."

Regina gasped, surprised that someone was betting against her. "Oh really? you want to bet on it?" Regina questioned, she was truly confused but she didn't sound it.

He nodded his head and they agreed on $200.

The next day Regina started with her plan to get you to fall in love with her, she of course couldn't just ask you out, she had to play it all smoothly.

You were a loser, you sat with Janis and Damien but you never really felt close with them, they knew each other a lot longer so you didn't blame them.

You walked to school, with your headphones resting around your neck as you got closer to the building. "Y/n." You heard someone say, you turned to where the voice was coming from and your eyes when wide when you saw Regina

"Oh- Hi Regina." You say nervously, mentally preparing yourself for what ever mean thing she will say. Regina smiles, looking down at you and smirking, "I want to sit with you at lunch." Regina said, and your eyes went wide, that's not what you were expecting.

"What?" You ask in disbelief, you thought it was some joke that she would mock about later but there was a look of seriousness on her face, so you agreed. She smiled, walking away and as soon as she was gone you mentally screamed to yourself.

When it was lunch time, you were sitting on your usual table, which was outside and you were worried that Regina would never come because you sit away from everyone else.

"Y/n." You heard someone loudly say, making you jump and turn back quickly, you relaxed when you saw Regina. "Sorry for scaring you." She laughs, you giggle back at her. "It's okay." You say, and she sits down next to you.

"What do you have for lunch?" Regina asks, looking over at the food in your hands. "Oh it's fried rice! Me and my dad made it together." You smile happily, but she just looks at you blankly, "You're close with your dad?" Regina asks and you nod your head quickly, smiling happily.

"Yes! He is my best friend.. well, my only friend." You say it a bittersweet tone, she just nods, eating her lunch. "Do you want to do out tonight?" Regina asks, you give her a questioned look, so she sighs, making herself more clear, "Like a date." She says, you nod quickly, making her giggle.

Then the bell rings and you quickly head off to class, as soon as you were out of her sight Regina gets up and walks to Shane. "You will be giving me that $200, we are going on a date."

Shane scoffs, "Nope, you have to date her for 6 months, remember." Regina groans, "She's so weird! She's best friends with her father." Shane smirks, walking closer to Regina, "So you give up?" Regina rolls her eyes, stepping closer to Shane. "I never said that."

With that she walks away, tossing her hair, making shane gang and the strands of hair that got in his mouth.

When school ended, you usually would walk with your back slouched, but you were to happy.

You got home, excited to tell your dad the happy news.

"Dad! I have a date!" You said happily, he cheered back, matching your energy and happiness.

"I have to get ready!" You say, running upstairs into your room.

You look inside your closet and smile when you see the perfect dress. It was blue and silver, it was your mom's dress, you loved it.

You walked downstairs, changed, make up and hair done, your dad shed a few tears when he saw you in the dress, memories of your mom flowing through his head. "Aw, please don't cry." You say, walking up to give him a hug.

"I remember when your mom wore this dress, it was on our first date too." your dad smiles, taking out his phone and pulling out some pictures of the two of them. "I miss her." Your dad frowns and you sigh, hugging him again, "I do too."

A knock on the door interrupted the special moment between you and your dad, you nervously pulled away and walked to answer the door, you gasped when you opened it, Regina looked amazing.

"Ready?" She asked, putting out her hand, you nodded it and she grabbed it, walking you to her car.

She took you to this restaurant, one in the extremely rich part of town.

"Why did you ask me out?" You say, genuinely curious. Regina had a lot of experience with lying, so a made up story rolled off her tongue naturally. "I've always liked you, but i was afraid to come out so i tried to ignore my feelings."

You nod, smiling slightly to yourself as you look down at the menu, "The pasta looks good." You say, Regina looks up and smiles, "I was just thinking that!" She says, eyes looking straight into yours.

The two of you spend hours talking, Regina felt happy she didn't have to talk about social media and boys. She could talk about things that truly interest her, and have someone that would listen to her, and you were a very good listener.

Oh no, This wasn't supposed to happen.

Regina George was falling for you.

#regina george #regina george 2024 #regina x fem!reader #regina george x you #regina george x reader #regina x reader #reneé rapp x reader #mean girls #mean girls 2024 #lesbian #gxg #reneé rapp #wlw #fluff #angst

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ldysmfrst · 2 months ago

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Incomplete (2) - A Soulmate in Los Angeles

Paring: Ateez OT8 x Plus-sized FemReader

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 2 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 7,218

Word count for Story: 10,594

Genre: Idol Soulmate AU

Warnings: NOT BETA READ!! This story will contain a bit of angst, fluff, smut, f/m, m/m, and m/f/m. This chapter contains a discussion of a family death (Hwa's grandpa) and y/n has an injury.

Story Summary: Ateez are soulmates who earned their way to Fame once they found each other. What happens when a new pull comes during their Towards The Light World Tour? Does 8 really make 1?

INCOMPLETE MASTER LIST / LDYSMFRST MASTER LIST

The van ride back to the hotel was quieter than usual. At Seonghwa’s insistence, they all piled into the same van for the short ride. He felt lost because he could not find who was pulling them and was still mourning his grandfather. Keeping his soulmates close by helped ease that feeling.

Mingi and Yunho took the captain's chairs in the front because they could get more room by locking them in the rear-facing mode and pushing them against the driver and passenger seats. Ever the cuddler, Mingi pulled Yeosang into his lap.

Wooyoung sat in the middle row on San’s lap to comfort his closest soulmate, who was still upset about not pinning the pull.

The youngest, Jongho, opted to sit next to San and Wooyong but tangled his legs with Yunho’s to create a connection with his tallest soulmate.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa sit at the very back of the van. Seonghwa's eyes glisten with emotions as the feeling of the pull disappears during the send-off.

“Hongjoong-ah… you didn’t feel anything? No pull? No scents? Nothing?” questions Seonghwa in hushed tones, trying to keep his voice from trembling with the mixed emotions he is getting through the bond.

Sighing, Hongjoong pulls his only older soulmate into his arms, “Honestly, my love, I didn’t feel anything during the show, but during the send-off… I smelt pine trees. Like a whole forest full, but they were burning with a smoldering scent.”

“That could have been someone with a lit fireplace, hyung,” comments Jongho.

“I thought that too, but it was coming from inside the stadium,” Hongjoong continued. “There was a group of Atiny walking up the stands around where San had paused in his pinning. I swear it came from them. Unfortunately, they were being rushed out, so it didn’t stay for long.”

“Excuse me, Sirs? We are here,” the driver announced.

Once the boys had entered the hotel, the manager pulled Hwa, Hongjoong, San, and Mingi into a conference room to discuss their findings.

“Be clear with me,” the manager started. “I need to know what happened out there today. San’s crowd walking is already trending everywhere. Seonghwa, almost crying during the send-off, is raising questions about his mental health and the passing of his grandfather. Don’t even get me started with Mingi ‘being forced to dance while limping.’ What is going on?”

The soulmates look at each other, unsure of what more to say or how to start. Clearing his throat, Seonghwa takes a deep breath and gathers his thoughts.

“Manager-nim, do you remember the private talk we had during Coachella?” asks Seonghwa, gaining concerned looks from his soulmates when the manager nods in agreement.

“Hwa..” begins San, but Mingi shakes his head.

“After we filmed for Work here in Los Angeles, I felt like something was missing. At first, I thought the exhaustion from the shoot was getting to me when I felt the tightness in my chest. I even told the choreographers about maybe changing things until one of them convinced me I could do it.”

“I remember that. They said something like, “The Seonghwa I know could make it,” and then you had a new drive in you to prove yourself,” commented Hongjoong. “I was so proud of you when you pulled it off.”

“Thank you, but that tightness stuck with me. Even when we went back home.” Looking around at his soulmates, he continues, “Since no one else seemed to feel the same or recognize a pull, I went to manager-nim again, and he told me to take it easy and focus on Hush Hush since Coachella went so well.”

“Hyung, why didn’t you come and talk to us?” questions Mingi.

“We could have helped in LA. We walked around with you to see if anyone else could pick something up, Hyung,” whined San.

“Mingi, San. Now is not the time,” scolded Hongjoong. Turning his attention to the manager, he said, “Thank you for listening to Hwa and guiding him during that time, manager-nim.”

“You're welcome. I would have said something, but Seonghwa-ssi didn’t want to worry anyone with the new collaboration and the tour coming up.” Looking at Hwa, the manager asked, “Do you think this is that same pull?”

“I do. I think we might have a soulmate in Los Angeles.”

The room is filled with silence. Each soulmate pulls into themselves, trying to find clues to help prove Hwa’s assumption because none of them don’t believe him. They worry about how their missing soulmate feels and how to tell the others that there is one.

Soft whimpers break the stillness as a wave of guilt floods out of San, “How are we going to find them now? I couldn’t find them tonight, and LA is huge. We could look for days, weeks, or months and never find them. My pinning abilities didn’t work!”

Quickly, Seonghwa pulls San into his lap, “Sannie, you did so well tonight and on such short notice. You were able to find out the pull was coming from C2.”

“Did you say C2?” inquires the manager.

“Yeah, why?” presses Hongjoong. “Is there something special about that section?”

Flipping through his cell phone, the manager pulls up an email from BMO and KQ. Reading over it briefly, the manager grins, “Yes, actually. It turns out that the BMO event staff misdirected C2, C3, and C4 to the wrong entry gate, causing many of them to miss BE:FIRST and the start of the show.”

Narrowing his eyes at the manager, Hongjoong asks through gritted teeth, “How is making our Atiny miss the show something to smile about?”

Still smiling, “They all got complimentary tickets to the Grammy Museum. They are only good for the next 48 hours.”

A wash of confusion comes over the members.

“But we have the Hello82 event tomorrow and another show. How does that help?” prods Hongjoong with growing irritation.

“Easy. The Hello82 event is ticketed and set for the late morning, and the call time for the show isn’t until 4 p.m. So, instead of returning to the hotel to rest, you could always drop by the Grammy Museum to check out your exhibition,” offers the manager.

“How is that even?” Hongjoong starts.

“Wait a minute, Joongie,” Seonghwa interrupts. “Hello82 doesn’t start till 11:30 am. If we can convince Yunho to leave an anchor and Wooyoung to scent-mark the Museum before it opens, we might be able to trigger our soulmate’s ability or at least cause them to linger in the area.”

“Woo would do it! He already said he would help me in any way I thought,” San excitedly says, gaining a smile on his face with his now tear-puffed eyes.

Nodding in agreement, a pensive face comes over Mingi: “Yunho is always leaving anchors for us, so I am sure he wouldn’t mind leaving one to find our new mate, but I am not sure if either of our bears actually believe we have a new soulmate.”

Once the plans were set in motion, the soulmates retired for the night in their respectful rooms. Unlike what most Atiny thought, they were not paired up in their couplings because their soulmate abilities kind of blocked that when they were on tour.

Seonghwa’s ability to receive emotions from his soulmates makes sleeping difficult, as the others unknowingly share their dreams, nightmares, and worries throughout the day with him. This is why he bunks with Jongho. His ability allows him to influence others' emotions, and unlike the rest of the members, he doesn’t express his emotions when sleeping because he ends up acting as a barrier. This feels like a cocoon of comfort and relaxation for the eldest soulmate.

Hongjoong could scent his soulmates, each a different version of a pine tree. He was so attuned to them that he could act like one of those Alphas in Atiny’s fanfics and hunt down each member. Luckily, his match was Wooyoung and his lovely Mugo pine scent, which reminded the Captain of Christmas. As any Atiny would know, Wooyoung’s personality and love language is touch, but what they assumed was the need for skinship was Woo’s using his ability to leave his scent behind on his soulmates.

Yunho and Yeosang found balance with each other. Yunho eased Yeosang's tension, which was caused by Yeosang’s ability to pull his soulmates close. By placing his anchor on Yeosang’s soul, Yunho effectively allowed Yeo to latch on to him and only him. During their sleep, it was like they created their own universe when it was just the two of them latching on to each other physically and metaphysically.

That left San and Mingi. While San could pin onto each of his soulmates, almost like an internal GPS, and Mingi could use his ability to feel what his soulmates were feeling physically, neither of their abilities was constantly active. The two didn’t need a counterpart to relax, so they would either share a room or take turns bunking with another set during the tours.

When San joined KQ, the vibrations from Hongjoong, Yunho, and Mingi were so strong that it was easy to find them huddled in a recording studio. It was like being a dolphin and using echolocation to find them. After that, it was almost like the others started gravitating toward them, which made it easy.

Mingi only felt his mates' physical emotions when they became overwhelming. Sometimes, he could tell when it was getting to that point, and instead of waiting for the overflow, he would absorb the feelings: pain, anger, hopelessness, all of it.

After a night's rest and an early breakfast, the boys gathered in the same conference room. This time, a few of their personal bodyguards, who knew about the soulmate bond, and the manager joined them.

“Now that everyone is here, we have something essential to talk about,” Hongjoong started, then looked to Seonghwa to explain.

After retelling the story of the Music Video Work issues and what they had discussed last night, he said, “We have to find our missing part.”

“Why are you looking at me?” Jongho spoke up with a firm voice, eyeing Mingi, who hadn’t stopped watching him since the meeting started.

Mingi’s ears turn pink after being caught. Darting his eyes away from his youngest soulmate, he replies, “You… you haven’t said much since all of this started, neither has Yunho, and I am concerned that you guys won’t be on board.”

“Mingi is right. You even dismissed Joong-hyung from the van last night, Jongho-ah,” Wooyoung comments before turning to Yunho. “Why are you so quiet? Do you think Hwa-hyung is wrong?”

“I never said he was wrong. I never said any of you were wrong but I wonder why Yeosang-hyung hasn’t felt the pull yet, that is all,” Yunho answers.

When this name is mentioned, Yeosang gets pulled out of his thoughts. Looking around the table, he smiles softly, “I don’t think I haven’t.”

This shocks everyone at the table. A flurry of questions gets thrown at the 99-liner.

“My loves, wait a minute. Let me explain, please.” After the questions die down and a simple nod from Hwa, Yeosang continues, “With each of you, I feel this thick and solid rope like a Mooring line attached to each of you that I can tug on. Plus, when we found each other, there wasn’t an entire stadium between us.”

“You feel another one of these mooring lines?” asks Jongho.

“No, I don’t, but I felt something like a plaited silk rope slip around me when we said good night, and it felt good,” Yeosang says, smiling to himself as he recalls the feeling. “However, because manager-nim had instructed me and others to concentrate on the other side of the stage, it slipped off. Then I couldn’t find it again, so I chalked it up to being excited about ending an amazing show.”

“Now do you think that anymore?” pushes Jongho.

Shaking his head, Yeo replies, “It has to be our soulmate. I looked it up on my phone after Yuyu fell asleep. Others with the same ability in group bonds say that the pull can feel different because it tends to be gender specific.”

A resounding “WHAT” fills the room as shock takes over everyone. Each soulmate’s mind reels with this new information. Adding another soulmate was a challenge, but having a woman soulmate, a lady to pamper, and a female to connect with was its own obstacle.

San felt almost relieved because this could explain why his pinning wasn’t working well. Once he pinned the section, he was only pinning towards the male Atinies. He had used a more resounding, darker melody with each of his bonded mates, almost like something from Pirates of the Caribbean.

“Yunho,” Mingi called his twin tower. “Do you remember asking about my back because I was limping?”

“Yeah, you have been having problems with it for a while now. Why?”

“I was still limping last night after the show-up until about time for the send-off. I am starting to think our soulmate has an injury,” states Mingi.

Concern floods into Seonghwa from all of his soulmates. Grabbing Jungho quickly to stop himself from breaking into tears, he asks, “You mean she was in pain while watching the concert? How could she have enjoyed being there if she was overflowing in pain?”

“I don’t think it was that bad the entire time,” Mingi contemplates. “I think the pain for me started even before the sound check. It was dull and throbbing, but there was nothing too much until we went on, and it got intense. I am sure that is why Yunho noticed me limping.”

“How come I couldn’t feel her pain, too? If it was that bad I should have felt something,” worries Seonghwa.

“Hwa, my love. Maybe she was so happy to see us that the pain was only physical,” Hongjoong attempts to console his ever-caring mate.

“Don’t be so self-centered, Joong. Our mate was in severe physical pain!”

“Seonghwa-hyung,” says Jongho, cupping Hwa’s face and pulling his attention to him while pushing calming notes and dampening the rest of the room. “She could have used pain medication to help keep it tolerable. If anything, I would wager we have a stubborn, independent, and intelligent lady for a soulmate, hum?”

“You think so?” implores Hwa. The feeling of failing to care for a new soulmate he has never seen slowly subsides at the youngest’s words.

“I don’t think so. I know so because only a woman like that will be able to handle a bonded group like us,” teases Jongho.

With murmurs and remarks of agreement coupled with chuckles, the tension in the form finally releases.

“So now what do we do?” asks Yunho. “How are we going to find this ladymate?”

“That is where you and Wooyoung come in,” pipes up the manager.

“I’ll do it!” agrees Wooyoung almost before the manager finishes talking, again pulling chuckles from the room.

“Last night, there was backlash about how BMO misdirected Atiny to sections C2, C3, and C4,” the manager puts his hands up before anyone can start chiming in. “They have rectified their mistake by giving them tickets to the Grammy Museum, which will be available only for the next 48 hours.”

“But we will be at Hello82,” confronts Wooyoung.

“Yes, Wooyoung-ssi. But that isn’t until after 11 am, which means, if we leave now, we can stop by the Grammy Museum, where Yungho can leave anchors and Wooyoung can scent mark the area. Then after we leave Hello82, we all can go back and see if anyone is waiting before you have to report back to BMO.”

“But what if she leaves before we get there or comes after we leave? What if she doesn’t come at all? She might have been one of those non-stan friends that just went to have fun. It doesn’t mean she will come to the museum,” worries Wooyoung.

Pulling Wooyoung into his lap, San holds him close, saying, “My baby, you knew Yeosang was your soulmate before the two of you found us, right?”

Wooyoung nodded and went to speak, only for San to grip his neck, effectively silencing him as he continued, “She has to feel something from last night. No matter if she was a fan or not. Having a bonded group the size of ours is not something easily resisted. Like Little Bear said, she is a smart cookie, and I am sure her curiosity about or love for us will push her to come to the museum at some point today.”

“Now be a good boy and go with our Big Bear to help us find our missing lady-mate,” San orders with a kiss to Wooyoung’s temple.

With San’s orders, the meeting wraps up rather quickly. Everyone but Wooyoung and Yunho pile into the main van to head up the Hello82, while the manager, two personal bodyguards, and WooYu head to the museum.

Being the ever-efficient manager that he is, the museum waits for their arrival and ushers them inside quickly. Then, the museum directs the group up the elevator to the correct floor. It still sends a fluttering feel through the idols to see their stuff on display for any Atiny to come and see.

Stopping in front of their exhibit, the attendant looks around. “Mr. Jung, you can go ahead. The museum has already been informed that you need to make contact with the different pieces, we just ask that you refrain from touching non-Ateez related items.”

With that, Wooyoung takes off with a bodyguard, touching everything and doing anything he can. Of course, he leaves heavier markers on his personal items on display.

“There aren’t places to sit down and wait around here. Are there, miss?” Yunho asks with a frown.

She shakes her head and states, “This museum isn’t like most. People spend maybe an hour looking at everything before they might make a purchase downstairs and leave. We have thought about finding a bigger venue but not yet.”

Disappointment blooms in Yunho’s chest. How can he make an anchor for his ladymate with an injured foot when she must stand the whole time? Taking his time walking around all their old stuff, he notices someone turning on a TV screen that shows the making of their music videos, then walks around another wall where he hears rather loud talking.

His curiosity peaks as he follows the worker to find a documentary playing to celebrate the 40th anniversary of Michael Jackson’s mini-movie music video Thriller…with backless benches!

“Woo! Wooyoung!” called Yunho, surprising his soulmate.

“Yeah? What is it, Yunho?” he asks, coming around the same corner. “Oh, isn’t that the famous King of Pop guy?”

“Huh? Oh yes but here. Benches. I can leave the anchor here,” remarks Yunho, no longer caring about the video.

Looking down at the benches, Wooyoung has a befuddled look on his face. “Really? This is an entirely different exhibit.”

“I know that but if she is really our soulmate, she has to have an interest in music. Anyone who is anyone that loves music would want to at least look at the rest of the exhibits on this level plus its a famous video. Also, if she is hurt like Mingi says then she will need to sit down and this is the only place to sit on this level.”

“Valid. I guess this will work. Maybe you can leave another anchor on the first floor at the gift shop, too? Maybe it will cause her to linger here for longer?”

“That is a good idea, too. Okay, let me anchor here while you finish up, and then we will anchor and scent the same spot on the first floor.”

Closing his eyes, Yunho reaches into his soul and pushes down. Down from his head, down through his heart to his feet, and latches onto the floor. Most of the world doesn’t understand what it takes to set an anchor for soulmates with the ability to anchor. The anchor must leave three things behind a piece of their soul, mind, and heart.

Once he is done, Yunho heads back to the elevator and heads back down with everyone. Stepping out of the elevator, they notice people have started to line up outside. Dawning their masks and bucket hats, Wooyoung and Yunho get to work quickly, choosing a place near their merch to scent and anchor before slipping out the back and heading off to Hello82.

The Hello82 event is a blur for Ateez. They try really hard to be in the now and not in the shoulda, coulda, woulda's of the past or the gonna, needas, and bettas of the future. Seonghwa even goes as far as pretending to be a stan and gets signatures from the rest of the band.

It feels like an eternity before they say goodbye to the fantastic Atiny attending the event and head to the Grammy Museum. It amazes them every time they hold these events at how packed the rooms are and the stans that just hang outside for a glimpse. The ride is filled with chatter about the outfits they saw Atiny wear.

Hongjoon mentions that he can smell pine, but it is incredibly faint and could have been a cleaning product or the scent that had lingered from the day before. None of the rest had gotten any hints that their missing ladymate had attended the event, which put them on edge and filled their heads with what-ifs.

Again, the museum staff knew Ateez would be coming, but they had been instructed to refrain from making announcements or attempting to draw a crowd. They entered through a rear entrance and stood in a stock room, waiting for their manager or a museum attendant to take the lead.

It’s not until Hongjoon takes a deep breath that he smells it and says, “Pine, it's here and still kinda burnt. It’s different from anyone here but close to Mingi’s Maritime Pine. I can’t tell how fresh it is from here. Let’s go in groups. Yunho and Jongho, come with Hwa and I. Yeo, Mingi, Wooyoung go together. San, I know you can pin better when you are on your own, is that good?”

With agreements all around, San heads out first, followed by Mingi’s group and the last is Captain’s group.

San’s ability to find unique vibrations and sounds that non-pinning soulmates can’t hear or feel helps with their music and keeps everyone on tempo. It's hard to hear the resonance of a new soulmate ring back in a venue like BMO. Getting to the correct floor, San is grateful that there are not many people present. However, the lack of people also worries him.

Reaching within himself, San finds a new tune, a lifting melody, to ping out. It's like a sea shanty and hopefully will resonate with the missing ladymate.

Nothing.

Moving towards the farther side of the exhibition, he tries again.

Nothing.

With a frustrated sigh, San promises to find the ladymate and acknowledge the red thread that binds them all. Hongjoong said pine was here, which means the missing mate was in this building at some point since scents can flow through the vents, unlike his pinning. For it to work, a direct path must be open between San and his new soulmate.

Looking up at the elevator doors as they open, San shakes his head to alert Mingi, who stepped out first, that he wasn’t getting anything. Pointing to the stairs, the other two mates nod in understanding and watch San head to a lower floor.

Wooyoung, at this point, feels useless in helping any more than he has. He just hoped that his scent caused the ladymate to linger. The longer she stayed, the higher chance she was still here and would react to another ability within the bonded group.

Mingi is in the same boat. He always hated that he gained one of the passive abilities of the mate bonds. With how helpless he felt about it earlier in their career, he had taken a hiatus and heavily contemplated breaking the bond. It was Yunho who convinced him otherwise. He claimed Mingi as his center, like SanWoo, JonYeo, and HongHwa claimed each other. But who would be the ladymate’s center?

Walking around their exhibition was like a flash from the not-so-distant past. Mingi enjoyed watching a small Atiny try to dance along with the music video playing on a TV on the wall before he heard another TV going behind him. Following the sound, Mingi found himself watching a documentary completely in English about the King of Pop.

Figuring he could sit for a bit and watch it while Yeosang did his thing, Mingi plopped down on one of the backless benches, and that was when the pain started. It wasn’t like it was at BMO, but it was present. It was almost like his missing soulmate had sat there and just dumped all the pain out into the space.

“Gi, I can’t find anything,” Yeosang and Wooyoung say, walking up to him in the slightly secluded view room. It’s Woo who notices Mingi’s pained expression.

“Gi, are you alright? Is it you, or is it our ladymate?” Wooyoung says, kneeling before Mingi and grabbing his hand to comfort him. His eyes are filled with concern. Smiling with a pained brow, he tells the two about what he feels and suspects has happened.

“Maybe she overdid it last night, and coming here didn’t help,” offers the youngest. “She may be more stubborn than we thought. It is interesting that she can just leave her pain here though. I have never heard of that ability.”

“Are you going to be able to walk, Gi?” questions Yeosang.

“What’s wrong with Gi?” Hwa asks, coming around the corner with his grouping.

After listening to Mingi explain what San had signaled and what he felt, Hwa became more determined to find his ladymate. Not only is she missing, but she (in his mind) is gravely injured. “Emotional resonance from a soulmate only lasts maybe 20 minutes at max. She was just here. Yunho?”

“My anchor is gone. She must have absorbed it from this room when she rested here. Let’s go down to the merch area and see if the anchor is still there,” suggested Yunho.

With that, everyone took the elevator down and followed Yunho. Closing his eyes, Yunho reached for his other anchor and found that it, too, was missing. Shaking his head with his eyes downcast, he realizes there is nothing else he can do. His anchors weren’t strong enough to keep their ladymate from leaving.

“Her pine is here. She was here,” Hongjoong declares quietly, trying not to bring a crowd.

“You aren’t wrong, love. I can feel the pull again. Mingi?” Hwa asks, eyes imploring the gentle giant, who nods in agreement but is leaning against Yunho because of the pain now concentrated in his ankle.

“The plaited silk rope is back!” exclaims Yeosang. “I can feel it, but I can’t tug on it. She is still too far away, do you think she left the building?”

The slightly winded San speedwalks to the group, “She is outside. I think she is headed to the parking garage. Let’s go. NOW.”

“San, take Yeosang, Seonghwa, and Jongho with you. Stay together. The rest of us will come with Mingi.” This sends a flash of confusion across San’s face as he looks at Mingi with questioning and worried eyes. “

“I will explain later,” commands Hongjoong as he takes on the role of captain in situations like this.

At his words, half the bonded group practically jogs out of the museum and onto the streets of downtown LA. Bodyguards discreetly follow behind them so as not to interfere with their search.

The rest of the group follows at a quickened walk. Mingi is clearly limping, which doesn’t go unnoticed by some fellow museum attendees. The stunned looks, pointed cell phones, and not-so-hush-hush squealing tell them they have been found out.

Looking over his shoulder, Hongjoong sees their manager and the last bodyguards starting to head off the fans attempting to approach. Under different circumstances, Ateez would gladly stop and meet their international Atiny, but they had a soulmate to catch.

The whole ride back to your friend’s house is spent staring at the ungodly amount of photos and videos you took. Of course, they were mainly of Seonghwa and San, but what shocked you was the surprising number of Mingi shots you had.

“Hey, I know we have talked about who our favorites are. Mine are Seonghwa and San. Yours, Kat, is Hongjoong. Cindy, you have two like me… Yeosang and Jongho, right?” you suddenly call out from the backseat.

“Damn, Y/n, you’re alive? I thought we had lost you to post-concert depression already. The first time is the worst,” joked Kat.

“Ha. ha. I am just editing my photos and stuff. It’s strange, though. I have so many of Mingi,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“We soooo should have done the pre/post bias TikTok trend,” laughs Cindy. “I think Someone lost their place in y/n’s heart.”

“Nono. No. The majority is still of my Hwa and my mountain. It’s just that there is an almost equal amount of Mingi. Was he hurt before the concert? In this video it looks like he is limping,” your chest tugs at the thought of Mingi being hurt as you show the video to the front seat at the stop light.

“Huh, you’re right. It does look like it,” comments Kat, taking your phone and flipping through your photos. “Looks like your boyfriends and Mingi kept to our side of the stage, which is unusual.”

“I noticed that during the concert. My pretty boys kept running to the other side. That is why I stopped trying to take pictures,” huffs Cindy.

Driving the additional 30 minutes home felt like pulling your ankle off at the joint. Guess this is what you get from trying to dress like a pirate and wearing heeled boots on uneven grass.

Climbing into bed, you put ice on your swollen ankle sprain and take more painkillers. You had been taking them all night after being shoved by some impatient twinks that wanted to get past the merch line.

Your boot heel had sunk into a hole or made its own from how long you had been standing there. You went down hard, and your foot was instantly in pain, but you swallowed it down because you were not about to ruin this for Cindy or Kat.

Sleep comes quickly and is filled with Matz stealing you away for a night on the town, SanWoo cuddling with you while you watch movies, Twin Towers treating you to a beautiful dinner, and even JonYeo walking with you along the beach.

RingRingRingRing

Buzz,Buzz,Buzzzzzzzzz

KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK

“What… the… HELL,” you scream at the coarse and abrupt sounds waking you from your amazing dreams. Dragging your not-awake-yet ass to the front door, still clad in your PJs and limping slightly, you jerk open the door to find Cindy and Kat standing there bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

“Jesus! You rose from the dead. Finally,” Kat says with a laugh, handing you something in a bag and pushing past you.

“Here,” Cindy smiles and hands you your favorite Starbucks drink. “It has an extra two shots.”

After taking a long drink of the Cafe Vanilla Frap, you close the door and stare at the two soon-to-be-ex friends, “You have one chance to tell me why you are here, or I will kick you out.”

“Grumpy butt,” mutters Kat.

“We tried calling and texting for the last two hours, but we don’t have much time before we catch our plane back to Washington,” pleads Cat. “We brought treats to apologize, but we figured you would want to take advantage of the free tickets to the Ateez exhibit at Grammy Museum that we were comp-ed.”

Sitting on the couch, you pull out the Sausage and Cheddar Muffin from Starbucks. Okay, they get bonus points for getting the right one. “Keep talking. You said they are comp-ed? How?” you question before taking a large bite from the yummy breakfast treat.

Pulling out her phone, Kat reads over an email she got from BMO apologizing for their shit directions and causing several attendees to miss performances. As compensation, they gave each ticket holder a ticket.

“If we leave here in the next 10 minutes, we can make it there. We have about three hours to meander and get you back in time for our plane. We already packed the rental car with all our stuff,” explains Cindy.

“Hence, why we're practically breaking down your door. Let's wrap your ankle, get you in some clothes, and you can finish eating in the car,” Kat says as they head down the hall to your room.

After finally deciding to wear jeans and the tour sleeveless shirt you bought, you wrapped your ankle and donned tennis shoes, and out the door, you went. Oh, and painkillers were on board, too. That was a must.

The drive took about an hour, which gave you plenty of time to discuss each other's concert-induced dreams. It was a relief that you weren’t the only one because that meant either you were completely normal, or your friends were just as delusional as you are.

It’s lovely how, even with a GPS, it is still challenging to find places in cities like Hollywood and LA. All the tall buildings block signals. It’s irritating how we can put Bluetooth cameras in sunglasses now, but we can’t get GPS signals through a building yet.

At this point, Cindy has given up on the GPS recalculating at every street, and the three of you are just looking for something that may resemble a museum. That’s when you feel something, like a pull or a nudge, to look to your right. “There it is! Next to that, Fixin something something restaurant.”

“Wow, that's a good eye! I would have never seen it,” says Kat, who is sitting on the same side as you. “I guess the museum is smaller than what I was looking for. It looks just like an office building. How did you see that?”

“I don know. I just had a feeling and looked then poof there it was,” you giggle. “Anyways, let’s park in the structure and head in. Maybe my ankle will chill out if I use it a bit more. Right now, it is not happy, that is for sure.”

Unlike finding the place, parking was a piece of cake. Grabbing your concert bag you hadn’t unpacked last night; you smile at the plushie and photocards hanging off it.

“Are you still happy I got SANdeoki instead of DDEONGbyeoli? I only got her because you had recently been sending me a lot of Instagram links of San, and she is purple, " Cindy asks.

Bringing SANdeoki up to your face, you hug and kiss her on the forehead. “I love her. I was thinking now that I have her and the face card holder, I am starting to look like a real Atiny.” That pulls laughs from everyone as you head up to finally see and learn more about these eight Korean men who crashed into your world of music.

It is interesting how having those two Ateez items on a cross-body bag is the green light for any random Atiny to start talking to you. Between the car and getting to the correct floor of the museum, you got a few waves, a couple of finger hearts, and some short conversations.

Of course, Cindy and Kat knew this would happen and flowed right with everything, but you, on the other hand, were a little taken back. However, once you explained that you were a baby Atiny, the randos calmed down and became encouraging.

Once you redeemed your ticket, the staff directed you to the right floor and pointed out the elevator. When the doors opened, your face lit up. You hear playful scoffing from behind you as Kat says, “Oh no. Y/n is in heaven now. Not only does she get to see Ateez's stuff, but they also have the MJ thing still up.”

“Hey, what can I say? I am ployJAMorus,” you comment. Kat isn’t wrong. You loved Michael Jackson and the Jackson 5. Most of your music tastes were before your time until K-pop came along. “Ateez first, then MJ, and then we can check out the other levels if you guys want. With how small this place is, I am sure we can see the whole place in less than an hour.”

And that is what you did.

The music video costumes, props, and Ateez's history were all there, and you read everything. You also saw some stuff from Xikers, who you learned were from KQ Entertainment, considered the next gen of K-pop and dongsaengs to Ateez.

“Y/n, are you trying to smell Wooyoung’s clothes or do you just normally sniff glass?” Kat asks with her arms crossed. “Cindy, I think y/n needs to touch some grass. The concert overloaded her normal OS.”

“What?” You snap out of it. “I wasn’t trying to sniff his clothes. If I’d sniff anyone’s clothes, it would be Seonghwa’s. Get it right. I just noticed the excellent pine scent in this area, almost like those Christmas tree candles from the Yankee Candle Company.”

Slightly embarrassed, you take a deep breath to smell it again but play it off as a stretch while rolling your ankle around. Frowning, you note that it hasn’t stopped throbbing, but you still want to look around. Limping your way over to the Michael Jackson side of the floor, you check out all the jeweled jackets he once wore.

Gosh, you knew you would get excited to see all the cool stuff because music would have been your life if you had any confidence in yourself. The tingling in your chest and the calmness of being surrounded by greatness is warming.

Turning around a corner, you notice a mini theater that practically pulls you in. Nothing is playing on the screen, but there are benches where you can at least rest to give your ankle a break. Once seated, you close your eyes, take a deep, centering breath, fill your lungs with that calming pine, and try to relax every muscle in your body.

Mind over matter has been your practice in life.

As you feel each muscle release, a sense of kinship comes over you. It’s not long before you relax from head to toe, settling restless thoughts and sore muscles along the way. Luckily for you, the pain in your ankle subsides.

By the time you open your eyes, Cindy and Kat have joined you, and the screen is playing a documentary on Thriller. You convince your friends to stay and watch it because that music video was the pinnacle of changing the direction of how things were done, and you felt like you were supposed to stay.

When the show was over, though, they decided it was time to move on, and you really couldn’t tell them you were content with just sitting there without sounding strange.

However, when you left, the feeling of kinship stayed with you. It even grew when you got to the souvenir store near the main entrance. Sadly, there wasn’t much within your price range to buy. You kept returning to the Ateez mech, wanting to buy something but never feeling like you had found what kept you coming back.

Cindy and Kat, complaining about being hungry, finally pulled you away from the store and over to what you now know as Fixins Soul Kitchen. It was pretty much an expensive “Hollywood” take on Roscoe's Chicken ‘n’ Waffles. Since you have already eaten breakfast on the way down, you decide to get a salad and chat about everything and anything you can think of.

Full bellies, good memories, and great friends are a fantastic way to end Cindy and Kat’s trip. You, of course, pay for everyone’s meal and a final gift and meander out to the sidewalk.

“Hey, look at the crowd outside of the museum,” Kat comments. Feeling that strange pull to the building, you move to walk towards it.

“Either it was a good thing we came early because it is more popular than we thought or someone famous is inside. Kinda wish we had more time to check it out but we gotta get going if we are going to get you home and catch the plane on time,” says Cindy almost wistfully.

“Yeah,” you absentmindedly say as the strangest feeling comes over you. It’s like a ghost-like tug pulls at your chest while a melody plays in your head that you know you have never heard of before.

“Earth to Y/n! We gotta go unless you wanna pay like $60 for an Uber home,” Cindy remarks, regaining your attention. Shaking your head and rubbing your chest, you turn away from the crowd and follow your friends to the parking garage.

What is going on with you, you contemplate. Yesterday, you felt like you didn’t want to leave BMO stadium, but today, you don’t want to leave the Grammy Museum. Are you that music or socially deprived that you want to hold on to everything?

The tugging in your chest strengthens with each foot forward, slowing your steps. It feels like a thick rope binding you and pulling you back the other way, but you know your friends have limited time, and you can’t afford the Uber.

You softly start to hum the melody that is crescendoing in your mind, blocking out the excited commotion and hurried steps approaching you. You are so in your own thoughts, with your eyes naturally cast downwards, that seeing the world around you ends until you run into a wall.

Putting your hands on the wall you ran into… it feels kinda warm. Blinking yourself back into the world around you, the first thing you notice is that the wall is wearing… shoes.

Startled and embarrassed by walking right into someone, you step back and drop your hand from their body. However, you find yourself running into someone else as their warm hands fall on your cold arms. Snapping your head up, you see the muscled man in front of you for a split second before you look over your shoulder at the person behind you.

Freezing in place. You think yourself crazy until you catch the movement of someone else.

No.

No way.

Looking to your right and left, recognizable Korean men surround you, but it can't be. Panic starts to settle in as you finally hear the commotion around you. That is when more men join the circle encompassing you.

Taking a step forward gets halted by the man at your back saying, “Wait, please.”

“This isn’t real,” you say softly, your eyes never settling on any men boxing you in.

With a warm smile, the mountain of a man steps forward and says, “Hello Miss, I am Choi San. I think the nine of us need to sit down and talk.”

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fen-luciel · 4 months ago

Text

The witches' covenant

Part.1 part.2

Here's the smut story I promised. It was supposed to be short, but of course, I dragged it out. I'm not yet sure if it will be divided into two or three parts, as the original draft is becoming darker than initially intended.

I hope you enjoy it.

WARNINGS!

Smut/Manipulation/coven/dubious consent

Witch reader X Sith Qimir

There are things you take for granted in life.

Breathing is a rhythmic movement of the body, automatic but fundamental. Maybe no one ever explained to you how or why, but you know it works that way. It's natural. Maybe you've never asked yourself because you take it for granted.

Growing up in a coven of witches led to asking a lot of questions to which you often didn't get an answer, at least not a sensible one. I still remember the first times I asked my mother about the thread, actually, I don't remember her answer, but I do remember being confused. I think she wanted me to find my own logic, and if needed, she would correct me. But I was ashamed, afraid of saying something stupid, and I felt embarrassed when the older members gave me that amused courteous smile after I had said something silly. I know they didn't mean to judge me, but the knot in my stomach that formed every single time was suffocating. So, I developed a bad habit.

I stopped asking. I would nod, at most I would ask to have the explanation repeated, but I never took the first step. "Do you understand?" I would nod. "Do you have any questions?" I would deny.

Yes, I had questions. I had a lot of them, many of which kept me up at night, like doubts about the thread, about our coven, about our planet, about what was outside the galaxy... but I didn't ask.

I tried to give myself answers. As the years went by, I realized that I wasn't the only one without answers. It was clear that many, like me, blindly followed my mother's will as the head of the coven.

Do you have a doubt? Talk to Aniseya.

Don't know what to do? Aniseya.

Are you suffering? Talk to Mother Aniseya.

Everyone sought answers from my mother, and I could understand why, she was... ethereal.

Always calm, with a warm smile, a gentle hand... she made you feel safe.

When I was younger, one of the things that terrified me the most was the fear that something bad would come to harm us one day. I was too young to give a real shape to the evil, it was more an unpleasant sensation that I imagined, and my mother could perceive it without me saying anything.

So, sometimes, in the evening, when everyone else was asleep, we would go out into the woods alone, with a small light to guide us, and we would reach the golden tree.

I loved that place even though it was another one of those things I couldn't explain since it seemed to be the only tree of its kind. I would rest my head on my mother's lap, and as she gently stroked my hair, she would tell me a lot of different stories, fairy tales, adventures, legends. She seemed to know an infinite number of them. I would have liked to ask her where she had heard them, but even in that case, I didn't ask. And so, every time, the next morning, I would wake up in my room, comfortably lying under the covers, the nightmares completely forgotten... at least for a while.

Growing up, many of those childhood fears disappeared, or I managed to answer them on my own thanks to years of study. However, other doubts occupied my mind.

For example, why were we so isolated from the rest of the world?

Why could we use the power of the thread?

Where did our traditions come from?

How ancient were they?

And how were other witches born?

I had seen pregnant women in the village, I had heard the cries of childbirth, the first cries of the babies, the birth of new life in the world was fascinating even though I had never seen the act in person, being too young or unable to help. But it was what happened before that confused me.

Every five years, a meeting was held, after which ten women would leave the walls of the fortress, and after a few months, they would return expecting.

I didn't know what happened, what they did. I believed there was some sort of ritual I wasn't yet admitted to. I imagined that one day it would happen to me too. As the daughter of the matriarch, I had more responsibilities than the others, I would take my mother's place one day. I imagined I was obliged to participate in any ritual presented to me in the coming years. As I was the future of the coven, one day I would have to create the new generation.

When I was about twelve years old, I realized something was off in my mother's stories and finally decided to ask her a question.

"What is a man?"

The embarrassment was still there, under my skin, but she smiled at me gently. Her answer was cryptic as always, but it made me feel better to hear it. "Everything in the galaxy has its opposite. Light and dark, peace and chaos, ice and fire. Woman and man. And between these opposites, many shades that draw closer until they merge. We are opposites and the same thing at the same time"

I nodded, but as usual, more because I felt stupid asking further.

"So... are men evil?" I tried one last time.

She shook her head.

"Do you think you are pure? Gender is only a physical limit, not a mental one. Don't combine the two, it would be a grave mistake" I was ashamed of that question, but I felt better. I felt like I understood.

Years passed, I began to mature, to train more vigorously, to study even more. I was increasingly involved in meetings, though some were still off-limits to me. And the more I became aware of the thread, the more... something called to me.

At first, it was like an unwanted gaze. I would wake up in the middle of the night believing there was someone with me, but upon waking, the room was intact. I even took extra precautions, but none of the alarms went off. I thought I was just stressed.

But the sensation worsened. I felt chills on my skin when I was in the waking world ready to fall asleep, a light touch that grazed my bare skin. At first, I thought it was the wind. Then, the fabric sliding over me at night. Maybe a chill or pajamas tickling me unintentionally, but that wasn't possible.

It seemed like a physical touch, hands, perhaps a feather, I don't know. But it warmed my skin. I would wake up in the middle of the night, uncomfortable, with a damp sensation between my legs that I had never experienced before. Sometimes, I mistook it for other types of discharge only to check and realize it wasn't what I imagined. I blushed, seeing how wet my underwear had become, leaving a sticky, damp spot in the center, the same liquid trickling between my legs or down the cheeks of my butt.

One evening, whether by luck or misfortune, as I headed to the laundry to leave my panties, I ran into Mother Koril.

"What are you doing awake at this hour? And wandering the corridors, Moreover." her tone always harsh and imperious.

It took an enormous amount of courage to explain to her what was happening, but despite my worst fears, she simply nodded. "It's normal for a girl your age. You shouldn't resist it" She ordered me to hurry and go back to bed, then disappeared down the corridor.

But I didn't understand. Resist it? Resist what? It was just another doubt I couldn't answer.

But now the seed of doubt had been planted. I wanted to understand what she was talking about, to see if I could fix this problem that kept recurring every night.

So, one evening I lay down in bed, making sure I was securely locked in, and against all logical reason, I decided to wear only a light tank top, leaving my lower half uncovered.

The only protection was the bedcovers, but I didn't think it would be a problem.

I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

To this day, I didn’t know exactly what happened that first night. I have scattered and confused memories. I was aware of my body lying on the mattress, but it was completely dark around me, and I couldn't tell if it was because I had my eyes closed or if it was so dark that I couldn't see a hand in front of my face.

All I knew is that the tingling sensation returned, that shiver that ran through my body from my forehead slowly downwards, my nipples hardening as if a gust of cold air made me shiver and even lower on my stomach, finally settling between my legs.

It was a light touch, a slow, long movement that grazed my center externally. I could feel the wetness beginning to seep from my core. Normally, that would have been the moment when I forced myself to wake up, but I repeated Mother Koril's words in my head "let yourself go"

And so I did.

Instinctively, I spread my legs wider, bending my knees, that touch lingering on the bud between my legs that I had never dared to touch in my life, starting to tease me inexorably in a slow, circular motion. I could hear myself panting, my hips moving erratically. It didn't matter if I was trying to escape or seek out that sensation, that touch didn't stop. I didn't understand what was happening, but I could concentrated my internal muscle in one of those natural movements like when I breathed, I did it automatically.

My body knew what I needed, even if I hadn't yet processed it mentally.

It was only a moment later when that caress moved further down where a pool of juices wet my behind that I became clear-headed again.

A pressure pushing into my wet center made me react suddenly, frightened. I woke up, sitting up in bed in one swift motion, as if walking from a nightmare. Moving the covers, I immediately saw the stain spreading and soaking through the sheets' fabric.

I was so ashamed of it that I decided not to tell anyone, tried to dab the stain hoping that it would not be visible the next day, had to dry between my legs with numerous tissues and hissed when I indirectly brushed my still sensitive clit.

I went to sleep with a sense of dissatisfaction that I did not understand.

For two days I pretended that nothing was happening, when I lay down and started to feel that tingling sensation I immediately opened my eyes again, unfortunately in this way the hours of sleep were broken and I rested with more difficulty being slow in everything I did.

On the third day, my mother realised my discomfort and after a particularly bad training session, she took me aside.

"Koril informed me of your conversation the other night" she began.

I could do nothing but tighten my lips in discomfort.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of. Your body is changing as you grow. This is the connection to the thread that shows you the way. You don't have to resist it"

I replied with only a nod of my head.

I didn't understand what she was talking about, what I was resisting but I didn't know who to ask more of, I didn't want to look stupid.

But I trusted my mother.

So that night I tried again.

One thing I realised was that that touch had become more insistent on those evenings that I had run away from it. As if it was chasing me before I woke up, I closed my eyes and could already feel it between my legs.

Again, one new evening I tried against all my primal instincts to let go. One thing I realised was that the sensation I felt on my skin was actually an imitation of a hand's touch, the mornings I showered before joining the others had become a time of personal exploration where I tried to imitate that touch and soon realised that I could actually register that as the caress of a hand on my body. But I did not have the courage to do more.

Instead that evening as I concentrated on breathing in the darkness of my consciousness those phantom fingers returned insistently, they did not lose a second in teasing me by pressing directly on my clit, it was gentle yes, but firm. My legs instinctively spread wide, my hips in the air hungry for touch as that circular motion returned to tease my flesh.

I could feel a steady trickle of juices sliding from me and wetting the mattress as I trembled and tensed.

I gasped open-mouthed, little noises escaped my mouth, I wanted more even though I didn't understand what exactly I was chasing, and then again, that pressure where I needed it most.

There was no doubt when that itch opened my folds pushing deep between my legs, it was like feeling long, thick fingers digging directly into my womb, I panicked as I tried to wake up, but something was blinding me. Someone was tied to me in the wire holding me still and open to whatever was being done to me.

I was stuck with my legs open as that force pressed my inner walls, stretching and teasing me in a slow movement.

I could only continue to whimper as those fingers opened me inexorably.

Everything slippery, the sound of juices coming out noisily from the pressure as yet another caress returned to tease my bud, my swollen, wet flesh trembling from the stimulation, a hint of tears forming at the corners of my eyes, I wanted to look at what or who was doing this to me but it was all dark, I could only feel the mattress beneath me, my arms locked along my sides, my only outlet was in clutching the blankets in my fist.

I felt my body tense up in a vice bordering on painful before that touch continued to force its way into my folds even more deeper than before, I felt like I was going crazy not fully understanding how many fingers were in me, I moaned out loud for the first time as the soft walls stretched to make room, I held my legs open in a desperate search for something more almost hoping it might come in, harder, wetter, a ringing in my ears made everything muffled blocking out the rest of my senses.

And finally almost in a cruel gesture the touch on my clit became faster joining the thrusts in my core, a fire burning my skin, vibrating with a pleasure I had never felt before, a tide flooding my senses rhythmically until I reached the limit I cried out with no voice in my body, the walls contracted around those fingers almost as if they wanted to suck them inside me and these, covered by my fluids, slid easily in and out of me without leaving me a moment to breathe, my clitoris pinched hard one last time making more tears fall from my eyes, my hips galloping the air as I reached the first orgasm of my life.

Maybe I was crazy, but I swore I heard a low voice whispering "Good girl".

When I opened my eyes it was morning, it was like waking up from a nightmare in reality, I had dry skin around my eyes from spilled tears and between my legs a dirty, wet feeling, underneath me the sheet still damp in a stain under my bottom.

I didn't know what was happening, none of it made sense, why was this only happening to me now? And who was on the other end of the line?

By now I was sure of it, someone was luring me during the night hours by drawing my consciousness through the link, but I was still not good enough to be in control of what was going on around me, I was becoming vulnerable in the hands of someone I didn't know, or at least it felt like I didn't know.

Over the next few days I concentrated on searching for that signature in the coven, I found it hard to believe that anyone would dare use the power of the thread on me, I was the matriarch's daughter, I was respected, we were united and yet no matter how hard I searched nothing seemed to resemble what I had felt that night, not to mention that bond itself was silent.

On the one hand I was glad that it was no longer coming to disturb my sleep, but on the other hand... I blushed at the idea of feeling those shivers again, I had even (not without a huge dose of embarrassment) tried to do it on my own, but clearly I was doing something wrong, I was too hard, too hasty and in the end I was left with a sense of incompleteness that irritated me all day long.

I felt used, it seemed like whoever had sought me out had taken what he wanted and then left, it had been so persistent in the beginning and now? I needed... more.

And I knew I wouldn't fight it.

I wasn't a bad student, my mothers were proud of the results I brought I was consistent and diligent, but I improved even more after that experience, I studied harder, more intensely... I would never explain to either of them why I had changed.

And what was I supposed to tell them anyway?

Someone touches me between my legs at night and I realised I want more...? No it was better to avoid.

The subject of private parts was not taboo in the coven, in fact there were specific rituals regarding the sensuality of the body, I didn't know much about them since I wasn't admitted to those yet, but the body is a temple of physical and mental wellbeing and as such should be cared for.

I was simply too embarrassed to ask for more, as usual, I knew more about the medical side of it, but I had never wanted more, I hadn't even thought about it and there weren't really any girls my age to vent to.

All I knew was that by now I had made up my mind.

I would be the one pulling the strings this time and I hoped that whoever was on the other end would respond.

#the acolyte #qimir #qimir x reader #qimir x oc #witches #witch coven

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raineandsky · 6 months ago

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Hiiiii, love ur writing!!! May I request a story about the strong and undefeatable villain getting some head injury (maybe concussion) during the battle with some third party, and after that peacefully resting on a bench in alley, but then hero finds him and decides to help, even though these two don't like each other. Pretty please 🐹☘️💗

your please was so pretty i couldnt not write this! i really enjoyed this one, i hope you do too :D

Part of the hero’s job is helping those in need. Stopping when they cross someone lying on a park bench, in the dingiest, darkest part of the park, just feels normal to them in the moment.

That is until they notice who it is.

“[Villain]?” The hero can’t think of anything else to say. Their hands are already halfway to the cuffs in their pocket. “What’re you doing out here?”

This is the part where the villain leaps up with a laugh about how the hero’s fallen into a trap, leaping into a monologue before the inevitable battle.

But instead the villain opens his eyes to glance at them, his gaze not fully focusing on them, and simply says “‘m tired.”

The hero crouches down to his level. It’s clear he has no intention of getting up. They open their mouth to say something curt, distrusting, but they stop themself short.

They’ve noticed the blood painting the other side of the villain's face, dried into his hair and on his skin. Panic flutters in the hero’s gut. How bad is it? What happened? Their training only covered the basics of first aid. This wasn’t part of it.

He looks so small like this. The hero had always thought of the villain as indestructible, perfect in every evil way. But this—he’s defeatable, he’s normal, he’s human. Just like the rest of them.

They carefully push the villain over, earning a disgruntled “eugh” that they ignore to brush his hair away and take in the damage.

“Are yo’ shoes clean?” he says shortly as the hero grapples with a tissue from their pocket. “I think… I’m gonna throw up.”

“Please don’t.” They carefully take their tissue to the villain’s head, which he tries to cringe away from. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Wha’?”

“What happened to you, [Villain]?”

The villain’s eyes train on the hero's idly, unseeingly. “There’s stars on your face.”

“Okay. Okay.” Blood has turned the tissue into a crime scene, but it’s making little difference to the state of the villain. “We need to get you some help.”

It barely even occurs to the hero to do otherwise. A hero isn’t a hero without the soul to do the hardest parts of kindness, they know. To show mercy to those who might not deserve it. To help those who likely don’t want it. To show the villain compassion they know they’ll never get back.

The hero pulls the villain upright, with absolutely no help from the villain. They get him sitting up and he almost keels straight back over the moment they let go.

They settle on the bench next to him, careful to hold him up. “How’re you feeling, [Villain]?”

“I hav’ the… worst headache.” It comes out disjointed, like he’s piecing the sentence together as he says it. The hero pulls his arm over their shoulder. “Wha’s going on?”

“We’re going to the hospital.” The villain barely reacts to this, when before the hero probably would’ve had to drag him there kicking and screaming before. “We’re going to stand up, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

The villain sways on his feet as the hero pulls him up, a slight stagger almost taking them both down. “Oup,” he says with a short breath of a laugh.

“Okay,” the hero says again, more to themself than to the villain. “Let’s get you fixed.”

The hero walks the villain all the way to the hospital, the journey slow and full of close encounters with the pavement, and makes themself at home in his hospital room.

The villain would never do the same for the hero. They’re a villain. Obviously. That’s why the hero is the good guy. They'd expect nothing less.

But when the villain wakes up properly, coherent and all-there, the first thing out of their mouth is an absolutely seething, entirely genuine “thank you.”

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #LAST DAY AT WORK TOMORROW BITCHESSSSS #i am So Excited to leave it has been a tar pit ever since i handed my notice in #fukn BYE

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avonne-writes · 3 months ago

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Carry You Home

A post-war kitty Gale (cat shifter Gale) drabble written for the "LCAPT fic off" game initiated by @middlingmay. And it’s a gift for @butdaddyilovehim99 💕 Featuring the most Gale-looking cat pic ever. Thanks @swifty-fox for brainstorming with me! (On AO3)

The sticky seed of some unfamiliar weed sticks to the fur on Gale’s legs, but he ignores the uncomfortable tugging sensation and just keeps running. Away, far away, anywhere but here. He’s done with this whole charade. To hell with it all. John can go find some other fool who can stand his goddamn womanizing.

Gale doesn’t care that it's only a facade. Sometimes, he wants to be the one being wooed and not watch John flirt with someone else. He thought... He thought they would go on a date, just the two of them, to the pretty creek in the woods close to town. All the exciting, cheerful sounds of the forest, the clear air, enough space and privacy for Gale to shift back and forth when he wanted. But John had to ruin it by chatting up three women who were on a walk.

They could have let the ladies pass and waited to be alone again, but John just had to do it, didn’t he? Maybe he didn’t want to be alone with Gale at all. He could have been looking for an excuse to cut their date short all along. Instead of laughing and walking with Gale, he charmed those girls until they were drawn to him like moths to the light, and Gale, sour in his disappointment, was left to trail behind until they finally parted ways.

Then, the fight. That terrible fight. It wasn’t too decent of Gale to snap the way he did, but it hurt so much to watch John flash his best smile at the girls, to touch their arms under one excuse or another, the way he should have touched Gale instead. Gale's tired of it. He can’t stand it anymore, to see the affection that's meant to be his given to another while he’s right there.

John didn’t understand - or didn’t want to - so, Gale shifted and ran away. It didn’t take more than five seconds and he was out of John's sight. Being small makes it easier to hide among the bushes. To disappear. He doesn’t matter anyway. He’s no one. Perhaps, he won't ever shift back again. Why bother? He’ll just live the rest of his years as a wildcat, nothing but the forest and the freedom of no expectations. He can live alone and -

"Gale!" John's cry interrupts Gale's thoughts. "Gale, please! Come on, doll, don't do this to me."

Gale stops to crouch low in the underbrush, his heart pounding wildly. His coat is too bright and clean to hide him among all the greens, browns and greys around, but he’s covered by a few thick shrubs and wide leaves where he is. He curls his fluffy tail close to his body and waits. He won't be spotted unless he moves.

"I'm sorry, okay?" John tells the forest plaintively. The canopies above them whoosh in sympathy. "I didn’t mean to hurt you, sweetheart, I didn’t mean it like that."

What you meant doesn't change anything, Gale makes a low, angry sound that John, thankfully, doesn't hear as he jogs down the path in front of Gale's hiding place.

"Shit." John mutters under his breath and runs a hand through his curls. At first, Gale thinks it's because of Gale not folding to his pleading, but a moment later, he sees the fake, wide smile that appears on John's face.

"Egan? That you?" An unfamiliar voice calls, and Gale is alarmed to see a stocky, middle-aged man with a camera approach John from the opposite direction they came from.

"Frank, buddy, the hell are you doin' out here?" John says and clasps the man's outstretched hand in greeting.

Frank launches into a long-winded story about bird watching and photography, and how his wife kicked him out of the house just to get some peace. From his vantage point under the shrubs, low on the cool forest soil, Gale can see John nodding along politely, but his eyes keep darting to the woods, searching for a flash of white that gives Gale away. After a while, Frank notices too.

"Everything okay?" He asks John, concerned.

"Yeah, just looking for my... my cat." John replies awkwardly, putting his hands on his hips the way he always does. Despite his pain and anger, Gale feels a tinge of fondness at the sight.

"You brought your cat out here?" Frank frowns. There’s something like pity in his expression, which makes Gale huff in irritation. Everything their generation does is chalked up to the fucking war, isn’t it?

"He likes going on walks with me." John says, fully turning away. "Gale!"

"Gale? Like your roommate?" Frank asks, his eyebrows trying to meet his receding hairline.

John falters for a moment, embarrassed that he slipped up in his panic to find Gale. "It’s a joke."

"Oh." Frank's face smooths out and he barks a laugh. "Let me help, the two of us will find him faster."

"Oh, I don't want to keep you."

"Nonsense." Frank claps John's shoulder. "My wife says my eyes are so keen I should've been a detective."

John chuckles good-naturedly. "If she says so, Frankie."

Frank walks towards the woods on the opposite side of the path from where Gale’s hiding. "What does your cat look like?"

John sighs. "Cream-white fur, white paws, bushy tail. Piercing blue eyes. As big as a small dog."

Sounds about right, Gale notes with satisfaction. He glares daggers at John. He hopes he can feel it.

Frank whistles. "Must be one mighty creature."

Gale preens. The sad look on John's face is especially vindicating.

"The most beautiful thing I've ever seen." John says quietly as he starts walking along the treeline again. "He's my best friend, you know. My partner. I just wish I knew what's going on in his head. It’s so hard to read him sometimes, and I don't realize I've done something wrong until it’s too late. I just want to make him happy, keep him safe."

An ache swells deep in Gale's chest and rolls through his whole body until the bitterness of his anger fades away to the illusion of salty tears. He can’t cry in this shape but he wants to. He wants it to rain down over his cheeks in big, fat drops, over the scars, for John to wipe and kiss them away, to whisper promises he can’t keep and tell Gale he loves him more than anything. He wants that, still - it hurts, but he wants it. As his impulsiveness vanishes, he realizes that life in the forest wouldn’t suffice. He would always long for Bucky.

"Sounds like a marriage." Frank snorts, shaking a few bushes that sends nearby critters running across the fallen leaves. Gale hears them scurry away from where he is.

"You bet." John laughs ruefully. "Feels like one too."

The cry escapes Gale’s throat before he could clamp down on the feeling that sparks it. It's a quiet, sad little meow but it stands out from the forest's low buzz regardless.

John's head whips up in his direction. "Gale?"

No use hiding anymore. Gale pushes himself up and walks out of the underbrush like some kicked pet, putting his paws on the path hesitantly because he’s not sure yet if he's ready to forgive everything or not. His tail rises in greeting, but when John darts towards him with a beaming, relieved smile on his face, Gale hisses at him.

"I'm sorry!" John raises his hands placatingly, then, in a quieter voice, "I'm sorry, doll."

"Oh my! What a beauty!" Frank exclaims when he spots Gale, his expression one of wonder.

Feeling shy and wary, Gale rushes over to John and weaves himself around his ankles, putting his front paws on John's right boot as he stares the stranger down. He doesn’t know where the hell the guy knows John from, doesn’t care - he just wants him to leave them alone, to give him a chance to shift back and let John give him a proper apology. He’s so focused on keeping his eyes on the man that he forgets he's angry long enough for John to stroke his head. But when the touch reminds him, he growls.

"Don’t be like that." John nudges him, then reaches lower to remove the spikelets stuck in Gale's fur. Irritated beyond belief, Gale bites his fingers, satisfied when John winces, but the hand doesn’t move far - it slides over Gale's back and combs at his fur.

"Hi Gale." Frank crouches down a few feet away, cooing like an idiot. Gale gives him a disdainful look. Honestly, this is the worst thing about being a cat. Interacting with people who want to touch him. "You weren't kidding when you said he was pretty. Never seen such a gorgeous cat in my life. What a unique colour. His fur is immaculate. And look at those eyes! Damn."

"I know." John says, all affectionate. If he thinks that's enough to make up with Gale, he’s sorely mistaken. "Sky blue."

Gale leans against John's leg. A part of him enjoys the praise. People always tend to heap it on him in this shape but never say anything when he's in his human form. His mom, for example, when he still lived in Wyoming. The only exceptions to that are Marge and John, the only people who saw the value in giving him compliments no matter how he stood in front of them. Gale learnt to take appreciation where he got it, even if it was received as a cat. Frank, of course, is unaware that Gale, the cat, and Gale, John's roommate are one and the same, but his words of awe feel good. Gale extends his legs in front of him and stretches, showing off his looks.

"If I were you, I would put a collar on him." Frank says.

"Nah, he's pretty good about comin' home to papa." John replies, a teasing note in his voice. For that, Gale reaches up to drag his clawed paws over the leg of John's trousers until John yelps and pushes him off. Frank laughs.

"Boy, my wife will be so jealous." He shakes his head, smiling. "Can I pet him?"

Gale’s answering noise of warning comes instantly.

"Ah, he doesn’t like strangers, sorry, Frankie." John says for him. Good. At least that much of Gale's feelings he does understand.

Frank waves him off and stands up. "I understand. I would love to photograph him, though. Proof for the missus." He winks.

John chuckles. Gale tilts his head back to glance at him and finds him looking back. Something he sees in Gale's eyes encourages him to reach down and scoop Gale up into his arms. It’s easier to let him than to protest.

"Why not?"

---

About a dozen photos later, John finally tries to say goodbye to Frank, but they're unlucky - the man decides to go the same way John's headed. He must be lonely, Gale figures, but it doesn't make it any less annoying that for lack of a graceful way to get out of the situation, John starts walking with the man while holding Gale in his arms.

It's comfortable, at least. Holding Gale just right in both forms has always been one of John's special talents. This time, Gale's paws dangle over his arm and his head rests in the crook of John's elbow. Since John can’t exactly put him down when he has just caught Gale after he ran away, it’s no use fighting it.

Resigned, Gale relaxes. He’s just a cat now. Loved and cherished openly where everyone can see. Something precious John can hold tight right where his heart beats, and no one bats an eye.

It’s bittersweet, but Gale will take it. The fight seeped out of him somewhere between John calling him his partner and the first apologetic caress over his silky fur. Gale tunes the conversation out and just drifts on the sense of peace and safety he feels in John's arms as the gentle sounds of the forest ripple around them along the path. After a few minutes, he falls asleep.

He doesn’t know how much time passed when he wakes up, but he’s still lying in John's arms, still warm against John's chest, but Frank is, at last, gone. They're almost at the edge of the forest, close to where their truck parks.

"Jesus Christ, finally." John blows out a noisy breath and swipes his thumbs back and forth over Gale’s fur. "Coast's clear if you wanna shift back."

Gale lets his eyes slip closed again and doesn’t move a single other muscle. He can feel John trying to lean over him to see his face better.

"Did you fall asleep?" John rocks him. As a reply, Gale moves his head in a way that looks like he’s saying no. It makes John snort. "Are you still mad at me?"

When no answer comes, John presses his face close to Gale. "Let’s talk about it."

Another shake of the head.

"What, you want me to hold you the rest of the way?"

Gale nods.

John laughs, sweet and rumbling against Gale's body. "All right, doll. I got you. I'll carry you home."

Although he knows he shouldn't, Gale purrs.

#mota #buck x bucky #gale cleven #john egan #clegan #my writing #kitty gale #Clegan LCAPT fic

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4dkellysworld · 2 months ago

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Lester Levenson's self-realisation story

This is the more detailed version of Lester Levenson's story of releasing thoughts & feelings to self-realization that should have been in his autobiography (you can read the more condensed version from the book here). It is a much more detailed account of Lester's process and journey to self-realization in the three months, a very short version was included in this post on why clear the subconscious mind to realise Self.

Reading this was enlightening to me - perhaps it will spark some resonance in you for your own path and practice :)

(I didn't include the parts before this excerpt where he just started self-inquiry after his health issue, the excerpt below starts from when things really progressed for Lester)

In the morning, he woke very early feeling rested and refreshed. His first thought was, "Well, then, what is happiness?" He laughed at his tenacity as he rolled out of bed and into the shower. Preparing breakfast, his thoughts continued to explore the question which dominated his mind. Well, then, what is happiness? What is the common denominator in all these moments? There was Sy, there was Milton, then June, and his Nettie... What was the common denominator? Somehow he knew it was tied up with love, but he could not, at first, see how. When it finally came, it was so simple and pure and complete an answer that he wondered why he had never seen it before.

"Happiness is when I am loving!" He realized that in every instance, his feeling of love for the other person had been intense and that's where the happiness had come from, from his own feeling of loving. It was so clear to him now that being loved was not the answer. He could see that even if people loved him, unless he felt love in return, he was not going to be happy. Their loving might make them happy, but it would not, could not, make him happy. It was a new and mind-boggling concept and even though he instinctively knew that it was correct, his old scientific training didn't allow him to accept it without testing. So he looked into his past, remembering those times in his life when he had been loving and happy, and he recognized that at those times, the other person had not necessarily been loving him.

He looked at the other side too, the unhappy times and now that he knew what to look for, it was very obvious that he had not been loving. Oh, he'd thought at the time that he loved them, as with Nettie and June. He loved them, needed them, wanted them. But was that love, he wondered now? No, it was painful... he was experiencing pain that they didn't love him. And even though he called it love, he was really wanting to possess them completely, thinking he needed all their love to be happy.

That was the key! He had been experiencing a want or lack of love, expecting the other person to supply the love, waiting for the other person to make him happy. He had to laugh, it seemed so ludicrous. To think that someone else could make him happy seemed like the funniest thing in the world. He knew, better than anyone that no one could ever make him anything. He'd always been very proud and stubborn and self-sufficient, sure that he never needed anyone or anything. "What a joke!" He thought. The truth is that he'd been all the time dying inside for want of love, thinking he had to get it from someone. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he laughed and laughed at the realization that what he'd been looking for all his life was inside him. He had been like the absent-minded professor looking everywhere for his glasses which were on top of his head all the time.

"What a shame," he thought, wiping away the tears. "What a shame that I never saw this before. All that time, all those years wasted; what a shame." "But wait a minute!" he thought. "If happiness is when I'm experiencing love for the other one, then that means happiness is a feeling within me. "And if I felt unloving in the past? Well, I know I can't change the past, but could I possibly correct the feeling now inside myself`? Could I change the feeling to love now?"

He decided to try it. He looked at his most recent unhappiness, the day he left the hospital. "First," he asked himself, "was I experiencing a lack of love that day?" "Yes," he answered aloud. "Nobody gave a damn about me, not the nurses, not the orderlies, not even Dr. Schultz. They did not care. As sick as I was, they threw me out, sent me home to die so they wouldn't have to watch one of their failures. Well, the hell with them. They can all go to hell." He was shocked at the vehemence in his voice. His body trembled with rage and he felt weak. He really hated the doctor. He could feel it burning in his chest. "Oh, boy," he thought, "this sure isn't love."

"Well, can I change it?" he asked. "Is it possible to turn it into love for the doctor?" "Hell, no," he thought, "why should I? What did he ever do to deserve any love?" "That's not the point," he answered himself. "The point is not whether he deserves love. The point is, can you do it? Is it possible to simply change a feeling of hatred into a feeling of love—not for the benefit of the other person but for yourself?"

As the thought crossed his mind, he felt something break loose in his chest. A gentle easing, a sense of dissolving, and the burning sensation was gone. He didn't trust it at first. It seemed too easy, so he pictured again the scene with Dr. Schultz in the hospital. He was surprised to find that it brought only a mild feeling of resentment rather than the previous intense burning hatred. He wondered if he could do it again.

"Let's see," he thought, "what did I just do? Ah, yes. Can I change this feeling of resentment into a feeling of love?" He chuckled as he felt the resentment dissolve in his chest. Then it was totally gone and he was happy. He thought of Dr. Schultz again, pictured him in his mind and felt happy, even loving. He saw now, reliving that last meeting, how the doctor had hated to tell him the things he had to say. He could feel the doctor's pain at having to tell a young man in the prime of his life that his life was over. "Doctor Schultz, you son-of-a-gun," he said, grinning, "I love you."

"Well, it worked on that one," he thought. "If my theory is sound, then it should work on everything." Eagerly, he began trying it on other moments, and the results were consistently the same, each time that he asked himself if he could change the feeling of hostility or anger or hatred to one of love, the dissolving process took place. Sometimes he had to repeat it over and over until he felt only Love for the person.

At times, the entire process would take only a minute or two; at other times, it might take him hours of working on a particular person or event before his feelings were only loving, but he would doggedly stay with it until it was completed on each person and each incident.

His entire life came up for review in bits and pieces. One by one, he changed to Love all the old hurts and disappointments. He began to feel stronger as the weight of his pain dropped away. He was happier than he had ever been in his entire life, and he kept it going, feeling even more happiness with each new thing corrected. He stopped going to bed because he had so much energy that he couldn't lie down. When he felt tired, he would doze in his chair and awaken an hour or so later to start in again. There was so much to be corrected in his life that he didn't want to stop until he had looked under every stone and around every corner.

Another thing that intrigued him was the question of how far he could take this. As he corrected each thing, he became happier, he could feel it; but he wondered how far he could go. Was there a limit to happiness? So far, he hadn't found any boundaries to it and the possibilities were staggering. So he kept on, around the clock.

His strength was returning, but not wanting to be distracted, he avoided getting involved in social activities and would sometimes even pass up the Sunday get-together with his family. He did his food shopping in the middle of the night, around two or three in the morning. There were very few people up and about at that hour, and he enjoyed the quiet of the city. He went on correcting his life, even while doing the necessaries. And he noticed that when someone in a store or on the street would annoy him, he was able to correct that response with Love either immediately or shortly thereafter. This pleased him, and he found himself loving others with intensity far beyond anything he had imagined possible. As he described it many years later, "When I mixed with people, and again and again when they would do things that I didn't like and within me was a feeling of non-Love, I would immediately change that attitude to one of loving them even though they were opposing me. Eventually I got to a point where, no matter how much I was being opposed, I could maintain a feeling of Love for them."

He continued to correct his life with consistent results for about a month until one day he got stumped. He was working on the last time he had seen Nettie, the day she chose someone else. He had already corrected a lot of the pain with regard to her; she had come to his mind again and again, and it had not always been easy. In fact, it had been very difficult at first to work on that old relationship but gradually as he gained strength, he had been able to confront some of those long-buried feelings and correct them.

But on this particular day, no matter how hard he tried to correct it with Love, there was still a feeling of despair which he could not dislodge. He wanted to escape, to get out of his chair and run, to get something to eat, to do anything that would get him away from his intense feeling. Instead, he decided to sit there until he handled it.

Something told him that if he let that feeling push him around, if he lost that battle, he would have lost the war. He stayed in his chair, determined to ride it out. He probed, "What's wrong here? Why isn't it dissolving? Nettie, oh, my Nettie." He began to cry now, tears streaming down his cheeks, all the pain he had locked up on the day they parted came now in a flood. "Why did you do it, Nettie?" he cried aloud. "Why did you do it? Why did you leave me, my darling? We could have been so happy, we'd have married and been so happy."

"Damn," he thought, "why do people do things like that? They throw their happiness away and everyone else's, too. They have no right to do that. They shouldn't be allowed to do that. There should be some way of making them change; some way of changing the things they do and the effect they have on people."

He felt the old pain of ulcers starting up again in his stomach and realized with certainty that the ulcers had started that last day with Nettie. He'd drunk the beer and thrown up; that had been the beginning. He wished it had been different. More than anything else in this world, he wanted to change what had happened. He wanted to go back and live it over again the other way with Nettie choosing him, with them getting married and being happy forevermore.

"Well, you can't change it, stupid," he shouted at himself, "so you might just as well stop trying to." That jolted him. He saw that he was still trying to change something that had been finished more than twenty years ago. "No, it can't be finished," he cried. "I won't let it be finished." His throat hurt now and he felt like screaming and smashing things. Then, like instant replay, he heard what he'd said, "I won’t let it be finished." That was the source of his anguish; he'd wanted to change it all these years and so he kept it alive inside himself, buried deep, eroding his happiness. "Well, to hell with that," he said, almost flippantly. Suddenly, with that decision, the whole thing was gone. He couldn't believe it. He felt for the hurt, the pain, the despair. It was all gone. He thought of Nettie as he remembered her, so young, so beautiful, and he simply loved her. There was none of the old painful feeling left.

He began to look now in this new direction. He realized that the cause of his ulcers was that he had wanted to change everything, starting with his nearest and dearest and extending out to the rest of the world, including the United States, other countries, government heads, the weather, endings of movies he had seen, the way businesses were run, taxes, the army, the President; there was nothing he could think of that he had not wanted to change in one way or another.

What a revelation! He saw himself subject to and a victim of everything he wanted to change! He began dissolving all that. When he thought of something that caused him pain about a person or situation, he would now either correct it with Love or dissolve wanting to change it. This added a new dimension to his work, and his progress accelerated.

By the time a second month had gone by, it was all he could do sometimes to stay in his chair, he became so energized. And there were times, when he had worked on particularly painful incidents in his life, that he literally could not sit and would go out into the city and walk for miles, reviewing, correcting, dissolving until he had burned off enough energy to sit still again. Sometimes he felt as though he had hold of a chain with many links of incidents on it which needed correcting. Once he got hold of the chain, he would follow through incident by incident until there was nothing left to be corrected. An example of such a chain was jealousy.

He had always been intensely jealous but managed to hide it most of the time under a facade of not caring. Nevertheless, his insides used to burn if the girl he was with so much as looked at someone else, or even mentioned another man. He decided to correct this tendency in himself. He would probe his memory for instances where his jealousy had driven him; correct it; then look for more. When he thought it was cleared out, he tested himself by imagining the girl he loved most making love with the man he would least want her to be with. It was a good test because he could see immediately that there was more work to do. Sometimes the intensity of his feelings would almost drive him mad, but he continued for days until there was no last vestige of jealousy left in him. When he could finally enjoy their enjoyment of each other, he knew he was finished with jealousy.

Insights came with increasing frequency. He would often gain a sudden, complete understanding of something which had always puzzled him. Philosophies he had studied became clear, and he could see that they had often started off on the right track, only to veer off into distortions, having been diverted by an incorrect idea springing from the author's own storehouse of uncorrected feelings. His mind began to feel like crystal, clear and sharp. "Colors seemed brighter and everything was more sharply defined" says Lester.

"Above all, I saw that I was responsible for everything that had happened to me, formerly thinking that the world was abusing me! And I saw that my tremendous effort to make money and then losing it was due only to my thinking; that I had been always seeking happiness, and thought that making money would do it. So whenever the business started to make money, and the money did not bring me the happiness I wanted, I began to lose interest and the thing collapsed. I had always blamed it on other people and circumstances, not realizing that it was simply my subconscious knowledge that this is not happiness which caused me to lose interest and that, in turn, caused the business to collapse."

"This was a tremendous piece of freedom, to think that I am not a victim of this world, that it lies within my power to arrange the world the way I want it to be; rather than be an effect of it. I can now be in control of it and arrange it the way I would like it to be. That was a tremendous realization, a tremendous feeling of Freedom."

"Discovering that my happiness equated to my loving, and that my thinking was the cause of things happening to me in my life gave me more and more freedom; freedom from the subconscious compulsions that I had to work, I had to make money, I had to have girlfriends. Freedom in the feeling that I was now able to determine my destiny, I was now able to control my world, lightened my internal burden so strongly that I felt there was no need for me to have to do anything.

"Plus, this happiness was so great. It was a new experience for me. I was experiencing a joy that I never knew existed, never dreamed could be. So I decided, "This is so great, I'm not going to stop until I carry it all the way." I had no idea how far it could go. I had no idea how joyous a person could be. But I was determined to find out."

During the third month, things went even faster. There was a depth to Lester’s feelings that threatened to bowl him over at times. His knees sometimes buckled, but he stayed with each feeling until it was corrected. He was becoming happier and happier, still looking to see if there were any limits to what he could accomplish with this new process.

"How much further can I go?" Lester would ask himself, then push it even further. It was also during the third month that he ran into an old adversary, one he had seen out of the corner of his eye again and again throughout his life. It had lurked nearby, always on the periphery and he had never before been willing to meet it head on. It was the fear of death.

Now he recognized it as the basis of every single feeling he had ever had. He began to coax it out into the open, wanting to take a good look at the biggest foe of all, which had so very nearly won the battle only a few months ago. He began to lure those feelings into the open and to dissolve them. And it worked!

He got to the place where, with great confidence, he laughed and laughed and laughed at this foe which had kept a fire lit under him his entire life so that there had not been one moment of real peace, ever. This last of the monsters turned out to be, after all, only a feeling. As he dissolved the fear of death, he realized one day that his body was sound, healed. The physical impairment was corrected. He couldn't explain to anyone how he knew; he just knew it as surely as he knew who he was. His body was sound.

At the end of the third month, he had slipped into a blissful, joyous state, which he could only describe as feeling like a million orgasms surging all at once through his entire body. It went on and on and he realized that this feeling, although not sexual, was what he was always been looking for but never found in sex. He felt light, living for weeks with joy exploding inside him every moment. Everyone and everything became exquisitely beautiful to him. He kept looking for more things to correct, but there didn't seem to be much. Occasionally something would occur to him, but it would be gone almost before he could define it and the joy would surge through him even more strongly.

After several weeks, he began to wonder if there could be anything better beyond this joy. He was sitting in his chair in the usual position, slumped down, legs stretched out, chin touching his chest. He had an idle thought without expecting an answer, but the answer came.

What was beyond this incredible joyous state that didn't stop? He saw that it was peace, imperturbability and he realized with certainty that if he accepted it, if he decided to move into that peace, it would never, ever go away. And he went—slipped into it so effortlessly – with just a decision to have it. He was there.

Everything was still. He was in a quietness that he now knew had always been there but drowned out by incessant noise from his accumulated, uncorrected past. In fact, it was more than quiet; it was so far beyond anything imaginable that there were no words to describe the delectable deliciousness of the tranquility.

His earlier question about happiness was answered too. There were no limits to happiness, but when you have it all, every minute, it gets tiresome. Then this peace is just beyond and all you have to do is step over the line into it. "Is there anything beyond even this?" he wondered. But as he asked, he knew the answer.

This peace was eternal and forever and it was the essence of every living thing. There was only one Beingness and everything was It. Every person was It, but they were without awareness of the fact, blinded by the uncorrected past they hold on to.

He saw this Beingness as something like a comb. He was at the spine of the comb and all the teeth fanned out from it, each one thinking it was separate and different from all the other teeth. And that was true, but only if you looked at it from the tooth end of the comb. Once you got back to the spine or source, you could see that it wasn’t true. It was all one comb. There was no real separation, except when you sat at the tooth end. It was all in one’s point of view.

#excerpts #lester levenson

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utilitycaster · 2 months ago

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Do you think this new option could lead to a break up in the party and some of the characters leaving the group? Because I can't see everyone agreeing that this is the best solution, but I also think Ashton is stubborn enough to refuse to consider anything else

This is going to be a very long answer for what is a pretty short question that could be answered in one sentence, and here's why.

I've gotten a lot of questions in the past week or so that are specifically asking me what I think the future will be - for campaign 3, and for Critical Role generally. And I've gotten a little frustrated by them, which is somewhat uncharacteristic of me because I love having opinions, but the fact is, I don't know and I don't even have strong opinions. So I dug into that, and why people might be asking these things more than usual, and I really think it's because the narrative of this campaign is so constantly under threat of derailment or going in the same old circles that pretty much anyone in the fandom with any sense of narrative structure, and what makes for a well-crafted story is like "so...what's happening." Which is translating as coming to me, a person who is very good at sounding confident and knowledgeable.

I do not fucking know. I share this frustration, and I cannot be the person to clear it up. i am not even the best at narrative or analysis in this fandom; as I pretty frequently state I took the hard STEM option with regards to my education so while I read a lot and have a pretty good sense for the lay person, there are actual like, trained and published writers. For what it's worth several of them are my mutuals and while I'm not putting the rest of this post on them I do feel safe saying they agree that the lack of narrative direction is at the heart of most people's frustrations with this campaign, even if they enjoy the characters. But getting back to the point, I do not know.

Here's where I stand on the actual plot before I go back to the bigger picture. I think that unless Bells Hells decide on their course of action pretty quickly, no ending will really feel satisfying due to that sense of directionlessness - and there are arguments for Bells Hells to take either the Arch Heart or the Accord's plan, though I think the Accord's is far superior, but they need to pick one.

Because of the ongoing issues with this party lacking perspectives that tied in well to this story and having to hinge everything on either one singular interpretation of one single instance in extraordinary circumstances (eg: Dorian), or stuff that feels, as I've said before, retconned, I have generally been extremely amenable to Bells Hells losing party members either through a split or through character deaths. This is not out of any sort of vindictiveness or dislike of characters, but just a hope that now that they know the vibe, the cast will make a character who has a perspective that is relevant to the story (which, FCG is not an ideal example because they happened to be the character who had perhaps best grown from their original concept to fit into the themes of this campaign, but Braius obviously is a very strong character informed by the story as well). I also think that a lot of the indecisiveness is part of the characters' various natures and that will also be a factor, especially since a new character can be both decisive, have a clear point of view, and be a lot more comfortable pissing off the rest of the party to assert it. So: if Bells Hells as they currently stand can decide what to do quickly, no need to break up! But if they can't, yeah, it would be to their and the story's benefit to do so. That's before we get into, for example, the sacrifice required from specifically Imogen or Fearne for the Arch Heart's plan; Ashton is not the one who has to risk their own autonomy for the rest of eternity. They might die in battle, but they will not become a husk housing an ancient hunger. I think the people who might have to do so get to decide.

Now: it may seem counterintuitive to demand a clear direction from a TTRPG, when part of the appeal is that we don't know how it will end, but the thing is, with the past campaigns, we did not know if the party would succeed but we knew that they wanted to do. Vox Machina could have fallen to Vecna but we always knew they were going to fight Vecna. The Mighty Nein's decisions not to get involved with the war are not indecision but rather a very clear decision (do not get involved). Their later reversal of that decision similarly follows from who they are and the richness of their pasts.

Bells Hells does not have that, and the endless circular conversations are both circular in game and a vicious cycle out of it; because we've always been focused on this plot from very early on and because the characters were not developed as strongly, we have a lot of very indecisive people who are too trapped in this crisis to develop and become decisive. In a way, it feels like Matt's been something like the Arch Heart here: saying "oh, THIS would be interesting, I wonder what will happen" at everything when it's like "ok but consequences are like, important, and maybe you should let things play out. I mean, two cycles isn't great but it is still only two; maybe you should actually let your children/players figure this out, even if it doesn't fit your idea of what should happen, instead of throwing yet another new thing at them."

So: I don't know and I don't have answers about Campaign 3 events at this point because, again, as someone who has a pretty good sense of what makes for a satisfying narrative, it has frequently subverted those requirements (which, to be clear, is bad - it's not genre subversion or a masterful play on expectations, it's subverting actual satisfying narrative beats; as someone said on one of my other posts in not quite so many words, it's like storyline-baiting). I know I tend to present my points with confidence, and I am pretty confident about a lot of things like CR lore and said sense of narrative, but like...maybe this guess on the fandom vibe is incorrect, but I think I'm getting these questions because people are saying "hey, do you know where we're going? I think I am reading this map wrong" to me and I'm here to say "no, you're reading it fine, we've gone off the road and are just kinda crashing through underbrush, and maybe we'll hit another road and continue on that and I can give some insight, but also we might go off a cliff, no way to tell."

#answered #minxie-the-sabertooth-kitty #honestly the metanarrative of the arch heart as matt slaps. good job me.#also i kept this remarkably diplomatic given some of the moronic ThIs CaMpAiGn SuBvErTs ThE oThErS posts #cr spoilers

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middle-earth-mythopoeia · 1 year ago

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No, Amazon’s Rings of Power is not “woke”

It annoys me so much when people complain about Rings of Power being “woke.” First of all, because of the way they overuse the word, woke has become a next-to-meaningless term that can be applied to anything conservatives don’t like. Second, Rings of Power is only progressive in the most surface-level way; underneath that it is in fact extremely regressive. People who whine about Rings of Power being woke are not only annoying, they’re also just plain wrong.

Ever since the casting was announced, right-wing idiots have been shrieking about Black actors being cast in Rings of Power. These trolls have made all kinds of dumb statements about how Middle-earth = Europe, but they seem willfully ignorant of the fact that Europe has never been exclusively white, and there is no reason to exclude people of color from the cast of any Tolkien adaptation. Still, this didn’t make the show progressive in its casting (which was tokenistic) or its writing (which ranges from bad to horrible).

For instance, the only storyline Amazon writers could apparently think of to introduce Arondir was literally him being enslaved. I mean, really? Is that really the best plotline to go with? To be clear, I’m not criticizing the actor, I’m criticizing the writing. In addition, Amazon cast actors of color overwhelmingly in parts invented for the show—rather than as actual Tolkien characters—which more easily allows them to be sidelined by the narrative, and the casting overall was in no way diverse enough. So I find it bizarre that people criticize the show for its so-called wokeness, when very little effort was made from a diversity and inclusion standpoint.

Right-wing nutjobs also threw a fit about Amazon portraying Galadriel as a warrior, to the point where they started calling her “Guyladriel.” They whined about Galadriel being too feminist and too masculine in the show, but that’s the opposite of what happened and betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of Galadriel as a character. First of all, she fought at Alqualondë in one version of the story, so no one should have a problem with her wielding a sword. What IS a problem is everything else about her portrayal.

Amazon’s writers took one of Tolkien’s most interesting characters and stripped her of her power, her authority, her gravitas, her wisdom, and her ambition. They had Gil-galad, her younger cousin, order her around. They had Elendil compare her to his children, even though she’s older than the sun and moon. And they made her a petty, naïve, incompetent brat whose entire first season involves being manipulated by Sauron, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, having a bizarre will-they-won’t-they relationship with him. In addition, Galadriel is canonically tall and strong, and one of her names means “man-maiden,” but they made her short and waif-like instead.

Galadriel in Amazon’s show doesn’t even resemble the character Tolkien wrote—the character named Nerwen, who never trusted Annatar, who certainly never had some creepy Reylo thing with him, who was powerful and wise and authoritative, who had a marvelous gift of insight into the minds of others—not a quippy, rude, annoying idiot who is constantly being controlled by the men around her. I don’t know why anyone would look at Rings of Power and think this portrayal is progressive. It’s actually a failure of imagination: Amazon’s writers literally cannot conceive of a powerful woman even when all of the work of imagining her has been done for them.

In addition to the faux-feminist-and-actually-sexist portrayal of Galadriel, Rings of Power is also on the whole weirdly regressive from the standpoint of gender roles and gender expression. Tolkien’s Elves are canonically tall, beautiful, and long-haired, regardless of gender. Tolkien’s Dwarves all have beards. So what did Amazon do? They gave most of their male Elves short hair, while the female Elves still have long hair, and they did away with female Dwarves’ beards. They patted themselves on the back for “letting” Galadriel fight, but don’t show other female warriors—in battle scenes, for instance, why are all the soldiers male? In general, they made their characters adhere to conservative gender roles and gender expression, which is especially glaring because it contradicts what Tolkien actually wrote.

On top of all this, they decided to throw in some anti-Irish stereotypes with a side of classism, just for fun. They had the ragged, dirty, primitive Harfoots speaking in Irish accents, while the regal, ethereal, advanced Elves speak with English accents. None of the actors playing the Harfoots are Irish themselves, to my knowledge, which makes the choice to have them speak this way especially questionable. Seriously, who thought this was a good idea?

All in all, it makes absolutely no fucking sense to criticize Rings of Power for being woke. It may look progressive on the surface because there’s a Black Elf and a woman with a sword, but that’s as far as it goes. The show isn’t particularly diverse to begin with, and it treats its characters of color poorly. Galadriel’s portrayal is disgustingly regressive, as is the show’s overarching take on gender. This is to say nothing of the caliber of the writing in general, which is unsurprisingly low. There is so much to criticize—like the nonsense about mithril, or the fact that Celebrimbor of all people doesn’t understand alloys, or the fact that you can apparently swim across the Sundering Seas now—which makes complaining about the show’s supposed wokeness especially irrational.

I also have to wonder if the people still whining about wokeness know anything about Tolkien’s works. Do they know that the crown of Gondor was based on the crown of the Pharaohs of Egypt? Do they know that Tolkien considered Byzantium the basis for Minas Tirith? Do they know that female warriors already exist in Tolkien’s books? Do they know when they rant about how much they hate “Guyladriel” that Amazon’s portrayal is actually too feminine? Ultimately, people who complain about wokeness in Rings of Power—or any Tolkien adaptation—are just betraying their own idiocy. I honestly think if Tolkien’s books were published now conservatives would scream that they’re woke too.

#anti rings of power #my writing #to be clear I have not watched this monstrosity and never will #I have unfortunately learned all these things about its horrible plot regardless #please no one comment on this post telling me that I have to watch it in order to make criticisms - just no

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cobaltperun · 11 months ago

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Lost (2) - Into the nothing

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 4.2k

Story Masterlist / Previous part / Next part

-Heaven hear me, I know we can make it out alive-

You woke up around half past seven, the fatigue from battle still weighing you down, but more than that you couldn’t shake off that uneasy feeling from the last night. You tried and you tried, but you just felt like something was wrong. You sighed, the sound of birds chirping by your window did little to take your mind off the bad feeling. So, you sat up, turned the TV on and got up while the documentary about whales droned on. You lived in an efficiency apartment, and as cramped as it was, you made it a home thanks to Tara. She got you the few trinkets that were lying around. The cheesy ‘Home is where the heart is’ hung from the doors above the coat hangers. The small porcelain cat napped on the fridge, and a slightly bigger stuffed dog she bought you for your twelfth birthday sat on the nightstand drawer next to your bed. There were only two framed photos in your apartment, both of them were just you and Tara, one from her eighteenth birthday, it was actually spontaneous one, you just got done setting up the table for her birthday and she came out to her backyard with Chad keeping her eyes covered. She barely even registered all the food, she just ran over to you when he let go of her and jumped into your arms, and that was the moment Mindy captured from the side, the moment when Tara was leaning her forehead against yours and looking you in the eyes. The second one was back when you were kids and Tara and Mindy won an award for a short video.

Everything else was pretty much minimalistic, you hardly had space for anything else, given the living area wasn’t even 250 square feet. Bed at the corner, with nightstand drawer to its’ right, the TV hanging on the opposite wall, a coffee table you modified to be taller that doubled as table in general between the two with a couch just beneath the window. The kitchen area was small as well, just bare necessities, which sometimes made cooking a bit of a struggle for space. What little space was left was used up by the wardrobe closet and your bag and basic training gear, both by the wall where the TV was, standing between the doors and the TV.

You were comfortable in your home, comfortable in your own small space, separated from the rest of the town, in a building that was meant to be a part of some bigger project that got canceled, but the building remained, and the couple you worked for owned this apartment and a few other in the building and they rented it to you for a ridiculously cheap price. Right now, however, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling off, you needed to go train, or go to work, or do anything to keep your mind off whatever was causing that damn feeling.

So, you broke your rules and ran down the stairs all the way from the third floor, and then, the moment you stepped through the main building entrance, you began running. You had a set of rules you lived by, eat healthy, train hard, rest enough, and resting enough involved having a day off after a fight, meaning no work, no training, just recovering. Yet here you were, running on an empty stomach while the town woke from the slumber. Cars drove past you, as did the school bus, and for a moment you thought you caught a glimpse of Tara sitting by the window, probably with Amber next to her. Running cleared your head a bit and you made up your mind. Next weekend you’d take Tara away from Woodsboro, you’d take her wherever she wants to go, Amber’s whining be damned.

You were tired of the distance, and you could feel Tara was tired of it as well, and it was about time you did something to change that.

With that sense of clarity and the decision you finished your run and, despite still having a day off, took a shower and went to work.

~X~

It was always the same old story when he and Mindy were alone. Always the struggle for the rights to control what they’d watch.

“There’s a basketball game on right now and I want to watch it,” Chad raised the remote above his head, not willing to budge. Could he have gone to his room to watch it? Absolutely, and Mindy could have gone to her room to watch whatever movie she wanted to watch tonight. Still, over the years it turned into a bit of a game between them, to see who would cave in first and he wasn’t going to be the one to give in this time.

“Pft, there’s a brand new horror movie airing and the remote has my name on it,” she pulled his forearm down so she could reach the remote, but he just tossed it to his other hand.

“No way, watch it later,” he took a few steps back and went around the sofa to put some distance between him and Mindy, only because he knew Mindy would stay put, choosing to wisely use her energy.

Mindy snorted at that. “No way, dude,” but she was grinning, clearly not annoyed by their usual argument.

Chad was about to say he was the one with the remote, hence he held the power, but his phone rang and he looked over the sofa to see who was calling him. Mindy had already grabbed it and handed it to him.

“It’s Wes,” she said and while he was picking up took the chance and stole the remote from him.

“Hey, give that back!” Chad complained before Wes could say anything.

“Chad,” Wes’ sounded like he was on the verge of tears and the remote was almost instantly forgotten.

“Hey, pal, what’s wrong?” Chad asked, worried, he rarely heard Wes this distraught, and Mindy noticed his tone as well, as her victorious grin dropped.

“It’s Tara. She- she was attacked, Chad, she was stabbed seven times in her own home. Doctors are fighting for her life as we speak,” Wes wasn’t making any sense, Tara was stabbed? Doctors were fighting for her life? He must have gotten high or drunk or something.

No. This was Wes. He rarely drank any alcohol and he most certainly never got high.

“Does,” he swallowed the lump in his dry throat. “Does anyone else know?”

“No, I’ll call Amber, you, you handle Y/N, please,” Wes told him and Chad felt dread fill him up.

There was a reason why he’d choose to tell Amber and not you. Amber was Tara’s girlfriend, sure, and she’d take it hard, she’d be worried, she’d rush to the hospital and stay by Tara’s side. You on the other hand, you’d be a tempest of rage and grief and fear. Sure, you and Tara weren’t close these past few months, but it was just a small, temporary break, you were still Tara’s Guard Dog, and you didn’t protect her.

Chad had no doubt in his mind that you’d be a hound, hunting down whoever hurt Tara and making them regret going after Tara.

“I’ll call her,” Chad still promised, and he’d call you, as frightening as the call was going to be.

Wes thanked him and hung up, his voice cracking near the end.

“Chad?” Mindy walked over to him and wiped his cheeks, and only then did Chad realize he was crying as well.

“Tara was stabbed, Wes doesn’t know if she’ll live,” he whispered, breaking down and hugging Mindy. He cried against her shoulder while she tried to stay strong for them both. The remote, the TV argument, it all remained forgotten.

~X~

At half past eleven p.m. you were back in your apartment, ready to sleep, even though it evaded you. You were just lying on your bed and staring at the ceiling. That bad feeling, that worry, it came back while you were wrapping up your shift at the restaurant you worked in.

You abruptly sat up when your phone rang, and you just stared at Chad’s name for a few moments. The bad feeling intensified in an instant. Chad rarely called, especially this late.

“Hey,” you pushed the feeling back, you were just paranoid for no reason. After all, what could possibly go wrong?

“Hey, Y/N,” the shakiness of his voice nearly made you drop your phone, he sounded like he just stopped crying. Something was wrong, but you were still in denial.

Just stay calm, that’s what you kept repeating to yourself as your heart drummed against your chest. “What’s wrong?”

“Wes just called. Tara, she-“ the pause he made when he took a deep breath to collect himself was deafening. “she was attacked. Stabbed seven times. She’s at the hospital.”

He was wrong.

He wasn’t.

It couldn’t have happened to Tara.

It did.

The world and time itself stopped, everything stopped. You wanted to scream, but you couldn’t, you just went through the motions as you grabbed your jacket and car keys. “Thanks,” before you understood what was happening you were already outside your apartment. “I’m heading there now.”

Move. Just get there. Just get to her. Just get to her. Just get to her. Those four words were on repeat in your mind like a chant. You couldn’t stop, not for a red light or anything else, you just kept going until you reached the hospital. You just barely recognized Wes’ mom as stopped you before you could enter the hospital.

“Easy, Y/N, breathe,” how distraught did you look if those were the first words she said to you.

“Tara, how is she?” nothing else mattered at the moment, not the worry in her eyes, not the weight pushing your body down, nothing but getting to Tara. The police would handle the attacker, so you only cared about how Tara was right now.

“She’ll live,” if you were capable of thinking clearly, you’d find it ironic how such a short sentence shook you to your core for the second time in your life. And it was, ironically, the exact opposite of the first time, of the ‘he’s dead’ that broke you all those years ago. At the moment, though, you felt like you were being torn apart and pulled back together at the same time. She’ll live, Judy had told you, the reassurance brought some semblance of clarity to your mind, yet at the same time the simple fact that she needed to clarify that made you feel like you were drowning.

“Y/N, where were you between nine and ten p.m.?” the question barely registered in your mind as you leaned back against the wall and took several deep breaths.

“Work. Woodsbo-Restaurant,” when did your voice become so hoarse? The need to just get inside and find Tara was almost overwhelming but a part of you, the last rational bit of you, managed to keep you rooted to the spot just until Judy told you to get going. Trying to force your way inside would only delay you reaching Tara.

Judy sighed and pulled you into the hospital. “Come on, I’ll take you to her room.”

She guided you through the dark, cold halls, going past the reception and up the stairs to where Tara hopefully was. You were barely aware of the few nurses stopping to look at you, as if surprised by what they were seeing. You didn’t care. None of that mattered at the moment.

You promised you’d do something nice for her and Wes when Tara recovered. Not before that though, you needed to prioritize. And prioritize you did as you walked through the doors to Tara’s room. Your vision became blurry as you looked at her. Still. Pale from blood loss. Attached to medical equipment. You didn’t even realize it when your legs gave out and you crumbled to your knees. All the fighting, all the hits you took, all the times you were struggling to get up, it all paled in comparison to this feeling. The sight in front of you weighed you down so hard you couldn't even struggle to get back up. For the second time in your entire life, you felt like you couldn't move, like nothing could make you move. Tara's steady breathing was the only reason you managed to keep your own breathing steady.

“Tara?” you breathed out, trying to will her to open her eyes and look at you, to show you she’d be fine, but she didn’t. She just laid there, completely still and if it wasn’t for the beeping of her heart rate monitor you were sure you would have gone mad right then and there.

“Y/N!” Judy’s shout felt distant, but you felt her touch on your shoulder.

Your slightly parted mouth closed, jaw clenching so hard you would later wonder how you didn’t crack any of your teeth. In the whirlpool of emotions, you clung to the one that was just arising, anger. “Did you catch whatever did this to her?” the anger burned through your veins. You wanted to hurt whatever did this to her.

“No, whoever did this to her fled. Tara told us it was someone dressed like a Ghostface,” anger turned to wrath. Whatever attacked Tara, that something wearing a damn Ghostface costume, was still out there, free. Oh, you knew violence, and fighting was how you made a living and that was all the difference. You fought in a controlled environment, against a willing and often just as capable opponent, the purpose was to win. Something that attacked Tara was different, the exact opposite, so as tears fell down your face and you clenched your fists a single thought ran through your mind. Ghostface better hope the police catches it.

An irrational part of you thought you should've been there with her. A more rational side argued you haven't spent a night with Tara in the past four months. Another rational argument was that you were at work when the attack happened, so you wouldn't be able to do anything even if you made plans to spend the night at her place. The irrational part argued back that it was supposed to be your day off, so in a perfect world, you would be there to keep her safe.

The world wasn't perfect, but the irrational part of you still kept winning as you got stuck in the loop of what-ifs, regrets, and guilt.

Judy squeezed your shoulder and you looked at her, and she was startled, afraid even, pulling her hand away from you and taking a step back. The pure, unrestrained wrath you felt must have been clear in your eyes. “We’ll catch the one responsible,” Judy promised you as she regained her composure.

You just nodded, getting up from the cold hospital floor and sitting down on the bed next to Tara’s, clearly not willing to leave her side. And Judy understood that, as you vaguely heard her tell some nurses to not even try to separate you from Tara.

For the next twelve hours, the only sound you properly and consistently registered was the heart rate monitor beeping to the rhythm of Tara’s heartbeat. You didn’t speak, you didn’t even look at Tara, you just sat there, hands dangling between your knees and head hung low. The sound calmed you down, it assured you Tara would be fine. It also made you a bit more accepting of doctors and nurses, so when they entered you just observed their every move like a hawk instead of, well, whatever the less appropriate alternative was. Frankly, you weren’t sure what that alternative was, but you knew careful observation was a better option.

A groan shattered the silence and you jumped to your feet only to kind of freeze, not sure of what, if anything, you should do. Tara’s eyes opened slowly and the tension in your body just began fading as her eyes met yours. She blinked a few times, likely confused and still under the effects of the pain killers.

“Y/N,” the sound of her voice, or rather how hoarse it was finally got you to move as you filled a glass of water and helped her take a couple of sips.

“Easy, I got you,” you dropped down to one knee, opting to as gently as you possibly could brush your fingers against the back of her right hand.

Tara looked around, taking in the hospital room she was in, and then her eyes widened, her heart rate sped up, as did her breathing as she frantically looked around for any signs of danger.

“Tara! Tara you’re safe!” you jumped to your feet and cradled her cheek, getting her to look at you. “Okay? You’re safe,” you whispered as her eyes locked with your own, searching for something, anything to cling on to, to anchor herself to and calm down, and she did find it. Her heartbeat gradually normalized as the two of you just remained like that, frozen, with your hand on her cheek, and your left hand gently holding her right hand.

A sob tore through Tara’s throat as she tried to take your hand. “Please, don’t leave me,” she cried out, her eyes filled with fear and yet to be shed tears.

“I won’t. I swear I won’t,” and you’d be damned if you broke that oath. You moved your hand and wiped the tears off her face and Tara, still sobbing, leaned into your touch.

“You promise?” she asked, a bit calmer as she stared into your eyes.

You wanted to hug her, to hold her, to never let her go, but you were afraid you’d hurt her. “I promise. You’re stuck with me until you tell me to leave,” that brought a small smile to Tara’s face and you found yourself smiling back, caressing her cheek.

“Could you help me sit up?” she whispered, still weak, fearful, but reassured that you wouldn’t leave her.

You nodded and carefully moved her. You weren’t absolutely certain about your approach, but you still wrapped your left arm around Tara’s shoulders and gently helped her sit up. Tara leaned back before you could move and rested the back of her head on your left shoulder. You were about to speak but Tara turning her head and looking at you, mere inches away from your face kept your mouth shut. “Let me stay like this for a bit? Please?”

Was it uncomfortable? Definitely. You were sort of leaning back and you could feel your muscles, still somewhat sore from the fight and lack of proper rest, ached a bit as you committed to staying still. Could you make it even more physically uncomfortable? Yes. Would you do it? If Tara let you, you most certainly would. So, you moved your left arm to hug Tara from behind, sort of, it was more like letting your left arm rest beneath her neck to avoid her injuries. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” she closed her eyes, relaxing and just for a moment it felt like everything was fine, like everything was the way it was a few months ago when you would spend countless hours watching movies or shows and Tara would unavoidably end up in your arms. The bubble the two of you created, the illusion of everything being as it should burst the moment Tara accidentally moved her broken leg and winced. “Did they catch him?” she asked, fear and panic once again overtaking her. The heart rate monitor’s beeping getting faster just offered you concrete proof of how much the idea of her attacker not being caught yet affected her.

“Not as far as I know,” and you knew. Despite not leaving the room you did your best to stay informed and as of half an hour ago, there were no news of Ghostface, or anyone really, being caught.

Tara buried her face in the crook of your neck. “I’m so scared Y/N,” she whispered, exhausted to the point of not even having the strength to cry anymore.

“I’m here. I won’t let it hurt you again,” if Tara noticed your refusal to refer to Ghostface as a human being she didn’t comment on it, she just leaned further into your touch. The beeping of the heart rate monitor slowed down, and you felt and heard Tara’s breathing getting even. As exhausted as she was you weren’t surprised, she fell asleep once again.

Tara didn’t tell you to move, or even to let her go, so you didn’t. Aching muscles be damned. That being said, your own exhaustion made it difficult to keep your eyes open and despite the position you were in you still fell asleep for the first time in roughly thirty hours.

~X~

Tara woke up to the smell she came to associate with you, a soft scent that didn’t trigger her asthma, a scent that was quintessentially you, and it felt so right. The feel of your muscular arms around her, keeping her safe, the sound of your breathing near her ear, keeping her calm. Your warmth, your strength, you. For a moment Tara even forgot what happened, but then she raised her left hand and saw the bandages and it all came back.

The knife piercing her flesh, the boot breaking her leg, the pain… The fear. The helplessness! She was all alone and all she could see was that mask, that figure, that knife through her palm. All she could hear was that voice, the security system repeating that her systems were disarmed, the knife going inside her stomach and back. All she could smell was blood, her blood.

She frantically looked around, her eyes wildly looking for any signs of danger, and then, as if you instinctively knew something was wrong you tightened your grip on Tara. Tara’s eyes widened as she turned her head toward you, as she watched your closed eyes, the slight furrow of your brows and a tiny scowl, you clearly weren’t comfortable like this, but she still melted into your touch. The sound of your breathing overtook the sound of Ghostface attacking her. Your warm touch replaced the cold knife. Your scent pushed the scent of blood to the back of Tara’s head. Right then and there you were all Tara could feel.

Tara got her breathing under control, she felt her heartbeat calming down, she relaxed. You were with her. You wouldn’t leave her. You wouldn’t let anyone harm her. You didn’t abandon her, Amber was wrong. Tara now knew that without a doubt. You were here with her, you spent who knows how long watching over her, you did what Amber didn’t. You came when Tara needed you. Despite everything that happened to her, Tara felt safe, you made her feel safe. And she smiled, letting sleep take over once again, at least until a doctor or a nurse came.

~X~

The sleep didn’t last nearly enough to get you back to a hundred percent as not even two hours after you fell asleep you felt fingers brushing against your cheek.

Your entire body felt stiff as a board, and you had to bite back a groan at how uncomfortable you felt right now.

“Y/N, you’ll get stiff like that,” there was a tiny hint of amusement in Tara’s voice, and like the hopelessly in love sucker you were you thought it was completely worth it.

“You think?” you smirked a bit and finally managed to open your eyes and look at her, she was no longer as pale as she was last night, but she still looked tired.

“I sent a text to Amber,” Tara said, making it clear she was awake for some time. Her phone was in her lap, and you definitely didn’t give it to her so someone else was here while you were sleeping.

“Damn, how come I didn’t wake up?” you groaned. So much for keeping her safe, you were so tired you didn’t even wake up until she touched your cheek.

“I do have that effect on you,” and the playful teasing was back, along with a slightly mischievous smile. Good. She was messing with you and for once you would let her do it. Also, well, you couldn’t really deny it, you did have a heavier sleep when Tara was with you.

“Yeah, let me get up before Amber sees those effects you speak of,” alright, maybe you couldn’t completely let her off the hook for teasing you. The beeping sped up again, not by much, but seeing as you were listening to that beeping for half a day you could tell the difference.

“Amber isn’t here,” there wasn’t any anger or any other negative emotion in Tara’s voice, but between her words, the additional acceleration of her heartbeat, and the way she was looking at you, you could understand the unspoken half of that sentence. You were here.

You were with her, as if there was any way you wouldn’t be with her in this situation. And, if allowed, you were going to make sure you remained with her from now on.

A/N: And the reader can cook, because why not. Tara shall get spoiled with good food! Anyway, this is moving a bit slowly, so I’m hoping to make the next chapter longer.

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#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter #scream #jenna ortega x reader #x reader #x female reader

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dira333 · 1 year ago

Text

the manly cold

Bones x reader

The first time you meet Leonard McCoy you are in your third year in the Academy and it’s almost a year after Jim Kirk, the troublemaker, has managed to find you yet again.

The first time you meet Leonard McCoy is when Jim, the whiny idiot, manages to call both of you for help at the same time and when you show up in your sweaty work out clothes there’s this handsome guy where your nuisance of a friend from Iowa should be.

“Who are you?” You ask each other at exactly the same time.

“I asked first,” he’s just a tiny bit faster than you.

“Y/N,” you wipe your hand on your trousers and offer it to him, “The girl that beat his ass eleven times in a row.”

“Ah,” he says and in the way he lifts the left corner of his mouth, just the tiniest bit tells you that Jim’s told him about you. That sucker.

“And you?” You ask when he doesn’t speak quick enough for your liking.

“Leonard McCoy. The one guy he keeps pestering.”

“Ah,” you smile and grab his hand to shake it, “You’re the doctor that threw up on him.”

He forces a smile and pulls back his hand and you realize that yes, your flirting skills are indeed hopeless.

If you had hoped for Jim’s charm to step in where you lacked in basically everything, you should have known better. Especially on a day like this, when he had summoned you with nothing more but an “I’m dying!” text, a clear sign that he was getting sick.

And as you shove open the door to his room with your regular dose of impatience, he barely lifts his head from his pillow to groan.

“I can’t breathe!” He gasps, his stuffy nose contorting his voice.

“Oh, shut up, that’s just a cold,” Dr. McCoy announces from behind you and steps forward.

“It’s the manly cold,” you explain, making your way over into the small kitchen, “And the only remedies I know are homemade soup and a lot of attention,” You call over your head but stop short when you hear a pained groan.

“I believe in a more advanced therapy,” the Doctor says as he pulls the hypospray away from Jim’s neck.

You smirk. “Who said Doctor’s aren’t worth anything?”

“I don’t know,” he answers calmly, “Who said that?”

Yeah, you definitely need to work on your social skills.

A bit more than a year later you graduate from the Academy, leaving behind nothing more but a soup recipe taped to Jim’s fridge and a rather stiff hug.

“Don’t forget to keep in touch,” Jim reminds you.

“I tried that when I left Iowa and you tracked me down anyway,” you joke, “I don’t dare to try it again.”

“I could become your new captain,” he jokes and you hiss in exaggerated shock.

A part of you wants to say goodbye to his friend too. The good-looking, funny in his one way, Doctor friend whose presence has you make a fool of yourself every single time. But then again, it’s probably better this way.

“Tell the Doctor, I said hi,” you tell Jim instead and clap him on the shoulder, “Don’t annoy him too much.”

“He’s gonna have to make my soup.”

“Or you just gonna learn how to do it yourself.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “Just leave.”

And that could have been it. That could have been the quirky story you tell over drinks when you go on shore leave about the way you sucked at flirting when you were young.

But Jim had to be Jim. A bit of an ass most of the time, but a genius one.

He called you once a month to complain about the Academy, his workload, a girl that dumped him or just about anything else. His natural charm and the fact that you kind of missed him made it easy to just talk and joke and laugh for the better part of an hour until it was time to hang up and every single time he called it turned out that McCoy had been in the room, out of your sight but always close enough to listen to.

“Don’t call me when you have a friend over,” you chastised him, but he grinned and winked and you knew that he knew that- yeah, better not talk about it.

And that could have been it. That could have been your friend from the Academy that tried to set you up with a cute guy in the worst way possible.

But Jim had to be Jim. A total genius with ideas that made him a magnet for everything crazy.

First he almost got thrown out, then he was suddenly on the Enterprise, then he got thrown out - literally - but from the Enterprise and not the Academy and then, you always got that a bit mixed in your head, no matter how many times he told you the story, he met the future self of that green-blooded guy from his ship, but in old and from another timeline… or something like that.

And in a way that only Jim could, he saved the world, his Captain’s life and got, almost like by accident, not only his place in the academy back, but also the position of the Captain, on the Enterprise of all ships.

“I could hire you,” he had told you right away in your next phone call, “You get over here from that murky cold system you’re currently traveling through and work for me. I mean Cupcake’s doing a good job, but I can use more people in Security who can effectively kick my ass.”

“I have a good job here,” you tell him, sparing yourself the Cupcake story for another time.

“I’m sure Bones would like to have you here too,” Jim tried and you glared at him.

“Ask me again when you can be a Captain that doesn’t try to annoy me every five seconds.”

“Deal.”

And that could have been it.

But Jim had to be Jim.

And when you picked up another call, it wasn’t his voice coming through, but that of McCoy.

“Listen,” he said with urgency in his voice, “We need you here.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Kid just broke more laws than I can count right now and lied about it in his report. If we’re lucky, he’s going to get a reprimand, but I think he’s running out of luck.”

“I can take my break,” you said, “And be in San Francisco in a week.”

He sighed and you closed your eyes, savoring the fact that this conversation might have a terrible topic, but you wouldn’t have thought of the two of you talking like this to be possible. He seemed to think the same thing.

“Looks like you can talk normally around me after all,” he tried to joke and you can’t help but grunt.

“Looks like you don’t make me that nervous when you’re not standing in the same room as me.”

You bite your tongue and close your eyes in pain.

No, your flirting skills will probably never improve.

“I gotta go, ask for my break. See you… maybe, someday, I don’t know, bye.”

But when you show up in San Francisco, you’ve come too late.

The one guy that’s actually willing to tell you something is Jim’s Chief Engineer, Scotty something, who talks a lot and drinks even more.

He lets you sit there, shocked and speechless, as he tells you what has happened, things Jim hasn’t even bothered to mention.

The fact that Christopher Pike died. That Jim went out for revenge.

That, just by a hair’s breadth, none of them would have survived.

And that Jim had not just died but had come back to life again because of some crazy blood thing. Scotty something explained that working with Jim’s sheer amount of luck and the crazy talent their CMO must have.

“Can I go see him?” Are the first words you get out and you’re not entirely sure if you’re only talking about Jim.

“Sure thing, Lassie, just go up and tell them Scotty’s sent you.”

When Leonard steps out of Jim’s room, he can’t remember the last time he’s had sleep, but that he needs coffee, urgently. But then he sees you sitting on one of the terrible chairs in the hallways, shoulders slumped, a bag next to your feet.

You jump up the moment you notice him, cross the hallway and hug him with a strength that probably shouldn’t surprise him. You work in security, after all.

“I am so so so so glad he has you as a friend,” you breathe into his shoulder and step back immediately, “I made soup. I know it’s not the manly cold, but it usually helps when Jim complains about being sick and-”

“He’s going to be fine. I hope. I wish. I don’t know, I just…” He lets out a breath. “You make me nervous too.”

He doesn’t know how he expects you to react. You surprise him anyway.

“I don’t know if my soup helps with that too,” you tell him, a smile on your lips, “But if you leave Jim at least half of it, we can try.”

Now that could have been it. A story about getting together, just as quirky as each part of the couple itself.

But Jim just had to be Jim.

And now you’re stuck with your husband in a cabin in the middle of snowy nowhere in something that was supposed to be a cozy holiday.

Cozy, because Jim had taken everything medical looking away from Leonard, telling him to relax during his shore leave.

And what had Leonard done?

He had gotten a cold. A manly cold.

“Soup’s ready!” You call from the kitchen and the groaning from the bedroom sounds just the tiniest bit less like dying whale and more like a happy whale.

Well, you’ve got your experience with manly colds, after all.

#my writing #Star Trek x reader #Star Trek AOS #Bones AOS #Bones x reader #leonard mccoy #leonard mccoy x reader

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