#god i love creepy shit so much it feeds my soul

[pieroulette]

FIVE KITTENS + ONE = CAN I BE YOUR KITTEN TOO?

2023 | 13+ | ONESHOT | YANG JUNGWON × READER

SUMMARY as a lifelong and dedicated anti-kitten, you didn't expect that looking after your older sister's cat shop was a downright bliss—but shock is an underestimation when a human incarnation of a kitten appeared before you, slowly blinking at you with it's boba eyes.

AUTHOR'S NOTE cough cough.. the amount of 'kitten' titles in my jw oneshots 😗 also a celebration for 1000+ followers! :D

cats. kittens. endless purring. being smothered with adorableness was beyond your limit to function properly. okay, you take back your words that you hate kittens. you love them, you absolutely love them.

how can someone blame you for initially despising kittens though? when you've seen nothing but wicked kittens glaring at you down and hissing with their creepy arching back, you swore that was a tight stare down as you tried to escape it's wrath.

but how horrendous it is that your sister had been gatekeeping you from her heavenly kittens (not really), you had a week off from your devil of a boss and got to visit your sister after awhile.

unfortunately, she had matters to settle for two weeks and had to travel to another state which is miles away and had asked for you to look after her cat shop. being the anti-kitten you are, you smashed her request with a humongous imaginary hammer.

but it's safe to say that you've been bribed by a ticket to your favourite kpop idol's concert, immediately falling on your knees and praying enormously to your older sister's smug looking statue.

goosebumps initially riled over your arms, neck, legs, let's just say your entire soul when you pushed open the shop's screen door. you expected the vile creatures inside to immediately hiss and devour you but to your utter shock, they smothered you with kisses!

so here you are now, on your fifth day of nothing but utter bliss with your babies. thumbing through the pages of the magazine you took under the shelf after feeding the kittens, some of them finished early much to your amusement and quickly went to your side. oh what kind of merits have you done in your previous life to receive such adorableness?

contented, you fell into deep slumber with the kittens on your lap.

the bell rang, signifying a person's arrival—your ears failed to catch the sound of the footsteps as you were deep in your dreamland of hopping along on the puffy clouds with the kittens

"hm?" the person putted his palms on his knees as he lowers himself a tad bit to gain a closer look to your face. fixing his posture back, he roamed around the shop—sticking his finger in the cages as he cooed at the purring kittens.

humming to himself as he took a seat on one of the chairs, taking his time as he thumbed through his social media, and reading his groupchat's texts—replying back before his reflected boba eyes lifted on your slumber form, his eyelashes fluttered as he slowly blinks at you.

your eyes shot wide open for no particular reason, groaning as you fell asleep for more than you need. your head throbbing as you clasped it, looking around for your kittens until your sleepy eyes fell on—huh—you rubbed your eyes and squinted hard at the humongous cat before you, why the heck is it so big and tall? and why does it have a hoodie on with pants, cats aren't suppose to wear one, don't they?

"hi."

d-did it just say hi to you? the realisation sank into your sleeping soul as you screamed at the humongous kitten sitting on the chair across you. "fuck! why are you so big!" the rest of the kittens on your lap flew to the air, surprised by your sudden raise of voice.

the humongous kitten's boba eyes ogled at your chosen words, frozen at the spot as it stuttered terribly.

wait?! did you accidentally feed one of your kittens way too much? holy shit—what are you supposed to do now? did you just raise a titan that would devour the entire world? oh my god—oh wait— it isn't a... cat tho?

oh. it's a boy. not a kitten. oh shit, how seriously embarrassing is this?! stuttering in a low tone. "uh, welcome. is there anything i can help you with?"

an awkward silence engulfed the room before the boy burst out into an adorable giggle, his cheeks growing like a puffing steamed bun as he raised his fist up to his lips. his boba eyes crinkling into glowing crescents which had you screaming in your mind—holy shit, why there's a cute guy here?!

"you must have a really nice dream to think that i was a kitten." his voice laced with giggles shoot Cupid's arrow to your rampant heart.

"u-uh, i don't know?" you pressed your lips tight awkwardly.

"i thought you said you hate kittens though?"

your eyes widened in pure shock, with your fangirling mode switching into ultra protection mode. "huh, how did you know! wait, are you a stalker?!"

"woah, woah. chill, a bit? i got to hear it from your sister, she told me—"

"wait you know my sister?"

"yeah, i'm her friend. and she called me awhile ago if i could check on you for some reasons."

your eyes sparkled upon the quick speed of your realisation, clasping your hands together as you reminisce the glowing aura of your sister. "was she worried about my me?"

"no. she was worried you're going to bury the kittens."

"ugh, never mind." you rolled your eyes before the shattered holy image of your sister, internally screaming at her for doubting your clean-ass reputation. your neck grew goosebumps when you realise the boy still had his boba orbs fixated on you.

"w-what you looking at?" your eyes darted all around the space before swaying your hand before the bot. "shoo shoo!"

he burst into another giggle once again, amused. "seriously, you're still treating me like a kitten. for your information, the proper name is mr. yang. kindly call me that, instead of shoo shoo, will ya?"

"okay, mr. yang! how long did my sister exactly ask for you to be here?" you frowned, "i assume that checking on me means going after two minutes of being here, so what are you still doing here?"

"ouch, getting rid of me so quick?"

"if that's what you'd like to hear, then yes."

"god." his low voice gave goosebumps to you for the nth time. "give me a break, i just got back from work. tired, you know?" jungwon stood up, and the kittens on the floor grabbed onto his pants—climbing utterly fast till his hips. "plus the kittens seems to like me, don't you think?"

"i had no idea what my sister fed them to the point they're unbelievably comfy with people, actually. So don't get too high on yourself." nonchalantly replying you did as you observe the kittens, or maybe him.

"nah, the kittens surely likes me." his eyelashes fluttered up along his boba eyes to look at you. "but how about you?" mischievous smirk adorning his soft pink lips along with his boba eyes gazing deep into your soul. w-what the heck is he pulling with such good freaking looks?!

"u-uh?"

"i was asking if you like me too," jungwon lifted the kitten, pressing a gentle kiss on its head with his eyes still on you. "cause you've been blushing for quite awhile now."

"ha! that was the heat, you got really some awful tendencies to flirt with people you just met huh?" you scoffed as you brushed the kittens back with the hairbrush. "just like these little fellas."

"however.. cats don't ease up easily to people they don't particularly like." jungwon pouted in a playful manner, carrying the kittens in his arms as he slowly approached you. "cats also know very well who they want."

your cheeks flushed into an utter mess, looking away from his once adorable boba eyes that held the melody of a siren. he stopped before your sitting form, lowering himself down as he slowly placed the purring kitten on your lap.

"i don't know your name yet, mind telling me?"

"we're not friends, why would i?"

he pouted immensely, as he patted the kitten on your lap. "how cruel, well then. can i be your friend?"

"no thanks."

smirking he did as he gestured his index finger at the kittens. "then.. one, two— three, four—"

"counting for what?" you raise your eyebrow suspiciously. "if you're thinking to steal them, then scrap the idea."

"five." he hummed in utter delightment, "i'm actually counting how many kittens you had on your lap right now."

you had no idea what this cat-like boy were up to, that mischievous smirk never leaving his lips had you feeling so many things.

placing his chin on his palms, "ah. since you don't want me to be your friend, then.. since there's five kittens here, I wonder if i can be your kitten too?"

your cheeks heated up with his choice of words, your mind scrambled over whether he had gone insane. "w-what are you—"

whatever you're about to say though had gone to ashes, as you caught onto his boba eyes slowly blinking at you, his cheeks blooming into pink shade as his lips pulling up into another mischievous smirk. "the name's jungwon just so you have a name to call whenever you want me."

「 © talesofyuan on tumblr 2023 」 all rights reserved. do not copy or post without permission.

#enha #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enha imagines #enha x reader #enhypen oneshots #enhypen scenarios #enha fanfic #jungwon smut #enhypen jungwon #jungwon fluff #enha fluff #enhypen fluff #jungwon x reader #yang jungwon #enhypen fanfiction #enha oneshots

[motheatenscarf]

Alright, jokes about my own predictability and the flat circle that is time aside, here are my thoughts about this last stretch of Shadowbringers.

I've been informed that these ancient beings have been dubbed "ween woons" by the fandom and I... genuinely, unironically, wholeheartedly love it. I'd just been calling them the Mr. Burns Aliens, but no, they're ween woons. They go ween woon with their creepy lanky swaying and they say ween woon with their haunting vocalizations.

It's pokemon rules, THAT'S a ween woon

In fact, that particular ween woon, uhhhhhh, is a.) self aware and b.) recognized my character.

I'd already figured out that Ardbert was likely your character's reflection here in the First, you both being shards of the same soul. Fits in with my theory that the echo in Warriors of Light is just, like, people who swore themselves to Hydalen the way Ascians did to Zodiark. Also, Ardbert looks identical to John Final Fantasy from all the cinematics and shit (which I did finally watch, to no one's surprise, I like the Heavensward one best), so yeah, that helped solidify that theory. Nice to have it confirmed.

This ween woon called Talia his "new old friend," and also described themself as "close friends" with Emet Selch, and Emet then ALSO recognized Talia once Ardbert did the fusion-ha dance to help stabilize her, with a "No... it CAN'T be," kind of shock to the recognition. So that's got some potential to be juicy "We were friends in another life" drama, peel it and feed it to me like GRAPES, I love it. ESPECIALLY if my theory is correct and that your old soul was one of the ancients who disagreed with the plan to sacrifice 3/4 of the population to Zodiark.

Also, yeah, it makes sense that the Ascians' plans will be to sacrifice everyone who survives 6 more fucking Calamities and trade that life to restore the ancients they lost. Otherwise, there would be people like Zaris, who think that they should go along with the Ascian's plans and allow the rejoinings to occur to become stronger themselves.

I also love the implication that their calamity, their "Final Days" was uh, just their own power to manifest their thoughts into reality turned foul. They didn't seem to have much reverence for individuality, to the point they wear cloaks and masks and share everything with everyone, spending days at a time discussing topics. They're beings of thought, not action. So if one of them, god forbid, has depression, and starts Thinking The Morbid Thoughts as any being with awareness is prone to do, that's gonna spread like... well, fire.

It is VERY interesting to me that Emet was earnest in his assertions that he wanted to see what would happen with the Scions and the WoL in particular because he is, I think, just looking to REST. He's lived "a thousand-thousand lives" and continually found humanity (for want of a better word) wanting. He does not feel like he can entrust the world and whatever disaster befell it to the hands of beings so flawed and myopic. That's why he needs the Exarch to go back in time and try to undo this MESS that is the world's shattering, because he doesn't think anyone but his people are up to the task of securing their legacy, of protecting the world. The people whom he mourns so freshly after what must be tens of thousands of years that he creates a city of shades just to feel the hollow familiarity of it. He straight up asks, "You think yourselves our equals? You think yourselves worthy to be stewards of this star? You think if you were threatened with a crisis like THIS that half your people would gladly sacrifice themselves to save the other?"

I'm really hoping it all comes back to Alphinaud's revelation back in Heavensward; no cause is ever worth sacrificing the people we love. We fight to SAVE them. Maybe we fail, maybe we lose, but at no point along the journey does forsaking the person beside you become an acceptable path forward. The good of the whole is worth nothing if it does not still value and treasure the good of the one. That's the mission statement. That's the thesis.

#Caitlin Plays FF14 #FF14 spoilers #Eschatalia Solanum

[self-loathing-angel-of-thursday2]

Beautiful Spouse’s Rewatch Thoughts SPN 01x18

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Fuckin’ Wisconsin

“Do we really have to indoctrinate all these children?”

“Monkey puss - I remember calling everybody Monkey Puss for days”

“I think the tree wants in. It’s getting cold so you should let it in.” “Help! Someone is trying to chop me down” “Like that sheer is going to do anything AT ALL”

“Alright Kid I’d be running like 10 mins ago but ok” “Doesn’t she die or something? Doesn’t she turn into a tree? Like her heart turns into wood?” “He couldn’t find a single red flag.”

“Why are they looking for John anymore? He literally told them to stop looking for him.” “Yes, Dean is the oldest so he is right” “FITCHBURG”

“Does that mean that kids have to be playing?”

“Where are all the kids? They’re being creepy about it” 🎶COVID-19🎶the wind of god

“That wouldn’t actually work. Like it would work or it wouldn’t, and if it wouldn’t work, they’d be in BIG trouble”

🎶devil lady🎶 upside down cross🎶

“Convenient” babygirl

“I love how they use the exact same logic to say it’s not supernatural. Sometimes they’re all in and sometimes they’re not.”

“They’re finding tasty stuff on the walls with the backlights” “looks charred to me not moldy” I remember Spouse went on and on and on about the charred hand for like 10 mins the first watch-through.

“We should keep track of all the Little Deans” “That’ll go over real well with room service. Jesus Christ.” talking about the cartoons and the motel decor

“Sam would have been like 5?”

“What I find amusing is that Dean almost got offended by the microaggresion instead of laughing. The kid did the snort thing like twice.” “Is MasterCard not credit?” 

Us talking about how you used have to specify MasterCard vs Visa

“If you’re going to dump it in the trash, why throw it away and just not eat it for yourself? Why waste it? Eat it later?” 🎶paranormal watch🎶

“Dean’s always right; don’t forget that.” “What the fuck kind of shirt is that? I remember hating that shirt last time. It looks like a llama-horse that turns into a dog. I hate the graphic animal tees. Sign of the times, man” “I’m going to hang an inverted cross in my room one day; maybe Dean will come visit me.” “Close call”

“They have so many close calls that it’s ridiculous” “Let’s just break into an old lady’s room with a gun in our hands.” “That’s a pretty big gun to check on grandma” “Oh look at that. Another smoke machine” “Yup” “You can’t just get pneumonia from an unlatched window and being cold? I guess it can be both viral and bacterial, but I don’t see how it’s related to an unlatched window” “That’s funny. Just let a strange man drive your car. No big deal” “bitch burg”

“The microfiche machine made a page turn noise” “totally washed out black-and-white photo. Absolutely sure. Let’s shoot this guy based off of that” “Dean would be terrible at playing poker since he has all these little tells he shows the camera” “If they use the kid as bait, is he a human minnow?” “haha that’s funny” “it doesn’t seem very Dean of Dean to worry about this kind of shit” “I don’t think he has that many regrets. It’s too much of a fkn burden” Me arguing with Spouse that he is wrong

“No, he’s not alright. His eardrums are bleeding.” “He’s just a fkn kid, man” “It’s ok, kid. I’d call the cops, too” “How many times are they going to explain the monster stuff? How many times are people going to ask a lot of questions?” “Yeah, that wouldn’t be a very good look on the outside for a kid knocking on the door to 2 dudes opening up the door” “As clear as day, but it already looks like shit” “Don’t mention covering your ears or anything” “Hey! They mentioned how loud gunshots are. It’s like the only time they ever give a shit about hearing protection” 🎶being a shitty burden🎶

“I love how they choose to wait until the kid’s soul is like half-sucked out” “Didn’t they say it’s only vulnerable while it’s feeding? So the kid is even more than just bait.” “they totally didn’t wait for the kid to be off the bed or to cover his ears” “No worries. Just some dead thing in the house. It’s not even bleeding. What’s wrong with this thing?” “Really? Just going to look at it?” “Dude - his hands look like the outside of a potsticker. It’s gross but potstickers are good. Potsticker fingers are gross” “Gotta vent him out a little bit.”

“This is a Dean badass moment. He’s doing the duckface, too” “You can come out now. I’m just going to shoot this thing, and you don’t need to cover your ears.” “That shit was full of hot air” 🎶hearing damage for life!🎶

“This is fucked. Look at the curb thing. It was probably a whole one, but now it’s small enough to just fuck your oil pan if you ran it over. That’s an insurance claim waiting to happen right there.” “Can you explain to me why my kid can’t hear shit?” “Yeah, he was real sick all right” “let’s go pikachu” “So? At least he knows.”

“That was another Dean postcard look - 40.24 - that’s some bullshit right there”

“There are three of those little things! Why would you want 3 little curb things? Those are 3 insurance claims waiting to happen!” “Was that a fake bird? Is the bird on payroll?"

#beautifulspouserewatchesspn #supernatural #supernatural s1 #supernatural rewatch

[btsslowburnfic]

Chthonic Love 21

Series Summary: A Greek Mythology AU featuring Yoongi/Suga as Hades and reader as Persephone. Olympian ruler Namjoon has delivered you, Persephone, as a gift for his brother, lord of Death, Yoongi 

Chapter Summary: You flee the Obsidian Palace and Yoongi realizes what he’s done

 Previous chapter here

Yoongi stood there, his hands shaking and his chest heaving. He walked over to his desk and sobbed, cries racking his body.  What the hell was he doing?

He looked over to the fireplace; a pile of blankets lay still as if waiting for you to walk back in and sit. He shuddered. I love you playing over and over in his head. He didn’t deserve love. He especially didn’t deserve it now. Yes. You should return to the mortal realm. When Hoseok came to the party, ,you should return with him. Yoongi would do whatever it took to bargain with Namjoon and get you out of the contract. It would be better that way. 

Yoongi sat down in his office chair, mentally drained. This too shall pass. He told himself trying to calm down. I love you I love you. Dammit. He tried to concentrate on his defense strategies to review with Hephaestus tomorrow. He ran his hands through his hair. He saw a piece of paper on the corner of his desk and turned it over.

My Dear Hoseok,

I will not be returning to the Mortal Realm for a while. I am enjoying my time here in the Underworld. It was surprising at first, but Lord Yoongi actually appreciates me and values my time and companionship. I will do my best to return in the Spring to help usher in the new Season, but as you have said many times before “you don’t need me” since I’m “Just the flower Goddess.” Take care of yourself and don’t worry about me.

Love always,

Persephone 

Yoongi rubbed his face. What had he done? It was for the best. The Underworld wasn’t safe. There was something potentially getting ready to attack the palace. He had to attend reapings two to three times a day. He was a terrible companion. And yet. You had known that and still said you loved him. Fuck. He heard a knock on the door.

“Go away.” He shouted. 

“Sir, I think you would want to hear about this.”

Yoongi sighed heavily, recognizing Lethe’s voice. He looked across the office, towards the door and remembered the shards of glass. He let the fact he was an asshole wash over him once more. He stood up and walked over to the door, carefully cracking it open.

“Yes?” He asked. 

Lethe struggled to catch her breath, "Sir, the servant who went to feed Holly says one of the rowboats is gone. Another servant says they saw Lady Persephone leaving the Great Hall. I’ve checked the castle and can’t find her anywhere,” the concern was evident in her voice. 

Shit shit shit shit. Yoongi hadn’t even considered that you would actually try to leave. Shit shit. Before he could respond to Lethe he found himself running down the stairs, running through the great hall, and running across the bridge.

Oh Gods you were out there wandering the desert or the sea or somewhere. The Underworld wasn’t safe at all outside of the Palace and he had no idea what was happening to the North.  He cursed himself for overreacting. If something happened, he would never forgive himself. He looked around for footprints, but the sand dunes changed so quickly he couldn't see anything. He jogged down into the cavern and over to the docks and that’s when he saw a rope dangling into the water. No. He took the other boat, quickly rowing up to the gate. “Holly. Open the gate boy.”

To his shock, Holly did not respond to him.

“Holly, I mean it. Open up this gate.” Holly poked one of his heads around into the cave and growled at Yoongi. “Hey what the…”’ it dawned on him, “You’re mad about Persephone aren't you?” One of Holly’s other heads let out a whining sound.  “I’m trying to go and get her Holly. I need you to open the gate.” Holly didn’t seem to forgive him yet, but he begrudgingly walked over and picked up the chain to open the door.

Yoongi started rowing as though your life depended on it, because it very much did.

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

This was such a stupid idea, you thought. While the Stygian sea had seemed tame, you quickly found out that it was not. As soon as you left the harbor, the winds picked up, rapidly pushing you East. There was very little you could do other than duck down into the boat as the wind became increasingly cold.  This was it. You thought. You were going to freeze to death in the Cocytus Sea. You had read about this in the Compendium. You laid there, on the bottom the wooden boat to get out of the wind. You felt the boat rock back and forth with increasing fervor. 

What had you done to deserve this? Why were you ever deemed property? Why had Namjoon decided to mess with everyone? Why did the Olympic Gods suck? You found yourself thinking about Yoongi. He had been so angry. He threw you away even after you told him you loved him. You could feel the sadness of the sea washing over you and into you. You heard the eerie wailing of souls and you knew better than to peer over the side of the boat. Cocytus was a punishment. The legendary dragon, Lucifer, was said to keep the sea icy with the beating of his wings; constantly beating back any souls that would attempt to cross into the other realms of the underworld. At this very moment, as your tears began to freeze against your face, you wondered if Lucifer was real. Oh well. Did it matter? What was the point of existing in a world where you were just property being transferred back and forth. 

You willed your eyes to stay open; afraid if you closed them for too long you might not wake up. Where did Gods go when they died? Elysium? You laughed, a dry sad sound. Can you imagine the look on Yoongi’s face if you were in one of Charon’s ferries? Would he care then. 

The absolute dread overtook you. You sat up, looking out into the sea. The grey bodies beneath the surface called out to you. Their hands pressed against the sides of the boat. It would be so easy to just slip in. Slip into nothingness.

No. A small part of you yelled. No. You pulled back, rubbing the ice crystals off your eyes. You heard a faint roaring sound in your ears. It wasn’t loud, but it was strong enough to cover the wailing of the souls. What was that? The boat continued to move and you found yourself getting warmer. The ice around the boat began to thaw. You felt better. Less like dying. You were still sad about Yoongi, but at least the existential dread had passed. Unfortunately, as you looked further towards the East, you saw why. Next up in the shitty surprises of the Underworld was the Inferno. 

---------

Yoongi headed East, pushing himself along with his magic and hoping to somehow catch up with you. Fuck. Fuck. It was cold here. He smacked at the hands of the souls who were trying to reach up into the boat. He had never thought the dead creepy, but after visiting Cocytus, he was starting to have second thoughts. These people deserved to be here. He smacked another one. “Save us.. Save us Oh Lord. Please.” He heard the pleading. 

“Do your penance. I’m not here for you.” He yelled angrily into the water. The wailing continued, growing louder and louder, each cry hitting him in waves until finally he had had “ENOUGH!” He stood up and roared across the sea. It was as though his words themselves sent a shockwave that passed over the water. The icy fog lifted and the wailing stopped. Yoongi heard a hissing sound behind him and he turned.

“Lucifer. We meet again.” NEXT CHAPTER

@sugas-bbygirl​  twilight-loveer ​

#BTS suga #bts yoongi #bts fic #suga bts #bts writing #bts suga x reader #bts suga x you #suga x y/n #suga x you #suga x reader #yoongi x reader #bts yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #soft yoongi

[bitch-im-your-biggest-nightmare]

𝚍 𝚎 𝚊 𝚝 𝚑  𝚋 𝚎 𝚍 ~ [Cr1tiKal x Reader]

"𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝙸 𝚐𝚘 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚘 𝙸 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗."

. . . . .

Title: Death Bed Quote: I hope go to heaven so I see you once again Warnings: Heart shattering angst  Summary: After getting a deadly disease, Charlie reminices to the good times he had with his only love Y/N. Request: No A/N: We need more Cr1tiKal angst. If no ones gonna do it, guess it’ll have to be me. This song is obviously based on the song Death Bed by Powfu. I aged Charlie and Y/N down for this. They are both either 19, 20, or 21. You decide. This is also VERY cringey.  Fun fact: I sung this song for my class in chorus and it was very scary.

. . . . .

Charlie laid there weakly on the hospital bed. The eerie beeping and sounds of the machines were unsettling and nerve wrecking. The room was bright with white lights and medical grey colors. Charlie had his eyes open as he stared at the white black dotted ceiling, many things and thoughts ran through his mind. All the memories of him and Y/N, the girl he fell in love with. He wished he was able to be there for her, but he guessed that it wasn’t destiny, guessed it wasn’t what god wanted.

Charlie didn’t wanna fall asleep, he didn’t wanna pass away. He’s been thinking of his and Y/Ns future because he’ll never see those days. He wished he was never cursed with this stupid disease. He wished he was able to stand and walk around with Y/Ns hand in his. He wishes he was able to live the life he always dreamed of with Y/N. 

All the memories, all the moments, all the laughs and giggles, all the snuggles and cuddles.. They all came back to him in a big wave of emotion and sadness.. 

~~

“Oh! Look! Look! Look at the squirrel!” Y/N said as she pointed at the squirrel that was perched up on a fence. Y/N and Charlie were walking around the park and taking goofy videos together. 

“Holy shit that squirrel is fat as fuck.” Charlie laughed as he zoomed in on the big and fluffy squirrel, “What is that squirrel eating? Who the hell is feeding that thing?” 

Y/N laughed and leaned closer to Charlies shoulder. Her smile was so wide and full of joy it warmed Charlies heart whenever he even took a quick glance at it. 

~~

While walking through the parking lot of a Walmart they have just been in, a dog barked in the distance. The bark scared the ever loving hell out Y/N and squealed and jumped into Charlies arms. 

Charlie laughed and hugged her tightly, “Whats wrong?” he asked

“The bark scared me...” Y/N muttered with embarrassment as Charlie continued the laugh.

~~

Y/N and Charlie were cuddled together as Courage The Cowardly Dog played on the TV. The light emitting from the TV was the only source of light in the dark room. Y/N was tucked under Charlies armpit and her leg was nearly wrapped around him.

“This show is creepy.” Y/N said quietly to Charlie. 

“No, it’s art.” Charlie replied in his usual monotone voice.

“No, it’s creepy.” Y/N replied. 

Charlie silently looked down at Y/N and after a couple moments of silence he said “Do not start with me.” 

~~

“Why do you need to look that pretty? We’re going to church.” Charlie asked. Y/N was wearing a light yellow dress and a cute necklace. 

“Because I wanna look pretty, you meanie.” Y/N pouted, slipping a bracelet on.

“Jeez I was just joking.” Charlie chuckled. 

“Well.. I dunno.” Y/N slipped into the arms of Charlie without saying a word. “You’re my only savior.” 

“...That was the cheesiest and cringiest thing you have ever said to me.” Charlie said in full honestly, making Y/N blush out of embarrassment and walk away.

~~

“Ok, it’s either Age of Ultron or Star Wars.” Y/N said, flipping through the movies on TV. 

“Star Wars. Age of Ultron is a literal piece of shit.” Charlie said, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

“Age of Ultron it is.” Y/N said, clicking on the movie and ignoring the stare of disbelief Charlie gave her.

~~ 

A single tear slipped down his face as he looked over to Y/N was sitting next to him in tears. Charlie knew he was dying- he knew he didn’t have much left in him. He already felt his soul slipping away, and he wasn’t ready. But he was accepting it, he was accepting his fate. He was happy he was going to die with someone he loved, he was glad he wasn’t passing away alone. 

“Y/N?” Charlie said, and Y/N looked up, taking Charlies hand in hers. “I’m sorry I have to go like this.”

Y/N was silent, but spoke a few seconds later. “I.. I don’t want you to go. Theres so much we haven’t done! I mean.. getting married, starting a family, watching you with our son...”

“Hey, I hope you find someone else. I know you will, they can do everything we wanted. I wish it could be me, but we all know I won’t make it off this bed.” Charlie said. It broke his little dying heart to see Y/N cry like that.. 

“Your life was so short! It really sucks..” Y/N sniffled, “You.. gave me everything I wanted.” 

Charlie cracked a small smile, holding Y/Ns hand as tightly as he possibly can. “I’m happy you were mine, really. I’m sorry you have to lose me, but you that I’m not perfect..” Charlie breathed in, “Just please, don’t stay awake for too long with me on your mind, alright? I love you. Remember that.” 

Charlie felt weaker and weaker by the minute. He looked into Y/Ns eyes as the life in his body slowly drained from him. And on that final moment, looking into the abyss of Y/Ns eyes, there was a long... Beep.

#cr1tikal #penguinz0 #cr1tikal x reader #penguinz0 x reader #cr1tikal fanfiction #penguinz0 fanfiction #cr1tikal angst #angst #fanfiction #songfic #oneshot #imagines

[thatsadorbsyo]

Lucas - Threads

((this post references the events of the fall, a mission in the heartless ffxiv roleplay campaign. quoted sections were written by @way-to-the-future. cw: character death. art credit: papa ibra tall, seamstress of the stars, wool tapestry, 1970s.))

“I admire how much warmth you give. Like a furnace. Like you've got a blaze rolling at your heart, and you let it all out through your skin. I see it in your eyes, the way they glow when the lamplight hits it just right.”

I’ve got nothing but white static in my head when I try to remember the Rovers’ faces, and if that isn’t creepy as fuck, I don’t know what is. I can’t recall a single thing about them. No noses, no mouths, not a sliver of kohl smudged under an eye or a lock of hair curling out from under a helmet. It’s easier to hate them when I can’t see any facets of their identity, but I don’t wanna fall prey to this lazy fallacy, either. There must have been real men under all that armor. One of many, sure, but individuals all -- just like I had been, once upon a time. So why don’t I remember?

My memory is unfortunately selfish and selective. It picks up the threads of the things closest to my heart and weaves the best story it can with the loose ends. So here’s the stupid little details that stuck with me, where more pertinent information might have been written instead:

I can still tell you with absolute clarity the exact gem tones of the light reflecting off of Cheche’s upturned face, when the Allagan facility erupted in spells and gunfire all around us. Sapphire blues, emerald greens, and amethyst purples against her shining black scales at every obsidian facet, like a raven feather catching the light.

I can map with exacting precision the arc of Castor’s white braid when he whipped his head around at the commotion, taking the tactical measure of our situation the way only a forged-in-the-blood knight like him can. Even after turning away from him, I could still feel the bulwark of Castor behind me, a solid presence that I didn’t need to see to be able to sense, like an extension of my arm, a phantom limb.

To turn around and suddenly find them both gone, ushered down a different corridor in all the clusterfuck of our allies splintering when the Rovers betrayed us?

It felt like amputation.

If I could, I would keep them both in my heart, keep them like puppets suspended by vermilion strings that extend from their every joint to the cavernous arches of my beating muscle. With threads that absorb the shock of my mortal body and every twin hammer of blood, so that all my loves can feel is the gentle warmth of my fire, the spark of creation that burns in me to keep them, cradle them, shelter them close and alive.

Keep them, and I guess, in so doing, preserve them exactly as I want them to be. Is that fair? It doesn’t seem so, does it? I may love them, but they aren’t mine. They aren’t toys or dolls; not mine to keep. See, Castor has taught me that to love someone is to swap my puppeteer’s strings for the Spinner’s threads, and let them weave their own way through my story. Cheche has shown me that the beauty in anything -- in anyone -- is that they might evaporate at any moment. But if I let them, they both might even decide, all on their own, to stay with me for as long as they can. A stronger path, freely chosen and written in royal blue and bright fern green, threading in a perfect braid around my brilliant gold.

No, I couldn’t keep them -- and in the moment of amputation, it didn’t fucking matter anyway, because they’d already gone beyond my reach. My heart was alone, but still it burned for them; burned fit to melt straight through the iced Malbolge of all the hells, a judgement which I still believed must have been waiting for me just beyond the next door of this Allagan tomb, to welcome me to the justice that I'm owed for my crimes. This door, or the next door. The next one.

Amputation wouldn’t stop me. Hell wouldn’t stop me. I would have burned through that whole building like a live coal, if that was what it had taken to find the exit and bring us all back home.

“It's hardly poetic, love. I'm just telling you exactly how you are. How anyone could see you. Even if they weren't a poet. Maybe even if they didn't care for you like I do. Just, if they - stopped to watch you.”

I don’t think I’ve mentioned it, but I had a brother once, before I torched the evidence of the life I used to live. Augustin looked so much like me even when we were young, but moreso now than ever before. We have the same bronze eyes, the same nose; I’ve grown into the size of our chin with time. He’s a beefier motherfucker than I am, and he’d always preferred braids, but even still you’d be hard pressed to tell us apart if you stood us back to back. Where do you think is he now?

Does he wonder what’s become of my punk ass? Surely the reports tell the truth about how I left. They wouldn’t keep secrets, not from a... fuck, he’s probably a Centurio now, isn’t he?

Shit... I bet he is. He always wanted to follow Mom’s path, even though every day that passes causes me to doubt her just a little bit more. I’ve learned too much about family not to begin questioning her motives for doing what she did, but I guess that’s neither here nor there.

But it was Augustin who first taught me how to shoot, you know? He took me behind our home and put a gunblade in my hands, adjusting my twiggy little twelve-turn limbs into the approximate shape of proper posture even when the weight of it threatened to topple me over like a top-heavy weed. He drilled firearm etiquette into me until I could recite its tenets by memory. For such a little bitch, he molded me into a decent shot.

I haven’t felt that kind of brotherly guidance in a long time, but I think I felt Augustin’s ghost behind me when I stood shoulder to shoulder with Sister Lux in that facility, fighting our way out.

Do you remember that door, the one I had thought stood between me and the hells? It was really just another hungry bulkhead between us and freedom; a sun and moon puzzle that should have been, might have been harder to solve if I couldn’t feel the juxtaposition of her fire right next to me. Sun and moon. Astral and umbral. It was so simple; this was a test. I had let my aether lay fallow, and in order to progress I had to reach inside and drag all the burning potential straight out of my mouth. Furious, destructive, so obscenely fucking alive.

Hungry, that’s the key word. The door had to feed -- on us. I don’t know how, or why, but somehow she and I put our hands to the door at the same time and knew exactly what to do. It was time for me to shit or get off the proverbial pot, and all she had to do was correct my posture a little bit, just like old times in the backyard with my brother and a weapon I didn’t know how to hold.

I picked up my brass and ruby cudgel, and she told me how to feel the fire of my aether and let it simmer in controlled brilliance, and how to sit back and watch, patient and observant, as an umbral reckoning blazed all the way up into my nose, through my nostrils, eventually bubbling out in an oozing black ichor like tar. Until we were both painted with blood and the door finally gave way after growing fat on our offerings. Freedom, and not a moment too soon.

It’s funny. It’s funny in that way where I have to laugh to keep from considering all of the circumstantial leaps that had to happen to get me there, in that moment, with that exact mentor and the tools available to me. Did you know that I bought my thaumaturge focus the same day -- at the same damn merchant stall -- that I bought the bracelet that Lux still wears? The cudgel was a leap of faith (I thought maybe, someday, I would use it), and the bracelet was a tithe for her attention, but I gotta fucking wonder if that wasn’t the Spinner herself cinching an amethyst purple thread, until two distant ends of a rich black fabric pleated and bunched together, suddenly close, in a moment of coordinated function.

Like this had been the plan all along.

“They treat you differently because of it. Everyone on this ship - they know they can talk to you, Lucas. That you'll hear them.”

I started this mission as an empty vessel, asking everyone I came across to pour their faith into me so that I might taste it and gradually build a competence in teasing apart the flavors of the gods. The truth is that I was searching for the one most likely to offer me forgiveness, or at the very least the god who might hand me a penitence that I felt like I could swallow. I thought I deserved it, you see. That’s how all this started. On bad days, I still do.

Asking about faith isn’t just a window to the spiritual soul -- it’s also a mainline straight into the source of everyone’s irreconcilable fucking damage. Picking your god is a perilous choice, but mostly because it ultimately determines what kind of personality malfunction you’re going to have down the road. I already know why I’m awful: Delusions of grandeur and megalomania, with a curious tendency to self-flagellate. I’m the smartest, most impressive architect you’ll ever meet. I’m the greasiest, grimiest hunk of motor oil in the gutter.

The only way to reach the middle road between glorifying and hating myself, I’ve found, is to count the threads that wrap themselves around my ribs when I recount the conversations that I’ve had on the Salemtaza’s Voyage.

Here’s a taste: I’ve got Caelrin in deep ochre around my midriff where my abs are just starting to take shape. Ignera sits in flaming orange around the hollow of my throat, slapping my hand away every time I try to choke on my own self-loathing. Captain Kharn wraps in garnet around my face, shielding me from unwanted eyes when I don’t feel quite how I should in my skin. W'kana and W'buki in yellow and black, swaddling me so tight around the chest I fear for my next fucking breath. Reinette, a gentle evening blue curling in petals around my fingertips. Rizzo, a shining onyx black stitching up my lungs telling me to breathe, just breathe, don’t stop breathing until it gets easier.

More even than that. Staelufre in neon magenta, Fugetsu in an unknowable shade of grey, Killian in sunset orange, Strelec in obscuring maroon, Hikari in daisy yellow, Camille in cloudy crimson, Jancis in healing olive, Lune in jumpsuit orange, Jeanne in oil-slick purple, Hanako in fresh lavender, even Kat, yeah, even her, in that same royal blue as Castor.

Nathaniel threading in loops around every one of my fingers in a dazzling gold that fades into the electric yellow of potent aethersand.

I could go on. I could list twice as many names and colors as I already have, and I must ask myself: How do I carry them all? How could I possibly hold them all, without attaching them directly to my meat, my bones, this hideous and imprecise flesh that rightly should be cogs and metal? All that thread would just gum up the whole works, wouldn’t it? Maybe it’s better that I am man, then, and not machine.

For all my flaws, I can still stretch my arms and accommodate all these dangling ends.

“They see it in you, in the way you carry yourself. You're curious. Empathetic. You want to understand people, not just love them or hate them or think nothing of them at all.”

Sui tried to warn me about all this, back at the pumpkin patch at Cloudtop. It was raining, weighing down all my sashes on my brand new armor, and Sui had laughed when the skies parted to reveal the sun setting in a field of rose gold and the softest lavender. It seems like she and I can never properly talk if we aren’t both looking at the sky, like this is the only way we can perceive each other. Never head on -- only in the periphery. Or maybe it’s just easier to talk about certain things when you aren’t looking someone in the eye. Maybe it’s that.

She was so startled by the questions I needed to ask her, like she hadn’t thought it was possible that anyone had been watching her reaction to Nathaniel’s speech, like she didn’t think anyone would have noticed that she was upset. Is she so used to passing under the radar?

But I’ll give her credit. Sui tried to warn me that my friends would die. I watched the sunset fizzle out on the horizon from its soft pastels into a creeping ceruleum and a deeper indigo while she told me every horror that had befallen her family before, and what she knew would happen to us again. Sui could feel the same threads of fate starting to twine around our edges, and she wanted me to be prepared. I listened. I let those fibers stitch themselves into my lungs in the golden rose of a cloudless twilight sky.

I just never thought it would come down on us so quickly, and with such brutal force. I’ve never had to pray for another person before, and out of nowhere I found it necessary to summon the script to beg for twelve of my friends’ lives.

The truth is that I never learned how, and I’ve been too afraid to seek the answer. I know how to make wishes; I know how to toss gold coins into a running fountain and watch the sunlight flicker off the scattered mess of them along the bottom of the pool. But I don’t know how to pray.

I know who I would ask. It was Tieve who introduced me to Gridania, and if Sui and I speak most openly under a yawning sky, you might say that Tieve and I communicate best among the trees, under a cathedral of roots. The memory of the hearer’s chapel is stitched in bark brown and moss green bracelets around my wrists, reminding me that while I may have been invited to someone’s sacred space, I have to mind my boundaries, too. I am not the infallible creator of my own conceit, but nor am I outcast from Spoken kindness and community. To know temperance is to know yourself, to dig into the well of your Spoken dignity and grant the same to others.

I still have this embroidered Gridanian sachet of wood chips and herbs that she gave me, telling me it was for luck, and I didn’t know back then how much I would come to rely on Nymeia for hope. That I would need to believe that she’s writing me into a greater tapestry, that I need that grandeur to feel like my dumbass mistakes have meaning and purpose. And even with Tieve beyond my reach, it occurred to me that she might have already given me everything I needed to weave my own prayer. A level head. A god. A talisman.

I’m just fumbling through this. We all are, but I made my own prayer by pulling that sachet out of my pocket and spinning it over and over in my hands as I remembered the names of those our enemies had taken from us. Who better to beg than the god of fate? Keep their lines anchored to me. Keep them in the tapestry. Keep them safe.

“It's the most noble thing about you. It's - It's more than just what you do, it's who you are. It's what I love about you.”

I recite their names:

Aidan, the hound with apologetic eyes who slinks around the edges the crowd until someone notices him, at which point he deflects attention from himself with a self-deprecating joke straight out of my own fucking toolbox. He could be a brother to me, if he let himself be; if he told me the truth about who he is and where he’s been. I can smell it on him. The stench of ceruleum doesn’t fade as quickly as any of us would like, but I wait for him to tell me on his own terms. Aidan weaves around the periphery of my eyelids in a shadowy kohl black.

Izar, the mercurial seer who obscures themselves in riddles like a smug sphinx playing at being a whimsical faerie. They have never passed up the opportunity to toy with me like a blind white kitten with an oversized brown moth, but the teeth of their humor has never once felt like a cage to me. They are kind, and curious, and helpful even as they delight in your confusion. They dangle at my elbow in marble white, furiously tickling my arm like a loose hair caught in a sleeve.

Adhi, the wandering sage of Dalmasca who the gods had to gift with such big fuzzy ears so that she could better capture every single story that ever came her way. I don’t know how to even begin to thank her for what she’s done for me; she’s returned things to me that by all means should have been my birthright but were taken from me before I was even aware that they were being stolen. Her thread spirals in a shell around my ear in an entire spectrum of colors, one for every tale she carries with her.

Still, there’s more: Tieve, the witch of the wolves (mossy green); Percy, the son of a shadow (cobalt blue); Bride, the bashful goldsmith (periwinkle blue); Swozbhar, the towering cook (mint green); Valeriaux, the scarred philanthropist (leather brown); Silya and Livia, the sunniest Fists I’ve ever met (pale pink and soft teal); Farid, the most visibly haunted man I know (muted purple); and Iron Deer, the entrepreneurial engineer (metallic steel) -- all of them familiar faces, all of them colleagues, all of them threaded through the chambers of the same priceless Heart that gives our mission purpose.

The same Heart that we traded away just to get them back.

You know what? Fuck it. I’ll string them all to my own heart. I’ll suspend them all in cocoons deep in the burning hearth of me -- I will fight my way out of this facility that wants desperately to become our tomb -- until those that still live can crawl back out, fragile but alive and free to keep fighting for whatever comes next.

But one of them is gone, beyond the veil and permanently out of my reach. Just like Sui tried to warn me about, and all of Tieve’s lucky charms were not enough to protect me from this single ungentle truth. The Spinner does not stop the march of destruction -- she merely directs it. She cuts the threads of our fallen friends when they begin to fray and weaves new ones in their place; a different color, a fresh fate.

One of them is gone, their thread knotted off in a sudden stop on the tapestry of our story. But who?

Who did we lose?

“I've seen it. I've heard it. I've bloody felt it. Everyone I speak to says the same. Every one of them knows what a great heart you have.”

Percy and I first met at that bonfire by the chocobo stables. I was shivering, fresh off the fucking ship and completely unprepared for the weather, and he stood next to me and promised me everything I could ever possibly want, if only I made a promise in return to be a loyal friend to the Family. I was so desperate for a place to belong, I would have signed anything, done anything -- what had mattered was that he would have me. In this brave new world, I had people looking out for me. A place to call home. Structure. An institutionalized, freshly liberated fuckhead like me desperately needed structure.

So what if it came with a little price? The list of my sins is long, and breaking and entering is pretty far down at the bottom. Bar brawls are inconsequential, when you’ve already essentially aided and abetted war crimes. So, I’m wanted by both House Desrosiers and House Beaumarchais for stealing a thing or two from their daughters’ manse. So fucking what. Percy and I -- There are bonds that can only be forged at three in the morning, sitting on a crows’ perch halfway across the city under the moonlight, doing pre-job surveillance on some fart-sniffing nobles through their window. I’m not saying we kissed. I’m not saying we didn’t, either.

This is what I’m thinking about, when I look down at Percy’s lifeless face, drained of the rosy pink that always sat on his cheeks during those cold-ass stakeouts, huddled together at the shoulders for warmth. If I touched him now, he would be so cold, so unnaturally fucking cold, so I don’t. I can’t bring myself to touch him; to do anything but stare with my mouth half-open and a sob dying somewhere between my sternum and my throat, turning into just another burning pit to fizzle and die in my stomach.

Except it doesn’t have the good sense to die. It turns to steam, turns to pressure, backs up the entire clockwork machine that keeps me chugging along, and it must be vented or else I’m going to fucking explode, but I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. It stutters inside me like a hitched gear. The whine seems to come from my chest, high-pitched, like a kettle about to scream. Is that me? Am I screaming? I don’t know myself. I am not me, in this moment. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know who is on the cot below me, whose silver close-cropped hair sits on this head, whose too-round spectacles reflect the light in the room too thoroughly for me to be able to see if their dead fucking eyes are open or closed. I don’t know which is more terrifying.

I leave. I run. My boots scream against the floor of the ship, clap against the dirt outside, and I don’t stop running until I can drop to my knees and bellow to the impassive clouds. This is my fault. Judgement rings in my head in a cacophony of voices. My fault. My fault he’s dead.

What am I doing here? What have I done?

Percy’s line, cobalt blue, is so cleanly snipped from my fabric that all I can do is finger the empty spot where it might have kept going. Maybe one day we could have found compromise; a future where the three of us could get along without jealousy, without miscommunication or hurt feelings. I’ll never fucking know.

I have always thought of myself in big terms. I am man, I am machine, I am god. I’m the architect of my own form, and I have crafted myself in my own image. Nothing makes me feel more powerful than looking in the mirror and seeing my face look back at me; the face that I sculpted, the body that I shaped. The people that I’ve been in the past are not dead, but rather they have been stitched into my organs. The girl that I was lives in my marrow and feeds my blood, and I am never alone in the cathedral of my body. I am holy. I am enduring. I will move beyond the ghosts at my heels and continue forging a forward path, with those I love woven into the never-ending project that I call my self.

But even a god looks puny as shit, crying into the dirt over a fallen friend. I need to feel this. I need how small this makes me, how insignificant I am in this moment. I gotta remember how crippled it makes me feel. This humility -- it needs to be sown into me, too. So I don’t make the same mistake again. It’s the least I can do.

I can’t forget. I won’t forget his face.

“What a precious, precious thing we've gained.”

#FFXIVHeartless #lucas nevin #balmung rp #ffxiv rp #IC post #castor arendt #cheche dotharl #lux lunseer #sui eclair #tieve corwell #percy d'armagnac #adian hawke #izar yunhaai #sage adhi #(and more!) #[S] Lucas: Be the Heir of Blood

[occasionalfics]

the arrangement (1/1)

main masterlist | thor masterlist | ko-fi 

Summary: The past, present, and future collide when communication stops and your mind spins. But what happened? And what can you do to fix it?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Thor x Writer!Reader

A/N: I’ve basically only made posts on this blog to complain about how I can’t write anymore. This isn’t something I thought was gonna fix that, and I still don’t think it’ll make everything better (there are still at least 4 series I’ve started and never finished over the last year that might never see the light of day), but at least I got it out from start to finish. It’s only lightly edited because I genuinely just want to share it, so please enjoy it for what it is.

It’s also 100% wish fulfillment fantasy because I probably very much need to be cared for and dicked down.

Warnings: Mentions of sex (a lot of them), one scene that starts at the end of sex but isn’t super detailed or anything. Language. 18+ content ahead, read at your own risk.

Words: 7,536

You pretend to be asleep when he leaves in the morning. At first, when you started doing it weeks ago, you were just doing it to see what he was like when you weren’t looking. Just to confirm a few things that you didn’t want to have to go through his security camera feed to see because that would make you feel disgusting.

Every morning, he gets up at the same time (even weekends), showers and dresses, puts his pack together for the day, then sits on your side of the bed and bends to kiss you. It’s sweet. He asked if he could do it months ago, when this whole arrangement started, and you’d said yes thinking he wouldn’t stick with it.

But as far as you can tell, he has. Every. Morning. He makes sure to say goodbye to you, through kisses or words or both, every morning, even when you look and breathe like you’re asleep.

But two weeks ago, things at night have changed that don’t let you rest easy. It’s nothing drastic - nothing that makes you fear for your safety or anything - but...it’s enough.

He’s been coming home later each day. Minutes apart, like you won’t notice. He says less each night. Disengages from you earlier. You haven’t even had sex in a week.

A whole week!

That bothers you because sex is part of the arrangement. Now it s, anyway. You like it that way.

You were a struggling artist trying to pay bills and he was a wealthy Real Estate exec who’d happened upon a piece of yours in a literary journal that’d been mistakenly placed in his office one morning. Two pieces, actually; you’d written a poem and a short story for that edition, just to be able to go the extra mile and show what you were made of.

Thor’s always said he knew he needed to meet you the second he’d put the short story down. He’d contacted the literary magazine and its parent company and, finally, got through to someone with your phone number.

Yeah, it was really weird getting that phone call. Of course you were cautious to meet a man that’d tracked you down over a story, but he seemed genuinely interested in more of your work. It’d attracted you to him from the start, enough that you felt comfortable accepting his offer to meet in a very public cafe during one of their rush hours.

The rest was fate.

--

Dark henley, light jeans, pushed back dirty blond hair and the brightest blue eyes you’d ever seen. Holy shit you thought. That’s the single most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. And he was there for you.

The instant his eyes met yours, he recognized you. There was no chance to turn around, no time to even give thought to leaving. The beautiful man waved, smile gleaming as he stood to greet you. You felt pulled in by the atmosphere of him, like if this were to go on for too long, you might actually start rotating around him.

If only you’d known.

The energy between the two of you was electric from the start. He was kind, funny even, and his questions were never too much. He wanted to know what you were working on, was sad when you told him you had a novel in the works but it was too slow going to expect anything soon because work and home were too much for you to juggle them all regularly.

“My day job is kind of a nightmare,” you told him, hoping to wipe some of the disappointment from his beautiful face. “Like, I’m sure it’s actually not that bad, but it leaves me feeling...empty. It’s bad enough that, sometimes, I can't write. But I can’t afford to just leave it, so...writing takes a back seat.”

You knew it was too much to say, and yet, it felt like the weight of a whole planet was lifted off you once it was all out. Until another weight settled - the weight of losing your passion to the everyday grind of life.

“I know this isn’t how writing works,” he said, “but I was wondering if I might be able to commission something. Anything. I don’t have anything in particular I want - just...more of what you do.”

That caused you to pause. You’d never taken a commission before. You’d never even known it was possible for a writer, outside of journalism, really. 

“You want me...to write something...for you?” you asked him.

He nodded. “No stipulations. No word count minimums. Just...take twenty minutes every night and write me something. Here.” He pulled out his wallet and ignored your protests as you tried to dissuade him. He held out bills you didn’t even dare look at, and when you didn’t take them, he reached further and forced them into your hand, curling his fingers around yours.

You both stopped as electricity coursed through you.  His eyes met yours, his face set in the same expression of shock as yours, but then his hand closed tighter around yours, and he managed to get you to keep the bills as he sat back.

“Twenty minutes a night. Just get something out. It doesn’t even have to be good yet, because I know it will be, eventually.”  He winked. “In a week, we’ll meet back here and see what you’ve got. Deal?”

How could you deny him that? All he wanted was...your writing.

--

This morning, after he shuts and locks the front door of his penthouse apartment, you slowly rise. With Thor gone, the place is too quiet. Creepy, almost. And with how distant he’s been every night for the past two weeks, you doubly don’t like being alone.

You think about calling Wanda and having her come over, but you remember that she still has a day job. Natasha and Bucky and Steve and Sam all still have day jobs, too. You’re the only one lucky enough to have met Thor Odinson, to have him care for you like he does.

And god damn it, up until two weeks ago, you were so sure he cared so damn much for you, even beyond your arrangement. He’d moved you into his penthouse after you’d signed the contract your lawyers had drawn up together - just for an ultimate layer of safety for you both. He’d insisted you use his home office as your own because he never used it and preferred to keep his work and home lives separate anyway. He gave you a generous allowance, essentially still paying you for your writing, and got out of it only a handful of simple things you could give him.

First glances at everything you put to paper. Thor’s an excellent editor, even though it’s not his chosen profession. He’s honest and intellectual, funny and dedicated. He loves listening to you read what you’ve written that day - or did, up until two weeks ago - and you both cherish the time you spend going over additions and line edits, suggestions and the like. You think - or thought - it thrills Thor that he gets to be the first person - the only person in the world at the moment - to see your book.

Until two weeks ago, regular sex. Your lawyers were both anxious about adding that into a legally binding contract, so the two of you had agreed on a verbal basis that, yes, sex would be good. On the table, as it were. You’d both laid out your boundaries and talked about what you liked, and you’d thought you were compatible but...something’s changed. And you don’t like it.

Exclusivity. He promised he’d never keep you from your friends and family - and you’d promised the same - but romantically and sexually, the two of you were exclusive. It’s crossed your mind - and then been erased immediately by force - that...maybe he’s been distant because he hasn’t kept up this part of the bargain.

You wonder if this was enough. Or maybe too much? He’s...different now, and you’ve gone over what happened leading up to two weeks ago a million times in your head, but nothing stands out. Not anything that might make him lose interest without, you know, consulting you about it. You’d thought there’d been something in the contracts you’d signed about full disclosure when it came to discontent within the relationship, just so that issues could be dealt with or an amicable breakup could ensue without too much pain and misery in its wake.

Then...what? What’s changed his mind so recently that he barely even talks to you, let alone asks for your writing anymore?

--

The first day you’d lived with him - not including move-in day - was full of rest, disbelief at your situation, and a whole shitton of productive writing. You had an office! An office with a view of Central Fucking Park! Thor’s chair was unquestionably comfortable, and the surround-sound speakers he’d installed provided the perfect immersive sound to get you into your writing headspace.

Around lunchtime, it’d finally hit you that, entirely by circumstance, you were a full time writer. You were one of the lucky ones - like Harper Lee or Stephen King or someone else that didn’t have to work a soul-crushing job that sucked the life out of their eyeballs. You felt unstoppable. And you decided to order food in for lunch as a treat.

When Thor got home, you ran out of the office with a manila folder full of the chapterSSSS you’d written that day. More than one. To completion. Well, unedited, but still - thousands of words on paper in one day? You were too excited to keep it to yourself, even without him asking for you to share.

His smile reached his electric blue eyes. Thor put his bag on the kitchen counter, then swept you up and carted you off to the couch along the entry wall in the office. He kept you snugly in his lap while you read out your work to him - at first a little shy, even blushing at times - but growing in confidence as you went. He interjected with a few notes every few minutes, but mostly, he just listened.

When you reached the end of the final page, his lips gently touched the skin just below your ear. Tentative, you could tell, but cute. It lit your body up with goosebumps, had you putting your folder down to look at him. You breathed the same air for a beat before you asked, in a tinier voice than you’d expected, “What’d you think?”

His smile returned. “I love it,” he said. “I have some thoughts, but I see so much potential. I really believe in it, you know?”

“You do?” you asked.

He nodded. “Of course. You know I think you’re extremely talented. Gifted. I can’t wait for more.”

You let the folder slide off his lap and onto the seat next to him before kissing him. It hadn’t been part of the plan, but wouldn’t you know, it was amazing.

There was just something about someone so openly supporting your work, loving every step of the process with you that set your insides ablaze in the best way possible.

Thor broke the kiss just to say, “Apparently, I can.”

--

He hadn’t asked to read your new chapter the night before, but when you step into the office, you find the folder on the couch instead of the desk, where you’d left it yesterday. There’s a piece of paper, torn from inside a notebook, with a list of thoughts in Thor’s hand. Everything is fair and nonjudgmental, and of course it’s helpful for the next part you know you’re going to write.

Of course it is you think. The irony isn’t lost on you.

Still in your robe and panties - you’d hoped that would’ve been enough to seduce Thor last night and set things back to how they were before...well, yes, two weeks ago - you sit at the desk, open your computer (the one you’ve had since before this whole arrangement) and stare at the blinking cursor.

You want to write. You know what’s coming next for your main character. You have Thor’s list of suggestions - lists, really, as you have a file organizer full of sheets just like the one you found a moment ago on the corner of the desk - and your brain is ready to work, but something stops you.

Your stomach feels knotty. Your chest is heavy, and your eyes won’t focus. Writing is impossible  like this, but you can’t fathom doing anything else.

You get out one word. Another. One more. A sentence.

You freeze again. That sentence sucks. It’s wrong, and it should never exist. Thor would hate it.

Would he? Even if he did, he’d never say it like that...right?

The uncertainty inside you rises, and with it, insecurity. If he can’t even listen to you read anymore, if he can’t tell you to your face what he thinks of what you’ve written...are you even good anymore? Is he avoiding you because, suddenly, he no longer believes in you?

That seems drastic, but you can’t think of anything to counter it.

You sigh because, before  Thor, you never needed validation like this. You know it’s not that you must know if you’re still a good writer, but that you want his approval. You want, specifically, to make him happy with your work again.

Groaning, you know this book will never get finished if Thor doesn’t tell you what he’s thinking. Maybe you didn’t start this project because of him, but you’d written more and more because he’d asked (and paid) you to. You’d gotten through chapter after chapter because he’d encouraged and helped you. 

Because he’d said he believed in you.

--

It was a slow, slow day. You turned off all the clocks and taped over the one on your computer with masking tape so you could focus on the page, but not knowing what the time was didn’t make the words come, and it didn’t make the day go any faster. If anything, it slowed everything down even more.

When Thor came home, he called out for you, but all you did was groan defeatedly in response. You heard him chuckle to himself, and then he was in the office with you, standing just behind the chair you were curled up in, both of you facing the mostly blank page.

“I barely wrote anything today,” you said, covering your  eyes with the palm of your right hand. “I don’t know what’s wrong so don’t ask.”

“But there are words there. Read them,” he said, his command soft but true.

“I don’t wanna,” you mumbled indignantly. “They’re awful, Thor. I hate every single one of those words.”

“It’s only a few paragraphs you have to get through-”

“Ugh! Don’t remind me!” You lower your face to your knees, replacing your hand with the even less comfortable surface of your bent legs. And then you groaned like a baby,  whining because nothing you did all day would ever amount to anything.

Thor shook his head and simultaneously turned your chair to face him while he kneeled so he had to look up at you.

“Hey,” he said softly, poking at your shin. “Y/N, look at me please.”

You couldn’t deny him, but you didn’t have to lift your head completely. Just enough for you to peek down at him suspiciously.

“You wrote something today. That’s more than most people on this planet can say they’ve achieved.”

You scoffed. “Yeah right.”

“I’m being serious. Do you have any idea how in awe of your ability I am? Honestly?” When you didn’t respond at all to that, he reached out and gently rubbed your leg. “Babe, you’re an author. You create worlds and people every single day. Every day for the last few weeks you’ve written thousands of words, and that’s… Fuck, that’s more than impressive. So you had one day where you got out-” He looked at the computer screen, seemed to count, then shrugged. “Four paragraphs? So what?”

“I’m a fraud,” you muttered.

“No, you’re not. You’ve done so much work in so little time, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened before today. You’re a wildly effective and competent writer, and you’re going to finish this book. But you’re also going to have slow days. Even the slow days are days you still get work done, though.”

He let you sigh, but nothing else.

“Read them to me. And take tomorrow off. I will, too.”

That got your attention. You sat up a bit, still staring at him incredulously, only for a different reason now.

“Really?”

He nodded, then pushed himself up far enough to kiss you. “Really,” he promised under his breath.

--

No matter how you replay the last three weeks, the last month, the last two months, you can’t figure out what happened. What you did. What caused the change in Thor? Was it your writing, or just...you?

If it were you, thought, you can’t fathom why he still comes in to kiss you goodbye every morning. That hasn’t changed. It’s the only thing that’s stayed the same, in fact.

And it isn’t enough to calm you. It’s nice, routine, but it’s not…

You sigh.

It’s not late night conversations - pre- and post- sex - about art, both yours and otherwise. It’s not reassurances and validation and understanding. It’s just shallow but nice little act he can put on to try and make things seem normal. It’s the least amount of effort he can put into this whole arrangement, and it’s so fucking frustrating to know that.

You decide the computer is useless. Trying to write today is useless. You shut your laptop and push away from the desk, then get up off the chair and head back into the bedroom. You’re on autopilot when you go to  the closet and pull down a suitcase, not even thinking twice before filling it up with haphazard piles of your clothes from the closet and dresser. The thing won’t even close, but you don’t care.

With what’s left of your stuff, you get dressed. You decide Central Park is too pretty to just look at today, so you dress warm and head out, automatically double checking that your keyring is in your purse before getting in the elevator.

The sky is clear, and the air is crisp. You head into the park, taking in the familiar sounds and sights. Couples stroll past you - some more intimate than others - and you feel your heart lurch into your throat.

It’s fine you tell yourself. It’s not like you and Thor ever gave each other labels. You were official on paper, sure, but you were never, like, his girlfriend.

Maybe you should’ve been keeping distance this whole time. Just a little. Just enough so that, when something like this happened, you wouldn’t be so torn up about it.

You head by Wollman Rink and stop. Memories flood your head, and you shut your eyes to keep from tearing up. You can’t help it, since you feel so much on the outside of everything right now.

When you compose yourself, you get closer to the rink. You watch as people - mostly children today - twirl and skate around the rink, and you yearn for something you fear you might not ever  have again.

--

Apparently, Thor had been talking about you with his friends. Tony Stark in particular was excited to meet you, and who ever, in this entire world, got to put that on their resumè?

Stark put together this whole double-date. Well, Tony was the one taking credit, anyway. His finacè, a lovely, gorgeous redhead named Pepper, was the mastermind behind it all. Everyone knew it.

It was especially evident when your group made it to Wollman Rink and Stark put his skates on. Pepper twirled in tight circles around him, but the Billionaire Genius stood with his hands out, knees apart, and a slightly terrified look on his face as he tried to maneuver - not very well - around the ice.

You were a little wobbly at first, but Thor never took his hand from yours. Of course he was rather good at skating - besides writing, what wasn’t Thor good at? - so he mostly just guided you around the rink, keeping you close while also sometimes taking the lead and letting you drag behind him, just for fun.

After a while, he suddenly pulled you in close to him and took you by surprise, kissing you in the middle of the rink. You melted into him as much as you could in the brisk December night, and he caught every bit you gave. Your pink noses barely registered as touching, given how cold they both were, but you knew. It was always like that with Thor.

“Hey!” you both heard Tony yell. “Stop showing off, asshole!”

Pepper immediately chastised him, stating that the children now chortling around him were too young for such language.

A little while later, the group collectively agreed to call it a night on the skating and try to find some hot chocolate somewhere. The penthouse wasn’t far, so worst case scenario, everyone clambered up to your building and you’d make hot cocoas there.

Thor and Pepper offered to return the rented skates, and while you were slipping your boots back on, Tony took a second to get kind of real with you. If you hadn’t spent the whole night watching him and Thor bickering back and forth, you wouldn’t think twice about the serious look he was giving you.

“You really like him, right?” he asked.

You nodded without hesitation. “He’s… He’s so special.” You hadn’t meant to sound dreamy, but that didn’t stop your voice from taking on an airy quality. “I’ve never met anyone like him before.”

“Good, good,” Tony said, though clearly he had more on his mind. “It’s just- I know he likes you. A lot. Like, a lot a lot. He’s been talking about your writing for almost a year nonstop and, I mean-”

“Wait,” you cut in. “A year?”

You’d only met Thor three months ago.

“We didn’t know he was talking about you, at first. He’s just raving about some poems or something. We thought he’d, you know.” He pointed to the side of his head, then let his fingers flutter away as he rolled his eyes. “He just had to find you. But you don’t have a website or anything, not even to display your social media- I’ve got a few friends I could talk to about managing all of that for you, by the way, and-”

You cleared your throat as Thor and Pepper made their way back. They were far enough away still that, when Tony gauged their distance, he had enough time to turn back and quickly tell you, “He’s in it. For you. Be careful with him, okay?”

You didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but you nodded anyway. Of course you’d be careful with Thor. You had a contract and everything. You’d been careful all along.

Something told you that wasn’t what Tony meant, though.

When you made it back to the penthouse for the night, you got into your warmest pajamas and slid into bed. Thor’d forgone a shirt, but he so did most nights. He wrapped you in his arms, warming your still cold skin on contact, and asked, “So what’d you and Tony have to talk about earlier?”

Be careful with him, okay? 

As the question rang in your head, you shook it. “He’s just looking out for you,” you mumbled, yawning through the last word. “He’s a good friend.”

“Sometimes,” Thor joked.

You managed to laugh, then snuggled in tighter. “I’m glad you have him. And me.” Your eyes shut and you stilled against Thor’s warm torso, breathing in his familiar, musky scent.

You swore you heard him mutter something else, but were too close to sleep to know exactly what it was.

--

A child runs past you, and the caretaker excuses herself as she hurries after the kid. You step back from the rink and head further into the park, keeping your arms in tight to fight off the chill. You find a hot chocolate vendor, glad to have something warm to wrap your fingers around for a while.

You stroll through the park hoping something might inspire a spark, but mostly just wanting to distract yourself. There’s an annoying poking thought in your head that, once you go back to the penthouse with your clothes all stuffed into a - completely open - suitcase, everything will unravel. Nothing will ever be the same. It scares you, makes you seek refuge elsewhere, pushes you deeper into the recesses of public spaces. You don’t register your phone pinging once in a while, or if you do, you choose to ignore it.

Eventually, the sun starts to go down, and you know you have to return home soon. Thor will be home soon, too. And even if it’s just to say goodbye…

You can’t finish that thought. It takes you a minute to process, but you realize that it’s not just because of the writing. Like, yes, his support and encouragement has meant everything to you, but it’s...so much more than that.

He believes in you. In everything you do. He’s kind and gentle and he genuinely seems to like you. He’s been generous and fun and wonderful for six months, and you’re not ready to go on without all of that.

Your feet stop moving because your mind is reeling as you think that you don’t want to go on without him...because you love him.

Your mind tries to fight off the emotion that bubbles in you, but your heart won’t let it. You have to feel this as you come to accept it. As you recognize that you don’t want to say goodbye, you can’t let him go because he’s the best part of your life. You love Thor Odinson, and maybe you’ve known it for a while. Or felt it or whatever. The feeling doesn’t read as “new” in your body, in any case. It registers as comfortable, like a huge, warm blanket wrapping you up and keeping you safe and cozy.

I love Thor.

Your mind, ever persistent, reminds you of the last two weeks. The distance. The silent notes, in place of the intimate reading sessions. The morning kisses that seem to have taken the place of steamy makeout sessions and hot, strenuous lovemaking. The gestures that now feel empty, filling you up with hot air instead of weighty reassurance.

God, how could you be so stupid? To think that someone like Thor would love you? Tony had said it all those months ago - Thor loved your writing. He probably just tolerated all the rest. Once he figured that out for himself, he withdrew, which is why he’s been leaving you high and dry and alone for two straight weeks.

Heartbroken and determined, you head back to the penthouse. The sun has set by the time you reach the building, but you ignore your shivering and numb fingers as you board the elevator.

Now you’re angry. Not angry enough to scream or make a scene, but angry enough to force  that suitcase closed and leave. Angry enough not to leave a letter, and apparently petty enough to make Thor beg for an explanation. Maybe you just want to see if he will.

But the moment you reach the door and realize it’s already unlocked, everything fades away. Everything. You’re hollow.

You enter the apartment and pull off your coat, but don’t bother hanging it on the rack beside the door. Your plan is just to put it on again in a few minutes anyway.

Thor comes out of the bedroom looking confused and sad. His brow is knit so tightly you know he has to be in pain. He stares at you, and you see his shoulders shake, but you keep your distance.

“Y/N,” he calls, despair and loneliness creeping into his voice. The mixture does something inside of you, but you try not to notice.

And you fail. You fail because there’s only one other time he’s ever called your name like that.

--

He was off the whole night. You’d gone through your regular motions, excited as ever to read the next chapter to him to hear his thoughts, but as you came to the end of the printed section, he sighed and hummed, but didn’t say anything.

“Thor,” you said gently. “What’s up?”

“Hmm?” He caught your eye for just a moment before gazing across the living room and shaking his head. “Nothing. Just had a long day, I guess.”

He’s had long days before, though. You know from experience that, on long days, he comes home and asks if you want to go out for dinner, then immediately asks to go to bed upon returning home. He promises you can read as much or as little as you want the next day, and you both normally just...go to sleep.

This was different.

You shut your folder, put it on the coffee table in front of you, and turned so you straddled his thighs. You were wearing a dress that day, one with a wide, flowy skirt, so you had plenty of room to get comfortable. You cupped his jaw in both your hands and forced him to look at you, and without words, you communicated that you knew something more than just work was on his mind.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t lie to you.”

“Just tell me what’s wrong, babe.”

He searched your eyes for something. You figured he had to have found it, because he sighed and nodded. “I found out my brother was arrested today. It’s not his first time, either. Our father is insisting I let him learn his lesson in prison, but I can’t just let my brother rot.”

“Oh,” you said, then realized how bland and disinterested it sounded. “Oh, Thor,” you tried again, arms going all the way around his neck. You hugged him close, and he pulled you in even tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

He tried to tell you that it was alright, but clearly it wasn’t. His shaking shoulders told you that much, and his hitched breaths told you more.

You pushed on the back of his head until his forehead touched your shoulder. “Shh, it’s okay,” you whispered to him. “Get it all out, babe. I’m here. I’m with you.”

He didn’t cry. Didn’t sob. Apparently would not dare to get your dress all wet. You would’ve let him if he had, though.

When he calmed down, he kissed your shoulder once. Twice. Trailed his lips up to your neck and around your jaw, leaving a single kiss on your lips as he settled his forehead against yours. “Y/N,” he said, shaky and so unlike Thor you had to convince yourself you hadn’t imagined it. On another shaky breath, he let out a simple but meaningful, “Thank you.”

--

He looks at the bedroom doorway, sucks in a tight breath, and starts, “Were you…” He can’t finish until he’s looking at you again, though. “Were you going to leave?”

Your jaw tightens. And not even out of anger. You hate it when Thor’s like this because it’s not even like he’s being possessive or anything. He’s not trying to control you. He’s asking in this broken voice that snaps your resolve string by string until you’re nothing but frayed edges inside. And you hate it all because it means he’s just as broken as you are.

“I-” you start, but you can’t find the right words to follow it up. Yes feels wrong, and you’re not even sure it’s the truth anymore. Maybe...for just a moment… But how could you leave? How could you ever even think of walking away from all of this? All of him?

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks of silence and separation, two weeks of being in your own little world within the walls he provided and you don’t even know why.

Oh yeah. That’s how you could leave.

“Y/N,” he says again, this time more sure of the emotion in his chest and tone. “Were you packing a bag to leave me?”

You stand your ground, but try not to come off as angry even still. You’re not angry. You’re just...lonely. And alone. On your own team for the first time in six months. “Yes,” you answer.

His breathing gets heavier. You refuse to look away. He seems to calm himself a little bit, but doesn’t sound much better when he asks, “May I ask why?”

How dare he attempt to be polite right now? But, you remind yourself, it’s his nature. He’s always like this, no matter what. He can’t even be angry properly, and that makes everything even worse.

Torn between owing him an explanation and demanding one yourself, you say the only thing you can think to say that might give both of you answers.

“You stopped touching me. Stopped talking to me. You’ve barely looked at me the last two weeks, and I’m tired of being alone. I may as well go back to my shit job and crowded apartment.”

You’re just about to let the emotion, the rage and tears settle in when he pauses. Steps back a little. Just stares at you, like what you just said is preposterous. But then something in his expression clicks, a light flickering behind his eyes, and he seems to know he’s done everything you’ve accused him of.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’ve decided you’re not done, though.

“I thought I did something, Thor. I thought you were just too nice to tell me what it was, so you got quiet and distant in the hopes that I would just...leave.” As you say it, you know how ridiculous it sounds. It’s a thought process better suited to the inside of your brain. But you’re still going. “What else was I supposed to do? You weren’t asking for my new chapters, you were barely even looking at me. And I was just supposed to take the hint? Well, hint taken.”

His eyes fell to the floor in shame. You stepped lightly toward him, stopping with just enough room that your shoulder just barely grazed his arm.

“If I knew what I did, I would’ve fixed it, Thor. I would’ve tried. But I had no clues-”

“You didn’t do anything,” he whispers.

You can’t move then, except watch him sigh and shake his head.

“You’re not the cause of my misbehavior, Y/N. Not directly.”

Not for the first time, you wonder if he really does have another woman. But you know him, and you know him well enough to know he’d never break that promise of exclusivity. You’re not confident in much about your arrangement right now, but that is one thing you know for sure, without any doubts.

Which only leaves you to believe that maybe he wants to break the promise and just won’t out of a sense of duty or something. Like he’s just sticking with it because you won’t let him out of the deal.

None of it makes any sense, and you know it’ll make you sound like a crazy jealous demon if you say it out loud. So you don’t.

And that’s enough encouragement for Thor to look at you again, all of the world’s weight alive and heavy in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. The sound is so familiar, you nearly lean into him for comfort.

--

He stilled inside of you, the both of you suddenly quiet and tense. This...wasn’t supposed to happen. You only met the man a week ago, and today was only the second time you’d seen him in person.

But after he’d read your work from the week before, you’d talked. About everything. You told him way too many embarrassing stories about your childhood and he told you all about the private schools he got expelled from because he’d been a hellion of a young boy. You could still see the spark of mischief in his eyes if you looked hard enough, and you found that, yeah, you really kind of liked it.

You’d asked him to come up to your apartment. It was empty at the moment, since all of your roommates had lives and jobs, too. You’d just wanted to keep talking, but maybe in a place where it didn’t matter how loudly you laughed at his stories or how boisterous he became in response to yours.

He was charming. Gorgeous. So nice. Too nice, really. He paid for refills of coffee, then followed your lead to your apartment.

Things had started in the kitchen, but then you’d gotten hungry, so he ordered in Thai. You’d brought him into the bedroom so you could watch a movie and eat without the forced space a couch might offer. He was warm and easy to feel comfortable around.

When the movie ended, you talked some more. About the movie, about what you were going to write next. Everything.

And then you leaned up on your knees and kissed him. One thing led to another, and then he was fucking you better than you’d been fucked in a long, long time. Maybe ever. He was generous in all things, it seemed.

It was only when you both came down from your highs that you, collectively, seemed to remember that he’d paid you to write for him. Sex seemed complicated and taboo in conjunction, and that thought made you feel hollow, despite only minutes ago feeling like you could lift the world on your back and carry it easily.

Minutes passed and you said nothing. He didn’t say anything, either.

But then he did. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, slow and genuine.

You felt your chest tighten at the thought that he regretted what you’d done together. It made no sense, given how you kind of regretted it, too, but you knew it wasn’t the feeling of it all that you regretted. The act, sure, under the circumstances.

But the success of the trial? Absolutely not.

You shook your head. “No, no, don’t be. It’s okay.”

“Your silence indicates otherwise.”

“Well yours did, too.” You sighed and tried to explain what was going on in your head, and when he finally met your eyes, you knew the truth of the whole matter: You didn’t regret a thing. Not really.

“Like I said, don’t be sorry,” you told him, finally managing a small smile.

It was enough to encourage him to kiss you again, and your stomach erupted in a kaleidoscope of butterflies. If kissing him like this felt so right every time, you never wanted to do anything else.

--

This time, you have no reason to tell him not to be sorry. This isn’t a mistake, and your silence isn’t your own fault.

His electric blues are deep and dark, and they scream at you not to let go. “I’m sorry,” he says again, the last word breaking on the end of a breath. “Please...please don’t leave.”

Your brow furrows, more confused than anything else. “Why not?” you ask, trying your best not to sound mad because, truly, his plea intrigues you more than sparks anger. You were so sure, until that moment, that he’d simply been meaning to find a good way to ask you to leave.

But now… That’s not even a possibility.

He surprises you by bringing a hand out, begging for your touch. On instinct, mostly, you respond, your fingers sliding right into his palm like they were made to fit together perfectly.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

You nod. There are no other answers. You trust Thor, and you know, somewhere inside, that he never really meant to play with your feelings. Whatever he’s trying to show you now will fix everything. You have to believe it, or else you’ll really, truly break.

“Say it.”

“I trust you.”

He relaxes enough that you notice, then pulls you along into the bedroom. He asks you to sit on the edge of the bed, then picks up a long envelope from his nightstand.

“I should’ve been more attentive here, but I was doing my best not to ruin a surprise,” Thor says, handing you the envelope. When all you do is stare up at him, he nods at the package in his hands, and waits patiently.

You take it. Open it. Inside is your contract. Every page. You stare up at him, brows furrowed deeper in confusion. “What?” you ask.

“I’ve been discussing this with both of our lawyers this week. And the week before that, I was trying to figure out what I wanted to say to the lawyers. But...this is big and I was nervous, and I knew I should’ve said something to you, but I-” He stops, clears his throat, and looks away from you. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

You slide the contract back into the envelope, then put it on the bed. “What surprise?” you ask.

“I was going to have the contract terminated.”

The same dread from earlier fills you, until you remember that he wouldn’t have pulled you in  here to explain everything if all he was going to do was kick you out. He wouldn’t ask you to stay, in that case. You try to control your reaction, which ends up meaning that you don’t really react at all, except to ask him, “Why?”

“I want us to be real,” he says plainly, forcing himself to meet your gaze. It’s not too long before he’s lowering himself into a kneeling position in front of you, grasping for your hand again. “I don’t want there to be any obligations. If any legally binding contract is going to exist between us, I want it to be nothing short of a marriage license. The last two weeks have been excruciating, and I know that’s all my own doing, and I’m sorry I put you through that, but please believe me when I say that I love you, Y/N. I love you, and I was trying to do anything I could to end the artifice and make this real.”

“Make...us…” You trail off, mind running at a million light years. Too fast for you to process. Things don’t compute correctly, like when your fingers type faster than your brain can think of words, and all you end up saying is, “You...you love me?”

Thor nods. “I do. I love you so much, and all I wanted was a chance for us to make things work on our own terms, without expectations. Without mutual gains with monetary value.”

You start asking him silly questions, because they’re all you can think to bring up. “So you don’t hate my book? You’re not disgusted by me? You want more of me?”

He confirms with double negatives and a positive. “Of course I want more, Y/N. I’d have to be living under a rock not to.”

“Did you say you wanted to marry me?” you ask him, only just now starting to catch up.

He laughs, nods, and pushes himself up so you’re level. “Without a shadow of a doubt. We already live together. We’ve been together for half a year, and I love you. We don’t have to rush- whenever you’re comfortable, just say the word and-”

But there are no words. Only actions.

You can’t find it inside yourself to hold the last two weeks against him anymore. All that insecurity has washed away with a few simple affirmations - but God Damn are they effective.

You crash your lips against his, arms winding around him as tightly as you can make them go. He pulls you to him, fitting snugly between your knees as he deepens the kiss, rolling his tongue over your lips, asking for an invitation.

A little levity of the night settles back into your brain then, and you gently pull back instead of letting him ravish you. For now. You give him a serious look, but you can’t stop smiling through it.

“Don’t ever go quiet like that again, Thor. I was so scared and alone, I never want to feel that way again.”

He nods. Light from the hallway shines on his face, and you see tear streaks have stained his cheeks. Your thumbs come around and wipe them away, and he smiles so prettily at you that you almost cry, too.

“I promise. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I promise, I’ll always tell you what I’m up to.”

He kisses all over your face, repeating himself between points of contact, swearing to any God who’ll listen that this will work. That he loves you, that he’s sorry, and then-

“I love you too, you know,” you get out. 

And the whole thing starts all over again.

#thor x reader #sugar daddy!thor x reader #sugar daddy!thor #thor odinson x reader #thor fic

[eyeslikefoxglove]

Episode 14 - WangXian are a (v soft) Battle Couple & Foxglove is hella mad

Hi! Welcome to episode 14. I should be studying. It’s day two of morning runs, so my soul has left my body already, send help. Yesterday I went to buy plants with my mum and got so excited I just whacked on a bunch of eyeshadow because I haven’t seen the outside in weeks, I’m also wearing makeup today, because I have nowhere to go, but I really need to finish this bb cream before it goes bad, so my parents are getting my full fresh faced “woke up like this and put on mascara” routine (which is a fucking lie because I’m wearing at least three blushes and two highlighters). I’m determined to get this bitch down in under five minutes so I can have another five to do eyeshadow, I have way too much eyeshadow to not wear it (I have way too much everything except maybe mascara and eyebrow stuff).

Yes, if y’all were wondering I am in fact a makeup magpie. ANYWAY BACK TO THE ACTUAL THING WE ALL CAME HERE FOR.

(Btw further down I discuss once again how shitty I think the Yunmeng sibs’ parents are if that causes an issue for you)

Ok ok ok, so I was talking with damnpoe-2187 here about how we found that sometimes WWX crossed from gremlin into asshole when he tried to get LWJ riled up. Like in the Cold Springs, putting our shippers hearts aside, that was a dick move and he should have stopped undressing the second LWJ went from annoyed to incredibly uncomfortable. I find this scene the complete opposite, a show of character development if you will. It is kind of similar in that they’re both hurt, and alone (although this time is much more serious) and there was some undressing going on; however WWX here behaves like a fool in love considerate person and knowing how uncomfortable LWJ already is tries to make it easier for him. They’re also super soft and I’m weak.

A brief interlude from my one track mind: That pond is full of corpses isn’t it? Or at least the remnants of the Murder Turtle’s meals I suppose. Damn right WWX should not have gone into the water with an open wound, but think no one should go swimming in there without a full hazmat suit tbh (I want to pump them full of antibiotics at this point ngl)

So I love this tiny montage (is it even a montage) of the, getting themselves ready to kill the Murder Turtle.

Teamwooooooork.

Listen, I have read a few fics in which their mind-meld stays in place due to reasons and I need me more of those.

Ok, turtles don’t work that way, but then again, giant murder snake-Trex-turtle so that’s low on my list of priorities. What’s not low is the fact that this guy is knee deep into pretty much a mass grave and I want to take a few showers just watching him.

Yeah, I know exactly what he’s smelling and suddenly I hope I don’t have meat for lunch today tbh.

The screaming sword has always been fucking creepy and does LWJ’s fist clench mean that he’s also hearing them?

BATTLE COUPLE! BATTLE COUPLE! BATTLE COUPLE!

So I know killing the thing took them something like six hours. And while it feels quite a long time in the show, I think that, if they cut the scene with idk, JC running towards Lotus Pier, then back to them, then back to JC, but now the sun is in a different position, back to them, but now the blood from LWJ’s hand has dripped down his arm; and so on a so forth it’d convey more clearly how long it took for the Murder Turtle to die. I know fuck all about cinematography tho so feel free to ignore all this if it is in fact an abomination.

Tiiiiiiny interlude here to say that Yiling Patriarch!WWX is probably one of my favourite character archetypes. He’s slightly creepy, slightly amoral (smiling while torturing and murdering bad guys is still amoral ok), more than a bit on the Dark Side, cocky, smirky, a bit of an asshole a BAMF, a rebel with cause and yet he will still do the right thing, not despite his nature, but because of it. He’s kind of like a Chipped Spike? But you know, he doesn’t need electroshock to behave.

I just want a fic where he’s this Dark Lord of Evil in everyone’s eyes however the ‘good guys’ take a break from trying to off him because a bigger threat just popped up and they have no choice but to ask for his help. He agrees, keeps being his charming self while also saving everyone’s asses, LWJ is smitten.

TL;DR: The Necromancer is hot. Oh and nobody dare deny LWJ has a Yiling Patriarch kink.

Oh my, this is the part when I always get teary eyed.

WUJI ON A CELLO? DO YOU WANT TO KILL ME?

“Why hasn’t Jiang Cheng shown up and rescued me yet?” THIS IS ALL THE PROOF I NEED THAT WWX IS THE BABY SIBLING.

“Lan Zhan sing me a song”

IT IS HAPPENING, STAY FUCKING CALM EVERYBODY (I’m crying)

That slideshow of their best moments set to WuJi is a masterpiece, and also, it kind of drives home the point of “how tf did we go from flirting during summer camp to this mess”?

(Btw if that’s YiBo humming he’s got one hell of a deep voice)

Ok ok ok, so this moment had me spitting up my tea the first time I watched it. Believe it or not my dumbass thought these people were actually serious with the censorship and we’d get scraps of their actual relationship. Lots of charged moments like in some other western tv shows I’ve seen when two dudes have chemistry but “they’re not gay”, no longing glances, no tender touches, no being unbelievably soft with each other; just you know, amped up, because if I’m not mistaken you can be arrested in China for “promoting the gay”. I mean, they changed the beginning when people insult MXY’s sexuality to insulting his mental health; no one would think “ah yes, the gays are good” when they hear it used as a slur, but they still erased it completely. One of the things I thought they’d fully take away was WangXian, I mean, the into/outro is named Wuji, which, you know, still a mishmash of their names, but not their ship name. It is such a significant part of the story with all the “what’s the song name? Figure it out yourself” that if something were going to give away that they’re married with a kid it would be that. I thought we’d get an artful fade to black BEFORE LWJ would say the name not after. And also, YiBo is enunciating it so clearly that, even with the sound muffled and the blurriness I, who don’t speak Chinese, can make out the two syllables. That’s deliberate, I can say “WangXian” loud and clear without moving my lips too much. At this point in time I must assume someone in charge of looking for censorship violations in the show is a fan and just ignored it.

Censorship person 1: dude, isn’t that a bit too gay, maybe you shouldn’t greenlight it.

Censorship person 2: shut the fuck up, sit here and watch.

*a full rundown of the whole of CQL later*

Censorship person 1: oh my god they’re so in love and they deserve to be happy.

Back to the commentary: I’m sorry but I have a mighty need of a WWX & Peacock friendship ok? This might be me just wanting WWX and LWJ to make other friends besides each other but I think that the Peacock is just bitchy enough to not take any of WWX’s bullshit.

And the Yunmeng bros timing for banter strikes yet again.

That’s terrible quality fake blood btw.

@ Yunmeng disciples: STOP SHOOTING FUCKING KITES PLEASE AND THANK YOU

Oooof even with a change of clothes our boy is still looking rough as hell.

MY LOVELY YUNMENG SIBS BEING SOFT AND HAPPY WITH EACH OTHER.

It hurts my soul that the second JFM starts praising WWX for surviving the Murder Turtle our boy’s knee-jerk reaction is to start praising JC in return. It is instinctive, how many times must this have happened for him to know his brother won’t even get scraps of praise? (Seriously fuck their parents)

It was going so well, I mean, JFM had a point warning him to not say things in anger. But I thought he was going to tell him that it is because sometimes he’ll hurt someone without wanting to, yet, this asshole decided to, once again, remind his kid he thinks he’s a failure.

And here comes Mme Yu who I can only assume had a servant posted at the door to warn her when WWX woke so she could throw some verbal abuse at him. I mean, she must have been missing it.

And JFM’s misogynistic bullshit strikes once again, because why defend ALL your kids when you can insult your wife.

(Every time someone berates WWX for “intervening” I want to scream. I mean, seeing this I can believe why the society as a whole thought genocide was a good idea.)

I love how they use their kids as props in their fight, I mean it’s not like they have feelings or anything. This woman is gaslight-y as hell too “you don’t love your kid because I gave birth to him”, you can’t tell me saying that in front of the son she’s supposed to love isn’t going to hurt him. And she knows it, I mean, besides the Wen attack I’ve never seen her hit the kids (although I very much doubt she hasn’t), so a good part of the abuse must be verbal. There’s no fucking way a person who regularly uses words that way won’t realise where she’s aiming those arrows. Which means to her (to both) the kids are collateral.

But FR, the barely-out-of-adolescence disaster bi necromancer PTSDing all over the place and living in a mass grave was a better parent than any of the current adults in this thing.

Which brings me to another point, Shijie is textbook “the oldest sibling is just another parent” and I’m making myself very angry.

[this is when I start frothing at the mouth and itching to write a modern-girl(and friends)-dropped-in-CQL because someone has to be a positive adult influence in these kids’ lives and it sure as shit ain’t the ones in the actual show.]

CAN WE STOP BRINGING PEOPLE’S DEAD PARENTS INTO THE FIGHT?

*deep breath*

I am going to feed JFM & Mme Yu each other’s spleens. Look, listen, look and listen, let’s first talk about how calmly they lay out the facts of their lives, one is only loved because he’s been brought up in the shadow of his dead parents, the other knows with certainty his father dislikes him and his mother uses him as leverage in marital disputes. When have these two not exploded their emotions all over the place? Fucking never. Yet here they are, talking about this bullshit like some bout of inconvenient weather. They’re used to it!

And now let’s talk about yet again siblings-are-just-extra-parents, with an added pile of WWX’s terrible self awareness that, to the man who brought him up, his worth is due to his dead parents. Again I’m extrapolating, but with the amount of times Mme Yu brings up his parents in such a negative light I refuse to believe JFM hasn’t made all the “you’re so much like your parents” comments to him every time WWX does something right. I mean, telling an orphan about their parents if they ask is a good thing, but WWX seems starved for stories about his them, which leads me to believe JFM refuses to talk about the topic except to make those little comments. What a fucking stellar way to give someone all the trauma if you ask me. May also explain a lot of WWX’s self worth issues if the biggest praise he’s ever heard is that he resembles dead people, yes, people who were loved, but they’re dead, and it doesn’t look like any adult has bothered to go and differentiate WWX from ZSSR&WCZ.

I’m just really mad, despite all the silly anecdotes I put in here my parents are fucking great at parenting, so I know what good parents should look like, and this ain’t it.

Ok, so I made myself angry and I don’t know if I should move onto the next episode now or wait till tomorrow but thanks for reading!

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #mdzs live action #foxglove watches cql #foxglove watches the untamed #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #jiang yanli #jiang cheng #yunmeng shuangjie #yunmeng trio #yunmeng siblings #yunmeng bros #Foxglove is hella mad #good parenting? Less likely than you think

[stetervault]

Any historical aus you can recommend?

There is a serious lack of these in the Steter fandom imo, especially ones that aren’t regency/royalty, but thankfully they do exist:

Steam Rises from the Body by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

Peter and Stiles are surgeons in a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital near the front line of the Korean War.

Hooverville by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

Town to town, train to train, tent to tent.

By 1932, the dust had begun to blow and the jobs were gone.

Anonymity was a byproduct of looking for work, which made it both necessary and convenient.

Stiles had enough secrets of his own to know to look the other way when he saw something that shouldn’t be possible.

The ghost of a tail giving enough balance to disembark a moving train.

Near silent Latin whispered on the edge of a tent encampment.

A flash of burning eyes.

He had more than enough to worry about without adding the oddities of others, and besides- having unusually sharp teeth certainly didn’t make a man worse than the ones running from the wife and kids they couldn’t feed.

So Stiles kept his observations to himself. He kept his everything to himself.

Until he met a man. One with eyes so blue they seemed to glow- and then they did.

Stiles tried to look away, but for the first time he was stopped.

“Don’t be like that sweetheart. Aren’t you curious?”

Orbital Distance by neglectedtuesday

Artemis, the capital city of the Moon, where movies are born and stars are made. The crown jewel of American cinema and simultaneously Hollywood’s biggest rival. The money may be dollars, it may be counted as the 51st state but the studios run this city, making cinema and waging war. No real bloodshed but equally cutthroat in its own way. Peter has devoured article after article about the industry, from in-depth journalism to gossip rags, desperate for every detail, every scandal, every glorious moon moment.

Wild Creatures by neglectedtuesday

The treaty is signed while Stiles is being laced into his wedding corset. Ink splatters parchment as a maid pulls the ribbons, tighter and tighter. Stiles’ breath and future are taken away, all to save a village. He is a sacrifice more than a bride. The maid assists in fixing a choker around Stiles throat. Her hands are cold despite the roaring fire in the grate. The choker is a string of blood red rubies, they reflect the firelight with a wet shine like an open wound.

Out Of The East, Never See The Sun Rise by neglectedtuesday

In the beginning, there are three absolutes.

One. Stiles is a god, forged of starlight and collapsing galaxies and he is eternal.

Two. Peter is human, fragile bone and viscous blood and he is temporary.

Three. Stiles and Peter are in love; love that claws its way inside one’s heart like fish hooks; all encompassing love that is beautiful but dangerous.

Stiles is a god. Peter is human. They love each other.

Three absolutes.

Viking Wolves do it Better by MaroonDragon

Stiles is the omega witch in the village he was born in. A gift that had been passed to him from his mother. A curse that left him an outcast amongst the people he helped heal. Until one day he no longer is. Kidnapped by the Viking Wolves of the North, he suddenly finds himself a human amongst wolves. There is one wolf in particular who is intent to woo him into staying. Stiles is really only indulging Peter until he can make his escape. There is nothing remotely interesting about the other man. Not a single thing.

Utterly Appropriate by wynnebat

There’s only one person whom Stiles would marry, and whoever has asked for her hand isn’t on that list.

Duty by ChloeWeird

A petrified omega. An ambitious alpha. A wedding night four years in the making.

Bound Fast With Love by Diablerie

It started when his grandfather assigned him to attend to the visiting professor, Peter Hale.

“Be his shadow, my boy. Take care of his smallest need before he has an opportunity to notice. It would be quite the feather in our cap if we can steal him away.”

Somehow, that brought him here: bound to a table and about to be spanked for his shoddy recitation of ancient poetry.

Bittersweet Creek by Guede

When Stiles finally steps off the westward trail to California, he’s the last of his pack. He starts building a den, but then he finds a dying man next to a burnt-down house and it turns out he’s not really much of a settler, after all.

Wolf Ranch by Guede (Poly - Stiles/Lydia/Peter/Derek/Chris)

At first glance, Beacon Hills seems like a terrible place to settle. Ruled by alpha werewolves and surrounded by a haunted forest filled with outlaws, it’s not very friendly to Eastern greenhorns. So Stiles and Lydia should fit right in.

Intemperance by Guede (Poly - Stiles/Peter/Derek/Chris/Laura)

Stiles is the one who gets pulled back to Beacon Hills by a murder.

Moonshine by Udunie

Deucalion was sitting in the corner that was reserved for special guests, with his henchmen - a pair of twins - guarding the table. He was just putting his stetson down, eyes catching Peter and widening just a fraction when he noticed Stiles. He was a good guy though, and quickly got his pokerface back in place. Nobody came to the Moonshine and insulted Peter.

“Deucalion, nice to see you,” he greeted, not acknowledging the goons who were giving Stiles the side eye. He knew they probably wanted a piece of his kitten, but thankfully were not foolish enough to try.

May the Mighty Fall by Udunie

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Matt sneered, looking at Stiles with derision. “One day, the popular, orphaned son of a beloved consul, and the next a traitor to the Emperor and an enemy of Cantalupo…”

Stiles didn’t move a muscle, even though all he wanted was to leash out, to reach between the bars of his cell and strangle that little, creepy shit. He could have said a lot of things, he could have told Matt’s pompous, patrician ass that he was - in fact - not an orphan. And seriously, from where he was standing, he wasn’t even really a traitor.

Well, yes, he wanted the death of the Emperor, but he wanted the best for Cantalupo - the return of the Lupa Maxima, the city’s rightful ruler and with her, the revival of the principate.

Of course, his reasons were far from being completely patriotic.

Gerard Argent tried to have his father killed, he lived in outrageous luxury while some of his subjects starved. He didn’t give a shit about the plebs…But. Stiles couldn’t say any of that. It wasn’t the time. Not yet.

A Matter of Chance by 1001cranes (WIP)

“I’m going to offer for the Stilinski boy,” Peter announces at breakfast one morning.

Greenberg drops the entire pot of hot chocolate.

A welcome arrow by 1001cranes

The wedding is small and grim, because Stiles is being carted off to parts unknown, married to a thirty-something year old dude who wants to marry a seventeen year old dude - totally not creepy at all.

my very soul demands you by veterization

Orphan Stiles Stilinski seeks work at Hale House, an enormous, foreboding mansion in Beacon Hills run by Mr. Peter Hale, who employs him as a butler. Or: Stiles is Jane Eyre, and Peter is Mr. Rochester.

Royal A/B/O Au by charlottecjhlvr

When his father’s Kingdom and the Hale Kingdom make a treaty, Stiles is the one who has to make it work.

In Sheep’s Clothing by Twisted_Mind

“The problem is Derek,” he began.

At this, Cora merely snorted in a particularly unladylike fashion. “When isn’t it?”

Alas, it was not so simple a matter as the scrapes of the child he had once been—would that it were! “Unfortunately, in this case, Derek has engineered hardship for not only our family, but the young Miss Stilinski also.”

At the sound of the young gentlewoman’s name, Cora’s features sharpened; she leaned forward and rested one hand tenderly on Peter’s knee as she asked, “Speak plainly—what’s he done, and what must now be done to rectify the situation?”

Peter took her hand in appreciation and followed her example, without any further prevarication. “He bedded his intended, and if he had merely done so, we’d have precious little trouble on our hands, for he’s hardly the first to take his wife-to-be to bed before their union was formalized, however much you will hear other preach otherwise.”

Cora interrupted, then, as she gripped her uncle’s hand tightly. “I’m not going to enjoy what I hear next, am I?”

Temporary Claim by sunrise_and_death

Some, of course, are off limits. Queen Talia and her husband have their special favorites who join their marriage bed from time to time. Laura has several young strapping men that are hers and hers alone. Even Derek has a few favorites—the quiet ones, the sweet ones.

Peter? The Duke only has one.

Sacrificial Lamb by Bunnywest

The Alpha has a scruffy beard, unkempt hair and dazzling blue eyes. The scar on his face is raised, running down his cheek like a twisting, gnarled rope. Stiles knows that it came from the blade of Kate Argent herself, and that the Alpha got it fighting in the battle where Kate killed his lover, cutting his head clean from his neck, if the stories are to be believed.

The Alpha lets Stiles look his fill, before indicating that Stiles should take the other couch, and Stiles does so, his father’s words echoing in his ears. He can do this, can be pleasant and amenable. The lives of his people may depend on it. The Alpha spends long moments surveying him, before saying, “I like you, Stiles.”

You don’t know me, Stiles wants to blurt out, but he bites his tongue.

Goddess Below by Unloyal_Olio

Peter sneaks into the vestal temple looking for a virgin. He finds Stiles.

#teen wolf #steter #fanfic rec #rec list #historical au #ask #anonymous

[arcanesupern0va]

RITW Series Oneshot: The Never Ending Why

Summary: Rick's gonna tell you why, in his own words, he left. fuck you very much for asking by the way.

A/N: I wrote this as if Rick was literally telling you, so he’s a little mean about it. idea courtesy @oh-no-a-whovian

CW: P*do mention, not in that way, but Rick vehemently denying it. I know some people are sensitive to that kind of thing, so I just wanted to be very clear. It is mentioned, but to say explain that was exactly what was NOT happening.  Pairing: Rick Sanchez/Reader Word Count: 2295

My ao3

Masterlist

~Rick In The Water~

So you wanna know why I left? It’s a story for the ages, sure. If ages were long and boring and generally tedious, maybe it would be. Tales for the ages, hah. Put it like this. Grumpy old man has a daughter. Daughter has a friend. Grumpy old man leaves. See? Some story, huh?

God, you really wanna know, don’t you? Jesus fucking christ.

Look- Full disclosure, this tale will not be filled with some of my finest moments. Not that judgment from insignificant pricks like you really bother me, but I don’t need you running around saying that I’m some sick freak or that I’m some weirdo who shouldn’t be allowed two hundred feet close to a school. I left, okay? I knew how I felt was wrong. I took proactive measures against it. She should be allowed to grow up and lead a normal life, free from any weird old men that see the universe simplified whenever I looked into her eyes.

See, I sound like a hapless sap.

The first time Beth brought that shy ten-year-old girl around the house, I tried to make sure she would end up terrified of me. It was a favorite game of ours, trying to terrify the poor innocent kids Beth brought around. The little psycho that she was, she would tip me off before she brought a friend around the house for the first time and her little game would let her know which ones were, in her words, “cry-baby bitches”. I was ready by two-thirty, lumbering out of the garage in my favorite get-up, an old Ghostface robe from Halloween with an alien mask in search of children to traumatize.

“WHO GOES THERE?” I bellowed, turning sharply to face whatever poor soul Beth had unleashed me upon. There she stood, trembling in fear but rooted to the spot, staring up at me stubbornly. This was the first time I experienced the feeling of peace that she exuded for me.

Now I want to clarify something right now, this never started as a “romance” thing. An overwhelming urge to protect her, sure. An intense desire to give her anything she wanted, absolutely. Every Rick with a Nova experiences this. I-It’s like how Morty hides my brainwaves. It wasn’t even until I saw her after almost 20 years that I found myself attracted to her so you can go ahead and get that idea right the fuck out of your head. I am a lot of things, and I am a LOT of things but I am not some creepy child predator. 

Beth seemed satisfied with the girl’s lack of fear, something that, as we would learn later, stemmed from her abusive household. She spent more days at our house than her own, huddled up in Beth’s room talking about boys and whatever middle school drama was going on. Her parents never even bothered to check up on her, never thought to call and check-in with the parents of the girl their own flesh and blood was spending all of her time with.

Nova. Her nickname. She hated her name, she hated it so much. Beth had gone on a kick when she was about eleven, wanting to ingest as much classic science fiction as possible. What can I say? She was a weird fucking kid. I indulged her, renting movie after movie from the local video store to feed her obsession but the one she really seemed to latch on to was the Planet of the Apes series. Every trip to the video store we would get four movies and one had to be good ol’ Charles Heston fighting the good fight against a bunch of damn dirty apes. I ended up buying the VHS and when she wore it out, I got her another one. And another and another…

One night, Beth started up another marathon and rather than peel myself off of the couch and slink back to my makeshift lab, I resigned to stick around for at least the first one. Beth sat in front of the TV, mouthing along with the characters as Nova and I sat on opposite ends of the couch with our elbows firmly planted on the armrest and our heads firmly supported.

“Seriously Beth?” she groaned, “Can’t we just watch the movie?”

“No one will listen to me,” Beth recited, turning around to face her with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Only you. You. Nova. You Nova.”

“Yeah, yeah, I Nova,” she rolled her eyes, sinking back into the couch.

And as weird as it was, it just kind of stuck. It didn’t have some stupid meaning, it was just something Beth teased her with for a little while until we were all doing it. Sometimes I forget her “real” name, to me she’s always just been Nova.

Ugh, this sappy shit is going to make me fucking hurl.

Moving on.

So what do you want to know? You’re here to find out why I left, right? Why can’t it just be as simple as me telling you I had to? I saw something in her I wanted to protect from the world. It was fine at first, I mean, who doesn’t want to help protect the poor little abused girl? She needed a place to stay when her parents got to be too much? I moved out into the garage and made her a room out of my lab. She liked watching me experiment in the garage? Sure, just stay out of my way. The last time she ever went home she came back with a black eye and busted lip? Guess it’s time to fuck her parents up-

No, I didn’t. But I almost did. And that’s what did it. Before I created my portal gun, I had never truly thought about how I would kill someone. I never thought it would be something I would do on a regular basis with sadistic glee as a shadow of the man I once was. So, the vicious rage I was consumed by when that girl came hom- came over to our house bruised and bloodied freaked my naive ass out. I started camping out in my garage, rarely emerging for anything other than food or more alcohol. Weeks after the cuts had healed and the bruises had faded, I was still fighting the urge to destroy them for even daring to lay a finger on her. It was the beginning of the end of my tenure on Earth. When I had finally talked my ass down from double homicide I started working on what would end up being my portal gun.

Fuck, there’s something I’m forgetting. Let me think. Beth’s shy friend, how she ended up being with us, how she got her nickname and why I ultimately left. I feel like I’m forgetting something. Something that reeks of failure and the lingering doubt in my head when I think about the future and whether or not Nova will be in it. What could it be…?

Oh, right, her.

Diane. 

Look, there’s not much I can say about her that isn’t going to irritate the fuck out of me. We were never particularly close, she was a doctor while I worked in my garage so suffice to say she and I bonded over our love of science. It’s also what ended up driving us apart. 

I already told you after narrowly avoiding prison time that I ended up spending all of my time in the garage. I ate in the garage, I passed out drunk in the garage, and when I woke back up I went right back to work on some kind of escape, something to get me away from what that small girl was turning me into. 

Boy, I’m a real fucking genius, aren’t I?

This caused the rapid deterioration of my marriage. As I said, we weren’t really all that close and she would constantly nag me into spending time with her. When I started working on my portal gun, I told her enough was enough. I couldn’t take it anymore, I couldn’t stand the goddamn sight of her. Looking back now, I can’t blame her for what she did. She was starved for attention and I was in no place to take care of her needs. I came home one afternoon to find her parked in the driveway, cheeks stained with tears and lips locked with a male nurse. The sight stilled me to my core but I pushed all that pain aside and used it to work even harder on my portal gun. That moment of seeing her with someone else assured me that things would be better for everyone if I just fucked off.

I didn’t say anything out of the ordinary; that’s a minor regret I have looking back. I gave Beth a kiss on the head and hugged Nova before I disappeared back into my garage to run some final tests. First I tossed an apple through, then a lab rat. Both came out the other side unharmed. It was ready.

And, so yeah. I left. Big deal. Everyone seemed to turn out okay in the end. Sure, Beth ended up getting pregnant at seventeen and never became a doctor like her mom. And yeah, maybe Nova did go on to get herself locked into an abusive marriage but they’re okay now, aren’t they?

They would have been worse off if I stuck around, anyway.

So I spent the better part of twenty years adventuring around the cosmos. I got into fights I shouldn’t have survived and met people I wish I hadn’t. It wasn’t all bad, I guess. I met my best friends Birdperson and Squanchy, dated an entire fucking hivemind, and met enough versions of me to become convinced I really was a complete and total ass hole. But in those dark moments, in those three sheets to alcohol poisoning or overdose moments, I would think about her. I would think about those wide eyes that offered a sense of peace that I couldn’t replicate with any amount of drugs, alcohol, or faceless aliens. I had long since learned about the inevitability of our relationship, hell, I knew Scar’s Nova personally but I still couldn’t bring myself to go back. I couldn’t face her, not after walking out like she never mattered.

Jesus fucking christ, here I go again with the sappy ass bullshit.

Whatever, let’s just get this over with so I can get back to what I was doing.

So Unity dumped me, wanting to “settle down” and “take over a nice planet.” Apparently, she couldn’t see that in her future if I was in it. Ugh, whatever, it hurt and I was spiraling, I didn’t know what to do or where to go so I just went home with the tickling thought of a peace that could take the pain away in the back of my mind. Shouting preceded Beth answering the door but all of the frustration muddling her features melted off of her face at the sight of me standing sheepishly in front of her. She wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me down to her level and squeezing tightly as she wept. She broke the embrace, staring at me in amazement before detaching herself.

“J-Just wait here,” she pleaded, disappearing around the side of the garage. She returned, dragging that same frightened girl across the yard. She froze at the edge of the driveway, breaking out of Beth’s grasp wearing that same astounded look I’d dreamt about almost every night. Even just the sight of her offered a taste of that feeling of peace I’d been desperate for. I steeled myself, keeping my features as neutral as possible as she continued to stare at me in teary-eyed wonder.

“Oh, hey Nova,” I greeted her amicably enough, a small smile pulling at my cheek despite myself. She inched toward me hesitantly, unsure of how to proceed. Her mind was made up, however, when a deep voice broke her gaze and sent her searching for the source in horror.

“Honey… who is this?” a calculating man asked coolly, emerging from around the side of the garage. Nova stiffened immediately as he came to rest by her side, pulling her into him possessively. She explained to him who I was, twisting her hands over as her eyes darted between Ryan and me. His shoulders relaxed as a smirk covered his face as he introduced himself. He shook my hand, clearly trying to assert his dominance as he gripped my hand tighter than necessary and held my gaze with that smug smirk.

It didn’t take a fucking rocket scientist to see what was this was. The way Nova had distanced herself from me when our eyes met, how she cowered as he turned to speak to her under his breath. She bid us farewell, seemingly at his quiet insistence.

“Dad, are you back? T-T-To stay?” Beth asked, my gaze breaking from the sight of Ryan leading Nova back to their house with a firm grasp her forearm.

“Wh-What?” I asked, trying to steady myself before I stormed across the yard and pulled Nova out of that house.

“A-Are you staying? You could stay here with us,” she offered desperately.

“Y-Yeah, Beth. I came home to stay if you’ll have me.”

So I stayed. I really don’t know what else to tell you. I told you it wasn’t that interesting of a story. A-And if any of it doesn’t make sense to you, well, you can go fuck yourself. I don’t have time to come up with a perfectly streamlined story. Now if you don’t mind, I have shit to do. 

Rick oooooooooouuuuuuuuuut.

#rick sanchez x reader #Rick Sanchez/reader #rick and morty fanfiction #rick in the water

[selfhelpforghosts]

I’d like to talk to myself for a little bit. Comfort warning for some ableist language my own brain throws at me at times.

This’ll be a tad long so I’m cutting it here.

So, I have a problem. A boy problem specifically, as the worst of my BPD manifests as my reverent, obsessive worship of my favourite person. I handle myself well enough, I have my behaviour in check, but inside, it’s a mess in here. 

I used to be much worse. I used to get triggered by something or just get offended for no particular reason because the right people weren’t paying the right kind of attention to me, and go on a whole public breakdown over it, threatening self-harm and suicide and begging for attention but nothing was ever enough. I grew out of it - slowly, but I did - and I’ve learned that making a public spectacle of my unstable emotions is not an effective way to get what I need. I’ve also learned that manipulating other people by threats and drama isn’t something a person should do, but that’s always been kind of an afterthough, as when you’re in a breakdown like that it’s very hard to care about anything but the fact that you can’t stand the way you’re feeling and nothing can make you feel better about it.

It’s like drowning, and you feel like everyone’s deliberately ignoring you. But I do better now.

I don’t do better when it concerns my FP. Maybe people don’t see it - I’ve had those closest to me tell me I’m not that crazy, I’m just making a bigger deal of my own reactions out of fear, but it’s not true. I am not exaggerating the amount of batshit that goes on inside me when something triggers me and it’s got to do with, well, him.

Right now, he doesn’t know who I am. I’d like to keep it mostly that way. I’d like it better than what I’m perceiving, what I’m making up inside my head. That he does know who I am and he doesn’t like me. That he can somehow sense the crazy off me across an ocean and then some. I don’t want him any harm. I don’t want to be creepy. I just want to support him. He doesn’t need to know who I am for that, but I’d like it if I wasn’t someone that outright makes him uncomfortable. I tried to show that I appreciate him the usual way I do at first: I tend to make art for the people who matter to me, for example, as it’s something that people usually are excited to receive and the work I put into a painting should be an indicator of how much I care, but I don’t think he was really receptive to that. Hint taken. So I’ve backed off - he gets to set his boundaries. It’s a new person, I have to feel out what he likes and what he doesn’t.

The thing is, I can’t entirely keep myself away from him. I give him the lead but when he gives out a signal that he’s willing to engage, I send him a message, most recently just to wish him good holidays and a better new year. That’s normal, right? People do that. It’s a polite thing to do, a way to say “hey I care about you and hope you’ll have a good one”. And then I flip my absolute, everliving shit when I know he read it and then just - nothing, he skips past it like he’s eager to just change the subject. Is it because it was from me? He just did that and nothing else and didn’t even say anything back to me even though he was saying a lot of things to everybody else so obviously it’s because he hates me. 

Do you see where this is going? Can you sniff out the point where things get off the track and start turning wild?

I’d like to remind myself of a few things here. Firstly, it doesn’t matter what he thinks of me. He’s no one. I’m no one to him and he’s absolutely no one to me. The fact that my very soul has decided he’s my entire world doesn’t actually make it so. That’s just what I’m feeling, it’s not real. So if he doesn’t care about my well-wishes, nothing changes. Literally nothing. The world keeps turning.

Secondly, if he doesn’t appreciate me, if he really doesn’t like me, then that’s his loss and just a sign to me that I should be wasting my energy (and money, and affection) on somebody else. I will not literally die if he doesn’t say happy christmas back at me. So what? My new year doesn’t depend on whether he was glad to receive my message or not.

Thirdly, I am making most of this up inside my head. It’s extremely unlikely that based on like, five messages, he’s decided that I’m the worst thing that ever happened to him. God. I know this. I am a mostly reasonable individual. I can understand this. And if this whole skipping out on me really is his way of cringing out of my seasonal greetings then, again, he doesn’t even deserve me. What does ANY of this matter? I don’t need him any more than he needs me. He’s not the hand that feeds me.

Fourthly, this is not a judgement on my character. If he thinks I’m creepy then he’s jumped to conclusions very quickly. I am a good person. I am a nice, caring, supportive individual, and I am sacrificing, gentle, loyal friend who doesn’t want any harm to him or anybody else. I am being mindful of his boundaries. I am not, in fact, an irredeemable freak like I feel inside my head. I’m not being creepy and if I’m obsessive, it is not his problem, as I’m not making it one. I can keep this inside, and I am giving him the space he needs and that’s reasonable given our actual relationship. I am being respectful. I know what I am to him, what lengths I’m invited to interact in.

Fifthly, I’m neurodivergent. I have difficulties reading into things - I don’t really understand when people are joking if it isn’t my exact brand of humour, I can’t tell when someone’s actually offended or creeped out or if they’re just making it up for the dramatic effect - I always think they’re actually offended, actually freaked out, and no amount of reassurance can fully convince me otherwise. I don’t know if I actually messed up where I think I did, and even then, I actually immediately apologised for it and clarified that I didn’t mean it the way it came across. So if he’s eternally offended over a genuine compliment I didn’t mean to sound weird at all and that was in no manner inappropriate to begin with, then that REALLY is his problem and not mine. It’s also possible that was a joke and I just fucking can’t tell, but it’s been bothering me for months now.

Sixthly, hi, second mod of this blog. I know you’re reading this and you know exactly who I’m talking about and you’re probably going “wait, what the hell?” right about now, and yeah, that’s exactly what I mean by being a mess inside and not outside. This is really going on inside me all the time. This and more, but it’s a long post already.

So to myself; I need to remember to mind myself more, be forgiving where I’m showing symptoms, and remember the actual scale of my problems. I’m not doing anything wrong. If something’s wrong, that’s not my fault at all. I show love differently to most people and if that’s not okay to him, backing off was the right thing to do, and the rest is up to him. What I need to do right now is protect myself instead of worrying about him.

#bpd #borderline personality disorder #mental health #mod kahvi

[collxpsedhexrt]

Matchup tingsss 🥺👉👈

just a warning i type this in a shit post format bc im too scared to talk about myself in a grammatically correct manner because i hate myself

huge note: my type is BIG w big ol shoulders and big and tall and did i mention big so yeah cuddles ok thanks bye i also updated a photo of me- bc i suck at describing my appearance

👀

👄

ok so anyways lets a gO

NOTE: i dont label my sexuality sorry idc who to swing for ion like swinging i like hugging thanks ok bye also im EXTREMELY mentally and emotionally unstable haha ok thanx 🥺😳💅

꧁𝙰𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎꧂

I am 163cm and 190lb (I am also very peculiar about knowing my exact measurements, height, and weight all the time?? Confusion???)

I am one pasty ass bitch despite being (excuse the lele pons moment) LaTiNa👁👄👁,,, I have very long warm black hair that is either wavy or borderline kinky curls no in between,,,, I have amber eyes and have FrEcKlEs everywhere but not like super intense,,, i could probably put a photo (and i will at the end-) bc idk how to describe my ugly ass morbidly obese bleached walrus headass face tbh??

Not to be an annoying basic bitch but i supposedly have an hourglass figure but im more plump so ig i have a more motherly appearance- idk tbh my body dysmorphia says i look like patrick star on my 600lb life so lets get poggers in the chat, tea?? tea sis?? who’d knock me tf up im ugly doe ahaha 👁👄👁

꧁𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢꧂

hngh i never stop apologizing- even if u knock me down multiple times ill keep going back to you and forgiving you, and thats on daddy issues

im an empath and like a lot of spiritual stuff like tarot and stuff,,, wont get too into it bc im inexperienced

GIFTED.CHILD.BURNOUT.

also bc i like gaming i can be “one of the bros” and tbh i LOVE being a semi-stereotypical jock-like gamer boy like “oHH YEASAH *crushes soda can on my head* GAMING TIME BOOOYYYYSSS” and i kinda forget im a girl sometimes bc i (gross warning) can like,,, burp wit da bois 😳👉👈,,,,

I am an INFJ-T (the T means im a shitshow!) and ion wanna get too much into my uh,,, issues w/ eating,,,, but basically lets say it causes a lot of dizziness on my end but like im still obese so its ok lol

also im like,,,,, the runt of the group like literally nobody likes me (at least thats what i tell myself aHEM-)

and also i have eXTREEEEEEEME trust issues like holy fuck nobody can catch a break

Oh shit wait i should say idk what i am in terms of sexuality literally nothing fits me ahaha but i am an afab female lady girl as far as i know bc im not currently in a safe place to explore these things, Jimbo!

also im so sorry for being messy im spacing things out so it can be an organized mess im so so sorry i love you anf thank you for taking your time to read this i love you and appreciate you!!

I am a libra sun, and a pisces moon and rising so that means im a crybaby bitch but to the third power (^3)

oh shit yeah im also a hufflepuff

basically i like to make everyone laugh and im not good with serious shit but when it comes down to it sometimes i can take on a maternal role when comforting friends but u will never get me to admit it..... wait-

꧁𝙷𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚎𝚜꧂

ART ART AND MORE ART OH MY GOD FUCK OH GOD OH FUCK SO MUCH ART- im specifically into the character design and i actually plan on going into game development in coolegg

👁👄👁👉👈

i havent sang seriously in like,,,, years tho bc my choir teacher kicked me out the choir bc my brother was having a life saving surgery the day of a performance anD I NEVER FORGOT IT KAREN. meaning ion let shit go like that bc im an insecure and emotionally broken biTCH

ok i love games- from little big planet, outlast 1/2, detroit become human, beyond two souls, TO OVERWATCH YES I LOVE YOU OVERWATCH, and aminal crossigng uwu

ok so anyways i mean yeah uh,,, i also like writing poetry sometimes and writing but im like yuri (ddlc) and cant help but be borderline pretentious with using over complicated words despite my shit grammar here lol

but yeah

i also live on a farm and i love taking care of my chickens duckies turkies andn pheasants mvmvmbm,,,, i lvoe themn,,,,fhfjdjd,,, OMG I USED TO HAVE GOATS AND GUINEA HENS BUT FUCKINGNG CORONA VIRUS MADE IT HARD TO CARE FOR THEM SO WE HAD TO SELL THEM AND HMMMMMMM ANGERY

but on another note i hav doggies and uwu!!! they v cute best dogeis ever 100/10 recommend these dogies,,,,

꧁𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚢 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜꧂

im a hermit and quarantine is just fun to me

I have a high pitched voice so my friends deemed me the god of anime voice thank u

But honestly i find my voice creepy, it’s as if my voice is ghostly and haunting. That’s in real life, but say we called on discord.... I’m loud and obnoxious but i always make people laugh, only when im on a call like that does my personality change so much.

im an amazing host tbh,,, “Hey- I have tea, coffee, coffee with foam, water, milk, juice, soda, and i could make you some food!” “Do you want some popcorn? Are you sure? Do you need a blanket? Would you like for me to turn on the humidifier?” I WILL SPOIL PPL ROTTEN WITH LOVE AFFECTION FOOD AND DRINKS GALORE

“hhnngh,,, maybe if im good enough of a host it will fill the void,,,”

oh also i have a weird accent bc im puerto rican

👁👄👁✨

UPDATE: ADDED LIKES/DISLIKES!!! and love tings

꧁𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎꧂

my love language is physical touch mainly but i can channel it through making food n stuffs uwu

I rarely if ever fall in love. but when i do, i crash hard. I become putty in the person’s hands, willing to take (metaphorical) beating after beating and insults and cruelty just for their love to be reciprocated. I become totally helpless and obsessive, memorizing their schedule and things they like. Treasuring every memory of when we can be physically close to one another, platonically or not... I become my “best self” and my performance rate drastically increases, but my mental state drastically decreases. I become horribly depressed and anxious, always making meticulously calculated movements and always showing that im willing to support them with everything.

I particularly have a thing for tall guys with big shoulders.

꧁𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜/𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜꧂

OK THIS IS UNDERRATED BUT I LOOOVE PEWDIEPIE PLEASE DONT HATE ME I JUST LOVE HIS HUMOR ANDN,,,,, 🥺👉👈

god i just- idk i have mixed feelings abt amberlynn reid bc obviously shes super hurt n stuff but shes done so much crap i just HNNGNHH,,,, ANGERY,,, but i show support sometimes but i aint ever giving her my money by subscribing

I also like (cue the angry mob) fnaf-

homestuck and harry potter r also LIFE

i dont like when ppl are egotistical unless theyre charming,,,, bc if theyre charming i 100% feed their ego.

i HATE when people do self destructive things (IM A FUCKING HYPOCRITE) like “NO- nO dont fRICKIN do that- BAD. here, let me make you some food...”

anyways heres that promised picture if this ugly mug