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amxwolf · 3 years ago

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Here is why conventional healthful-thinking is not working on Millennials.

Have you ever had that terrifying dream where you are stuck in a dark forest or sketchy alley, frantically running for your life from some kind of feral monster or mad man? Most of us can personally recall at least once being roused from sleep in a cold sweat because their brain had spent the last few hours perfecting the latent image of a made-to-order nightmare. While that experience is certainly not exclusive to Millennials (rather quite the opposite), the waking reaction or at least how it is processed later by this roughly categorized group of mislabeled people is unique to say the least.

For years now, people in marketing have been fervently dissecting and attempting to recreate what has been loosely categorized as "Millennial Humor". And in all of their efforts to connect with this flock of black sheep, the grand majority of them seem to be missing a key factor in the psychology at work here. For all the unwarrantable bilge that modern advertising haphazardly cobbles together, only a small percentage of the nonsense is seasoned perfectly with the secret ingredient. What is this singular spice? Well, while indulgent to profess and speculative, from someone "sitting in millennial class”, it's obvious: A touch of salt.

Never will I sit here and cry to the general public about how unhappy I am that the modern advertising industry is just not scratching my itch for the wares it’s peddling, but I think it's important for us now to look at how this systemic lack of understanding is reaching beyond the world of subliminal profiteering. Society has other significant quality-of-life effecting systems that are also missing the mark when trying to aim and reach out to help this specific group of people. Puns aside, "a touch of salt" as I quipped, is flavoring the lives of a lot of people in their mid to late 20's and early 40's. And the most frustrating and difficult to reconcile attempts that I personally have made to better myself, have been those that were guided by people who just cannot seem to put their brain into that salty head space.

For example, trying to focus on and internalize a well-organized medical presentation about the encompassing negative effects of stress or insomnia and its seemly simple solution of just "changing your thinking", is about as easily digestible as a two-decade-year-old fruitcake for someone who is imprisoned daily by the symptoms of chronic stress. While I may sit there and give listening (ironically) "the old college try", the sound quickly turns to fuzzy white noise the deeper the lecture dives into positive thinking.

You see, Millennials are not generally fluent in positive thinking. More and more of them seem to be speaking a very distinctive dialect of realism, which incorporates a robustly cultivated sense of sarcasm and a somewhat grim shade of hopelessness. A lot of millennials grew up with a laughably poetic twist on "Growing Up" and "Being Successful", which in turn has colored their day-to-day interactions and created this defeatism-culture. Millennials will openly joke about their death as a needed release, their eulogy as a retirement card, or emotionally decompile themselves over something simple like saying "you too" in a situation that doesn't warrant it.

A good percentage of Millennials were old enough to understand the destructive consequences of the most recent housing market disaster on a very personal level; At an impressionable age, watching their own parents, who may have worked excruciatingly hard at the expense of any number of personal or family goals, lose just about everything resonated in a way that cannot be unheard. Then add the borderline criminal and unscrupulous "sheep-shearing" that became common place when the generation was herded off to college, trade school, or other form of career-building education. Not to mention the fact that upon completing said programs, a proverbial "step-in-the-right direction", a substantial number of these "hopeless wanderers" were faced with yet another barbed-wire hurdle when the job market in countless fields were oversaturated with potential employees. Many positions had not been vacated as they normally would have been with the age of retirement being stretched further and further down the road due to increased cost of living and financial demands; the finish line or lap marker was just not getting any closer. To add insult to injury, Millennials, sometimes unbelievably hardworking, are frequently being listed as perpetuators of the clashing reality we have today. This being what the modern media is calling "The Great Resignation"; a dubious combination of a labor shortage amidst an unemployment spike fueled by uncompetitive wages left unchecked, the government's inability to reel in the situation, and a general devaluing of laborers overall.

Oh. And also, we were killing the diamond industry at the same time. Or was it simultaneously the marriage and divorce industry? Wait! I think it was cinema? Or no....maybe it was fabric softener. For a complete dissertation of all the things Millennials brutally murdered over the last two decades, perhaps I'll include a link below if for no other reason to drive my point home.

You have this group of people who are conditioned to endlessly swimming upstream, against the current, with nothing but chastising and bitterness to listen to. So, when it comes to something universal like learning to "sleep better" or "problem solving", the indifferent but somehow time-honored approach of saying "it's as easy as just taking control" is over time if not immediately rejected as dissonant information.

These people don't feel like they have control; some of them feel like they never had any to begin with.

Why is this a problem?

Our society is not developing a taste for "salt" at a pace in which it can prepare social-sustenance for its population. We're not getting any younger, and neither are the generations in front of us.

Millennials are already, by some definitions the mass-population of workers, voters, and other titles that we've yet to embrace. And our lack of interest is not because we do not have a passion for positive change (even on a global scale). Millennials have voiced over time that they feel they are the silent majority amidst a group of people who will not give them breathing room and don't respect the validity of their opinions and ambitions. And it is by no means restricted to one region or country on this planet. This is a global phenomenon.

I could spin a vast yarn about the political ramifications of continuing to exclude the Millennials from the metaphoric Counsel of Elders, but I'm more concerned about the neglect that is spreading elsewhere. We need our leaders in the medical and social fields to really respect and dig deep into how to incorporate "Millennial Thinking" into their treatment and development plans. A large amount of the global population is going to need carefully tailored treatment for things as old as depression, bi-polar tendencies, or schizophrenia as well as newly discovered mental encumbrances like imposter-syndrome.

While “positive-thinking” may have been easily cultivated in the past, we may need to start from a more negative approach and build from there to educate and treat a group of down-on-their-luck millions. Pumping drugs into a populace is not going to permanently patch the leak either, so there truly is precedence for a rehashing of how we should prioritize mental health in modern society.

Stop spending so much time and energy assigning blame to modern technologies and social norms. Are these going away? No? In that case, those things are much like our other daily stresses that are unavoidable. Yes, you can change your nightly routine to de-stress the same way that you can change a job or a daily commute, but there needs to be a fundamental shift in accountability divvied to circumstances out of a person's control rather than scolding them for not being able to manage it.

Do I have all the answers? No.

But this was less about offering a solid a solution and more about opening a dialogue. A starting point.

So yeah. I've had that dream of being chased through the woods by a life-leeching alien. It felt very similar to being sucked dry of my pitiful wages for an education that was at the time, barely panning out. Even now, as a 32-year-old, slightly more successful version of the starving student I've become, I still feel as though my rat race will end when my heart gives out; and all I can hope for is enough money when I drop to cover the ambulance ride to the over-crowded emergency room and a large pit to rot in. But I just hope that the generation behind me has the benefit of a system that understands how to create and sustain “Millennial Inspired” social structures that will allow them to flourish in what little we can leave behind for them.

Also, could you pass the salt?

#rant #millenials #heavy thoughts #random thoughts #seriously though modern mental medicine is a joke

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officialleehadan · 5 years ago

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Adrienne looked around as she stepped off the river boat and onto the docks of Forest Hall.

The town was nestled at the edge of a wide lake, in between two towering hills that were almost mountains themselves, and were backed by higher peaks themselves. The town itself, named for the thick, ancient forest that surrounded it, spread between the hills and up them, the higher houses glittering with gold and hard tile on the eves, while the lower ones fluttered with flags.

The market, of course, was the town’s greatest landmark. It rolled through town, al the way to the edge of the lake and the docks there.

“Welcome to Forest Hall, Lady Dria,” Gembis said. He straightened his tunic with a quick yank and straightened, his eyes on the city, and his expression of a man who had missed his home. “Welcome back, I should say. You are here often, are you not?”

“Often enough,” Adrienne said, and looked over the town. For a moment, she struggled with the odd familiarity of the place where she had spent hours, maybe days, of her time. She knew this city, for all that she had never set a foot on these streets. This was the place she came when she just needed to run simple little crafting missions to relax.

This was home.

“Thank you,” she said when she realized that Gembis was waiting for something more, and dug in her pocket for a little bag. He hadn’t asked any payment, but he wasn’t a rich man, and he had helped her. “If you need me, leave word at the Fighter’s Guild. They can get word to me anywhere in the kingdom.”

That was new too, but Yvarian had stopped at the Mage’s Guild, of which he was a member as she was of the Fighters, and confirmed that as well. The game had a mechanic where quests could spawn from characters a player helped in the past.

It turned out to be more like a glorified mail delivery, combined with a magical telegraph system.

But it was useful, and that was what really mattered.

“You are always so generous,” Gembis said, and tentatively offered his arms for a hug. During the voyage, he told her about his daughters, two of which were just about her age, and the third who was newly married. She strongly suspected that, if she was not a hero, and on her way elsewhere, he would insist she spend her time in Forest Hall with his family. “I hope this is not to forwards, but I count you among my daughters. If every you need aid, come find us and we will help however we can.”

Adrienne stood on her toes to kiss his whiskered cheek and smiled up at him. “You’re a good man. Go off to your family, Gembis. Thank you for everything.”

The scroll at her hip chimed, and Adrienne waved goodbye to Gembis as she pulled it off her hip.

(I’m in the mage-market, ) Yvarian wrote, the words appearing in sharp gold ink below their earlier conversations. (Meet you there?)

(See you soon,) Adrienne wrote back and tucked the scroll onto her belt before heading off into the market, her pack over her shoulder comfortably. The crowd around her was a wild mix of races and cultures, and she took it all in with the wonder of seeing her favorite game made real.

There were some things, she decided, that were alright about this whole venture. The market was incredible, separated first by types of sellers, from food to weapons to mage-supplies, and farther by the sort of wares they peddled. She passed heady stalls of fruit, rich with citrus and other tropical fruit, and stopped to buy herself a skewer of odd, but tasty cut fruit on her way.

On and on she went through the market, until at last, she reached the mage-market, dedicated to everything a mage might need to practice their craft.

There were spices here too, and herbs, but they tended towards the wildly exotic. Another stall had crystals of every imaginable shape and size. Still another offered beautifully-carved staves, unspelled, but set with everything a mage would need to craft a truly powerful weapon for themselves.

“Adrienne?”

The sound of her name, her real name, made Adrienne turn, and she froze when she met eyes that were familiar in a way she never expected. He was tall, and handsome, with flaming red hair, and dressed in the heavy white robes, with a staff in one hand, and a skull-pommel dagger on his belt.

“Patrick?” she gasped, and stared at him. Of al the people she expected to be Yvarian, the persistent headache of her dorm was not him. She and Patrick were not friends, and routinely snapped at each other. “You- you’re…?”

“Yeah,” Patrick said, and shifted from one foot to the other as the crowd around them parted to give him wide berth. After all, he was every inch a powerful necromancer, and not to be trifled with. No one wanted to cross a sorcerer who could kill you badly, Raise you, and kill you again. “I can’t… I can’t believe this. Everything. You’re real, right? I’m not imagining you?”

Now that he was in front of her, Adrienne didn’t know what to do with herself. On one hand, they were friends, married, even, sort of, and had spent hours playing together. On the other, it was Patrick, the same man who set up a ranking system for every woman on campus, complete with beauty ratings, and probability of cheating.

“I’m real,” she said carefully, and followed when he nodded to an out-of-the-way nook beside a fountain, where they could talk without blocking traffic. “How was the ride? I- sorry. That’s stupid. I don’t know what to say.”

“Me either,” he shrugged as they sat, the rushing water beside them filling the awkward silence. “Let’s start at the beginning, I guess, right? We’re both here for that end-game quest. Maybe if we complete it, we can get home. What do you say? Partners?”

He offered a hand, and Adrienne weighed her options, questioning herself over and over, until finally, she shook his hand once, and stuffed her worries in a sack. It was Yvarian. Maybe Patrick was an asshole, but Yvarian, they were friends. She could give him a chance, and at least she wouldn’t have to go on alone.

“Partners.”

+++

Cybersecurity 101

Adrienne is one of her server’s top players, but the game is more than a game, and she will have to face love, and betrayal, to survive.

Cyber Finals

For the Experience

A Quest Never Completed

Reorienting Home (Subscriber Only!)

Skills Already Known (Subscriber Only!)

Finish Them! (Free on Patreon!)

Down the River Boat (Free on Patreon!)

Lily Shine (Subscriber Only!)

+++

MORE STORIES!

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callmehopeless · 5 years ago

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Every time a new trailer comes out I become more certain that people on Tumblr can't tag for shit

I've got Reylo blocked and every second post is still a Reylo post? Can you peddle your subpar wares elsewhere?

#fuck off out of here #star wars #reylo discourse #i dont want it

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bechloeislegit · 5 years ago

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BeChloe Week 2019 - DAY 8

SOFTBALL

Aubrey Posen and her best friend, Chloe Beale, stood outside Bellas staring at the new bar that was built right across the street from theirs. Fat Amy's had only been open for two months and Bellas had already lost several really good customers. It was starting to hit Aubrey's bottom line.

"I can't believe the city allowed them to build their bar across the street from ours," Aubrey said, seething. "And, they've got a line of people waiting to get in. What's so great about that bar?"

"I think we need to go on a recon mission," Chloe said. "I'll take Jessica and we'll go see why everyone is lining up to get in."

"That's not a bad idea," Aubrey said. "Get Jessica and go over there now. You can be back before we get too busy."

"Okay," Chloe said and went back inside to get Jessica.

Aubrey stood outside glaring at the bar across the street until Chloe and Jessica came back out. They had changed out of their uniforms and into their street clothes.

"We got this, boss," Jessica told Aubrey.

"Wait," Chloe said and unbuttoned two buttons on Jessica's blouse. She pulled them slightly to the side so more of Jessica's cleavage could be seen.

"Good idea," Aubrey said.

Chloe smiled and took her hair tie out and ran her hands through her hair, fluffing it up a bit. She untucked her shirt and unbuttoned all the buttons. She then pulled the ends together and tied it in a knot, allowing her sports bra to show.

"Looking sexy, Chloe," Jessica said.

"Look at the people in line," Chloe said. "We have to stand out and get noticed. Let's do this."

Aubrey grabbed Choe's arm as they started to walk off.

"If you can, take pictures," Aubrey said. "And, have a drink. I want to see if their bartenders are any good."

"Anything else?" Chloe asked.

"I'll text you if I think of anything," Aubrey said. "Keep your phones on."

"Got it," Chloe said. "Come on, Jess."

Chloe and Jessica hurried across the street and headed for the back of the line.

"Hey, Red!" Chloe turned to see if someone was shouting at her. "Over here."

Chloe saw the bouncer waving her over. She grabbed Jessica's arm and they made their way to the bouncer.

"You don't think he knows we work for Bellas, do you?" Chloe asked Jessica.

"I don't think so," Jessica said.

Both girls were now nervous. The reached the bouncer and stood nervously in front of him.

"You ladies want to get into Fat Amy's?" He asked with a smile as he looked them up and down.

"Um, yeah, we do," Chloe said, striking a pose with her chest out and a hand on her hip.

"Ever been here before?" he asked.

"No, this is our first time," Jessica responded.

"Well, my orders are let only the prettiest people in," the bouncer said. He moved the rope out of the way and smiled. "Welcome to Fat Amy's," the bouncer said as he waved them in. "Enjoy yourselves."

The crowd starting yelling because they had been waiting a while to get in, but Chloe and Jessica didn't care.

"Thank you," they said as they entered Fat Amy's.

"No cover charge," Chloe said. "We'll have to tell Brey about that. No wonder people are lining up to get in."

"Wow," Jessica said. "The music is good. Really good."

"I know," Chloe said, chewing her bottom lip nervously. "Let's get a drink."

Jessica followed Chloe to the bar and ordered their drinks. Chloe took a sip of hers and said, "Oh, my God! That is so good."

"Mine, too," Jessica said. "I'm worried. This place is awesome and modern. Aubrey's going to have a lot of trouble keeping customers if she keeps playing the same old jukebox music and doesn't hire some real bartenders."

"This is bad," Chloe said as she continued to look around.

"What's bad?" A blonde woman with an Australian accent asked. "Is it your drink? Who made it? I'll fire them on the spot."

"No, no," Chloe reassured her. "The drink is great. I was just saying this is bad, because, um, it wouldn't take much to get me drunk off of these. They are sooooo good."

"So, you run the place?" Jessica asked.

"I own the place," the woman said. "Fat Amy's the name."

"You call yourself Fat Amy?" Chloe asked.

"Yeah," Amy said. "So twig bitches like you don't say it behind my back."

"I'll drink to that," Jessica said, holding up her glass. Amy clinked their glasses and took a healthy gulp from hers.

"So, do either of you ladies need a job?" Amy asked.

"What?" Chloe asked, wide-eyed.

"I only hire pretty people to work here at Fat Amy's," Amy said. "You two are pretty people. I pay well and we are like a family here."

Jessica and Chloe just looked at her. "Think about it and come by during the day sometime if you're interested. Hey, Ashley!"

"Yeah, Amy?" Ashley, the bartender, called back.

"The next two drinks for these girls are on me," Amy said. "Have fun, ladies!"

With that, Amy was off and mixing into the crowd.

"What can I get you, ladies?" Ashley asked.

Jessica smiled and said, "Surprise me."

"I'll have whatever you make her," Chloe said.

Ashley grabbed a glass and started tossing bottles around while she made their drinks. Jessica and Chloe watched, mesmerized as Ashley performed a show. Ashley finished with a flourish and pushed the drinks toward Chloe and Jessica.

"Wow," was all Jessica could say. She took a sip of the drink and actually moaned at how good it was. "This is amazing!"

Chloe took a sip and was nodding her head in appreciation. The drink truly was amazing. "How did you learn how to do all that?"

"I went to school to become a mixologist," Ashley said. "Every bartender here is a certified mixologist." Another customer got Ashley's attention. "I have to go. Come see me when you're ready for another surprise."

Ashley winked at Jessica and moved farther down the bar.

"This is trouble," Chloe said. "We should probably go to tell Brey."

"We need to get pictures," Jessica said as she sipped at her drink. "Let's go dance and pretend to take pictures of each other so we can get everything."

"Good idea," Chloe said and led Jessica to the dance floor.

The two danced and took pictures of the club. Chloe was startled when a voice came through the speakers.

"Okay, ladies and gents," a somewhat sultry voice said. "I'm gonna slow it down a bit, so grab a partner and get to it."

"There's a DJ?" Chloe asked as she looked around. "Where are they?"

Jessica moved back and noticed a platform suspended above the dance floor.

"Up there," Jessica said and pointed up.

Chloe stepped back and looked up. "Whoa! No wonder the music is so good. They have a live DJ."

"Add the music to the list of awesome things about this place," Jessica said.

Chloe looked at Jessica with a frown. "We should go. Brey is going flip out when we tell her about all this."

Jessica sighed and nodded. The two girls left Fat Amy's and went back to Bellas.

~ SOFTBALL ~

Aubrey sat with her head in her hands. "Is that it?"

"Yeah," Chloe said, sitting in a chair across from Aubrey.

"How can we compete with that?" Aubrey asked. "We don't have the money to make drastic changes or upgrades"

"Maybe we start slow," Chloe said. "Train our bartenders to become mixologists. Or hire certified mixologists."

"That's still going to cost us money," Aubrey said.

"You're going to have to spend money to make money," Jessica said.

"Why don't we add karaoke?" Chloe suggested. "People like karaoke."

"That's not a bad idea," Jessica said. "Live music is great, but letting people get up and sing will bring in a bigger crowd."

Aubrey nodded. "That is a good idea. Chloe, can you find someone to run it for us?"

"I'll start making calls tomorrow," Chloe said. "It's really late. Come on, Brey. We should go home. We can worry about this tomorrow."

~ SOFTBALL ~

Two months later, Bellas was giving Fat Amy's some serious competition. Karaoke became a nightly thing and Bellas was filled to capacity four out of seven nights a week. Aubrey trained the bartenders and now all were certified mixologists. People loved the throwback feel when the jukebox played during breaks in between karaoke sets.

Aubrey was smiling as she made her way around the bar. She looked up when she saw a leggy brunette enter with a blonde.

"Brey, that's Fat Amy," Chloe said as she ran up to her. "She owns Fat Amy's. What is she doing here?"

"Probably came to check on the competition," Aubrey said with a smug smile.

The blonde and the brunette walked over to the bar and ordered shots. The bartender tossed a few bottles and made a big show of pouring the shots.

"They stole our moves, Stacie," Amy said.

Stacie and Amy downed their shots and started looking around. "Hey, that redhead was at the club not too long ago. I bet she was there to spy on us."

"Come on, Amy," Stacie said. "Every bar has bartenders who do fancy moves to mix drinks. Plus, we're doing the same thing you claim the redhead did."

"Hey, bartender," Amy called out.

"The name's Emily," the bartender said. "Want another shot?"

"No, thanks," Stacie said. "We're looking for the owner."

Emily stretched her neck and looked around. "See that redhead over there," Emily said, pointing at Chloe. "She and the blonde next to her are the owners."

"Thanks," Stacie said, winking at the girl.

Stacie grabbed Amy's arm and made their way over to Aubrey and Chloe.

"Are you two the owners?" Stacie asked.

"We are," Aubrey responded.

"You stole my ideas," Amy said, waving her arms around.

"Excuse me?" Aubrey said, looking down her nose at Amy. "We didn't steal anything."

"I know Red here was in my bar a few months ago," Amy said. "And now you're suddenly flush with customers. My customers."

"You own these people?" Aubrey asked with a laugh. "They come here because we have karaoke and great drinks. Plus, dancing."

"Why can't we both share in the wealth?" Chloe asked. "You have your regulars and we have ours. Sometimes they go to your place for a change of pace. Sometimes they come here. We can both keep doing what we're doing and get along."

"Look, Pollyanna," Amy said. "This town isn't big enough for both of us. You need to peddle your wares elsewhere."

Aubrey laughed. "Are we in a bad western? Look, we were here first. If you can't stand the heat, then you should be the one to get out of the kitchen."

Amy and Aubrey glared at each other. Chloe finally spoke up.

"Let's have a competition," Chloe said. "No one has to shut down or anything. Instead, we make a promise that we won't enter the other's establishment without an invitation. That way, whatever new thing one of us does, the other cannot copy."

"That sounds reasonable, Amy," Stacie said. She looked at Chloe. "What kind of competition were you thinking?"

"Nothing that has to do with the bar or music," Chloe said and thought for a minute. Her face lit up as she asked, "How about softball?"

"Softball is good," Aubrey said with a sly smile. "I'll accept that."

Amy narrowed her eyes and glared at Aubrey. Something didn't feel right and she felt like she was being played.

"Could you give us a minute?" Stacie asked and grabbed Amy's arm and walked a few feet away. "You know Beca's a great softball player. And Ashley, Lily, and CR played in college. We can do this and win."

"Okay," Amy said.

Amy and Stacie went back over to Aubrey and Chloe. "We're in. What are the rules or conditions for this?"

The four women sat down and hashed out the details. After a bit of back and forth, they were ready.

"Okay," Aubrey said. "The game will be held one month from today. There will be no more than three men on either team on the field at one time. We will play five innings. If at the end of those five innings we are tied, we will continue playing until there is a winner. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Amy said.

Amy and Stacie left Bellas and Aubrey sat back with a smile. "Playing softball was a great idea, Chlo. They don't know what they're in for."

~ SOFTBALL ~

"Alright, Beca," Amy said, holding the brunette by the shoulders. "We're counting on you to help bring us home the win."

Beca looked over at the other team. "You do know that the tall blonde and the redhead standing next to her are former State All-Stars, right?"

"What?" Amy said and turned to look at Aubrey and Chloe. "No wonder they suggested softball. They're ringers."

"Um, didn't you do the same thing?" Beca asked. "You have me, Lily, Ashley, and Emily who've all played at both the High School and college level."

"That's different," Amy said and picked up her clipboard. She pulled off a page and handed it to Beca.

"What's this?"

"That's our roster," Amy said. "Take it over to blondie and get theirs."

"Okay," Beca said and made her way to the other dugout.

Aubrey and Chloe had their backs to Beca when she walked up.

"Brey, I'm telling you that is Beca Mitchell," Chloe said. "I'd recognize her anywhere."

Beca smiled as she stood behind Aubrey and Chloe.

"How can you be so sure?" Aubrey said. "It's been seven years."

"You know I had a major crush on her," Chloe said. "I'd recognize her anywhere. Except I think she's even hotter now."

"Keep it in your pants, Chloe," Aubrey said. "We can still win this. We have us, Jessica, and Tom. We were all State All-Stars."

"But, Beca was a National All-Star," Chloe said. "For four years straight. She was so good. And I so wanted to ask her out."

"So, why didn't you?" Beca asked.

Aubrey and Chloe both whipped around to see Beca standing there, smiling at them. "I would have said yes," she added and winked at Chloe.

"Be-Beca Mitchell?" Chloe stammered. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, Beale," Beca said. "Playing softball. I have our roster here. And I need yours."

"I'll get it," Aubrey said and hurried away.

"So, you had a crush on me," Beca said. "I wish I'd known because I had a major crush on you, too."

"You did?" Chloe asked.

"Yeah, I did," Beca said. "Maybe still do."

"Here you go," Aubrey said, handing the roster to Beca.

"Thanks," Beca said. "See you on the field." Beca started to walk away but stopped and turned to face Chloe. "Maybe you should ask me out after the game. I'll probably say yes."

Beca winked at Chloe again and turned and walked away. All Chloe could do was watch her.

"Chloe, come on," Aubrey said. "Get your head in the game. She's trying to fluster you."

"It's working," Chloe mumbled.

~ SOFTBALL ~

The game was in its third inning and the score was tied 1-1. Beca was pitching and Aubrey was in the batter's box looking at a 3-2 count. There was a runner on second and one out.

Beca pitched the ball and Aubrey swung. The ball was a line drive straight at Beca. Beca threw her left hand up and caught the ball barehanded. She turned and tossed the ball to Ashley at second base easily getting the third out as the runner was already halfway to third when Beca caught the ball.

The inning was over and Amy and Stacie ran to Beca to make sure she was okay.

"I'm fine," Beca said. "My hand stings a bit, but I'm fine. Don't worry."

The inning was moving along slowly. Beca's hand started to hurt and was throbbing, but she kept it hidden from the others. It was beginning to swell and she's afraid it may be broken. She looked down at her hand and shook her head.

"DJ Mitch, you're on deck," Stacie called out.

Beca looked up and grabbed a bat in her right hand. She made her way to the deck circle and tried to take a few swings. Her hand was definitely injured and she could not continue.

Beca stepped out of the circle and called out, "Amy, Stacie." They both looked over to her and she waved them over.

Stacie and Amy hurried over. "What's up, shortstuff?" Amy asked.

"I, uh, think my hand's broken," Beca said, holding her left arm up with her right hand.

"Jesus, Beca," Stacie said, looking at her hand. She gently held Beca's wrist as she examined her hand. "We need to get you to the hospital."

"Ump, we need a time out," Amy shouted to the umpire.

"You got two minutes," the umpire shouted back and called time on the field.

Chloe and Jessica ran over to Aubrey on the pitcher's mound.

"What's going on?" Chloe asked.

"I don't know," Aubrey said. "But it looks like it has something to do with Beca."

Chloe looked over and saw Stacie examining Beca's hand. "Oh, my gosh. Do you think her hand is broken?"

"I, uh, I don't know," Aubrey said. "She did catch my hit barehanded. It was a line drive so it had to hurt."

"But, she threw Lisa out at second," Jessica said.

"Probably didn't feel anything because of the adrenalin," Chloe said.

"Let's go, ladies," the umpire called out.

"We can't," Stacie said and the umpire walked over to see what was going on.

"Oh, wow," the umpire said. "You need to get her to the hospital."

"We know," Beca said through gritted teeth. "We don't have anyone to substitute in for me."

"Then you'll have to forfeit," the umpire said.

"No," Amy whined.

"Amy, Beca's got a broken hand," Stacie said. "There's no way she can continue. We have to forfeit. Come on, Beca, I'll drive you to the hospital."

"Fine," Amy said. "I'll inform Aubrey."

Stacie gathered up her and Beca's stuff while Amy waved her team out of the dugout and made their way to Aubrey and Chloe on the pitcher's mound. The rest of Aubrey's team ran in to stand behind their bosses, unsure of what was happening.

"Um, we have to forfeit," Amy said as she stood in front of Aubrey and Chloe. "It appears that Beca broke her hand."

Stacie was leading Beca toward the parking lot.

"Oh," Chloe said and looked over to see Beca walking with Stacie.

Chloe chewed her bottom lip and made a decision. She pushed away from Aubrey and went running over to Beca and Stacie.

"Beca, wait," Chloe called out.

Beca and Stacie stopped and turned around.

"I'll meet you at the car," Stacie said. "Don't take too long."

"I won't," Beca said as Stacie walked away. She turned to face Chloe, holding her hand to her chest. "What's up, Chloe?"

"The game is over," Chloe said.

"I'm aware," Beca said, holding her hand up a bit. "Are you here to gloat because we had to forfeit?"

"No, I'm here to ask you out because the game is over," Chloe said, smiling. "You said I should."

Beca smiled. "I also said I'd probably say yes."

"Well? Are you?" Chloe asked, stepping closer to Beca. "Saying yes?"

Beca looked back to see both teams watching them. She turned back to Chloe. "Yes, I'm saying yes."

Chloe squealed and grabbed Beca to her. "Ow, ow, ow!"

"Oh, sorry," Chloe said, quickly releasing Beca.

"It's okay," Beca said, grimacing slightly. "We can talk later because my hand hurts like a bitch and I need to get to the hospital."

"Can I go to the hospital with you?" Chloe asked.

"I'd like that," Beca said. "We can talk about what you're planning for our date."

"Okay," Chloe said. "I'm just going to grab my stuff and be right back."

Chloe kissed Beca on the cheek and rushed back toward the ballfield. Beca shook her head and walked toward Stacie's car. She got in and Stacie helped buckle her seat belt.

"What was that all about?" Stacie asked.

"Chloe wants to ride with us to the hospital," Beca said, blushing and trying to hide her smile.

"You lady-killer," Stacie said and laughed when Beca’s blush deepened.

Chloe ran past the teams and into the dugout. She grabbed her stuff and yelled over her shoulder as she ran past Aubrey, "I'm going to the hospital with Beca."

"Go get your girl, Chloe," Jessica yelled and the others cheered.

Chloe was smiling when she got to Stacie's car. She threw her stuff in the back and jumped in. Stacie drove off.

~ SOFTBALL ~

Two years later, the team from Bellas was playing the team from Fat Amy's in their second annual charity softball game. They sold tickets to the game at twenty dollars each. Each ticketholder got to see the game, and food and drinks were provided. One-hundred percent of the profits went to a local charity.

The first year was a little disappointing, but this year they did rather well. Beca was talking to Aubrey and Stacie before the game started.

"You ready for this?" Stacie asked.

"I'm nervous, but, yeah, I'm ready," Beca said with a smile.

"Don't worry, Beca," Aubrey said. "She'll say yes."

Beca smiled when she saw Chloe running toward her. She braced herself for the inevitable crash of Chloe's body into hers.

"Oomph!" Beca said as she caught Chloe.

Chloe laughed and kissed Beca. "Hey, babe."

"Hey, gorgeous," Beca said and kissed Chloe. "Hey, can I talk to you before the game starts."

"Sure," Chloe said. She turned to Stacie and Aubrey. "Excuse us, we'll be right back."

Beca took Chloe's hand and walked to the Bellas' dugout. Beca stopped and turned to face Chloe.

"It was two years ago, almost to the day, that I saw you again after seven years," Beca said. "You were standing right here, talking to Aubrey."

"Becs, what are you doing?" Chloe asked, totally confused.

"I realized the minute I saw you standing there, that I had fallen in love with you back when we were seventeen and played softball against each other. When I overheard you tell Aubrey that you wish you had asked me out back then, my heart skipped a beat. After the game was over, you did ask me out and also went to the hospital with me. I think it was the moment I saw you sitting by the bed while my hand was being put in a cast that I knew falling in love with you was easy and it was happening all over again."

Beca reached into her pocket and got down on one knee, causing Chloe to let out a small gasp.

"I love you and I thought it only fitting that I asked you this most important question in the same spot where we reconnected. So, Chloe Beale, will you marry me?"

Both teams stood around the couple and waited for Chloe to answer. Chloe looked down at Beca with tears in her eyes. Beca was getting nervous and looked around.

"Um," Beca said, turning to face Chloe. "Chlo?"

"Yes," Chloe said, suddenly realizing she hadn't answered. "Oh, my God, yes!"

Beca let out the breath she had been holding and stood to place the ring on Chloe's finger. She pulled Chloe to her and whispered, "I love you" before capturing her lips in a kiss.

The teams cheered, the crowd cheered, and everyone applauded for the newly engaged couple.

Beca and Chloe were smiling as they accepted everyone's congratulations.

"Come on, girls," Aubrey called out. "We have a game to play!"

Beca kissed Chloe and turned to go to her dugout. Chloe grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Don't be a hero and make any barehanded catches," Chloe said and then leaned in to whisper in Beca's ear. "I have plans for that hand later."

Chloe kissed Beca and turned to walk away, thinking she had flustered Beca. She was surprised when she felt Beca pull her back and hold Chloe close to her.

"Don't worry," Beca said with a smirk. "I plan on hitting a home run later so don't tire yourself out."

Beca winked at Chloe and Chloe giggled. Chloe turned to walk back to the dugout. Beca laughed when she saw Chloe put a little more wiggle in her hips as she walked away.

"I love you, Chloe Beale," Beca yelled after Chloe.

"I love you, too, Beca Mitchell," Chloe yelled from the dugout.

#bechloeweek #bechloe #bechloeweek2019

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thecleverdame · 6 years ago

Text

The Woodsman - 4

The entire story is complete and available now on Patreon.

Series Masterlist

Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

Summary: A/B/O Fairy Tale - You’re a sheltered, thirty-something princess on the run from your brother, the newly crowned ‘Mad King’ of France. When you’re waylaid by marauders and left for dead in the forest, a gruff woodsman nurses you back to health.

Warnings: A/B/O smut, knotting, language, violence, assault, non-con

Word Count: 32,000

The complete story is available onPatreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

Sam can’t tell what you’re doing from his vantage point, just that whatever it is has had your full concentration for the past several hours. As he creeps closer he can hear your voice, light and happy, singing to yourself as your arms continue to attend to the task at hand.

He could hear you from the barn, crystal clear voice with a touch of sadness. You’re drawing, fingers covered in black charcoal as you smudge the lines of a breathtaking portrait of a woman’s face. You pause for a moment, tipping your head as if examining the grain of the parchment before resuming the skillful stoke.

Oblivious, your voice picks up volume, while you sketch with precise intent, completely focused.

Car tant vous aim, sans mentir

Qu’on poroit avant tarir

La haute mer

Et ses ondes retenir

Que me peusse alentir

de vous amer.

“What are you singing?” He asks.

You yelp in surprise, clasping a hand over your mouth, heart beating like a stallion. “Samuel, you scared me half to death.”

“I didn’t mean to.” He places his hand to his chest in apology. “I’m sorry.”

“Come sit with me,” you suggest. He stares blankly for a moment and then lowers himself the ground beside you, picking up the parchment delicately, holding it up by the edges.

“You’re talented.” He looks to you, then back to the picture. “This is… incredible.”

You blush. He’s never complimented you before and it takes you off guard. Grinning like a fool you put a hand to your cheek. “Thank you.”

“Who is she?”

“My mother.” You reach over and run a dirty finger over her face. “I have to draw her otherwise the memory fades. I’m not entirely sure if that’s a true likeness or if my mind fills in the foggy parts.”

“She was beautiful. You look like her.” He comments, setting down the parchment and reaching for the others laying on the ground in front of you.

“Don’t-” you reach out to stop him but he’s already thumbing through them, holding up the next.

“Where is this?” It’s a detailed drawing of a garden with tall, manicured bushes and a statue of a woman in the middle. She’s pouring water from the vase into the pool at the base of the fountain.

“My favorite garden. There are many within the castle walls, but this is the smallest and farthest from the gates. It’s secluded and quiet. I spent a lot of time there.”

“And this?” Sam picks up a portrait from the bottom of the pile. It’s of a man sitting on the edge of a bed, looking down at his feet. There’s a pained expression on his face. It’s darker than the rest, thick broad strokes instead of delicate lines.

Sam feels you tense up, sitting up a bit straighter and clasping your hands in your lap. “My husband, Mathieu.”

“Ah,” he nods gently, looking away from you. “Were you singing for your husband?”

“No, I was singing for…” You pause, answering him honestly, “love in general I suppose.”

"What happened to him?" Sam asks quietly.

"We both fell ill at the same time. My symptoms seemed far worse. No one thought I would survive...but I did. He died the day after my fever broke. It happened fast, there was nothing that could be done."

"How long were you married?"

"Twelve years." You sigh, looking up at the sun, anywhere but at Sam. He shifts beside you, picking up the picture again, analyzing the face now that he has more information.

"You were happy with him?"

"Very," there's no veiling the smile that spreads across your face. Your memories of Mathieu are painful, but also heartwarming. "I was sixteen when my father told me I was to marry him. I didn't want a husband or anything to do with being a wife. I knew it was inevitable, but I'd convinced myself I was meant for greater things. I cried for days, it was all very dramatic. He was older by ten years and at the time his seemed like an insurmountable difference. But he was kind and smart and so funny. He made me laugh until my sides hurt..." You stop when you feel the emotions tightening in your chest. Sam doesn't want to hear you go on and on about a man he doesn’t know. "It seemed just as I was planning on growing old with him, he was gone."

"You're lucky to have had him for so long." He draws in a breath and grinds a thumb over the callus on his palm. He looks straight ahead, staring out at the tall grass, but his mind clearly elsewhere. "I had someone once, a long time ago. I was young, not much older than you were when you married."

"You had a wife?" You clarify, studying his face, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling as he expression sours.

"I had a mate, she was mine and I was hers. I should have married her but it seemed like we had all the time in the world. Once I claimed her it didn't seem like we needed anything more "

"She died?"

"In childbirth." Sam looks at you, his eyes staring a hole right through your very soul. "I lost my Omega and my child."

"Oh Sam, I’m sorry." You wish you had something more to say. You had never stopped to imagine his life before. At times it feels like he's always been with you.

"I'm only telling you this because I want you to know that I understand what it's like to lose someone. Now that my parents are gone I only have my brother."

"And me." You add confidently. You speak without thinking and panic for a moment, but it's not necessary as Sam just smirks softly and places a hand over yours.

"And you." He confirms.

“It would appear, Samuel, that you and I have more in common than one would suspect.”

“Indeed.” He smiles at you, squinting in the sunlight.

"I know that I can be a nuisance and I create more work for you, but I do appreciate everything you've done for me."

“You’re never a bother. Life would be boring without you.”

You're in the village when the news comes.

Sam's beside you haggling with the butcher over the price for one of his pigs. They've been in the midst of a heated discussion for some time now and you wander absentmindedly down the row of men peddling their wares. Stopping to admire a woven skirt you don't even notice when Hugh slides up beside you. Hugh knows everything and everyone, filling the village’s unofficial position of town crier.

"Good morning, Y/N." His voice is sneaky and he smells faintly of body odor.

"Good morning, Hugh." You smile, sidestepping to get away from his wafting stink. He's kind and enjoys making you laugh, you just wish he bathed more often.

"I have something for my favorite mademoiselle." He feigns a terrible French accent and fishes in his cloak to present you with a shiny red apple, holding it like a crown jewel in his palm.

"It's beautiful," you take it, examining the unblemished skin. It's not often you're able to get your hands on the sweet fruits you used to devour on a daily basis. "Thank you very much!"

"I stole it," he winks at you.

"It'll be our secret then." Grinning, you admire this treat. It's amazing how life has shifted. A year ago you'd be appalled if a foul-smelling man had even tried to speak with you. But you find yourself becoming accustomed to seeking out appreciation in the smaller parts of life.

"I have news from your homeland as well." He adds, slinking around you. Hugh has never attempted to hide his attraction to you. It’s all meant in good fun, so you don't mind. He's a bit bolder without Sam around, leaning closer than needed when he speaks. "Would you like to know?"

"Yes please," you grin, feeling your heart beat just a bit stronger. Hugh's updates have been one your only links to the life you left behind and you look forward to any new reports.

"All of France is in mourning. The Mad King has died." He continues to talk but you hear none of it. There's a pressure in your chest, a feeling akin to that of fist tight around your heart.

"When?" You interrupt him, hardly able to force a whisper.

"Weeks ago now." He shrugs oblivious to your reaction. The world closes in as your vision narrows into a tunnel of claustrophobia. Your surroundings begin to blur and you draw in a deep breath to prevent yourself from losing consciousness.

"What have you said to her?" Sam's deep voice booms from behind you. Hugh looks up, wide-eyed and takes a step back. You feel Sam’s familiar hands curl around your arm, turning you toward him. "What is it?"

“I did nothing! I swear to you.” Hugh holds up his hands in a sign of submission.

“What’s wrong,” Sam’s brow furrows as you turn to him, opening your mouth to speak but nothing comes out. You’re looking at him as if you’re underwater, not really seeing what’s right in front of you. A sob tears from your throat, a horrid raw sound that’s accompanied by quivering lips and fat tears. Sam places both hands on your shoulders, looking to Hugh. “What the in the holy hell, did he touch you?”

“I never touched her!” Hugh panics, “I just bought her an apple.” He stammers. “An apple, and news from France.”

“Tell me,” Sam commands. You’re crying quietly, staring at the ground before pressing your face into his chest. He places a hand at the back of your head in an attempt to comfort.

“The King died.” He shrugs, utterly confused. “She must be a true patriot.”

Sam can feel your trembling form against him, fisting his cloak in your hands as your knees give way.

“Please take me home.” You mutter, trying to compose yourself. People are beginning to take notice.

Sam curls his arm around your side, pulling you from the busy street without another word. He helps you onto his horse, and the ride back to his cottage is a blur. The world doesn’t seem to right itself until you’re seated at the small, familiar table in front of the fire.

“I’m sorry I made such a scene.” You manage, wiping your eyes.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” Sam grunts. “He was your brother.”

“He’s dead.” You stare at Sam with wet eyes, utterly shattered. If there’s one thing he understands, it’s complex emotions when it comes to family.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He kneels down before you, taking both your hands between his. No, you don’t want to talk about anything. You want him to hold you, but you don’t dare ask for that.

“I’ve talked enough for a lifetime.” You sigh. You don’t mean it as a joke and Sam tried to contain his amusement. “I just want to sleep.”

Your slumber is long and hard, waking up to the sounds of Sam rustling around by the hearth. It’s midday, and he should be hard at work in the forest, but instead, you find him sitting at the table, sharpening various blades.

“Why are you here?” You ask, taking a seat across from him in your nightdress, hair still wild from sleep. Any sense of propriety you once felt being around him in such a raw state faded long ago.

“I thought you might want company.” He offers, his face unwavering. “No one should be alone in times like this.”

You smile down at your lap. Sam is always kinder to you than you deserve.

“Can we go for walk?” You inquire, thrilled at the prospect of spending a whole day with him, it’s the only thing that seems to take the edge your grief.

“Of course.” Confirming your request, he looks up, catching you staring at him, your gaze lingering just a bit too long. “Did you want to go as you are or would you like to dress first?”

“So witty.” You retort.

You dress, then try to eat, but your appetite is nowhere to be found. Before you know it, you find yourself on the narrow path that leads to the small pond. Sam is walking a snail's pace beside you, willing himself to slow down and set the measure of your footsteps.

“I’m sorry.” He offers, bending down to pick up a large stick, banging it on his leg like a bored child. “I know, despite your reasons for leaving, that he meant a great deal to you.”

“Thank you.” You wander on in silence, trying to focus on the slight breeze and the easy feeling of companionship when you’re with him. You wish you could always be with Sam, to watch him grow old and grey, waking up beside him each morning until you’re wrinkled and cranky.

“What are you going to do?” He asks, looking forward.

This is the moment of truth. You chose your words carefully, watching his expression as you speak. “I’ll write to my brother, Philip. I don’t know what’s transpired in my absence but I dare to hope that I may be welcome home.”

Sam twitches, his mouth tightening for a brief moment as he snorts. “Good. You’ll be better off in France, where you belong.”

You don’t think it’s possible for your heart to break more than it already has, but somehow the ache in your chest and head intensify. There was part of you that thought, perhaps, he would at least express a fleeting sentiment of sadness at the idea of your departure.

If you had gotten what you really wanted, Sam would have turned to you and taken you into his arms, pleading for you to stay with him. He’d take your hands in his and tell you that the very thought of living without you makes him ill, that he can’t imagine his life without you. But instead, he acts as if you’ve said nothing of consequence.

Just when you think you couldn’t be any more disappointed, he adds “I’ll hire a messenger for you.”

For six long, agonizing weeks you live in the hell that is Sam’s terrible disposition.

You hardly see him. He’s gone before you awake and many times does not return until after you’ve gone to bed. You listen to him, drunk as a skunk and mumbling to himself, as he knocks around in a stupor before passing out. When you do have occasion to see him he barely speaks to you, ignoring you in favor of a book that you know for a fact he’s already read ten times over.

It appears that you have finally overstayed your welcome.

“I have good news!” You half-shout, your voice suddenly too loud as you struggle to control the sickening feeling in your stomach. He’s just outside the barn, preparing his stead for the yearly hunt. Every able-bodied man is about to depart into the woods in hope of securing enough meat to make it through the winter. He’ll be gone at least a fortnight.

“What is it?” Sam asks distracted, tightening the saddle on his horse.

“The courier returned, he brought a letter from my sister.” Sam pauses but doesn't turn to you. “I’ve been invited to come home.”

“Good,” he grunts, continuing to attend to the mare Your heart sinks. You might vomit. He cares so little that he can’t even be bothered to stop what he’s doing to give you his full attention.

“It wasn’t just the message that arrived...my brother sent knights to escort me home whenever I wish to depart. They’re in the village.”

“I’m happy for you.” Sam turns to grab a rolled up blanket from behind you, nearly knocking you over.

He doesn’t even look at you.

“We can depart in the morning and it appears that you’re leaving now, so this could be the last time we…” Don’t cry. “Our last chance to say goodbye.”

“Well then,” He finally looks at you, his eyes wild and nostrils flaring. “Goodbye.”

“Why are you always upset with me?” You ask, unsure of exactly what’s happening. You’ve come to him with the intention of gathering your courage and telling him what this last year has meant to you, but it’s clear now that your plan was flawed. Any hope of being able to express your feelings die with his words. “I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s nothing new.”

“I do not understand you, Samuel. I was sure you’d be thrilled at my impending departure, I thought knowing I’d be out of your hair would put you in a better mood, but you’re angry with me all the time. Is it that I didn’t depart soon enough? Has your tolerance for me finally reached its breaking point? I had hoped that, perhaps, we would part as friends. I can see now that was foolish.”

“I don’t have the words to-” Sam draws in a breath and shakes his head, arm flailing at his sides.

“Tell me,” You snip with your hands on your hips. “You have been impossible for weeks now, so just tell me what it is you have to say. Just get it off your chest. This is the last chance you’ll ever have.”

“You make me feel like a lunatic!” Sam cries, throwing his arms into the hair.

“The sentiment is mutual.” Puckering your lips you mentally prepare yourself for the barrage of insults you’re sure are to come.

“You are the most ridiculous person I have ever known. The way you talk, the way you eat those tiny little bites like a church mouse. You leave a mess everywhere you go and you don’t know how to do anything! I can’t even ask you to feed the horses while I’m gone because I would never expect that you would get that close to actual work.”

“If I am so awful then why have you allowed me to stay with you all this time?” You inquire, stepping toward him.

“Because I love you!” Sam shouts, then recoils as if he surprised by his confession.

Your heart speeds up to a gallop in your chest. Narrowing your eyes you take another step, examining his features for any sign of jest. You’ve gotten better at deducing when he’s making fun at your expense. “What did you just say?”

Sam balks, closing his eyes and pressing his thumb and forefinger at the bridge of his nose. “I am quite tired and very hungry. It’s possible I could have said anything.”

A slow smile spreads across your face, as an excited stir bubbles up from your belly. “You love me?”

“Dear Lord,” he mumbles, “against my better judgment.”

“Samuel Winchester, the cantankerous woodsman who would rather skin a rabbit than help me with my corset, loves me?” You bite your lip, clasping your hands dramatically. You’re happier than you’ve ever been in your life but unable to control the urge to tease him just a bit more. He does deserve it after all. One doesn’t tell a woman he loves her against his better judgment without there being some repercussions.

“You are impossible,” Sam groans. He’s always at a loss when it comes to you, feeling somewhere between the urge to fuck and strangle you.

“I am quite the woman.” You sigh, bobbing on one hip, not ready to let him off the hook. He’s been so awful these last weeks. “With my unmatched candle making skills and a natural aptitude for the outdoors.”

“I pictured this conversation going differently.” Sam laughs with exasperation. “You make my blood boil.”

“Surely there must be something you like about me?” You challenge him. “After what you just said…”

Sam’s chest heaves with a mighty breath as he reaches out and grabs your arms, pulling you closer to him. His finger squeezes your biceps while he gazes down with an expression of affection. “You’re the most infuriating woman I have ever known, but you're also the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes upon. But, more importantly, you are brave. Brave to leave everything you know and set out in the world. Brave to try to save me from a pack of wolves. You are self-assured and overconfident. You don’t accept your own limits. You make me feel things in a way I didn’t think was possible.”

“Sam,” you breathe. For the first time in your life, you’re speechless.

“And now that I have bared my heart to you, will please put me out of my misery and tell me if you feel the same?” His head tilts to the side, scrutinizing your face.

“I have loved you for a long time.” Your heart is ready to burst at the very idea of this strong, wonderful man making such a bold statement. “You really think I am brave?”

“Yes, more so than any person I have ever known.” Sam’s looking at you with a stare that makes your legs weak. His hand comes up to your face, cradling your jaw as his thumb catches your bottom lip. You tilt to the side, offering your neck so he can scent you. He bends down pressing his nose into the skin right below your ear, inhaling slow and deep, a simple gesture that feels supremely intimate. The touch of his skin on yours sends a chill down your spine. When he pulls away you start to protest but open your eyes to find him offering himself to you in turn. Standing on your tiptoes you stretch up and nuzzle your face into his neck. Inhaling with an open mouth, pressing parted lips against the scratch of his beard.

Sam groans and pulls you flush with his body, snaking an arm around your waist. When you pull your head back he cradles your face with a large, rough palm, bending down to kiss you just as the horns sound in the distance.

The hunt is beginning and they won’t wait for him.

Sam stops, freezing as he closes his eyes and gathers restraint. “I have to go, if we continue this I won’t have the will to stop.”

“Okay.” You confirm with a nod. “I will wait for you to return. At which time we can discuss more of the reasons you love me.”

@smallgirlbigpersonality @mereka18 @gryffindorable713 @trainlikeawinchester @winchesterprincessbride @bamby0304 @saxxxology

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#Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader #alpha!sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #supernatural

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fromthedeskofelizabeththird · 6 years ago

Text

Jealousy

The Arcana | Asra x Apprentice | Gen

Second prize in my milestone giveaway, for @zeodyme.~

~~~

As a young girl, MC was enamored with magic. She spent many an afternoon in her aunt’s magic shop, turning the pages of spell books and admiring trinkets. She eagerly pried open every crate and jar, sounding out the syllables on the label and committing each scent to memory.

That glee never quite left her even as an adult. It was certainly true that she had not appreciated exactly how much work went into running a shop until it became her inheritance, but if anything the extra work added an extra layer of anticipation.

She loved browsing the wares of her numerous suppliers; loved getting to know her customers and picking out trinkets she knew they would buy. She loved filling her shelves with brand new, mysterious items and testing the more obscure ones herself.

It came as a surprise, therefore, that Asra did not care for it quite as much as she did.

It was true that he pored over every item on her shelf and could not hide the thrill when they caught his interest. He would peer over her shoulder when she experimented with new ingredients. He did not, however, hold any sort of interest in her suppliers nor a decent number of customers to her store. As a matter of fact, he seemed to avoid them altogether. He barely even responded on the occasions she brought them up in conversation, immediately offering to make a pot of tea in an attempt to change the subject.

MC didn’t quite understand his reluctance, but accepted that he was a shy sort of person and likely overwhelmed by some personalities more so than others.

He was suspicious of Ignacio and his stockpile of furs, convinced that the man meant to swindle her in some way whenever he kissed her hand.

He raised an eyebrow when she described the more enthusiastic of her customers, from those who left her generous tips to those who flat out said how much they admired her.

She laughed off his concerns every time he insisted that merchants meant to rob her blind and her customers paid her compliments in the hopes of a discount.

It was ridiculous. She knew their lives, their families. They were her customers and colleagues and the idea that they were not in the least bit passionate about magic was absurd. She had always been in love with it, after all, and their frequent returns and smiling faces only served as a reminder.

As a matter of fact, Asra approved of only one of her suppliers-a herbalist named Syd, who supplied teas, weeds and more for a wide range of purposes. Exactly what it was that set Syd apart from the others was anyone’s guess.

In any case, his eyes lit up at every mention of them and he laughed out loud at each one of MC's anecdotes, nodding at every detail and observing that such silly jokes and actions were just like them.

He was almost as excited as MC to hear that Syd was set to join them at one of Nadia’s parties. Syd spent most of their days at sea, travelling from port to port and peddling their wares without the luxury of magic. As something of an unfortunate coincidence, every time Syd only ever seemed to arrive in Vesuvia on days Asra was elsewhere.

In truth, MC concluded that she was not sure which part of Nadia's gathering she looked forward to the most: meeting up with old friends... tucking into fancy desserts... dressing in her finest clothes... seeing Asra in his finest clothes... Each possibility was as enticing as the next. She certainly couldn't wait for Asra and Syd to finally share a conversation after so many years.

In her invitation, Nadia quite specifically referenced that it was to be a private affair. Asra smirked the first time he read it, wondering aloud exactly how many close acquaintances the Countess had. If previous parties were anything to go by, she had enough friends to fill a small continent.

MC couldn't shake the butterflies in her stomach as they set off for the night, which only grew worse when they actually arrived at the dance hall. Nadia had decorated the ceiling with an illusion of the night sky, leaving her guests to watch in disbelief every time a shooting star rocketed from one side of the ceiling to the next, leaving a flurry of glimmering stardust in its wake.

Nadia's greeting lacked none of its usual charm. She reached out to squeeze MC's hands in hers and insisted on introducing her to the more significant of her guests, many of whom MC and Asra had already met in one capacity or another.

Before long, Nadia had others to attend to and Asra stroked his fingers across the inside of her arm.

"I think there's a punch bowl over there. Here, I'll see if I can find us something to drink."

MC agreed to stay, folding her arms and waiting by the central pillar. She expected him to be gone only a matter of seconds, but time passed without sight nor sound of him. Now, more than ever, did she appreciate exactly how many people had come to the party, wearing heady perfumes and brightly coloured silks. It was overwhelming and she planted a hand on the pillar behind her to steady herself, increasingly dizzy with each passing second.

Where was Asra?

It only made matters worse that she could not see him anywhere. He didn't exactly blend into the background...and the hall was so uncommonly big...

Someone reached for her shoulder and she breathed a sigh of relief, expecting it to be Asra. When she turned to face them, however, it was someone else entirely.

"Syd!" She cried out, reaching to embrace them without an ounce of hesitation. Syd was only too happy to return the gesture, pulling them in close in the boisterous fashion MC had come to associate with them.

"I didn't think you'd come," she said, stepping back to admire their costume for the evening. As a consequence of spending so much time at sea, she had only ever seen them in practical clothes and comfortable shoes. At some point, MC had come to believe that they only owned threadbare shirts and soft leather boots.

Tonight, though, she scarcely recognised them. They were dressed head to toe in turquoise silk, with sparkling rings on every finger and peacock feathers in their hair.

"You look..." She said, searching her mind for something appropriate. Telling them she associated them with worn shoes seemed a terrible idea.

Syd roared with laughter, though, as if they knew precisely what she was too embarrassed to say.

"It's alright," they said. "I don't quite recognise myself either. You on the other hand...are a vision."

MC couldn't stop herself from blushing, all nervousness forgotten. Syd was uncommonly easy to talk to and before long MC lost all track of time, far too interested in their stories of giant squids and roaring tides. She did not even notice Asra return until he nudged a glass into her hands.

"Well if it isn't Asra!" Syd exclaimed, instantly giving him an enthusiastic punch to the forearm. "It's been so long! How have you been?"

Asra glanced from MC to Syd and then back again, no ounce of recognition in his gaze.

"I am Asra," he said, "but I'm not sure we've ever met."

To say MC was bewildered was an understatement. She had not expected Asra to come bounding over with his arms outstretched, but he spoke to Syd not only as if he didn't know them, but as if he was ill at ease.

"Never met? Asra, this is Syd!"

Perhaps he was as unused to seeing them in formal wear as she was.

"I don't suppose you would recognise me after all these years," they sighed. "Last time we met I was much shorter."

MC blinked, glancing from Syd to Asra. From the sounds of things, Syd had known Asra as a child, but that contradicted every story she had ever heard about them. All of Asra's stories about them ended in alcohol, wenches and birds of paradise. It was difficult to imagine a child in any of them.

Asra scratched his chin, seemingly thinking the same thing, recognition dawning long after the silence had become uncomfortable.

"Syd!?" Asra cried out, taking a step back and examining the person in front of them. "

Syd-deeqa?"

Syd laughed at his disbelief, seemingly delighted at such undeniable evidence of their own transformation from child to adult.

"I look quite different, don't I?"

"Different? Syd, I-I'm so sorry, I had no idea-"

Syd was almost too dismissive of his apology. If anything they found it highly amusing.

"MC," said Asra, as an afterthought, "this is Syd...they're the grandchild of the Syd I used to know. I thought that the other Syd was the one coming to visit, but I guess the family business has changed hands over the past few years."

"Travelling the world is so much more exhausting when you have creaking hips and cataracts," shrugged Syd. "If no one took on his contracts, he'd surely have worked himself to death."

Asra lifted his drink to his lips, meaning to take a swig, only to rethink it.

"I'm so sorry," he said, "wait here, I'll go and get you a drink as well. We have so much to talk about."

Asra waved his drink before disappearing into the crowd, leaving MC and Syd to watch him leave.

"I hope he doesn't feel too guilty," said Syd. "Almost all of my clients have made the same mistake."

"I'm sure he's just surprised," said MC. "It seems like he's very fond of your grandfather."

"I have to admit, I didn't have him down as the jealous type."

MC turned to them, taking in their wry smile.

"Jealous?"

Envy was the last quality she would ever associate with Asra.

"You didn't see? When he told me his name I could have sworn we were in the tundra."

"I..."

MC thought about it-his shift in tone and complete lack of recognition. The same expression he wore when hearing about many of her other suppliers and even some of her customers.

"Oh," she said, realisation sinking in. Suddenly it all made sense.

Asra was not nearly as concerned about her being cheated out of her coppers as he let on. No, the thing he was more worried about losing was far more personal and left her blushing.

"I'm going to be honest with you," she said. "Neither did I."

#the arcana #asra #asra x apprentice

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aether-and-archaeology · 5 years ago

Text

Prompt #2: Bargain

(Slight warning for hinted at coerced prostitution) “I’m telling you, it’s the genuine article. I had to dig myself out of a cave in to bring this thing back here.” A rather old looking vase is set on the merchant’s stall, loose dirt falling onto polished wood. The Lalafel behind the counter simply stares, unimpressed.

“Oh I’m sure you did, bet you also had to fight a whole hord of Bhoot too, right? Specters?” The man laughs. “I’ll give you twenty gil to get it out of my face.”

Even as he speaks the man moves to swat the ancient stoneware off the surface. Zhet’s heart leaps into his throat as he moves to catch it, he’s not going to make it. The priceless Ala Mhigan vase is going to crash into dust on the ground of the Sapphire Avenue Exchange. Or so he thought.

“Woah, easy there.” A different voice cut in. The vase is caught and held up in one large hand. “Wow, this is the real deal innit?”

Looking over at the stranger Zhet was surprised to see a tall Hyur, dark skin dusted with freckles almost as fine as the sand that matched his hair. The young Miqo’te felt like he was frozen by the bright grin he man gave him. It takes him a long breath before he’s nodding.

“S-sorry, yes. I found it on a dig.” Zhet cleared his throat, straightening up as he looked at the Lalafel who suddenly seemed much more interested in the vase in the man's hands. “I had thought to sell it here, but it would seem this man has no eye for the finer things.”

“Oi! Now now there lad, let’s not be too hasty-”

“Too hasty? You were going to break it!” Red eyes snap back to the small man before Zhet is looking back at the other in question. “Would you by chance be interested or shall I take my business elsewhere?”

The look he gets is something he’s not expecting. The hyur looks him over and grins. There’s something so sunny about that expression but also...something almost dangerous. Something in the young Miqo’te is screaming at him to run, to forget the relic and just leave. Yet, here he stands, hands on his hips as he looks up at the stranger.

“Yer wares, hm?” His voice feels like melted caramel, smooth and thick. “Well I think I might actually be quite interested in what you got ta offer, kit.” The way he moves into Zhet’s space has the smaller man stepping back as he feels the stall bite into right above his tail. No, this man wasn’t interested in his vase...he thought that he was…

Zhet set his gaze, a cold steely thing, and reached out to snatch the vase from the other only to have it pulled further out of his grasp.

“Ah ah, easy kit. Nothing ta get all upset about.”

“Call me kit one more time and you’ll be missing a few jewels.” Zhet sneered, ears pinned back against his skull.

“Ooo, someone’s got ‘is ‘ackles raised don’ ‘e?” The man laughed tauntingly. “How about this, kit. You come with me over to the Pearl and I give ya yer little vase, and maybe a nice necklace.” The way the man looks at him makes Zhet’s skin crawl, but at the same time he knows he has to get that vase back. He has to get it and get out of here. Maybe go home….or find Inwa or Latika to have a drink with. Something.

“What a generous bargain.” Sarcasm dripped from Zhet’s lips as he continued to sneer.

“Ain’t it just?”

“If you are going to peddle those sorts of wares, miqo’te, take ‘em away from my stall!” The Lalafel huffs, waving them both off. As he does the Hyur steps back and starts heading towards the alley not far off. Zhet follows, eyes on the vase that’s under the man’s arm. Hey walked around a corner, Zhet only stops long enough to take in his surroundings. Assess his escape routes before he’s suddenly pushed against a wall. The heat off the man reminds him of the size difference, reminds him of his own disadvantages. Even worse is the smell, sour ale and sweat that makes his stomach churn.

“Yer a pretty one, ain’t seen ya around before. Sharp eyes like that with a pretty face, y’ll go for a good price.” The man’s free hand moves around Zhet’s throat and he supresses a growl as he’s guided down. Out of the corner of his eye Zhet thinks he is seeing the hyur place the vase down but he’s proven wrong when suddenly he hears the sickening sound of ancient ceramic shacker against a stone wall. “Ha ha ha, sorry pretty. Looks like all you’ll get is that necklace-”

He barely get’s his sentence out before the hyur is the one on his knees, grasping his front with a pained yelp as Zhet raises a clawed hand to crack his knuckles.

“That this was worth more than your dick, idiot.” Zhet huffs, shaking his hand as he moves to pluck up broken pottery.

“Why you little-”

Red eyes turn sharper and take on an eerie glow as suddenly red aether seems to seep from the other and makes him slump further into the ground.

“Sleep well.” A clawed hand waves as Zhet makes his way down the alley towards the Quicksands.

Well well, that was an interesting way to feed.

It was disgusting...who knew a person's aether could be so foul. @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

#ffxivwrite2019

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