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scribbling-dragon · 9 months

Text

Crown of Antlers

Chapter 6: Threads of a Story

summary:

Woven by a singular hand, strung together like the gossamer threads of a spider's web.

(ao3 link)

(masterpost)

(6,450 words)

His footsteps scarcely echo as he walks, flitting beneath archways and between windows as he moves. The sound of his breath is equally quiet, anything above a whisper of an exhale would be like a shout in the silence of the Palace. It is as though the entire building is holding its breath in anticipation for whatever events are preparing to unfold.

Usually, the corridors are busy with guards- not bustling, too many guards would be nothing but an inconvenience, as well as overkill, but there are enough present in the various halls and rooms of the Palace that he would come across a pair every few minutes.

Now, the halls are deafeningly quiet. Not even with his sensitive hearing can he pick up the slightest shuffling of fabric or the bending of metal. He passes beneath another snuffed-out torch as he muses over this, relaxing in the silence of the Palace. It is so rarely this quiet, either filled with the rowdy merriment of whichever nobles he has chosen to entertain, or the quiet chatter of students coming and going from the archives.

He passes beneath a second extinguished torch, then a third, and a fourth. The entire hallway he traverses is swamped in darkness; the smell of smoke fills the air, speaking of these torches only being recently extinguished. And yet the corridors have already managed to clear themselves, each of his guards making a quick exit once the message had been sent. No doubt this is something of Ingolmondur’s doing, on xir way through. Xir presence is often enough to send his guards skittering away from the mage.

Their reactions are truly rather excessive- the mage is hardly going to exercise any of xir power on a simple guard. Xe have far more pressing matters to attend to, and xe prefer not to participate in the same posturing that much of his Court revels in. Still, the slightly glowing embers is something Scott only sees when it is Ingolmondur extinguishing the torches, rather than one of xir apprentices. Scott isn’t sure how xe do it, perhaps a gentler touch to make sure that there is still a faint glow to guide his path. As though he needs the light to see in this darkness.

Still, the dark does its job and sends the necessary message. He hasn’t come across any guards in a darkened corridor, where they shouldn’t be, for several decades. In fact, the last incident perfectly coincides with the time two of his most trusted guards turned up, lacking their tongues and ears. No-one had been able to determine what happened to the pair, only that they were discovered in a darkened corridor- somewhere incredibly out of bounds.

He hasn’t seen them in a while. A shame, truly, he had rather liked them while they were in his service. But it was of no matter, they were both discharged and given a comfortable wage to continue living on when their damages proved to be untreatable (his healers had mused over the impossibility of the wounds, how they refused to seal with magic), and thus their ability to perform their jobs compromised.

He passes beneath his twelfth extinguished torch before Aeor joins him. He is a long, sinewy creature that fills the corridor entirely. It forces Him to bow His head in order to avoid becoming tangled in the tapestries draped over the walls. Scott averts his eyes at the first snort of breath beside his head, turning away from the warmth breath over the side of his face. He is…uncertain on how to describe the changes in Aeor’s appearance, least of all the way His form contorts in these moments.

No previous records mention this detail, though Aeor assures him that the phenomenon was similar with other Champions.

Besides, gazing upon Aeor when He is like this would give him nothing but grief and sleepless nights for the next few days. The shifting and rippling of flesh from the corner of his eye is easy to ignore, after so much practice, and so is the metallic tang that hangs in the air and coats the back of his throat with the taste of iron.

The silhouettes of two guards greets him as he draws close to his destination. The doors are shut, ornamental carvings embracing the doorway and curling possessively around the wooden structure. He had heard the nervous movements of their armour before he rounded the corner, and the scraping of metal only increases as he steps up to them.

He smooths his face over and greets them with his best smile, dipping his head in greeting to each of them. It is an attempt to set them at ease, if only a little, and to assure them that he is not suspicious of their presence or motives, that he trusts they will remove themselves from hearing range the moment he gives the order. It is only their third time doing this, after all, the nervousness is to be expected. There is not a single word spoken between them, he had not heard a murmur between them during his approach either, and they seem unwilling to break that silence now.

“Thank you for your patience,” he nods to each of the guards again, keeping his voice even and smooth. It does little to put them any further at ease, but the attempt certainly counts towards something. Unnecessary stress is not something he wishes to submit his people to. “You are dismissed. Have a pleasant rest of your evening.”

They need little further prompting before they begin to make their escape, hurrying down the corridor as quickly as they are able to without making it look as though they are running from something, tails tucked between their legs.

They skirt easily around the edge of Aeor’s presence, avoiding Him without actually laying eyes upon Him. On occasion, he has witnessed someone passing through Aeor, disrupting the illusion the God is able to hold together outside of his domain. It is something Aeor makes sure to complain about each time it happens, grumbling about the odd feeling it causes.

He ponders on the thought for no longer than is necessary, anticipation growing as he turns back towards the doors once the last shine of metal disappears from sight – he may trust the guards, but there is nothing wrong with exercising a little caution when dealing with such important guests as the one he has here this evening – feeling that excitement grow a little more, bubbling in the pit of his stomach and tingling in the ends of his fingers.

He has been waiting, rather impatiently, he will admit, for their guest tonight. Her services seem to be highly sought after, as she was difficult to contact. And that’s not even considering the number of messengers he’s had to send after her, attempting to bring her back to the Palace so they can have a nice conversation about the discoveries she’s been recently making.

The door does not creak as it opens. It doesn’t make a single sound, nothing to announce his presence to the room’s occupants. Still, all eyes in the room turn to him.

His cloak swirls to a stop around his feet, the doors shutting behind him with a clunk. He is only wearing his second-best cloak this evening, the gold stitching in this one slightly uneven compared to his favourite. But his usual cloak has a far more pressing responsibility of keeping Jimmy warm as he sleeps.

He preens a little beneath the attention, stepping forward. Eyes widen, bright white in the darkness, and glance behind him. He laughs a little at the obvious tell, causing the eyes to snap back towards him. The sound echoes around him, though his onlookers are silent.

“Aw,” he croons, stepping closer. “Cat got your tongue?” The heel of his boots clicks against the floor, filling the silence when he is still refused a response. The eyes looking at him now are defiant, fierce where they were fearful moments before. The sudden anger flickering in those eyes does not erase the desperation he saw previously.

He leans closer, the chiming of a bell ringing out as he tilts his head. He can hear her breathing this close, can see the thrumming of her pulse in her neck as she leans back. It does very little to move him away, only exposing her neck as she attempts to put distance between the two of them.

“Eilianther,” he calls, not turning his eyes away. “Tell me, to whom do I owe this lovely meeting this evening?”

“Alruna,” is the short reply. He turns his head slightly to the side as Eilianther stops rather than continuing. Usually, they manage to dig up all sorts of files, able to trace families back to the first settlement.

“Is that all?”

“Her name doesn’t appear in any records, nothing beyond the name she has made for herself.” Alruna smirks at Eilianther’s words, though her lips twist into something closer to a baring of teeth than a smile. “She claims to have no family name.”

“Oh?” He turns his head back to the elf before him, considering her carefully. “Well, Alruna, I do hope the accommodation has been to your satisfaction.”

She snarls at his words, shoulders tensing as she lunges forward. She doesn’t get very far, pulled back to her seat with the clanking of manacles and a hand on her shoulder. Scott doesn’t flinch at the appearance of Ingolmondur, but Alruna certainly does. Her flinch is almost violent enough to tip her chair over.

He tuts at her, “Really, that is no way to treat your hosts. Did your family not teach you any manners?”

“I have no family,” she snarls. Her eyes flash as she speaks, bright in the gloom of the room.

“Were you perhaps raised by wolves,” he asks. “Or some other, snarling beast?”

“My parents were perfectly reputable,” she raises her chin, sitting with the posture of someone with a noble birth. Her speech is clear, and she speaks Elvish with an ease that suggests higher education. He steals a glance towards Eilianther, raising a questioning eyebrow, wondering if they noticed it too.

They frown, watching her from over their glasses, before nodding at him. Certainly a student Eilianther would have met before, perhaps even one Ingolmondur spoke to briefly, before she left in pursuit of discovering the past.

“I’m sure they were,” he nods along, dropping his voice to something nearing sympathy. It does nothing to appease her sensitive pride, as she bares her teeth again. “Though I am far more interested in you.”

She snorts a laugh, something unattractive and bordering on a snarl. Perhaps she really was raised by some kind of animal- he is well aware of some of the nobles he is still tolerating. Perhaps he needs to start being more selective with those he allows to keep their titles, if they are producing children like this. “I am not interested in you.”

“Ah, that was not the answer I was hoping for.” Aeor huffs behind him as he speaks, His breath adding to the heaviness in the air with its metallic quality. He has been silent throughout this, and will continue to be silent for some time, no doubt. “Tell me,” he leans back against the table behind him, “what has made you so hostile? You most certainly attended the University if you had a permit for external research.”

“So what?”

“So,” he continues, rather patiently in the face of such disrespect. He can feel the way Ingolmondur tenses, nails curling and digging into the back of the chair. “You must have held some respect for me, or at least for the institution I represent, to continue with that education rather than following in your parents footsteps – was the noble lifestyle not suited to your tastes?”

“I never said I was a noble.”

“No,” he smiles, “but, you did just give yourself away there. I had a rather nice conversation with your father a few months ago; he was worried sick, you know? His darling eldest daughter had disappeared off to an archaeological dig near Pixandria – something which I had previously persuaded him was perfectly safe – and he had no idea of what to do with himself. He told me he didn’t even know what you were researching.”

Alruna doesn’t make a single comment at that, doesn’t even snarl rather than speak. She simply glares. He’s felt a worse sting from a cold breeze than he does her glare.

“And I thought to myself, how curious! How is it that your father doesn’t know what it was you were studying. So, being the helpful person I am and attempting to assuage his fears, I pulled the records that detailed your research trip. Something about the Gods of Pixandria, and yet, imagine my surprise when I present your father with this, and he tells me of your vocal hatred for the topic.”

Ingolmondur laughs a little at that, under xir breath. “I remember you,” xe say. “Came to my office in the middle of the morning and demanded it be removed from the compulsory list of classes.”

“It’s bullshit,” Alruna scoffs. “The timelines don’t match up and the content is hard- harder than it needs to be!”

“I am not getting into a debate with you over the existence of the Gods of Pixandria.” He shuts her down quickly, recognising the brewing debate stirring in her eyes. He has a purpose here, one that he is taking a winding path towards, certainly, but a purpose nonetheless. “I am far more interested in what you were actually looking into.”

“Oh, yeah?” She huffs, jerking her head to flick some hair out of her face. It drops back into place almost immediately, the ragged cut (which speaks of it being a self-done job) not wanting to stay tucked behind her ears. “Well, you obviously already know what I was looking into, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” He agrees easily.

“I’ve heard of what you do here,” she spits, glaring again. “I know what happens here under dark. I know why those guards from a few decades ago were dealt with. There were some very interesting things written in those tombs. Something, something, Aeor has less than pure intentions.”

He hums.

She looks around, glancing at their onlookers. Eilianther doesn’t react, watching her over the edge of her glasses, and Ingolmondur is as silent as xe usually are during these moments.

“Hello?!” She tugs at the bindings on her arms, writhing in the knots as though they're going to give way if she wriggles fiercely enough. “Are you just going to ignore me? I have evidence pointing to what it is that Aeor intends to do, what he intends to do.”

“Tell me,” he grips her chin, pulling her face towards his own until she can do nothing but look into his eyes. “Soliana Quicaryn, do you think they do not already know?”

She gapes at him, no longer struggling to escape her bindings, nor his grip. She sags back suddenly, going boneless in her chair.

“You knew,” is her accusation.

“Of course I knew.” He releases her from his grip. “I have the God of Knowledge behind me, aiding me in my every move, did you think you would be the one to escape scrutiny?” She scowls in a way that suggests, yes, she did expect to be the one to slip beneath the radar. “Now, where did you find these records?”

Soliana scoffs. “As though I would tell you. I am not going to cooperate in the destruction of records.”

“Your father was so relieved when I told him I was sending out forces to track you down,” he watches, from the corner of his eye, as she blinks at the sudden change in topic. “I did have to warn him of the temperamental nature of Pixandrian deserts, and thus of the crypts within them. He looked a little ill at the idea of his eldest daughter being swallowed by the sands.”

“You’re going to kill me.” She says it with no inflection in her voice.

“I am going to ensure that there is no idea of rebellion,” he corrects. “Can you imagine the uproar if these blasphemous texts were brought to light? Such a thing would confuse the public, bring them into disarray- the other empires would see this, would look upon the steadiest empire falling into chaos. Tell me, do you think they would not capitalise on that? We are not friends with the other empires, no matter how close our relations have been in the past century, they can turn on us at any moment. An alliance can be formed as easily as it may be broken.”

“We’re not exactly swimming in allies,” she sneers. Her conclusion seems to have brought her a newfound sense of confidence, finding comfort in her imminent demise. He grimaces at the thought, turning away from her again. “Unless you truly have sided with the Cod Empire,” she gasps. “You have! Don’t you know that’s a fool’s errand? Are you mad- the Codfather has brought more conflict to his empire than we’ve seen in the past millennium.”

“You overexaggerate.”

She snarls. “You’ll bring death to Rivendell’s door, and for what? You wish to avoid conflict within the empire, you wish to destroy texts that paint you and your God in a negative light- and for what? So you can face conflict from outside rather than within?”

“Better the enemy you know than the one you do not expect.”

She snarls, a wordless complaint, before she goes silent. When he turns to face her again, she has gone limp in her chair, head tipped back so she can look at Ingolmondur.

“Was there a point to dragging this out?” She asks. “If you knew already, why question me as though you are clueless?”

“I'm old, Soliana, and I must find my fun where I can.”

“You find this fun?”

“Everything becomes boring after a little while.” He shrugs, twisting his hand in a silent signal to Ingolmondur. “Now, tell me, do you know how long it can take someone to die?”

Soliana, where she had previously been calm in the face of her looming demise, now looks worried. The knife pressed against her thumb is likely not helping matters. “Aw, not going the way you expected?”

She bares her teeth at him again, though the whites of her eyes flashing give away her fear.

“Ah-ah,” he tuts, leaning closer. “I know you have better manners than that. And really, I think you and I both know just how long it can take someone to die, no? I apologise for the redundant question, in that case.” He considers her for the moment. “For the crimes you’ve committed – defamation of character, spreading blasphemous texts, causing unrest; really, if it wasn’t for Ingolmondur’s apprentices tracking you we’d have a rebellion on our hands already. And for those crimes, you hardly deserve a peaceful death, wouldn’t you agree?”

He glances back at his two silent onlookers as he speaks. Eilianther’s glasses flash as they nod their agreement, face set into a grim line as they oversee the proceedings. The scratching of their quill has not paused for a moment, studiously documenting their small chat for proper filing later. In a restricted section, obviously, but he can hardly let such important meetings go undocumented.

Ingolmondur doesn’t move, but the murderous intent that has been radiating off of xem since he stepped into the room is answer enough. As is the dagger pressed against Soliana’s thumb.

“Tell me,” and it’s hard not to smile as he studies her face again. “Can you name all the major arteries in the body?”

=== === ===

The morning is bright, and he’s sat awake when the sun begins to grace the horizon with its presence. The light it casts is cold, bathing the room in shades of white rather than gold. He deliberates for only one reason, sat on the edge of his seat and frowning.

He continues to frown at the coat hanger, tucked neatly and just inside the doorway of his personal room so that it will remain hidden unless someone manages to slip inside. His second-favourite cloak, definitely not his finest with the slightly wonky embroidery on the edges but definitely his most comfortable, hangs there. He had been intending to wear it today, seeking comfort rather than to appear perfectly put-together; he doubts that any untrained eye would notice the slight error with the stitching.

A small splash of crimson makes that entire impossible.

On any other cloak, perhaps the one he dons more frequently when he slips out of the Palace for the evening, it would be unnoticeable. Black fabric was made to conceal such bright, offensive colours. The pale grey-blue of his cloak means it stands out starkly, though, drawing the eye towards it no matter how he positions the fabric on his shoulders. He frowns a little harder at the stain, as though that would convince it to disappear.

“Frowning like that is going to do nothing but give you frown lines.”

“Speaking from experience, are we?” He tips his head to the side, not enough to actually turn and face the God, but enough to let Him know He is being acknowledged.

“When have you seen a deer with wrinkles,” Aeor asks, sounding almost intrigued before He sighs. “No matter, I don’t wish to find out what answer your mind can summon.”

Scott ignores that last comment, giving up on the cloak as a lost cause until someone comes around to collect it for cleaning, digging into his closet for an alternative. He passes over the first few options, rubbing the fabric between thumb and forefinger, finding it far too coarse to even consider wearing for the rest of the day.

“You could go reclaim your usual cloak,” Aeor says, ever the voice of reason.

He snorts in response, a rather deer-like sound that he would never dream of making outside of present company, shaking the idea off physically. It causes the bells on his antlers to jingle at the motion, filling the air with a quiet twinkling before they still and silence settles again. It leaves just the sound of his breathing and the brush of fabric over fabric as he sorts through his closet. The hangers scrape along the railing, loud enough at one point for his ears to flick away in protest of the screeching.

He gives up and plunges his hand in a moment later, closing his eyes and grabbing the first soft bit of fabric he feels and pulling it loose.

“Now that is something I haven’t seen in a while.” Aeor’s comment is almost enough for him to hang it back up; he’s not certain where his irritation with the God is stemming from- His attempt at reason or the words exchanged yesterday evening, after their business was finished and Aeor had more or less settled back into His own skin.

He pulls it on anyway, brushing a hand over the dark fabric. The midnight blue isn’t something he’s worn in several centuries; the last time he wore this cloak was…

He turns around, admiring himself in the mirror. The stains are long gone from the cloak, leaving it unblemished, as though it has never been worn before. It had been his favourite at one point, something that he was loath to part with, even for washing. It doesn’t look any worse for wear, despite its extended stay in his closet.

He clasps the cloak at the front, doing one last spin in front of the mirror before he’s satisfied with what he sees.

Jimmy is already awake, sitting on the loveseat and fiddling with one of his many books. He startles to his feet when he hears Scott’s door open, spinning around fast enough that his tail nearly swipes several fragile objects off the end of his coffee table.

Jimmy laughs, cradling several of the ornaments to his chest, fumbling as he attempts to set them back down without dropping any of the ones that he’s currently holding.

Scott takes pity on him, stepping forward and aiding in replacing the ornaments. And if it brings him closer into Jimmy’s space than is strictly necessary, than that is between him and no-one else (except for the God poking around in his head). Jimmy is wearing the same clothes as yesterday, wrapped tightly in his cloak, too. The sight of him like that settles something in Scott, reassures him that the necessary sacrifice of wearing this cloak is more than enough to see Jimmy like this. It’s far too long on him, though; something to consider if he intends for Jimmy to continue visiting Rivendell. Perhaps he wouldn’t be opposed to visiting Scott’s tailor this afternoon, just to see if any fabrics or styles capture his fancy-

“Are you hungry yet?” He asks, once the last of the ornaments is safely back in place and Jimmy has taken several (unnecessary) steps backwards to avoid a repeat incident.

“I- yes, I suppose so.” Jimmy has a habit of fiddling with his cloak. Scott has noticed how he tugs at the fur ruff surrounding his neck, tucking it closer and fiddling with different strands of the fur, rubbing them between thumb and finger as he thinks.

“Wonderful,” he smiles, a genuine smile, a holds an arm out for Jimmy. It’s an old habit, something he falls easily into. Jimmy stares at the limb for a moment, and it’s for long enough that Scott almost pulls his arm back and considers consulting his texts on ocean inhabitants and what gestures they may take offence to.

Jimmy’s hands curl around his arm a moment later, eyes steadfastly avoiding his. He can see the pulse in Jimmy’s neck jumping as he tugs Jimmy a little closer, watching his gills flutter at the action. He smiles at the response, wiping it away a moment later when Jimmy’s eyes turn back to him again, steelier than before and lacking the original flustered look he had worn.

The halls are filled with more guards than the night before, each of them greeting Scott, before doing a double-take as they notice the codfolk swathed in Rivendell colours beside him, before their brains catch up and they realise they are ogling the Codfather, rather than any regular codfolk. Scott pretends he doesn’t feel the way Jimmy’s grip on his arm tightens when people continue to stare at him, but nor does he make his own dissatisfaction with the staring of his staff secret.

Some message must have passed along by the time they reach the kitchens, for they are all studiously doing their own tasks, preparing meals and shouting orders. Either that, or they are hard enough at work to barely notice his arrival, let alone the extra company he has brought with him.

Alais appears barely a moment after he’s forced Jimmy into a seat and taken his own, laying his hands neatly over the countertop as he waits.

This specific corner of the kitchen is always kept clean, available for seating; it’s for both the staff to use and also for him to sit at whenever the fancy takes him. He prefers eating among the bustle of kitchen staff than sitting alone in the dining hall far too big for only a singular person to be occupying it.

“Good mornin’, sire.” Alais drums zir hands on the countertop, eyeing Jimmy with a curious look before ze look away again, yelling in elvish. “Hold the fish! We gotta seafolk over ‘ere, make somethin’ different!”

Scott doesn’t bother to correct zem on zir assumption, knowing full well that most seafolk will eat fish, including the species they originate from. Jimmy is not an exception in that case, despite his passion for the conservation of the cod species. He’d watched, alongside the other emperors, as Jimmy ate cod without complaint at several of their extended meetings. He almost wished he had a painter to capture the expressions of each emperor in that moment, including the second when they all hurried to appear as though they had not been staring at him eating a fish.

It was rather ridiculous, really. The fae of the Overgrown had practiced several…creative events for the consumption of human flesh. He had attended a few of those celebrations, out of pure curiosity as to what the event would entail, but had declined to participate in any further activities. As far as he knows, the practice died out about a century ago, but Katherine’s uneasiness in the face of Jimmy willingly eating fish was more than amusing with that added context.

“That is rather unnecessary,” he tells Alais, once ze turn back again. “Fish is a staple part of seafolk diet; codfolk are not an exception to that.”

“Better safe than sorry,” ze sniff. “And you shoulda said that before I yelled.”

“There is little that can be done to stop you from yelling.”

“You're right on that one, I’ll give ya that.” Ze laugh, patting him on the back of his hand before turning zir attention towards Jimmy. “To what do we owe the pleasure of a visit from the Codfather ‘imself?”

“Oh, uh,” Jimmy looks nervous at being addressed directly, before he sits up straighter in his seat and forcibly discards that nervousness. The change is almost impressive, would be far more impressive if Jimmy didn’t dart a glance at him before answering. “Nothing much, really, just…looking for extra resources for solving a problem.”

“And so polite too,” Alais looks at him, raising an eyebrow. He knows exactly what that look suggests, ignoring it entirely. “Shame you don’t bring more of his type around ‘ere.”

“I don’t bring many people around here.” He corrects.

“And a fuckin’ shame that is,” ze shake their head. “You gotta put yourself out there more often, see if you can’t get another pretty one lookin’ at you like he is.”

“I am older than you.”

“And I'm apparently wiser than you. You been mopin’ around for the past few decades, all alone except for your damned owl.”

“Urith is pleasant company. Rather unlike my present company,” he teases. Ze rap the back of his knuckles for that, laughing a little when ze see the startled look Jimmy sends him.

“Aw, don’t worry love, he’s the least harmful outta all of us.” Ze pat the back of his hand, ignoring the scowl he sends zir way for the action. “Rest of us have knives, he’s just got his silly little staff.”

“It’s a sceptre.” He corrects, “And it’s a slight bit more than a simple staff.”

“Touched a nerve there,” Alais says to Jimmy, conspiratorially, as though he cannot hear them. “He gets all defensive ‘bout his fancy magic shtick, careful you don’t prod him too much- maybe he’ll show you exactly what that staff does.” Ze wink, before disappearing again, perhaps sensing that the final comment was a little too much.

He sighs, watching as Jimmy stares confusedly after zir retreating back. It means Scott gets to watch the exact moment zir words click together in his mind, coming to form a final picture. He rather rapidly goes red after that, wheezing in a breath as he turns away from Scott. It does little to hide the fluttering of his gills, or the way his fins press to the side of his head in embarrassment.

Scott simply takes a sip from the coffee that had arrived moments prior, nudging Jimmy’s mug towards him when he continues to attempt to recover from his first interaction with Alais.

“How successful,” Aeor muses, “I do believe that broke him.”

Scott ignores the comment in favour of enjoying his coffee and listening to the staff around him. They don’t hold their tongues out of fear for what he might do like they had in the beginning, settled in the presence of their sovereign sitting casually in the kitchen. He rather enjoys the gossip they exchange amongst each other, most of the time contradictory and not at all true.

He does, however, hear gems on occasion. Small little titbits of information that are so odd they can be nothing but true. Like the youngest future-viscountess stealing several of her father’s deer so she could free them into the surrounding woods. Now, that one he does know is true, as the young girl’s father had come to him to complain about the difficulties of children and their changing whims. One moment she had begged to keep the deer, and the next she had been demanding they be set free as a life of containment was one too cruel for even a slug to bear.

He had consoled the viscount, doing his very best to hide his amusement at the whole idea.

He doubts he did a very good job of hiding it, as that viscount has seemed to hold a grudge against him ever since. He glowered, rather fiercely, at the last banquet he had been invited to as Scott encouraged his daughter on her quest for freeing most of her father’s collectibles. She had been rather enthusiastic about it, even as she nears the age of majority, and had taken his ideas rather giddily.

Breakfast is a quiet affair between the two of them, with Jimmy still recovering from Alais’ parting words to him as he eats. He feels Jimmy’s gaze on him, though, as he exchanges words here and there with several of the staff that approach him, some even being so bold as to sit down beside him until Alais spots them slacking off and storms over to haul them back upright.

Jimmy doesn’t put his thoughts into words until they have left the kitchen, the rest of the Palace oddly quiet in the aftermath of the noise that had come from the entire kitchen. He can still hear the clatter of pots and pans as they are washed, despite them being too far away for him to still be hearing it.

“The kitchen staff seemed to like you,” is what Jimmy says when he manages to summon enough confidence to put his thoughts into spoken form.

Scott hums in response as they turn into a more public hallway, one of their more decorative ones, with massive tapestries hanging high above their heads and tassels brushing along the ground. He pauses, there, to allow them both time to admire the handwork gone into the pieces.

“Not what you expected from me, I take?”

“I- no, that’s not what I meant, I mean. It’s just…” Jimmy trails off, shrugging as he looks up, tipping his head back and exposing the long line of his throat. Scott follows where he looks, if only so he doesn’t get caught staring at that bare patch of skin. “There are a lot of rumours about you.”

This particular tapestry depicts Aeor. It’s not one of his favourites, had been one of the first tapestries he completed when he had finally begun to pick up the royal tradition. Several of his later tapestries, hung further down the hall, are much better in their quality. The only reason this one continues to hang is because of sentimentality.

He can identify the exact position where its original creator stopped and where he picked up. The slight unevenness in the next line. Something that only less practiced hands would be able to create. His brother had been far better at weaving than him, and it was evident, even if the only tapestry they ever managed weave was left incomplete by their own hand, finished and hung by another.

“There are many rumours about you too.” He responds, when the silence has stretched on for long enough. “They say you walked free of the ocean, fully formed and without awareness of where you came from.”

Jimmy sucks in a breath, though he doesn’t tear his eyes away from the halo circling Aeor’s head. “They say you used to make a public spectacle of anyone that dared defy you. Would kill someone simply for questioning you too far down a certain line.”

He doesn’t give a response to that, even as he feels Jimmy’s eyes linger on him a moment before he looks away again. He continues to study the tapestry, feeling the thread beneath his fingers again, as though he’s still weaving it. Can hear the clunk of the frame settling back into place after a completed line. He hadn’t understood the appeal; why choose such a time-consuming tradition when their duties are certain to keep them almost constantly busy.

His mother had been displeased with his questioning, shaking her head and sighing at him, deeming him a lost cause for this tradition. His father had been undeterred, taking him from the classroom, leaving his mother and brother behind as he was ushered out into the gardens.

He had been shown a spider, sat down in front of its web and forced to watch it weave. Made to follow the movements that were driven by nothing but instinct. Spiders are not taught how to construct their webs, they simply know, stitching different threads together until they have made their own pattern.

“If it is what keeps them safe,” he sighs, looking away from the tapestry. He really hates that tapestry. “If it is what keeps my people safe and content, then there are very few things I am unwilling to do.”

There is a small tapestry depicting a spider on his office wall, hung just slightly to the left of where his head is. He’s had several of his Court ask him the purpose of it, why he would choose a spider when there are several other creatures he could have chosen to represent himself to any guests he was hosting in his office - a deer, or even an owl, would have been a far better fit.

What a deer lacks, however, is the ability to pull upon the strings of the beings around them. To weave them into a neatly spun tale until they are unsure of how they even ended up in the position in the first place, puppeted by strings too fine for them to see, threads too woven into their being for them to distinguish as something not their own.

“Come on,” he turns his back on the tapestry. “I'm sure Eilianther wants those books back within the next few days. He’s been holding them for me for several weeks already.”

#crown of antlers au #juno.writes #scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #flower husbands #empires smp #empires smp fic #empires smp s1 #empires scott #empires jimmy #solidaritygaming #solidarity gaming

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cloudyswritings · 4 months

Text

Traditional foods of Hallownest

So I just made Christmas cookies I can’t eat yet and my hunger is infinite. Hence this mess.

Boofly steaks: These are pretty much what they sound like, I feel like Booflies were essentially the cows of Hallownest. The quality of a Boofly steak is determined with how fatty it is, fattier cuts display very nice marbling. These are actually more savory in flavor than regular steaks and have a slightly more gelatinous/softer texture. Generally Boofly steaks will be served with lake-pearls(a macro algae native to the blue lake that has a salty and slightly sour flavor.

Aspid stew: this is a stew that’s made from the bottom half of and aspid(primal aspids have a much different flavor and are far less popular). Recipe is as follows

Carve up your aspid, start by removing the upper thorax and cleaning the intestines of any waste. Let the aspid drain some of its hemolyph and other juices into a jar.

Drain the acid from the aspids lower thorax, take care to entirely remove the acid glands. Store the acid in a chilled glass or ceramic jar for later.

finely mince some bitter root(a root native to the crossroads that tastes very sweet when boiled), and grind up some hyacinth flower petals, roughly a cupful of each will do.

Cut 2-3 tik-tik into fine strips(crawlids are an acceptable but inferior alternative) and lightly dust it with salt and soak in the juices from the aspid for about 35 minutes

Take the bottom half of the aspid and lightly bread the insides, once a small layer of breading is present pour in some water along with your bitter root and petals. Set this over a heat source for roughly an hour to ensure the bitterroot is thoroughly boiled.

Lightly sear the tik-tik meat and aspid meat before adding it to the stew, wait 20 minutes for it to cook.

Now that we’ve assembled most of our dish the most important part is up next. Because we chilled the aspid acid it should have taken on a gelatinous texture, mix this into any remaining aspid hemolyph and pour it into our stew. This should add a nice sharpness to the dish

Stir until the consistency is somewhere around that of a scrambled maskfly egg.

A traditional breakfast:

Scrambled maskfly eggs(they end up being close to an uncooked egg yolk in consistency) they’re generally something that is slurped up like a drink

Gruzzer bacon: this kinda tends to come in thicker slices than our bacon, it’s great when paired with a light drizzle of diluted aspid acid. Very very fatty, heavy umami flavor witha bite of saltiness.

Mashed crawlid balls: these are mashed up and thoroughly cooked crawlid meat mixed with assorted spices from greenpath and generally have a hollow center so juices from the meat can collect.

A cup of Gruzzer mead: Basically just a mix of gruzzer hemolymph and the pressed juices of a gulka. It has a very refreshing bite to it and a consistency like eggnog.

A rare delicacy: Aluba caviar, generally this is served in the shell of a shadow crawler(throughly cured and seasoned, generally for several months to ensure there’s no residual void) with a side of bioluminescent mushrooms exported from deepnest. This is generally a meal only reserved for the upper castes.

Finally: Rancid eggs can be cured and fermented into a cultural delicacy much like that one Icelandic shark dish. Suffice to say most bugs find this disgusting. The Pale king however thoroughly enjoy it, though this not public knowledge. It’s kinda his guilt pleasure along with chocolate (which is fatal or otherwise detrimental to nearly all other insects hence him being the only one eating it).

I’m definitely gonna do a part two for this once I write up some other recipes. Hopefully ones I put more thought into.

#fantasy food #food #hollow knight #hk pale king #Headcanon #worldbuilding #fake recipes #Bug are food #Yum yum #enjoy y’all

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apolsup · 4 months

Text

There's plenty of time

characters: Fionna Campbell, Simon Petrikov, Betty Grof (mentioned)

Pairing(s): Simon Petrikov/Fionna Campbell

a/n: this was supposed to be shorter lmao, I added a few words, changed some. Its still mostly the same ت

I have no idea how to make a good title...

The dark haired man sat in the grass, somewhere close by his new house, having moved from the previous one only a few weeks ago. It didn't really bother him that much, he never got too attached to it anyways. His gaze was lost on the moon, almost feeling like it was looking back at him. The music in the back of his mind present as multiple memories and different thoughts threatened to overwhelm him.

"Hey, dude?" ah, right. When he was about to forget where he was completely lost in his thoughts, Fionna's voice brought him out of them, suddenly grounding him. The blonde leaned towards him, looking up at the taller man with concern and something that resembled determination, because even with her nerves on edge and her skin as red as possible, making her freckles dissapear from foreign eyes, she felt the courage to tell him all those feelings that she had been harboring for months.

"I have something. Something really really important, that I seriously need to tell you" she began, and there was no turning back since his attention was fully on her now, making her feel even more nervous under his curious gaze.

"this may sound a bit weird, or even crazy... But I think that, during all these months I have realized that... That I feel something for you, something different. Something that you could not like, but I really need to tell you this, man. It has been eating me alive for so long and so im tired of hiding how much I like you. Because I do, I- I think I love you, Simon" the tone in her voice demonstrated the seriousness of her words. A tone that the man with the silver streak of hair was not used to hear from the shorter woman.

Simon frowned, his white snowy eyes escaping the baby blue gaze that reflected the dark sky.

"you... I-" he looked for the correct words, visibly shocked by her sudden confesion "this is more complicated than you think, Fionna" he sighed

"My heart has been closed for so long... I don't know if I'm even capable of this anymore. To open myself to someone in that way" his words always being so carefully picked. Fionna then took her companion's hand with determination, sending an electric sensation to the depths of his heart

"give me a chance. Just one chance, man. Let me take care of your heart, let me take care of you, I... I really want to do it" she said, leaning dangerously again over Simon, who, because of his nerves was leaning back, bringing his hands to the wet grass and squeezing it there, searching for the answers to his problems.

Love was a strange thing, wasn't it? It always appears when you least expect it, before you can even realize what it is. To Simon it was like that, in the blink of an eye the woman he saw as a close friend, who he shared a deep bond with became the person his heart and mind ached to be with, to care for, that plead to make happy and in response to be happy with her... To him, the time didn't matter, it wasn't of use, because even with the passing of the months he still couldn't forget about her.

The abysmal distance between them did nothing to appease the growing fire in his soul as well. Even the difference in their ages, that at first made him reconsider his own feelings, was not able to hold him long enough from seeing her in that way, because in the end of the day they were both grown adults, mature enough to make their own choices, adults that met eachother only a few months ago yet they felt like they knew the other from even longer.

And the temptation of those lips was becoming too much for the taller man to handle, with the woman who tormented him every night in his dreams practically on top of his lap, looking for his acceptance and his love. The woman's voice hypnotized him, her gaze made him lose himself in space, and her gentle hands on his own made him shiver.

All of it was too much, so in the midst of the darkness that enveloped them, their lips met in an awkward kiss.

Despite the scratchy wounds on Simon's lips, constantly bitten by the anxiety and stress caused by his life in Ooo, Fionna loved them tenderly, wanting to hold his face and kiss it, wanting to heal his wounded lips with all the love overflowing in her chest, wanting to fill the man with hope in the middle of the emotional desert he had inside of his heavy heart.

As they separated, Simon felt a mix of emotions. Doubt and fear still loomed, along with a bit of guilt for feeling like he was betraying the red-haired woman he had loved for years. But he knew that Betty would never come back, and he knew that even she would agree with him doing this, after all she was the one who gave him the chance to rebuild his life and maybe... Just maybe, this was what he needed. Feeling that his long gone lover was giving him this opportunity with Fionna gave him a glimmer of hope. And when the blonde left his lips she gently caressed his face, looking into his eyes.

"you don't have to accept right away" she told him in a tone he couldn't describe

"I'm willing to wait for you, no matter how long it takes" she intertwined her fingers with his and looked at him, smiling sincerely.

Those words filled the short haired man with gratitude and something he had missed feeling, joy. He realized that, perhaps, this was the right thing, during his weakest moments it was thanks to her that he truly smiled, and maybe with her he could seek a path where he finds himself feeling better, feeling happy.

All of the emotions were too much for him to handle, and his eyes started to let thick tears run freely, letting out a silent sob. It had been so long since he had been able to cry and now he was doing it in front of the woman he wanted to love and take care of, the one that had an understanding smile for him.

So Fionna wrapped her arms around him, letting him let his emotions out as much as he wanted and in turn she felt a pair of arms wrap her waist, a shy and weak grip on her side at first but it became strong as he gained confidence. For hours they held each other in their arms, and in the light of the all knowing moon, they felt that maybe. Just maybe. Things would turn out ok for the both of them.

#petribell #simonna #simon x fionna #fionna x simon #apolwritez #kinda ooc #but who cares #Still love those two together they make my heart go bwbabwjwbjqbsjwbwb #Once again posted it first on the amazing petribell discord server wooo #I just love promoting it its so fun #english is not my first language #Sorry about possible typos

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royalsweetteaa · 2 years

Text

Timeless lovin’ - Pt. 2

Pairing: 40s/CATFA!Steve Rogers x present!reader

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

WARNING - The following story contains: explicit smut, oral sex (M receiving), mission plot (sorry), mild dom/sub, sub!Steve Rogers, angst, fluff, developing feelings/slow burn, spoilers, alternative reality.

Ch. | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

Summary: Steve left for Peggy in the past, and you were determined to travel back in time and get answers after he left your relationship of 4 years behind him just like that. You get a little ahead of yourself and travel past where your Steve left off, and you meet Steve Rogers, - the man before he hit the ice and was frozen for 70 years.

Y/N’s POV

I didn’t expect to be put in a cell after I told past Steve one of his dearest and most personal memories of his life, - One that he probably had shared with Bucky at one point but was still an exclusive share of memory to you.

I had allowed it as I wasn’t too worried of being trapped. After all, I had my team suit on which I could at any point activate and travel back to my timeline with, but to me that sounded wasteful.

Why not enjoy it for a little while and see where this goes?

Steve had been kind enough not to confiscate my things, something one would normally do if someone was being temporarily locked up for further inspection, but then again this was anything but an ordinary inspection.

Steve had some errands to run, but he promised he would come back as soon as possible to have a further talk with me.

The two hours of waiting got me thinking for myself a little.

For each drastic change I make in this timeline, the more it would become a branch to the main one, - meaning it would become its very own timeline.

— One that my Steve won’t appear in.

It made me nervous to think I had already done that, and that I had failed my mission due to my outburst which I couldn't contain as soon as I laid my eyes on him.

When he returned, he let me out of the cell and we moved to yet another empty office to talk. I told him everything as easily as I could, with the exceptions of mentioning specific events. I told him about how he would one day find himself in the future 70 years from now on, staying as youthful and compassionate as now with the same shield around his arm. I told him of how we came to be, and how he left for the past when he got the opportunity.

He listened intently, still in denial but for each detail I put forward about his personal life, the more he seemed convinced.

“So how do I end up in the future to begin with?” He asked, finally having a question of his own.

“I can’t tell you that. It’ll change the timeline way too drastically, and from then on I will have no idea what the future awaits.” I explained.

He frowned, “That is a bit unfair, don’t you think? You tell me so much of what is to come and now I have no choice but to deal with it? You said it yourself that I return anyway. What difference will it make?”

It shouldn’t have gotten to me, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t blame him for sounding so inattentive as he didn’t know me. With the same voice talking so carelessly of wanting to know the one thing that by ‘back to the future’ time logic would erase our relationship’s existence made me feel sad.

“Listen, I’ll explain time traveling when I am able to explain it. Right now I only want to know a few things from you first.”

Just then, a soldier entered the room, seemingly out of breath as he must have run all the way here from somewhere far.

“Captain, I've been looking all over for you! We need to leave for Delaware right away! We have caught two HYDRA ships on their way to the coast of the state." The soldier reported.

Steve immediately stood up from his seat and checked out the coordinates which the soldier was holding. "Do we know what they are up to?"

"No, Captain. Our only suspicion is that they are trying to listen in on our radio stations to get input about our next missions, sir. "

"Understood. I will be with you right away." Steve replied firmly and sent the soldier out. He turned to look at me again and sighed, "I uh...I don't mean to leave again so abruptly but I have to go. You understand, right?"

"Of course, you need to go." I said and stood up from my seat too. " I'll come with you and help with the mission."

Steve looked baffled, not believing what I had just proposed. "You can't be serious...it's dangerous."

"I am serious, and I will come regardless if you want me to or not." I said with my hands on my hips, showing determination. "We have unresolved business, remember?"

He reluctantly nodded, "Fine, but I expect you to follow through instructions accordingly if you want to take part in the operation."

I snickered at how he was trying to order me around, but I could tell he was a little imitated by me. "Of course, whatever you say, Captain."

I didn't miss the way he blushed when I called him that. I knew for certain he enjoyed people calling him by that title, but with me it used to be way beyond formal use.

"Wonderful...um.." Steve responded nervously and walked past you to the door. "I suppose I'll see you by the gate then...need to get myself ready before we leave."

I hummed with understanding and smiled, "See you there."

We found ourselves an hour later in a locomotive on our way to Delaware. After Steve had talked to his fellow soldiers about the mission, he went back to his private suite where I had hidden myself. Steve had been up and going for the past 20 hours, and needed to rest. He stared at me, who was trying to get some rest myself on the seat at the other end after I had hardly slept the night prior to travelling in time.

“Do you have any kind of training for this kind of mission?” Steve asked out of concern.

“Steve, I am a retired agent from the 21st century. I have training and weapons so technologically advanced a million Apollo 11 space shuttles can't remotely compete.”

“Space shuttles?…” I heard Steve mutter confused under his breath and I had to hold a snort.

I picked up the safe case I had been hiding at a spot since I entered the base, and Steve was immediately fixated with the logo.

“Stark industries….as in, - Howard Stark?”

I groaned. Fuck, why didn't I use a different case? I had to admit I found Steve's reactions endearing though. I could guess this was how he was when he entered present time; so curious and mesmerized but confused due to how foreign it was. I could also imagine how it was a lot harder for him taking part of that world than it was to learn bits of it.

“His son, actually. But the company started with Howard of course.” I answered.

He stood up from the couch to look at the safe's containments. He seemed less impressed when he saw them, so I decided to pick up the one of which was a machine gun and called for an activation. Steve's eyes widened when he witnessed the cube expanding into its final form.

“Woah…this is beyond any HYDRA machinery I've seen, and they are considered ahead of us when it comes to technology. Howard's son must be a highly respected man to have created these.” Oh, if only you knew. “That must mean we win the war, right? You know, - all things considered.”

“Maybe, - or maybe I come from a future in which the last beacon of a United States of America ever existing is you.” I said jokingly, but he didn’t know that. “You don’t want to get too ahead of yourself. I’ve told you enough as it is.”

Steve slowly nodded. “Okay, I see your point. You did mention how everything we did differently could change my timeline but not yours, - which still doesn’t make sense in my book but I digress.”

I sighed, “It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me either, but it is what it is…even if I talk to you and convince you to not leave in the future, my Steve won’t be there by the time I travel back. - it’s about how the ‘original timeline’ as we call it can’t be changed, but rather we create branching alternative timelines instead.”

His eyes narrowed as he processed it. “You’re basically a threat to my timeline then if you’re altering things.”

“I’m only a threat if I effect it negatively, - which of course I won’t. I know everything that will happen.” I said.

"Alright, I trust you...." I heard Steve mutter as he laid back on his bunk and closed his eyes to try and sleep.

I waited for Steve's soft snores before I pulled up my tablet and connected Genesis to it so I could quietly read information appearing on the screen. Genesis gave me information of how the battle against the two HYDRA ships by the coast of Delaware would turn out. Of course the information I received was positive, with the Howling Commandos returning with success after defeating HYDRA ships, leaving bombs as a way to obliterate them.

I frowned when I read Steve's health condition report when he returns back to the base camp. Apparently he had gotten several injuries as he had struggled to go in one on one combat with one of the HYDRA soldiers. He would at one point go into the engine room where there is no lighting to settle the bomb, and to his surprise there was a soldier hiding there with HYDRA productional night vision goggles. He was able to swing a hammer on Steve's head before Steve managed to put him down with his shield, but the consequence was a 3-day rest at the infirmary when he returned back.

Two can play that game... I thought, and I opened the safe case again to see if I had anything that could help Steve. To my convenience, I had something similar to the HYDRA technology, but of course I had the upper hand of technological advancement. God bless Tony.

Second person POV

5 hours later, and you arrived at the Delaware air force base where you would late at night be taken by flight and parachute down to the 2 HYDRA ships. As you were walking behind Steve, he led you in with no one batting a suspicious eye.

You eventually agreed with Steve to make yourself apparent to the army as you didn't think sneaking around was practical anymore. Things were about to be more crowded, and while espionage was a part of your previous training, this mission required team work and communication, and you had to be familiar if you were going to obtain that.

When the Howling Commandos assembled in the base tent, Steve brought you to introduce you as a new soldier.

"This is Y/N. She's a friend of mine and will with honor be joining us for this mission." You greeted them with a nod of acknowledgement.

Frowns appeared on people's faces, but they didn't question the new face of the team. Everyone greeted you back respectfully and moved on with their tasks.

At one point, Bucky caught up to Steve to ask about the mysterious woman. "Who is she, pal? You never told me about this new 'girl friend' of yours."

Steve chuckled at Bucky's curiosity and shook his head to dismiss him. "We have a mission, Buck. Let's not talk about irrelevancy."

Bucky sulked in response. "It's rude not to introduce a lady friend of yours, but I suppose there isn't time for any introductions when amidst a war."

For the rest of the evening, preparations were made and equipment were being stored in the planes. You met with Steve again when you were to board the aircraft and leave out of the coast.

"Steve, I want you to use this." You said, and motioned him into grabbing the cube while no one was looking. I took out the extra headpiece and put it in his ear.

He reached out to feel the bud on his ear, and he looked at the cube. "What is this?"

"The thing that I just put on your ear is a communication device, - kind of like a 'walkie talkie', but more practical. That way we can communicate when we aren't together and I'll tell you when to use that." You informed, and pointed at the cube. "Do not go and show it around though. Keep it safe in your pocket and only take it out when I tell you."

"Which would be when exactly?"

"At the right moment." You said and winked at him. "Now let's go."

The soldiers settled down on the aircraft with their parachutes on their backs, ready as one ever could be. You sat beside Steve in the corner as he wanted to shield you as much as possible from the others, but it wasn't easy with you being the only woman in the plane.

When the aircraft took off and flew steadily in the air, Steve cleared his throat to hand out the instructions one last time.

"Listen up, soldiers. Based on our observations, there are about four life boats on each ship. We will use those to our advantage if we don't want to wait that long in the cold water for the Delaware coastguards. We will handle the HYDRA soldiers who dare to come in the way of our mission and let the bombs do the rest of the job. Clean wipeout." Steve spoke sternly to the men.

"Captain, we will be flying past the ships any moment." The pilot reported behind him, and Steve nodded.

"Remember to follow your assigned groups, everyone. Group one, get ready to jump towards the first ship."

The slide door of the aircraft was opened and Steve jumped out first with the other soldiers jumping after him one by one, including you.

Having the wind blast in your face as you fell at high speed was somehow energizing as you hadn't parachuted in such a long time. You missed the days of working for S.H.I.E.L.D where you were able to experience this kind of thrill everyday. You were trying your best to follow Steve in the air, but another idea popped in your head and you decided to go against Steve's agreement.

Steve's eyes widened when he looked after you and noticed you were parting your ways with him and aiming at landing with the other group to the second ship.

"Y/N, what are you doing?! You were supposed to be with our group!" Steve hiss-whispered as he tried to figure out if the ear piece was even working like you said it would.

"It's okay, I want to be useful and help the other guys out." You spoke from the other line and landed on the deck just then, which made Steve's shoulders sink with disappointment. "Looks like we've got company already." You lastly reported before you had HYDRA soldiers approaching you and at the other men on the deck. You didn't back away once as you ran towards them and dodged their attacks before you gave some of your own.

Disturbance came from the other line as well as you heard Steve grunting, most likely fighting off his fair share of HYDRA soldiers. A few minutes of pure chaos, and you were already getting ahead.

"Bucky, go with Dougan to the communication room and contact the coast guards by sending a signal. To the rest of you, - prepare the life boats." Steve ordered as he took out the huge explosive out of his backpack. "I'll take the bomb to the engine room."

From there, Steve ran his path of trying to find the engine room with the package containing the bomb, - a perfect farewell gift to the HYDRA crew. Steve already had an idea of where the engine room was. He was greeted by a few soldiers in the hallways, but he easily passed through as he ran straight ahead with his shield in front, knocking down anyone who stood in his way.

Finally he arrived at his awaiting destination, but what he didn't expect was to be met with pitch black in front of him as he busted the door open.

"Steve, are you by the engine room now?"

"Yeah..." Steve replied vaguely as he studied the room with squinted eyes, trying to make out of the space. "It's completely dark...I'll have to take my time if I want to place the bomb at the right spot."

"Okay, listen carefully. Take out the cube and I'll call out for an activation. It'll be of good use right now."

Steve took the cube out of his pocket and held it up while he waited expectedly for something to happen. A moment later, the cube deformed and expanded into an object. They looked like glasses, so he could already assume it was for his eyes. He placed them on his face, which caused everything he saw through them to light up.

"Oh, now I know what this is for...fascinating." Steve muttered as he adjusted the goggles to his liking. He could see the engine room in full view, so much clearer than his strengthened eye vision.

"Focus, Steve. Someone is in your vicinity."

"I think I'm in the clear. I can't see anyone -!"

Just then, you could hear the sound of struggle from Steve's end as he was interrupted. He had been tackled from behind but was fighting back, and he managed to flip the man over his tall body to the ground. The HYDRA soldier was quick on his feat as he tried to hurt Steve with a hammer he had around his belt. Steve caught onto his movements and dodged him before he pulled his counter attacks. He knocked the night vision goggles off the man's face and used his shield for a final knockdown on the HYDRA soldier, ultimately putting the man to a final sleep.

"You weren't kidding!" Steve exclaimed, his adrenaline rush higher than before due to the unexpected pounce.

"Never said I was!" You replied through the mic.

Steve placed the bomb by the ship's weak point and fastened the door back to make it impossible to enter in. He made his way back with no hesitation, and once he returned up at the deck, he gathered around his teammates to start the phase of retrieval.

"We need to evacuate the ship! The bomb is activated and we have approximately 4 minutes before it goes off." Steve told his comrades, and they quickly occupied the life boats to sail away.

Gunshots from both sides were firing off as the remaining HYDRA soldiers tried to stop the Howling Commandos from leaving, but they were failing as Steve blocked the aiming bullets with his shield, putting his fellow soldiers behind him for safety.

"Y/N, did Gabe manage to put the bomb in the engine room? Are you evacuating?" Steve asked for a report of your situation while the others were occupied at shooting back.

"Yes, we have placed it and are now trying to evacuate but..." you paused from speaking for a moment, "I think we will have to step out of our comfort zone and dive for a swim because the life boats are damaged. HYDRA has sabotaged our get-away. They must have figured us out."

Steve cursed under his breath. "You need to jump in the water, Y/N. The coast guards are on their way in accordance to our mission schedule. Swim away with the rest of the soldiers as far as you can and we will get to you. We have room."

"Alright..I suppose I have no choice anyway." You meekly replied. Steve heard you giving the orders to the rest in the background.

A minute after and the first ship exploded. Steve's group were a great distance away from being in danger, but his mind couldn't stop thinking of yours and the other comrade's situation. He hoped they were swimming at least 30 feet away from the ship that was about to explode any moment now.

Just then, the other bomb took off, obliterating the second HYDRA ship and ultimately sealing the fate of it sinking too. By then, the coast guards were coming into Steve's view, but Steve still ordered his group to sail towards the area of the second ship to help out their people.

The coast guards beat them to it, and rescued those swimming in the water first before they pulled up those in the life boats. When Steve was on board, he immediately sprinted over to the group that was currently being offered blankets, their bodies visibly shivering. He was relieved when he counted the people and found everyone was there, with not a single person missing. His eyes met yours, and he walked over to you to see how you were doing.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked with worry as he helped you wrap a second blanket around your form.

You let out a breathless laugh, "Yeah, I'm freezing my tits off but I haven't felt this alive for so long to be honest. What about you?" You asked, and scanned his face for any injuries. Luckily there were none, meaning you had yet again changed a minor part of history.

"I'm feeling just fine....you were amazing, Y/N...you helped me so much and I didn't realize it before it happened." He said, mesmerized. "I believe you."

You made a puzzled look at his last sentence. "You didn't before?"

"Well, yes but...this definitely took out the last bit of doubt in me."

You nodded understandingly and looked at your surroundings. People were patting each others backs as they shared praise of successfully executing the mission. Everyone seemed so happy, which was refreshing from the cold and serious attitude that used to be emitted in 21st century S.H.I.E.L.D. You could get used to being praised for doing something right instead of receiving a simple nod of acknowledgement.

"What do we do now?" You asked, as you turned to Steve who seemed to have looked at you this whole time of you zoning out.

Steve smiled cheekily and simply replied with, "We celebrate of course."

When returning to shore, you were greeted by the rest of the army and the smell of good food. The atmosphere after accomplishing a mission was lively. Everyone gathered around in the base camp and full meals were being served with beer, - every American soldier's favorite.

When morning came, you all went to sleep at your designated rooms, a welcoming stay to rest by Delaware Air Force. You had expected to be occupied with thoughts, but the planning and mission itself tired you out so much you were out as soon as you laid down on the bed.

When you woke up again, it was afternoon, and people were still taking the time to celebrate last night's mission. It caught you off guard once again how different things seemed to be compared to your time. Soldiers were actually being rewarded after doing missions that puts their lives on the line, and it made you bite your lip with envy of how you didn't get as much as a candy bar for being an agent.

You found Steve at the bar of the base, tuning in for music and the performance shown on the stage of a dancing pair. Steve asked once again about your well being when you approached him, to which you replied positively. You drank a glass of beer before engaging in conversations with some of the other men. You grew unimpressed as you learned their highly flirtatious intentions of keeping a conversation with you, and you excused yourself to find Steve.

He was nowhere to be found in the crowd though, which made you wonder where he could have gone off to. As you walked out of the bar, you realized that just like that, another day had passed.

Steve could tell someone was behind him no matter how quietly they opened his door, and he quickly snapped his head back to see who it was. He let out a breath he had held as he realized it was none other than you.

"Ending the night so soon, huh?" You asked, leaning against the door post as you looked at Steve who was sitting by the tiny desk across his bed.

Steve snorted as he looked down at his feet. "Pretty much...I'm not much of a bar guy anyway, so I don't stay for long."

"Is it because you can't get drunk or are you generally introverted?"

"Shouldn't you know the answer to that?" Steve replied humorously with a smile curling on his lips.

You shrugged and walked over to him while closing the door behind you. You grew thoughtful at his question, "My Steve liked being social. He could talk for hours with so many new faces, and we would basically stay at events till we were the only ones left."

Steve exhaled to that. "Sounds exhausting...I only need my friends to have a good time, and even then I need some time for myself, doing what I like to do."

You smiled at him fondly and saw what he had been occupying himself with. He was drawing.

He drew an airplane, and it looked like he was sketching a second one beneath based on its form.

"You're very talented....you really capture the details. Unfortunately my Steve never drew, - not to my knowledge anyway."

Steve's face saddened, almost as if he couldn't believe it. "Seriously? That's...- I always thought and still think I'll keep drawing till I'm laying on my death bed. Art is my second passion after being in service..."

"I see.." You muttered, also surprised to learn this. Steve had expressed fascination over art to you once when you went to an art museum together, but he hadn't admitted he had actively practiced art. "Then maybe take what I've told you into heart and hopefully you will do different and keep art close to you."

Steve nodded appreciatively and looked at his sketch again. "I can't help but wonder how I look like in the future...because surely I look different. Do you perhaps have any pictures on you?"

You tried to hold back a cheeky smile, but Steve had caught you. "You do, don't you?" He asked with excitement. "Show me." He said as he stood up and reached for the pocket of your jacket.

"Woah, hold on!" You playfully slapped his hand away. "I don't have anything on me, as in a polaroid picture or any of that sort but...I may have a few on my personal tablet."

"So what I'm hearing is you'll show me."

A giggle irrupted from you as you couldn't help but find Steve's sudden boldness funny. "Sure, why not. But only pictures of which you can't tell the context of."

Steve brought another chair for you to sit on as you placed the tablet onto the desk once Steve had put his sketches away. The tablet turned on and you typed your password before you entered your folders.

“You sure you want to see them? Curiosity killed the cat, you know.” You joked, and he actually laughed at the old saying.

Classic him.

“Yes. I want to see it all.” He said, and scooted closer, his eyes slightly squinting as he was for the first time adjusting to the artificial hologram screen.

You nodded, before you clicked on the file, where the first picture that was revealed was your most recent picture, being of your neighbors cat.

“It’s colored!…and so detailed...” He almost shouted in a whisper. “But that should be the least thing to surprise me, huh?” He chuckled as he glanced at you.

You laughed and shrugged, “These pictures are taken 75 years forward in the future. I don’t blame you at all for being overly excited.”

You went a little further up the file to show him the earliest pictures, those of which you took of him when you got to know each other through his office visits. Steve was amazed, pointing out every single change the future had made of him, - from his less use of hair gel to his new stealth suit, to the people he was surrounded with and the environment.

Then there were the ones you took during your relationship. You weren’t sure if you wanted to show those, but it was hard to ignore them with how many there were.

Steve’s eyes hadn’t blinked once since you opened the picture file, so you already knew his eyes had caught plenty of them before you even realized.

You bit the inside of your cheek, regretting that you hadn’t put them in a separate file. Then again, you hadn’t been through these for so long. It wasn’t in your mind, nor didn’t you have the heart to make them unseeable.

Steve’s mouth closed as you skipped through the romantic pictures of you as a couple. You could feel his eyes on you now, and it made you internally cringe. Nevermind, I heavily regret not moving them to another file, you thought.

You cleared your throat and skipped through faster, feeling an emotional wave on its way and you didn’t want to be hit by it. “Yeah, I think we should put the slideshow to an end now…” you said as you closed and shut off the system.

Steve face saddened, “but I didn’t get a good look on those last ones…”

“I didn’t intend to show them anyway.”

He could tell you were upset. He now understood why whenever you made eye contact, he could see your distaste, even from your smile, - And it was justified. He understood why you screamed at him the first day you met, and why you sometimes seem so conflicted of being nice to him.

You stood up from your seat, but Steve wasn’t going to let you leave that easily. He took your hand, “Y/N, hold on…” he said.

You turned, your eyes already glistening, but you kept a tight face as you glanced back at him.

“I’m sorry, doll. I’m so sorry for what he, - for what I did, - or for what I will do…I don’t even know how I’m supposed to be apologizing, but my point is - I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve this at all. You shouldn’t have had to come back, nonetheless travel through time because of my future self’s stupidity.” He said, his eyes looking deep into yours and with his face expressing guilt. He opened his arms, and gently placed them around you.

The familiar nickname had made you stiffen. You haven't heard him call you that for so long. While it made you feel uneasy, his apology gave you some peace as you relaxed into his arms. The feeling of being held in his embrace felt euphoric.

It didn’t last long as you decided you didn’t want to be in his embrace anymore. You glared at him, “You would have done the same.”

“No, I would not!” He shouted, offended by your accusation. He took a step back when he noticed your eyes had widened from his sudden outburst. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell…”

“How can you be so sure? You love Peggy. I’m talking to the person who my ex fiancé apparently missed being and left to be that person again.”

“Well then he was obviously blinded to not notice what was right in front of him.” Steve argued. “I don’t really know what love is, Y/N. I am familiar with friendly love but I am still trying to figure out the kind of love my parents shared. It’s not something I want to drag you into, but I mean it when I say I wouldn’t do that. I respect women, nonetheless the person I would give a ring to.” He said.

You sighed, deciding to give it a rest. You smiled to assure him you had found peace in this argument. He smiled back in content.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He asked, confused.

“Yeah, Steve. I believe in you. Maybe you would have handled it different. Maybe my Steve valued our relationship less because, - I don’t know, - the future and his experiences left a void in him that he thought he could get rid of by returning to the past. Or something.” You hypothesized.

Steve stared at the floor, not sure if he had any input on that. He didn’t know what to make of it either.

You looked up at him again, your eyes fluttering when you studied his face. He was definitely different. So well mannered and considerate. Like not too many things were on his mind, so he could think more of the people closest to him.

“You know, I kind of prefer you with this hairstyle and look. It’s cute. The future really did corrupt you.” You smirked, and reached out to stroke his neatly styled hair.

He let out a breathless laugh as he blushed. “Really? You think so?”

“Yeah…”

Your eyes looked into each other, not blinking once. Your hand palmed his cheek, stroking it gently as he put his hand to keep yours where it once. You saw his eyes wander down to your lips, and you knew at that moment you were both in to something.

You stood on your heels and captured his lips with your own, and he slowly wrapped his hands around your waist, not wanting to let you go. The kissing was gentle at first, until you decided to bite his bottom lip, causing him to open his eyes out of shock. He did not expect you to do that.

Still he didn’t push himself away and let you have your way with him. He was about to gasp for air as you for a split second separated your lips, but you took the opportunity while his mouth was open to quickly seep your tongue in. He moaned in surprise, feeling himself becoming overwhelmed by your techniques but also so turned on.

You led him to collapse on the bed which was behind him, your body on top of his as you didn’t let your lips apart.

After a brief moment of sharing each other’s taste through a dance of your tongues, you pulled yourself back to breathe, only to be amused that Steve was breathing for air more than you.

“Already tapped out? Thought the super soldier could handle long make out sessions, considering your expanded lung capacity…”

“I-I can, m’just really overwhelmed right now…” he excused, to which you giggled. You continued giving him kisses down his neckline, enjoying the sound of his heavy gasps. It was then when you altered your focus of touching his gorgeous body.

“Y/N…” He moaned your name in a whisper.

“Steve…” you whispered his name back as your hand traveled further down his body, down his abs and V-line. You memorized every muscle of his body, and it felt so good to touch him again.

He gulped nervously as he eyed where your hand was wandering, “I-I…uh…”

“Don’t be shy, baby…you don’t have to worry about a thing. We’ve had sex plenty of times, - or we will I guess.” You corrected humorously.

Steve gasped as you palmed his crotch, teasing his cock as you squeezed him a little though his pants. “W-We did? - we will?”

“Mhm.” You hummed positively. “Our first time together was in my office…we hadn’t seen each other for years and you suddenly showed up and bent me over my office desk where you would eat me out from behind before fucking me…” you told him.

“Oh goodness…” Steve mumbled through a groan. His eyes fluttered while you unbuckled his belt and opened the zipper to release him.

His cock sprung free, pulsing and twitching in need. Precum was already building up at the tip, making you bite your lip at how desperate you had made him. Seeing him quiver beneath you was awakening something within you. This point of his past was way before he explored his sexuality, - way before he grew into the overly confident daddy who would fuck you into the mattress and call you his good girl.

Somehow, it was appealing that this Steve was anything but that. To have him beneath you like this, getting riled up by simple touches, - it was so fucking hot and the biggest confidence booster.

“When I look back at it now, it wasn’t as romantic as I used to think…—” you muttered as you nibbled his earlobe and stroked him. He moaned, bucking his hips desperately while you pleasured him.

“… — Maybe we could change that. Remake our first.” You whispered, making him shiver. “Only if you want to of course..”

He let out a breathless grunt, his eyes going to the back of his head. You gave him a tentative kiss on his cheek, but his other hand that wasn’t gripping the sheets pulled your face for a kiss on your lips. Your lips met over and over again with Steve letting out huffs in between. He groaned while gritting his jaw, his head being shot back on the pillow.

“Do you want this?”

Do you want me?

“Y-Yes…I - ffffuu..” he almost groaned the curse word but didn’t complete it.

“Language, Steve.” You teased.

“Doesn’t count..” he whined.

Your strokes were less patient now, your hands gliding along his length faster to see him unravel. You wanted to see it. You wanted to see the face of a man who was becoming ruined for you. You wanted to witness his eyebrows knit with pleasure as he let out those sweet moans you didn’t know could come out of him. Your Steve had never revealed himself to you like this; so vulnerable and full of desire for you.

You figured the best way to really witness him fall apart was to have your plump lips suck the soul out of him. And that you did.

He cried out and gripped your hair down harshly as he released his cum, his load being swallowed willingly by you. You missed his taste so much.

A vibration was sent through him as you hummed around him, his cock twitching with his last spend before you slowly backed up again with a ‘pop’ sound. His breathing was uneven, and he put his palm against his forehead to wipe off the sweat that had built there. Steve couldn’t keep his eyes off of you while his cock softened, his cheeks flushed with the colour red.

You only gave him a timid smile when your eyes met again, and you stood up from the bed, leaving Steve to frown with his overstimulated gaze.

“Y/N, wait…” he called after you, but you got ahead of him with something to add.

“I’m sorry. This was obviously a mistake. I shouldn’t have done that…” you said, your voice full with regret. “Goodnight, Steve.”

Steve was about to protest, but couldn’t as you left his bedroom, closing the door behind you.

N/A: Ended it with a lil' angst but we all know it will resolve, some way or another. ;) Hope the smut was enjoyable tho!

Hearts & Reblogs are very appreciated! <3

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #cevans characters #chris evans #chris evans character fanfiction #chris evans x reader #captain america x you #captain america x reader

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jils-things · 1 month

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May I errrm may I errrmmm

Can I get 8, 9, 10, 14 and 16 for Layla ☝️🤓

LAYLA BRIAR... OMGGG MY BEBE HAVE A DRAWING. ENJOY. MMWA

8. what is your self insert’s orientation?

SHES DEMISEXUAL/ROMANTIC WEE :3

9. who are your self insert’s closest friends?

it's very hard to determine what is kan.to like in this future so i cant really tell who's present or not (but i do know for sure that most of the classic trainers are. old. LMAOO) but i like to think she has her own group of aroma ladies (trainer class name) aka a bunch of ladies who indulges in scents :3 i like to think layla is a bit of an odd one out of the bunch in terms of how she presents herself (goth/naturecore girlie) but she's still very much welcomed by her aroma buddies heheh

10. how do the other characters feel about your self insert and f/o’s relationship?

AAAOUUYHU CARMINE WWIWI 🥹🥹🥹 it would be a shocker for him at first but he would be happy to know shes with rhys! very supportive as well. carmine would definitely go to layla and be all like "please take care of him 🥺") (bonnie and clemont style from pk.mn xy anime) and rhys is like STOP. I'M AN ADULT. AJSHHEHSJS also, i mentioned somewhere that rhys and layla are in a secret relationship! so the only person to know this is carmine :3

14. what hobbies does your self insert have?

its part of her job to be a florist and sell flower bouquets but its a hobby turned into a job :3 she loves her work! she also likes singing to herself - layla's not really the type to sing next to someone and she usually does it alone (aka working) and her hums are really lovely to hear 🩶🩶 (something that rhys gets special privileges to catch on heheheh) she loves singing romantic slow songs because it goes nicely with her soft yet deep voice<333

16. freebie! name a fact about your self insert you want everyone to know.

she really likes spooky topics too, supernatural stories and all that stuff. she's the type of girl who would watch cor.pse bride every night as a kid eheheh totally a big ti.m burt.on kinda fan frfr

#layla briar.insert #MY BABY.... UR BEBE. HEH #i love her so much. shes so pretty i would want to look like her smhsmhsmh LOVE HER SM #bee tag

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selene-tempest · 6 months

Text

It's the 28th of October, which means it's the hubby's birthday!

When faced with the inevitable question of "what do you want to do for your birthday?" he once again just shrugged, said he didn't want to do anything special and left. Freakin' typical. Now I was stuck trying to come up with something that he'll love as well as not expect and therefore be unable to ban me from organising it before it's too late to cancel.

I had to come up with something, and fast.

But, I am nothing but a determined wifey, and so I dragged up his online calendar (OK, I admit I got EOS to do it, sue me) and stared at it for a few minutes waiting for inspiration to strike. Spoiler, it did not. There was no lightning bolt blessing from Zeus, there was no glorious angelic chorus as an idea bloomed into perfect form in my noggin. But, as I watched, a new entry popped up, a request for a guest lecture spot at the University of Manchester to talk to their new intakes on their Space Science and Astrophysics degree. This I could work with…

TO THE GOOGLE!

Since hubby is the hubby, and in being the hubby that means he likes to go places that are mentally stimulating as well as pleasing to the eyeballs, I once again had my work cut out for me.

But a half hour of frantic internet searching later and I'd finally settled on the very historic (so happy hubby) and the very spooky (so happy me) city of York that was near enough to Manchester that we could have ourselves a little mini-break and I could finally adopt a cute little ghost! Yay!

I ran to the bestie (who cares that he was busy halfway up One's nose cone at the time?) and screamed up at him that I was formally requesting time off but not to tell John.

After he recovered from the shock of being yelled at while so high up (he was on a line, don't stress) he mumbled an assurance that he'd "make it work" which is Scott speak for "OK, I'll sort it if you just go away and leave me in peace". Job done!

All I had to do was book train tickets, a beautiful but quiet hotel (preferably haunted but not a requirement) and look up some things to do. I got this shit.

Cut to a week and a half later, and one very successful (like there was ever any doubt) lecture done and dusted, we were on the train and speeding away for a midweek break of fun.

Since this weekend was a surprise, John had only packed enough for two days away, and knowing how conservatively he packs I knew that we'd never be able to make it stretch. I tried to pack more for him in my case but he got suspicious (damn him and his ability to observe everything so closely) and I gave up, packed my own stuff and vowed to buy him new clothes as part of his birthday present. I've learned to work with what I have.

Wrestling him onto the train was harder than I had expected. He didn't believe my "oh wouldn't it be so fun and romantic to just not go home yet and be spontaneous?" bullshit and I was forced to admit that it was indeed a birthday treat and that it was already booked, everything was taken care of, we would have somewhere to sleep that night and Scott was aware and to not even think about checking in on Five you shit!

He was grumpy, but that was to be expected. You don't blindside the man who organises everything and not get some backlash. But that's easily remedied with kisses and promises of all the fun, but educational, things we'll be doing, then you pull up an itemised schedule for him to peruse and he's fine.

The first thing we did was find our hotel and drop off our bags. I'd picked one that was nice and old, but also had modern amenities (we like that blend) but near enough to the city centre to be able to walk most places. John loves to walk, which is probably due to him spending so much time on Five and knowing the island like the back of his hand. If we get off island for anything he'll be dragging me off on a walk somewhere to explore.

Our hotel, Dean Court, boasts its famous "Mad Maid" ghost who is often seen roaming the halls, cleaning supplies in tow, grimacing and grumping. Honestly, I don't blame her, imagine spending your life cleaning and then have to do it in your afterlife too? Kinda sucks, I'd definitely be asking for an upgrade, not just slamming doors, giving people a cold chill and occasionally sitting on them. This was gonna go one of two ways, John would wake up in the middle of the night to find me chatting to the ghost like a paranormal therapist (again) or the ghost would recognise my ability to kick her out and leave us the hell alone. Only time would tell but I hoped for his sake it was the latter, he needs the rest.

Conveniently the hotel was pretty much next door to York Minster, a beautiful and gothic cathedral with stained glass to die for and lots of history which was lovely to wander around. So after checking into our room we made the most of the remaining time before dinner to check it out as well as the museum in the basement, called the Undercroft, where we saw the remains of the Roman fortress the minster was built on, as well as illuminated manuscripts, and artefacts found around the area. We also checked out the library, because John is as drawn to books as I am to spooky things and this was his birthday trip, so I let him get lost in there for a while. But I did steal a little kiss at one point which a kind person managed to snap a picture of and send to me.

Dinner was lovely, nice and relaxed in a quiet little pub style restaurant which will always be our go-to over a fancy place where we have to get dressed up. We want wholesome, home cooked food (that isn't Grandma's), with big portions so we can try each other's food and to be able to easily relocate to a snug area for drinks around the fire.

As it turned out, our first night in the hotel was a quiet one, no ghosts, no noisy neighbours (not like that one time in Cambridge where we were next door to a couple that seemed to think arguing was the only acceptable form of foreplay and liked to scream at the top of their lungs in two ways). The bed was squishy soft, there were enough pillows that I didn't have to raid reception and it was cosy enough that we didn't need to sleep in thick pyjamas (always a worry in England after an extended period on the Island). Hubby was asleep the second his head hit the pillow and I read quietly for half an hour before snuggling up, stealing his warmth, and drifting off myself.

The next morning provided an all you can eat breakfast buffet. So with full bellies and a happy me, we were fully fueled for our next adventure… ghost shopping!

I'd heard about the beautifully old street named the Shambles, rumoured to have been the inspiration for Harry Potter's Diagon Alley, and I knew they had a little shop there called the York Ghost Merchants where you could buy a handmade "lucky ghost". Did I buy just one? Of course not! We are coming home with ghosts for everyone! Mine was this adorable little purple thing with drippy black eyes like it's been crying and I fell in love straight away. John got a plain little ghost in white, very traditional. I named them Brad and Janet, which he rolled his eyes at but knew better than to try to convince me otherwise.

As we were wandering the shambles (and I was filling my bag with souvenirs as I am nothing but British) I remembered that hubby was in need of clothes since I'd basically kidnapped him. I dragged him into the Edinburgh wool mill, because he gets chilly and needs the good shit. That and I happen to think he looks delicious in librarian chic and so tweed was the way to go. He blames this on the fact that I'm currently rewatching Buffy the Vampire Slayer for the 8th time and that Giles has inspired me, but if I was inspired by Buffy he'd have bleached blond hair and a leather jacket by now.

He agreed to the clothing because he's getting more and more requests for lectures and appearances in academic settings and since we got married people keep uploading pictures of him and even he worries that they will work out that he only has two jackets and start to comment on it. Sometimes I worry that I'm having too much of an influence on him, then I remember that I'm awesome and that any influence could only be a good thing.

We also found a wool and cashmere shop and a little vintage shop where I picked up a few things for my growing hippie collection and a gorgeous shawl that I can't stop stroking. A generic brand shop provided essential underwear and socks for the fussy hubby and we were off, dumping our spoils at the hotel before heading out again.

The afternoon was spent in a quiet little reading cafe where you could drink coffee and curl up with a book. One thing I love about John is that he knows the value of silence, even when he thinks I don't. I might be loud and proud a lot of the time, the social butterfly to his grumpy caterpillar, but even I find too much peopling draining and need to recharge. He is always happy to have me squished up against him but not paying him the slightest bit of attention (unless, like today, I happen to read a particularly interesting spicy scene and feel the need to shove it in his face and waggle my eyebrows at him until he gets the message). I love that he never questions how much I adore him and doesn't equate me giving him my full attention all day every day with my devotion level. He's fine with me ignoring him and I'm fine (mostly) with him doing the same.

For some reason (probably a John specific one relating to his desire to be in control of almost every situation) he decided that he would not be the only one surprised on this trip and waved tickets for a ghostly bus tour under my nose at dinner. An old fashioned double decker bus, a chilly evening, a beautiful city and a knowledgeable guide made it one of the best parts of the trip. I like ghosts, he likes the history, we blend.

Another peaceful night with no noisy neighbours or ghostly visitors meant that we were (for once) both fully charged and not in the slightest bit tired for our last full day.

We went out for breakfast even though the hotel provided a good one but we stuck close to the hotel in the morning and checked out the Treasures house, which was near the Minster. Beautiful house, beautiful gardens, and a Roman soldier ghost that waved at me from over a wall. What's not to love?

After a midmorning snack we hopped into a taxi and went to York Castle Museum. I love castles (tell me anyone who doesn't have the urge to pretend they are royal now and then and I'll call bullshit). I love the feel of the energy in the bricks and the items inside. We got to see the cell in which Dick Turpin had been kept and a recreation of a 1918 street complete with actors dressed up and things to buy (of which I bought many). Living history is something I really vibe with, it's so good to see it being played out in front of you rather than just seeing pictures or reading about it in books.

There was supposed to be an Edwardian ghost in there but it was either his day off or he had had enough of crowds and wasn't in the mood to socialise. John said he understood that more than he should and that we'd obviously been married too long if he was now identifying with ghosts. Can't say he's wrong.

Dropped back at our hotel by another taxi, we found ourselves at a loose end and asked the receptionist to recommend something to do that night. She gave us many good recommendations, and John made notes on things we'd try if we came back (which I'm planning on) but eventually settled on a relaxing floodlit river cruise on the Ouse.

York is a gorgeous city by day but it becomes truly magical at night. The lights of the buildings sparkled on the water and there is just something truly special about seeing such historic buildings, surrounded by trees and river banks, as the sun sets and twilight blankets the world before full darkness sets in. We took so many pictures that we know Virgil is gonna steal to paint. There was no guide on this cruise, just us and a few other passengers dotted here and there so we could sit quietly on our own and talk without bothering anyone while soaking in the atmosphere and the sights.

Another meal in a little old pub where a lone guy and his guitar helped create a cosy atmosphere, and it was back to the hotel. I made sure to yell into the hallway that I would not be accepting any ghostly visitors that night either and if Miss Grumpy Maid was around she listened and left us in peace. Feeling less tired and more relaxed than normal meant a nightcap from the minibar and said squishy bed were enjoyed for more than sleeping (eyebrow wiggles and book shoving for the win!)

We had a few hours to kill before our train the next day and I selflessly didn't dive straight into the chakra therapy centre by the train station. Instead, we opted to leave our bags in a locker at the station, grab some lunch to act as a picnic and check out the nearby Yorkshire museum and gardens.

Autumn was the vibe of the day and I have to say I couldn't have planned it better. Chilly sunshine, red, gold, and orange dressed trees, and Roman ruins make my little heathen heart sing.

On the trip back to London I had a cheerfully chilled hubby who had had so much history in such a short space of time that he couldn't stop flicking through the photos and smiling, which was all I wanted. I'm doing the same as I snapped so many pictures of him when he wasn't looking that I've got phone backgrounds for the next year!

John often needs a break more than anyone as he's not confined to flight hours and mandatory breaks, if we let him he'd keep going until he drops. So I take my job as wife and nagger very seriously, he's learned to live with it and sometimes, just occasionally, it means we get to enjoy times like these which will provide us with many wonderful memories to keep us going during the busy times, the not seeing each other enough times and probably when we're too old and tired to do it again.

Making the most of time together is always important but, while this was definitely supposed to be a birthday trip for him, I got a lot out of it too. I got to see him relax, sleep deeply, eat well and laugh lots, even if he does suspect that I may have had an ulterior motive of turning this into a dark academia photoshoot…

Happy birthday, baby! @i-t-guy-in-the-sky . Love you always!

(close ups of pictures available on request because I know he's freaking gorgeous!)

#john tracy #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fandom #thunderbirds fanfiction #selene tempest #healthy relationships #witchy #york #ghost

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thethirdromana · 4 months

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Yes femininity on men in The Woman In White is a whole thing.

Fosco “with all his look of unmistakable mental firmness and power, he is as nervously sensitive as the weakest of [women]. He starts at chance noises as inveterately as Laura herself”. Fosco’s got “effeminate tastes and amusements” and looks like “a fat St. Cecilia masquerading in male attire”.

Fairlie’s feminine traits are the most obvious. His hands are “delicate”, he is beardless and his feet “effeminately small” and clad in “little womanish bronze-leather slippers”. To Walter, Fairlie’s “frail, languidly-fretful, over-refined look” appears “unpleasantly delicate in its association with a man”. Pykett notes that most of these traits would be normally attractive in a woman and yet they are repulsive in a man. His overall appearance and delicacy is the trait he shares with Laura and Anne. He is prone like them to a mysterious illness about which everyone says that “it’s on the nerves”. His nervous state is directly linked to his lack of masculinity. Fairlie admits himself that he is “nothing but a bundle of nerves dressed up to look like a man”.

Yep - it's something I find really interesting about the Woman in White. It's a feminist novel, and often in unexpectedly sophisticated ways (showing how the problem doesn't come back to individual bad man, but the system as a whole) and unexpectedly insightful ones (in the 21st century you still get male writers who think you can snap the heels of stilettos and then run in them, but Wilkie Collins gets how restrictive Marian's clothing is).

But it's also a novel that hates femininity. It hates it above all in men (as you've shown, anon) but it's not exactly positive about femininity in women. Fairlie's traits might normally be attractive in a woman but I'd argue that Collins doesn't really present them that way. Laura is described as beautiful, and Marian mannish and ugly, but once that bit of description is out of the way, I'd argue that Marian's masculine-coded determination is shown as much more admirable than Laura's delicate feminine submission to the will of the men around her.

All of this is pretty consistent with contemporary feminist thought, at least as far as I'm familiar with it. When I first read 'A Vindication of the Rights of Women', from half a century earlier, it shocked me how much time Wollstonecraft spends criticising the failings of women. So maybe this shouldn't be surprising to me, but it is.

I wrote somewhere before how this all reminds me of reading about Old Norse literature, in which in the absence of brave men, a woman will rise up to take on a masculine role, which shames the men but does honour to the woman. There are two typical outcomes from this: either the woman dies amidst the violence she's unleashed (although typically not before she gets her vengeance), or she wins, and is rewarded with marriage to a man who is worthy of her.

I've never read the Woman in White so I don't know what happens at the end (NO SPOILERS PLEASE), and I'm fascinated to find out whether the plot will continue to follow either of those routes. With Marian currently out of the picture, I guess not? But I honestly have no idea where the plot is going, beyond the obvious creeping doom, or how it's all going to be resolved.

I'm looking forward to finding out, and seeing what further takes on Victorian gender roles Wilkie Collins has in store for us.

#woman in white weekly

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allthoughts-headgay · 10 months

Text

ok ok ok gl!ranboo and cabinet man by lemon demon this is gonna be long so its under the cut

"Electric desires had unraveled all my wires" - !!!!! WANTING TO ESCAPE THE MASK W THE WIRE THINGS

"Now I'm in the box for safekeeping "-!!!!!!!!!!!! THE BOX AROUND THEIR HEAD (which also looked like a tv 👀)

"The news reporters reported that I died" - HE GOT TAKEN FROM HIS LIFE AND SHIT

"But all my organs were living on inside" - EVEN THO THEY WERE BEING CONTROLLED BY SHOWFALL AND SHIT HE WAS STILL ALIVE SOMEWHERE IN THERE

"Circuit board to brain" - WHEN HE WENT ALL NPC

"With two lungs collecting change" - HE AND THEIR LITERAL BODY WERE BEING USED FOR PROFIT

"One big human heart gently beeping" - AGAIN, HE IS HUMAN SOMEWHERE IN THERE BUT EVEN THAT IS BEING BENT AND USED FOR ENTERTAINMENT

this next part could work like a duet between showfall and gl!ranboo

showfall:

"You can't win me, I can't be beat" - showfall is inescapable, they are doomed to just repeat the cycle forever

"I won't hurt you unless you cheat" - the streamers will be safe as long as they do not resist (hetch?? hello??) and just go along with the cycle, they will just keep reviving

gl!ranboo:

"You can't see me behind the screen" - he still keeps some of their humanity hidded from showfall and the viewers, no matter how much they are used for entertainment

"I'm half human and half machine" - he has given up so much of himself and their identity for views, plus the mask controlling him and shit

this next bit is just gl!ranboo again

"Thank God for business, they let me take the floor" - showfall had determined that ranboo would provide them with profit, so they took him

"I stood so proudly, like I was going to war" - they were stuck in this situation, but did not give up. he stayed strong and faught back against showfall

"Players soon appeared and I quickly was revered" - players = viewers, controlling ranboo's actions yet rooting for his escape

"This must be what love would have felt like" - they were robbed of the chance at real love, and instead only received the sort of fake "love" given by the viewers. one who's entire identity is turned into a character for entertainment cannot be truly loved within that character

"Such dedication, they came from miles away" - the viewers were relentless, coming in from all over the world to control him. some wanted them to escape, some seeing them as just a character

"With eyes so piercing, they'd wait their turn to play" - the viewers were observing and analyzing everything he did, seeing the situation as little more than a game for the viewers to win

this next bit is showfall

"Perfect patient lines because I was in their minds" - the viewers waited patiently for their turn to affect the situation, accepting everything they saw at face value. in a way, showfall was controlling them just like they were controlling ranboo (squiggles, the funny situations distracting the viewers, etc)

"I could do whatever I felt like (whatever I felt like)" - because the viewers did not question what was going on or try to break free from showfall's control over them, showfall could present whatever it wanted and the viewers would go along with it

this bit is gl!ranboo again but with the idea that he had gone through many cycles before (or perhaps in the future if they had not died?) before he dies so not totally canon but who knows

"I'm happy for years and years" - ranboo is complacent in showfall's control, deciding that it was better/safer to play along and not resist (like when he went npc?)

"And, only eating the occasional maintenance man" - he rarely rebelled (until the end), oblivious to what was really going on

"Only driving a few kids to madness" - at least in ranboo's perspective, most of the viewers did not care about them. to the viewers he was nothing more than a character. most of the viewers would not go mad spending their days worrying or theorizing or trying to get them out, they would simply move on. (key word in this line is "few" lol)

"Maybe they were predisposed to madness, who knows?" - maybe those viewers were like that for every fictional character, maybe that's just the way they are, they still don't see that he is actually a person

"I only want to have fun" - they just want to be able to live their life, even though he's accepted that his life is now just being used as entertainment. at least they have some sort of purpose

"But now they're telling me my days here are done" - the viewers inevitably get bored of ranboo, and he no longer provides showfall profit. he has no purpose, there is no reason to keep them around.

"'Cause there's a tiny little box that they make in Japan and pretty soon it's gonna fit in your hand" - as soon as ranboo becomes obsolete, there will be another form of entertainment pushed in front of the viewers' eyes to keep them engaged. it's a never ending cycle.

this bit is gl!ranboo, a while after they are replaced

"It's getting lonely, it's getting hard to breathe" - he has been turned into a character, their sole purpose was to entertain. once the viewers move on, there is nothing left for him, and nothing left of them to turn back into a person

"The arcade's empty, I think it's Christmas Eve" - the viewers are off having fun somewhere else, trapped in the cycle of fake characters and fake situations to keep them distracted, to make them forget

"Someone's broken in, now they're painting on my skin" - some viewers inevitably remember ranboo, coming back to them even after he's been discarded, expecting to find the same exact character that they knew.

"Breaking me and taking my quarters" - he's suddenly being used as entertainment, drained for money, just as they thought he'd found peace.

"Bashing in my face with a crowbar, kicking me and pushing me over" - ranboo is suddenly forced to create more entertaining content, contort themself back into the character, in order to keep the remaining viewers constantly happy

"Now they see my blood on their sneakers" - inevitably, some of his humanity comes out, shocking and driving away any remaining viewers, leaving them lonely, but finally at peace, yet still unable to find themself again.

#anyways #lol #that was a lot #genloss #generation loss #genloss spoilers #ranboo #gl!ranboo #cabinet man #lemon demon #this could be a cool animatic or smth lol

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leohtttbriar · 3 months

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i sort of think one of the reasons ds9 does fail in the particular (democracy, maybe?) Thematic is because it stopped caring about the other star-trek theme laid out for us in the intro to the original series: "to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before." ds9 is more about exploring said alien civilizations than about discovery. which is its weak point. when there were episodes about science and discovery and whatnot, they were great and interesting and pushed questions that sci-fi as a genre tends to push. odo discovering his kind, sisko and jake building the star-sailor, julian curing that disease with a vaccine, lenara building a wormhole, jadzia wanting to examine a planet closer and causing everyone to be stuck in a weird colony of pre-determined ancestors, etc. but the war plot overshadowed stuff like this and suddenly it was like watching the conclusion to lord of the rings, where evil defeats itself and the gods knew it all along and now our hero must stay in their realm (with none of the richness of the actual lord of the rings).

but the "discovery" element is important bc it carries themes about choice and questions about self and the essentiality of bodies and so on. to be constantly confronted with something alien, something new, is a process of de-familiarization with one's own world and culture. people don't notice their own accents until they're somewhere else, hearing another accent. but this element is so often linked in fan spaces with things like "colonization" or "imperialism" where the institution of starfleet is an instrument of colonizing and the infrastructure of the federation is that of an empire, much like america is today. my issue with that argument is not so much that i think it's necessarily wrong, or that it's missing "the point" (i mean, how much can a multi-authored, half-century-long story have a single "point")--it's that words like "colonizing" have moral significance and suddenly the things that we see in the shows that the star-explorers do most of the time, i.e., exploring, are colored with this implication: that scientific discovery is inherently a colonial project.

that science has contributed to colonialism, that colonialism has funded scientific exploration, that full knowledge-systems that have aided in establishing some of the most well-established scientific theories have also been rhetorically used to promote violent hate and slavery and dehumanization--there is no question. "exploration" has a history of chugging right along-side actual genocide and violent exploitation. but "exploration" is not colonialism. it's also been a tool for activists, champions of human rights, champions of non-human lives and rights, and, while not a moral tool, an avenue for expanding and encouraging human compassion.

the thing is, the challenge of scientific discovery is not only a challenge of establishing empircal fact but of knowing the boudaries of certainty. and this confrontation with human limits of knowledge, limits of consciousness, limits of Thought and Feeling at their most fundamental, is the sort of stuff a speculative world thrives in. the star-sail-ship that sisko builds is such a prime example because it's quite literally an archaeological and engineering discovery that de-colonizes. "far beyond the stars" is about how the imaginative reality is powerful, as it makes an argument that there will be a future and that future will belong to everyone, even as the world now does not; the imaginative yet exists and can be real if thought is allowed to expand to newness and newness is allowed power to shape what some might call "nature." interrogating "what is" forces out "narratives" and forces in complexity and sincerity and self-definition.

and, like. choice. what it takes to choose.

(and yeah, the colonizing aesthetic is there and i wouldn't blame anyone for being too uncomfortable with what's being presented (in TOS especially). some things have to be earned and words like "final frontier" and the design of some of those "alien" cultures can be hard to see past. at the same time the show is about enfolding new planets into a federation of planets (which, like, from a purely civics/government argument, is not colonialism), it is also enfolding new knowledge into an existing academy. which i think is good. (even if there could stand to be more stories about advanced civilizations that don't actually want to share their knowledge, which is ultimately respected.))

ds9 as whole annoyed me, though, with the thru-line theme being so weak and nonsensical, as it is concluded in the final episode. the institutions and the infrastructure are already there, within the world of the story, to force characters into decisions about power and governing and what it takes for a people to recover from fascist occupation while repelling a second fascist invasion. yet not a single character makes an actual argument against it. or voices a support for said institutions in a way that makes it clear why anyone would repel the invasion to begin with. the changelings are simply morally wrong and must be stopped (and they will definitely be bc the wormhole aliens See All ugh)

julian has one episode in which he learns to let go of his despair because, despite how intensely smart he is, he cannot know the future. and that is the best thing ds9 said about anti-fascism. not everything can be wholly known and wholly controlled. which is why choice has a value. why odo's pithy statement about people choosing "wrong" had to be answered (sucks that it was not). and it's julian, one of the characters most allowed to do scientific work throughout the series, who voices this and voices, in another episode, that some things cannot be simple cures, but only ongoing vaccines, projects that one has to re-invest in time and time again. in spite of uncertainty, in spite of how easy it would be to schedule a death before the pain sets in.

and i just think an established multicultural, liberal, exploration-based institution deserves to be championed in this speculative future. and that sci-fi as a whole could stand to be more focused on infrastructure. because it represents a collective owning of what is to come, so long as the state is owned by the people. i know trekkies on this website as a whole are kind of anti-establishment or anti-state, but my (probably unpopular opinion) is that state-ordained exploration can be a good thing. and someone in ds9 should have said something about why federal democracy is better than the changelings taking over.

#maybe season 7 just left me annoyed.#ds9 #star trek

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omg-just-peachy · 2 years

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Please, 15 or 23 for for Steve and Tony💚🥺

23 // putting their chin of the other's shoulder

****

The thing about their height difference is that for all Tony tries to ignore it, Steve loves to remind him of it.

When Tony is working, Steve will always inevitably appear with questions, resting his head on Tony's shoulder to peer at the day's project. Steve's bent down low enough that Tony wonders about the state of his knees, what with Steve being a centenarian and all.

No matter what Tony's doing these days, Steve is right there, curious and eager to learn, comfortable enough with Tony now to get right in his space, their faces so close together that Tony could...

Well, Tony could do a lot of things that he doesn't let himself think about.

Steve rests his head on Tony's shoulder mid-meeting to let him know that he sees that Tony is actually drawing Fury rescuing a cat from a tree and not, in fact, taking diligent notes. When Tony turns his head and sees a grinning Steve Rogers, his heart backflips.

Steve rests his head on Tony's shoulder when he's presenting a plan, when he's detailing upgrades to Cap's suit, nodding enthusiastically when Tony explains why the suit needs a heating mechanism. (What if Steve is stranded somewhere and can't keep warm?) Tony isn't risking it, and it makes him feel warm all over to see the way Steve looks at him when he explains his thinking.

Steve lets his head rest on Tony's shoulder when he's looking for coffee in the pantry, waiting his turn for a full mug.

He rests his head on Tony's shoulder when he finds Tony peering at a recipe over the tops of his reading glasses when it's his turn to make the team dinner, offering advice and soft-spoken suggestions so close to Tony's ear he has to actively repress a shiver.

Steve rests his head on Tony's shoulder just about every time he gets the chance.

It's a little off putting, actually.

Not because Tony doesn't want Steve so close to him, but because he very much wants Steve so close to him.

Every time Steve feels comfortable enough to get so close to him, Tony is pretty sure he can feel his blood humming through his veins. His heart pounds and his cheeks heat up, and there's simply no way that Steve, with all his super soldier senses, isn't aware of all of this.

It would be all too easy to turn to the left and kiss him. On the cheek, or the nose, or the lips, Tony can't decide which, though he's imagined all of his options countless times at this point.

One afternoon, Tony's in the garage, debating which car to take to the store, and Steve finds him, even here, in the quiet, dimly lit room. He leans in, poised and ready to let himself into Tony's personal space, and Tony's stomach twists itself into knots.

Maybe he's over-tired. Maybe he's had too much caffeine and not enough food and water, but he finally snaps.

"Okay, enough. What are you doing?" Tony asks, his tone sharper than he necessarily intends.

Steve stares at him, a faint, pink flush crawling its way up his neck and over his cheekbones, all the way up to the tips of his ears, and Tony immediately wants to take it back.

So Steve is comfortable with him. So what? Shouldn't he be allowed to have this, this one thing, after everything? No matter how it makes Tony's insides feel like melting jello?

"I'm. Uh..." Steve stumbles over something to say, his face flickering from guilty to pained to determined. "I'd like to kiss you," Steve says, as matter of fact as if he's proposing a new strategy for the team.

"You...what." Tony's pretty sure his eyes are popping out of his head by now, and yet...

"I think you heard me," Steve says, his voice low and rough and so close to Tony's ear, he can't hide the shiver that races through him this time.

"You don't..." Tony finds himself without words, or a self-deprecating quip for the first time in a long time, and so when Steve just looks at him, then rests his head on Tony's shoulder the way he's done so many times, Tony can't help but smile back.

"Yeah, okay," Tony says, then closes the space between them, kisses Steve's beautiful, curious, smiling mouth.

Finally.

cute interactions prompts

#stevetony #stony #steve/tony #stony fic #my fic #anonymous #cute interactions prompts

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satans-helper · 8 months

Text

Reaching for Stardust - Part IV

Read Looking For Space here / RFS on wattpad / Playlists

Word Count: ~3400

Warnings: none <3

---

Josh was spending the afternoon with his parents which worked out fine for me–I was determined to find the perfect birthday present for him, particularly considering he’d planned an entire trip on his own and was currently refusing to let me pay him back for any of it. But I also didn’t feel like being entirely on my own so I called upon Bev, who always proved herself to be helpful and discerning whenever I was struggling with the holiday and birthday gifts for my sweetheart.

“So he really didn’t tell you any of this?” she asked while we browsed that same boutique I had found the iconic bull pendant in. “He just laid it all on you suddenly, like, ‘Surprise! Pack your bags, babe?’”

I chuckled, gazing over the counters. I hadn’t been inside of the charming little boutique for quite some time but it looked the same as it had in my memory, full of sparkling jewelry, whimsical trinkets, incense, colorful fabrics and fantastical books and artwork. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. I knew I’d know when I saw the perfect thing.

“Pretty much,” I told Bev, picking up a small silver box engraved with a wolf, its eyes made from tiny blue gemstones.

“That seems so unlike him. Like, being spontaneous, sure. But you not being in on it?” Bev mused with a slight shake of her head as she trailed her fingers down a purple and gold scarf hanging from a rack. “Doesn’t sound like Josh. How’d he keep it to himself anyway?”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” I admitted. “He’s always excited to tell me anything. Seems weird that he’d keep this all a big secret until like, a week before it’s happening.”

“Jesus,” Bev remarked softly. “And you’re still gonna buy him a gift? I’d be pissed.”

“I’m not pissed. I’m kind of nervous though,” I confessed. I looked away from her to the mass of wares the boutique offered, but nothing was jumping out at me. I wanted to find something that captured Josh as well as that bull pendant had, something that represented all of his love and light, something he could hold onto just the same.

“Why?”

“Well, I told you about how he wants to get married before we buy a house, right?” I said, meandering over to the jewelry counters, looking down through the glass at the dizzying array of rings, necklaces, bracelets and brooches. “And when I brought it up again the other day, he was like, we should keep our options open and figure out where we wanna buy one. As if he’s not certain he doesn’t wanna stay here.”

“I mean, do you wanna stay here?” Bev inquired, peering down at the jewelry right alongside me. “Dual income, no kids. You guys could go anywhere.”

“Okay, but our families are here. I like it here. Josh does, too.” None of the jewelry was catching my attention either so I moved on, stepping to the back of the shop where more sculptures and trinkets were positioned on shelves. “It’s news to me that he’s seriously thought about moving somewhere else.”

“Has he been seriously thinking about it or are you just assuming he has?”

I sighed. “Fine, maybe I’m assuming a little. But he’s been so resistant to it, now I’m wondering if he really has been wanting to live somewhere else. And I don’t know if I’m ready for that. Like, where would we even go?”

“Detroit?”

“Yeah, that was my thought. I haven’t brought that up to him yet.”

“So start with that. But this trip to Savannah,” Bev said, raising her eyebrows at me. “Maybe you’ll fall in love with it and want to move there.”

“Doubt it. Besides, Josh wouldn’t. He’s such a woods and mountain boy, not a beach bum.”

“I’m sure there are woods there.”

“No mountains though.”

“And that’s a deal-breaker? We don’t even have mountains here.”

I laughed a little. “I’m aware! But if we moved somewhere, we should move somewhere that’s closer to mountains. At least we’ve got lots of woods and plains here.”

“You better have this conversation with your boy soon,” Bev said. “But maybe wait until after the trip. Just enjoy it. I wish someone would surprise me with some place tickets.”

I bumped into her shoulder, smiling. “Someday I will.”

“I’m counting on it.”

With nothing worthwhile in the boutique, we set our sights elsewhere, deciding on taking a lunch break before figuring out the next stop. Bev was on her phone while I drove, searching for inspiration, expressing the same sentiment that I held in my own mind–we wouldn’t be finding anything special enough for Josh at a place like Walmart or something.

“Hey, check this out,” Bev proclaimed, tapping the screen of her phone. “There’s an estate sale today on Bennett Street until 3. I bet there’ll be some neat stuff there.”

The house itself was charming right at first glance. It was small but had a decently sized front yard, with dusky blue siding and an attached garage. The siding was weathered and worn, the white paint on the front door and the garage door was obviously in need of rejuvenation, and the yard was full of overgrown weeds and unkempt flower beds. But stepping inside, the interior was orderly and stable, nothing that needed to be gutted or even repaired from what I could see. Plastic folding tables were arranged in the empty space between the furniture that had all been pushed to the walls, and most of that was decorated with little neon circles depicting numbers, and covered in all the goods for sale.

“Pretty much everything has to go,” said the woman who emerged from the kitchen, alerted by the sound of Bev shutting the door behind us. She was drying her hands on a kitchen towel as she approached the square table I had positioned myself in front of, then waved one hand over the surface. “I’d hang onto some of these smaller things if I could, but I think she’d actually prefer that some of them could go to better homes.”

I glanced at the walls, my eyes landing on a family photograph. “Was she–?”

“My mom.”

“I’m so sorry,” Bev and I said in near-unison.

“Thank you. She had a long life,” the woman said, then smiled down at the table. “And collected lots of nice things, clearly. Look around as much as you want. There’s lots of stuff in just about every room, furniture included.”

I felt a little crass about asking but did anyway: “I’m curious–is the house for sale, too?”

“It will be soon. I’m trying to get it as empty as I can before I start really making those arrangements. Are you looking?”

“Kind of. Keeping an eye open,” I said, looking around more closely at the open living area. Hardwood floors and lots of natural light were instantly appealing.

“Mom kept the inside pretty nice. She loved taking care of her home,” the woman told me. “The outside, not so much. When she got older, she decided she’d rather let the yard do what it wanted and she wouldn’t hear any protest from me or my brother.”

“I like it,” I said. “Would make for a great gardening project.”

She smiled. “I think so, too. If you give me your contact information, I could call you when I put it on the market?”

“Really?” My heart skipped a beat at the mere idea of having an “in” like that. “That would be amazing.” She handed me a little notepad and pen and I wrote down my name and phone number, buzzing, fantasies of buying the house and making it into a little haven for Josh and I rippling through my mind.

“Wow, your mom had quite the jewelry collection,” Bev remarked and I followed her eyes down to the round table in front of her, covered in necklaces, bracelets and earrings. “Some of this stuff looks really nice.”

“She had kind of an eclectic taste,” the woman told us. “Never shied away from wearing whatever she wanted. But some of it’s not MY taste so, please, absolutely feel free to take some of this off my hands.”

One piece did catch my eye–a long rope chain of soft gold with what looked like a handmade gold star pendant hanging from it. Or maybe a sunburst–it was hard to tell. It looked like it could go either way, which I felt added to its mystique and charm. And even despite its relatively simple design, the gold itself was brilliant and shiny and the craft of it was impressive–each point of the star or sun was sharp and clean and the inner portion was rounded out with tiny blue, yellow and white crystals. I thought of one thing–Starshine.

I felt proud of and excited for my purchase, which had been folded into a spare tissue and squared away in my bag, and proud of the connection I’d made. A birthday gift for my beloved was one thing; the real possibility of a house together was an even bigger thing. I figured I’d save that news for a while though, at least until after Josh and I got back from our trip. If he could have some secrets, I could have some, too.

“Happy?” Bev asked me, looking quite happy herself. She’d left the estate sale with some new–or rather, old–jewelry for herself, a vintage silk scarf and a pair of hardly worn black velvet pumps.

“Very,” I said, patting my bag. “I think he’ll really like it.”

“I think he will, too.” Bev sighed outside my car, her hand resting on the passenger door. “I wish I could go on that trip with you. I know it might seem super out of the blue and weird, but the more I think about it, the more I think it’s romantic and sweet.”

I clicked the unlock button on my car remote. “Yeah. It is romantic,” I tentatively agreed as I opened the driver’s side door and slid myself inside, waiting for Bev before I gave my final thoughts. “It still bugs me though. You know, that he didn’t just tell me.”

“Sometimes surprises are good,” Bev reassured me, looking down at all her new goodies in her lap.

“Yeah,” I echoed again, turning the engine over and the low rumble felt similar to the rumble in my chest, some brisk ache in my heart that I couldn’t explain. “Sometimes they are.”

–

After I dropped Bev off I found myself driving aimlessly, or so I thought for some time. When the song, the one Josh had played during one of the many nights when we were on our backs in cool grass looking up at the sky, came on shuffle, churning through my car speakers I felt an irresistible pull toward a familiar place. John Denver’s even, calm, tenor voice both soothed and alerted my heart as I drove, the familiar words of the song beckoning me back to where we’d really looked for space together. To where everything began.

The barn looked as derelict as ever. Falling apart at the seams, so to speak, it sat at a slight angle, weathered to hell with whatever paint had once been on the wood almost entirely gone and what was left was so sun-damaged it was hard to tell what color it really had been. It was broken and splintered and looked so much harsher in the daylight than it did at night. At night, it looked almost soft and somewhat inviting in its gentle gloom, like it just wanted a friend or two to spend some time by it. The grass and weeds surrounding it, rippling over the acres, had gotten longer since Josh and I had last been there; some of it went nearly up to my chest as I walked along the faint path that still remained, finding my way to the main doors that were perpetually torn open.

I peered inside, inspecting what else might look drastically different when not cloaked in darkness. Cobwebs and dust clung to every corner and surface; rusted equipment sat in broken heaps on the floor; old hay, the smell so much more potent in the afternoon heat, remained in hilly piles above and below and the broken roof with its varied slats and breaking points allowed the sunlight to stream in, almost creating a kaleidoscope in the dank dusk of the interior.

But it was what remained outside the structure that really called to me. I went back out and stepped around the perimeter, quickly able to find the old tree trunk that felt so symbolic it hurt–it was complete permanence. No matter what had happened in this tree’s past, part of it had remained and would always remain. The roots undoubtedly went deep and hard into the earth, securing it there for life outside of a place that would weather away more and more with time until one day it would be almost nothing. And there, next to the tree stump, was the panel of wood with our initials carved into it. The “JK” was sharp and defined above the little plus symbol and my own initials and the sight made me smile though my heart swelled in my chest, which reminded me of what the whole experience was missing.

When the song had played during my drive, I knew what I had been coming back to this place for. More than one thing, but one of those things was to complete that past moment–I retrieved the little pocket knife from my jeans and got to work, engraving a wonky but legible heart around our initials. When it was complete, I stepped back, pleased. Even when the final day of the barn’s life came, those etching would always remain in the wood.

Josh was home when I returned and my heart did a flip when I saw his face again, still reeling from the nostalgia of that first and only love that had begun to blossom so long ago. I shut the door, dropped my bag, kicked off my shoes and surprised him from behind in the kitchen, gathering him up in my arms like he was one single star I could keep down on earth.

“Oh, hey, darling,” he said, lifting one hand to pull an earbud out. “Didn’t hear you back there. How are you? How’s Bev?”

I rocked us both slightly back and forth, tightening my grasp. “Good. We did a little second-hand shopping. Got lunch. How’re your folks?”

He took the second earbud out and slid them both into his pants pocket. “Good. They said they want us to bring back a tour guide of Savannah for them.”

“We should find some nice souvenirs for them, too.” I looked down at the counter in front of him, the cutting board laid out and covered with an array of vegetables. “Stir fry?”

“Exactly.” Josh wiggled back against me and I giggled. “But I can’t finish the job without my arms.”

“I can do it,” I told him, releasing my hold to move my arms in front of him, grabbing the knife with my right hand and a yellow bell pepper with my left. “You can make sure I’m doing it right.”

Josh leaned back, his hair in my face; I moved my head to the side enough to see what I was doing so I didn’t cut myself and ruin dinner. “Doing just fine,” he remarked, then sighed. “Actually, watching you is sort of meditative.”

“Really? That’s good. We all know you’re the better chef,” I said and Josh laughed a little; I could see his nose crinkling in the reflection of the window above the sink. I had to move slowly and methodically, carefully slicing the pepper before moving onto another, a green one. “Guess where I went after I dropped Bev off?”

“The moon?”

“If only. No, the barn. Our barn.”

Josh smiled in the clear glass beyond us. “Really? That’s so sweet. Or should I be hurt that you went without me?”

“Don’t be. I was thinking about you the whole time.” When it got to be time to actually get the pan ready, I pulled myself aside and let Josh get back to work, leaning against the counter as I watched him. “I found our initials again. I carved a heart around them.”

Josh turned, smiling all white teeth and pure joy so bright I wanted to eat him up. “Yeah? That’s even sweeter. How’d we forget to do that way back in the day?”

“I probably thought it was too cliche and you were probably too nice to fight me on that.”

“Sounds right,” Josh affirmed with a laugh, opening the fridge. “I love that you went back and added that. It’s only appropriate. I need to see it when we go there next.” I smiled at the thought–it had been a little while since we’d been there together. “And what did you get from your shopping adventure?”

I pivoted over to the drawer with the spatulas and tongs. “Just one thing, actually, and it’s not for me.”

“You’ve got a surprise for me now?” Josh asked, holding a package of chicken.

I thought of the necklace and the house but mostly the house, with all its charm and possibility. “Yeah, I do. But don’t get too excited,” I suggested, watching him return to the counter, tracing the contours of his face with my eyes. “It’s just something small.”

“Small is good,” he said, nodding, and sliced through the plastic overlay of the chicken with a steak knife. “I’m small.”

“Small in size, but with a huge heart,” I countered, then sidled up to him so I could wrap my hand around his arm. “And with big muscles.” But really–Josh had always been a bit of a hard-body but now he was the epitome of one, so fit and strong that I doubted his lack of height was the first thing everyone noticed. It had to be everything else that at least some noticed–his dark eyes that held everything in such softness you couldn’t help but find yourself entranced and the dark, strong brows that framed them and that which I envied. The perfect nose, so straight and proportional that it wasn’t even fair, right down to his perfect mouth that enchanted me even further whenever he gave me one of his signature kitten smiles, tongue between his, yes, again, perfect teeth. Being familiar with the small things he did to maintain his beauty only made it more alluring and seemingly unachievable for others, myself included. There was the occasional plucking beneath the arch of his eyebrows, a casual skincare routine, a whitening toothpaste, lip balm. Nothing out of the ordinary, yet everything about him was extraordinary and I was sure everyone else could see it all the time. And as easy as it would be to fall into a pit of my own insecurities, Josh never made me feel less than. He never had. He reciprocated my starstruck and dreamy looks, staring into my eyes like he was looking into a golden sunrise, and still whenever he touched me, I felt sparks shimmer all across my skin.

“I need these muscles,” Josh told me, leaning into my own touch. He emphatically tapped the cutting board with the tip of the steak knife. “And this meal will help them grow. Do you wanna eat inside or outside?”

I didn’t even fully register the question, too far gone watching every small movement of his body and continuously returning to gaze at his profile. “I really love you, Josh.”

He turned to me, one of the kitten smiles spreading across his face. “Is that right? Even after all this time, you haven’t gotten sick of me?”

I shook my head, wrapping my arms around him. “Nope. Never have, never will.”

Josh snuggled against me. “I love you too, darling. Always have, always will.”

There’s a sentiment some people hold that is the more you say something, the less profound it becomes. I never felt like that with Josh no matter how many times we said those words.

---

Tagging: @colorstreammind (I think you said you wanted to be tagged?? Correct me if wrong lol) @jjwasneverhere

#greta van fleet #gvf #josh kiszka #josh gvf #josh fic #josh kiszka x reader #gvf fic #jake gvf #danny gvf #sam gvf #sam kiszka #danny wagner #jake kiszka #lfs #rfs #gvf fanfiction

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beach-illustrations · 5 months

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Would love to hear your review of Artfol once you've settled in a bit! (Probably wouldn't hurt for me to have a more presentable art archive somewhere either, so I'm curious about the alternatives)

of course!! after using artfol for about a week, i do like it! it's still very new, so i wasn't expecting too much off rip from it but it definitely has some good potential if it gets successful!

putting this under a read more because, as per usual, this got long.

to start: the good stuff! good, robust organization thus far for artists. all the art you post gets automatically put in its own separate tab on your profile called gallery in chronological order and any other art and text posts that you share as well as your own art and text posts get put into another tab called feed. the feed is in chronological order from newest to oldest and it's suuuuper nice being able to have an easy place that contains all your original work people can go to without the hassle of punching in specific tags in a search bar (or inputting them into the website url) and hoping for the best. the feed can then be further organized between posts and art, art submitted to challenges, art submitted to submissions and reshares of other peoples stuff.

you can also make collections for your own gallery, so you can have all your fan art in one collection, ocs in another, etc. this isn't just for personal organization either; your separate collections are displayed under the about section on your profile or, if you've got them, links section! i honestly like this a lot. most of my experience of running an art blog comes from tumblr and getting separate pages set up on your blog, while not horribly difficult, does require a bit of knowledge regarding html and manually inputting website urls where you want the links to go. having all of this steam lined is much better. all of this is relatively easy to figure out as long as you're open to just clicking buttons on the website to see what they do, as far as i could find there's no official tutorial available. you can only have a limited number of these without a premium subscription but i haven't a clue as to what that limit even is.

you can also effectively pin certain art pieces that you're proud of to the top of your gallery by putting them in a featured selection. no idea how to do this yet but i do think this in of itself is neat.

customization is light but they cover the basics well. they've got a nice bio and announcement/secondary heading type feature under your username that you can customize, as well as a nice big space for an icon and a big ol' banner you can put your art in. other than that, you can choose a 'theme color' as artfol calls it but it just determines the color of the bar under your banner as far as i can tell on the website version. they also have a separate area for links that automatically turn into the websites icon you're linking back to.

custom warning tags!!! these fully blur the image and you can put as many words to warn others about the content of the art as you want to clarify what someone's getting into if they click show. at first i was worried i could only put one custom warning on an image but nope, it lets you write multiple warnings on the censored image if the NSFW and Gore filters aren't cutting it for the art.

speaking of which; artfol allows NSFW! in places where online spaces have been getting progressively sanitized because big corporations and google ad sense are the ones who can pay the bills of hosting thousands of images and videos on servers, it's nice to see that.

the challenges! other artists can issue challenges to others to either draw their characters in certain outfits, as certain creatures, drawing a piece of art in your style, etc. think some of the various art memes floating around on twitter, except this time they have their own dedicated category! i haven't done any challenges yet but this seems like a great way to socialize with other artists on artfol, as well as stretch your own art skills.

AI art is explicitly banned.

there is an algorithm however it prioritizes art made recently, so artists of all skill level and mediums get a shot at being seen on the front page which is nice! as far as i can tell, your home feed (which is very similar to tumblr's) is in chronological order and doesn't put in any suggested or recommended posts in the middle of the posts of the people you've chosen to follow. the like and share options are easily accessible and when you share someone else's art, it notifies them by telling them that you've pinged them which is... odd to me, but the website doesn't seem to auto credit them any other way in reshares (in contrast, tumblr keeps the OP's username and icon at the top of their own original post when it gets reblogged). i'm also something of a tumblr hermit so this could be a common reshare (reblog?) format else where for all i know and i'm just griping about nothing.

there is a premium subscription you can sign up for as i mentioned earlier. you get stuff like no ads (which you also get if you've got an adblocker on your browser), more collections can be made, you can upload cover art (icons, i think?) for your collections and the art you post, you can have custom profile theme colors (i guess they let you use the color wheel or a hex code instead of the pre seleced colors they already have?) you get more layouts for your featured art on your profile and you don't have to wait 60 days to change your username. oh, and you can make groups that people can join based around one particular thing, however i haven't touched any groups yet because none of them are all that appealing to me.

honestly, a lot of the premium subscription perks are very inconsequential to the core functionality of artfol which is a huuuuge bonus to the devs in my eyes. they easily could have paywalled commission pages or collections all together and them just giving you some extra customization perks instead shows me that the devs are actually focused on making an artist friendly website and app.

over all, artfol is relatively easy to navigate and upload your art to! the base features are solid however the website does have some downsides.

the bad:

the most egregious thing is that I haven't been able to and currently can't access the content guidelines or privacy policy pages. when I first signed up, artfol gave me a link to what the website claimed was the content guidelines however it just linked me to the news page and that really didn't sit well with me.

because the artfol website is so new, I am going to give them a chance and interpret this in the best faith possible and assume that it seems like this is just an issue of certain pages crashing, seeing as I used to be able to access the News page on artfol and now it's just gone like the other pages. on top of that, it seems like every link except for their twitter, android and apple download links, instagram and discord links at the bottom of the artfol website page is broken in the same way. out of all pages eating themselves the content guidelines and privacy policy ones feel like the worse ones to lose. I haven't been able to access the guidelines from the jump and it's been really frustrating. I just got done sending an e-mail to their contact e-mail, so hopefully something good comes from that. in the mean time i've also downloaded the app to try to see if i can find the guidelines and privacy policy on there. I've noticed people complaining about crashing pages in the mobile app reviews so hopefully this is just a case of a website page accidentally eating itself and it's just very unfortunate coincidence that it happens to be some very important pages affected by the crashes.

other than that, the other downsides are that the website takes like a minute and a half to load, clicking on a censored image to view it on your home feed takes you to the individual post and has you un-censor it there rather than directly from your home feed and some features are currently only available to mobile accounts such as commissions tabs, however i'm sure that will eventually be made available to the website version as well in due time. also, while uploading art, not including the custom censor tag or NSFW or gore filters, you can only put 5 tags on your art. these are all only minor annoyances and i'm sure they'll eventually be fixed in upcoming patches.

over all: asides from some concerning hiccups with missing pages, artfol seems very promising for a relatively new, bare bones website! the developers have very much taken a mobile app first, website later approach which at least to me isn't the end of the world, seeing how the website is already doing okay all things considered. the community seems nice and i'm planning on trying out some challenges soon to get more experience using it!

#pristine-starlight #hi hello thank you very much for the question! enjoy this wall of text in return <3 #if i missed anything i'll probably make another post later

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actress4him · 1 year

Text

Whumptober 2022

NO. 31 - A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL

Comfort | Bedside Vigil | “You can rest now”

Brumaria College AU, continued from here. Credit again goes to @painful-pooch for owning Bruno and writing most of his dialogue!

Contains: lady whump, dude whump, hospital, burns, referenced parental death, referenced fire, needles, ventilator, romance, mild flashbacks

“I tried to keep her safe, Roshni…I didn’t mean to fail her.”

Before she fully awakens, Kamaria can tell that she’s in a strange place. It doesn’t sound right, or smell right, and the more aware she becomes it doesn’t feel right, either. The bed is all wrong, the pillow is flat, and there’s a deep ache that’s settled over her body, like when she’s gone too long since her last workout and every muscle in her body is sore and exhausted.

She jerks the rest of the way awake suddenly, eyes darting around the unfamiliar room. The hospital. She recognizes it immediately.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Your mom didn’t make it.”

“No, you’re lying. She’s here somewhere, she has to be, where is she? Where’s my mom?”

“Hey.” The soft voice pulls her back to the present. She turns her head with more effort than it should take and finds Bruno’s soft blue eyes watching her, worry creasing the corners. “I’m right here.”

His presence immediately eases the anxiety building in her chest. Her hand slides across the sheets, almost of its own volition, and he sees it right away, gently grabbing it with his own.

“You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Memories of fire start filtering back into her mind, but it takes a moment before she can fully determine that they’re not all from when she was twelve. The…science building? There was a fire alarm, and Bruno was there, and her mom was…no, not her mom. That was a long time ago. But that means that there really was another fire, and she thinks she might have been trapped in it. Part of her doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to potentially make herself start panicking. But it’s inevitably going to come up, and she’d rather find out from Bruno now than from someone else.

“There was…a fire?” Her voice rasps horribly and her throat hurts, but she gets the words out.

He turns and grabs a cup from the bedside table with the hand not holding hers, lifting the straw to her mouth. It feels awkward, letting him practically feed her. She tries to lift her other hand to take the cup, but feels the pull of what’s probably an IV and drops it again. Maybe if she doesn’t look at that quite yet she’ll forget it’s there.

“Yeah, there was,” Bruno answers as she sips at the water. “Do you remember what happened?”

Her memories are still a confusing tangle of two separate fires, and the deja vu of being in a hospital room with Bruno isn’t helping. At least it’s her in the bed this time, not him. She’s not sure she could handle him being hurt like that again.

“Not…really? I just get bits and pieces.”

He nods, but there’s still worry and anxiety written all over his face. She knows how he feels, and she hates that she’s the one that’s put him in this situation. Normally being an idiot and trying to get killed is his job, not hers.

Speaking of which…as he replaces the water cup, white bandages wrapping his arm catch her eye. Her heart skips a few beats. Lifting her head up off the pillow, she glares between his arm and face. “What did you do?”

His eyebrows shoot up, but he quickly catches onto what she’s referring to. “Oh this? Just some scratches. No big deal, really. I promise.”

By now she’s familiar with Bruno’s definition of “no big deal”. It was also “no big deal” when he was the one lying in the hospital bed, or the other time when he’d been beaten up and should have been in a hospital bed.

Her stony expression must say as much, because he leans forward and takes her hand in both of his. “Kamaria, we’re in a hospital. They’re not gonna let me sit here, injured, and not take care of it. It’s all bandaged up, see? Professional job. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

She lets her head drop back down, too tired to continue holding it up. It isn’t the hospital’s competency with injuries that she’s concerned about, it’s the fact that he has injuries to start with. If it’s no longer hurting that means that it was hurting earlier. He got hurt, again, and it was probably while protecting her…again.

Tears spring to her eyes unexpectedly. She’s not usually one for crying, she hates crying, and she’s gonna blame being exhausted for it happening now. She can’t brush away the tears without using the hand with the IV or letting go of Bruno’s hand, so she tips her head back and blinks them away as best she can.

“Hey, hey. What is it? What’s wrong?” He strokes her head tenderly.

What isn’t wrong? she wants to reply. There are so many emotions crowding for attention in her chest that she can hardly breathe, and images of fire and smoke trying to poke their way into her mind that she’s continually shoving down, and she suddenly misses her mom fiercely, and Bruno got hurt…

She sniffs, and becomes aware of something strange and wrong with her nose. Never mind not moving her hand, whatever this is she needs to fix it, now. As soon as she touches what feels like a tube going into her nose, though, Bruno is gently pulling her away.

“Don’t mess with that, okay? It’s helping you breathe, your oxygen levels have been low.”

It’s too much. There’s a tube up her nose and a needle in her hand and it just piles on top of everything else she was already feeling. The tears that she was valiantly holding back spill over and run down her cheeks, and she claps her hand over her mouth to hold in a sob.

The next thing she knows, Bruno is climbing into the bed next to her, sliding one arm behind her back and pulling her in close. “It’s okay, Kamaria. It’s okay. You can cry if you need to.”

She doesn’t want to, but apparently she doesn’t have a choice. The tears are coming whether she wants them to or not. She buries her face in Bruno’s chest, but his shirt smells like smoke so that only makes her cry harder. Still, she doesn’t stop clinging to him. It doesn’t matter what he smells like, she needs the comfort he brings.

Eventually, once she’s left a sizable wet spot on the front of his shirt, she sits up and cautiously wipes at her face, trying not to disturb any of the contraptions attached to her or think about either of them too much. Bruno keeps up the steady rhythm he’s been stroking up and down her arm.

“What else…what else aren’t you telling me?” she whispers, staring at the bandages on his arm.

She can hear the caution in his tone when he answers. “Well…you have some first-degree burns on your hands.” They’re bandaged, she’d already noticed. She vaguely recalls burning them on a door handle, maybe.

“And there’s a cut on your leg from some glass. It’s been treated and wrapped. Mostly they’ve been concerned about the smoke inhalation. You were coughing a lot, and…really struggling to breathe. They thought they might have to intubate you.” There’s a hitch in his voice, and he falls silent for a moment. “A…a few other small burns on your arms, mostly, but nothing too bad. How, um…how is your shoulder feeling?”

“My shoulder?”

“You kept grabbing it in the ambulance and saying it hurt. There wasn’t anything visibly wrong with it, though.”

“Oh.” It throbs a little as she thinks about it, and it’s fairly obvious what the pain is from. Of course the paramedics wouldn’t have found anything wrong with it. All they’d have seen was an eight year old burn scar. “It’s fine.” The only thing wrong with her shoulder is inside her brain.

“I’m not asking about me, though.” It’s good to know what kind of shape she’s in, and she’ll want that information for sure when the doctor visits, but it’s not her biggest concern.

Bruno’s smile looks forced. “Well, if you’re asking about your plant babies I’m afraid I don’t have much news. The building was not in great shape, for sure, but I didn’t exactly stick around to -”

“I’m asking about you, idiot! What else happened to you that you’re trying to hide from me?”

His silence speaks volumes. “What makes you think I’m trying -”

She wants to punch him, but she doesn’t know where else he might be hurt, so she settles for glaring. “You just confirmed it. What. Is. It.”

He sighs. “Nothing major, I promise. I got burned right back here…” Turning his head, he points out the gauze sticking out just above the neckline on the back of his shirt. “But again, they’ve taken care of it.”

Memories of feeling something crashing down on them fight to become solid in her mind. He has a burn from a traumatic night now. Just like her. Will he always carry the nightmares with him? Will it hurt him long after he’s supposedly healed? Tentatively, she reaches up and runs her fingers along the edge of the bandage, fighting back the urge to cry again.

Bruno watches her face carefully, and gives a soft smile. “I’d do it again and again, babe.” Leaning down, he kisses the top of her head.

Anger washes over her. Now that she knows where he’s hurt, she has no qualms about punching him in the shoulder as hard as her weak arm can. “Don’t you dare do it again. You can’t get hurt like that because of me.”

Catching her fist before she can punch him again, he pulls it in close to his chest. “No, because I love you and I can’t bear to be without you, babe. Also…I made a promise to someone very important.”

Kamaria ignores the second part, latching onto the first. “I don’t want to live without you, either! You can’t just sacrifice yourself for me when I love you, too. I need you to stay with me.” Her throat clogs up and she has to swallow her emotions down, forcing the anger to remain. “I need you to take care of yourself.”

She’s seen the way he looks when he’s getting frustrated with her enough times to recognize it right away. Ironically, it’s often because she’s stubbornly refusing to take care of herself. Now it’s the opposite.

“You know I’d do anything to keep you safe. You can’t ask me not to, it’s like asking me to not be myself.” He sucks in a deep breath, eyes searching hers. “I want to be with you for a long time.”

“Then you have to take care of yourself!” She understands where he’s coming from, she really does, because if it were him inside a burning building she’d do her best to rush inside and save him, too. Maybe that makes her a hypocrite. But she needs him to somehow understand how him getting hurt makes her feel, especially when she’s the cause. They’ve done this far too many times already. And it’s times like these, when he seems to think he’s an acceptable sacrifice for her well-being, that she wonders if she’s completely failed at making clear to him how much he means to her. She’s not the best at showing affection, she knows that. It comes far more naturally to him, even though she’s improved drastically since being in a relationship with him. She really does love him in a way that she’s never loved anyone before.

“Think about how you’d feel if you lost me. That’s exactly how I would feel if I lost you.” Finally allowing herself to soften, she places one bandaged hand against his stubbled cheek. “I love that you want to take care of me. And I’m very thankful that you saved me. I just don’t want you putting yourself at risk.”

Bruno’s brow creases in a look of sadness, and he nods. “I know. I just want to be a good enough man for you. I know I’m an idiot. But…” Bringing his own hand up, he strokes a thumb across her cheek. “Dang it, Kamaria, I love you to death. Can I do something?”

One eyebrow goes up. “As long as it isn’t something life threatening.”

Chuckling, he leans down and gently kisses her lips. “Is that okay?”

Both their lips are dry from the fire, but she’ll never get tired of him kissing her. Kamaria fights back a smile. “Mmm…I suppose. Maybe I need another one to make up for the you being an idiot part.”

His smile grows until it’s spread across his whole face. “I can do that, babe.” The second kiss lingers, warm and full of love in a way that only he can make it. She closes her eyes and melts into it.

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