#I almost had this finished until my computer died for a few days

[cloverdore]

Have a messy wip!

#league of super evil #red menace #voltar #doktor frogg #my art #wip #I almost had this finished until my computer died for a few days #By the time I got it back I lost. So. Much. Progress #I'm not bitter I swear #I'll finish it when I eventually calm down but have this until then lmao

[that-one-lotr-orc]

One post gotta be the first

So, for me Reddit finally died. As a programmer who is generally in favour of making stuff available for as many people as possible, they did right by that for many years. Giving everyone who wanted that access to it was generous of them, and made it a very fun platform. Random bots everywhere, apps catered to whatever preference people had, even -dare I say it- the tiniest bit of the wild-west-internet that once existed. But they got to greedy, flew to close to the sun, whatever analogy you want to have for it. I don't fault them wanting to make money off that, hosting is expensive, but the way they lied to everyone, attacked the Apollo developer for outing their lies, "riding the storm until it died out", it was too much.

So now I'm here, hopelessly lost in land I only got glimpses of on r/tumblr. I don't even know why I write this. I doubt many people will read it, or even see it. It's my first Tumblr post, and it probably will be very rambly, incoherent, and missing any kind of red line. The shortest answer to "Why I wrote this?" is probably "Because some google doc in '#tumblr help'" told me to post stuff!".

And I'm bad at posting stuff. I never done it. In the olden days, when forums were all around, I was a lurker. I'd read about everything, posted when I actually had something relevant to say, and shut up otherwise. I was known within the communities, generally active in the adjacent msn/skype groups, but not on the main spam threads in the forum.

When the forums began to die out, I got on Reddit. My account is 11 years old now, I've been using it almost hourly over the last 6 years, and it has a grand total of 9 posts. There's a bit more comments in that, but it's probably basically nothing compared to the average comments per hour spend on other accounts.

Why do I tell this? Because I might change that here. I've been lurking around Tumblr for the last few weeks, and the interaction and people are way different than I'm used to. Honestly, it's refreshing, and nice to see. But entering a new environment, one has to adept.

And I've been stuck too long in my old habits! I am often hesitant to contribute to anything, because I never did. I don't write, because I never wrote. But having a new environment, new people, new interest around me makes me wanna try out new stuff. And who knows? Maybe I'll like it, maybe I'll find people who like what I write, and I'll have more stuff to interact with.

And maybe I don't. Maybe I'll feel too unsure, too self-conscious, to change my lurking habits. I'm fine with that. I got other places to interact about my passions. Most of them are through Discord-groups nowadays, others through the few still-existing actual forums out there, but they still exist.

That's my last thing. I don't know what I even write about. Some of my interest are too different from the usual Tumblr-niches to have any kind of following. While typing this I had a look at the "enlisted game" tag, which has a grand total of 1 active poster. I had some looks at the different Magic the Gathering tags, but (as I expected), most of the people in there are about more about the lore of the game than I do. That's fine, I got my spike-talking places, and I will probably lurk those tags anyway.

The one place I'll probably feel most comfortable is the Brandon Sanderson-aligned tags. I'll be there, maybe even contributing, once I finished the last books (or I find the appropriate tags to block, I probably gotta look into that).

That uncertainty makes me circle back to a point a made a few paragraphs ago. I can explore, I can try out new stuff. Maybe I'll try to add to some of the punk tags here, maybe I'll hop onto some of the computer science tags and see if I can wordvomit there, maybe I'll go to something completely new! I can go exploring again, discovering things I never saw before, and that makes me eager.

#new to tumblr #i dont know what im doing #reddit refugee #first tumblr post

[therealsaintscully]

saintscully fic outtakes

I'm not sure exactly why I'm doing this, but I feel like sharing some things I found today in my Google Drive while looking for a file I was sure was there. I found a few documents with stories and ideas for stories that I never ended up writing and was just a little surprised. I completely forgot about writing some of those. Reading them is like reading someone else's stories. So, I thought I'd share some snippets, paragraphs that put a smile on my face, from stories I won't finish.

The longest one (2K+ words I forgot about!) is called After Life. Here's the description I wrote for it: 'This is a companion piece to I Have Not Lingered, told from John’s POV; it is set in Ricky Gervais’ After Life universe. This story is a canon divergence for both shows.'

Now I can look back on this and realize I ended up writing a variation of John's POV to I Have Not Lingered in Life and Death in Sunderland, which I love dearly. I'm shocked that I planned for this to be a crossover with Ricky Gervais' After Life. I have zero recollection of how I was planning to do that. Imagine that awkward reunion for David Brent and Tim Canterbury.

(TW: Suicidal ideation)

He’s counting up until he hits a number that would stand out as the number of days appropriate to wait before he joins Sherlock. Join where exactly, he doesn’t know. He’s been an uncaring agnostic his entire life. Calling Sherlock an atheist would be nothing short of an understatement. Sherlock would have berated him at the mere suggestion of a romantic afterlife reunion (“The only place to meet me after my death would be inside my coffin, John, but I’d rather not be so cramped for eternity, if you don’t mind.”).

So that's the reason he's counting: the number of days since and long enough until. Until he finds no reason to stop settling for watching the waves break against the shore. Until he decides to finally step into the water and walk, and walk, and walk until the water takes him. This morning he woke up thinking, "210 days since, 0 days until."

This isn’t the first time the counter had been at "0 days until." It almost happened before, but only almost. It was seven days after Sherlock died. That was the day John discovered that his gun wasn’t in the flat anymore. He tore the place up looking for it before he understood what had happened; someone had confiscated it. He would never know who or when. It was definitely there a fortnight earlier, but it certainly wasn’t by the time the count hit seven. It could have been Mycroft’s people. It could have been Lestrade. It could have been Sherlock, he realized back then, a wave of nausea taking over. Sherlock could have, would have planned his own suicide while John was being his oblivious, idiotic self. Sherlock would include confiscating John’s gun in his pre-mortem checklist. But that would mean… that would mean Sherlock had an inkling of just how much he’d meant to John. That he fathomed just how much John cared about him, loved him. But he didn’t, did he? No person in their right mind would jump so theatrically off a building in front of a man who loves them. No, Sherlock never knew how John felt. Or maybe he knew but it just didn’t compute in his brain, not enough. Not correctly. No. It must have been Mrs. Hudson. She knew. She knew everything. She caught every single one of John’s longing glances and heard every beat of John’s yearning heart. She’s a smart lady, tougher than he and Sherlock put together. She must have been the one to take the gun. She sensed John’s death wish well enough; she begged him to get rid of it by begging him to not leave Baker Street.

Next is Marrakech, which was supposed to tell us what John and Sherlock did in Morocco before they chased Mary down. I realized, after reading it, the idea of the story was for John to complain about not knowing anything about Mary, her childhood and her life, and ends up interrogating Sherlock about his favourite childhood books because that's what he really wants to know. I then I realized that I incorporated that long conversation into chapter 12 of Turned, nearly verbatim. I had no recollection of writing it in such detailed form for Marrakech.

They took a red-eye flight, hoping to bring his tempestuous wife back home this time. She has been gone for months. Sherlock, his sense of duty reaching new heights, had been waiting for a good opportunity to chase her down in a country that would turn a blind eye should anything go wrong or become incredibly illegal. They landed four hours ago. Not having had the chance to pack properly or book a hotel, they crawled into the first taxi at the airport and simply blurted out the word ‘hotel’ to the disinterested taxi driver. It took them about ten minutes to get here; they booked two rooms, but Sherlock, being Sherlock, was upgraded to a honeymoon suite due to a last-minute cancellation. John had never laughed so hard in his life as at the moment he saw a confused Sherlock scanning a king-sized bed decorated with swan-shaped towels and pink rose petals. "Congratulations, Sherlock," John giggled as Sherlock blinked wordlessly. The honeymoon suite had a fruit bowl and a steaming, minty tea cooking in a Moroccan teapot, so John saw no reason to venture out to his own room. Five minutes later, he found a deeply exhausted Sherlock spread like an octopus over bedspreads and petals, his phone nearly falling from his hand. Four hours later, Sherlock is still asleep, and John surveys the city streets through the screened window, wondering where his wife is and how it is that, despite his best attempts to always do everything right, he ends up watching men fly off roofs and wives running away from him.

The Guestroom was supposed to be a sweet post-S4 friends to lovers, with Sherlock babysitting Rosie at John's house for a week sleeping in the guestroom because John's due for a conference. By the end of the week, thing become... consummated, lol. At the guestroom, of course. These are the first (and only) couple of paragraphs:

He stares at the floor as he walks toward the hotel's car park, the entire lobby filled with doctors, all half-drunk, still willing to mingle on their first night of the week-long medical conference. Most of them will be staying at the hotel. Not that he has anything bad to say about Novotel Ipswich; it’s that the other choice of driving back and forth each day seems less threatening than spending a mind-numbing week with his mind-numbing GP colleagues. He clocks the long ride home in just under two hours, his mind mostly working out the logistics for the rest of the week. It's been a roller-coaster ride, making sure this week is somehow survivable; Rosie’s favorite minder agreed to the extra work at first, then cancelled last minute when her boyfriend (soon to be fiancé?) surprised her with a trip to Thailand. After scrambling last minute, he thought he’d found another minder who, unbelievably, was hospitalized with appendicitis on Saturday night. For a few hours on Sunday, John even considered taking Rosie with him and finding a minder in Ipswich when Sherlock came to his rescue. Yes. Sherlock. “She needs to be picked up from nursery and then there’s the whole evening routine, Sherlock,” John said. “Yes, I know, John,” Sherlock replied and rolled his eyes. “I’ve been watching you do it for months now. Nursery, tea, dinner, bath, book, sleep.” John stared at him. “I can take care of Rosamund,” Sherlock said, his face contorting in a way that only John would ever notice or understand. He was offended. “I know you can,” John said apologetically. “But… why would you want to?” “Would it be helpful to you?” “Yes, of course.” “Then that’s why,” Sherlock said, sealing the argument with his unshakable rationale. There was no arguing with that, really. He had to quietly persevere through several more eye rolls as he made sure Sherlock understood that means a) no taking Rosie on a case and b) not bringing a case to Rosie, and of course, their long-since established c) no explosives, period. Eventually, Sherlock dropped a large pile of cold case files in demonstration of how he’s planning to spend the week.

The End of the World was clearly supposed to be a nod Millenium, The X-Files episode. If you know, you know. I might actually write this one, one day lol :)

The room is just another hospital room, one of hundreds John has seen in his lifetime. The day, just another day with Sherlock: chaotic, unexpected, and ending—as so many of them usually do—with a concussion and far too many stitches. The only reason John managed to manhandle Sherlock into the A&E in the first place was because the suspect, a janitor at the hospital, was running for cover in the tangled web of the hospital’s expansive basement floor. Sherlock had chased the culprit down through emergency stairs and dove headfirst into a mangled hedge of roses and, well, here they are.

What do you think? I hope you like them :)

[waywardnerd67]

Replay Life Chap 13 - ScoobyNatural

Title: Replay Life - S13E16 Scoobynatural Summary: Jensen invites Jared and Misha’s families to his house to surprise (Y/N) for her birthday. They do an outdoor screening of one of the best episodes of Supernatural ever. Main Characters: Jensen Ackles, Reader Other Characters: Jared Padalecki, Misha Collins, Padalecki Family, Collins Family Pairing: None Rating: E - Everyone Warnings: Fluff Word Count: 3892 A/N:

Check Out: Replay Life Masterlist

Three weeks had gone by since Jensen had sat across from Gen Padalecki asking her to help him ask (Y/N) out. Twenty-one days filled with conventions and meetings keeping him from being in Austin. (Y/N) was equally busy as she began to take on clients for freelance editing and ghostwriting. On the rare occasion Jensen was home, she would be working until the early morning hours on a deadline. The only silver lining was seeing the woman he loved most genuinely happy.

Jensen was leaning against the doorframe of (Y/N)’s office watching her in her element. Hair up in a messy bun with a red pen sticking out of it. Large wireless headphones covered her ears knowing her favorite writing playlist was blaring into them. One of his ‘borrowed’ Dean flannels draped over her shoulders and a pair of yoga pants covering her legs like a second skin. Her glasses were hanging off the edge of her nose as her eyes scrolled across her screen. Her delicate fingers flowing over her keyboard as waves of words appeared on the screen.

Even half crazed, sleep deprived, caffeine wired, (Y/N) was still the most beautiful woman in the world. Jensen waited until her fingers stopped dancing on the keys and she leaned back in her chair to speak.

“How’s it going, pretty girl?”

She spun her chair around, letting out a long yawn, “Almost finished… a couple thousand words more and then I’ll officially be on my birthday hiatus.”

“That’s amazing. Is there anything I can do for you or get you?” Her smile made his knees wobble.

“Could you sit here with me and make sure I don’t pass out from exhaustion?”

Jensen nodded, taking his spot on the floor beside her desk. She turned off her headphones and music began to fill the room. He chuckled before singing along to her favorite Zeppelin song. He watched her shoulders relax and her eyes focused on the screen once more. For the next hour or so, Jensen sat there watching her work and singing along to her playlist. When she finally turned off her computer, he stood and scooped her up into his arms.

Her eyes were already half closed as he carried her upstairs to her room. He had made it to the top landing when she mumbled wanting to sleep next to him. He continued to his room where she was fast asleep when he laid her on the bed. Jensen slid beneath the cover behind her and slipped his arm around her waist and drew her close to him.

“(Y/N)?” He asked softly, “Pretty girl?”

Her breathing was steady and calm as exhaustion had its hold on her. He moved a few strands of her from her face before pressing his lips against her shoulder. Feeling her sigh contently, his heart began to thump wildly in his chest as a whispered confession began to flow from his lips.

“I love you. I know you know that, but I mean it differently. I’m in love with you and have been for a long time. When I think of my life after fame, after movies and tv all I can think about is you. Coming home to you, spending our golden years together, making love to you whenever possible.”

Jensen felt her move slightly and shut his mouth tightly. After several agonizing minutes, he felt her breathing settle back into a steady rhythm again.

“I’m scared shitless to cross this line with you. I’m scared I’m not good enough for you. I’m scared you will get fed up with my crazy life and I’ll lose you forever. I’ll lose the woman I love and my best friend. It’s getting harder being around you and not acting on my feelings. I want to kiss you silly. I want to yell out from the rooftops that you're mine and I’m yours. I want to wine and dine you or chill with you on the couch.”

He nuzzled his nose into her hair as a wayward tear fell down his cheek, “I want to be your entire world because you’re mine. You’re the light in the darkness. You’re everything that is good when life is a shitshow. I love you so much my heart hurts. And I’m too much of a coward to tell you this when you're awake.”

He froze when (Y/N) turned towards him. His heart was hammering against his chest, fearing she had finally heard every single word of his love confession. However, what happened next was way worse than her hearing his confession.

(Y/N)’s leg slipped between his and her thigh rested firmly against his semi-hard length. Jensen sucked in a breath as her arm slipped around his waist and her face nuzzled into his chest. A soft moan breathed through her lips as her hips pushed forward against him. He grunted uncomfortably as he tried to reel back the desire running rampant in his body.

Looking down at her peaceful face and relaxed body cradled against his, Jensen managed to wrap his arms around her and adjust to a more comfortable position. When he finally fell asleep his dreams were filled with him and (Y/N) in many different compromising positions.

After that night, (Y/N) never mentioned hearing his confession. She had only commented on it being the best night of sleep she had ever gotten. The next few days were filled with (Y/N) hanging out with her group of girlfriends for her birthday which he was thankful for as he planned a surprise birthday party for her. They had planned on watching the next episode in their rewatch which was one of the best episodes in his opinion of Supernatural. It was also one of the only episodes that Jared and Misha’s kids could watch. Jensen reached out to them both about bringing their families to his house that Saturday for a Scoobynatural watch party for (Y/N)’s birthday.

Jensen was running around making sure everything was set up in the backyard for the watch party. He had his manager reach out to (Y/N)’s friends about coming over and Kit had volunteered to keep her busy before the big reveal. He had warned Jared and Misha about them before they arrived. He was pleasantly surprised when they arrived they had all kept their cool and mingled among their families. He had decided to trust Kit with his number and she texted him when they were pulling into the driveway.

“She’s here! Everyone hide!” He called out.

Watching as (Y/N) led Kit out through their back door hearing her talk about their house, “Jensen takes a lot of pride in keeping up with the yard work whenever he’s home. Personally, I just love watching him…”

“SURPRISE!” Everyone yelled.

Jensen cursed all of them wanting to hear what (Y/N) was about to say. However, seeing the shock registering on her face as she looked at everyone around her. The Padaleckis’, The Collins’ and her best friends surrounded her with love and birthday wishes. Jensen could see her wiping tears from her eyes in between hugging everyone. A soft nudge came from his right side as he saw Gen standing beside him.

“You did good. Now man up and ask her tonight once everyone is gone.”

She didn’t stay around for a response as she walked over to (Y/N) with her arms wide open. He knew Gen was right and this was the perfect opportunity for him to ask her. Something deep down was keeping him anchored in his spot as her best friend and nothing more. He shook his head just in time to see (Y/N) rushing over to him and jumping into his arms.

“Jay, this is amazing! I… I don’t know how to thank you for all of this.”

“No need to thank me.” He hugged her tightly whispering, “Happy birthday, pretty girl.”

(Y/N) leaned back slightly before pressing his lips to his cheek, “Thank you, handsome.”

Jensen and Jared manned the grill while Gen and Kit were making drinks for everyone. Misha, (Y/N) and a few of the other girls were running around with the kids. Jensen took a moment to take in everything around him. (Y/N) was carrying Odette as West and Tom ran circles around her. Her laughter filled the air and cut through a layer of the tether keeping him from crossing the invisible line between them.

“When are you going to lock that down?” Jared asked, bringing Jensen back to reality.

“It’s complicated.”

Jared chuckled, “To quote Dean Winchester, ‘Game of Thrones is complicated. Shower sex that's complicated. This ain't complicated. You're problem ain't asking her, it's you.’ So, what’s stopping you? Really?”

Jensen couldn’t help but laugh at him quoting his character, but it quickly faded knowing Jared was right. Acknowledging that he was keeping himself back from having happiness pissed him off.

“I don’t know. I want everything to be perfect for her because she has had some shitty, god awful times in her life. I want to be with her so badly it hurts.”

“Okay. Again, what’s stopping you?”

Jensen bit his lip flipping the burgers as Misha joined their conversation, “You guys look like you’re about to punch one another. What’s going on?”

“I asked Ackles when he was going to finally have the balls to lock down a date with (Y/N).”

Jensen was going to glare at him, but Misha beat him to it, “That’s a big risk for him to take. Not that I’m not for it because I am.”

Misha looked over at him, his narrowed eyes softening, “It’s hard risking a friendship that has been in your life since forever. The ‘what ifs’ filling your mind with doubt and convincing you that it’s better for everyone that you keep going as you’ve always done.”

He was stunned to hear his knotted feelings laid out so perfectly by his friend, “How did you…”

“Been there. Done that.” Misha squeezed his shoulder, “My honest and humble opinion if you want it.”

Jensen nodded.

“I believe the risk will be worth it in the end. (Y/N) loves you and more than just her best friend. You two are meant to be and I cannot wait to be witness to your love blossoming for one another.”

He turned to Misha and pulled him into a hug, “Thanks Mish.”

“Anytime.” He held him tightly for a moment, “Now hurry up with the food or the kids will start to riot.”

The three of them laughed and soon everyone was grabbing their plates to head towards the inflatable projector screen. Jensen escorted (Y/N) to her special birthday throne where her friends were all sitting. Once everyone was settled, he started the episode.

Sam is reading a book in the Bunker. Dean walks into the room behind him.

“Hey, what are you doin'?”

Sam glances up, “Uh, research.”

“Okay.”

Sam continues looking through the book, “You know, it's the strangest thing. I-I can't find anything on a-a cursed object that actually physically attacks people.”

“Dude, it's over. All right? Be like Elsa -- Let it go.” Dean smirks.

Sam turns around in his chair and looks at Dean incredulously, “Be like Elsa?”

Dean nodded,  “Ah? Right? Come here. I need to show you something. It's important. Come on.”

Sam and Dean enter a dark room, “Behold,” Dean turns on the light “... the Dean-cave. Or Fortress of Dean-a-tude. Just -- still trying to figure that one out.”

Dean walks Sam through the room, pointing out all the 'amenities'.

“We got Foosball. We've got jukebox -- all vinyl, obviously. Double La-Z-Boy recliners. And, of course, the bar. Still a work-in-progress. It's gonna have a kegger because...Well, it's gonna. And finally... the pièce de résistance.”

Dean points a remote at the television from the pawn shop.

Sam holds up his hand, “Okay, hold on, hold on. When did you have time to do all this?”

“When it's important, you make time, Sammy.”

Sam rolls his eyes, “Wh–”

“Let's give this bad boy a test run, huh?” Dean cuts off Sam.

♪ Dun, dun ♪

♪ Dun... ♪

Dean turns the television on. Purple sparks emanate from it and there is a purple swirling pattern on the screen.

♪ Dun, Na! ♪

“What the hell?” Sam asked, staring at the TV.

A purple beam shoots out of the screen, engulfing them. The boys disappear, and the purple beam drops them into the woods at night, in an alternate, cartoon universe.

Jensen was standing in the back behind everyone chuckling. All the kids were on a large blanket in front with their eyes locked onto the screen. Misha sat with his daughter, Maison, on one of the large Lovesacs. Jared and Gen were curled up on another Lovesac giggling like teenagers. As Jensen scanned over (Y/N)’s friends he noticed she was not sitting in her favorite chair.

Suddenly, he felt someone from behind him slip their arms around him. Seeing (Y/N)’s hands clasp in front of him, he let out a sigh of relief. Her head rested in between his shoulder blades.

“Why aren’t you sitting with your friends?” He whispered.

(Y/N) lifted his arm and placed it around her shoulders. He instinctively pulled her into his side and hugged her.

“I’m missing one and I can’t enjoy the episode without him.”

She looked up at him smiling and without a second thought he kissed her. Her body relaxed against his and another tether snapped free allowing him a single positive thought. Things between them could actually work out.

“Lead the way, birthday girl.” He whispered, watching her eyes flutter open.  

Sam looked around, “Dean? What just…”

They look at each other simultaneously saying, “Aah! You're a cartoon! Aah! I'm a cartoon! Aah! I’m a cartoon! Aah! You’re a cartoon!”

“Uh, is -- is this...Okay, okay, okay. This is a dream. It's gotta be a –” Sam rambles.

Dean slaps Sam across the face, leaving a huge handprint on his face.

“Dude!” Sam shakes his head and his face goes back to normal.

“It's not a dream. Holy crap.”

Sam tried to make sense of what happened, “This is, uh... You saw that light. Did we just get sucked into the TV?”

“Or maybe this is an angel thing. Or -- or the Trickster.” Dean suggests.

Sam shakes his head, “No, he's dead.”

“Or is he?”

“Dean, what the hell?”

“I don't know, Sam. I…” Dean looks off, past Sam, “Whoa.”

The Impala is parked in a clearing nearby.

Sam looks curiously at the car, “Uh...How did the car get here?”

“I had the keys in my pocket? Or maybe -- Wait, seriously? That's what's bumping you about this? Okay, look, are we animated? Yes. Is it weird? Yes.”

“It's beyond weird.”

Dean continues, “Well, and "beyond weird" is kind of our thing. So whatever happened, we'll figure it out. This is a case, so let's work it.”

Sam asks, “How?”

Dean looks at his Baby, “Same as always. We drive.”

The Impala drives down the road as rock music plays.

(Y/N) was snuggled into Jensen side as everyone was chuckling at the episode. He felt her shiver and grabbed her blanket from the back of the chair. He covered her as she wrapped her around his waist, resting her head on his chest.

“Uh, uh, I'm Dean. My brother, Sam. Mind if we join you?”

The gang looks at Dean like he's crazy then Fred smiles, “Of course not! There's plenty of room. I'm Fred. This is Velma, Shaggy, Scooby, and –”

Dean slides into the booth, “Daphne.”

“Hmm?”

Dean grabs Daphne's hand and kisses it, “Enchanté.”

“Hmm.” She looks unphased by his gesture.

“Girlfriend missed a prime opportunity and all because of Fred.” (Y/N) scoffed.

“Not a Fred fan?” Jensen teased.

She sat up shaking her head, “Dean Winchester or Fred? I’m going with Dean all day, everyday and twice on Sundays. He’s my man.”

Jensen heard Jared cough and glanced over to see him mouthing, “I told you so.”

He rolled his eyes, continuing to watch the episode.

Sam is kneeling beside the bed, “Dean, this isn't a dummy. This is blood.”

He holds his hand up to show that it's covered in blood. He pulls the blanket off of Cousin Simple and there are several pools of blood around his body.

“He's -- he's dead. Like -- like, really, actually dead.”

Velma calls out, “Jinkies!”

“Jeepers!” Daphne follows with.

“Zoinks!” Shaggy shakily.

Scooby looks down at the body, “Ruh-roh!”

“Son of a-”

All the adults began to cough loudly to cover up the last word of Dean’s line. (Y/N)’s laughter filled the air as all the kids groaned.

When the next dead body was revealed, Shep climbed up to snuggle in between him and (Y/N). She wrapped her arms around him, never taking her eyes off the screen and Jensen from that point never took his eyes off her. He never thought about kids but suddenly the only image in his mind was (Y/N) barefoot and pregnant. He wanted that. Desperately.

“Great working with you, Velma.” Sam said, holding his hand out to her.

“You, too, Sam.” Velma grabs Sam and dips him into a kiss, “Mmm. Mwah. Those shoulders. Jinkies!

She raises her arms triumphantly as she leaves the room with the rest of the Scooby gang.

Dean huffs, “Shoulda known Velma was good to go. Gah! It's always the quiet ones.”

(Y/N) leaned in towards him careful not to wake Shep who fell asleep, “Yeah handsome, it’s the quiet one you have to go for.”

She chuckled, giving him a wink then turning her eyes back towards the screen. For a moment, panic struck Jensen that maybe he had been mistaken. Maybe, (Y/N) had heard everything he told her while she was sleeping. The thought made his stomach churn.

Quickly, he stood up as (Y/N) carried Shep inside, “For anyone who may have had too much wine, whiskey or beer, please feel free to crash here. We have plenty of room. Kiddos can sleep down in the rec room and there are guest’s rooms throughout the house.”

“Ackles, do you mind if the kids stay here…” Jared wiggled his eyebrows towards his wife who was carrying Odette inside with a sleepy Tom following her.

Jensen nodded, “Sure. Enjoy a kid free night.”

Jared hugged him, “Thank you. You’re the best.”

He could hear (Y/N) laughing as Jared rushed Gen to say goodnight to their kids. Jensen helped Misha with West and Maison putting them on the makeshift, couch cushion bed with the Padalecki kids.

“I’ll sleep down here with all of them so you don’t have to worry about it.” Misha patted his shoulder before heading towards the couch that still had cushions on it.

When Jensen walked upstairs, he found (Y/N)’s friends all in front of the TV with another bottle of wine passing between them.

He chuckled to himself before calling out to them, “Goodnight ladies.”

“Goodnight Jensen.”

“Sweet dreams.”

“Feel free to come snuggle any time tonight.”

They all fell into a fit of giggles as he walked upstairs to his room chuckling to himself. Opening his door, he was surprised to find (Y/N) standing next to the bed staring down at her feet. His mind immediately went to something being wrong and closed the distance between them with two long strides.

“Is everything okay?” He lifted her chin so he could see her eyes.

Jensen sucked in a breath seeing her normally bright eyes darkened. The next thing he knew, her lips were smashed against his and her hands were up in his hair. His body reacted without paying any attention to his mind. His hands slipped beneath her legs and lifted them to wrap around his waist. Turning them around, Jensen sat on the bed while (Y/N) pushed his plaid shirt down his arms. Tossing it to the side his hands cupped either side of her face and his mind finally pierced through the desire flooding it.

“Pretty girl…” She kissed him again before he pulled away, “We can’t…”

Her body froze and guilt chilled his body to his bones. Her wide eyes stared into his eyes and she scrambled off his lap.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I… I…” Tears began streaming down her face, “I must have dreamed it.”

He pulled her to stand between his legs, “Dream what?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. I should go downstairs.”

She tried to step away from him, but Jensen pulled her back again this time wrapping his arms around her.

“Tell me, please.”

(Y/N)’s eyes were shining with fresh tears as her lip trembled. His heart began to crack knowing he was the reason she was crying.

“The other night, I thought I heard you… it doesn't matter Jensen. You obviously don’t want this and I must have been having a sleep deprivation dream.”

This time, he froze. She had heard him and now was his chance.

“Please… just tell me what you heard.” He begged, needing to know once and for all.

(Y/N) sighed averting her eyes to anywhere but on him, “I thought I heard you say that you loved me. That you were in love with me. That you wanted… wanted to…”

He gently pulled her chin towards him so their eyes could meet, “Make love to you.”

Her eyes widened, “S-So, I did hear you say that?”

“Yes.” He pulled her onto his lap again, wrapping his arms tightly around her, “I want nothing more than to make love to you. Right now, it’s taking every bit of my willpower to not give in to my body.”

The corner of her lips curled slightly as she chewed on her bottom lip, “Then what’s stopping you?”

Jensen pressed his head against hers gritting his teeth, “You’re too important to me to not do everything right. You deserve nothing less than perfect. Tonight is damn close to that, I don’t want our house to be filled with people the first time we make love. I don’t want to worry about one of the kids or your friends walking in.”

“Yeah, that could be awkward.” She chuckled, “But Jensen, if we keep waiting for the perfect moment then we might miss the chance of seeing how perfect we could be together. Between your schedule and my deadline schedule, we have to seize the moment we have. Risk the chance of traumatizing the kids or making my friends insanely jealous.”

Now it was his turn to chuckle, “So what are you saying, pretty girl?”

She stood from his lap, taking his hands and sliding them beneath her shirt. Her soft skin beneath his fingertips wiped out what little willpower he had remaining.

“I’m saying, I’m in love with you too. I’m saying, I want this. I want us. I’m asking you to please take away all the invisible scars left behind by every douchebag and asshole that broke my heart. I want to feel again and only you can make that possible.”

Without another word, Jensen jumped head first into oblivion of love and desire.

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[saferwithwords]

The Second Death of Dominic

“I miss him more than I remember him.” Kevin cocked his head to look Lucy in the eye. She re-applied her lipstick in the car but worried it to her fingertips and looked anywhere except the main gate and the journalists on the other side. As soon as the car cleared the mob and parked around the laurel bushes, Lucy shoved the door open, leaving Kevin behind for the shade of a large oak. She kept her eyes down and clenched her fingers each time she dug her white heels into the moss.

“They told me he would look the same. The sensor, or whatever, would pick up his energy, and everyone else has looked the same as before.” Even from three-hundred yards, the cameras were still flashing. Every news channel wanted a photo of the charming woman, wrapped in a pale dress, standing in a cemetery. “So last night, I tried to imagine how he would look if he hadn’t-” She stooped to brush the moss and dirt from her shoes, and Kevin waited the full minute and forty-seven seconds for her to stand.

Lucy’s hands were the only give away to her age. She had spent the past fifty years cracking her knuckles and wrists and rubbing her palms until the flesh gave way to loose skin and wrinkles. Now, she smacked them together, dark eyebrows furrowed. Kevin handed her a handkerchief for the dirt stuck to her lipstick-stained fingers. Beyond the oak, workers swarmed the gravesite. They waited for a machine to do most of the digging before going in with shovels. Some were setting up tables with computers and untangling powerlines. In a few minutes, these people would defy nature, but they didn’t have a more efficient design for the equipment.

“I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t imagine what he would look like at fifty years old.” Lucy faced Kevin for the first time, and he took his handkerchief, streaked with red and brown. “I can’t even remember how he looked back then. His details are there. He had the best lashes,” she exhaled, “and his voice. I know I loved his voice.”

This was how every conversation went. Small reminders tripped her up, and once she caught momentum, there was no stopping the avalanche. “But if I try to remember all of him, I can’t. Suddenly, his eyebrows don’t fit with his nose, and his voice is too breathy. I can see his hands but now how long his fingers were.”

“That’s okay, ya know? Dominic’s been dead almost thirty years, longer than he was alive.”

“I’ve remembered him longer than I knew him.” The words spilled from somewhere deeper than her lungs. “I’m not religious, but it’s felt that way. Like how Catholics say they know God, know Jesus. I used to roll my eyes, but they might be closer to God than I am to Dominic.”

Kevin worked for the company in finances. After Dominic died, performing felt wrong. It didn’t make sense, but being on stage felt like Kevin was stealing from him, so Kevin went to college, finished his masters, and interviewed with a start-up company which promised to bring loved-ones back from the grave. He was independently contracted and suffered financially. All his time and effort, eaten by a company generating no revenue. Many years later, the first resurrection took place: a highly publicized death-row inmate. No one cared if he was stuck in limbo or purgatory or even ceased to exist. Money poured in, but Kevin obsessed over the process. He applied internally on behalf of his good friends.

After his application, the marketing team fell in love with Lucy. In her interview, she twisted them between heart-wrenching, earnest words, much like she was doing to him now. “And grieving him gives me drive, Kevin,” she said. “After he died, I hated the 10th of February. It was also a Thursday, so I hated Thursdays and the 10th of every month. Then I hated the 9th in anticipation of the 10th, but that didn't feel like enough, so I hated Wednesdays too. Tack on his birthday and every holiday, and before I knew it, I had a reason to wake up and despise every day.”

Kevin didn’t need the application video to know her story. He was best friends with both of them. Kevin introduced Dominic to Lucy at a party, celebrating their return from a world-tour. He and Kevin performed on the same show as a lead and backup. That night, all eyes were on Dominic, but he was looking at Lucy.

Everyone said she was nuts for moving so fast with him, but Dominic picked their house, called during lunch breaks, and shared every part of his life. When Lucy started her dream career, Dominic forfeit his due to the travel, but he found a fix in private work and coaching. That autumn, Dominic packed his schedule to pay for an engagement ring. He was working on choreography for a tv show, fell asleep during rehearsal, and woke up in the hospital. Kevin met Lucy and Dominic’s mom in the waiting room. Within just a few hours, the doctor diagnosed “exhaustion,” ordered tests for his swollen lymph nodes, and sent them home.

Under the stained-glass light fixtures of their local diner, Dominic told Kevin the doctors estimated one year. Dominic didn’t cry. Dominic didn’t cry for another three months, not until he was asked to step-down from the show. His existence was a prelude to death. He was never going to be a husband, a father, and he would never again be a performer. All around him, people were grieving him.

One of the diggers yelled, and they brought the small crane around for the casket. Kevin’s coworker, Mark, assured them there would be very little decomposition of the casket or body. This part of the south-west was too dry. It sucked the moisture from new sidewalks, wetted lips, and apparently, cemeteries. Dominic wasn’t exposed to the elements or unscrupulous earth. But here, under the oak, damp dirt caked Kevin’s shoes and bore heavy moss.

Dominic never wrote a will. Even after the diagnosis he was optimistic for recovery. They didn’t know a single person in their twenties who died of cancer. Then the year-long countdown began, and he probably meant to at the last minute, but the last minute arrived two months early. Currently, Kevin was glad Dominic hadn’t formed plans for after his death. He wanted to be cremated, but his mother wanted him buried. Lucy asked Kevin to let it go. Dominic was dead, and funeral plans are for the living. If he had been cremated, resurrection wouldn’t be possible now.

There were other rules to resurrection.  “Let’s go over them one more time,” Mark would say. “One: we can’t touch. I know this will be hard for both of you, but we can’t risk anything that might get him stuck here. Two: we can’t ask him about the afterlife. We don’t know where he came from, and the public doesn’t think we should know. Whatever he tells you voluntarily is fine, but don’t ask. Last, we have only three minutes. We can’t risk any longer, or something could happen. Our priority is to make sure he gets back where he belongs.” One time, an old man touched his resurrected wife. Sensors went off, and the technicians cut their visit short. They couldn’t be sure she was okay.

The diggers brought up the casket. Two other employees approached with handhelds and smoothed them along the arched wood like sonogram technicians.

“Every year I read a story with my students. A family gets three wishes, and the mother asks to see her dead son, but he’s disfigured from the fatal accident.” Kevin knew the story. “I always thought she was a fool. Yet, here I am.” At the site, Mark caught Kevin’s eye and flashed five fingers. Almost go-time, and she was waffling. “His mother told me I shouldn’t do it. She wants to wait for November.”

“We aren’t using a cursed object.” Kevin stopped her. “This is science. I’ve seen them do it before. If there was even a chance something bad could happen, I wouldn’t have brought you here. I’ve worked with this company for years, and they’re doing a lot of good. I’ve seen people get closure. Last year, a little boy died in a car accident. Last week, his mother introduced him to his new sister. I promise. It will be okay.” Three fingers now. “Let’s head over.”

They stepped into the sunlight where grass crunched under-foot. Lucy saw the casket for the first time since the funeral. An effort was made to brush away the dirt and lay down a cover. Piano played softly.

“Dominic,” she whispered. Employees and loved ones, including Dominic’s siblings, stood in their best clothes and created a silent aisle, offering support with wet smiles and summer bouquets of marigolds. Surrounded, the pair couldn’t see or hear the cameras and strangers. Lucy held onto Kevin’s arm. “What do I say?” At Dominic’s mother’s house, she blow-dried her hair and curled it under, a trend of 30 years ago. “What if he doesn’t recognize me? I’m so old now.”

“He will remember. I’m sure he’s been thinking about you, waiting. Heck, maybe he’s been with you all this time.” The wind blew her dress around Kevin’s legs. “You were nervous when I first introduced you, remember? He loved you anyway. This will be the same.” With her free hand, Lucy gathered her dress and walked. Ahead, Mark and a priest waited with the casket. On either side, Kevin saw their senior year gym teacher who almost failed Dominic, family friends who owned the diner, and close coworkers from their tours. Caught up in memories, Kevin stumbled over Lucy. She had stopped only a few feet away from the end.

Mark leaned in to whisper something to Dominic, and he turned to them, breaking into a toothy grin and reaching out his hand. He stood casually, waiting patiently, and he looked solid, but the breeze didn’t ruffle his black hair. Dominic’s cheeks were full, skin richly tanned. He was healthy again, filling out his jeans and flannel. “Lucy?” he asked.  At the end of the aisle, Kevin let her go to Dominic. She smiled, looking up through the tears in her lashes. The audience leaned in, frozen.

“Are you ready?” prompted the priest. Lucy nodded, so he took her hands and stood between them to face their friends and family. “We are gathered here today to say a final farewell to our friend, Dominic. God has given us the talents and technology to visit with those in his kingdom, and we both thank Him for His love and ask forgiveness for our transgressions.” He bowed his head. “From St. Paul’s Corinthians, “When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.” “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” Thank you, and God

bless.” To Lucy and Dominic he said, “Please remember the rules, and I wish the best for you both.” The priest patted Lucy’s hands, nodded to Dominic, and stepped away.

Left in their own world, Lucy hesitated. She wanted to melt into his scent, steal his warmth, hear his heartbeat. Gravitating closer, Dominic pushed his hair back, scrunching his upturned nose, transporting Lucy to a dingy basement party with loud music, cigarettes, and him. Now only two minutes to share the past thirty years, all the feelings and experiences. Nothing prepared them for the inadequacy of words at a moment like this, and frozen, Lucy cried because, no matter what they said, she would be left behind again.

“I’ve missed you.” He spoke first. Dominic and Lucy could have touched. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He was controlled, and Lucy trembled, dress shimmering in the sun, hands clenched at her side.  Dominic leaned into her, and his bangs almost brushed her forehead, noses almost touching, palms hovering over her shoulders, arms, then waist. They were so close, searching each other’s faces, remembering and memorizing. “I’m sorry you had to be so strong. You lived through it with me, and I got to leave that pain behind, but you continued living. For me, it feels like yesterday and a hundred years ago, but you carried this.” Lucy hunched into him, separated by only dust.

“I miss you every day, and I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t. At the hospital- I’m so sorry. We turned off- we let you go. I’m so sorry, but I didn’t have a choice. They said it spread, and you were in pain.” She blinked rapidly. “I couldn’t see you like that.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. I know you did your best, Lucy.”

“We lost our future.” Dominic reached for her but then dropped his hands.

“We lost one future, and you still have some time left. It’s just a little while longer, and I want you to live well, okay? The one left behind has to live for both, and when you’re ready, I promise to be waiting. We’ll have all the time in the world to catch up. Then, we’ll try again. We’ll be born with long lives, and I will come find you.” He laughed boyishly, hair flipping out of his face. “I’ll run.”

“Dominic,” she whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” His gaze unfocused. “I think it’s time for me to go.” Dominic refocused and scanned the crowd with shining dark eyes. He smiled. “I was given so much love.” When he found Kevin, he stepped closer, one hand with Lucy. “Thank you for everything, Kevin. Please look after her a little longer, and tell my mom hello.” Dominic’s smile broke into a grin. “And have some fun. You don’t owe me any grief.”

Kevin and Luisa, Dominic’s sister, helped Lucy to the car. Luisa was taking Lucy to her mother’s house for dinner and prayers, and Kevin was welcome to join. He declined, wanting to stay behind and help his coworkers clean up, to be sure it was done well, and he wanted to talk to Mark. Lucy had stopped crying and even smiled. He gave her his handkerchief anyway. After a kiss on the forehead, he closed the car door.    

Professionals move fast. Dominic was in the ground and reburied before Kevin returned. He arranged the orange and yellow flowers into a cross over the fresh earth, already crumbling as it dried. He couldn’t help looking for the footprints of Dominic’s sneakers. He bought the same style again and again while alive. No store had carried them in years, and Kevin imagined Dominc’s expression if he learned they were discontinued and out of style. An hour ago, imagining would have been impossible, like Lucy said under the oak, but now it was as if Dominic had stepped into another room. As if he would be back.

Next, Kevin brushed off the small headstone and ran his finger over the engravings. He made it through Dominic’s whole name and into the month of October before his throat twisted and ached. The tours, tv appearances, and soundtracks they did together came rushing back, and the unfairness of it crushed him. They could have done more. Dominic was going to do more, experience more. The music he didn’t hear, people he didn’t meet, all of it squeezed Kevin’s ribs.

A hand on his back disrupted the pain. Mark watched from a distance but didn’t want to see Kevin fall apart in front of everyone. “Hey, man. That was a lot. Are you good?” Kevin dug his nails into his thighs, heaved a breath that barely revived his shot brain, and nodded. His nose ran, and he wished he had kept his handkerchief. “I’ve been on set for every one of these, and your friend really did a number. Honestly, I thought I was finally calloused.” Kevin straightened out and sought the shade of the oak. Concerned, Mark followed.

“Lucy and his mom were worried about him getting trapped or lost. I don’t know. His mom wanted to wait for Dia De Los Muertos to be safe. This caused them a lot of stress, but I pushed it. Lucy deserves a chance at actually living.”

“Look, Kevin,” he hesitated. “You don’t have to worry about him. The resurrection didn’t do anything to your friend.”

“I know it’s fake, Mark.”

Within the coiled tree roots, moss grew in dark swathes, but Mark noticed someone had pried up small clumps. They lay upturned and scattered. Plants usually grow to the light, but the small roots never knew that warmth until now. Would they bask in the new-found glow or seek the comfortable darkness? At the site, Mark had sweat through his shirt, but now, every damp path down his body was chilled.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“What did we do wrong?” Kevin kicked a clump of moss.

“His shoes. He always wore black hightops. Those weren’t hightops.” Mark cursed the limits of technology, immediately realizing what happened. If Dominic wore long pants, the program wouldn’t catch the hightops. So simple, and yet, it was their downfall.

“Yeah. Kevin, I’m sorry, man. It’s all computers.” Mark waited for Kevin to yell or swing at him. “We use artificial intelligence to generate a live-,” Kevin cringed. “Sorry, to generate a projection of someone. It also puts together a basic script but uses the person’s vocal and speech patterns. Studies found those patterns are more important than elaborate monologues.”

“Huh,” Kevin breathed. “So, those videos we gave you weren't for a memorial collage?” A month ago, Lucy and Kevin provided interviews, home videos, and behind the scenes clips of Dominic for a memorial page on the company’s website. Lucy documented every holiday and odd trip they took. The videos included random clips of Dominic messing around backstage, formal interviews, and time with family. Kevin planned to watch the collage with the family tonight.

“They did put something together, but yeah. We set the program to watch all the videos, and it was able to track everything, every mannerism. For example, it noticed his genuine smile, not for the camera, showed his bottom teeth, and his eyebrows moved constantly. Just tracing that movement took hours.” Mark was lost in thought and the flutter of oak leaves. “Your friend was actually an ideal situation. He was a minor celebrity, so there was plenty of footage. With more time, I think we could have done something fantastic. The only issue was the poor quality of almost thirty years ago, but enhancement is child’s play. We constantly get people who want to resurrect, forgive me, a nobody who did nothing . We can’t recreate a person from memory, not yet.”

“I have to tell Lucy,” said Kevin. Mark practically heard the record scratch. “I can’t do this.”

“Woah, Kevin, hold up. You’re really going to ruin this for her? You said it yourself: she deserves to live. You’re her friend, and you want to take this closure from her?”

“I can’t lie to her and his family.” Mark swallowed down bile and his heart.

“Okay, so then what? You go to her, tell her it was fake, and then what? To what end? You get to feel better, get it off your shoulders, but it will destroy her. You’re a good guy, and you want to do the right thing, but sometimes what feels wrong is best. We have no idea how she will react. I mean, what if she hurts herself?”

Minutes ago, Kevin’s instincts and logic were in rare agreement: tell Lucy the truth. Lying to her wasn’t the way. On the other hand, Mark was right. The night Dominic died, and for years after, reality had tormented them. Maybe what she needed, and he should embrace, is delusion. The fantasy of Dominic sitting on a park bench, chatting up his favorite celebrities, waiting for them, was a reprieve.

Bitterly, Kevin realized that’s all this was, a shifting of pain from one person to another where everyone suffers in different amounts, hoping for a moment of relief. If he told her, they would both be in pain. Lucy would certainly succumb to her grief, but he would suffer less for having told the truth. If Kevin didn’t tell her, Lucy could leave behind her pain and even heal, looking forward to something for the first time, but Kevin was sure the lie would sit heavy as bile on the back of his tongue, acidic, until it suffocated him or vomited up years later.

“Kevin,” Mark tried again. “Think of it this way. Even if Dominic wasn’t real, her healing was. You tried everything else before this, and you didn’t even know the truth. No one can fault you.”

“I can,” said Kevin. He started walking to the empty gate. “I don’t know. I need a walk. Either way, I’ll give you a call.” He wondered if the program really was advanced enough to generate Dominic’s thoughts and opinions. If so, then Dominic was right: dying and being dead were a lot easier than living, and having died and lived twice, he would know.

#short story #grief #grief and mourning #loss #morals

[writingamarie]

1 & 23 & 38 for the ask game

Sorry I didn't see this earlier!

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

Angst/hurt is something I find fills all my stories. I think it is something I write well. I try to mix in happier topics as well, or sprinkle them in at the very least. But in general my stories tend to be darker in their themes and topics. A lot of hurt, minor happy moments that are ruined by more hurt, and then eventually people that live get to be happy.

23. If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?

So obviously on ao3 I only have the one story. I wrote a lot before but never in the marauders era until now. I have one Golden Trio war story that I might try to rewrite eventually. It was very WW2, trauma/angst/hurt focused on Hermione. I had it on a different account under a different name and actually had a lot more written than what I had posted but when my computer crashed I lost everything and the motivation to rewrite it at the time vanished. One day maybe I would if I could get myself interested in writing the golden trio era again. I would really love to finish that story eventually but the ships just aren't ones that I am interested in at the moment. I almost feel like I would have to rewrite it and change it to marauders era and change the ships entirely. Which would alter a lot of the side stories and the general motivations. Like it would just be a whole new story at that point...

38. Talk about a review that made your day.

There are a few that have just been amazing. I mostly have repeat commenters at this point and I get so excited when I get a notification that they've left something. Multiple people have said something along the lines of rushing to the story as soon as it posts, or wanting to leave more kudos and it just makes me so happy. I can't believe all the love.

Related: someone tagged me in a tumblr post with a bunch of authors I love and I nearly died. And I got tagged in a tiktok and just couldn't believe it. Like how is this real life?

#writingamarie answers #ask me and i'll tell you #ask game #ask me things #fanfic: meetings that start in the dark #regulus black #jegulus #james potter #marauders era #marauders #fanfiction #regulus x james #harry potter #marauders fic

[asoulofatlantis]

Let me be completely honest with you. The only reason why I have a need to finish this game right now is because it would feel awful to start Final Fantasy 7 Rebirth without finishing the Remaster of Final Fantasy 8.

(And yes, in case I have not mentioned that before... I am ashamed to admit it, but I preordered FF7R(2) even tho I still to this day, hate FF7Rs guts. BUT - among other things - now that I have started that journey, I may as well go through with it till the very end. And if that means complaining through all 3 games that they suck then that is still an interesting way to play a game XD I might also add... I bought a PS5 just for FF16 and now its standing here and has not been used in months and there is hardly any game out there right now that I would want for the PS5 so... I might as well get al least FF7R(2) so the PS5 doesn't stand here for nothing ^^' IF I get the thing to work where I can play the game on my Computer via the might of the internet, I will do a live reaction for it. So you will have complain about this game live and in colors XD ALSO anyone in the mood of a prediction game? I say we do NOT get a Kiss in THAT scene and I dare to say Aerith will not die the way she should - not saying she is not dying at all tho. Anyone on the Tifa dies instead bandwagon? I mean, seriously... what if Clouds choice of who he is going to the Golden Saucer (or whatever it is called) with will end up deciding who is going to die? BUT what if Nomura as twisted as he is decided he sacrifice the one Cloud is dating in that playthrough and lets the other one live? I would not put it past him or this game to do that XD)

ANYWAY... lets get back to FF8. We have a Shumi to kill.

What kind of question is that? I was ordered to see the master - as you were I presume - so I am going to see him? And... you know... while I am at it... maybe... save the Headmaster? I am serious, why that question? Okay, sie was searching for the headmaster instead but still... it was a weird question. I mean... could they not come up with a better way to stop him in his tracks like: "Oh, you are here too? Do you search for the headmaster as well?" or something. But I guess I am just nitpicking here.

Its not like Cid didn't use us for this ridiculous "free Timber'" - mission too.

Here comes the big plottwist. The first one, that is.

Talking Squall out of his melancholy is actually Rinoas Job, but since I don't like her or the ship, I didn't bring her. Second in line for this scene would be Xell. So... yeah... I couldn't bring him either, even tho I do like him a lot. So third is finally Quistis, which I think is pretty hard, given how she was always there for Squall so far, even tho he never treated her nicely. But... not you see why I brought Irving along ^^'

Can I just leave without talking to her? XD

Pfff. I did it. *lol*

So... this is a pacifist city... but we get weapon-stuff here? ^^' ()Also... why is "Eyes on me" playing in the background? (The ball-version.)

I know its a JRPG thing to put people in leading positions without their consent but... Squall really has it rough ^^'

You can really not blame this boy for his abandonment issues. His father was never there (and likely never will be, because Laguna and Squall both suck when it comes to dealing with emotions and relationships XD) and so he didn't even know he had one until he was almost an adult. His mother died when he was born. Ellone, his sister-figure, was suddenly gone too. And he was stuck in an orphanage with crazy guys like Xell and Quistis and Seifer of all people ^^' Even tho he can not remember anything, his trauma is there.

I will repeat this a few more times in the future... but I will never understand how this ship ever actually happened.

I thought it nice that after all this time, we finally got an explanation to why Irvin was so dead set on Selphie from the start.

Here comes the next big plot twist by the way. We have all (Rinoa aside) been in the same orphanage! But... we can not remember? Why? Wait for the next big plottwist!

You know... I wonder how it must have felt for her, walking past Squall and the other but they were not remembering her at all. Must have been sad.

Since Squall is Lagunas and Rains lovechild... it kind of makes sense that there was a special connection between him and Ellone.

And here is our next plot twist! We use GF and that is why we have slowly but surely forgotten our past. OBVIOUSLY that plot twist has A LOT of holes in it tho. Like the fact that Squall, Seifer and Quistis would have needed to start out using GFs at rougly the same time, because otherwise they would have kept reminding each other of their past. Plus, as Xell was adopted and not mentioned by Quistis when she talked about entering the garden at the age of 10, he likely has entered the garden later and thus must have used GFs later so... he should still have remembered the other then and if Irving can kickstart their memories, why not Xell too?

Oh look! Another bombshell! I know all the secrets and I am still already exhausted XD

#ff8 mona version

[butwhyduh]

Dead Clown 🤡

Jason todd x reader

Warning: smut, murder but it’s okay.

Jason pulled his helmet off and ignored the rain that poured down his face. He had to see this without a filter. He even considered taking off the domino mask but he was out in the open. The pouring freezing rain had him shivering but Jason was unaware. He literally couldn’t believe the sight before him.

The joker was laying in his back, the pasty skin on his forehead was marred by 2 small holes. The back of his stupid green hair looked almost black when mixed with blood. Blood and water mixed in a pink puddle around his head. Jason forced himself to check for a pulse before hitting his comms.

“Bats, you need to get down here,” he said in a shocked voice. “The joker is dead.”

“..... are you okay,” Bruce said in a measured voice.

“I’m fine. He was dead when I got here,” Jason added knowing he was number one suspect.

“On the way.”

Batman and Red Robin showed up shortly with Robin not far behind. It didn’t take long for the detectives to believe Jason’s innocence. The evidence didn’t match him.

Jason sat on a piece of concrete near the scene as they worked. He had hoped to see this for years now. But it wasn’t the same. Maybe it was because Jason didn’t get his revenge or because it looked too neat. Two quick shots to the brain. Probably didn’t even see it coming before he was lights out.

Bruce walked over to him as the other two took photos and bagged evidence. A little blood here. Some fabric fibers there. No fingerprints because of the heavy rain but a bullet casing.

“Did you see who shot him?”

“No B. I literally got here and he was already out. He was supposed to have a drug drop but I guess that didn’t happen,” Jason said with a shrug.

“You were going to fight him alone,”Bruce said with a raised brow.

“No. Just reconnaissance. I would have called it in,” Jason defended himself. Bruce gave him a side look before moving on to the case.

“Commissioner Gordon is on the way,” Tim said. He held bags of evidence carefully in his lanky fingers. “We’re finish collecting-“

“Can we go home, father? It’s freezing cold,” Damian interrupted. Bruce sighed before looking at him.

“Red Robin was talking but yes, you both should back to the cave to process everything. Red Hood, you too. The commissioner knows you have a history with the joker so it’s best you leave too. I’ll take care of this,” Bruce said carefully. Any wrong word might set Jason off with his trauma over the death of his murderer.

“Uh yeah, sure man,” Jason said clearly distracted. He would usually argue with everything Bruce said and this made Bruce even more worried for the young man. He sent a quick message to Dick before the commission met got there.

——————————

“We’re running the tests right now and there really isn’t much else to do. Robin already went to bed. Go home Hood and get some sleep,” Tim said by the computers. Jason hadn’t bothered to get out of his suit or shower.

“How long? How long until you get results?”

“Oh, uhhh maybe 12 hours? A while. Sorry DNA testing isn’t like in the movies. The meta or clone tests are even longer. It probably won’t be until tomorrow night that we know anything,” Tim said turning in his chair. “Get some sleep.”

Jason considered giving him a nasty comment but held it. He certainly felt dead on his feet and had a nice warm woman waiting at home for him.

“Call when you know anything,” he said with a growl.

“Yeesh, yeah. I will,” Tim said backing away. “Say it. Don’t spray it,” he muttered as Jason walked away.

———————————

Jason trudged into the apartment leaving wet clothing in his wake until he stumbled to bed in nothing but his boxer briefs. You were going to be mad at him for the mess in the morning but that could wait. He looked at you asleep on the bed. You looked so sweet and innocent. Like an angel compared to his dirty hands that practically dripped blood every night.

He slid under the blanket and pressed close to your warm form. You gasped awake before relaxing when you realized it was just Jason. Did you not realize he could kill you 84 different ways in your sleep? It didn’t really matter as you snuggled your head into the crook of his neck and slid your legs to entangle with his. Jason’s arms automatically wrapped around you and rubbed your back until your breathing was even in sleep. He stared at the ceiling until the hint of dusk could be seen outside.

Jason woke with a gasp followed by a moan as he felt perfect wet heat encompass his dick. He looked down to see the blankets move rhythmically as you slid your mouth along his dick. He blinked himself more awake to truly enjoy it.

It wasn’t the first time you had woken him as such but it was certainly a rare occurrence. Reserved for birthdays and Christmas, he couldn’t imagine what he did to deserve such a wonderful wake up.

“Fuck! Princess,” he groaned as you swirled before taking him deep. You hummed questionably.

“What did I, mmmm, do to deserve such a fuck! Perfect mouth. Perfect wake up,” he said pushing covers down to show you between his legs. You looked up at him with big innocent eyes as you licked long hot strips up his cock. You took him deep in your mouth before sliding off with a pop.

“I can’t spoil you?” You purred and he twitched. How did he get so lucky? “Do you want to finish in my mouth or can I ride you first?” You asked and he god honest choked on his spit.

“Baby, *cough* whatever you want, what. Ever. you want,” he said and you grinned before climbing up his body to straddle him. His hands ran along the side of your body before gripping your hips. You sunk down on him with a little mewl.

“Fuck Princess, you’re so wet. Do you like... do you like sucking my cock?” He asked breathlessly.

“Of course, Jaybird. Sometimes I touch myself when I blow you, like today,” you admitted with a sweet little giggle. He almost came right them. How could you say the dirtiest things while being the sweetest person he’d ever known?

Jason reached his thumb down to rub your clit as you moved. You whined before nodding at him. Your mouth fell open and your hips sped up. He knew that you weren’t going to last long. You really did get hot and bothered blowing him. You made little whined and whimpers before moaning his name loudly as you came. Your body clenching on him was enough and he thrust up into you as he came as well. You bent down and kissed him deeply. Jason was panting by the time you pulled back.

“Loved that for sure, but what the hell was that, Princess,” Jason asked breathlessly as you climbed off and threw on some clothing. You chuckled a little before tossing him his boxers.

“Just wanted to wake you up this morning. Do you want some pancakes, Jay,” you asked. He sat up and pulled them on.

“You certainly did. And I never say no to food. Especially my favorite food,” Jason said with a grin. “Is it secretly my birthday? Am I dying and you’re prepping me beforehand?”

You laughed. “You already did that, baby.”

Jason gasped a little before laughing.

“I just wanted to treat you like you deserve. Pick a movie. There’s a new slasher out that you can tear apart,” you said walking in the kitchen and grinned at Jason’s heart eye look he gave you.

He looked through the movies without paying them much mind. He’d seen the joker dead the day before and now his girlfriend was spoiling him. He didn’t know what to think about. He’d think about the joker finally being dead. He couldn’t hurt Jason or those near him any more. You’d been kidnapped 6 months earlier and it had almost ripped Jason apart when he found you bloody and beaten. Luckily alive though.

Then he thought about how sweet you were. A perfect angel who had nothing to do with that life. You couldn’t kill someone if you tried. He just wanted to keep you in an innocent bubble, especially after being kidnapped.

“Jay? Jason?” You said near him and he jumped. He had been so lost in thought that he didn’t notice you coming over to him with a plate of food. Heart shaped pancakes covered in whipped cream stared up at him and Jason had a little grin on his face.

“Sorry, thanks. This looks good,” he said and you grinned before sitting with your own. Jason turned on a movie and sat next to you to eat.

Jason’s phone rang.

He gave you an apologetic look before answering.

“Yeah,” he answered before quickly standing up to talk in another room. Definitely bat business, it sounded like. He came back in a few minutes putting on his suit. He bent and shoved most of a pancake in his mouth. Jason pulled you to your feet and swirled you around before holding you by the waist. You giggled.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“I’ve got to work. But when I get back, I’m making up for this morning, okay? Breakfast was amazing,” he said before pulling you into a dizzying kiss. You nodded before he left.

——————————

Jason arrived at the cave and realized something was instantly wrong. Tim, Dick, Damian, Bruce, and even Alfred were waiting for him around the computers. He slowly walked up. They didn’t think he did it, did they? Jason looked around in case of a fight.

“I have some bad news,” Dick said. Jason just stared at him. Dick sighed. “We know who killed the joker. You won’t like it. You- you might want to sit down.”

Jason frowned at his tone. It was the tone you used when telling a kid their parents died. He looked at the computer to see surveillance footage of the roof where he found the joker. He clenched his fist as the mad man walked in the screen.

“You know, this is the worst meeting place in the world,” joker said with a laugh. Jason’s eyebrows rose. He hasn’t expected audio. “So what do you have that I might want on the birds?”

A female voice off camera could be heard saying, “peace of mind.”

“Doubt you could give me that Princess,” he said in a mocking tone. His posture was casual even though the lower half of a woman’s body had walked into the screen and she held a gun in hand pointed at him. She froze at his words.

Jason couldn’t look away if he wanted to.

“Yeah, I know,” joker said. “I forget faces. Too many changing and quite a few people are a little two faced,” he said with a laugh. “But I never forget a voice. You sounded so much more sweet when you were crying tied to a chair. And the way you sobbed when I brought out the crowbar.... music to my ears. I bet it just reminded you of a certain bird that just didn’t quite make it the first time.”

“Shut up. I- I don’t care,” she said. Jason’s heart was in his throat. He knew exactly who that was before Tim’s DNA tests were complete. She moved around a little nervously.

“Honey, Princess,” he said drawn out in a mock of Jason’s voice. “Unless you plan on using that gun, put it down and we can play a game. You like games? You play one with the red bat all the time. Does he know? Does he know that you’ve been hunting me for.... geez, since you were kidnapped I’d bet.”

“Now drop that gun and I show you what pain really feels like,” he growled and she shot him in the forehead before he moved. He made a disconnected sound before falling to his knee, perfect height to be seen in the camera. She shot him again between the eyes and he fell back silently. His body splashed on the rainy roof before blood began to pool behind his head. The woman looked for a second, her body language painfully stiff, before running out the way she came.

The cave was silent as Jason realized what he just saw. He blinked a few times before clearing his throat. Has she- did she-??

“I assume the DNA matches?” He asked and Tim nodded before sliding him a paper copy. 98% match. Only chance it wasn’t you was an evil twin or clone but no, he noticed the clothing and mannerisms. It was you.

“Are you going to bring her in?” Bruce asked quietly and Jason gaped.

“I sure as shit ain’t. She killed the man who kidnapped her and abused her. That sounds like self defense to me,” he defended. Dick looked at him in pity and Jason quickly looked away.

“It was premeditated, Jason,” Bruce reminded him.

“I know. I’ll take care of it. She’s not going to prison. I’ll talk to her,” he said. Bruce gave him a hard look. “You come near her- I swear to god, Bruce. I’ll shoot you myself.”

Jason got up to leave. Dick moved out of his way. He wasn’t getting in this.

“Jason,” Bruce said but Jason was already gone.

——————————

Jason was a pretty smart guy but he was completely shocked at this moment. What possessed you to kill the joker? To seek him out? A man that tried to kill you and you were willing to meet him alone? Not even Jason wanted to do that. And that morning you were treating Jason special. He thought for a second that you killed the joker for him. It chilled him to the bone but he put that thought out of his head. No, you had your own reasons to do it.

Jason walked in the apartment cautiously. Who knows how you would be acting, the perfect girlfriend or finally breaking down when you realized you killed a man. He found you in the bedroom asleep. You didn’t look like you had just killed someone and for a second Jason had doubt but the video and DNA didn’t lie.

He crawled in bed with you. You pulled him close and laid your head on his chest and Jason’s heart hurt. You looked fine but killing people left scars and your first time killing someone was not something you forget.

You woke with a gasp and cry hours later. You trembled and grasped at Jason tightly. He woke up confused before pulling you closer.

“Hey, Princess, I’m right here. You’re okay,” he said rubbing your back and holding you close. “What’s going on?”

“I see him. When I sleep. Every time,” you breathed almost in tears. Jason kissed your cheek and he felt wetness on your skin. You had been crying. He didn’t want to ask but now was as good a time as any.

“Princess, what did you do last night?” Jason asked so quietly. You looked up at him quickly and it confirmed everything he needed to know.

“Nothing. I was here. All night. Wh-why?” You asked, lying terribly. Jason sighed. He closed his eyes before willing himself to speak.

“You know I’m a detective. I can tell that you’re lying,” Jason started gently.

“What does that mean,” you said a little too quickly. Your breathing started to speed up again and Jason hated the look of fear on your face.

“I’m not mad. I won’t turn you in. Just tell me what happened,” he said softly, watching you intently. You wanted to shrink away a little.

“I can’t,” you whispered. Your eyes started to water and you blinked them away.

“Did you do it? Did you kill him? I can help you,” Jason said and you froze. “Talk to me.”

“I-I did,” you said looking at him in terror. Your eyes were red rimmed. “I did.”

“I’m sorry,” he said pulling you tight to his body. You broke down in little sobs and clung to him. “I’m so sorry that you thought you had to. I should have. I’m sorry.” He wrapped you up and made little shhh noises and you cried until you fell back asleep.

You woke up later with a pounding headache wrapped up tightly against Jason. He was on his phone but sat it down when he saw you were up.

“Hey,You don’t have to worry about it. I’ve taken care of everything,” he said ever so gently. You nodded.

“What does that mean?” You asked slowly.

“Red Hood took the wrap on it. No great loss with one less psycho in Gotham. Harley Quinn had an impromptu parade with hyenas and jugglers and everything. Nightwing made an appearance. Dick said Barbie slept through the night for the first time in months and she said she’d help you with anything you need,” Jason said trying to be positive. You gave him a dry smile.

“That’s nice. What about- what about Batman?” You asked.

“He’s Batman. But he’ll get over it. And the next time you kill a murderous clown, let me help. He could have killed you. And if anyone knows how to hide a body, it’s me,” Jason said giving you a squeezing hug. You smiled despite yourself.

“I’ll remember that. I’m a little sad I missed the hyena parade,” you admitted.

“Oh she’s having a parade every day this week. An anonymous donor gave her a ton of fireworks. Fairly certain it was Tim,” Jason said.

#Jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #Jason todd smut #red hood smut #batboy smut #the joker needs to die okay #and I’ll do it myself

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨2

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) nothing as yet.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: Thank you for your positive response to this one! I hope you enjoy what I have in store.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Your Spotify list of redundant tracks flowed through the apartment as you sat typing at your small desk in the corner of the front room. The boxy space was as oppressive as any office space, another reason for your voluntary work at the gallery. Vanessa let you in the studio to paint. Without the privilege, you wouldn’t have the space for your easel.

You stretched your fingers and rubbed your eyes. You felt dizzy from staring at the screen, even with night mode on. The work was monotonous and made you restless. You wanted a pencil or brush in hand, a canvas before you, not this blaring laptop. You yawned and took a sip of your lukewarm water.

Your phone vibrated from across the room and you checked the time. Your lunch started soon but no one was really keeping track. As long as you got your assignments done, it didn’t matter when you chewed on toast and disassociated.

You got up and grabbed your phone from the corner table and leaned against the arm of the couch. You remembered how Marcus woke up there and grumbled as he lifted his head in pain. You couldn’t really feel bad for him going into work hungover. He embarrassed you and it didn’t quite sink in until after Clark left you to stare down at your drunk boyfriend.

An unknown number showed on your screen and you answered tentatively, ready to hang up at the first sales pitch. Your name came from the speaker and you recognized the deep voice in an instant. It took you back to the night before and the canvas hung on the wall.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Clark said, “I only just had the paintings hung and I thought… well, I thought you might like to come see them in their new home.”

“Um…” you chewed your thumb, uncertain how to respond.

“Sorry, I know I can be a bit… to the point,” he laughed at himself, “how are you?”

“I’m good, just… taking a break.”

“You working?”

“Yeah, but I work from home,” you said as you touched the side of your neck, “I could… I could come see them but it might be a while before--”

“When are you finished work?” he asked bluntly.

“Four but I… maybe another day.”

“I don’t mean to be pushy but I did have something else to speak with you about,” he said, “a commission, like I mentioned.”

“Oh?”

“I kinda wanna get it started sooner than later, it will probably be pretty time-consuming,” he explained and you heard a clink and a soft sip, “I don’t wanna get into details on the phone but I promise, you will be compensated nicely.”

“You can’t wait until tomorrow?” you wondered.

“I suppose I can but it’d have to be during the day,” he responded, “why don’t you take some time to figure it out and get back to me by two? You can text me through this number.”

“Erm, sure,” you said uneasily, “I’m sorry, it’s just… very sudden, I don’t--”

“You can bring the boyfriend,” he said casually, “if you like.”

“He won’t be… home,” you said carefully, “I’ll let you know. Thank you.”

“I look forward to hearing from you,” he replied, “have a good day.”

“You, too,” you said and the line died.

You put your phone down and took a moment. Good things rarely happened to you. You struggled so long it was hard to think that might change. The skeptic in you told you there was something behind it all. That it couldn’t possibly be your art.

You went back to your computer and sighed as you waved away the screensaver with your mouse. The blinking cursor made you want to believe it was your big break.

🎨

You texted Clark at one and at four, you were in an Uber. Marcus drove his car to work and you stuck to buses and the underground when you could. The address was at least an hour out, the house among those estates on the edge of the city reserved for the upper echelon. You’d only ever seen the sprawling yards on your way to the next town.

When the car finally turned up the drive and you passed beyond a low brick wall, you felt entirely out of your depth. You tipped the Uber but didn’t feel too bad with the check from Vanessa sitting soundly in your account. You clutched the strap of your bag and walked along the curve of the brick work towards the stairs.

“Hey,” you stopped as Clark called to you, your ankle still tender from the night before.

You glanced over as he came out of the large garage and peeled off a pair of leather gloves. He smiled as he tucked them into his jacket pocket. You watched him and played with the clasp on your bag.

“Just got back from a drive,” he said, “I almost got carried away. I’m glad you made it.”

“Yeah, no problem,” you replied.

“Well, come on, let me show you around,” he waved behind you towards the front doors, “we’ll go on a tour and then we can talk details.”

“Wow,” you uttered mindlessly as you climbed the stairs to the door but kept the weight on your uninjured ankle, “this place is huge.”

“My contractor went a little crazy,” he scoffed, “but I can’t complain.”

He led you through the doors and directed you to the left. In the front room, your work was hung along the opposite wall, arranged in a way that drew the eye to them. You stepped closer and peered up at your work with a hint of awe. They looked even better in a place like that.

“I had my interior designer make the final call on where to hang them,” he explained, “I hope you don’t mind, I gave her your details. She said she had clients who might be interested in your work.”

“Really?” you breathed, “that’s… too nice.”

“Oh yeah? One day, you’ll be sick of rich pricks like me,” he grinned, “I’ll show you the pool, that’s usually the main attraction.”

“Sounds good,” you said as you followed but he paused and watched your stunted gait.

“I forgot, we can go slow,” he offered, “how’s the ankle?”

“I’ll make do,” you affirmed as you neared him, “just need to get my steps in.”

🎨

As you finished the tour of the second floor, you slowed along the long hall and admired the work of artists you only ever saw in museums. You couldn’t help but be enamoured by the historic blots of paint. You almost forgot where you were as you leaned in to read the initials beneath the pastel flowers.

“So,” Clark’s voice brought you back, you almost blanked him out entirely in your mind, “I think you might have noticed the empty space above the fireplace in the front room. I was hoping you could fill it.”

“Oh?” you looked at him and smiled nervously, “did you have something in mind? A landscape or--”

“Well, your portraits are great. I like the old world style. I was hoping you might do one of… me,” he suggested, “I know, it’s vain but why not?”

“I mean, yeah, I could do that,” you said.

“I’ll pay hourly plus materials,” he continued, “three hundred an hour.”

You almost choked at the number. You blinked and swallowed through your surprise.

“Even a small portrait would take at least twelve hours,” you warned, “are you sure?”

“I know it’s a lot of time for you, so… I was thinking, if you have to miss work, I’ll factor it into your rate. I would really like to get the project started as soon as we can,” he put his hand on his hip as he looked down at you, “the only thing I need from you is a list of materials. I’ll have them waiting for you here.”

“Here?”

“Well, yeah, I figure it makes most sense,” he turned his palm out.

“Hmm, sure, I prefer my own brushes but… you know I can just buy the stuff myself--”

“Ah, no, I want it to be perfect. You send me a list and I’ll have my assistant go out and get it all ready,” he assured, “How does Sunday sound?”

“Sunday?” you blanched. That was two days away.

“Like I said, Marcus is more than welcome to come with you,” he offered, “I’d hate to keep you from him too long.”

“I guess Sunday works,” you squeaked, “I’ll talk to Marcus.”

“Great,” he said coolly, “well, that’s business. How about a drink to seal the deal?”

“I don’t know, I should probably get back,” you fiddled with your bag against your hip.

“One drink won’t hurt,” he said, “go on, call the boyfriend and let him know you won’t be much longer.”

“I… thanks,” you murmured.

“You’re humble for an artist,” he joked as he sidled by you, “once you grow an ego, you’ll be unstoppable.” He neared the stairs as you turned to watch him, “I’ll be at the bar, waiting. You like gin?”

“Sure,” you answered as you pulled out your phone, “I’ll see you down there.”

🎨

When you told Marcus about your new side gig, he was even more excited than you. You were anxious and slightly hesitant. You hated to jump in feet first and risk losing more than a few tubes of paint. What if the work wasn’t good enough?

Marcus was more than willing to come with you when you told him about the size of the place. He knew by the area that it was extravagant. You sat in the passenger seat with the most expensive bottle of wine you’d ever bought cradled between your legs. You hated to show up empty handed after all of Clark’s generosity.

Marcus got lost and went down the wrong driveway before you righted your course. As you drove up, you were once more overcome from the rich rosebuds and sparkling fountain at the centre of the mosaic. You gripped the neck of the bottle and got out as Marcus whistled in awe.

“You weren’t kidding. This place is fucking nuts,” he swore, “I should’ve worn the tux from my brother’s wedding.”

“Please, Marcus,” you rolled your eyes, “let’s both try not to break anything.”

“You’re the clumsy one,” he chirped, “shit, you’re so lucky. You get to hang out here and paint all day? God, I wish I had an ounce of artistic talent. I’d trade it for code in a minute.”

You climbed the steps and clanged the large knocker on the right door. You waited a moment before an answer came and Clark appeared on the other side and beckoned you inside. He smiled as he shook Marcus’ hand.

“Thanks for joining us,” he said, “I would’ve felt awful stealing your girlfriend on the weekend like this.”

“Are you kidding me? She said you had a pool and I snuck the swim shorts into the backseat,” Marcus chuckled and you nudged him with your elbow.

“See?” Clark arched a brow, “the pool is always the seller.”

“Here,” you said as you held out the bottle of red, “for everything you’ve done and welcoming us into your home.”

“Ohhh,” he took the bottle and looked over the label, “I got a spot for this right behind the bar. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I brought my brushes,” you patted the canvas bag on your shoulder.

“Mmm, yeah, well, I’ll just put this away and we’ll give Marcus the grand tour. Then I’ll get you situated,” he assured and rushed off.

He returned and pointed Marcus through to the front room, “you’ll see, just over here,” he directed him to your paintings.

“Oh, wow, babe,” Marcus marveled at the hung portraits, “you really did it.”

You smiled bashfully and Clark peeked over at you and winked. You squirmed as your cheeks burned and you turned away as he beckoned Marcus past the mantle.

“It’s a big place,” Clark said, “I’d like to get you started before noon.”

Clark led you along the same path as days before and slowed as you came back to the top of the stairs. He turned back and clapped his hands together.

“Marcus, if you wanna hop in the pool, we’re gonna start just in there,” he pointed to the one door you hadn’t looked through, “that’s the studio.”

“What about you?” Marcus asked.

“Well, I’ll be a part of the process so I’m afraid I will be just as busy but if you need anything, Nina, she has a crooked nose and mean mouth but don’t let her fool you, she’ll get you whatever you need,” he said, “just don’t track in water from the pool or she’ll string you up.”

“Oh, well, that doesn’t sound too bad. Some alone time in the sun and a pool,” Marcus grinned, “I really couldn’t ask for anything else… except you, babe.”

“Sure,” you scoffed, “go, have fun.”

Marcus kissed you quickly and thanked Clark again before he excitedly barreled down the steps. You scratched your neck as you looked back to your host, and you guessed, your new boss.

��I’m sorry about him. He can be such a kid sometimes,” you said.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he waved it off, “so, you ready to see your workspace? I kinda wanted it to be a surprise. Also, a bit last minute so it’s not perfect… yet.”

“Uh, yeah,” you answered, “can’t wait.”

He motioned you over to the tall dusty rose doors and hooked his fingers in the slotted handles. He slid them open and revealed an airy room with a tall ceiling and long windows. An easel stood facing the sun streaked glass, an immense canvas bigger than yourself, bigger than him, propped up on it. There was a ladder nearby and the table was set with a rainbow of paints and a large pallet.

Your lips parted as you neared the easel and stared up at the canvas, “you were right, it’s gonna be a lot of work.”

“I hope it’s not too much,” he said, “but you name your price. We’ll make it work.”

“No, no, I think for what you’re paying, I’ll do just fine,” you put your bag down daintily on the table, “so, uh, a portrait, I guess that means…”

Your voice trailed off as he went to the upholstered chair across the room, at an angle so you could see him from your vantage. Behind it, hung a velvet curtain to add to the scene and a bust on a pedestal. It felt surreal, like a dream.

You turned and pulled out the brushes, “I think you’ll get more tired than me, just sitting there.”

“I’ll make it through,” he assured as he sat, “is there anyway you’d like me to sit? Chin up, or…”

“Hmmm,” you turned to look at him, “I think… if you just put your shoulders back and… did you want a profile or--”

“I was thinking front-facing,” he stared at you steadily, unflinching as his eyes stuck to you, “just like this.”

“Perfect,” you said nervously and looked back to the table. 

There was water to rinse your brushes, rags, pencils, blending sticks; everything you needed and more. You took a pencil from the bunch and pulled over the ladder. You climbed up and looked over at Clark as he sat stoic and still. He looked picturesque in real life, you expected paint would only lend to his figure.

His eyes met yours and you turned to start tracing the basic shapes onto the canvas. You had to stop and steady your hand as you did. His gaze made it hard not to tremble.

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #dark fic #fic #dark!fic #series #portrait of a dangerous man #dc #dcu #au #mob au #mob!au #superman

[ohpuckthat]

Stood Up (Quinn Hughes)

When I first moved to Vancouver for school, I stayed in residence for as long as possible. First-year was a guarantee. Second-year worked out. Third-year was when my luck ran out. However, by that point, I had made a few friends and my luck came back when one of them had told me he was looking for a roommate coming back from the summer break. Rooming with a guy was not my first choice and rooming with a hockey boy was certainly not but I needed a place and 100% could not have afforded one on my own.

When I first met Quinn, we were at a bar just after my last final. Most of my friends had either bailed or were on the dance floor. I found myself sitting alone at the bar, trying to destress as much as possible before I had to head home to my family. As I downed my third or fourth drink, I saw someone sit next to me out of the corner of my eye. Thinking it was one of my friends to take me home, my drunk self quickly turned to him and spilt his drink all over his lap.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry." I stumbled, feeling the embarrassment take over.

"That's okay. I hate these pants anyway." He laughed, quickly diffusing the situation. "I'm Quinn."

"Y/N. Let me buy you another drink."

"I'll take your number instead if that's okay?" He flirted, leaning in a little closer and holding his phone out.

"That was really smooth." I bit my lip and took his phone from his hand. I put in my information and took a picture of myself for the contact photo before handing it back to him.

"Y/L/N! Ready to go?" My friend Connor yelled, holding my coat.

"That's my cue. It was nice to meet you. Sorry about your pants."

"Nice to meet you too." He said, holding up a full glass. I ran over to Connor and put on my coat, walking out with him.

"Nice catch." He whispered in my ear once we got in the car.

"He was cute wasn't he?" I joked, feeling a little confused as to why he was saying this.

"Wait, you didn't recognize him?"

"No? Should I have?"

"Oh, honey. That was Quinn Hughes. From the Canucks?"

"No. No way." I said, disbelief laced in my voice.

"How much did you drink?"

And just like that, I was friends with the Quinn Hughes. We texted constantly and hung out almost every day he was in Vancouver. When I went home that summer, we continued to FaceTime every evening and he even came to visit me and my family.

Now, almost three years later, we were living together. Quinn had morning practice and I was sitting in the living room working on a paper for class. When he got home, he dropped his bag at the door before flopping onto the couch next to me.

"How's it going?" He asked, nodding towards the computer on my lap.

"It's going. I should be done a draft by tonight." I sighed, feeling a little frustrated at this paper. The prof was a grade a asshole and would assign something insane every week.

"Perfect. Because tonight, we're going out."

"Quinn-"

"And you can't bail again. The boys are starting to think you've died and I'm going insane."

"Quinn. I need to finish this." I sighed, setting my laptop down on the couch for a second.

"Oh, come on. It's not due until Wednesday and it's the last night we're able to go out. Please... I'll buy all your drinks..."

"Fine. But we're not staying till last call again. I want to get up early tomorrow."

"Deal!" He smiled, hopping up from the couch and pulling me up with him. He basically threw me into my room and closed the door. "We're leaving in 20!" He called through the door before I heard his footsteps walking away.

I rifled through my closet and grabbed my favourite dress. I got dressed and started on my makeup. I sped through my makeup, finishing off with a red lip. I knew throughout the night, I'd be stressed about this stupid paper so any extra confidence I could get, I'd take. I grabbed my purse and walked out, seeing Quinn ready on the couch.

"You ready?" He asked, walking to the door.

"Yeah. I just need my shoes." I put on my heels and jacket, putting them both on.

"Good thing we're leaving before last call because all the guys will be on you tonight. They're gonna be sooo jealous when they see you leaving with me." He laughed, placing his hand on the small of my back as we walked down to the foyer.

"They won't be jealous if they knew you weren't getting any action anyway." I teased as we got in the car. We made it to the bar soon after and walked in, quickly spotting the group of large men in the corner.

"She's alive!" Brock called as we got closer.

"Hi, Boeser." I smiled, pulling him into a hug.

"We were pretty sure Hughes made it up that you two were living together and that you had rejected him long ago. We wanted to save his ego but we didn't know how long to keep it up."

"Well, part of that is true. We are roommates but he was rejected a while back." I whispered the last part, winking at him. "Well, I certainly need a drink. Your usual?" I asked Quinn before making my way to the bar.

I ordered Quinn and me our drinks and leaned against the bar as I waited. I turned to look back at the boys, seeing them all in a heated conversation, most likely about hockey. There were only a few things on these boys' minds, hockey at the forefront. I turned back to the bar to see the bartender still making other people's drinks. I took my phone out, secretly working on my paper.

"Woah, that looks intense." I heard a voice behind me. I quickly turned to see an extremely handsome man in a suit standing there.

"Uh, uh, yeah. I uh, have a paper due but I was promised free drinks so I couldn't exactly turn that down." I laughed, feeling a little nervous. The last time I talked to a guy in a bar was Quinn and I couldn't even remember how many drinks I had downed at that point.

"Sounds like nothing much pulls you away from your work."

"This semester's kind of kicking my ass so my social life has taken quite a hit."

"Sounds like you need someone to help you out with that." He laughed, taking a step closer.

"I guess so." I smiled back, tilting my head to the side. I turned to see Quinn and I's drinks ready. "This is me."

"Well, I was heading out anyway. But I knew that if I didn't at least ask for your number, I'd be kicking myself for at least a week."

"A week? Well, I must have done something right."

"You sure did. I hope I did too." He dragged on, holding his phone out.

"You sure did." I teased, taking his phone from him and putting in my number.

"It was nice to meet you..." He started, looking down at his phone as I passed it back. "Y/N."

"You too..."

"Aaron."

"Have a nice night Aaron." I smiled, grabbing both drinks and walking back to the boys. I placed Quinn's drink in front of him, sitting in the booth next to him.

"Who was that?" He asked, nudging my arm slightly.

"None of your business." I smiled back, joining into the conversation.

I had nursed two drinks over the few hours we were there but I was starting to feel exhausted. I didn't want to ruin the night for Quinn but I could feel my eyes start to droop. I laid my head on Quinn's shoulder, closing my eyes for a second. I felt a hand move onto my lower back. Looking up, I saw Quinn smiling down at me.

"I think we're gonna head out," Quinn announced, taking his phone out to call for our ride home.

"We can stay a little longer," I whispered, sitting up straight.

"You can't fall asleep in a bar." He whispered back, turning his attention back to his phone. We said our goodbyes to the team and walked out.

"Thank you for tonight." I smiled as we got into the car.

"Thank you for coming out. I know the guys really liked seeing you again."

"Well, it was good getting out of the house. I feel like I'm going to sleep for three weeks though." I laughed, laying on his shoulder again.

I was shaken awake not long after when we arrived home. Quinn pulled me out of the car and practically carried me to our apartment. I changed into my pyjamas and joined Quinn on the couch who was watching *shock* a hockey game.

"You should go to bed." He whispered, playing with my hair as I laid my head on his lap.

"I know." I groaned, lifting my phone above my head, hidden from Quinn.

[phone] Hey. It's Aaron. I know this is horrible etiquette and I should have waited at least a day to text you but I thought a beautiful girl like you won't be free for long. Would you like to go for dinner Friday? Say 6?

I smiled, feeling giddy just reading the text. I hadn't been on a date in... a while so having someone want to take me out, meant a lot.

(Y/N) from the bar I would love that. Text me the details whenever. I'm heading to bed but I'll talk to you tomorrow 😊

Aaron from the bar Sleep well

"Who's that?" Quinn asked, trying to move my phone to see.

"No one," I said, quickly locking my phone. "I should go to bed."

"It's the boy from the bar!" He called, following me to my room.

"Quinn, I really need to get to sleep," I whispered, throwing my comforter over my head.

"Fine. Sweet dreams. We'll talk about this tomorrow." He smiled, whispering the last part, hoping I wouldn't notice.

When I woke up the next morning, I got up nice and early and immediately got to work. I made some coffee and a bowl of cereal and ate as I wrote. I had finished my first draft by the time Quinn woke up.

"Morning!" He called, pouring himself a coffee.

"Morning," I said, rereading my paper.

"How's it going? Did you finish it?"

"I got the first draft done which is a start."

"And you'll have it done by Friday?"

"It's due Wednesday. I don't know where you got Friday." I said, looking at Quinn with confusion.

"Your date." He said casually, sliding in the seat next to me.

"You went through my phone!" I cried, smacking his arm.

"No. Brock knows Aaron. He was asking about you..."

"And here I thought I was getting away from you hockey boys." I joked, getting up to get ready for the day.

When Friday rolled around, I was extremely nervous. I spent basically all day getting ready. Shaving everything in the shower, making sure my hair and makeup were done as well as my abilities allowed and rummaged through my closet looking for the perfect outfit. I threw a few options on the bed, but none of them were good enough. Before I went into full meltdown, Quinn walked in with a banana in hand.

"So, how's it going?"

"I'm only freaking out a little." I sighed, looking back into my closet.

"You do know that you don't have to go if you're that nervous." He said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Oh come on Quinn. This is normal." I laughed, throwing another dress onto the bed.

"Would it make you feel better to have an out? I'm going out with some of the boys but I can keep my phone on me in case you need me."

"That does help Quinn, thank you." I smiled, turning to him. He pulled me into a hug and started walking out of the room.

"Wear the red one." He said before finally walking out.

Looking over the bed, one of my favourite dresses was sat smack dab in the middle. Taking a deep breath, I put on the red dress, shaking my head at how right Quinn was. Somehow he always knew. As 6 o'clock got closer, I said my goodbyes to Quinn, called a cab and made my way to the restaurant Aaron had chosen. I arrived a few minutes early and got seated. I ordered a glass of wine and they brought it with a basket of breadsticks.

"Would you like to order?"

"Um, I'm still waiting on someone. They should be here soon." I smiled, starting to fidget with my rings.

"No worries. I'll be back when they arrive."

"Thanks," I whispered, taking my phone out of my purse.

It was only 6:05. There was no reason to panic. There were no texts from him but it was completely possible that he was driving. Yeah. He was probably driving and couldn't take his phone out. Maybe he was stuck in traffic. Maybe-

"Hasn't shown up yet?"

"Uh, no." I sighed, looking at my phone again. It was now 6:20 and still no message.

"My manager has asked for the table." He said quietly.

"Can I just have 5 more minutes?" I pleaded, hoping Aaron would still show.

"Of course." He smiled, patting my shoulder as he left again. I unlocked my phone and sent him a text in hopes he would just show up. When I realized he wasn't coming, I tried to call Quinn, hoping he would be able to calm me down. When it went straight to voicemail, my heart dropped a bit.

"Hey Quinn," I started, biting back my tears. "Um, Aaron didn't show up so I'm probably just going to pick up something for dinner and some ice cream. Um, don't rush home. Have fun with the guys. I'll see you when you get home." I hung up just as the server walked up. "Um, can I just get the bill?"

"Of course."

"WAIT! I'm here! I'm here!" Quinn called, running through the tables towards me. I looked up at the server, a smile on my face. "I'm so sorry I'm late."

"I'll give you guys a minute." The server smiled, walking away.

"What are you doing here?"

"We uh, saw Aaron out with some of his friends so I thought I'd come to save you." He winked, taking a sip of the water in front of him. "What are you thinking of getting?" He asked, looking through the menu. "Cause none of this looks good to me."

"Quinn-" I started, wanting to talk about it.

"Or should we just go?"

"Fine." I looked around and saw the server walking over.

"Have you decided?"

"Could we just get the bill?" I asked, pointing at the full glass of wine.

"Don't worry about it. It's on the house."

"Thank you." I smiled, getting up from the table. As I grabbed my purse, Quinn took a hundred out of his wallet.

"Thanks for taking care of her." He said, passing it to the server.

"Thank you." He said, surprised at the large bill.

Quinn placed his hand on my lower back and led me out to his car. We drove home, stopping to pick up some cheeseburgers on the way. When we finally got back, we both got changed into some pyjamas and set up in the living room.

"Thanks for saving me tonight Quinn."

"Anytime. He's an idiot you know."

"I know," I said, tear welling up in my eyes.

"Oh hun, I didn't mean to make you cry." He said, pulling me into his lap.

"I'm sorry," I said, wiping away the tears, laying my head in his neck.

"You never have to apologize. He's an ass for standing you up." He said, holding me closer.

"What would I do without you?" I smiled, looking up at him.

"Who knows?" He laughed, looking down at my lips quickly.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I am an idiot." I started, moving one of my arms to wrap around his shoulders.

"You're not an idiot." He whispered back.

"I think I am." I hummed, moving slightly on his lap.

"How so?"

"I got so excited when Aaron asked me out because I hadn't been on a date in what felt like forever and what I didn't realize was that I had closed myself off for the past year because I was so scared of-" I stopped myself, thinking quickly if I really wanted to say this. I chuckled slightly, looking at my hand that was placed on his chest. "Scared of how I felt about you. I didn't want to lose you because the past two years of knowing you have been probably the best two years of my life." I smiled, feeling a single tear roll down my cheek.

"You could never lose me." He started, wiping that tear away. "From the first time I saw you when you spilt that drink on my pants, I knew you were going to be someone special to me. You have no idea how great it feels to hear that you feel that way about me."

"I think I can imagine." I laughed, biting my lower lip. He smiled down at me, his hand resting on my cheek. I smiled back up at him, leaning in as our lips collided.

Who knew it was going to take some asshole to stand me up for us to get together? Well, in the end, it was all worth it.

A/N New Girl vibes anyone?

#quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes imagines #quinnhughes #nhl imagine #nhl imagines

[akakeiiji]

— Haikyuu characters as things that have happened to my friends and I

↳ a/n — this was so self-indulgent and fun to write, i suppose i just really really miss my friends huhu. my friend group consists of 14 people and most of us have known one another since grade school so we have had a lot of memories together, both good and bad, so here is a compilation of a few of them that reminded me of hq characters

— Bokuto Koutarou

He was tossing a can of sardines to his friend to catch but he ended up throwing it too hard so his friend dodged and the can instead hit the school's flat-screen tv subsequently destroying it all while his teacher was in the room

— Akaashi Keiji

He wasn't paying attention when trying to join his zoom class and he accidentally joined the zoom call meant for teachers right when they were having a staff meeting, he didn't realize right away and stayed there for a good five minutes before the teachers started asking why he was there

— Oikawa @ Iwaizumi

He wanted to confess to his crush but because of quarantine he couldn't do it in person so he had to resort to doing it via text, however, instead of doing it through DM he ended up sending his confession to their group chat where every one of their friends could read it

— Yamaguchi Tadashi

He thought that he was going to fail an exam so he started crying in the middle of it and his teacher felt so bad that he gave everyone a 30-minute extension

— Daichi Sawamura

He and his friends were tossing a volleyball towards one another in a circle on the floor in their classroom and he ended up receiving too violently making the volleyball fly up and break the light fixture in the room

— Kageyama Tobio

He tried to ding dong ditch his neighbor because his friends dared him to but he ended up tripping in front of the gate as he was running away and got caught

— Sugawara Koushi

He tried to help his classmate during a test by showing her his paper before realizing that the head teacher was right behind him, they both got caught and their parents were called in the next day

— Atsumu and Osamu Miya

There was this one area in the city that didn't allow those under 18 to be out after a certain time and one night they ended up getting stranded there so they hid in some bushes in front of a closed McDonalds until their mom found them and took them home

— Suna Rintaro

He was looking at random photos in the computer lab and the teacher presented his computer screen on the television as he unintentionally clicked on a meme about penises. Everyone in class saw the photo and he was forced to stay behind after class

— Tsukishima Kei

He posted something on Twitter ranting about how hard his exam was only for a classmate to take screenshots of it and send them to the teacher who made the exam, they then called his parents because the tweet contained one (1) swear word and threatened to remove him from the honors roll

— Hinata Shoyo

He was watching a new movie at the cinemas and when the entire theatre was silent he started ugly crying and wailing because his favorite character just died making everyone in the cinema start laughing at him

— Kenma Kozuma

He was playing in co-op and when he joined a new world he was wondering why the host wasn't starting the game yet, after waiting for a good five minutes he started messaging the other players telling them to start already only for him to realize that he was  actually the host the entire time

— Lev Haiba

He fell asleep in the middle of a zoom class and woke up only when he and his teacher were left alone in the call, he ended up panicking and told her that he just forgot to leave the call because he was in the bathroom

— Kyotani Kentaro

He ended up making his teacher cry in the middle of class because they thought he was being mean to them but he didn't even do anything?? He just asked them a question and started crying??

— Yuji Terushima and the rest of Johzenji

They almost burnt their hair off while trying to style it for a school dance, they ended up losing track of time and almost didn't make it to the venue on time because they didn't know how to use the curling/straightening irons properly and were only using outdated youtube tutorials as their guides

— Goshiki Tsutomu

He impulsively let his friends cut his hair in the middle of class and they ended up cutting his bangs too short and choppy, he had to suffer the rest of the school year with that hairstyle

— Kuroo Tetsurou

He was so desperate to talk to his crush that he tried starting a conversation by talking about calculators, just calculators, nothing else

— Sakusa Kiyoomi

He accidentally drank half a bottle of baby cologne before realizing that what he was drinking was not in fact water

— Nishinoya Yuu and Tanaka Ryuunosuke

They both needed to poop really bad during lunch so they went to the school infirmary and they each pooped there while the other stood outside making sure nobody would go in as the other was finishing their business, in the end they considered a solid bonding experience <3

— Ushijima Wakatoshi

Someone tried confessing to him by handing him a paper with the words "I like you" written on it but somehow he still didn't get the message despite the person repeatedly shoving the paper into his hands

— Asahi Azumane

He got separated from his friends while they were out and got lost, he then started vlogging his experience when some dogs scared him, he ended up falling onto the asphalt road from shock and broke his phone

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu hcs #hq!! #hq hcs #hq headcanons #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #bokuto koutarou #Akaashi keiji #kageyama tobio #hinata shoyo #atsumu miya #osamu miya #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu writing #haikyuu crack #PLS ONLY NOW AM I REALIZING HOW CRAZY MY FRIENDS AND I ARE BUT TBH WE'RE ONLY MILD COMPARED TO OTHER PPL AT MY SCHOOL

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife For Thor Pt.01

10/12/2020

Arrivals and Departures

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 6,990

Warnings: language, talks of death, angst, talks of sex,

A/N: This is seriously...I mean, I don’t even know where this came from. Credits to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ because Roo gave me the idea and I kinda ran with it. Like omg, y’all. Blame Roo. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo Dialogue from Thor Ragnarok has been used in the beginning of this story.

Please do not REPOST my stories anywhere. Reblogs are most welcome!

He stands with his arms crossed in what appears to be a small sitting room with a large window that opens to the sublime sight of the black space beyond. Sterling silver, radiant red, and brilliant blue stars twinkle into infinity.

This is a sight that Thor had seen many times before and yet, for the first time in an age, he felt hopeful for the future.

His fight had ended. With Ragnarok, his journey had reached an end. Not the end, but certainly that of a chapter I which his battles might rest.

He imagines that this might be how his father felt when he had taken charge of the nine realms.

However violent that takeover might have been, his father had lied about many things—his sister for one—it had been the beginning of a quieter reign. A new formative time for his father. He may not have been a perfect man, but he’d grown wiser in many ways. Still not the best father, but his father, nonetheless.

Thor can almost picture his life on Earth, a time of peace. A time to rebuild. He will be able to give his people a good life there and he’s certain that his friends will appreciate having him closer. Friends from work they may be, but friends.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to go back to Earth?” Loki asks, standing beside him with his hands held gently at his front.

Thor looks at him, waiting a moment to allow him to finish speaking.

“Yes, of course.” Thor assures him. “The people of Earth love me. I’m very popular.”

Loki takes a breath, looking out the window as he quickly accepts his brother’s reasoning while simultaneously realizing he must word this differently to get his point across.

“Let me rephrase that.” Loki begins, “Do you really think it’s a good idea to bring me back to Earth?”

Thor knows that Loki has a point. His history with Earth is…not perfect. To say the least.

“Probably not, to be honest.” He admits, noting Loki’s apprehension.

Loki smiles, a little knowing.

“I wouldn’t worry, brother.” Thor tells him, both turning back to the void outside. “I feel like everything’s going to work out fine.”

The moment seems endless, the two of them waiting as if the something should or might happen after Thor’s optimistic sentiments.

Then the moment passes and Loki sighs.

“Right, well, I’ll start rounding up the people who will be of the most use once we arrive.”

Thor gives his brother one parting smile but doesn’t watch him leave.

Thor doesn’t know exactly what has changed in him, what makes him so confident in this decision, but he knows it’s the best decision he could have made. And if he’s honest, though he’d never admit it out loud, the possibility of finally being on the same planet as Jane…well, he’d be a fool not to consider the possibilities.

~~~~~~~~~~

Something feels different today.

As you wake, turning onto your side to stare across the small room at the blinking line on the blank word document on your computer screen, you can’t quite put your finger on what is making you nervous.

Your stomach is rolling, making you queasy, despite the fact that you have no reason to be anxious.

Yesterday was like the day before and today will be just like yesterday. Nothing in your life ever changes, and that’s become so much of who you are that whenever you have even a doctor’s appointment your heart begins to race in dreaded anticipation.

With trembling hands you clutch your blanket, trying to find a reason behind this mood. Your breath quickens as your heart panics, your mind scrambling to make sense of these emotions but nothing comes to mind.

So, you get out of bed. You get dressed choosing a simple knee length black dress that fits loose enough to keep you comfortable throughout the day. Then you head into the kitchen and start the coffee pot.

Halfway through the brew you shut the machine off and rush to dump out its contents into the sink.

“Fuck.”

You sigh, realizing you should really invest in decaf coffee for morning just like this.

“Tea. Tea is better.” You rationalize and pull your kettle off the warmer and fill it in the sink.

You replace it in its dock then turn your back to it, hands gripping the edge of the counter as you lean against it.

Your fingers stroke the smooth and unvarnished wooden countertop, suddenly going rigid around the lip as your heart goes frantic again.

The island counter directly in front of you is made of the same unvarnished wood, a slightly mismatched chair on the other side, tucked in beside the open shelving that holds your pots and pans. Along the center of the island sits a small vase with nearly completely withered flowers.

You’re filled with relief as your hands are given new task and you hurry forward and take the clear glass vase, toss the flowers—which crumble as they hit yesterday’s empty cereal box—dump the water in the sink and quickly refill it.

Setting the vase aside, you pull open a drawer and pluck from an array of contents a small packet of flower food, a pair of small pruners, a long piece of twine, and head out the back door to your modest backyard.

There isn’t much in it, and it’s unfenced. A large tree at the back-left corner provides shade and pecans. In the center of the yard sits a set of antique iron work garden furniture. Twisted and shaped into what reminds you of lace. Two smaller chairs and one long bench with curved backs.

You’ve been of a mind to buy cushions for them, but you haven’t found an excuse to justify the expense.

In between the garden set sits an outdoor coffee table made of wood and painted white. It’s fading and will need a new coat soon but again the expense can wait. At least until you sell another story.

Apart from this set and a small wooden shed beside the pecan tree, your yard is mostly overgrown grass and carefully cultivated flowers lining the length of your narrow back porch.

You smile, noticing the length of your grass, grateful for another something to keep you busy today. Something to keep your mind off this mysterious and anxious premonition of something to come.

Quickly you move to a large blooming bush at the end of your porch and cut from it several bunches of pink and blue garden phlox.

You admire the shade of the blue flowers. The color reminds you a pair of blue eyes you’d once seen on a woman who’d come to your school as a child.

She’d been beautiful and kind, but she hadn’t picked you. Still, you’d never forgotten the color of her eyes.

The pink is pastel at the edges of its petals and vibrant magenta at the center.

As you head back in, the kettle only barely beginning to steam, you quickly arrange the bunches you’ve picked and wrap them up with the twine. You set the bushel aside and with the vase pulled close, you tear the packet of flower food with your teeth and pour it in.

Replacing the flowers, you give the kettle one more look before you race back into your bedroom to pick out a more appropriate outfit for cutting the grass.

You decide on a pair of jeans and a plain yellow t-shirt. Pulling them on, you pause with your shirt hooked around your arms as your eyes find your laptop screen, annoyingly black still.

With a groan you pull your shirt on and from the kitchen you hear the whistle.

Breakfast is simple. A store-bought muffin and a cup of breakfast tea do the trick and while you’re still chewing your last bite you head out to cut your grass.

It doesn’t take you too long and you lament the last bit as you cut it, the machine vibrating violently in your nervous grip.

No matter how much you try to distract yourself, this feeling of something terrible coming will not go away and you’re about to go out of your mind when a shout from your back door pulls your mind from it.

Standing there is an older man with an unconventionally handsome face. His lips are thin, cheekbones prominent, brown eyes sunken, and his nose long and defined. His dark hair slicked and parted, neatly kept to match his crisp navy suit.

“Aren’t you a little overdressed?” You shout at him as the whirr of the machine dies into silence.

The man moves towards you, a smile brightening his face.

“I was just at a meeting.” He explains.

“Do you ever stop working?” You wonder, pushing the lawn mower towards the shed as he follows.

“Only when I’m on vacation.” He tells you, amusement in his voice but subdued and you only hear it because you’ve known him for years.

“You don’t take vacations.” You sputter, almost laughing.

“Precisely.” He agrees.

He waits for you to shut the door and when you turn, he greets you with open arms.

“How have you been?” He asks, holding the hug for longer than you’re used to which only adds to the anxiety you’ve been feeling all morning.

What’s going on?!

“Hey, you okay?” You ask him, ignoring his question in favor of satisfying your curiosity.

He doesn’t answer but holds the hug a moment longer before pulling back to look at you.

“We have to talk.” He tells you, making your heart pound.

“Okay. You want some breakfast?” You offer, and swallow hard as your fear mounts.

“Sure.” He says and follows you inside.

You make him a full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, breakfast sausage, and buttered toast with a cup of coffee. Just because you can’t stand the idea of being hyped up on caffeine today doesn’t mean David won’t.

He digs right in while you stand on the other side of the island, sipping on your second cup of tea in hopes that it will ease your frayed nerves.

For a few minutes he gobbles down your food but when you shift on your feet for the fourth time, he clears his throat, takes a drink of his coffee, then puts his fork down.

“It’s not exactly bad news.” He assures you, easing you a little but something tells you that you still won’t like it.

“Just tell me, David.”

“As your lawyer,” He begins, sitting back in your old wobbly chair. “It’s my duty to inform you when there are developments with your family’s estate.”

“Right.” You agree, remembering the day he’d found you when you’d turned eighteen to tell you that you weren’t exactly as poor as you’d thought.

You’re not really rich either. You have a little money that your parents set aside for you. Old money that you hadn’t really touched. You use it mostly for bills when you can’t sell a story fast enough and most of your wealth is in this cottage. A family home that you’d had no idea was yours until David brought you here.

Finally, a home, after living in that school all those years.

“Well, I think it might be time to reveal a little more of that estate’s history.”

“Why?” You put down the floral porcelain cup and wrap your arms around yourself, afraid of what he’ll say.

How did you know that something was coming? What kind of sixth sense do you have?!

“After all this time, why would it matter?” You sigh, moving to pull out the second chair to his right on the shorter end of the island.

“Don’t panic.” He tells you, reaching over to place his hand over yours. “Let’s keep our heads. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“You say that, but why do I feel like that’s not exactly true?” You sigh.

He blinks, gathering his thoughts before he nods.

“I think I’ll tell you all at once. Like ripping a band-aid. Might be the easiest for you.” He realizes.

You don’t disagree.

“Your family comes from a very small people in Europe. Their origins are hard to trace but we know that they travelled between France, Norway, Denmark, Romania, Belgium, Sweden, Austria, Greece, and even spent a large amount of time in hiding in the United Kingdom.”

“I get it, they were nomads.” You sigh, your mood taking a turn from the anticipation of clarity.

“Yes. Nomads.” David agrees, patting your hand in an attempt to calm you. “I only mention it because there are many questions as to where they had originated from. No one seems to know. Unfortunately, I don’t think that question will ever be answered as all records before their stint in France have been lost.

“What we do know is that your ancestors, your bloodline are royalty.” David says, as easily as if he were telling you your age. “Even though the titles have long since been lost, you are technically—though you have no country to rule over—a princess.”

Slowly his words sink in and your face begins to relax. You look down at his hand over yours and without warning you laugh once. Then again, and again, until you’re leaning on your chair, head thrown back as your whole body shakes with it.

“What is so funny?” David asks, unamused but he goes back to eating.

“This is a joke, right? You’re pulling my leg.” You gasp, breath shallow.

“Not one little bit.” He shakes his head. “If we knew what country your ancestors came from, you would very much be in some palace or castle, reigning over your people. Your parents, were they alive, would have been King and Queen.

“You may not think it possible, but that is your legacy, Y/N. You are of royal blood.” David insists which sobers you a little, but you think it’s so silly that this is what you’d been so scared of.

This is what you’d been dreading?

“Okay. Fine. I believe you. But what does it matter? You said that if I still had a country then I would be princess, but clearly, I don’t. So, I’m not. What’s the point of telling me this when it makes absolutely no difference to my life?

“I don’t feel any different and it’s not like that makes me any richer? I’m still sitting on a decently sized fortune to assure that I don’t want for anything at least until my forties. What could this possibly change that you felt it necessary to tell me?”

David wipes his mouth with his napkin, finishing up the last bit of his coffee before he gets up and with his dirty plates moves towards the sink.

“Leave it, David. I’ll clean up later.” You watch him, sitting up a little straighter as that anxious feeling begins to grow again with his extended silence.

He washes the plate and as he does, your nerves begin to fray again. You anxiously pick at a small splinter in your island, waiting for him to speak.

He turns towards you as he finished washing his plate, then meets your eyes.

“You weren’t just revealing my heritage, were you?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I felt I needed to reveal your heritage because someone has reached out with the hopes of setting up a meeting with you.”

“Why would anyone wanna meet with me simply because they know of my lineage?” You wonder, slouched, hands moved to your lap to rest limply as you stare at David, fear increasing with every moment that passes.

“May I ask you a personal question?” He says, moving to stand closer as he dries his hand on your dishtowel.

“David, you know everything about me.” You sigh.

“Why haven’t you ever had a boyfriend? Or girlfriend? I’m not sure I’ve ever asked if you-?”

“To be honest, I don’t know either.” You shrug. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Not even as a child?” He wonders.

“I was too busy wishing for parents as a kid.” You clarify. “I didn’t have time for crushes or any of that stuff.”

“Are you opposed to a relationship?” David asks, dropping the towel then moving around to sit back down in his seat.

“Opposed?” You ask, shaking your head. “Not exactly opposed. I’ve just never known anyone worth caring about like that. I’m mainly here at home. I do go into town when I need to get my packages but there isn’t anyone there that…I don’t draw attention like that.”

“You’re a pretty girl.” David tells you, reaching over to tug on your sleeve. “When you aren’t sweaty and covered in grass clippings.”

You scoff, shaking your head.

“It’s not something I really worry about.” You admit.

“Would you ever want to get married?” David asks, and your heart is suddenly pounding.

The idea of being someone’s wife had crossed your mind once or twice. Mostly when you’d been jotting down ideas or plotlines for your books. In the end, because you didn’t think you had enough insight, you’d opted to remove all romance. You write mysteries.

“I don’t know that I’d be any good at it.” You confess. “I’m not…I can’t exactly picture myself being someone’s wife.”

“Why not?”

“Because I…I don’t even know what I’d be like in a relationship, sharing space and time, much less sharing an entire life?” You shake your head. “I’m not saying that I haven’t thought about it but it’s only ever been in passing.”

David goes silent, tapping his index finger against the island.

“David, please. You know I can’t take the suspense.” You plead.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” He nods then reminds himself, “Band-aid.”

You take a deep breath and turn to face him a little more in your seat.

“Well, you are aware of our planet’s newest inhabitants?”

“Th-The Asgardians in Norway?”

“Yes.” David nods. “Well, as a sign of good faith, to ensure that they will abide by Earth’s laws and to assuage any ideas from panicked world leaders that they might try and overtake the planet and make it their own, they have decided that marriage to someone from Earth might be the best way to do that.

“The Asgardian known as Brunnhilde has reached out to all families of royal blood and asked to meet with any eligible women, preferably—as she so tactfully put it—maidens.” He explains. “Which I take it you are?”

You swallow hard, your lungs rubbed of oxygen and yet you somehow manage to quietly acknowledge, “Yes. I’m a virgin.”

How can you not be after spending your whole life unconcerned with romance?

“You don’t have to do it, Y/N.” David suddenly says; however, you can see the ‘but’ in his eyes. “But if you don’t and the Asgardian king cannot choose from the women he does meet, you will probably be hunted down and forced to meet with him anyway.

“All world leaders are in agreement that this is the correct and only way to ensure the safety of the planet. They will not give up until every woman meeting the Asgardian’s requirements have been given the chance to meet with Thor.”

“Thor?!” You gasp, rising to your feet as hundreds if not thousands of images flash through your mind of the Thunder God and the Avengers fighting side by side.

“Yes.” David affirms, rising to his feet with you. “With the death of his father, he is now King of Asgard.”

Of course, Thor is going to be King. You already knew this. It’s common sense.

For some reason though, the confirmation made out loud, vocally…how the fuck are you supposed to marry Thor? An Avenger? That’s not…this cannot be real life!

“David,” You begin, apprehensive.

“I know. I know it is a lot to ask but as I said, I don’t believe we have much of a choice. He might very well not pick you.” David adds, rushing to comfort you and point out how unlikely you’d be the one Thor chooses to wed. “There are plenty of other women that he’s already met with. Women that are more suited to life in a palace than you are. The Hungarian princess is so eager to be Queen of Asgard that she’s been sending the other women bribes to try and convince them to refuse.

“It won’t make a difference, since they cannot refuse should Thor choose them.” David admits.

“A-all I have to do is meet with him?” You stutter, heart in your throat.

“Just a quick one-hour meeting. He’ll ask you questions. Get to know a bit about you. See if you are suited for life as Asgardian queen and then it’s over.” David assures you.

“I’m…There are lots of other women better for it, right?”

“Loads of them.” David promises.

New fears begin to take hold in your heart and mind.

It conjures up the last time you’d seen Thor, strutting from a massive spaceship docked over the ocean by New Asgard. He’d risen from its depths all wide shoulders and biceps. Heavy steps thudding as he’d stopped at the end of the massive ramp, waving at the cameras as his people had filed out behind him.

His hair cropped short as opposed to the long tresses he’d had when he’d last been on Earth, one eye missing with a sleek black and gold metal patch over it the absence.

You’ve never been threatened by him before. He’s a hero. But the prospect of being his wife and having wifely duties...

Your mind flies into panic as it shifts that large body over you, crawling towards you with his hands prying your legs open. The years of sexual experience radiating off of this fantasy Thor and all of his bulging muscles.

You almost want to throw up at the prospect of having to consummate a marriage. You haven’t exactly been eager to be with anyone since you haven’t met anyone special, but you’d at least imagined something more intimate. More personal.

“David I-they won’t choose me though, right?” You reach out for him because your legs are suddenly weak.

He takes hold of your arms and helps you stand still.

“They won’t.” He tells you, sounding convinced. “There are better candidates. Women with actual titles.”

He’s right. Of course, he’s right. He has to be right.

“It’s just a quick meeting.” He promises. “Then it’ll all be over, and you can come back to your cottage and live just as you have been, with no one to bother you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Leaving your little place is difficult. After spending years without a home to call your own, now that you have your cottage, tearing yourself away from it is like pulling splinters.

You like your little yard. You like your flowers. You love your bed and its white sheets, little pink and yellow flowers printed on the soft fabric.

You’d made it more feminine. You’d brought flowers back and frills and lace. You’d made it everything you thought a cottage at the edge of a wood should look like and as time had gone by you’d brought in more personal touches.

After several years, your home is finally completely you.

This place, this massive Asgardian structure is less gold and more wood, stone, and iron. Silver steel polished so bright it gleams even in moonlight. This place is not you. It’s him. It’s Thor. His home.

Right now, with the day almost over, the palace takes on a warmer tone. The wooden structures and gray stone pillars are bathed in orange light, giving the place a pleasant glow and despite yourself, you can almost picture Thor meandering through these Nordic halls, a long crimson robe around his thick form.

It isn’t an unpleasant image now that you’ve given yourself some time to get used to the idea of him.

When you arrived you were greeted and seated in a large round room, the lower quarter of the sturdy walls made of ornate stone brick, the rest of the wall beautiful dark oak. The floor is also stone, massive carpets underneath several pieces of obviously Norse inspired furniture.

Well actually, the Norse was probably derived from Asgardian styles. There’s a difference in them that you can see but don’t understand. The coffee table in front of you has ornately carved legs, golden embellishments, and a black coat of paint.

The sofa you’re sitting on is mostly wood, painted gold, with plush and soft satin covered cushions in wine red.

There are two other tables around the room, a collection of books on one and an array of fruits, foods, and drinks on the other. There are several different statues and stands. Lamps that look as if they should have flames instead of the electric bulbs they now hold.

Small touches of modern design filter through the room complimenting the more traditional décor.

“Hello there.” Says a lilting voice.

You recognize it and turn to find Loki, slipping through a narrow opening in the large set of doors you’d been escorted through almost half an hour ago.

He’s dressed in a black suit with a plain white t-shirt underneath dressing the look down.

“H-Hi.” You stammer, surprised by his appearance.

You stand, knowing well that he may not be King but for Asgard, Loki is still a prince.

“No, please. Do not get up on my account.” He gestures at your seat and you settle back in as he crosses to the table with all the books. “I forgot some papers in here, I only came to retrieve them. Do not mind me.”

You avert your eyes, afraid to see something you shouldn’t and sit just as stiffly as before, hands fisting the royal purple dress you’d chosen to wear. It’s simple, quarter sleeves, high neckline with a small V at the center. Just above your knees in length, it rises as you grip it.

“Nervous to meet my brother?” Loki asks, stopping by the doors as he eyes your tight grip.

“This whole situation is a little stressful.” You admit. “I’m…I live in a small house in the middle of nowhere. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Ah, you’re the one with the lost lineage.” Loki realizes, moving closer with interest. “A hidden princess. You could have refused to come, you know?”

“I would have been forced eventually.” You point out. “There are a lot of people who want this marriage thing to happen.”

“True.” Loki agrees, “My fault, I’m afraid. I make them nervous.”

“You did very nearly destroy New York.” You point out, remembering the carnage reported that day. The aftermath had taken forever to clean up.

“I did.” Loki agrees. “Do you fear me?”

“No.” You admit. “If you weren’t safe, Thor wouldn’t have brought you back here.”

“He could just be too trusting.”

“Maybe.” You agree. “But with the fate of his entire people tied to the successful acclimation of Asgard and Earth, if you were really a threat, I think he’d have cut you out before coming back.”

Loki’s lips slowly curl up into a smile before breaking apart into a toothy grin.

“What is your name again?” He asks, a sparkle of something in his eyes.

“Y/N.” You tell him. “Why?”

“No reason. This has been very illuminating, Y/N. It was lovely to meet you.” Loki says then with a quick bow of his head, he leaves you to your solitude.

Confused, you sit there completely at a loss for what just happened.

Had you taken too many liberties with Loki? What had that smile meant? You’d been made aware that Loki was also involved in recruiting women of royal blood into marriage meetings for Thor, but you hadn’t expected him to know you by the description of where you live.

Maybe because it’s so unlike anyone else’s?

You sit there stewing for another twenty minutes, wondering if maybe you’re being stood up when the large doors open once again.

You shoot up onto your feet, so damn nervous your body reacts without your permission. Through the door this time comes the man of the hour. The massive Thunder God dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a plain gray t-shirt crosses over to the table with food and pours himself a stein of what looks like beer from a sloshing brown pitcher.

“Estrid, is this from the new batch of ale?” He booms loud enough that he can be heard even outside of the room as he takes a quick sniff of the liquid.

His voice is so deep.

Licking your lips, you watch him drink the entire stein without taking a breath or waiting for an answer, and then refill it before grabbing it and taking an apple with his other hand.

He turns, holding the fruit up to his mouth and freezes with it pressed to his lips as he meets your eyes, realizing he isn’t alone.

You’re not exactly sure what to say or what to do, completely taken aback by this strange and sudden exposure to candid Thor. Both of you unprepared to see each other despite the fact that you’ve literally been waiting nearly an hour for him.

His confusion mounts as he lowers the apple, looking around as if expecting an explanation or to see if he’s in the correct room.

“What time is it?” He suddenly asks, meeting your gaze again.

“N-Nearly six.” You tell him, and his one good eye goes slightly wide.

“Oh!” His lips curl up into an easy smile. “I did not think it was that late.”

His smile makes you feel a little more at ease, but you’re still on edge.

“You’re my meeting.” He tells you, as if you don’t already know that. “Y/N? Y/L/N, right?”

“Yes.” You nod, then before you can stop yourself… “You’re late.”

Thor blinks. Startled it seems or maybe just surprised, but then he smiles again. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, you can be as late as you’d like. This is your meeting. Sorry. I didn’t…I don’t know why I said that.” You rush to say.

“No, no.” Thor turns to put down his stein of beer and the apple replaced in its bowl. “You’re right. I am late. We were supposed to meet at five, weren’t we?”

When he turns back to you, you nod.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you have much you could be doing.” Thor says, moving towards you and gesturing at the spot you’d been in before sitting down at the other end of the sofa.

“No.” You confess. “Not really. I’m actually one of the only people that probably doesn’t have much to do. Well, I mean, I could be writing. Or cleaning house.”

“They tell me that you had no knowledge about your lineage before Brunnhilde reached out to your lawyer?”

You nod. “It’s not really important. Or…no. That’s not the right-what I mean to say is that it isn’t significant to my life.”

“Don’t you want to know who your family is?” Thor wonders.

“I know who my family is. I had a mom. And a dad. Both died just after I was born. That’s my family.” You explain. “Apart from getting to meet you, the news that my family was once royalty doesn’t change it in any way. I’m still just as insignificant today as I was before.”

Thor narrows his brow, watching you for a long torturous moment as he considers what you’d just said.

“Tell me about yourself.” He suddenly says, turning to lean back against the arm, his own thrown over the back, right leg bent up onto the sofa.

“There isn’t much to tell.” You admit. “I was born, my parents died in an accident. I was taken to a school for orphans where I grew up and aged out. On the day I had to leave, Mr. Valis found me and gave me my inheritance which is a good amount of money and a small house. I’ve been living there ever since.”

“You didn’t take any additional schooling?” Thor asks, relaxing. “All the other young women I’ve met have made it a point to tell me about the universities and colleges they’ve attended.”

“I took a few correspondence classes.” You tell him, “But I’ve only ever wanted to write, and I didn’t feel that I needed a higher education to do it. I mean, it would probably look better on my resume, but my writing should speak for itself.”

You can’t really tell what he’s thinking with the way he’s watching you, his hand playing with a thread on the back of the sofa.

You take it as a good sign that many of the other women have a degree of some sort. They must want someone respectable with a good education, right?

“How do you feel about political marriages?” He asks, and you’re stunned for a moment.

“Um…”

“Be honest, please.”

“I guess I don’t like the idea?” You admit. “Being forced to marry someone you don’t love because duty demands it? Feels archaic. If you love someone, whether they fit into whatever political standards are being demanded or not should not be a reason to get married.”

Thor sits up, shifting a little closer as he leans towards you.

“If you were asked to go along with a political marriage in every way but the heart, could you?” He wonders, much more interested than before.

“What do you mean?” You ask, confused.

“Well, let’s say for example, you and I were to marry. We’d be expected to have children. You’d be bound to do your duties as Queen of Asgard, but you would not be required to love me. Would you be able to fulfill these requirements?”

“You don’t want to do this, do you?” You realize, seeing the eagerness in his eyes. His shoulders slump. “If you don’t want to get married, why don’t you just say something?”

“I must do what I can to ensure the future of my people.” Thor says, sighing deeply.

“I’m guessing there’s someone else you do love that you can’t marry?”

“Not that I can’t but won’t. She isn’t ready for marriage and I don’t feel right making that kind of demand from her when she clearly has other things she’d like to be doing with her life. And…yes, maybe a little bit can’t. A royal marriage would make the most sense. I need a Queen.” Thor says.

You can’t find the words to tell him how fucked up this all is so instead you sit in silence.

“I know this is not ideal. I’ve tried to find other ways of assuring Earth of my commitment to this planet but nothing I’ve suggested is good enough.”

He needs a Queen. This gives you solace. No one is less of a queen than you are.

“I’m sorry.” You finally tell him. “It’s not fair. But I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone who checks all those boxes for you. I hear the Hungarian princess is pretty eager.”

Thor ignores you, stroking his beard as he watches you. “What do you want from a marriage? Let us say it’s many years from now and you have found someone you love beyond all reason. You two decide to get married. What does that look like?”

You’re a little surprised by the question but you humor him and take a moment to really think about it.

The man you picture has no face. There is no one you care enough about to imagine. So…because he’s the only option, you take Thor’s face and give your imaginary husband a face.

“We’d be partners.” You tell him. “Open about everything important. We would respect each other’s individualities. If something is troubling me, I would like to know that I could turn to him and if he had something on his mind, I’d hope that he could turn to me too.

“We’d be honest about even the unpleasant aspects of our life together. If we disagreed, we would talk about it openly. We wouldn’t hide from each other. We’d spend as much time as we could together and always make time for each other.”

You picture Thor sitting at your island in your comfy cottage. He’s so massive that he’d take up so much space. You’d have to squeeze past him, and he’d turn to wrap his arms around your waist as you pass.

He’d trap you there, not letting you move.

“We’d make breakfast together. Cramped up in my little kitchen, it would turn into play.” You smile. “We’d lounge around the house, reading and listening to music. In the evenings we’d move out to the backyard and watch the sun set then watch the stars until I’d fall asleep on his shoulder.”

As if you’re caught doing something you shouldn’t be, you startle yourself out of your daydream and feel your neck heat up.

You’d crossed from rational marriage into sentimental and you’re a little shocked at the detail in which your mind has gone.

You’re also a little startled by the pleasant feeling that picturing Thor in those situations has given you.

For someone who has never had a crush, you’re startled by the butterflies it gives you.

“But I’ve never been into anyone like that before.” You tell him, looking away from his intense gaze. “So, even if that’s what I picture, it’s not like it’s ever gonna happen.”

“It might.” Thor says, sounding as if he might be trying to comfort you.

“It won’t.” You assure him. “I hope your girl changes her mind.”

There’s a bitter ache in your chest as you say it, and you’re certain it’s only there because of the little fantasy you just allowed yourself to have. You should have picture someone else.

“I hope they relax on the royal blood thing and let you marry someone you love instead.” You hope.

“You say that as if you already know that I won’t pick you.” Thor observes.

You smile wide, laughing even as you bite your lip. “Well, I’m nothing like the girls you’ve met with. I don’t have endless amounts of money. I don’t have a prestigious education or extensive family. I don’t know anything about being royalty. The others have been doing it their entire lives. I’m the least likely candidate. I don’t fit the requirements, except for the bloodline thing.

“I only agreed to meet with you because I knew that the likelihood of you picking me was almost non-existent.”

“Ouch.” Thor says.

“No!” You rush to say. “You’re very…I mean, you’re kind from what I can tell and honorable. You’ve saved Earth a couple times and you’re a little self-centered but only in a superficial way that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a good man.

“I honestly don’t know why your girl won’t marry you but I’m not right for this.” You nod. “I wouldn’t make a good Queen for you.”

Thor nods slowly, thinking for a minute before he straightens up and turns to rise, slapping his hands on his knees before he moves back towards the table of fruit and beer.

“You’re probably right.” He agrees, and for some reason, you’re disappointed.

Not so much that he isn’t picking you, but rather that he sees you aren’t enough. You’re lacking in some way. Which you already knew but…knowing he thinks that makes you feel a little lousy despite that being something you wanted.

“I suppose I’ll just have to pick someone more suitable. Someone who knows better about ruling a people. All the same, thank you for coming.” Thor says, dismissing you.

He picks up his stein again and turns to look at you as you rise.

“It was a pleasure to meet you.”

You nod, “Likewise.”

After a moment of hesitation, you give him a wave and move for the doors, trembling hands reaching out to yank the doors open and make your escape.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been weeks since you met with Thor and you’ve completely forgotten the whole thing. Life has gone back to normal and even though you now know that you’re from royal stock, nothing, as you expected, has changed.

The only plus that has risen from this whole situation is that you can now picture marriage a little better, however inexperienced and cliché it might be, you can make something up now.

Your little fling with the idea of Thor had given you fuel to slip a little romance into your writing and your fingers are flying across the keyboard of your laptop as you type up a new and promising mystery about a set of lovers and the body they discover in the attic of their new home.

You hate to be interrupted during a writing session, but you must have forgotten that about yourself because your phone starts to ring.

Normally you mute it before you even sit down to write.

With a growl you reach over and take a quick look at the number.

David flashes on your screen and quickly you swipe to answer.

“Hey, can I call you back in like an hour? I’m in the middle of a chapter and I’m on a roll.” You plead, fingers still flying across the keys.

“Y/N, Thor chose you.” David’s voice says and your fingers freeze.

There’s a pounding in your chest and your head is full of white fuzz. Your legs are numb, and your stomach is swirling with both flutters and nausea.

You can’t have heard that right.

“What?” You ask, voice shaky.

“Thor. He chose you. I just got off the phone with Brunnhilde and she wanted to let me know so that I could call you and let you know that she’ll be by tomorrow to pick you up.”

This can’t be happening.

“She said to pack only what you absolutely need. Everything else will be provided for you.”

“David…I…I can refuse, right? I don’t have to marry him.” You plead desperately.

“Y/N…” David sighs. “You agreed to this before you went to see him. I’m afraid the time to back out has come and gone.”

“But I can just not do it.” You argue. “They can’t force me to do it.”

“The government will seize your assets if you refuse.” David explains. “They want this done. I’m sorry, Y/N. There’s no backing out of this now.”

“But…But he loves someone else.” You tell him and even though your mind knows that this should be the last thing to concern you, it should not be the first reason you can think of why marrying Thor is a bad idea, it is.

As your eyes focus on the little blinking line of your word doc, your heart gives a painful ache knowing that your husband will be loving someone else.

#thor x reader #king!thor x reader #royal au #arranged marriage au #thor odinson x reader #thor x reader fanfiction #thor x reader fanfic #thor x reader fic #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #king!thor x reader fanfiction #a wife for thor #a wife for thor pt01

[mosylufanfic]

Hello! Since you’re accepting prompts what about rebelcaptain + 7 (from the kiss prompt list)? <3

Prompt #7 was ". . . to shut them up." It took me some thinking to come up with a version I liked, but here it is! You can probably say this is a sequel to the one a few days ago about pizza, if you wanted.

The Morning After

Shit.

Jyn peeled the covers aside, slithering out of the unfamiliar bed. The boy next to her sighed and shifted in his sleep, and she froze dead.

When he didn't show any signs of waking, she started pawing through the clothes strewn over the floor, mouthing curses to herself. Where the fucking fuckity fuck were her knickers? And of course her bra had tangled itself in his shirt like some kind of mad squid.

Hopping up and down trying to get into her jeans and t-shirt, she scrambled toward the door as quietly as she could.

She'd just yanked her shirt down and closed his bedroom door behind her when his roommate popped up like Lurch or some fucking thing. "Going so soon?"

"Shhhhhhh!" She pressed a finger to her lips, not that it helped at all. Kay was gloriously oblivious, especially when he wanted to be.

"It's considered rude to leave before your sexual partner even wakes up."

"Fuck off. Christ, this is a nightmare. I have to go."

Back in the room, Cassian opened his eyes and looked at the door.

-

She lived across the hall. When he knocked, she didn't answer. He would have suspected her of hiding from him except that he knew how small her studio apartment was, and how shitty the walls were. You could hear everything right through them. So she'd gone for some reason.

So. He'd wait.

He didn't have to wait long. She came back, laptop bag dangling from her arm. She was digging in her pocket for her keys when Cassian opened his door and said, "Kay's right. It's rude to leave before the other person is awake."

She whirled, gasped, and almost dropped her computer. She caught it halfway to the floor and stared at him, clutching it to her chest. "I didn't mean for you to hear that," she said. "I thought you were still asleep."

"Look," he said. "Obviously you regret what happened last night. Okay. That's your right."

She opened her mouth, but he plowed on.

"It's just that I really like you, and up until about half an hour ago, I thought you really liked me too."

"I - "

"No, please, I've thought about this since you left. Now maybe you reconsidered when you woke up this morning next to me. Maybe you were more drunk than I realized last night. But I wish that you had at least said goodbye, and maybe let me down easy, instead of sneaking out, because it makes me feel like -"

She let out a growl, grabbed him by the front of the shirt, and kissed him hard.

The last of his stupid, humiliating ramble died on his tongue.

She let go of him. "I had a paper," she said. "A final. My last one. Thirty-five percent of my grade. Thought it was due at midnight tonight. But turns out it was due at noon. Which, what the hell, right? What kind of complete psychopath makes a final due at noon?"

He blinked, looked at his phone. "That was about five minutes ago."

"Right! I had to run across the hall, get my computer, go down to the lobby, find that one spot where you can sometimes get wifi from the coffee shop, and turn it in before the deadline. I'm sorry I snuck out without saying goodbye, but I had about twenty minutes, max."

He blinked at her, the whole morning upending and reframing itself in his mind. "Did you get it in?"

She nodded. "I'd pretty well finished it yesterday. I was planning to do one last pass this afternoon, maybe beef it up a bit. But it's in. Prof can deal."

"So it wasn't because you had regrets," he said.

"God. No. Believe me, that's not the way I wanted our first morning after to go, either, but - " She shrugged as if to indicate that the best laid plans of mice and men and disorganized students gang aft agley.

"Our first?" he said. "So, does that mean you want more?"

She grinned at him. "That absolutely means I want more."

He took her by the waist and pulled her close, leaning down to press his mouth to hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her laptop bag bumping his side only somewhat painfully.

He eased back after a few minutes. "Well. Now that we've got that cleared up, would you like to come to breakfast?"

From inside, Kay groaned very loudly. They both ignored him.

"Pop-Tarts and instant coffee?" she said.

"Oh, no," he said. "I'd already planned to make chilaquiles."

She looked interested. "What are chilaquiles?"

He crooked his finger in a come-hither gesture. "Come inside and find out."

FINIS

#Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso #rebelcaptain #fanfiction #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #NaNo prompts #college AU #neighbors AU #star wars

[slashersins]

hi! could you possibly do the masked slashers taking off their mask for the first time in front of their s/o? perhaps jason and michael and/or whoever else you want! thank you! 🥰

sad story . i was almost finished with this ask when my computer reset and i lost everything . i am very sad , and trying my best to rewrite it . 

hi! could you possibly do the masked slashers taking off their mask for the first time in front of their s/o? perhaps jason and michael and/or whoever else you want! thank you! 🥰

jason

his face . . . his deformities . it’s the reason he was bullied at camp . it’s the reason he was chased down the pier and shoved into the unforgiving lake . it’s the reason he heard laughter as he tried desperately to thrash his way to the surface . it’s the reason water filled his lungs . it’s the reason he drowned . the reason he died . so it’s no wonder that jason wants to hide that part of himself . the part that caused him so much pain and suffering . 

jason is so very aware of his current state . he’s been half alive , half dead . a corpse , powerful and deadly and vengeful for years now . and time hadn’t been kind to him . the deformities that once marred his face have been changed . everything has changed about him , leaving him feeling as if his entire body is marred , and it is . he knows you can see it . the truth of his undead state . his skin a pale blue grey . his blood thick and slow moving , black as it oozes out of him . part of his left side has been eaten away , showing his ribs . injuries he’s received leaving deep , lasting impression into his slow healing body . he isn’t human . not anymore . he knows this . he knows you know this . you’ve seen him and stayed with him despite him being a moving corpse . 

but his face . . . his face is different . long gone are the deformities that once marred his features . changed and warped into something he would find even more terrifying . you’ve told him so many times that you don’t mind how he is . that you love him besides it . but with a face that is mostly bone , strings of muscle and blue grey flesh keeping his jaw connected , how could you ever stay with him ? he was scared . terrified of what your reaction would be . he’s a monster . a monster with barely half a face . 

it takes so long for him to finally take off the mask . and his shoulders slump , already defeated , already preparing to hear you scream and run and curse him . ready for you to see him as the monster he is . undead . unlovable . he doesn’t look you in the eyes . he looks down , not raising his head as his arm drops weakly to his side , the mask gripped harshly in his hand . he doesn’t realize that he’s shaking . so scared of your reaction . 

the feeling of your warm hands cupping his jaw , those delicate fingers tracing over the bone , over his exposed teeth , over the flesh part of his upper cheek . the way you lift his head , looking over him , trying to find his eyes , trying to get him to look at you . you didn’t run . you didn’t scream . you stayed . still cupping his face as you whisper his name , wanting his attention . he’s slow to meet your eyes , but what he finds there has tears welling up , spilling over his broken face and your fingers . he finds love . so much love . so much acceptance . he can’t hold himself back now as he tugs you in , wrapping his arms around you . your forehead pressed to his as you whisper how much you love him , mask or no mask . 

what he found in your eyes as you looked up him shattered him completely . he found that he was beautiful . 

thomas

his skin condition hadn’t been bad . looking back at the very few pictures there were of thomas as a child confirmed that . it was obvious that there was something medically wrong , but nothing . . . dramatic . but the condition that thomas had wasn’t able to be treated . his family was poor , barely making ends meet each week . so thomas was not able to get the medical attention he needed that could had stopped the spread of his condition . there were no medicated creams to help heal blackened , dry skin . no pills to take that aided his body in healing . so it got worse . and worse . and people were cruel . and thomas found no sympathy for something he couldn’t control .

he was likened to a monster . a freak . diseased and dangerous . contagious almost . and he heard it from a very young age . he couldn’t help his looks . he didn’t know why people laughed , until they called him ugly . he didn’t know why people gasped in fear , until they called him scary . and being told this over , and over , and over , and over . . . he started to believe it . he was ugly . he was scary . a monster . a freak . hiding his face behind his hands , behind a mask , it made things easier for him , but that self hatred that lingered deep inside of himself only grew and grew .

thomas won’t take off his mask . he prefers to hide behind it . he doesn’t want to risk you seeing his face . to see how bad its gotten . he’s ugly . he is so ugly . and he doesn’t want you to see it . he doesn’t want you to change your mind . asking him to take off his mask has him flinching like you burned him . he’ll get up and stomp off , upset and hurt and self conscious . no , y/n . you can’t see . he can’t show you . he can’t bare to lose you . and he knows he loves you so much that he wouldn’t be able to let you go . and that would make him even more monstrous , wouldn’t it ?

the first time you see his face is an accident . it happens after passionate love making . the ties of his mask slipping and moving . he’s nuzzling into your neck , pressing kisses over sweat slick skin as he pulls up to look at you . oh , he loves to look at you as you come down from your pleasure . he doesn’t notice that his mask has slipped off . instead he’s too focused on staring down at you with adoration . 

your eyes widen as you see what he’s been hiding from you . and he thinks the look in your eyes just you coming down , he doesn’t realize it’s from seeing him for the first time . he sighs softly when curious fingers filter over his lips , his cheeks . closing his eyes as he melts into your touch . he’s never felt your fingers on the ruined parts of his face before and -

thomas is grabbing your wrists suddenly . eyes wide as he looks to the side of your head and sees his mask . he panics , he’s sitting up , blindly grabbing for his mask as he hides his face in his hand . he’s shaking , panting , terror and fear breaking him down . 

reach out to him . sit up and touch his back softly , rubbing slow circles there . oh , tommy . how could he think you love him any less because of his face ? kiss his back , his shoulders . wrap you arms around him . tell him how much you love him . that it’s okay . that it’s just a face . his face . the face of the man you love . and you love him for his face and despite it . hold him as he calms down . as he breaks and cries . as he’s reminded of the depth of your love and he basks in it .

bubba

bubba doesn’t see himself as ugly . fears of his face scaring others isn’t the reason he wears a mask . even all drayton’s yelling and shouting and cursing at him doesn’t make him feel ugly , it makes him feel stupid and useless . which is just as bad . so his masks have before kind of a buffer from that kind of abuse . they act more like a safety blanket . something to protect him from the outside world , from other people . the world is cruel and mean and dangerous . and he wants to feel safe . 

his masks also work as tools of self expression , as an extension of himself . he has so many different ones for different moods and feelings depending on the day . you’ve counted at least seven so far , seeing some more than others . and while you loved bubba , you can’t help but be curious . 

it starts innocently enough , just simply asking if you can see bubba without a mask on . sadly , the reaction you get isn’t what you hoped . bubba seems to panic . worried babbling and soft whines and violently shaking his head no . why would you want to take his mask off ? why ? were you going to hurt him ? were you going to be mean ? he didn’t want to take it off , he didn’t feel safe without it . why would you , the person he loves so much , want to make him feel unsafe ? 

he is going to be worried , keeping away from you and even hiding for a day or two . give him some time . tell him you’re sorry , and that you didn’t mean to hurt his feelings . smother him in kisses and love and affection and all those worries will melt away . he’ll be back to his normal bubba self before you know it , even it if means you don’t get your curiosity fix . 

the day you see his face is well . . . normal . simple . unexpected . lazing in your shared bed , reading a book , you only glance up and smile when bubba bounces into the room with barely contained excitement . you can’t help but smile as he goes through the closet and takes out his favorite dress . a little flowy blue number with yellow flowers and only the smallest of blood stains on the hem . bubba was feeling pretty today , you could tell . and gosh you loved seeing him so happy like this .

watching him from behind your book , enjoying this little moment of bubba , you stilled when he took off his mask . he wasn’t looking at you , no , he wasn’t even paying attention as he went through his many masks to find his pretty one . you were in shock . staring at his maskless features , taking in the true face of your loving country man . and you watched , even as he put on his other mask , the bright colors of make up on leathered skin clashing with his blue dress . but he turned and beamed at you , twirling and showing off . you could only laugh and compliment him . you hadn’t expected to see his real face , but you knew right here and right now that it really didn’t matter . you loved bubba masked or maskless . maybe you loved him more when he could express himself like this , 

brahms

he hadn’t wanted to wear a mask . to be completely honest he never even thought about it . it was his mother’s idea . coming from the fact that she couldn’t stand to see her son’s fire marred face . and brahms found out the truth after a tantrum was thrown about the mask , and his mother let this truth harshly fly out . he’d been devastated . his own mother didn’t want to see him . thought he was ugly . it’d been a painful experience . one that he kept close to his heart . he wasn’t the beautiful little boy his mother and father had once loved . now he was shameful and dirtied and kept hidden away . and he never took the mask off because of it .

that shame , that fear , that hatred of the ‘ ugly ’ part of himself is what keep his mask on once he’s out of the walls . you loved brahms the doll , the porcelain face it had . so it only made sense to him that you’d love him , brahms the man , and his porcelain face . he doesn’t think you’d love him as much if he took the mask off . his own mother came to hate his scars . you would too . he just knows it . so he stays hidden . as much as he can . 

he won’t take the mask off in one go . it’s slow . it comes in moments . more and more of brahms’ face being shown to you . it starts when he wants a good night kiss . a real one . on his lips . he’s so shy about it . nervous fingers lifting the mask up just enough that you have access . and once he takes the slightest of kisses , he’s pulling his mask back down . he’ll revel in the feeling and soon want more real kisses . outside of the good night ones . soon he’ll want more than just those quick small kisses , he’ll want more . and when he gets them his mask is pressed up further , over his nose . he tries so hard to keep the mask on , but it’s hard when you’re so addictive . the first time you see brahms for all he is , his half fire marred face standing out in the moon light is the first time you give all of yourself to him . he’ll still wear the mask , taking it off only for sexy times , and even then not always , or when he needs to bathe . but he won’t be as scared , he won’t flinch away when you reach out to touch his face . he knows you won’t leave him . you’ve had every chance to and you stayed . and maybe , just maybe , he feels like he isn’t as hideous as his mother made him believe he was . 

michael

you don’t get a choice on when this happens . you don’t get to ask . he’ll ignore you . or worse he’ll make it so you don’t ask him again . if he doesn’t want to take his mask off , he won’t . the entire reason he wears it is because it’s a comfort . like he’s in his own little world . no one can read him , or try to , there’s no pressing eyes of doctors and nurses looking for any twitch of muscle to over analyse . he feels strangely safe , strangely right , with his mask on . it’s the control he has with it on . no one knows who he is , what he truly looks like , and yet everyone knows who he is . it’s that fear , the fear of his prey not knowing , but knowing who and what he is . 

michael doesn’t take off the mask . not when he sleeps . not when he showers . not during the moments when you two are doing . . . things . the closest thing you’ve ever seen of his face are those moments when you look up too soon from eating just in time to see him pull his mask down over his mask when he’s finished .and even then he glares at you for staring . irritated that you might have seen something , that you might have seen him . 

it’s safe to say that you do not at all expect for a freshly cleaned and laundered michael to suddenly appear next to you while you were curled up on the couch watching tv .  you didn’t even hear the shower go on or off . you hadn’t even heard him enter the house . turning with a half smile , startled at such a sudden appearance , you opened your mouth to welcome michael back home only to shout in shock as who was sat next to you . 

instead of the masked man was . . . well a man . his face turned to the tv , but his eyes watching you in a sideways glance . there wasn’t any movement , michael stiff as you had your shock . he didn’t offer anything , just turning his gaze back to the tv . it takes a few minutes for it to settle in . for you to realize that this was michael . and you looked awed . your fingers twitching to reach out and touch him , but you know better . michael had already nearly broken your wrist once for simply touching over his mask before . as happy as you were to see his real face , you really wished michael would of chosen a gentler way of showing you . 

#jason voorhees #thomas hewitt #bubba sawyer #brahms heelshire #michael myers #jason vorhees x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #bubba saywer x reader #michael myers x reader #jason vorhees imagine #thomas hewitt imagine #bubba sawyer imagine #brahms heelshire imagine #michael myers imagine #slasher x reader #slasher imagine #slasher #slashers #slashers x reader

[votederpycausemufins]

Welp, made another thing for @petrichormeraki ‘s Hermit!tommy au. be warned that this is only a part 1 cause i haven’t finished the whole thing and i need to get my computer looked at so i won’t be able to finish it yet but here’s some of it at least

Disclaimers here are that I only know the general idea of Xisuma’s base and that there’s a honey farm somewhere, but I took liberties with how it is for the story. Also, headcanon that I made specifically just because I want it to happen, canon deaths that don’t end up with a ghost make the person lose a piece of their soul until it can’t support them fully anymore. Then that piece ends up somewhere else. Maybe that’s why the compasses work. But more I just want something like what happens in this fic. For the hurt/comfort.

When Tommy first joined the Hermits accidentally, he hated being around Xisuma. Not only was he the admin of the server, the one who held the most power, but for whatever reason, this guy decided to look like a bee. It was worse when Tommy learned he almost changed up to look like a Strider, but then just went back to a bee. At the very least it wasn’t easy to run into the guy.

It was more the problem of his base. The coolest places and the ones Tommy most liked to visit were the ones in the jungle, especially since the old base he was living in was built there. With no elytra, at least not one he used for more than gliding, Tommy got lost when in the more natural parts of the biomes. And when that happened, he tended to accidentally find Xisuma’s base.

So much of it was bee themed that Tommy disliked it. It reminded him too much of what he left behind, but couldn’t get back. Having the compass was as much as Tommy was willing to have to remind him.

But one day Tommy got killed when he wasn’t being careful. He wasn’t too worried about it, especially after a message in his new communicator had a message from a hermit who picked up his stuff and put it in a chest. They didn’t really have the inventory space to bring it to him and we’re busy enough they couldn’t stay, but it was fine. A chest was the standard.

But right now, the problem was getting to the chest. Not only was it somewhere in the jungle, but it was also most of his gear. Tommy didn’t really have many good backups, never wanting something that someone could take, even though he knows the hermits would never do that. Probably. He’s still wary just to be safe. The most he has in storage is some gold armor for when he goes into the nether.

Tommy donned a mixture of gold and worn iron armor and a mostly used sword to get his stuff. He’s sure he knows the way to his gear until he doesn’t. With the monsters tougher than at his old home, Tommy is worried about dying again as the sun starts to set. He rushed through the jungle a bit faster until he ran into it. Xisuma’s base. Tommy was going to pass it by when monsters started to spawn, with him getting really unlucky and one zombie spawning with full enchanted armor.

Not wanting to die, Tommy scrambled his way into Xisuma’s base. He sighed once he was in a safe place, though upset that he would have to spend the night in such a place.

With nothing much better to do other than sitting, which Tommy hated doing, he started to walk around and explore Xisuma’s base. Close up, it was actually okay. The bee theme designs weren’t as prominent, and all the towers and buildings had farms inside them which were fun to watch. The one problem was the honey farm. This one definitely had a lot to do with bees. Tommy was going to just run by it when a bee popped out.

Tommy actually paused at that. Then smiled. Bees only game out during the day, which meant he could leave. He smiled and ran out of there and went outside to see… it was still night?

Now confused, Tommy went back to the bee farm. He was beginning to think maybe he just imagined it, but then he saw the bee still there. He watched as it kept bopping its head against the glass, ignoring the flower with it and not going back in its hive.

Puzzled, Tommy just watched the bee until he heard the noise of someone using a firework. The sound caught Tommy’s attention, and he looked away. When he turned back, the bee was gone. After looking there for a few seconds, Tommy shrugged and started to walk away. But even then, he still kept looking back, so much that he didn’t notice Xisuma until he ran into the man.

Tommy froze up when he saw the admin standing in front of him, but instead of anything Dream might have done or said, Xisuma spoke in a kind voice. “Oh, sorry Tommy, I didn’t see you there. Were you looking for me?”

Tommy didn’t speak for a little bit until he heard the pop of a bee leaving its hive. “Uh, I just got lost and holed up here, cus I died and was trying to get to my stuff and that one guy isn’t around to sleep. Also one of your bees is fuckin’ weird.”

Xisuma scolded the boy for cussing, then offered to help Tommy get to his stuff. He mostly ignored the bee comment until there was the noise of something softly hitting glass again. Xisuma walked over to the farm and Tommy followed.

“See! Isn’t it supposed to not do that?” Tommy asked, to confused by the mob to be scared of Xisuma or want to leave the bee area.

Xisuma nodded slightly, watching the bee’s odd behavior. “Maybe it somehow got linked to another hive or nest and is trying to get there.”

“So what, you’re gonna let it out?” Tommy asked, bristling a little at the idea.

Xisuma nodded again. “It’s probably the only way we could be sure. I can always breed up another if it leaves.”

The admin took out a silk touch pick and broke the glass. The bee flew out and the glass was replaced so the other bees that had not left the hive just yet wouldn't also escape. Instead of the bee trying to fly out of the base, it flew towards Tommy and hovered around him.

Tommy went rigid as the bee flew towards him. He was sure it would keep going, but instead it stuck around him. “What the fuck do you want then?” He asked the mob even though it couldn’t respond. “I don’t have any of those prissy flowers so bug off.”

But the bee didn’t listen. It seemed quite pleased to stick with him. Tommy nearly drew his sword to kill it, but he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to actually his the thing with what it represented to him. Plus Xisuma might get mad and it could break his farm. “Can you just help me get my stuff, maybe it’ll leave once we’re outside.”

Not knowing what else he could say, Xisuma agreed to that. He could tell that something about bees was a sore subject for Tommy. The way he stiffened up around them and also around him. It was part of why he was so surprised to see the boy.

After a bit of walking, Tommy reached the chest of his gear and equipped and stored everything in his inventory. The bee happily bopped up against him and once again Tommy thought about killing it. But instead he just started wandering home, the bee following right behind.

The following day, Xisuma showed up to check on Tommy. While he wasn’t please to see the admin, Tommy at least accepted the gift of a bee hive, especially after his apparent new pet bee would not stop bopping its head against him. Hopefully the hive would give it somewhere to live and it would stop.

Tommy thanked Xisuma for the gift before shoving him out the door, glad for the lack of resistance the admin gave. Then, turning back to the rest of the hobbit hole he moved into, Tommy plopped down the hive right in the middle of the room. “There. Go in there and stop bothering me.”

But the bee didn’t listen, it just kept bopping it’s little fuzzy head against Tommy. Angry now, Tommy grabbed the bee, held it eye level, and looked right into its eyes. “You’re going to stop annoying me and go in that hive, got it?! I’m sick of you flying around me!”

He then let the now trembling mob go and it flew into the new hive. Tommy almost felt regretful about yelling at it. Almost. Grumbling, he went over to his bed to rest now that there wasn’t much to keep him up. Tommy set down his gear nearby, and placed his closed compass on the bed.

With all this bee stuff, Tommy couldn’t help but look at the object. After hesitating for a few moments, he grabbed the item and opened the lid. Inside, the needle danced wildly, not sure how to point with its location in another dimension. Tommy gave a sad sigh and was about to close it again when the needle stopped spinning. It clearly pointed in one direction for a few seconds. Tommy’s eyes widened and he started to turn towards where the needle was trying to guide him, but then it went back to dancing about.

Tommy looked at it confused, before realizing it still might change again. Tubbo may have found a way here. He ran in the direction the needle had been pointing and tripped over the new hive he had placed, cursing as he hit the floor. He looked back up at it to hit it once or something, but the compass has steadied itself again, the needle pointing the other direction, right towards the hive.

#hermitcraft #hermit!tommy au #hermitblr #mcyt #tommyinnit #tubbo #minecraft bees #xisuma #dream smp

[haikyuuuuuhypeeeee]

Ch. Thirteen

⚠WARNING: Emotional hurt, mention of previous character's death

• ────── ✾ ────── •

Your nose is running and your breath hitches as you weave through other strangers on the sidewalk. A few glance at you, a college-student nearly sobbing on her walk. But to your relief no one stops to talk to you.

It’s almost what you want. You’re desperate to get back to your apartment, lock the door and burrow into your sheets to fully process the events from tonight alone.

Oikawa selfishly spilling your secret, the deepest secret you hold, in a fit of childish rage. And yes, your argument with him didn’t help but you didn’t think he’d stoop that low.

Your phone has been ringing nonstop since you’ve left but you haven’t bothered to pull it out to check the messages or voicemails. You know it’s Oikawa who’s bombarding you with calls and voicemails. And it’s Makki and Mattsun who are sending the texts.

But you don’t want to talk to them.

You acquiesce as you wait for a stoplight to change so you can continue your sad, pathetic walk home. You glance over your shoulder, paranoid that your friends are coming after you to talk. In between the glances you grab your phone and open it up.

You ignore the incoming call from Oikawa and unlock your phone. You see notifications coming into your message app and tap it open. You briefly watch the ever growing number coming from Oikawa’s chat with you before you open the texts from Makki and Mattsun.

You slip your phone back in your pocket without replying. You just want to be alone.

Well, not really. The only person you can imagine talking to about this right now is dead. And that fact kills you.

You can’t tell him how embarrassed you are that Makki and Mattsun know your pathetic secret. You figured that they suspected something was happening between you two in high school because you had such a different relationship with Hajime compared to the others. You’d harbored the idea of finally confessing and actually being with Hajime but you’d shelved it until you were ready.

But then he died. He was taken from you way too soon, and now you’re left with your confusing mess of emotions and thoughts and what if’s.

Having to live with these feelings is unbearable. Having your friends know that you live with these feelings, and the circumstances surrounding them, is even worse.

Fresh tears fill your eyes and you wipe them away.

You round the corner and see your apartment building in sight. You reach into your pocket to get your keys so you’re ready to get inside and lock behind your door.

Except you don’t find your keys in your pocket. Not the right one, not the left. Not in your bag, not in your pockets even after checking - you don’t have your keys.

You let out a whine. Fuck, you do not need this right now.

You think for a second, retracing your steps and trying to remember where you went today. You can cancel a few spots but there are others that could be where your keys are.

You pull out your phone to send a message, starting easy.

The short feeling of victory you felt at finding your keys is erased when you realize you have to walk to Osamu’s apartment. It isn’t far…but you’ve had a long day.

A long day, long week, long couple of months. A long time stuck in this hell of constantly bickering with Oikawa, studying and working your ass off in your classes, navigating life without your best friend.

Is this your life now? Is waking up every day, crying, dragging yourself out of bed to be a civilized member of society, coming back home to cry and then sleep - is that your destiny?

The harrowing thought settles around your shoulders and you feel yourself sink further into the black tar pit you’ve been trapped in for months.

Osamu’s apartment looms above you, and the idea of putting on a friendly mask, even for someone who you want to be friendly with, exhausts you. Hopefully you can get your keys and leave.

You need to be alone, you are alone. Your friends are worrying about you, concerned for you. You are a burden. For all you know your friendship with Oikawa is shattered. You don’t deserve his friendship.

The dark thoughts pick up speed, spinning around and around and around. You feel yourself getting lost in them.

Hajime would know how to help. He would always bring you into the light. He is your light.

Standing in front of Osamu’s door (how did I get here?) you use an embarrassing amount of energy to lift your hand and knock. It doesn’t take long for Osamu to open the door. His calm look is quickly replaced with genuine concern.

Fuck, now he’s worried about you.

“Sorry, I’ll just get my keys.” Your voice warbles, much to your humiliation and shame.

Osamu holds open the door wordlessly and you walk back into the apartment. You spot your keys on the counter. You walk in front of them and stop.

They’re your keys - the black heart keychain is heavy and “able to do serious damage,” as Hajime once said. He got it for you, back in the summer after high school.

He was always creative with the gifts he gave you. Even with something as small as a keychain you knew he put in time and effort and love into them.

If there was one person who you could depend on, it was Hajime.

Tears well in your eyes. You don’t ever seem to be in short supply of them.

Is this my life? You wonder. Am I ever going to feel normal again? Am I ever going to be okay?

You tell yourself to lift your arm, grab your keys, and leave. Leave Osamu alone, don’t burden him with your mess of feelings and your thoughts.

“Y/N?” Through the screaming swirl of thoughts in your head you hear Osamu call your name, and through the watery film in your eyes you see Osamu looking at you.

Leave, you have to leave now.

“I should-” you croak out. You can’t finish your sentence, you don’t know how to finish your sentence. Your brain is malfunctioning, error codes flashing like a broken computer.

Processing error, malfunctioning error, human error.

Error, error, broken, broken.

Only Hajime could fix you.

And he’s dead.

You stare at Osamu, and burst into tears.

Like a damn bursting, the sobs fall from your mouth, unrelenting. You curl into yourself, trying to ebb the flow. It’s pointless, as you are broken. You cannot be fixed.

It hurts, it hurts so much.

Harsh cries rattle your body, rip through your throat and spill out into the serenity of Osamu’s apartment.

Hajime, I miss you.

The ache in your heart flares white hot. It burns and hurts and just adds to your growing pile of misery.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re embarrassed that you’re having this intense emotional release in Osamu’s apartment - it's not the first time you’ve cried like this but it is the first time doing it in front of a friend. But you can’t gather yourself to apologize or try to escape. You’re stuck, standing in the apartment crying.

A hand comes to rest on your back. Your turn, finding Osamu standing next to you. He rubs his hand on your back in a soothing, comforting motion. His eyes are full of concern but also something akin to reassurance.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs gently. His hand is rubbing up and down, and you feel subdued by the unseen motion. You feel your aching pain diminish with every stroke down your back, but the tears are relentless.

There must be something wrong with you that you can’t even be comforted properly. If the tears won’t stop when someone says “it’s okay” what does that say about you?

Broken, broken.

You turn into Osamu, seeking comfort that is wasted on you. Your head finds relief on his shoulder. You feel him guiding you to the couch and gently sitting you down. Your hands stay clutched in his shirt and you sob into his shoulder. Once sitting you feel the hand on your back drift to your shoulders, while his hand gently guides your head to the crook of his neck.

“It’s alright,” he says softly. “‘M here, it’s okay.”

His gentleness just makes you cry harder and you can’t help but lean further into him. He lets you sit against him, crying through the piercing pain stabbing at your heart, howling against the constant misery in your soul. He lets you come undone and offers you words of comfort and a shoulder to cry on.

“‘M here,” Osamu murmurs into your ear. “It’s okay.”

It’s such a loaded phrase - it’s okay. Everyone and their grandmother tried telling you that when Hajime died. It’s okay. You wanted to ask ‘what’s okay? NOTHING about this is okay.’

Your face scrunches up as you cry, knowing you are so far from okay that it would take a miracle to get back.

“It’s okay Y/N, it’s alright.”

It’s funny, hearing this reassurance from Osamu. Because he knows, more than the average person, how not okay everything is. For him and for you. And yet, it seems to be his go-to phrase right now.

“It’s okay.”

He’s not telling you “it’s okay so you should feel better.” His reminder allows you to grieve, to feel how not okay everything is. And feeling that pain is okay.

So you cry and cry, leaning on Osamu as you fall apart.

• ────── ✾ ────── •

A/N: Congratulations, you've made it through one of the heaviest chapters in the entire story. :( Y/N is going through extraordinary times right now, the cumulation of the past weeks' events finally catching up. I hope if anyone reading this is going through any similar situations you can find someone like Osamu to help you through them. 💖

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