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late-to-the-party-81 · 3 months

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Daddy makes it better

AN: This is a longtime request from the lovely @christwrites. Love you my darling. Here’s something soft with our lovely Daddy Ari.

And look at me, updating two of my series in quick succession!!

Not Beta’d, so I apologise in advance.

Likes are loved, reblogs are golden

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

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Feel free to send me asks about these two

Summary: When work kicks your ass, your Daddy knows just what to do to get you to relax.

Relationship: Ari x Female Reader (Angel)

Word Count: 2.1K

CW: Daddy kink, Soft Dom Ari, Body Worship, Bathing together, Vaginal Fingering, Ari’s chest and thighs

“Angel!” Ari’s deep voice rumbled through the beach house. “Are you here?”

Sometimes you wondered if you’d made a mistake, moving in with Ari so soon after getting together, but on days like this you realised that the reverse was true - that it was the best decision you’d ever made.

You raised your head from the pillow just enough so you could let out a loud groan, and then flopped back down, your arms and legs akimbo.You were still in your work clothes and shoes, so exhausted after your stressful day that you’d just thrown yourself down on the bed as soon as you’d got home.

Within a few seconds, you heard a low chuckle from behind you before the mattress dipped under Ari’s weight. You felt him place his large hand on your head and when he started to stroke your hair you immediately began to relax.

“That bad, huh?”

“The worst,” you mumbled into the bedclothes, before you turned onto your side and made grabby hands at your massive bear of a boyfriend. With a smirk on his face he lay down next to you and pulled you into the circle of his arms. You immediately tucked your head under his chin, burying your nose in his neck, and inhaled the calming scent that was uniquely ‘Ari’.

“My office is so cheap. It’s clear that not only do we need updated software, but hardware too, but they just keep insisting that it isn’t cost effective. However, when I lost my spreadsheet for the third time today I just wanted to fling the goddamn computer out of the window. And then Janice…”

“We hate her, don’t we?” Ari interjected, questioningly.

“Yeah, we do,” you confirmed before continuing, “Janice helpfully came over and made a comment about how I should just ‘save’ more often, like I don’t have autosave turned on. I’m the one who taught her…”

“Taught her keyboard shortcuts, yes. You might have mentioned it once or twice,” he teased, completely used to your work-related rants by now. “What I’m hearing is that my Angel needs to have a relaxing evening, so how about I go and run us both a bath and then after that we can get takeout and snuggle?”

You lifted your head and dropped a kiss to his lips. “Sounds perfect, Daddy.” It was easy to slip into the headspace of being Ari’s pampered princess.

“Anything for you, baby girl.”

He rose from the bed and in a deft move that made you squeal with laughter, he lifted you up in his arms, returning your kiss with one of his own. Then, in a few strides of his long, powerful legs, he walked through to the bathroom and placed you down on the marble bench that ran the length of one of the walls. You watched as he lit a bunch of candles and set the bath to run, giggling as he picked up each of your bottles of bath bubbles in turn and sniffed them carefully, like a sommelier selecting the right wine for a meal.

Once he’d made his decision and poured a generous amount into the water along with a handful of rose petals, Ari turned back to you and dropped to kneel in front of you. You felt your cheeks heat with the care this hulk of a man was giving you. He lifted each of your feet in turn and pulled off the shoes that you’d been too tired to remove yourself, tucking them carefully under the bench. He then urged you to stand, and his broad hands skimmed up your thighs and under your skirt, gently tugging down your pantyhose. He tossed them over his shoulder and threw you a wink for comedic effect, before turning you so he could pull down the delicate zipper of your skirt. As the fabric fell away, you felt him brush a kiss across the small of your back, his beard prickling your skin through the thin fabric of your panties, and you couldn’t help but shiver. When you turned back to face him, you could see the darkened expression in his eyes, and despite your lethargy, you felt the initial curls of lust start to build in your belly.

Ari’s fingers worked over the small buttons of your blouse next, undoing them from bottom to top, and he pressed more reverent kisses to your body as each patch of skin was revealed to him. The giant tease that he was, he bypassed your breasts, only deigning to worship the upper swell of them, although his beard did rub lightly over your nipples as he did so. He gently unclasped your bra, drawing the straps down your arms, and smiling as you let out a sigh of relief as it was removed.

“You know,” he said, a teasing note to his voice, “that if you gave up work and let me look after you as you deserve, you’d never have to wear a bra again.”

You rolled your eyes. He kept bringing this up, and you knew he’d be more than happy to support you living a life of leisure if you so desired, but he also knew that for the most part you enjoyed your work, and would feel guilty if you became his kept woman. He liked to remind you it was an option though, especially when you had days like this.

“Tempting,” you replied with a smile. “But someone has to keep Janice in her place.”

Ari slid your panties down your legs, and pressed another kiss to the very top of your mound, while looking up at you from under his sinfully long eyelashes. God, he was going to be the death of you. You stepped out of your underwear and Ari discarded them with the rest of your clothes, before standing and making quick work of his own clothing. You didn’t even try to hide your ogling as he revealed inch after inch of firm, sun-kissed skin.

“It’s rude to stare, baby,” he chastened you, but you just took your lower lip between your teeth and stepped forwards. You placed your hands on his chest and scrapped the blunt tips of your nails over the thick coating of hair covering his pecs.

“It’s only rude if I don’t promise to do something about it later,” you replied coyly, and you felt his cock, thick and heavy, twitch against your thigh.

“Touché. But let’s have our bath first and get you all relaxed and taken care of.”

He stepped over the side of the tub and held out his hand to help you do the same. At the feel of the warm water lapping around your legs, you let out a decadent moan, causing Ari to smirk. The pair of you sank down, with you finding your place between his thick thighs and your back pressed to his chest. You let your head rest against his shoulder as he picked up the sponge, added some body wash, and started to soap up your arms. He loved to take care of you like this, and who were you to deny him.

The bath started out fairly innocently, Ari requesting you to raise your legs in turn so he could wash them, and asking you to lean forward so he could get to your back, but after that things started to heat up. As soon as the soapy sponge made its way over your breasts your nipples pebbled and you heard Ari’s low growl rumble in his chest as he watched them stiffen. When he brushed over them a second time, you didn’t even try to hold back your sudden intake of breath.

Ari lifted the sponge in the air and squeezed it, sending a shower of water over your chest that was then followed by a cloud of soapy bubbles that dropped down in clumps to land on your skin with wet splats. With his free hand your boyfriend drew patterns across your skin in the white foam, swirling the tip of his finger around each of your nipples in turn so he could watch them pucker and feel you squirm against him.

“Ari…” you whined, but he apparently wasn’t having any of it.

“Nah-ah, Angel. That’s not my name, is it?”

You huffed at his teasing tone, but when he decided to tweak your nipple in retaliation you arched up into his touch and cried out.

“Daddy!”

“That’s better, baby girl. You want Daddy to take care of you? Make you feel good?” He abandoned the sponge, which floated for a moment before sinking to the bottom of the tub, and rested his hand on your stomach, fingers splayed and curling gently into your soft skin.

“Please Daddy!” You turned your head so your lips could mouth at his throat and you shifted your hips, trying to rub against his partially chubbed up cock where it was wedged between you. Ari stopped playing with your breasts so he could tilt your head up and bring his lips to yours. He kissed you slowly and deeply, the hand on your abdomen moving lower to push your folds apart and cup your sex.

Your hands found the tops of his thighs, and you gripped the firm muscle to anchor yourself as his tongue pushed its way into your willing mouth, just as one of his fingers pressed inside your pussy. The whine you let out seemed to spur him on, and he pumped his finger slowly in and out of your channel as he relinquished his gentle grip on your chin to return to stimulating your breasts.

Needing more air, you pulled your mouth from his and panted and moaned into his neck.

“That’s it, Angel,” he encouraged with a drawl. “Let Daddy hear you.” He pressed a second finger inside you and placed his thumb over your clit, and the pitch of your sounds increased in response. Your hips rocked of their own volition, causing the water in the tub to roll like the tide, some of it spilling over the sides. However, you didn’t care. In fact you barely noticed, as your eyelids drooped and you observed what little you could see of Ari from between narrowed eyes.

You were getting close now, your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach.

“Daddy, I need to come. Please!”

Ari pressed a kiss to the top of your head, the tenderness of the action in stark contrast to how his fingers were playing your body as though it was his own personal instrument.

“You come when you want to, Angel. I’m just here to make you feel good.”

You nodded against his throat and took your lower lip between your teeth again, whining and whimpering as the fingers buried inside you started to press and stroke against your g-spot.

“Always make me feel good, Daddy.”

His thumb rubbed circles over your clit as you rocked yourself on his hand, lost to the sensation of pleasure coursing through your body. When your orgasm came it washed over you like a warm ocean breeze, making you tense for a moment before you fell lax against Ari’s torso. When he pulled his fingers from you, you turned to straddle his lap and nuzzle up against his hairy chest, his cock trapped between you, pressing against your sensitive pussy.

You heard him chuckle indulgently before he gathered you in his arms and stood straight up, letting all of the water cascade off the pair of you. Somehow he managed to snag a towel and wrap it around your shoulders so you wouldn’t get cold as he walked back through to the bedroom and deposited you on the bed.

As he laid you down you clung to him and tried to grind against his erection.

“Daddy! I need… you haven’t…”

“It’s okay, baby girl. I’m alright. That was just for you. You deserved it after such a difficult day. You stay here and I’ll be right back. We’re gonna snuggle and enjoy our takeout, and if you want to return the favour later, you can, but no pressure. You know I like to take care of you, Angel. Now, do you want Thai or Mexican?”

As you pondered the choice, you thanked whichever deity had seen fit to make Ari notice you that first day and for all of the things that had come since. You were so lucky to have found a man as perfect as him.

“I love you, Ari.”

“And I love you too, Angel.”

Tag list: @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @doasyoudesireandlive, @goldylions, @crayongirl-linz, @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @mrs-illyrian-baby

#ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #Series: Ari and his Angel #Ari Levinson x you

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ipsen · 10 months

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modern au stuff: eto

currently recontextualizing eto in a no-ghouls au (inspiration is a drug and i have relapsed) and here’s some of my bullet points (hope they help u fellow writer lurker ppl). mostly rambling bc it is late (at time of writing) and i am not drunk but loopy on inspiration and no sleep. also i’m hungry.

Under the read more.

Take out the copious amounts of cannibalism (and the trauma that comes with it) and general personal violence, and you generally end up with a pretty okay anti-capitalist and supporter of proper free thought and desire for equality.

REALLY hates her dad. Arguably more than in canon. V is likely a group of lobbyists funded by the Washuu that contribute monetarily to shitty laws that restrict rights in Fun New Ways. Her dad is not a participant these days, but he isn’t exactly not still friends with them.

SCS (Solid Comrade Sen)

Still a sad girl. It’s just a bit more obvious because of objectively less trauma (again, no cannibalism). Still trauma though! Abandoned, orphaned after Noroi dies, put through the Japanese orphanage system (the process of even getting adopted is INSANE, especially when it’s kids like eto, who have at least one biological parent still alive (they are involved with the process!)), etc.

Shiono is her legal guardian (and he’s not half bad at it)! The adoption itself takes a while but it comes through. Eto is forced to interact with Yoshimura and it is Not Amazing.

After the adoption, Takatsuki’s next work targets the faults of the Japanese adoption/foster/orphanage system and all the profits go to the proper charities. She’s cool like that. Speaking of Takatsuki’s works...

The social justice aspect of Takatsuki’s novels have to jump out a bit more here. Since she can’t exactly be directly inspired by a massive prison break for The Hanged Man’s MacGuffin like in canon, just as an example, she’d probably have to research actual prison complexes to create the short stories.

She is less famous as a result because Takatsuki is a pot stirrer, but those who do read her work tend to sing its praises.

Aogiri is now a writer’s guild and she is a founder. I will be using this in Fic I’m Not Telling You About Because It’s Embarrassing and I Hate Sharing

After Dear Kafka and her subsequent adoption, her official name is her pen name and she prides herself on that fact. Literally buries Eto. Trans allegory here :]

uhhhhh that’s all i can think of :D might add more with reblogs or something idk might also do other characters (eyes on touka)

#tg #tokyo ghoul #tg modern au #eto yoshimura

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babylooneytoonz · 3 years

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monster

part two of bear

Ft. Geralt of Rivia x Reader

summary: when Geralt loves the monster inside of you, you think you have nothing to worry about. But what happens when someone frames you when you are innocent and poisons your lover's mind, turning him against you?

warnings: angst

*Please reblog if you like it, do not repost, copy or claim my work as yours.

[My Masterlist]

The smouldering heat from the fire warmed your blood and bones to no extent, but what was the point of it? You looked at the blanket of the stars above you, but the brittle tears in your eyes made your vision blurry and difficult. Bringing your fingers gingerly to the side of your blood stained face, you pinched the bridge of your nose, waiting for the midnight to strike once more and your wretched curse to take over you.

He was your respite, in this cruel world of harshness. He, in his own different way, his outer shell hard and impossible to crack; used to be soft and gentle just for your eyes. He was like your little flicker of fire, that reflected in your eyes, warming up the cold in your heart. Geralt of Rivia. Fucking White Wolf. The bloody bastard that did this to you, and now you were out here, in the middle of nowhere, hunched underneath the canopy of the trees, warming yourself up by the little fire that you had lit, afraid of being caught.

The deeper you stared into the sizzling embers, your chin resting unceremoniously against your knees, that you had pulled up, and had an arm locked around, the more the thoughts and the memories plagued you, of the countless times the Witcher had shown you how he wasn't like the others.

The way he made love to you that night he found out about your curse. It was gentle, and raw. He held you close to his chest after that, the heat radiating from his body warming up your frame, as his lips tenderly explored your shoulders, and your lips. He held you to his chest, his thick, beefy fingers stroking through your course sweaty locks, his firm body pressed to you as he shared your bed, night after night, except for the days he was out on a monster hunt.

Geralt of Rivia looked at you like you were the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. His fingers delicately traced the line of your lips, down your neck, over the valley of your breasts, and his breathing hitched, his lips pursing together, his golden orbs radiating with a warmth every time he was around you.

After midnight struck, and you turned into the bear you turned every single night into, Geralt didn't run away. Instead, you did. The first three nights of being with him, you ran away every single night the second you transformed, and it was a more a feeling of disgust on yourself, than a fear that you would end up hurting Geralt.

Then, from the fourth night, and the fifth, he began following you; his adept, athletic form running after you, jumping over the hedges and the thorns, just to make you stop running from him.

The sixth night, he finally stopped you, cornering you to a stone hill, his hands raised slightly, on either of his side, his chest heaving up and down, "It's me, my love." You knew it was him, but he was trying to make sure. You turned your animalistic front away from him, turning your back towards him. Geralt didn't go away, instead he took a step closer until you felt him place a hand on your back, the first touch barely grazing you, but it was as if he was waiting for your reaction. When you didn't flinch or try to attack him, he began stroking your fur tenderly and a growl emancipated from your snoot.

He was taming the monster in you, slowly yes but he sure was. You didn't run away from him this time.

That night, or the few nights after that, Geralt didn't leave your side even as you turned into that bear again. He stayed, nuzzling the side of your massive face with his nose, his fingers gently scratching your neck, just beneath your snout.

Your mornings with him were the best, especially when you changed back into your own human form upon the touch of the first sunlight, Geralt was with you, holding your hands in his as he watched your bear form melt away. He smiled, as though welcoming you back after a long journey, pulling your tiny, naked form against his chest to give you the warmth as he took his shirt off and let it slide over your frame. Holding you close to his side, he walked you back to the shared shack the two of you now lived in.

What had gone wrong so terribly that you were forced to hide in the thick woods, away from the humanity and away from Geralt?

Geralt didn't know what to believe. He didn't want to believe. There was blood everywhere the smell of it so strong, it was making him sick. Little children, young adults, women, no one was spared. The entire shack now lay abandoned, with bodies lined to the front door with massive claw marks that looked like that of a bear. His heart sank.

She was never like this; she was never a monster but he wasn't so sure anymore.

The stench was unbearable, the whispers of the villagers growing louder and louder into Geralt's ears. He could feel their hatred piercing through his flesh, their fingers pointing at him, blaming him for sheltering the monster they should have dealt with a long time ago. Was it a mistake saving her? Was she actually a monster hiding her true self under a blanket of kindness? For the first time, Geralt of Rivia had no answers.

Dejected, his head hung low, his mind dazed, not with the amount of ale he had had to drink, but rather the plague of his unrelentless morbid thoughts, Geralt walked back to the shack he shared with you, dreading coming face to face with you for the first time.

As he stepped into the shack, he could hear the utensils cracking against each other as you hunched over the sink, cleaning the brass vessels under the running water, your palms scrubbing the oil off them. You were humming to yourself in a low voice, and usually Geralt melted at the sight, wrapping his thick, veiny arms around your waist as he pulled you to him and kissed all the knots and the stress from his body away. But this time, things were different. You were the cause of his stress.

"You're home, love," you whispered, finally aware of his presence. Geralt wasn't specifically silent, with his heavy, burly frame and the armour that was in the least extremely noisy, "I'll get your bath. And the broth is almost on the last boil."

Geralt didn't respond, instead he began stripping down his armour until he was dressed in just his underwear. By that time, you had warmed some water in a metal tub for him, and Geralt stepped into it, hissing slightly as some old healing wounds on his feet came in contact with the warm water; as he sunk in comfortably, placing both his hands on either of the sides. He had a lot to think about.

You regarded him carefully. His shoulders were tense; his body hunched slightly and the old scars on his back were glistening under your candle that lit the room. You strolled towards him, pulling up a stool behind him and came to sit down, your fingers gently trailing over his back until you were scrubbing his back. He stiffened to your touch, and your touch suddenly felt foreign to him.

"Geralt, what's wrong?" Your lip quivered, and your heart sank, at how distant he was being. Yes, Geralt had always been a man of few to no words, but where his words fell short, his actions told you how he cared for you. But today, it was like you had been left to stand in a cold winter night, and Geralt had locked himself away, with the only source of warmth with him.

Suddenly, he stood up, splashing water all around the tub, soiling the flooring and you stood up too, frowning as to what had come over him. He leapt out of the bathtub, his naked form flashing in front of your eyes as he turned his bum towards you and began drying himself off with the cloth you had laid out for him. Once done, he pulled his tights up his toned legs and turned briefly towards you and started wearing his shirt, "Leaving."

"But Geralt, you just –"

"I need a fucking drink. I'll be at the tavern. Don't wait for me," He cut you off, brutally tearing through the soft coating of your tender heart, and you couldn't help but swallow his rudeness, and nodded. You grabbed a mop, and began cleaning the mess he had made on the floor, only to glare at him as he sat down against the side of the bed and began throwing his boots on.

"Leave, and don't even think of coming back into bed in the middle of the night, shit drunk and stinking like a pig," you snarled taking a sharp breath through your nose as you turned away from him and began mopping with your back turned towards him, your shoulders rigid and tense, your arm movements fast and angry.

"I sleep with a fucking bear, can me stinking like a pig be worse?"

You dropped the mop unceremoniously to the floor with a loud clash and turned towards him, your eyes narrowed down and you felt an unrelentless rage inside of you, and this rage was mixed with hurt.

"Get the fuck out, Witcher," your voice was low pitched and dangerous, and with one glare in your direction, the steps of the Witcher faded into nothingness.

That night, as you laid in bed, waiting for that cruel minute when you would turn into an animal, you couldn't help but let your eyes bleed with hot , salty tears, running down your cheeks, soiling your bedding. You whimpered and curled into a ball, burying your face into your hands as you began crying.

You pressed your fisted palm to your mouth, pressing it tight against it so your cries subsided, for you could suddenly hear the sounds of footsteps outside your home. Of course it wasn't Geralt, you were sure of that; the footsteps weren't of a single person, and it felt like an entire army was marching down on you.

You sat up in bed and slid to the edge, standing up as you ran to the window. The villagers were all heading your way, holding lit torches, their faces angry and most of them were yelling.

You cried in pain, looking down at your bleeding thigh were a villager's dagger had managed to cut you. They had found you hiding in the forest, and since you hadn't transitioned into your animal form yet, they had tied you up in chains and were dragging you along the muddy path, their movements fast and calculated. They had to reach the prison before midnight.

The walk to the prison didn't take more than a few minutes, and soon you were pushed face first into one of the empty prison cells. It stank of piss and blood, and you weren't sure which smell was stronger and you couldn't help but crouch into a corner as they tied you up and let your head rest against your knees.

The villagers gawked at you like you were a specimen on display as you turned into that bear, but the restrains that were holding you still were stronger than your bear form, and you couldn't break them, no matter how hard you tried to free yourself.

Geralt hated the tavern, he hated the village and the villagers that lived in it, but when he needed the ale, his hatred was forgotten. He had a lot running through his mind as he drank the last of his ale, and turned towards one of the windows in the tavern. The sky had turned a pale orange, and within the next few minutes to an hour, the sun would be gracing the world. He wondered if you were still in the shack, or you were out running in the forest somewhere. The images of the impaled and clawed out corpses came spiralling into his mind, and his grip on the pitcher almost tightened in reflex.

He was almost about to leave, when Jaskier pushed open the door, his panic stricken eyes scanning the interiors of the tavern until his eyes spotted the white haired man. He pushed a man aside, making his way towards him.

"Geralt, listen–"

"Not now, Jaskier," Geralt growled at him, his eyes glowing with anger.

Jaskier lowered himself into the chair opposite the Witcher and just looked at him, exasperated.

"Aren't you just one bit concerned on [Y/N]'s wellbeing? You're getting yourself drunk, and the villagers are planning to kill her for something she hasn't even done–" Jaskier added.

"the villagers know what they are doing," Geralt took a deep breath, shifting his gaze from Jaskier, and staring idly at the sun that was now rising.

"You what? You–" Jaskier fumbled; he couldn't believe his ears. "They poisoned you too, didn't they?"

"I saw those bodies, Jaskier," Geralt stood up, his chair noisily clattering against the cold floor of the tavern. Ignoring Jaskier, who was now sitting with his palms curled into tight fists, he made his way to the tavern owner, shelling out his pouch of coins. He pulled out the coins and placed them on the counter, and without glancing back at Jaskier, he began walking out when Jaskier came running towards him, and began following him.

"I don't want to be a part of this, Jaskier."

"Listen to yourself, Geralt. That's [Y/N]. She is being framed. I know it in my heart, she cannot do this, please Geralt. They will kill her and once you come back to your senses, it will kill you."

Geralt grunted under his breath as his palm swiped over his jaw. He stiffened as he heard a few villagers began speed walking towards the right, and Geralt frowned, grabbing one of them by their collar.

"Get your hands off me, Witcher. What the fuck–"

"Where are the villagers going?" Geralt grumbled.

"Why? To the market of course. That cursed bitch is to be publicly killed for the murders of our children–" he pulled his shirt off the Witcher's grip, and without giving him another glance, he joined the other villagers and they walked off.

"Wake the fuck up, you monster, and get your tits off the floor," someone threw you an old looking dress, and you opened your eyes to the commotion around you, only to realize that the villagers were all standing outside your cell. You sat up, hurriedly pushing yourself to the wall as you brought your knees up to cover your breasts. You hurriedly reached for that torn dress they had given you; for something was better than nothing, and your own dress was now nothing but pieces of torn fabric strewn here and there. You pulled it over your head, bringing it down to your body, when someone grabbed your arm and pulled you up.

"Can't wait to finally get rid of you, you Satan's spawn," one of them spat on the floor just next to your feet, as one of them began walking out, your chain in his hands. The other one held you by your arm, yanking you to move out and you had no choice.

"Why?" You whispered, your eyes already beginning to cloud with your tears, your eyes widened in fear as you stepped out of your cell and the men began walking out.

Outside, it felt like the entire village had gathered just to watch what was going to happen to you. The looks on their faces were far from sympathetic, there was hate in their eyes and you closed your eyes and let out a cry, as a stone hit the side of your face, just beneath your temple and blood started oozing out of the cut the stone had given you. The villagers were now chanting the words 'kill the beast' again and again, as you were being pushed through the crowds.

The realization was beginning to sink in, as blood trickled down your temple; your heart raced mercilessly. This was the end, it finally was. You couldn't help but think of Geralt as you walked with them, you wondered where he was and if he cared enough. The fight last night had been strange but even stranger was the fact that he wasn't here to save you from these people today.

Even bigger was the realization and the hurt that arose as a result of it; that Geralt too thought of you as a monster. Maybe you deserved this.

"fucking bitch," someone yelled from the crowd, and just then, a massive stone was hurled at you, right at your face, hitting you square in the jaw. Your body twisted when it hit you, your face falling to your right as the pain grew. Your face felt like it was on fire. When you looked up, you realized that you were standing alone; so hopelessly alone, and the villagers all stared at you with venom laced in their eyes. Their leader or whoever this man in the front was, had his sword drawn out as he spat, "any last wishes, you monster?"

You closed your eyes, your body giving up, when you heard the galloping of a horse. When you opened your eyes again, you saw Roach pushing her way through the crowd; though technically the people were moving out of her way , for they didn't want to get crushed under its legs. Geralt's white hair flew due to the wind, and his lips were pressed together, as Roach galloped towards you. When Geralt was close enough, he suddenly flung himself to his side, his legs still secured by the saddle as he grabbed you by your waist and flung you up onto the moving mare.

Angry cries of disdains and yells sounded from behind you, but you weren't looking. Your eyes were fixed on Geralt, as you were clinging on him for life, but he was looking straight ahead, as Roach galloped away.

The air hit your face like ice lollies, and Geralt's body felt nothing like the warmth it always gave you. Although you were now sat in front of him on the mare, the distance between you two felt like two ends of a river bank.

Finally, the mare lowered it's pace as it came to a halt and you squinted your eyes only to realise that you were now on the outskirts of the city, on the other side of the forest.

"Get down," Geralt's cold voice said.

Without a word, you got down, and following you, Geralt hopped off Roach.

"Geralt," you mumbled.

"Leave this village. Go anywhere. I won't be around to always save you from them."

You looked at the man's sublime face. The sun shone down on him, making him look even radiant than he already was. You bit your lip, your face contorted in hurt as you nodded and ran your hand across the side of your face to straighten your ruffled up hair.

Geralt turned away without saying another word ad he began climbing on Roach's back once more but your words stopped him,"Just why Geralt? What did I do wrong?"

He turned but not completely. It was like he couldn't bear the sight of you any longer.

"You're a monster, and the next time, I don't think I will be the one saving you."

You blinked, watching him ride away, his fiery white hair flowing with the wind, his shoulders tense, until he was out of sight.

Henry Cavill All Characters Taglist + Bear Taglist:

@bitchynicole @libbymouse @petitefirecracker10 @naughty-koala07 @maan24 @pterodactylterrace @shipshipshipau @lharrietg @dashingcavill @kmuir1 @weallhaveadestiny @ayamenimthiriel @thatslovelymoony @inlovewithhisblueeyes @the-soot-sprite

Let me know via ask, DM or comment if you want to be added to any of my tags.

#geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt of rivia works #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #the witcher x reader #the witcher #henry cavill x reader

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chao-writes-stuff · 3 years

Text

DELTARUNE SPOILERS

Heyyy! I wrote a thing involving Jevil and the Chapter 2 Superboss! I'm going to put it under the cut, but at the end, there will also be an Ao3 link if you wanna support me there!

Thank you! Remember to Reblog if you wanna

The Lightner Trio walked down the stairs in the Queen's massive manor, their hurried footsteps echoing like a rough pitter-patter in the technological nightmare. The massive lair confused and bamboozled them, but they definitely wanted to figure out the mystery behind what the Fountains were about, what Queen's true intentions were… and what was in the basement?

"Uhh… Kris?" Ralsei asked, his soft voice echoing out. "Why are we even here? Aren't Queen, Noelle, and Berdly upstairs? And not here…?"

Susie quickly interrupted him, punching his arm lightly to get his attention. "Of COURSE they aren't here. But whatever is here is probably important. Right, Kris?"

"I guess!" The currently blue human replied. "I've been asked by some… guy, about doing these weird favors for him. He really wants me to be alone."

"We sure he ain't a p-" Before Susie could finish her thought, Ralsei muffled her mouth with his scarf. "Who is he? And why does he want you to be alone?"

"His name is Spamton, I think. I don't know much about him, but he gave me this Loaded Disk earlier, and--"

Suddenly, a strange, chaotic voice rang out. Everyone recognized it. The tail attached to Ralsei's cloak popped off, diamonds and hearts flying out with it. The tail spun and took form, and the chaotic Jester they quite literally put to rest yesterday was reawakened.

"Spamton? SPAMTON? The same Spamton who wished for me to go, to go, and be free, free?" Jevil laughed chaotically, with Ralsei caught quite off guard. "You know him?"

"That dorito chip was part of the reason why I was set free, he was! He used to rule this world, before the Queen I've been hearing oh so much about took over. Oh, I MUST know more of how you met that ridiculous lunatic! And that's coming from ME, ME! Spamton, oh Spamton, I'd like to have a word with him~!" Jevil looked quite pissed off, his normally jovial expression looking slightly stern.

"I didn't wanna go down there anyway. Just come back, okay? You're kind of carrying us with your defense boost." Kris, with a neutral expression, gave the clown the disk they were gifted by the malignant salesman, and watched as Jevil immediately sprinted off into the basement. They could hear an echoed "Buh bye~! I'll be back in a few hundred words!" As the jester descended into the decrepit basement below...

Jevil entered the musty, rotting cellar. Despite him rarely stepping on the ground, each step he did take left a haunting impact on his feet. It was silent, save for the occasional rustling of his clothes. He didn't have long to do this. His physical form only had a few hours to be out and about before he solidified, just like the young boy and the puzzle freak. Thankfully, that's all he needed. He was getting excited, almost giddy, to interact once more with his old acquaintance. Oh, what a wonderful conversation they'd have!

He didn't walk for too much longer before he found the train station that was buried deep below. Or was it a roller coaster? Whoever had this built clearly had some elaborate roundabout in mind… too bad they were still imprisoned, haha! Jevil walked and floated across the tracks, reaching a room with a decaying robot inside.

He knew this was a bad idea. But when did he ever have good ideas?

Without hesitating, the joker put the disk into the robot. At first, nothing happened, and he was getting impatient VERY quick. He gave the robot a swift kick in the lower area, before stepping back out of the room.

Step…

SLAM! The clown was admittedly caught off guard with how fast the silhouette from above came and pushed him onto his knees. With a small gasp for air, Jevil looked up slowly at the encroaching menace. The jagged movements, the glitchy, unsolidified form… this was him alright.

"KRIS… MY LOYAL [Sponge!] THANK… YOU. THE [Clown Around Town!] I REMEMBER YOUR [Disgusting] FACE. EVERYONE WAS SO [Thrilled] TO SEE YOUR [Calcified] FACE." The massive robotic behemoth loomed over Jevil, rage in his glasses. Spamton NEO.

The clown got up, a smug, shitfaced expression on his mug. He knew damn well that the dorito in front of him was pissed off, so he leaned back in the air to retort. "At least I drink plenty of milk, uee hee hee! As for you, you haven't changed one bit since we last spoke~! Or would it be a byte, a byte? Regardless, I do hope you've given up on the illusion of freedom, freedom~! The only one who can be free is MEEE!"

The robotic menace swung around to the other side of Jevil, making it very clear who was in charge of the conversation. A small concentrated blast of Pipis was fired at the jester, pushing him back with a surprising amount of force. "YOU ACT SMUG, BUT YOU [Crashed our stocks!] AND THEN YOU [Spoiled relations with our Esteemed Partners!] I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU… GOT IN HERE, YOU… [Tuna Fish,] BUT I'M NOT FALLING FOR YOUR [Roundabout!] AGAIN!"

Jevil laughed maniacally at this thought. This guy was mad! Over something that happened how long ago? Why even bother holding a grudge still? Petty, petty! He knew why, and it's why he came back too. "You influenced him. That pretty little kitty. You gave him enough funds to release me into that carousel of bliss and innocence! But I wasn't done, not one bit! And all those years, spent being free… they made me realize something, my dearest Spamton."

The oddly calm tone coming from the jester put Spamton NEO at an incredible amount of unease. "WHAT? WHAT COULD YOUR [Calcified Lump] THINK OF THAT WOULD MEAN ANY GODDAMN THING TO ME?"

"I CAN DO ANYTHING!"

The joker used his latent power to pelt the giant mecha with small white hearts. Spamton was caught off-guard, stumbling back a fair amount. Of course, you have to fight fire with fire, so the robot used his abilities to send out a Big Shot of blue Spamton Head Pipis.

"YOU [Saturated Marketshare!] YOU CAN'T SIMPLY ATTACK ME AND EXPECT IT TO WORK [As seen on TV!] I'M A [BIG SHOT!] [BIG SHOT!!!]"

Jevil hopped up onto the ceiling, clearing the first few Pipis on the lower row heading his way. Unfortunately, the higher row caught him clean in the face as he bounced between the two, making a small Jack-in-the-box melody as he pinged around.

"SPAMTON, MY BELOATHED! I DON'T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND, UNDERSTAND, WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU'RE TRAPPED IN A CAGE WITH A SHARK, A SHARK! YOU GET BITTEN AND CHEWED UP!"

The fool retaliated by running circles around Spamton, turning into a carousel of horse bullets! The robot, in a surprising feat of puppeteering, dodged the attack almost perfectly… until a stray horsie cut a string, sending the mech's right arm into the horse race. One thing about arms with cannons on them? They fire.

As soon as it happened, Jevil was face to face with a swarm of Pipis all around him. He was stuck. All of them exploded brilliantly, sending the clown flying clean across the rotting tracks and into the wall. Tauntingly, mockingly even, Spamton NEO retorted.

"I'M THE SHARK NOW, JEVIL! I'VE CHEWED UP SO MANY [Failed Buisness Partners] THAT I COULD MAKE A WHOLE [Presentation] OUT OF THEM! STAY OUT OF MY GODDAMN WAY, OR [Sparkle like new!] YOU BRAT."

The buisnessman charged at Jevil, his hands becoming phones. "IT'S FOR YOU." Suddenly, before either of them could react, loud blasts of garbage noise manifest expelled from the phones, attacking the court jester with white blasts of energy. There was nothing he could do to stop this robot's onslaught, it looked like.

"OH SPAMTON, IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK? THAT YOU'RE THE ONE WHO'S SO POWERFUL RIGHT NOW, NOW? I'D SUGGEST YOU LOOK UP, UP! YOU'RE NOTHING WITHOUT THOSE STRINGS IMPRISONING YOU, UEE HEE HEE! YOU'RE NOT A BIG SHOT, YOU'RE JUST A LAZY FRAUD WHO CAN'T STOP HANGING ON TO HIM! I GUESS SLEEPING FOR 100 YEARS DOESN'T MAKE LITTLE OLD ME MISS MUCH, RIGHT?"

Without warning, Jevil was myseriously gone from his corner. The spamware looked frantically for his target, before being struck in the arm, the leg, and the chest by scythes. Devilsknives. The last knive cut a few strings clean off the puppet, who briefly hit the ground before rising back up.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! [Hyperlink Blocked.] I'M STILL HIS LOYAL ASSOCIATE! HE MAY NOT HAVE TALKED TO ME IN [Employee of The Month for 144 months!] BUT HE'S STILL THERE…"

Jevil interrupted him cleanly and concisely. "FACE IT. YOU'RE NO BIG SHOT ANYMORE, SPAMTON G. SPAMTON. ALL YOU ARE IS A FAILED INVESTMENT, UEE HEE HEE!"

With those words, a purple blast came from behind the clown, striking the robot right in the noggin. He flew back a bit, giving the joker enough time to turn around to meet his esteemed guests.

"Ah, my imprisoners~! Didn't you guys have a Queen to rock-em sock-em?"

Susie immediately cut him off, as she punched him in the arm (causing his head to spring up, naturally.) "Well, Kris over here couldn't shake the feeling things were off. So they forced us down here, and now they're right. Somehow?"

"I know I'm right.. Jevil, who the hell is Spamton?" Kris replied, their worry about the situation starting to rise.

"It's of no concern to you~! His screws were almost as loose as mine, and I don't think it's my job to tighten them~! Uee hee hee! Thank you for the help, but I can do anything~! Even tell you guys that 3 coasters are about to come down and force you guys along for the ride~!"

Ralsei immediately stuttered something out. "Three… what?"

And just like that, with a loud rumbling, the heroes were swept up into 3 old, rusty carts, barrelling down the track. Jevil laughed to himself, proud of what he got to do. "Ah well, it's a shame I can't finish him personally…"

"But oh well! Are you proud, proud? They took care of him…"

"Doctor."

Ao3 Link!

#Deltarune #Deltarune Spoilers #Deltarune Chapter 2 #Jevil #spamton #kris #ralsei #susie #undertale #okay cool thank you byyyyeeeee

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avaria-revallier · 3 years

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A dragons wish Chapter 6

Read here

Reblogs appreciated

The dwarrows hadn’t moved an inch since Bilbo had left the forges running after Ruby. They stood around the cushion-castle the little girl had built, like fierce guards made of stone, staring into space. He stopped, right in front of Balin, frantically trying to catch his breath.

“The… The dragon! It was huge. A gigantic beast! Even larger than I ever dared to imagine,” he huffed.

Instantly he had their attention. The dragon was real, and very much alive. A cold shudder ran down the hobbit’s spine. The whole situation had just drastically changed.

The eyes of the company simultaneously shifted from Bilbo to Thorin. The king hadn’t said a word so far, in fact he hadn’t shown any kind of reaction since the young girl had left them in a hurry.

“Thorin?” Balin tried it again.

He didn’t react, didn’t move. Thorin just stared into the empty hallway where Ruby had vanished not long ago.

Ruby!

“It has Ruby,” Bilbo whispered in horror.

Just now he remembered the clothes the dragon had in his massive claws. Looking up he could read the same horror in the faces of the dwarrows.

Yes, he was their king, and yes he had become a good friend for Bilbo over time, but his behavior was just too much!

Ori sat down next to him, taking a break from barricading the large entrance with massive boulders. The young scribe was by far stronger than he looked. When Bilbo had complimented him for it, Ori had only shyly mumbled something about having it inherited from their mother and that Dori was even stronger.

Glancing to the side he could spot a familiar book in the scribe's hands. The book he had received from Ruby. It was bound in leather and rather plain looking. There were no golden ornaments or embedded jewels on the cover.

Thinking back, the hobbit hadn’t seen any fancy jewelry or other valuable things on or near Ruby. The braids in her hair were held together by wooden clips and beads, she hadn’t worn any bracelets, rings or necklaces. Even her clothes looked rather old and had many patches and parts that were repaired.

“What is it about?” the hobbit nodded towards the book, watching the nimble fingers of the scribe caressing the worn pages.

“Stories, it seems, about adventures and magical creatures from faraway places. One is about a young elven woman visiting her grandmother in the dark forest. Sadly the grandmother had been eaten by a warg, which now posed as the grandmother to also eat the young girl. Luckily a ranger comes by, freeing the grandmother as well as the young girl. Which is highly unlikable, but still… I like the happy ending,” clutching the book even harder he stood back up, rejoining his brothers.

Bilbo was the only one who noticed the faint brushing of the young scribe's hands against the rough palm of the warrior as he passed by him.

Dwalin sighted. This was not what he had hoped for, not at all. Still, having the little scribe by his side gave him strengths to press on. With a last look on the youngest of the dwarrows he left the front gate to inform his king of the newly arrived visitor.

“Thorin,” upon entering the grand hall of the forges he noticed how the king hastily straightened himself, “we have a guest on our front door.”

Hope sparked up in the blue eyes, but almost instantly died down again as Dwalin lightly shook his head. Thorin’s head dropped, facing the floor. His hand clenched around a silver necklace of some sort, he continued to stare at the floor in front of him.

“Who is it?” Thorin managed to ask after a moment of silence.

The warrior tried to gloss over the amusement in his voice with a khoff. This was really not the time to laugh at the childish reaction of his friend. Still, seeing Thorin, king under the mountain, his brother in arms and on the battlefield sitting in the middle of a cushion castle, surrounded by fluffy blankets, soft cushions and pressing a vibrant pink, flower-shaped cushion against his chest, was rather unsettling and strange.

“Bard the bowman from Lake Town is asking for an audience with you,” the warrior simply answered.

Thorin didn’t react. He hadn’t really moved since Ruby had left and had holed himself up in the forges as soon as the devastating news Bilbo had brought them had gotten through to him fully. Even now he was only staring into the empty hallway, while his fingers fumbled with the strange silver necklace.

Dwalin sighted again. If he hadn’t saized command shortly after Bilbo had returned, who knows what would have happened. Sure, they all were shocked and devastated at the horrible news of the dragon returning and taking the wee lass with him, still, Thorin was their king, their leader. The warrior hadn’t seen his friend like this since Frerin had gone missing. Enough was enough! There was a pile of work left and Dwalin was rather sick of it.

“Thorin, you are my king and friend. I respect that you are…” not sure how to describe the sight he saw before him Dwalin coughed again and continued on, “You will come with me and if I have to drag you there myself. You ought to be king and welcome our kin not long from now, so behave like one!”

Bombur nearly choked on the bite he had just taken from the large sandwich Bifur had brought them all. Hastily he took a large swig of the water he held in his other hand. Blinking twice the cook realized that this was no daydream or illusion at all. There was Dwalin, which was nothing out of the ordinary, striding down the hallway and dragging something behind him.

Only after looking a second time he identified the thing as a person, huddelt into a fluffy blanket and clutching a bright pink and flower-shaped cushion as their king. The glare thorin gave him was not to be misunderstood. Still, how was anyone able to take their leader seriously after seeing him like this ?!

Shoving the rest of the sandwich into his mouth he poked Bifur in the back. The old warrior spun around and the axe in his head gleamed in the low light. Letting loose a wave of rapid Khuzdul he picked up a pebble and threw it across the hallway at Gloin, who was currently talking to Balin.

Gloin reacted as expected. Angrily he turned around to look for the person who was responsible for interrupting his chat with the king’s advisor. Before he could utter a curse his eyes locked onto the scene right in front of him. Dwalin, dragging what looked like a pink-reddish lump of clothes behind him towards the main gate. The pebble surely couldn’t have hit him that hard!

Balin on the other side only buried his face in his hands. He was used to seeing his brother doing impulsive and sometimes rather stupid things, as he had always been there to help him out in the end an straighten things out. But this was a first in case of stupidity and impulsiveness. Dwalin had to see how to get out of this mess afterwards all on his own.

Bilbo stopped abruptly in his movement. He had rushed to the front gate as soon as the raven had delivered the message that the rest of the company and two other people were making their way towards the mountain. He didn’t want to wait any longer to finally see Bofur again. Surely he would get an ear full, cause he had left his dwarf behind and didn’t wake him in time. But at that time Bilbo was rather fond of the idea to at least assure Bofur to survive the wrath of the dragon.

Bofur, still holding the hobbits hand, was forced to stop as well. Questioning he followed the line of sight of his beloved. With the utmost of his will and control he was able to disguise his laughter as mere coughing. Bilbo’s elbow in his ribs made him turn towards the hobbit again, he also couldn’t contain his wide grin. For the dignified leader of the company to be dragged through his own mountain at that!

Bilbo’s amusement vanished and was replaced with worry and sorrow. For a moment there he had forgotten the reason for the king’s odd behavior. Bofur frowned, there seemed to be more to this situation than they all had let on.

“* Kidhuzel , what is the matter?” concerned he lightly squeezed the hand holding his.

“I’ll tell you the story behind that in a bit,” Bilbo promised him, before moving on.

(*gold of gold)

Oin had stayed with Bard and Tauriel to chat some more about medicinal herbs after reassuring himself that the two princes and especially Kili were alright to go on on their own. The elven woman had fussed some more over the dark haired prince, but respected the decision that she would have to wait outside.

Kili still leaned on his older brother even though he tried his best to walk on his own. Facing down he made sure not to trip over anything and to burden Fili any further. Strangely enough the floor was sparkly clean aside from the trail of mud the others must have left behind.

To his own surprise the front gate was almost unscratched and not missing as he had assumed from his uncle's stories. Even more, it was warm inside and the hallways were lit! There was no foul smell of dragon or whatever he might have left behind. It felt almost homely and welcoming. The others had accomplished so much in such a short amount of time! He could do nothing else but be astonished by their capability.

Fili stopped abruptly and nearly let his brother slide from his shoulder. Luckily Kili was quick enough and steadied himself before kissing the floor.

“By the beard of-” looking up, Kili had wanted to lecture his older brother on how to properly handle hurt and ill dwarrows, but stopped himself.

There must be some poison left inside his system, which made him hallucinate once more. No other explanation was reasonable or possible. With his free, left hand he rubbed his eyes. Still there.

Pinching Fili’s arm he tried to wake himself. The immediate response, a light jab in his stomach assured him that this was real.

Not being able to take his eyes off of the unreal scene in front of him he wasn’t able to see the unbelieving look in Filis eyes and how the blond prince's jaw seemed to drop even further.

“Uncle… is that really you?!” Kili was not entirely sure if he was seeing things or if this was reality, but either way, it was hilarious.

He couldn’t wait to write to his mother about it! This would provide them with amusement and embassesment from the king till forever! Fili also seemed to have overcome the shock. Leaning onto his older brother Kili could feel the faint shaking, which got stronger by the second, signing that Fili was trying his best to hold in his laughter.

A sly grin appeared on Kili’s lips. He would certainly have to help his older brother, no? With a hearty jab of his elbow he forced the first prince to break into laughter. Not able to hold in his own amusement he joined in and filled the halls with their voices. Even the deathly glare Thorin was rather known and feared for couldn’t stop them. The pink cushion and the blanket he was wrapped into made him look rather ridiculous than intimidating.

“I brought the king.”

Tauriel’s face turned to stone, expressionless as only elves were capable of, while Bard tried his best to keep his mouth shut, the face strangely red as if he had forgotten how to breathe. Confused Oin turned around, the rather worn trumpet in his hand. What was going on?

@jumpingmanatee @tschrist1 @savvy-the-human @ayamenimthiriel @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @animestuff123 @blankethalfling @all-seeing-storm @nightmarewalker @lunasnow20 @coolleviauchihadreamerlove @chocolateintolerant @givashel @shrimpsthings @grunid @swagbearfishturkey @angelic-kisses13 @nickangle13

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daydreamsofh · 4 years

Text

Terrible Love- Part Two

A/N: Ahhhhh hello! Welcome to Terrible Love, part two! I have had so much fun writing this story, and I am so so proud of it, and so happy to share it with you!

A massive thank you to my girl @harryinsweatersandbandanas for just being herself and always encouraging me, and to my sweet friend @dallas-suit-harry for being the best beta reader ever! I’m so lucky to know you, Em! <3

Here we go, again! Feedback and reblogs are always welcome, my ask box is always always open!

Summary: Love, or should I say falling for your best friend has a way of being terrible, and wonderful all at the same time.

Inspired by the song: Terrible Love- Birdy

Word Count: 6k, almost 7k

Part One: Terrible Love

You weren’t proud of what you did. Leading guys on wasn’t one of your hobbies, and you genuinely felt bad for inviting Connor to go to the party with you, knowing there were no hopes of an actual chance of a relationship between the two of you at the end of the night. It wasn’t like you were a villain in a romantic comedy, wheelding your imaginary sword to hurt people on purpose. If anything, you did feel like you were in the middle of a romantic comedy, torn between wanting Harry so badly it made you sick, and all the while being so weary of him and the mountain of feelings you held for him. Although, It was clearly looking like you didn’t really have a choice in being with him, his hands and mind busy with someone else. But still that didn’t stop the aching feeling you had in your chest, and the shaking feeling you had in your hands.

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, however you were convinced that absence from the guy you were embarrassingly in love with, made the heart grow bitter and on the verge of an emotional breakdown at any given second. Harry was normally always on your mind, but ever since he got home it was tenfold. You couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, you felt like you would never catch your breath. You would wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat thinking about who gave him those marks on his neck, who got to feel his lips against theirs, to feel the stubble of his jaw lightly grazing their skin. The feeling of his hands, no doubt a little bit rough in texture from the nights on end of him strumming his guitar on stage, gripping on to their hips in the most possessive, yet gentle way. The knowledge that the smile on his face and the extra swing in his step was from the new flame budding between the two of them.

You were more uneasy now that he was home again, there was no way to ignore your feelings when he was literally right in front of you. You found yourself unable to sleep, yet again, and without having the comforts to lull you to sleep like when he was gone. There was no duvet to bury under that smelled of him, no bedside book’s that have the lines he fell in love with littering the pages to make your eyes heavy, and no air to breathe that he once had. You were awake at all hours of the night wondering who was on his mind and in his heart, the way he was in yours.

Meanwhile, Harry was absolutely positive he was losing it. He was unable to focus on anything for longer than five minutes before his mind filtered back to you. More specifically, your smell on his sheets and throughout the air of his home, he wondered where you had sat and where you had laid your head to rest, where had you eaten your breakfast and where had you taken his calls? He was romanticizing every little detail about you that was now etched into his home. Even the strands of hair that were stuck to his pillow, and the smell of your perfume practically stamped into every one of his jumpers, every little thing. He was even dreaming about you, and he doesn’t need an expert to tell him that that is a clear sign that that was a sign. He loved you, he was sure of it. But among other things, he was also painfully sure that it seemed you had met someone else. When you were so nonchalant about going on a date and then coming back to his house afterwards like it was no big deal, he had never been so cross with you, but mainly with himself.

How is it that he never said anything? How is it that he’s a man who writes love songs for a living and always urges people to tell people how they feel, no matter how embarrassing and terrifying that may be? How is he someone who says “Give Love, Choose Love” so naturally, so afraid to just bloody tell you how he feels?! How is he someone who fearlessly spews romantic advice to those who ask for it, and he can’t tell you how he feels? How is he a man who wears his heart on his sleeve, (literally and figuratively) and he can’t tell you how he really feels about you? He’s known he’s loved you for forever, but now he’s more than sure that he’s in love with you, and that notion, the one that he’s in love with his best friend is the most mind blowing/overwhelming revelation that he thinks he’s ever had. Hang performing in front of thousands of people, this is the biggest rush he’s ever felt. What is he supposed to do now?! You have a new guy in your life and he’s not the type of guy to run in the middle of that and cause a scene, and plus, who knows if you even feel the same way? He’s gone for months at a time, and while his personal life is more private now than ever before, being in his life in that way does require being a bit in the spotlight, and he’s not going to ask you to sign up for that.

But Christ, what if you are? What if you did want to sign up for that? Being his girlfriend, being in his life in a way you never have been before? BUT, you have a bloody boyf-friend-thing. Christ. How the hell did you even have time to meet someone? He had spoken to you nearly every day he had been gone, and he never even got the slightest inkling that there was anyone remotely new in your life. Let alone a dodgy sounding guy like him?! Christ how long had he really been gone? You had been so cheerful with him on the phone, but you always are. Telling him everything was good and that he doesn’t even need to come back because you had made yourself right at home. He had laughed at that one, the kind of breathy laugh that turns into the most dreamy sigh because the thought of you calling his house, home, is something straight out of one of his dreams. And yours too, but that's besides the point.

He felt so stuck in the weeds and he just wanted to grab your shoulders and shake you and kiss you until you were breathless. But on the other hand, you had only just started dating this new guy, so maybe he could still say something. He had to, or he at least had to try.

Every time Harry finished a tour, or the leg of a tour, Jeff was insistent on throwing him a welcome home party. As if he hadn’t just been showered with love from stadiums of people for months on end. You had attended every single one, because if there’s anyone who is best in the category of showering Harry with love, you take the cake. You stood alongside Anne and Gemma for a majority of the last one, in between gazing at him with so much love in your eyes you couldn’t believe you weren't actively crying the entire time. When he cozied up beside you after all of the toasts in his honor, you could feel the heat radiating from him, and then he slipped his hand to rest over your leg under the table. You couldn’t feel your hands when he reached over to give yours a squeeze, and when Gemma and Anne weren’t looking you leaned over and planted a kiss on his shoulder before pausing to rest your head there and gaze up at him. He gave you a lopsided smile, (one of your favorite ones of his) and he dipped down to kiss your forehead.

You had chalked up his touchy behavior to him being slightly buzzed, but for the next week every time you looked down at your hands you stopped breathing for a few seconds.

You were dreading this one though, positively absolutely dreading it. You were mad at Harry, and sad and jealous of whoever he was now mysteriously dating while on the road, but you couldn't not go. You couldn’t not go and tell him how proud of him you were, and it didn’t matter how frustrated you were at the situation, or really at the universe for misaligning the timing of you two, again. You hated to throw the i’m in love with my best friend and he has no idea and has some secret new girlfriend and you just wanted to cry the entire time card, but it was very tempting. You knew that if you didn’t go, that would raise more suspicion and would require further explanation, so you were forcing yourself to go.

There was only a two day stretch from the time Harry got home to the night of the party. You had been nauseous most of the day, incredibly anxious about the fact that you were about to be in the same space as him for an unimaginable amount of time, with a guy who you barely knew and definitely shouldn't have invited to come with you. While you were positive that Harry didn’t feel the same way, you were also positive that you didn’t want to be with anyone else, either. Who knows, maybe you would wind up being an 80 year old woman, single and alone with an australian shepherd mysteriously named Harry. Anything was possible at this point.

You had been more than useless at work all week, and the closer the time came for the party, the more you were thinking of reasons to get you out of going. You could say you caught a cold from the office? Or that you ate some bad chinese food and had a stomach ache? Or… you could just run. Run and never look back, hide out somewhere in Italy and start making hand spun soaps out of your living room? Yeah, you liked that option best.

When you had originally texted Connor and asked him if he wanted to tag along, you weren’t really thinking straight. You had tears running down your face and your heart was rolled into a ball in the pit of your stomach. Nothing felt right and you just wanted to turn the car around and fall into Harry. You had just seen the marks on his skin in real time with your own eyes and everytime you shut yours they were lit up with big bold letters beside them. He’s met someone else, get over it. You weren’t looking for an eye for an eye with Harry, but you also didn’t want to show up by yourself and seem anymore sad and alone, however stupid and counterproductive that sounds.

Connor had texted you back almost immediately, clearly looking to hear from you. He said he would love to join you, babe! Which could not have sounded more unnatural coming out of his mouth, or across the screen. Same difference. You guessed you really had no choice than to go, now.

When the day of the party rolled around, you had done everything in your power to stay at work for as long as you possibly could. Save from actually rearranging your desk furniture for the upteenth time, you dredged home to change before Connor picked you up. He had insisted on driving you, (clearly trying to establish his good guy facade) and you would have rather had him hit you with his car than go to the party. A bit dramatic on your end but you really, desperately, whole heartedly, DID NOT want to go. He could just knick you a little and then you would really have a reason not to go. Wait, were you actually thinking of asking a guy you barely knew to hit you…. With his….. Moving car?! Get a grip! You can do this. It’s not like you actually had to have a conversation with Harry, you just had to show up and make your presence somewhat known. You didn’t have to give a toast in his honor or read a poem about your deepest strongest feelings for him. You could do this. It was just one night. One night of acting like you weren’t in love with him, one night of acting like your heart hadn;t been ripped out of your chest, once night of hiding the love that you felt so deeply for him. One more night of you trying to convince yourself that you never needed to know what it was like to feel him brush your hair back as he kissed you, that you never needed to know what it was like for him to glance at you from across the room and wrap you up in his arms, just because he could, that you never needed to know what it sounded like to hear him moan your name out in the middle of the night.

One more night of you trying to convince yourself that he was so much a part of your heart that it was practically in the shape of an H. You could do this. You could learn how to love him from a distance. You at least had to try.

Connor had volunteered to come by your house and pick you up, which you had wanted to say no to, but you thought it was the least you could do if you were dragging him along to this party with you. You could tell that as soon as you asked him to come with you, and who the party was for, he was more than game to go. Name dropping was absolutely not something you ever did, especially Harry’s name, but when he asked you didn’t see any reason to lie.

The drive to the party had been a quiet one, only glancing at him when you felt like it was absolutely necessary when he asked you a question. You gave him short answers, instead focusing on the car getting closer and closer to Harry’s house. When the car came to a gradual stop and Harry's house was in view, you felt your stomach drop and your hands start to shake. You very sullenly opened the door and got out, wanting nothing more than to bolt down the street on foot.

Connor walked from the other side of the car to yours, and you kept your hands to yourself, crossing your arms before falling in line beside him and walking up Harry’s driveway. You could hear loud laughter booming as you got closer to the front door, and you could only guess that Harry was attributing to some of the sound. You let out a small whimper before almost bolting back to the car. The front door to his house was wide open, adding to the relaxed, and easy going mood of the night. You strolled in with Connor in tow, him closely following behind you. When you glanced back at him he was wide eyed, taking in his surroundings while simultaneously taking a count of every one that was there, clearly not used to being around famous people. The house had a few people grazing in and out, with the majority of the people outside in Harry’s backyard. Lights were strung in the trees and you could hear the faint sounds of Fleetwood Mac playing somewhere in the distance.

You felt like a zombie walking into the party, your heart was in your throat and you were afraid to dart your eyes around to see who else was in the room. Too afraid that Harry would be in your immediate direction and you would be forced to look at him and talk to him and hear his voice. Just the image of him in your head made your heart physically ache in your chest and speed ip all at the same time. You didn’t want to see him, but at the same time you wanted to see him as painful as it would be. You just wanted to lay your eyes on him, maybe from a distance, hiding underneath a table where no one could see you weeping, or you know, something like that.

You were busy talking to a mutual friend of yours and Harry’s when you swore you felt the wind in the air change. As dramatic as it sounds, you suddenly felt warmer, safer, and you could feel a pair of very familiar eyes on you. You shifted your gaze from your friend, and when you turned around you made direct eye contact with Harry. Your pulse was rising and you swore you could hear your heart pounding in your ears. You could feel your eyes beginning to brim with tears before you looked away to (as discreetly as you could) wipe your eyes. You felt stuck in your stance but you couldn't ignore the other feeling pulling at you, almost pushing you over to him.

You were trying to listen to what your friend was saying, something about a new cat of hers, but you couldn't hear a word over your whirling thoughts and your head was starting to become dizzy from your eyes darting around the room trying to find Harry again. You were hot and bothered (and not in a good way) at the fact that he was in the same crowded room as you were now, and you felt like a sitting duck, just waiting.

The selfish part of you wanted so badly to feel his arms wrap around your waist and his voice in your ear as opposed to only in your wildest daydreams. He was everywhere but physically with you, and when you really thought about it, that’s how it always seemed. Always on your mind and in your heart but never in your reach. Always a fleeting, overwhelming feeling that only seemed to grow over time. It grew in every touch you shared with him, in every timid and sometimes annoyed glance, every time you made him laugh and every time you made him grin and shake his head in disbelief at you. They grew each time you innocently fell asleep on the couch together after a night of movies, it grew each time he called you while he was away and you could hear the smile in his voice as he told you about each crowd, and each show and which joke he had come up with on stage that was way less funny than it actually sounded. It grew everyday just because he was Harry, just because he was him, and because you were you. You had no say in the matter anymore.

A hand on the small of your back broke your train of thoughts, you jumped and nervously clutched the pendant hanging from your neck before you whipped your head around to see who it was. Much to your disappointment you were met with Connor’s eyes instead of bright green ones and you were unable to hide the pout that your face immediately fell into, and then the nervous uncomfortable smile that you shot at Connor.

“There you are, lost you in the crowd for a bit! Good to see you again,” he said to you with an awkward smile as he threw an even more awkward arm around your shoulder.

His arm felt like a dead weight draped around you and you felt nauseous at the mere sight of the two of you. Your cheeks were beginning to heat up and it certainly wasn’t at the feelings you had toward Connor, rather at the sight of your friend's eyes on you two, together. If this was the look they were sporting, you could only imagine what Harry’s would look like.

You smiled while Connor introduced himself to your friend while at the same time gently but firmly removing his arm from your shoulder. You let it fall to his side before running your hand up and down your arm, suddenly cold from the strange contact and the cool air rustling through you from outside. At the same time as the chill went through you, you heard a familiar voice directly behind you and your knees buckled. You could feel the heat radiating off of Harry behind you and you wanted nothing more than to turn around and fall into his familiar warmth and smell. Oh god you could feel your throat thickening and eyes tearing, this was not the time to cry with he who shall not be named literally directly behind you, close enough to reach out and touch. Get it together!

You heard the conversation behind you die down and before you knew it you felt the familiar brush of a shoulder against yours and your eyes clamped shut before opening again. You felt the air being stolen from your lungs while his presence practically enveloped yours and you felt yourself starting to sway towards him. You felt your breath hitch before your eyes even met his and when they finally did you practically melted into a puddle at his feet.

“Uh oh-- look who it is! Hi love,” Harry warmly spoke to you before his eyes took in your appearance, looking you up and down.

You opened your mouth to speak and when just a squeak came out you cleared your throat before muttering a very profound, dramatically quiet, “Hi, H” Brilliant. Just brilliant!

“Hi love,” he said through a chuckle.

It was like it was just the two of you in the room, his gaze was warm on yours and his eyes were glossy as he watched you and it wasn’t until Connor broke up the moment with a nudge of his elbow annoyingly against yours that you looked away.

You let out a nervous, annoying high pitched laugh before you coughed and turned towards Connor.

“Um, Harry this is, this is Connor, Connor this is Harry,” you gestured in between the both of them and nervously tucked your hair behind your ear before you started fiddling with your pendant again.

Harry’s gazed dropped to the floor before he solemnly picked his head up and reached his hand out to shake Connor’s hand, and you had never wanted to go back in time so badly, back in time to when Connor picked you up, instead of just asking him to hit you with his stupid car just to get you out of this horribly awkward and uncomfortable moment.

Harry cleared his throat before firmly shaking Connor’s hand (almost a little too firmly if the buckle in Connor’s knees told you anything) and introducing himself.

“Nice to meet you, thanks for,” Harry glanced in between the both of you before continuing, “Thanks for coming out tonight.”

Connor cleared his throat before you could see him trying to make himself taller by puffing his chest out and muttering a less than confident, “So good to meet you, mate! I’m a huge fan of all of your….. Stuff!”

You dropped your gaze back to the floor and your cheeks were positively on fire and when you looked back at Harry he had a dazed, confused and solemn look on his face that you couldn’t quite read.

Harry spoke up before you could think to say literally anything and he stratched his hand up and down the back of his neck, (a nervous habit you picked up on years ago) before he sighed and looked back, only at you this time.

“Well, I’m glad you’re both- you’re both here. Drinks are around back and I’ll be around if you need anything,” he gave you a weak smile and you just shook your head before looking down at your feet again.

It was the most awkward, lukewarm conversation (if you can even call it that) and you felt sick to your stomach- had you two reached that point in your friendship? In your whatever-you-call-this-ship? If you took being with Harry in a romantic sort of way off the table completely, if you learned to love him from a distance, is this what it would be like and feel like?

The awkward silence and not knowing what to say, the knowing glances and not-knowing glances, and the glances where you know what one of you wants to say but you just... can’t? The rubbish timing and people in between you, the aching, empty feeling in the pit of your stomach and your heart. Not being in his life remotely as much as you were, now? You weren’t sure you could do that. No, you were positive you couldn’t do that.

The majority of the night consisted of stolen, painful glances and half lipped smiles and half full glasses. You had listened to the toasts in Harry’s honor and the speeches recounting details of tour life and rounds of applause. After things had died down a bit and you had lost Connor in the crowd of people (thankfully and more than willingly), you found yourself inside the house, wandering the halls and eventually landing in his closet.

It was a strange thing, but his wardrobe always brought a sense of comfort to you. It was big enough to live in and packed to the brim with clothes enough to make you feel oddly safe. Surrounded by the pieces that made Harry who he was and that had memories of the two of you intertwined through the fabric. And out of the corner of your eye you spotted those atrocious white loafers of his, on the bottom shelf of his shoe shelf and you couldn’t help but let out a loud, slightly inebriated, genuine giggle.

“Thought I heard someone pilfering through my things like a thief in the night, should have known it was you,”

You whipped your head around and your eyes raised and settled in surprise, that warm, almost burning feeling in your chest back again, like it was every time you caught him looking at you.

“I actually just came in here to confiscate these god awful loafers from your closet, never got around to doing that when I was here,” you smiled through your nerves and Harry was gazing at you so warmly you could feel the effects of it all throughout your body.

“You know they're actually not that bad, paired with the right pair of trousers they don’t look so grandpa-y,” he chuckled through his sentence and you mirrored a similar, giddy one.

“Ah of course of course, all depends on how you style it, Lambert teach you that trick, huh, H?”

You noticed a blush creeping down his neck and you could feel the butterflies beginning to erupt in the pit of your stomach.

“He did actually, practically his prodigy at this point, y’know?”

“Oh yeah I bet you are- I’m sure you’re a great student,”

He let out a loud laugh and his eyes were crinkling at your joke and he shook his head before he looked at you again.

He moved closer to you and you felt yourself drift closer to him in response.He was close enough to you now for you to feel the heat radiating off of him, and your fingers itched to reach out and touch him.

He raised his hand up to brush your hair out of your face and behind your ear, and your breath hitched before he brought his gaze up to yours.

Your hand instinctively reached to squeeze his forearm before you moved it across his body to rest on his chest. His hand moved from your hair to grab your hand and he held it firmly, proudly against his chest. You were surprised to feel his heart beating rapidly against the back of your hand, and it took everything in you not to lean forward and brush your lips against his.

His voice was raspy and warm when he opened his mouth, “I realy, really missed you. I’m s’happy you’re here tonight. Always feel so much better when I can see you from across the room,”

You could feel the tears pooling in your eyes and you had to divert your gaze to the row of shoes behind him in order for the tears not to pool down your cheeks. You were leaning into his chest and he was holding a firm, but tentative grip on the side of your face with his other hand.

You could feel his calloused fingers resting against your cheek and it grounded you in the moment and at the same time made your heart race faster.

How could he say things, incredible incredible things like this to you, and have marks from someone else on his neck, at the same time?

That thought was enough to bring you back to earth and you cleared your throat before briefly shifting your stance in his arms.

You retreated the tiniest bit and his hands and eyes were following you, and with whatever strength you had left you squeaked out, “I’m really happy I’m here too, H. I can’t even tell you how good it feels to be in the same room as you again,” your eyes fluttered and shut as you managed to get that out and you felt him rest his forehead against yours.

A knock on the door broke you two out of the moment, you could hear the faint voice of Connor (otherwise known as the ultimate moment ruiner) and an ask if you were ready to leave.

You and Harry were still standing there, resting against each other and his eyes were boring into yours and you just wanted the floor to swallow you both whole. Take the both of you somewhere far, far away where no one else can be found.

You sighed before taking another step backwards out of his grip and muttered a very shaky, nervous, “well I, I guess I should go, he’s kind of my ride,”

Harry cleared his throat before he released his grip on you and you saw his smile turn into a frown before he said, “oh yeah- of course love. I’ll, I guess I’ll see you soon? Thank you f’comin,”

He leaned down to kiss your forehead and you let out the tiniest, hopefully inaudible whimper and you took his hands in yours and gave them a good squeeze before turning away from him.

Heart in your throat and partially in the pit of your stomach you made your way out of his closet and down the hall, where Connor was waiting for you with a giddy grin. He was chit chatting with one of the sound engineers that works on tour with Harry, assuming that was where his good mood was coming from. You watched them say goodbye and when you turned to open the door to leave you couldn’t help but let out a confused, albeit relieved laugh.

You had brought Connor here feeling terrible of giving him the impression you were leading him on, and here he was meeting someone totally new. You were halfway down the driveway when you saw him turn around and wave goodbye to her yet again before you stopped yourself completely.

Wait a minute- wait a minute- wait a minute-wait a minute! If an absolute emobossil of a guy like Connor could meet someone at a house party where he knew literally no one, who's to say you were wrong about how you thought that Harry felt about you? There weren't exactly any rules to love, not any that made sense anyway. Who’s to say that Harry doesn’t feel the exact same way about you, as you do him?

Who’s to say that he’s not as ridiculously, overwhelmingly, annoyingly, dramatically as in love with you, as you are him? You weren’t sure, but you had to find out.

Connor stopped once he realized you weren’t following him anymore, and he turned his head to look at you before walking backwards to catch up to you.

“Did you forget something inside?” he asked you with a quirk to his brow.

You laughed before answering him, “you know what? I actually did. I’ll go back in and get it and just get a car from here, don’t worry about me!”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting.” he said to you before looking behind you to peer at his new friend again.

“I’m positive, plus it looks like someone else is waiting for you, go on,” you smiled before glancing behind you and waving.

“Are you sure?” he asked without even looking at you and you just shook your head.

“I’m more than sure, go on,” you smiled at him again and gave his shoulder a friendly, reassuring squeeze.

And with that you sprinted back into the house and left Connor on the sidewalk to catch up with his new friend.

When you got back into the house there was no one inside, just the aftermath of a usual houseparty- empty bottles of alcohol everywhere and balloons and streamers littering the floor of Harry’s foyer.

You didn’t see him in the kitchen or the living room, so you ran back down the hallway to the wardrobe you left him in. You burst through the door without knocking and sure enough, there he was sat on the ground picking at the carpet on the floor of his closet.

His eyes shot up at you and he jumped to his feet.

“What are y-”

He was cut off by you lunging at him and you gripped the collar of his shirt before tugging him down to where he was eye level with you.

“Love, what are y’doing,” he asked you while rested his forehead against yours, panting at your close proximity.

“Shh, please I need to say this,” you shakily started.

“Harry, I-- oh god I can’t believe i’m saying this, I-,”

“Wait wait, no I need t’say somethin’ first,” he countered when you failed to get the words out.

You took a shaky breath in and you could feel the warmth of his body pulling you in further towards him.

“I love you, I love you, I- m’so in love with you. Please tell m’you don’t love him, please tell me i’m not too late, that we’re not too late,”

You felt your face drop in shock and as dramatic as it was you thought you were going to pass out face first on the very plush carpet of his closet.

“You-you what?!” you practically shouted at him. Your fingertips were burning as you gripped his shirt tighter and you felt like your heart was going to physically beat out of your chest with how loud it was pounding in your ears and against your ribcage.

“I love you, I mean it, I truly, truly do. M’going out of my mind. Please y’can’t leave with him, I can’t be without you any longer,”

“Harry , I-” you started, only to be cut off again by his stammering.

“M’sorry it took me so long t’say but god I mean it, I love you. I’ve been going out of my mind since I got home, I see you everywhere here. You’re in every room I go into, and every corner that I look. I’m better when you’re here, I’m more-- I’m just better. Please, I just, I love you, you have t’believe me,”

When you didn’t say anything back in response Harry took that as his cue to back away but instead you gripped on to him even tighter.

It was suddenly a lot hotter in his room and you were full on shoulders raised and fingers shaking panting, and there were streams of tears rolling down your face.

“You what?!” you shouted at him in disbelief, again.

He laughed before shaking his head at you, “Do you need me to repeat all of that to you again?”

Your only response was to pull him towards you the rest of the way and to slot his lips against yours. The kiss started languilly and Harry was cradling your face in his hands to keep the both of you steady. His lips were so soft and gentle against yours, and you could feel the faint tugging of the remnants of facial hair against your skin and you melted into him.

Your lungs were starting to burn and when you physically couldn’t keep kissing him you broke away from his lips and rested your head against his chest.

You were both panting and when he muttered your name to get you to look at him, you couldn’t help but look up at him with watery eyes.

While this was a mind blowing revelation and you were 50% sure you were dreaming, you got sight of the stupid marks against his neck and you had to finally ask where the hell those came from.

You pulled him to you again, and snaked your arms around the wide expanse of his shoulders. You ran your (albeit shaky) fingers down his neck until you brought your eyes to meet his again.

“Who, who gave you these?” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Harry looked down at your hands, “Gave me what?”

“What do you mean, ‘gave you what’?! Who gave you these marks?”

“What marks? Love these are from my stupid guitar strap,”

His guitar strap?! His stupid stupid fucking guitar strap?! That was why you had been breaking into sobbing fits for the past two weeks?!

“Are you- are you serious?! That’s why i’ve been crying at the drop of the hat every second since our call a few weeks ago?!” you shook your head and laughed, “I thought someone, I thought you had met someone, and you know…..”

“Absolutely not love. Don’t really have the time for that when i’m on the road, not like i’ve really been interested in that lately to begin with,” he gestured to you and you sputtered out a laugh.

“Okay, well if we’re admitting stuff I guess I should tell you, I’m not with him, Connor. We’ve never been together. I barely know him. I just drugged him here tonight so I wouldn’t be here alone…”

Harry dropped his head in relief before pushing his hair back from his forehead, “Oh thank god,” he muttered from behind his hands.

“Does that mean that you…..” he started.

“I love you, I love you, I absolutely love you, H. You’re my favorite person in the world, I love you, I always have. I’ve always been here,”

Harry lunged forward and slotted his lips against yours again, that was an answer all in itself.

When you broke apart finally Harry spoke up before resting his forehead against yours.

“From here on out, let’s just be honest with each other, yeah? Would have saved a lot of trouble if we’d just said how we felt from the start,”

You simply nodded before pulling him into you and nuzzling your face in his neck.

You stood there for a few moments, just basking in this new feeling of love and sureness that you had between the two of you. Your lips started to quirk and you raised your head from his neck.

“If we’re being completely honest here H, you have got to get rid of those terrible, terrible shoes,” you said it with a serious face before you burst into laughter.

He laughed a bug, genuine laugh before resting his hands on your hips.

“I guess that can be arranged, love,” he rolled his eyes playfully and you batted at his chest.

What a terribly fun love this was going to be.

#waaaah i hope you all enjoy!!!!!#terrible love #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry fluff #oh the yearning #brb going to cry forever now

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worldwidemochiguy · 4 years

Text

hot-spot love

↣ In which Jungkook is a photographer and you accidentally break his favourite camera. Luckily, the only thing he cherishes more than that damn camera happens to be you.

Word Count: 1.7K

a/n: omg i’ve been in such a soft mood recently so like here you go. in reference to the title ‘hot-spot’ is actually a legit photography phrase. this is mostly inspired by this video i saw of a girl pranking her bf and he had a rly cute reaction so.. i made it into a fic!! pls like and reblog if u enjoy it ☺️

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Hot-spot love

You think this might be the worst day of your life.

It had actually started off relatively well; Jungkook waking you sweetly with a kiss and hugging you from behind as you made breakfast, leaving for work five minutes late because he insisted on helping you wash up the dishes afterwards. He had left you in a productive mood and, before long, you were searching for tasks to complete.

You had cleaned the entirety of the penthouse by lunchtime — not a particularly arduous task considering it was relatively clean anyway — and then took the time to make yourself Samgyeopsal and Japchae for lunch, storing most of it in the refrigerator to have for dinner later. You smiled knowing the Jungkook would be more than excited, given that Samgyeopsal was perhaps his favourite dish of yours.

With a full belly and nothing else to do, you decided to rearrange your and Jungkook’s bedroom. You were half-way through moving the desk-lamp two inches to the left when you spotted Jungkook’s camera. Jungkook had always loved photography, and he told you often that you were his favourite subject, taking delight in the way you would immediately be flustered afterwards. You smiled fondly, picking it up to go through the photos he had taken yesterday when the two of you went on a picnic. But, as you picked it up your fingers involuntarily loosened, and you watched, horrified, as your boyfriend’s camera slipped out of your grip and careened towards the floor.

The broken shutter glass had cut your finger as you attempted to salvage the mess, and now you sit with a steadily reddening tissue wrapped around the gash, waiting on the couch for Jungkook to come back from work.

The sound of the door opening is both a relief and something that causes dread to bubble up within you.

“Babe!” He calls out, and he sounds so happy you almost want to cry, “I’m home!” He comes into the living room, too focused on disentangling himself from his bag to notice your desolate state.

“Did you miss me?” He asks, pressing a distracted kiss to your forehead as he heads to the bedroom to discard his suit jacket.

“Uh huh,” you replied quietly, before letting out a sigh.

Jungkook pauses in the doorway of the bedroom, and then immediately turns back and heads to you, leaning over the back of the couch so you have to look at him upside down.

“Why the sigh, babe?” He questions, worry starting to dilute his dopey grin.

“Sigh?” You ask weakly, trying to deflect. You know you have to tell Jungkook about the camera, but you hate to be the one to make him upset.

“There it is again!” Jungkook exclaimed, before leaning in to place a kiss on your brow. “Your face always gets kind of screwed up when you’re thinking too hard about something.”

You try to smile, but something lodges in your throat and, to your immediate embarrassment, it comes out as a sob. Jungkook is immediately cooing, sweeping around to the front of the couch and sitting down, tugging you into his lap as he frantically tries to wipe away your tears.

“No, no, no, babe, don’t cry!” He whines, “Just tell me what’s wrong and I promise I’ll fix it, don’t worry.”

“I broke your camera.” Is what you try to say, but you’re crying so hard you only make it to “I-” and then dissolve into tears again. You bring up your hands to cover your face, not wanting Jungkook to see you like this, when he makes a sharp noise and his fingers close around your wrist, tugging it under for his inspection.

“Your finger!” He gasps, peeling away the stiff tissue paper to reveal your cut. He immediately drags you to the bathroom to get the first aid kit, despite your teary protestations of it’s just a small cut. After wrapping it in an unnecessary amount of bandages and several kisses ‘to make it heal faster’, he leans down to look in your eyes.

“Was that why you were crying, babe?” You can only manage to shake your head, dissolving into tears again. God, Jungkook was being so nice and you were just the worst girlfriend ever.

“Please don’t cry babe.” He softly repeated over and over, stroking his hands along your hair and wiping away your tears, pressing kisses all over your face. “Just tell me, and I’ll make it better.”

“Y-You can’t!” You bawl, before burying your face in your hands again. Jungkook patiently peels back your fingers and presses his forehead to yours.

“I promise you,” he says solemnly, “I will make it ok. You don’t have to worry about anything now I’m here. And I’ll always be here.”

“You promise?” You ask quietly, and he nods, placing a little kiss to the tip of your nose to make you smile.

“I… I broke your camera.” You confess, and then bury your head in his shoulder, waiting for him to start shouting. He has never even raised his voice at you before, but you are worried this will finally set him off.

“…My camera?” He asks, sounding more than slightly confused. You pulled back, confused as well.

“Yes, your camera. The really expensive one that you take with you anytime we go anywhere.”

“Oh…” He trails off, and then, shocking you, he breaks into a massive grin. “Oh! God, babe you’re so cute! That’s what you were worried about?” Jungkook laughed as you gave him a wide-eyed nod, tugging you into his chest again and hugging you tightly. “I’m so relieved! I thought something had happened to you. Oh, you don’t know how glad I am!”

“But, your camera-” You start, your voice muffled in the material of his dress shirt.

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” He brushes it off flippantly. “I can just take it to the repair shop or something. Can’t lose all those beautiful pictures I took of you, can I?” Your memories flash back to the absolutely shattered camera.

“No, I really broke it. I don’t even think it’s fixable.” At that, Jungkook laughs again, pulling back to grin at you.

“How did you even manage that?” He asks, his eyes bright with amusement but somehow that makes you cry even harder.

“I’m really sorry!” You wail, and he tugs you back into his chest again, his shirt now slightly damp with your tears. Just another one of Jungkook’s possessions that I’ve ruined, you think bleakly.

‘Babe,” he says, sounding heartbroken. “It’s just a camera. Please don’t cry, or I’ll start crying too.” You look up at him and, true to his word, his eyes are turning glassy and sorrowful.

“B-but what about your photos-”

“They were all of you. I’ve got a lifetime of taking photos of you ahead of me, I don’t need to rush.” You can’t help but blush when he says this. Jungkook has never been afraid to state his intention of spending the rest of his life with you, but it still sends a thrill down your spine every time.

“I’ll get a job and save up so I can buy you a new camera.” You resolve, and immediately he’s shaking his head.

“No, no, no, there’s no need at all, babe. I didn’t even like that camera anyway. I was going to pick up a new hobby, I don’t care about the camera. All I care about is you. It’s breaking my heart to see you cry.” He cups your tear-stained cheek in his hand and you lean into it, even as you whack him lightly on the stomach.

“That was so cheesy.” You giggle, and his face mimics your own smile, before smoothing out.

“You’re lovely even when you’re crying.” He mutters, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, tilting it backwards as he leans in and kisses you deeply, trying to convey his love for you. You accept eagerly, and when your injured hand comes up to curl into his hair, you find the cut doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

Later, when the two of you are curled up on the couch finishing off the leftovers of the Samgyeopsal and Japchae — and you were right, Jungkook was practically ecstatic when he saw his dinner — you ask him:

“How much did the camera cost?” He pauses slightly, before answering with a smile.

“You could find one for about ten dollars.”

“Jungkook!” You pout, flicking his forehead lightly. “Please tell me the truth. I know it cost a lot more than that.”

“Ok, ok, I’ll tell you.” He says, before his expression becomes slightly more serious. “It actually cost twenty-five dollars.”

“Jungkook!” You whine, whacking him on the arm with a pillow as he laughs.

“Ok, ok,” He raises a hand up, blocking the pillow, “You’re right, it was actually quite an expensive camera.” Even though he was only confirming what you already knew, you felt fresh guilt wash over you.

“How expensive?”

“Thirty dollars.”

This time, he is ready for the pillow aimed at his face and blocks it, grabbing your wrist and tugging you over so you are trapped in his lap, caged in by his arms wrapped around your waist tightly.

“Babe, stop asking about it, it doesn’t matter.” He reprimands you playfully, kissing your forehead. “I have more than enough money to replace it, and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t care. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I have you.” He smiled. “And you’re all I need to be happy. Okay?” He grins at you, and you grin back, feeling the overwhelming love you have for this man somehow double.

“Okay.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go and check on my computer. Obviously you have something against my belongings, and I just want to make sure the monitor is salvageable.”

“Jungkook!”

#yandere bts #soft yandere bts #yandere bangtan #yandere jungkook #yandere jungkook x reader #jungkook #bts jungkook x reader #bts #bts jungook #bts imagines #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #soft yandere jungkook #soft yandere

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a-hundred-jewels · 3 years

Text

cruel summer ch 12: i have these lucid dreams

Ao3 Wattpad

Summary: sabrina starr, pegasuses, and oh no! the fourth wall broke! do we have a carpenter in the audience?

Word Count: 9000 ish

Tags: Rachel Elizabeth Dare/Jane Penderwick, Rosalind Penderwick/Tommy Geiger, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace, Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Jane Penderwick, Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Rosalind Penderwick, Skye Penderwick, Chiron (Percy Jackson), Martin Penderwick, Elizabeth "Batty" Penderwick, Elizabeth Penderwick (senior), Iantha Aaronson-Penderwick, Ben Aaronson-Penderwick, Nico di Angelo, Will Solace, Annabeth Chase, Jeffrey Tifton-McGrath, Percy Jackson, Demeter (Percy Jackson), Apollo (Percy Jackson), Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), Camp Half-Blood AU, Demigods, demeter!elizabeth penderwick, demeter!rosalind (second generation), demeter!batty (second generation), apollo!alec mcgrath, apollo!jeffrey (second generation), demeter!jane (second generation), demeter!skye (second generation), all of that's in no particular order, main focus is on jane because i love her and she's so so fun to write, tomsalind is there (and stuff will happen - i can't really say what, it will really be eventful though), yes of course there's solangelo, takes place right before Penderwicks In Spring, After Trials of Apollo, more tags to come??, Minor Swearing

Notes and Full Chapter below cut:

Hello everyone and welcome back! I'll admit, this is a little later today than I'd been planning to post (was hoping to get an early start), but hey! If the Puppet History season 4 finale can be late, then so can I!

First off, a massive massive thank you to waterbottle_stickers for being the best beta reader ever. This chapter would be a mess without you. Also, if you haven't already, please check out their enola holmes fic wherever you stray, i follow it's truly wonderful.

If you've been following me on tumblr, then you'll know that, in addition to reblogging an alarming quantity of good omens fanart, I've been making some plans for fics this month. The original plan from back in august was to post every day of the month, but... ahhh.... I just don't work that fast lmao. I'll have to be content with just posting a fair amount this month. Happy october! Anyway, stay tuned.

On this fine day, we've got two lovely QUEER fanfic recommendations that I'm very excited to share. Up first is one from the tumblr blog izzielizzie (which you should all absolutely check out! especially if you're into the one of us is lying fandom!). it centers around the skye/melissa pairing and their senior prom, which Skye is said to have only gone to last minute, and also wearing a lab coat, in a passage of the penderwicks at last. featuring some oblivious lesbians and also jane. once again a massive thanks to izzielizzie, as this fic is one of my favourites!. click here to take a look! (also keep an eye on her blog in general bc her penderwicks fics are awesome!)

The second fanfic is also one I'm very fond of, as it focuses on the siblinghood of skye and jane, which is one of my favourite topics on earth. check out rolling down the ancient high street by hanchewie/ramblemadlyon (tumblr and ao3 respectively) for the sibling antics of aroace skye and bisexual jane when the latter visits the former at her college in california! and, if you like it, ramblemadlyon has two other penderwicks fics from the past couple days that look fantastic as well, and that I look forward to reading.

This chapter is dedicated to my therapist, since I've decided this will be the month of oddly specific dedications. thank you for telling me to stop referring to cruel summer as my "trash baby" and help me recognize the true worth that it holds in my life.

Disclaimer: not my characters, you know the drill. Jeanne Birdsall and Rick Riordan are lucky ducks indeed. chapter title is (obviously) from "lucid dreams" by Juice WRLD.

FROM THE POV OF JANE PENDERWICK

The woods loomed around me, seeming as tall as buildings as they invited me in further. I took another step, the sharp pain of a pinecone digging into my foot barely registered in my mind. I kept walking. A crack sounded throughout the air, and, behind me, a tree splintered round its base and fell down, only inches away from crushing me dead, and completely blocking the path out.

Frightened, I began to run, looking for a way out of the forest. But no matter which way I went, there were only trees in front of me. Where was the path? Where was the grassy hill I had walked down to get in here in the first place. Had I even walked down that hill to begin with? Now that I thought about it, I wasn’t sure I remembered coming here. I wasn’t sure I remembered waking up this morning, or going to bed last night, or anything besides existing in the forest. Who was I? What was I doing here? How could I get out?

Panicking, I stood in the middle of a clearing, looking frantically at the trees around me, trying to find something familiar. Nothing. I was exhausted. How long had I been here? An hour? A day? A lifetime? I collapsed at the base of a tree, sobbing as I tried to remember. Something. Anything.

Then, a voice echoed around me. “Welcome,” it said, and my mind went black.

I bolt upright in bed, a scream halfway out of my throat. I clamp it back, not wanting to wake my cabinmates. Thin light whimpers through the window--enough for me to see my white-knuckle grip on the sheets, but not enough to pass as daylight.

What time is it?

Our cell phones don’t really work here--that was one of the first things Miranda told us when we arrived, and Batty’s been gleefully lording it over us that her Mp3 player will still play music and, like, function, while our smart phones recline sadly in our duffel bags. That being said, I don’t feel quite brave enough to get out of my bed just yet and tiptoe over to the big analog clock that Rio bought at a pawn shop in Colorado. Maybe my phone will at least show the time.

I reach under my bed and fumble for my duffel, hooking my pinky through the zipper loop and yanking it out onto my floor. My phone’s in the front pocket, buried under two pairs of headphones, several gum wrappers, and some strawberry leaves (?????). A piece of gum peels off the screen as I disentangle my phone, and I mentally chide my past self for being so messy.

My phone does not turn on. Big clock it is.

I tiptoe across the cold tile and peer around the tree.

5:45 .

Jesus Pagan Christ.

It’s too early to wake anyone up (as I think this, Batty lets out a snore to rival any crabby Tyrannosaurus Rex), so I wrap a blanket around myself like a criminally attractive burrito, and creep out onto the porch, with my notebook and pen tucked into my shirt.

As long as I live, I will never get tired of summer mornings. There’s something deeply lovely about the soft light of the still-sleepy, pink lemonade sun, the quiet anticipation of the cool air, damp from dew and preparing for the upcoming heat. At home in Cameron, Skye’s woken me up many an early morning to go for a run or do soccer drills or for a grueling “Seven Minute Workout Except You Don’t Follow The Rules And Torture Your Sister by Making It Actually A Forty-Nine Minute Workout.” (But it’s okay, I’m not bitter). But, as delightful as those experiences have all been, I don’t think Skye really gets it. The beauty of the summer morning is not what it can do for your workout schedule, but rather in its gentle softening of an otherwise boiling day. It is to be appreciated in the way that I am now, sitting curled up on this frighteningly creaky porch (I mean, seriously, who built this?) and calling up the Sabrina Starr section of my brain to try and write away the residual panic from my nightmare.

Sabrina sighed as the plane took off. She wasn’t sure if she should have followed the voice in her head telling her to come here. Saying it out loud--even just thinking it--made it sound ridiculous. A dream, a voice in her mind. Barely more than a whim.

Worse than that, Sabrina wasn’t even sure where this whim was taking her. On a napkin in her pocket, she’d scrawled everything she remembered about the dream from the night before. The dark sky, lit only with spiderwebs of lightning, the shadowy figure huddled on a beach and soaked through with rain. The voice crying for help.

And a name. Aeaea.

After she’d woken up, Sabrina had looked up Aeaea, too tired to fully connect why the name felt familiar. Her heart had sunk further after reading the Wikipedia entry, and a breath of hopelessness had left her lips. According to the internet, Aeaea was not a real place. It had been the island prison of Circe. Fiction wasn’t new to Sabrina, and neither was mythology (she recalled an adventure spent with a ghost called Rainbow from a few years back).

Fictional places, though, were another matter. How could she get somewhere if she didn’t know where she was going? Was she trusting her gut with too much this time?

Sabrina folded up the napkin and put it back in her pocket. There was no point in worrying about that now. She’d looked at enough maps to make a guess at where Aeaea might be if it was real. When she got there, she could get more information. Sabrina Starr had survived this long in her career of rescues and whims. She could survive one more adventure. Worst case scenario, she said to herself, I spend a few days running around for nothing and have to brush up on my Greek.

She repeated it to herself like a promise. Worst case scenario, worst case scenario… Eventually, tired out from all her anxieties, and from trying desperately not to worry about what would come next, Sabrina fell asleep.

FROM THE POV OF RACHEL ELIZABETH DARE

“Okay, I give up. Tell me what’s wrong.” Annabeth’s voice startles me away from my plate of eggs, which I had been pushing around with a fork. Anxiety bubbles in my throat, just as it had been since I woke up, and food just doesn’t sound like a good idea.

“I--what?”

Annabeth waves her hand impatiently. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve been talking to you for five minutes and I don’t think you’ve looked up once. Also you’re always hungry in the mornings, so unless you, like, ate an entire cow before I got here, this ,” she gestures to my uneaten eggs, “is unusual behaviour.”

I give her a look. Sometimes, I get the feeling that Annabeth exists as a part of multiple different dimensions at once, like she’s having four other conversations that I can’t hear, and is still ten steps ahead of me in the one I’m actually a part of.

Or maybe I’m just easy to read.

“Nothing’s wrong.” I don’t want to talk about it. “I’m fine.” I’m terrified.

Annabeth sighs. “Is this about the prophecy?”

“No,” I spear another piece of egg, and don’t eat it. “Maybe. Yes.” I feel like going back to my cave and staying there for the rest of my life. Waiting with a book and some paints for the prophecy to get bored and go away. Maybe I’d take Jane with me, or Nico, for some company. That sounds nice.

My plate is pulled away from me as I aim my fork again. “I can’t pay attention when you do that,” Annabeth huffs. I think I wouldn’t invite her to stay in my cave. She’s too on the nose when I want to mope. Then again, she says the same about me.

“Fine,” I turn and face her. “Let’s talk feelings.” Connor Stoll, who had been making his way towards our table, abruptly turns around and walks the other way. I should get Chiron to hire a therapist. Gods know we need it.

Further proving my point, Annabeth’s eyes widen a little, before she remembers it is I who will be spilling. (I make a point to corner her later. It’s a routine we have). “Wow. You broke fast.”

I nod. “I’m tired and you’re annoying.” (False. We both know it. Another routine). “Like you said, I’m nervous about the prophecy.”

Annabeth nods. “And?”

I frown. “What do you mean, and ? There’s no and.”

Annabeth frowns back at me. A mirror, a mime, an annoyance. The nerve to look disappointed in me. “I thought you were spilling, Red.”

I roll my head back and study the roof of the pavilion, which Annabeth designed, and slowly lean my head down to stare at the table. I really don’t want to have this conversation. I go along anyways. “I’m worried about Jane.”

Annabeth leans back, triumphant. “Ah, yes. Your girlfriend.”

Maybe if I try reeeeeeeally hard, I can activate the Oracle of Delphi and freak Annabeth out enough to make her go away. “ Not my girlfriend. You know that.”

“You called Percy my boyfriend for weeks before we actually officially decided.”

I wave my hand dissmissively. “That’s different, you guys were dancing around each other for like three years. You needed a bit of a push. Jane and I kissed once! Over a week ago! And nothing came of it.” We actually haven’t really talked about it. We’re in this sort of in-between zone where we spend a ton of time together, but don’t have a label for it. Honestly, it’s been nice.

Annabeth grins, apparently reading my thoughts. “You’ve been eating lunch with the Demeter cabin, like, every other day. I saw you doing archery together yesterday. Both of you were awful at it, but you stayed there for hours. I’ve never seen you focus on something that long outside of your paintings.”

I stare at the ceiling again. Maybe Annabeth designed it so that a single square foot of rock might fall down onto my head and relieve me from this conversation. “Yes, fine, we spend a lot of time together. But that doesn’t make us a couple, and has nothing to do with what I’m actually worried about!” I can see in her face that Annabeth is more serious now, and is about to fully listen to me, when Percy and Malcolm show up, sliding into the seats across from us, and clanging several plates of pancakes down onto the table in front of them.

“Made them ourselves! Wanna share?” Percy gives Annabeth heart eyes and a kiss on the cheek when she folds a large blue pancake into thirds and bites it like a burrito. I roll my eyes at them because they are a horrifying and disgusting couple and also I kind of want to be them when I grow up. Malcolm ignores them, instead turning to me. “Were you talking about Jane?” he asks, pushing wire rimmed glasses up his nose.

I frown. “Sort of. Why?”

He shrugs, sheepish. “You know. Just, uh, just wondering.”

I narrow my eyes at him, then Percy, who tears himself away from looking at Annabeth to sigh dramatically. “Malcolm wants to ask out Jane’s sister. You know, the blond one.”

I snort. “ Skye? Seriously?”

Malcolm looks vaguely offended. “What’s so weird about that?”

“Sorry, it’s not weird.” I reach over the table to pat him on the shoulder with my fork. “Perfectly normal teenage hormones.” He glares at me and I smile sweetly back. “I just can’t imagine Skye going out with anyone, that’s all.”

Malcolm stares down at his pancake, disappointed. “Oh. You sure?”

I nod, feeling a little more normal with my friends and less doom-related breakfast conversation. My eggs are past the threshold of “warm and appetizing” but I take a bite anyway. “Pretty sure. Jane told me that she’s aroace and, based on past occurrences, there’s a seventy percent chance she’ll punch anyone who asks her out. Anyway, why the interest? I didn’t know you guys talked.”

Malcolm shrugs. “We don’t, really. She just seems cool.”

Percy pipes in, “He’s been practically obsessed with her since she won that soccer game against the Nike kids and made them cry.”

I nod approvingly. “Well, Malcolm, at least we know you have good taste.”

Annabeth pats him on the head, ignoring his complaints that her hand is covered in blue maple syrup. “Better luck next time, brother of mine.”

Piper and Leo join us next, contributing an alarming volume of grapes and a single hardboiled egg to the breakfast display. Leo grabs a pancake and wraps it around some grapes, before taking a big bite. “I hear you’re discussing Malcolm’s romantic failures,” he says around the world’s worst breakfast burrito. Piper gasps in mock offense, then swallows the unpeeled hardboiled egg whole, like a snake. (This is a regular morning routine. She’s trying to work up to being a sword swallower, since her dad did it in a movie once and she thought it looked like fun). “ Malcolm, why didn’t you come to me? I could have given you a verdict within five minutes!”

“I wanted advice on whether I should ask out that Heaphestus boy two weeks ago and you told me to fuck off.”

Piper pouts at him. “That’s on you, you caught me at a bad time.”

Annabeth holds up a pancake with the air of a respected royal and we turn to her. “As delightful as this is, Rachel and I were initially talking about her romantic prospects and also her worries and fears, and I feel that we should get back to that before she slinks off and avoids the rest of the conversation.”

I glare at her. “Why would you bring this away from the very nice conversation we were having about everyone else’s problems? Do you hate me?” Annabeth rolls her eyes. “No, dumbass, I’m just not letting you walk away from a potential breakthrough. Now, where were we? You were saying that you’re worried about Jane but it has nothing whatsoever to do with your relationship, or lack thereof.”

I give a long suffering sigh, and try to communicate telepathically with Piper that she needs to Save Me Now, but she’s looking at me in interest with her chin resting in her hands, her long fingers adorned with rings sent to her from her Mortal girlfriend, Shel, who bought them at a vintage punk store. The traitor. Defeated, I turn back to Annabeth.

“It’s just that, whatever ends up happening with this prophecy, I don’t want it to fuck her up, in the way the quests have sometimes done to us. Like, we’re used to this by now, but it hasn’t been a smooth road. I don’t exactly like going on quests, and at first I was really worried at the prospect of being included in a prophecy, since that’s fairly abnormal, but Jane was only made aware of her heritage a couple months ago! What if this turns out like Silena or Beckendorf or-or Jason, and the prophecy destroys her, and it’s all my fault because I’m the one who pulled her into all this?”

Everyone tenses up at the mention of Jason, but they continue to look at me with a mixture of concern and love that makes something soften inside of me. For the hundredth time, I think of how lucky I am to have these people who love me unconditionally. Even if they really, really need therapy.

“I know that I didn’t plan any of this, but we’re both tied in now, especially since both Chiron and I had the prophetic dream and I actually gave the prophecy that day in the woods, and, well, this isn’t her world yet. She’s only got a little bit of ichor in her, and she grew up knowing nothing of any of this. In a way, I did too, and I have no ichor, but I had clear sight. For me, it was ineffable, but she could technically leave any time, if it weren’t for the prophecy. She can leave, and I feel like it’s up to me to make sure that doesn’t change.”

“Oh, Rachel.” Annabeth reaches her arms out to me and I let myself be pulled into an embrace. “Jane’s going to be okay. We’ll make sure of it.”

Sabrina stood in line at the boat rental hut, her arms crossed and a frown plastered on her face. It had not been a successful afternoon. For hours, she’d been searching the coastal towns near where her plane landed, looking for some trace of Aeaea, or anything else she’d seen in her dream. She was used to working with dregs. It was normal for her to have to squint a little at the evidence, have to shuffle things together around big holes of “Maybe,” like she was working a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing.

But this was something else.

Sabrina had read about places where mythology shaped the culture. Places where the tourist draws were events that had supposedly happened thousands of years ago, or creatures that only existed in grainy photographs and people’s imaginations. Hell, she’d met the Loch Ness monster. Was it insane for her to have assumed she’d be able to find the same kind of thing here? All her training and years of experience had told her that, if you sniff around long enough, you’ll find a conspiracy theorist or a slightly off-the-rails guidebook.

So far, though, Sabrina had found nothing. Absolutely nothing. She hunted around, searching up library catalogs, checking every store on the street. “Aeaea,” “Circe,” even “the Odyssey.”

Nothing.

The line edged along slowly, and Sabrina ran her hands up and down her arms. The air was chilly from its proximity to the cold sea water. There were three people in front of her now. She just had to wait a little longer, then she would have a boat and be able to explore these waters herself.

Something was wrong with this place. Something was wrong with all of these places. And Sabrina was going to figure out what.

Later, Jane and I are taking our time walking to the pegasus stables to watch the riding lesson that Rosalind has reluctantly agreed to let Batty take (provided that Percy, who’s teaching today, doesn’t let her fly high enough that she’ll die if she falls off, and that Batty wears all of the necessary protective gear). Jane looks lovely, wearing a sunshine-y yellow bandana that sets off her dark curls and warm sepia skin. She has on her Camp Half-Blood shirt again, and a short green skirt, and all of it should clash horribly, but it doesn’t.

We’ve decided to cut through the strawberry fields, and I swallow a sun-warmed strawberry while Jane tells me about the dream she had last night. I think back to my conversation with Annabeth this morning when she tells me of the dark woods and the feeling of drowning, the memory warping and the echoing voice. At some point we sit down in a patch of grass, a simple circle amidst strawberry plants with a couple logs where the campers and satyrs take their breaks when they work here. Jane finishes her story and we sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, only broken by the grunts of annoyance Jane makes while trying to get her plant powers to activate again. She’s been doing that a lot.

“Well that sucks,” I say finally. “Have you been having other dreams like it?”

Jane shrugs, the neon orange fabric of her shirt wrinkling on her shoulders. “One or two, I think. Last night’s was the first one I really remembered. ” She smiles out of the corner of her mouth. “I hardly ever remember my dreams. It used to upset me. I thought I was losing potential writing material.”

I laugh. It’s such a Jane thing to think, that I can’t help it. She goes quiet, like she’s reminiscing, and I picture a tiny version of Jane, sitting crossed-legged on her summer quilt, writing. I look at her now, scrunched up nose and big brown eyes. Oh gods, she must have been an adorable child.

“My mother used to say that my imagination was the eighth wonder of the world,” Jane says. She’s looking down the hill at the cabins, plant powers temporarily forgotten, and I remember her telling me about her mother, the first Elizabeth Penderwick, who came here and was a daughter of Demeter and loved opera. The Penderwick siblings’ beloved mother who died so young.

I move closer to Jane on the log. “I can understand why she’d say that.”

Jane smiles again, a little sad this time, a little absent, but full to the brim with love.

“Bet you she’s in Elysium,” I say softly. I explained the Underworld to Jane a couple weeks ago, and she’d gotten this same absent look on her face, that I now know means she’s thinking about her mother. Jane nods, now, then turns to me. “Could we talk about something else?” Her voice is quiet, her eyes a little shiny.

“Course,” I say. “Shall I regale you with tales of dimwittery at this camp in the years past?” I told her last week about the time some Hermes kids tried to order pizza to the camp, accidently causing Chiron to think we were under attack. Jane had nearly fallen off the bench laughing.

She grins now, but shakes her head. “Tell me what it’s like being an Oracle.” I give her a look. She’s asked me before and I never really know what to say. When I give prophecies, it’s like I black out. I’m taken over by another entity who shares my body. (“Like that lady in Suicide Squad ,” Leo had said when I tried to explain it to him once, but I’d refused to be compared to such a gods-fucking-awful movie). So, in a way, I don’t know what it’s like to be the Oracle.

As if reading my thoughts, Jane shakes her head. “Not that part. I’ve seen you all green and smokey, and I know you can’t feel it. I mean the other stuff. How did you know it was you? What did you have to do to become the Oracle? That kind of thing.” I relax a little. Jane’s asked me all sorts of weird questions about Greek mythology and the gods recently. She calls it “research for her book,” but sometimes I think she’s just nosy. It’s cute.

Jane shrugs and looks off into the distance. If you tilt your head a little you can kind of see the stables from here. We have fifteen more minutes to get there, according to my watch. I decide to take it easy. “Delphi is this weird ethereal spirit,” Jane continues, “but there’s also just everyday, Oracle you, who likes paint and denim and bagels.” At that, I laugh. “I actually don’t like bagels that much. I’m just late to breakfast so often that they’re usually the only things available.”

Jane pouts at me and plays with the bracelet tied around my wrist--the one she gave me. “You know what I mean! You know all this weird shit about me because my siblings don’t shut up at lunch, and I know stuff about you, like the denim thing, which I still think is funny by the way. But you’re also the freaking Oracle! Your dormant self lies waiting!” I laugh at her, and she rolls her eyes, but I see the corner of her mouth tilting up. “Rachel, that’s very cool!”

I give in. “Honestly, there’s not much to say, that’s why I don’t talk about it.” I pause. “Well no, it’s that a lot of the stuff beyond the obvious is actually sort of creepy and weird, and not in a good way. There’s stuff I try not to think about, is what I mean.”

The edge of her yellow bandana sticks up as Jane tilts her head at me. “That makes sense. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

I shake my head. “No, it feels okay right now.” I mean it. Now that I’ve gotten into the swing of it, I do want to talk about it. Still, a small sigh escapes me. “I like being the Oracle, because that’s what brought me to a place where I feel like I belong and I have people who love me. It’s nice to know that I’m fulfilling my purpose in life.”

Jane pulls her knees up to her chest. “But?”

“But I also get lonely.” It comes out in a rush. “There are other oracles, but I didn’t know about any of them until the Apollo thing happened, and even then, they’re all supernatural beings--I know, I know, but not in the way I am. It’s not the same. Also, there are all these weird rules. Like I have to stay an unmarried virgin my whole life.”

“That’s fucked,” Jane says softly.

“I know! Chiron won’t even tell me why, just that it’s ‘the rules’” I let out an annoyed huff. “And, like, it’s not even that the idea itself bothers me. That’s pretty much what I was planning to do with my life anyway.”

“Same.”

“But it’s the principle of the thing!” I flick a strand of hair out of my face, offhandedly noticing that the tip of my pinky finger is slightly green. I ignore it. It’s not important. “Just because I don’t want to have sex or get married doesn’t mean it’s a fair rule to impose on me! Besides, why is it always the women in these things whose identities are tied up in who they do or don’t fuck? Last I checked, Grover didn’t have to sign an ‘I shalt not fornicate’ contract when he became Lord of the Wild!”

“Exactly!” Jane raises her hands and shouts up to the sky. “Don’t you fuckers realize we’re more than that?”

“The Hunters of Artemis, too!” I’m a jack-in-the-box, and something’s winding me up. “Thalia and Reyna send me letters all the time, and they seem really happy! Which is great!” I pause to emphasize the greatness of their happiness. My pinky is completely green, now. “But, they also had to make a stupid ‘ode of chastity,’ like I did!”

“Are you kidding me?” Jane’s hair flips as she turns to me. “I thought Artemis was one of the good ones!”

My voice lowers to a husky rumble, and I stare into the distance towards you, the reader. “In a broken system, there are no good ones. Abolish the police.” I clear my throat and my voice turns back to normal. “Sorry, zoned out for a second.” My green pinky has begun to vibrate.

“Happens to the best of us,” Jane’s voice is light and nonchalant. “And yeah, I know. Pretty much all of the gods have skeletons sitting on their shoulders, but it just seems out of character for her. I thought all of Artemis’s groups were supposed to be safe havens, not oppressive structures in their own right.”

I frown. “Yeah you’re right, that is weird. I’d never thought of it much beyond the gods having weird rules, but I wonder if something bigger is at play. The gods might be fucked up in the way that regular people are, and are undoubtedly responsible for all sorts of crap. But then there's more personal things, like the ‘chastity vows’ the Hunters and I had to take, and the fact that Nico was initially outed by Eros, and the weird unexplained eye condition that Piper had during some of her quests that made her eyes a bunch of bright, Eurocentric colors, rather than their natural brown. All sorts of other stuff, too.”

“Wow!” Jane says, sitting up straight on the grass. Her hand moves from where it was resting in her lap to cover her heart. “It’s almost like a bunch of genuinely good and inspiring material, such as including prominent queer people and characters of color in fun children’s fantasy, as well as having an immortal group of warrior women who support each other and are free from the gaze of men, was taken into the hands of a cis white man armed with unchecked misogyny and a fair amount of white Twitter feminism, both of which really showed when he tried to create an inclusive and empowering book series for children! Like yeah, it had its moments, and definitely some good characters, but overall, a lack of meaningful research in certain areas really made it fall flat!” Once again, I stare through the bindings of URLs and internet coding, now joined by Jane as we lock eyes with you, the reader. This time, we hold eye contact for nearly a minute, giving you time to read and process the long tangent spat out by this fanfic’s author, who, if we’re being honest, has gone just a tad off the rails right now. Finally, Jane and I look away from you, and resume our roles as fictional characters, still shaking off that strange cloud that comes with staring into the soul of those who give you life.

“Ugh, what’s going on with me today?” Jane groans at the same time I mutter, “What’s Twitter?” We turn to each other, blinking in the sunlight, then grin. This is normal. We’re fine. Jane looks up at the sky again. “I wonder if the gods are watching us. Maybe we should make them think we suck so they’ll leave you alone.”

I laugh as she sticks her tongue out, grinning wickedly at a nearby cloud. “Better yet, make them think we’re too powerful to be messed with,” I say. Jane sees me watching her and opens her mouth, sucking the cloud in between her teeth. The sky seems bluer in the space where it had been, and Jane’s eyes glitter with mirth as she swallows. “Mmm, tastes like sugar.” I giggle, feeling a small shiver on the top of my head. When I peer up, I see another cloud has floated over to me. I open my own mouth, and take it in, just as Jane did hers. “Sugar, yes. But there’s a touch of blood, too,” I say. Jane nods sagely. “What were we talking about?”

“The inherent misogyny in much of Greek mythology and the world of Camp Half-Blood in general.”

Jane nods again. “Right. A very important topic. It makes it weird when I’m writing sometimes. You know, cause I want to bring in Circe and Zeus and Apollo and all these fascinating characters, but there’s just so much bad stuff tied up with them that comes up when I research.” She looks down at our feet, which are standing in the midst of a strawberry patch. We seem to have been walking, crushing sweet summer strawberries as we go, which is odd because I don’t remember getting up. “You know Rachel, I’m feeling a bit strange.”

I look at her, and see an odd blankness in her warm brown eyes. “Now that you mention it, Jane, so am I.”

“My thoughts and words are my own,” Jane says, “But there’s something up with my body. I can’t really feel it.”

“I agree, I’ve honestly gone a bit numb.” I try to glance down at my fingers, wondering idly if they’ve gotten any more green, but find that my neck won’t bend.

Jane’s eyebrows furrow. “Yet, at the same time, I feel as though I could do anything. Grow another grass blade. Grow a flower. Grow a tree. Bend the world to my will if I wanted to.”

“Or is it the world bending me to its will.” I grin at my own philosophical point, but find that the smile won’t go away. Pretty fucking inconvenient, since the next thing I was going to bring up was part of the whole serious misogyny conversation. I decide to go for it anyway. “And I’m not the only one with weird rules!” Jane nods, as if this is a perfectly normal segway, and the only extraneous thought that floats through my mind as we find ourselves walking down a hill is how unfair it is that she still has control over her neck and I don’t. “Remember when I told you about the Hunters of Artemis?”

“Oh yeah! Your friends Reyna and Thalia, right?”

“Yeah, them! They send me letters sometimes, and seem really happy, which is great.” I pause, meaning to add emphasis, when I’m hit with a great sensation of deja-vu. “Wait a second, we already talked about this, didn’t we?” I try to remember, but something in my mind is rapidly melting. I cannot find it. I cannot find anything.

“Jane?” My voice quivers, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Oh gods, please let this be a dream. For a moment, I try to convince myself that it’s the Oracle of Delphi taking over, just like she did the other day and generally does a couple times a year. But I know that I’m lying. This is not what that feels like. “Jane, where are you?” I can barely move my mouth to say the words. I can feel nothing but the frozen fear of paralysis, of lost control. When I open my eyes, this other thing in my body has brought me to the edge of the forest. “Jane? Jane?” She could be right beside me, unable to speak, and I wouldn’t know because I can’t turn my head, can’t move my eyes, can barely even hear right now.

It’s okay, something says.

“Jane?” It’s not her voice. It’s no one’s voice.

It’s okay. You’re home.

With every cut the wooden oars made through the choppy ocean water, Sabrina knew she was getting closer. She could feel it in her bones, in her brain, a little voice that whispered in her ear. It had been three hours. Her body was worn down, energy levels dipping dangerously low, when she felt something scrape the bottom of her boat.

A rock.

Frantically, she peered through the fog that had begun to surround her boat a mile ago. The island. Had she finally made it?

As if answering her call, a peel of thunder rang out, and Sabrina’s boat began to fill with rain that pounded down from the sky. The storm from her dream. She rowed even faster, then, fear sparking a renewed strength in her tired muscles.

Just as Sabrina was about to reach the shore, a massive wave crashed over her, and her boat capsized. She came back up, sputtering, holding her sopping wet bag above her head. Another wave swept against Sabrina’s face, and she found herself spitting out a mouthful of saltwater. Finally, she washed up on the shore, heaving breaths raking through her lungs.

Sabrina blinked, pushing herself up onto her elbows. It was real. She was here.

She had made it.

FROM THE POV OF ROSALIND PENDERWICK

It’s been a pleasant day so far. Breakfast with my siblings and some of the Demeter cabin (though Jane did seem a bit absent-minded). Miranda, Florien, and Rio convinced me to practice some plant magic with them for a couple hours and I built up to growing a small sunflower. Lunch (again with Jane seeming distracted, though Rachel ate with us this time, which appeared to help). Then, Skye and Jeffrey disappeared with some of the older campers (supposedly for a regular game of soccer, but the unsettling gleam in their eyes had me doubting that was all there was too it), Jane and Rachel went to take a walk in the strawberry fields, and Batty and I were left to prepare for a pegasus riding lesson. If it had been up to Batty, the latter could have easily taken up the entire afternoon, but changing into durable pants and finding a bandana can only take so long.

After a somewhat restless hour, during which I grew three peonies and Batty rhapsodized about the stable of unicorns that another demigod camp apparently has, Batty and I arrive at the stable. We’re ten minutes early, and she’s been talking a mile a minute the whole time, not stopping from before. I swear I now know as much about pegasuses as she does. According to Rachel, the teacher today is Percy, her friend, who’s very responsible “when he puts his mind to it.” I wasn’t sure how to tell her that’s actually not very comforting, but Batty looked so excited and I figured there will be plenty of other people there, so. Why not. She’s been spending so much time there anyway.

Needless to say, I very much regret my decision now.

The stables are modest, made of wood and painted green, and I’ve been there several times by now. There’s a long line of stalls visible when we first walk in, but Batty skips straight to the far end, where a massive pegasus the color of a carrot pokes its head over the door and nuzzles Batty’s hair. She looks up at me with a smile that could melt anyone’s heart, and pats the horse on the nose. “Rosy, this is Queen Lotus Flower. Percy said we have a impenetrable bond.”

I look at the two of them with a questioning gaze. How can they both have the exact same puppy-dog eyes? I swear to god. The gods. All of them. “Batty, sweetheart. That horse is like ten feet tall.”

She nods enthusiastically. “I know, she’s so much taller than any other horse I’ve seen. Percy says she has the biggest wingspan of any horse at camp.”

I nod, slowly, wondering why my sister picked the biggest pegasus to fall in love with. At that moment, Percy pushes the door open. “Hey Batty! Ready for your lesson?” Batty leaves her post by Queen Lotus Flower to wrap her arms around my waist and nod. I look Percy over. He’s a few inches taller than me, with brown skin and curly hair. A beaded camp necklace, orange tshirt, and jeans. Weird arm tattoo aside, he’s one of the most normal-looking people at camp. I’ve only met him a couple times before, but, my nerves over Batty flying around on massive horses aside, I do trust him. Rachel seems to have a good taste in friends. Also, Batty likes him, and she’s still shy around a good number of Skye and Jane’s friends back in Cameron.

For the next few minutes, I watch as Percy instructs Batty on buckling Queen Lotus Flower’s giant saddle and looping the bridle over her nose. Not wavering a bit from the “lesson” aspect of all this, he steps back to let her show what she’s already learned from hanging around the stables so often, only stooping in to guide her when she gets confused. As the minutes tick by, more people show up for the lesson: three other students, and a good sized crowd of people who just like watching the pegasuses. By then, I’m seated on the grass outside the stables, soaking in the blistering sun and watching as Percy (seated atop a wiry black pegasus who Batty pointed out as Blackjack) darts around the large dusty enclosure, making final preparations for the lesson.

Skye and Jeffrey show up then, and sit on either side of me. I want to ask them where Jane and Rachel are, but they’re talking non-stop about a game they just played in the woods with some of the other campers, only switching the subject when Percy and Blackjack return and they begin discussing whether or not it should be scientifically possible for a horse to fly.

Just as Batty and Queen Lotus Flower begin a gentle trot around the enclosure, I feel a tap on my shoulder, and hear the familiar sound of Tommy’s chuckle. “She’s got a weird knack for that,” he says. I nod, grinning.

It’s been good with us. We’ve had breakfast together a few times, even played a game of basketball one afternoon. Our conversations aren’t the same as they used to be, and there’s a sense of newness that feels cold and strange every so often. But it’s good. It feels right. At least for now, this feels like where we’re supposed to be.

As Percy starts demonstrating how to take flight, I look around again. Jane and Rachel still aren’t here. They promised to come. (“For moral support!” Jane had said. “Wouldn’t miss it,” Rachel had added with a smile). I try to push it out of my head. This lesson is a big deal. Batty’s going to be flying.

She leans forward on Queen Lotus Flower’s neck.

They begin to run, moving together like a single being.

Just as they burst into the air, Batty’s euphoric smile lighting up the sky, Katie grabs my shoulders from behind. I shush her so I can lean forward and watch Batty silhouetted against the pegasus’s wide orange wings.

“Rosalind. Rosalind, guys. ” Something about the panic in Katie’s voice makes me turn around. Her usually tied back hair is loose and her clothes rumpled, giving the impression that she was dragged out of bed for this. (Some part of my brain distantly remembers her saying she was going to take a nap). Skye and Jeffrey turn around, too.

“What, what’s happening?” I reach out my hands, trying to calm her as she collapses into a squat, breathing heavily.

“Billie… found me in the cabin… had been looking for you guys… been running all over the camp… lucky I remembered about the riding lesson…”

Jeffrey leans over and puts his hands on her shoulders. She stares down at the dirt while her breathing levels.

“Katie, what are you saying? Why were you and Billie looking for us?”

She looks up, and I see that her forehead is drawn into well-worn creases of worry. “Jane and Rachel have gone into the woods.”

Something was wrong. Sabrina crouched on the wet sand, straining to see through the heavy rain. In her dream there had definitely been someone else on the island. She remembered the hunched figure, the sound of sobs leaking through the rain.

But she’d circled the shore at least twice by now, and there was nobody to be found. “Am I late or something?” she wondered aloud. Somehow, she’d gotten that dream It felt like it had been sent to her. Why did it show a person when there was no one?

Sabrina sighed and began to traipse inland, tucking a knife in her pocket. It wasn’t a big island, and she might as well find some shelter aside from her boat, which was now overturned somewhere on the beach. Circe lived here, didn’t she? There must be some sort of roof, especially if this kind of weather was standard.

Or maybe this was just a random island and there was no Aeaea and Sabrina’s dream had just been the unhinged work of her unconscious mind.

There was a small grassy hill set aside from the sand, which Sabrina crawled up with the determination of a dying warrior. Something was pushing her back. An invisible force, a last crumb of survival instinct, plain old fatigue, she wasn’t sure. But something wanted her out of here, and it pushed back harder and harder as she climbed.

She let out a cry of frustration, clawing at the ground, at the air, at whatever this goddamn thing was, and found a renewed burst of strength that pulled her to the top of the hill. Once there, the force that pushed back ebbed a little, like it was giving up. Sabrina let herself relax, and simply took in the view for a moment.

The hill she lay on top of gave way to a deep valley, sprawling and green. In one corner, there was a cluster of trees that looked healthy and comfortable, despite being on a random Greek island in the middle of the ocean. A modest garden lay next to it, somehow appearing unaffected by the rain, and a narrow river wound around the whole scene.

There was also a house.

Sabrina wasn’t sure what she might have expected from the lair of an infamous Greek enchantress, but it wasn’t this.

She hauled herself up on the hill and started down, rushing through the rain onto a wide wooden porch. There was a large stone vat of something dark and crumbly, with a heavy looking staff of sorts leaning against it. The door to the house was short, and Sabrina heard it scrape on the floor when she pushed it open.

The scene awaiting her was surprisingly cozy when she stepped inside. There was a fire in the hearth and rows upon rows of little viles arranged on a set of shelves beside it. A broom leaned against the wall. Sabrina looked around, noting the way that the rain didn’t make any sound as it thrashed against the roof and window, and the almost drug-like stupor that threatened to take over her brain, whispering that everything was fine, she was safe, nothing bad could happen to her.

Sabrina had encountered hypnosis before, and it only ever made her more jittery.

There was an open hatch in the floor with stairs that lead into darkness. She followed them down, feeling the air grow cooler with every step. Sabrina was quiet, taking tiny steps on her toes, and wincing when one of the stairs creaked. She didn’t know what was down there, and she didn’t want to find out the hard way. But there were no arrows flying up from the space below, no sounds of footsteps or slashes of swords.

Sabrina stepped onto a dirt floor and let herself exhale, shuffling along until her toe hit something hard. Only seasoned reflexes made her reach for the knife in her pocket instead of crying out in fear. She knelt down and squinted in the darkness, trying to see what she’d hit.

A leg.

She frowned, shaking it until she heard a low growl. “Stop that.” She stopped.

“Who are you?” Sabrina leaned closer. If they hadn’t killed her yet she was probably safe.

Instead of answering, they reached out a hand. Sabrina could see a gold ring on the thumb that glinted in a little sliver of light that had crept down from the room above. “Pull me up,” the figure said. “I’ve been paralyzed by the witch.”

Helping the stranger sit turned out to be no simple feat. They were tall and muscular, wearing a cape and a heavy metal chest plate. “The witch?” she questioned, propping them up against one of the cellar’s dirt walls. Her eyes were beginning to adust to the dark, and she could just make out their sharp chin sticking out as their head lolled back.

The figure made a noise. “The witch, the sorceress, the woman. Whatever you want to call her. I figure she sent you down too?” They snorted. “Good luck. I told Zeus not to sent mortals, but does he ever listen? You’re gonna die.”

Sabrina tried to piece together what she could from all this. The witch must be Circe, unless she’d wound up on an entirely different island. And if Circe was going around paralyzing people, then something must be going on. She must be hiding something. As for the person in front of her, Sabrina wasn’t sure who they were. By the way they talked about Zeus, and casually said “mortals,” she’d guess some sort of god? As if that narrowed it down. She’d have to be careful.

“Why did she paralyze you?”

Another weird gutteral noise. “She didn’t like my offer. It’s not the first time this has happened.”

She was growing impatient. Why’d he have to be so vague? “What?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why he always sends me. I don’t think he trusts me. He’d rather me stay her paralysed in the basement of a witch than come back home.”

Sabrina let out an exasperated sigh. This wasn’t working and she needed answers. A whole coast of people with mythology-shaped holes in their memories awaited her. “You’re going to need to be a little more specific. I don’t think we’re on the same page.”

The figure sounded confused. “What do you mean? Don’t you know who I am?”

She leaned forward and inspected them in the darkness. “No. No I don’t.”

They slid their eyes down to her face. “I am the god Apollo. I came here for Circe and she did this to me.”

“What? Why?”

The stairs creaked behind Sabrina and she felt a long nail drag up her back. “I just want to be left alone,” said a voice as deep and powerful as the smell of red wine. “You don’t mind, do you?” Before Sabrina could grab her knife and turn around, before she could even scream, strong arms had surrounded her shoulders and a hand was clamping a damp cloth over her nose and mouth. Shock made her breath in, sharply, and she smelled the sweetness of sleeping drugs.

A heartbeat, a brief struggle, and Sabrina Starr was gone.

#cruel summer fic #cameron writes #the penderwicks #penderwicks #camp half blood #camp half-blood #rachel elizabeth dare #jane penderwick #rosalind penderwick

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fromchaostocosmos · 4 years

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Ridiculous Antisemitism Thread

Because, I think, sometimes it better (or easier) to laugh then to cry I’ve decided to start a thread for all the dumb, stupid, and ridiculous antisemitism.

You know the antisemitism that makes you go “what the fuck” and “that makes no sense” (not that antisemitism ever does) and logic part of you brain melt first then the antisemitism that immediately makes all the alarm bells goes off.

Even though these dumb and stupid antisemitism is not “The Jews control the world” or “Jews are committing white genocide” shit or others like that I am very much not saying that these stupid theories can’t be dangerous in their own right.

Because, in my opinion, I think that they can. Any antisemitism no matter how silly it may seem is always dangerous as far as I’m concerned.

My intent here is just to say “hey fellow Jewish folks (Insert reminder here Messianics are not Jewish and thus not welcome and can fuck right off) this a place for us to just find some humor in some shit and to look at the dumb and stupid and down right more ridiculous versions of the massive amounts of antisemitism conspiracy theories and other antisemitic junk and find a way to have fun with it.”

My favorite of these kinds that I seen so far that I have seen goes basically like this is: That in the 1920′s Jews planted dinosaur bones to confuse xtians and turn them away from xtianity.

Which I mean makes no fucking sense what so ever, but I really want to know is where the fuck did we get the technology to make such good dino bones that even 21st century the lie still holds up and how the fuck did we bury those bones so good? Cause like we had to get real deep under the ground for that. Also if we did in 20′s how did they found dino bones before then? Did we invent time travel just to fake the exsitance of dinosaurs le gasp

Please only if you are Jewish can you add to thread. If you are not Jewish and want to reblog, I’m gonna say that if personally fine with me because I think it is an opportunity for you to see to some of shit we deal.

Non-Jewish people tend to only find out about the absolute worst stuff, but don’t really know about the more intimate daily things or smaller ones or things that are pretty horrific, but aren’t bad enough to make the news and such.

So if you not Jewish and reblog this thread now or in the future I ask that you respect mine and others experiences on this thread. Please do not add your comments even if it is meant to be positive or validating onto the post itself. You can do that in the tags.

#antisemitism #antisemitism thread #jumblr #jewish living #jewish experience #jewish lived experience #my posts

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chelsfic · 4 years

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Chapter 6 - Inherited - Dracula/OFC - Dracula (2020) fanfic

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Summary: Emilie makes her decision and has a steamy reunion with the Count.

A/N: Smut here! Come get your smut! There is also a significant amount of blood drinking. I want to say thank you so much to all who have read, commented, reblogged and recommended this fic! I’m overwhelmed by my kind and thoughtful readers!

As always, if you’d like to be tagged in updates just let me know!

***

Emilie tugged at the high collar of her Sunday dress and shifted self-consciously in the pew. Her younger sister, Anna, shot her a questioning look to which she merely shook her head in reply. Emilie usually took solace in the weekly sermon but this Sunday she was restless and incapable of attending to the Reverend’s words.

Her nerves tingled and her senses were aflame. The light streaming through the stained glass window behind the pulpit was nearly blinding in its intensity. Emilie could taste the colors on her tongue, the sweet, tart reds and fresh, watery blues. The wood grain of the pew beneath her hands was distracting as well. She felt it vibrating with life and saw, in her mind’s eye, the rough bark and shuddering leaves of the tree from which it came. And there was the phantom taste of Vlad’s blood filling her mouth. She knew, without knowing how, that he’d given her this new power, these sharpened senses. Was this how he always experienced the world? It was overwhelming. Emilie closed her eyes and gripped the edge of the pew to ground herself.

It did little to help. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Lucy Steele’s bright eyes go dull with death, the shocking splash of blood painting the side of her neck. She heard the sharp, horrifying crunch of the girl’s vertebrae snapping. And she saw Vlad, her beloved Count, eyes red with menace and blood dripping from his razor sharp teeth. How could she love such a man, such a creature? For love him she did. She could admit that here, in the house of God where she must be true to herself.

Maybe she was selfish but she found that she couldn’t forget his loving caress, the gentle brush of his fingers over her skin. She recalled his words, You have nothing to fear from me. How could she turn her heart against such a man? A man so magnificent, with powers beyond her imagining, who somehow–impossibly–wanted her? The answer came from within: a voice, perhaps her own or perhaps a guardian angel’s, which rang out in her mind, You will not turn away from him.

She did not know where this path would lead. Perhaps one day it would be she hanging limp in his arms and beaming up at his darling face, gratified to give her life to feed him. Or…or perhaps she’d stand by his side, no longer a servant but an equal with marvelous powers of her own. She did not know if such a thing were possible but she felt in her bones that she was fated to give herself over to him. The decision, once made, lifted a burden from her chest and she smiled up at the pulpit. Lit from within by the grace of her own certainty that God would not lead her to the Count if He did not wish for them to be together.

It never occurred to her to consider her love of the Count as a test from God. No god could be so cruel.

***

“Now, my sweet girl, tell me how things are going up at Carfax and don’t try to sugarcoat things. I’m your mother and I can tell when you’re lying. Are you alright up there by yourself with the Count?” Mrs. Andrews patted her eldest daughter’s hand across the dinner table and watched her with concern. Her poor health had kept her from ever personally serving Count Dracula, but she knew his nature as well as her mother had and she feared for Emilie.

“Mama,” Emilie soothed in a voice infused with false confidence, “you don’t need to worry about me. The Count is very solicitous for my comfort. I’m in no danger from him…really.”

Mrs. Andrews held her gaze for a long moment and Emilie sensed that her mother did not quite believe her, but she soon lowered her eyes and let the moment pass. After all–was there really a point in forcing the topic? Their family had served Count Dracula for a hundred years. They’d kept the secret of his long life and dark appetites in exchange for protection and financial security. None of them could rescind the deal now. And in truth, Emilie did look remarkably well. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks rosy with a healthy glow. Mrs. Andrews set her worries aside and proceeded to catch her daughter up on all the village goings on of the previous week.

***

It was dark by the time the wagon rolled to a stop by the Abbey’s servants’ entrance. Emilie hopped off the back and thanked Mr. Thomas for the ride. He brought her back each Sunday along with the weekly grocery delivery. It was convenient for Emilie and Mr. Thomas had been shameless flirting with Mrs. Andrews for years, so he didn’t mind the extra weight in the wagon if it put him in the widow’s good graces.

“Have a good week, Miss Emilie!” he called as she dashed off to the servants’ door and disappeared inside.

She was eager to see her Count. Her mind whirled with questions as she climbed the staircase to the Abbey’s first floor. How would he react when he saw her and knew of her decision to return to him? Would he kiss her again? Embrace her? Would he dip his head into the crook of her neck and bite her as he had Miss Lucy?

She found him in his study, a massive room with vaulted ceilings and walls lined with books. He sat in a wing back chair before the fire. Emilie stood in the doorway watching him. She could see only the side of his pale face, his lovely, thick hair and his hand dangling over the armrest, holding a glass goblet filled with something rich, dark and red.

She strode forward, discarding the small drawstring bag she’d carried with her into town and whirling round the chair to present herself before him. She knelt between his knees, a supplicant before her god, and looked up at him with hope and affection glowing in her features. She longed for comfort, for a confirmation that she’d made the right decision.

She reached out shyly and took one of his hands in her own, pressing it to her cheek and closing her eyes, reveling in the contact.

“My…Vlad,” she whispered, rubbing her cheek into his palm like a cat demanding affection. “I’ve come back to you.”

Dracula smiled down at her, setting the goblet on a small table beside the chair and reaching forward to stroke both hands through her hair, cupping her upturned face.

“My Emilie,” he responded with a playful lilt to his voice, mirroring her word choice. “You’ve made me very happy.”

And then he was pushing her backward and onto the plush hearthrug. He followed her onto the floor caging her body with his arms and legs and bending down to press his lips to hers in a fevered kiss. His clawed hands strayed over the bodice of her conservative dress, pushing under the collar and stroking her delicate neck, the tops of her breasts. Emilie mewled in pleasure and arched her back, giving him the access he needed to reach around and begin popping open the buttons that ran down her spine holding the frock in place.

When he’d reached the final button he sat back, kneeling between her wantonly spread legs and shoved the dress material down toward her waist. She wiggled to assist him and she was soon laying before him in nothing but her stockings and thin muslin petticoat. Her breasts were exposed, glowing in the orange light of the fire and she saw Vlad’s eyes focus on them as they heaved with her gasping breath. He reached out a hand and drew a wickedly sharp nail around her areola, flicking the nipple and eliciting a thrill of panicked pleasure from the debauched girl beneath him. Emilie reeled at the sensation even as she feared the sharp touch of his nails wounding her sensitive flesh.

“Be…” she gasped, trembling as he shifted his attention to her other breast, “…careful….please.”

Vlad smirked and let out an amused chuckle. He flattened his palm over her breast and dragged the calloused skin against her hardened nipple. Emilie shrieked in pleasure and arched into the touch.

“Don’t worry, my darling creature.”

The Count made quick work of his own clothes, tossing them into a heap on the armchair before turning back to face her, naked and glorious in his ferocious lust. He grabbed the waist of her petticoat and ripped it from her body. Emilie gazed up at him in adoration. She’d never seen a naked man before and she was too shy to let her eyes stray downward at first. Instead she raked her gaze over his broad shoulders, his dark-haired chest and flat stomach. He took satisfaction in letting her look, pausing to let her complete her perusal. He quirked his lips as her gaze finally lowered to take in the impressive length of pulsing manhood that jutted from between his legs. A shadow of trepidation crossed her face and Dracula determined immediately to sooth it away. He crawled up her naked body and looked deep into her eyes.

“I will be so careful with you, Emilie. Do you trust me?” his voice was husky with lust but his words were sincere.

Emilie reached up to cup her hand over his cheek and nodded shyly, “I trust you, Vlad.”

He touched her then, like he had days ago in his bedroom. His fingers slid over her sensitive core and Emilie ached with longing and pleasure. She buried her face in his neck and keened into his skin, begging and begging him though she couldn’t say for certain what she wanted.

Vlad smiled and licked his hot tongue along her neck from jaw to shoulder, “You’re a needy thing aren’t you, little one?”

He continued stroking her, savoring her little grunts and moans. She finally came with a thready cry and only then did he shift his hips between her legs and align himself with her opening. She felt the tantalizing pressure of his length pressing against her and then slowly, slowly entering. It hurt at first. Emilie’s muscles went rigid at the intrusion and her face scrunched up in pain. Dracula stilled his movement and looked down at her, laying soft kisses over her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids.

“Look at me, darling,” he whispered, waiting until she’d opened her eyes to continue. “Relax.”

The last word was said with the barest trace of suggestion and Emilie felt the tension immediately flow out of her muscles. Dracula started up again, thrusting his hips with masterful control and holding her face between his palms as he did so. He kept eye contact with her as the pain slowly faded and her belly began to heat with pleasure once more. He bit his lip and arched his back. His control slipped and he began rocking into her with more force, his tempo stuttering into ragged thrusts until he finally shouted his release and dove his face into the crook of her neck to bite down as his cock shuddered and jolted within her.

The sudden sting as his fangs pierced her skin was immediately followed by a rush of pleasure that pushed her over the edge again. Dracula licked, sucked and kissed her bloodied neck, drawing out more blood from her than he had before. She squirmed and moaned beneath him, riding waves of pleasure even as her head spun from the blood loss. Too soon he pulled away, his lips and chin were stained crimson. With a wicked grin he dipped his mouth to hers and pushed his tongue inside. Emilie tasted her own blood on his lips, his tongue. She twined her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and held him there, wishing to prolong the kiss forever. Eventually he pulled away panting with passion and blood lust.

“Now you know how sweet you taste, my darling girl,” he said, dipping his finger into the blood at her neck and smearing it over her mouth. Emilie stuck out her tongue and licked his finger as her eyes fluttered shut. “Oh, dear Emilie, you’re weak aren’t you?”

Without waiting for an answer he brought his finger to the base of his own neck and cut a two inch slit. Blood poured from the wound and he dipped down, baring his neck to her and pressing the cut against her lips. Emilie latched on immediately. She drank the blood he offered, reveling in the idea of her blood rushing through his veins even as she drank from him. She felt the dizziness of only a moment before pass and a wave of energy and strength coursed through her. Her Count was nourishing her with his essence, feeding her just as she had fed him.

He pulled away before she could take too much, pinching the would closed and laying back on the floor beside her. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close to his side, stroking her hair and whispering words of praise into her temple as he laid kisses along the top of her head. Emilie’s eyes grew heavier and heavier until she finally fell asleep, wrapped in her beloved’s arms and warmed by the snug fire in the hearth. They looked like a pair of pagan lovers: nude, covered in blood and skin aglow in the firelight.

Dracula looked down at her sleeping face and whispered, “You really are remarkable, Emilie. You’ll be my perfect bride.”

Note: in case you're wondering this exchange of blood won't be enough to turn Emilie. Drac is just looking to the future and he's establishing a blood bond with her as well as strengthening her for the eventual change.

Tags:

@charlesdances @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @just-mimii @haleyea @dracula-s-bride @irrelevantwriter @felicityofbakerstreet

#dracula x ofc #dracula x oc #count dracula x ofc #count dracula x oc #dracula imagine #claes bang imagine #bbc dracula #dracula netflix #dracula 2020 #chelsfic #tw:blood

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eponymous-rose · 4 years

Text

(I’d rather this not be reblogged, just in case!)

I’ve had a funny conversation a couple of times this week, once with my cousin and once with my physical therapist, so I thought it might be fun to go over this: when I mentioned I wasn’t teaching this quarter, they both stared at me in shock and said, “And you’re still getting paid?” To be fair, I absolutely would’ve asked the same question before I started. This job is so weird I never would’ve guessed what all falls under it!

So here’s a little glimpse into what goes on in this particular professorship:

So, hey, there are different ranks of professor. I’m an “assistant professor”, which is about as junior as it’s possible to get, but I won the dang lottery and somehow finagled my way into getting the words “tenure-track” tacked on before that. This means that over the next six years, everything I do will be scrutinized (culminating in a "summary” of several thousand pages reporting on every single aspect of my job performance), and at the end of it, after about nine months of progressively higher-ranked people in the university voting and deliberating, I have a chance to be granted tenure, which comes with a promotion to associate professor rank and Extreme Job Security. The criteria here are basically being able to prove that I’m one of the foremost experts in my field in the country and hitting research/service/teaching goals, and I’ll talk a bit about that in a second here. Promotion (often many years later) to full professor requires proof of being one of the foremost experts in the field on the planet.

Also, if you don’t get tenure, you get fired after that six-year period. Some universities are dicks and hire three or four assistant professors for every tenured position they want to fill and just fire the spares after getting six years of work out of them. My university has an extremely high tenure rate (mainly because anyone who seems unlikely to make tenure will either have some sort of intervention on their behalf, be granted an extra year to make up the difference, or will be asked to quietly resign before deliberations start), and my department hasn’t denied anyone tenure in decades.

So! What the hell do I do? Well, universities in the U.S. that are particularly research-heavy are referred to as “R1 universities”, which is the situation I’m in here. This means that the majority (often the vast majority) of my time is not spent teaching: it’s all about doing research, to the point where I will not be teaching more than one class simultaneously. In my field, that research can look like a lot of different things:

There are indeed people who work with beakers and range hoods and snazzy lab coats: these researchers in my field might be doing stuff like growing snowflakes in the lab and using that information to figure out the conditions under which different kinds of snow can form. Also there’s chemistry? I don’t know this side of it too well. Professors’ roles here, apart from the science, include ordering the right equipment (which includes getting quotes from various suppliers) and hiring lab technicians and folks to keep the equipment up and running.

Some folks do intense numerical modeling: if you’re studying the atmosphere, you can’t just try your experiment on one Earth and compare how it’s different on another Earth, since we only have the one, so what we do instead is use the most powerful supercomputers on the planet to create simulations. These can be as detailed as looking at the flow of dust in the millimeters above the ground, or as broad as simulating the whole atmosphere of the entire planet (or other planets!). On top of the science, these professors often have to negotiate for supercomputer time (a precious commodity), purchase massive computational resources (e.g., a server room hosted locally), and sometimes hire dedicated I.T. support just for their research.

I work a lot with large datasets: if we have information about the conditions under which tornadoes happened over the past 15 years, what patterns can we pick up that forecasters might be able to use? What is physically, fundamentally different about tornadoes that happen in different places? This kind of stuff really just needs a decently specced desktop machine and some know-how, and a lot of research in our field involves sitting and thinking. Also in this category is the pure math and physics work in the field, where people bury themselves in impossible-to-solve equations to try to figure the best way to wrench them into things we can solve. This is probably the closest to what most people think of when they hear “research”.

Fieldwork. Think Twister. Coordinating large numbers of people, who may be on the ground, driving, in the air, in the ocean. Also, coordinating instruments that might be stationary or might be buoys or drones or something else. We’re a public university; we don’t have the cash to buy our own airplanes, so profs in this scenario have to rent time on research aircraft owned by organizations like NASA or NOAA, or rent time on boats, or hire folks to develop and build new instruments. Massive amounts of organization goes into this, and all stages from inception to execution are generally overseen and organized by the professor.

When any or all of these approaches come up with groundbreaking results (you’re expected to have that kind of result happen a couple times a year), it’s time to write a paper and get it published in a prestigious academic journal. That process can take between four months and a year, depending on a bunch of different factors, so often a professor is juggling a few different projects in different states of done-ness.

What you’ll notice in all this is that professors generally have to come up with the money to do this stuff. New profs generally get a starting budget to get them off the ground, but most of that winds up wrapped up in personnel and start-up costs (e.g., buying computing resources or space for a lab). For the rest of it? Grants.

Grants in my field right now are a bit of a mess: it takes months to put a proposal together, it’s chaotic and complicated as hell, and there’s only about a 10-15% success rate, so you can do the math on that one. In my field, grants range from “small” ones supporting a few years of the pure-science stuff (typically a few hundred thousand dollars that mainly goes toward paying several people’s salaries over several years, but also covers things like journal publication fees - it costs several thousand dollars to publish one paper in an academic journal) to much larger ones supporting field campaigns or long-term projects (rarely, several tens of millions of dollars if you’re talking projects with multiple aircraft and such). I get paid for nine months of the year, and have to come up with the remaining three months’ salary on my own.

The other thing, though, that grants pay for is graduate student salaries! My department pays students quite well (more than enough to afford the rent on an apartment here, which is saying a lot), and also provides full benefits and a complete tuition waiver. Grad students in my field are essentially in an apprenticeship situation: they pick an advisor and work with that person for typically about seven years. During that time, they have to hit certain milestones (nine months of classes, plus a few courses sprinkled throughout the remaining six years, giving presentations, passing exams, doing a defense, writing a dissertation---essentially a book of their research results), and if you’re thinking this is putting a horrifying amount of power in the advisor’s hands, you’re absolutely correct. The imperfect but step-in-the-right-direction solution my department’s adopted has been to give each student a committee of professors, where one leads the research but the others are always available for new ideas or to resolve problems or speak up on behalf of the student. Students are also strongly encouraged to take a year or two off from their main research project to work with another professor, either here or elsewhere, and explore new research ideas.

Professors are responsible for teaching their students what they need to succeed, and our department has famously exceptional graduate students and graduate student mentorship: profs teach students how to do research (often guiding them through a Master’s project, then letting them take the reins and backing off to an advisory role for the remaining years of the PhD), which includes having them publish their results as the lead authors of their own scientific journal articles. Profs also pay to send students to conferences to showcase their research and introduce them to the people who’ll help them in their future career (one of the reasons I traveled a bunch this quarter was to meet some folks who might be good contacts for students who don’t want to just shoot for a job in the US). Some students will get to go on field campaigns, flying on research aircraft or, I dunno, driving tanks into tornadoes. Some will be more interested in non-academia pursuits and might spend some time shadowing insurance analysts or taking extra entrepreneurial classes in the business school or working hands-on with forecasters during the height of severe weather season. It’s our jobs as professors to know the job market, to know the right people, and to know our students well enough to help them get where they’re going. This department takes this Very Seriously, to the point where it eclipses research as our Top Priority, and the general understanding is that getting a grad student position here sets you up for life.

So! Part of my job this time of year is recruiting graduate students based on my budget. For some folks, that means actively advertising wherever possible and getting super involved in the visiting student weekends (we fly prospective grad students out here to visit before they make their decision, and there’s always a fair number of students who haven’t settled on an advisor yet). Some folks are absurdly lucky and study fields that are considered particularly cool and interesting, and the top students actively seek them out and will cold-call or send e-mails or introduce themselves at conferences (look, turns out it’s hilariously easy to sell someone on “come study tornadoes!” and even a newbie like me has to choose between several particularly strong candidates). Either way, the graduate student hiring process involves a lot of internal debate---we’re not a huge department, so we typically can only send offers to a little under 10% of the folks who apply each year---that mainly centers around making sure each student has a supportive research “home” waiting for them here, based on funding and how much time each faculty member might have. Professors need to coordinate grant budgets (or startup funds, or stopgap funds in the increasingly common situation where no grant money could be secured for a given year) to make sure students have any equipment they might need (cool stuff like supercomputer time, servers, equipment to take to the field, accessibility aids, but also mundane stuff like office space and desks). We also have to coordinate with the university to make sure international students can get here and stay here under the correct visa status.

Right now, I only have one graduate student, and he’s currently undergoing the barrage of first-year coursework, but we meet weekly and he’s started playing around with some data analysis and reading some of the big papers in the field (he’s coming in from mechanical engineering, so the math is familiar but the vocabulary is funky). I’ve developed short- and long-term learning goals for him, culminating in putting together a proposal for his master’s research in June, then converting his early results to a scientific journal article to help him hit the ground running, because he’s brilliant and he’d be able to pull it off without breaking a sweat.

I’m also on the committees of two second-year Master’s students, so my responsibilities there include reviewing their proposals and, in one case, helping her put together an application for a major fellowship that would put $100,000 toward her education, which means she wouldn’t be beholden to any given research grant and could study any topic she liked. I’m also co-advising a postdoctoral researcher---his primary advisor is a specialist on snow, which is his area of interest, but I’m a specialist on some of the methods he uses to study snow, so I’m consulting with him on that side of things. I’m also working with a couple of particularly motivated final-year PhD students who want to run a multi-day Python and machine learning workshop for the department. Heck yeah.

Apart from research and advising, another facet of being a professor is the nebulous category often just referred to as “service”. Volunteer work, essentially. Right now, I’m reviewing scientific journal articles, typically 2-4 at a time (down to one right now, although I anticipate a flood right before the holidays). This is all done as volunteer work, but it’s honestly the easiest way for me to keep up with the latest literature, because yeah, you can’t just sit in a room and think if you don’t know what everyone else is thinking about. And when even a small field has a dozen or so major academic journals putting out a couple dozen articles each a month that you have to stay on top of... reviewing can be a great way to get the highlights. Sometimes I also get to review other people’s grant proposals, which is really helpful! Still, I wish journals would pay us for this work---someone did a poll on Twitter and found that folks in our field spend on average about 6 hours per review. That adds up!

I also tend to help out with conferences, either doing logistical stuff like deciding what the major topics are, and who gets to speak when (and who probably shouldn’t be given a microphone...) or coordinating the judging of awards for student presentations. That sometimes involves weird event planning stuff like trying to find a venue and speakers and transportation for a formal dinner, or hiring caterers and dealing with competing hotel quotes for room blocks, or cold-calling reasonably famous people and asking them to volunteer their time (or offering them an honorarium) to Skype in to a room full of people.

I’m also on a few national committees that are working to define the priorities of some of the big professional organizations: mainly I work in my particular subdiscipline, but also with diversity/equity/inclusion and early-career support. Some of that is as simple as running social media accounts or helping to design surveys. I’ve recently been assigned to help audit a major organization’s commitment to diversity, which could be pretty interesting. It all sounds like a lot, and a lot of it’s coming to a head lately just because of conference timing, but it usually slows down to one or two hours a week of work in the off-season. I like this kind of stuff because it’s a relatively low-effort way to meet scientists all over the world that I wouldn’t have encountered otherwise.

We’re also hiring a new faculty member right now, which is... hilariously complex. Every aspect is basically done by committee and the entire department has to agree on who to interview and, eventually, who to hire, because hiring someone for this position is potentially choosing your coworker for the next 30+ years. Interviews are two-day endurance training for the poor candidates, who get face-to-face meetings with every member of the faculty, on top of more specialized interviews. We’ve had about 120 competitive applications thus far. It’s... a lot.

And just because I’m not teaching actively right now doesn’t mean teaching isn’t eating a lot of time: there’s some fun logistical set-up to do! For instance, the class I’m co-teaching starting in January features a lab where we take all the students over to the engineering buildings to set up some instruments in a wind tunnel. Gotta make sure we’ve timed it right so they can actually give us the wind tunnel! We’re also coordinating the timing and the schedule so that both instructors are actually around for the parts of the class they’re teaching. For three of the five weeks I’ll be teaching, I have the previous instructor’s materials to work with, but the other two weeks are all new material (and a lot of ad-lib based on how students do with the first chunk of the class). I also haven’t done anything related to this class since I took a comparable class over a decade ago, so, uh. Better study up.

In the spring, I’ll be teaching an entirely new class that’s never been offered by the department before. That involves building a syllabus, figuring out what each lecture will be about, coming up with contingencies in case some lectures get cancelled, writing exams and assignments and lectures and (since it’s a programming class) making sure everyone has access to the necessary hardware and software and data for the big final project. And, because I’m me, I’ll also be coordinating the whole thing with a special office in the university that does long-term testing of teaching effectiveness---they’ll send someone over to spend a few minutes chatting with the students midway through the quarter, then work with me on recommendations and improvement. I figure it’s a new class being offered for the first time, so we might as well get in on the ground floor of longitudinal pedagogical study. Also, I don’t actually know this programming language yet. Little more studying to do, there.

So... yeah. This job is absurd. It’s a million different jobs, the vast majority of which I’ve had no training for. And I adore it. Nobody cares where I am or what I’m doing at any given time, as long as I get results and as long as my students are succeeding. As someone who loves nothing more than bland, repetitive tasks repeated over and over again, it’s not exactly in my wheelhouse... but I love how hard it makes me think, and I adore being pushed this far out of my comfort zone and knowing I actually have the resources and the know-how to succeed. Every single day is something completely new and exciting and bizarre. Hell, every hour. It’s pretty fantastic, and utterly terrifying.

#i'd rather you didn't rebagel just because there's some me-specific stuff in here!#eponymous job tag #eponymous academia tag #long text post

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yamayamawrites · 4 years

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The Way You Said “I Love You” - #1

Hi friends! A while ago I reblogged a prompt list from mottainaiiii (find the original post here!) with ways to say “I love you”. Now, a very ridiculous amount of time later, I plan on actually writing one-shots (or maybe a fic? Not sure if I want them to overlap) to go with each of these.

I’m also posting these to my AO3 page, which you can find here! I really miss writing and it’s been a hell of a long time since I’ve posted anything, so to get myself back into it I figured I’d start with prompts that I reblogged literally years ago.

Anyways, enough from me! Here’s the first chapter!

Chapter 1: As a Hello

Marinette and Adrien had been dancing around an important topic for weeks now. That important topic was feelings. Specifically, how they felt about each other. Because after that night at Alya’s, they certainly weren’t just the close friends they thought they were.

After high school, Marinette and Adrien found themselves attending the same university – both on a scholarship that was too good to pass up. Despite how insistent Adrien’s father was on paying for Adrien to go to the best university France had to offer, Adrien continually told him that he wanted to make his way through university without financial help. That didn’t stop Adrien’s father from paying Adrien’s monthly rent at his apartment, but luckily it stopped him from interfering anywhere else.

Nino wasn’t going to university. In his last year of high school, his music career took off when one of his songs played on Paris’s most popular radio station. He moved closer to the coast and out of the city of Paris, and Alya followed him. She attended classes online while she worked full-time as an intern at a journalism company.

This is all to say that the four best friends they’d come to be during their last year of high school had split up, and by the end of their first semester of university, there was a certain pain of something missing that drew them back together.

Marinette had stopped Adrien one day on campus walking out of a different classroom than her. “Hey!” she chirped and, noticing the dark bags under his eyes, assumed he’d just left his last final exam. “Uh, you alright?”

Adrien laughed in response, a bit dazed. “Oh, yeah. Doin’ great. I got a whole hour of sleep last night!”

Marinette laughed back, gently touching his arm. The way friends did. “Well, I’m sure you could use the rest. I was stopping you to…” she tried to recall why she’d stopped him, actually. “Oh! Oh yeah! Alya called last night and invited me out to her and Nino’s apartment for a bit during the break. She told me to ask you – she doesn’t have your number.”

Now that was a lie, Marinette well knew. Alya had everyone’s number. Alya still insisted on trying to set the couple up together, despite both of them believing they were better off as close friends. They seemed to be the only two who believed that to be true.

Adrien leaned in towards her, the way friends do. “Oh, that sounds great! I’ll drive?”

“Well, since you offered,” Marinette giggled. Adrien enjoyed giving Marinette rides when they went out of town together – which for some reason happened quite often now that Adrien had no photo shoots to worry about and Marinette worked mostly remote. “Pick me up after you take a nap, handsome,” she teased and ruffled his hair, the way friends do.

“’Course. I’ll call you before I leave?” he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, the way friends do.

“You better!” Marinette said as she turned around, smiling her entire walk back to her bike.

The entire drive there, Marinette and Adrien listened to the pop music station, counting how many times Nino’s music came on.

“God, I just can’t believe how famous he got so quickly,” Adrien sighed. “I’m so proud of him.”

Marinette smiled. Adrien genuinely cared for every person in his life, she learned. Even when Chloe first appeared on television, despite Adrien’s annoyance with her, he called her and congratulated her. It made Marinette appreciate the people in her life more.

Adrien began singing along to one of Nino’s songs, quietly at first, then building confidence as Marinette sang with him. Before long, the two were bellowing the song as loudly as they could, laughing at each other’s expressiveness.

They arrived to Nino’s and Alya’s apartment late that evening, and perhaps it was the relief of getting to fully rest after finals week that made Adrien and Marinette so nonchalant about the fact that the third bedroom in the apartment didn’t have a bed for one of them to take. Neither Adrien nor Marinette would offer themselves to take the couch (which was notoriously uncomfortable), and as a result, they slept together in the guest room.

The following morning Marinette woke up first, and the embarrassment of actually sleeping with Adrien set in. She cringed at her stubbornness the night before and quietly grabbed her clothes. She changed in the bathroom and met Alya in the kitchen. Alya smirked her knowing smirk, her mind already swirling with theories of what had happened the night before.

“Shut up,” Marinette groaned before Alya could even open her mouth. Alya just laughed in response and passed her a mug of coffee.

Adrien and Marinette ended up staying for about a week. Alya and Nino announced that they were having a Christmas party the night before Adrien and Marinette were planning on leaving. That excited Marinette; she hadn’t gotten the chance to meet all of the quirky people Alya worked with, but she practically knew their life stories considering how often Alya called to gossip about them. There was Monique, who had too many cats; Adeline and Thomas were in some sort of “on again off again” relationship; and her personal favorite that Marinette desperately hoped to meet was Cindy, who apparently did something crazy every single weekend. Last week, in honor of Christmas coming up, she dyed half her hair white and the other half red.

The group spent most of that Saturday decorating the apartment with cheesy Christmas decorations Nino had bought on sale some time ago. Marinette helped Alya bake cookies for the party, and Adrien and Nino made a quick snack run to prepare.

The party itself was relatively small. Sadly Marinette didn’t get to meet Cindy; she texted Alya just an hour before and said that she was going to Ireland on a surprise trip with her boyfriend. She did, however, meet Thomas and Adeline, who were apparently “off again” that day, because they refused to speak to each other. About halfway through the party, they seemed to be “on again” because they excused themselves to the bedroom to talk for a while.

Marinette didn’t hear any talking, but that wasn’t her business.

Nino had a couple friends come over as well. A few lesser-known musicians, mostly, who Marinette might have been able to recognize one song by. The group of them mostly sat around the living room – Adrien’s arm draped around Marinette’s shoulders, and Marinette leaning into him, like friends do – and played Cards Against Humanity. Each of them had a drink in hand (Marinette didn’t know when Alya got so good at mixing drinks, but she didn’t question it).

Thomas and Adeline left first, followed by a few of Nino’s friends and Monique (who said she had to go feed her cats). Alya and Nino were cleaning something up in the kitchen, and Adrien and Marinette were chatting nonchalantly on the couch, his arm still around her. Sitting in a chair across the room was the last of Nino’s friends (maybe his name was Peter? Marinette couldn’t remember), who was putting the cards back into the box. Finally, he looked up at them and said, “You two are really cute. How long have you been together?”

Adrien’s first instinct was to laugh, and Marinette’s was to push herself away from Adrien’s side. “We’re not dating,” they said in unison, Marinette sounding frightened and Adrien amused.

“Wow, really? Exes?”

“Uh, no,” Marinette squeaked out.

“Huh,” he shrugged. “Well, whatever you’ve got, I wish I had it.” He finished packing up the box. “Merry Christmas. Nice to meet you two.”

“Nice to meet you,” they responded, again in unison, and he went into the kitchen to say goodbye to Nino.

Adrien returned his attention to Marinette. “Do you think he’s got a point?” he asked thoughtfully.

“A-about what?”

“We’d make a really hot couple,” he teased, poking at her side. She laughed, a bit nervously, standing up and turning away.

“I’m gonna go see if they need any help,” she said, walking out of the room.

Later that night, Marinette offered to sleep on the couch.

The car ride home the next morning was quiet. Neither of them sang along to the music, they simply put on Nino’s Christmas album and listened. At one point Adrien tried to ask if Marinette was okay, but she just squeaked and nodded quickly. He knew her well enough to know that everything was not okay, but he was oblivious that he might be causing it.

Marinette had been up all night thinking about how she truly felt about Adrien. Sure, she’d had a massive crush on him, but she strongly believed that she’d grown out of it. Plus, did they really look like a couple? Friends were close with each other, right? They enjoyed sitting close to each other, and calling each other “handsome” and “beautiful”, and jokingly holding hands, and sleeping in the same bed – like friends do, right?

She buried her face in her hands. Not like friends do. Like boyfriends and girlfriends do.

Adrien dropped her off in front of her apartment, offering to walk her upstairs, but she shook her head and excused herself, saying she felt sick. He once again offered to walk her up, as that was more of a reason to walk her upstairs, but still she declined.

He texted her Christmas morning to wish her a ‘Merry Christmas, beautiful!’ and she responded with ‘Merry Christmas!’

Other than that, they did not talk. And it drove Marinette crazy.

The first day of winter semester, she texted Adrien and asked to meet him at the campus café after class. He agreed, and she made the decision that she couldn’t take the way she felt. Adrien needed to know.

She would just spit it out. Then, she wouldn’t have to think of what to say. Just… “I love you.” That’s all it took. She could do it.

She couldn’t do it. Adrien had already gotten her a caramel coffee, she could see it sitting on the table in front of him, and she couldn’t take how sweet he was. Did she really want to risk everything just so he knew how she felt?

Her inner battle to decide what to do continued even as she sat down at the table. Adrien smiled over at her. “Hey, how was your first class?”

“I love you,” she said, a bit more aggressively than she meant to.

“I,” Adrien’s cheeks flushed. “Uh, I love you too? You’re like my best friend—”

“No, Adrien,” she shook her head. Her cheeks were warm and she could tell her face was nearly as red as her shirt. “I love you. I love being close to you, and calling each other pet names, and – I just, I’m in love with you.”

“I…” Adrien, for the first time, stumbled over his words. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, I just needed to say that to you—”

“I think I’m in love with you, too.”

The words hung in the air for a moment. Marinette blinked. Adrien blinked back. Both seemed a bit shocked by the words that had come out of Adrien’s mouth. Finally, Marinette processed what he’d said. “I…you…huh?”

“Well, I love all of that stuff too. And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t turned down like, a hundred girls because I didn’t want to lose time with you,” he rubbed his neck sheepishly.

Marinette laughed, then, surprising both of them. “Oh my gosh,” she buried her face in her hands. “We’re idiots. Have we just been dating this whole time?”

Adrien laughed back. “Uh, maybe?”

“Do you want to go on a proper date, then?”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

#adrinette #miraculous ladybug #tumblr prompt #ao3 #marinette x adrien #adrien agreste #marinette cheng

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

Text

To Be Seen Pt.05

Seen With Sorrow

03/09/2019

Pairing: Thor x Reader Word Count: 9,011

*Masterpost in Notes Warnings: language, angst, sex flashbacks, rage

A/N: This and the chapter that follows were supposed to be just one but it was totaling at more than 17K words so I decided to split it. I hope you enjoy these next two chapters. I am very sleepy so I will edit them again tomorrow but I wanted to post them since I know a lot of you have been waiting and I’m so excited to share what has happened. As always, if you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work. xoxo

Being around Thor again is unbearable and intoxicating at the same time.

You want to stare at him because despite yourself and the pain that you endured four years ago, Thor is still the only man you’ve been able to picture a life with.

You'd loved him before, no matter that it was only a three week relationship. And if you’re honest with yourself—though you will deny this until you're blue in the face—you still do on some level.

He's Ben's father and that makes him indispensable and off the charts important. Unless he hurts your boy. Then he's worth shit and you'll find a way to hurt him, cut him into tiny pieces, and feed him to the stray cats!

Thor seems to notice the hostility in your thoughts as you take your chef's knife and jam the sharp tip into your cutting board.

He physically jumps in his spot beside you and slowly lowers his own knife, placing it beside his own cutting board currently laden with a half sliced carrot.

“Okay, perhaps you truly do not need my help.” Thor sidles out of the kitchen giving you a fearful look before he joins Ben at the small table in the seat opposite where you usually sit with your back to the kitchen.

In the seat he chooses, Thor is able to look between you and Ben easily. He stares at you for a few more seconds before Ben's teeny hand very softly rubs against Thor's large right one, tracing the length of his pointer finger and easily stealing his attention.

You continue to cut several pieces of chicken breast into smaller sizes so that once it's cooked you can cut it even smaller for Ben.

As you drop the first few pieces, you add a dash of seasoning and let the tender pale pink meat sizzle in your skillet. You multi-task as you always do while cooking and while the meat cooks you quickly fill your rice cooker and measure just enough water so that it'll be sticky and easy for Ben to eat.

You slide back over to your stove and flip the chicken before looking up at Ben and Thor.

Your heart soars for a moment before it drops into your stomach and a painful clench starts at the center of your chest and then works it’s way up into your throat to choke you.

Ben is sitting in Thor's lap, kneeling actually, looking smaller than ever as he strokes Thor's bearded cheeks and chin with his tiny hands.

What is he doing? Memorizing his daddy's face? He's staring at it for sure, staring into Thor's eyes as Thor stares right back, his massive hands cradled gently on Ben's sides.

He's so small in Thor's hands and arms that Thor's hands, although they’re resting on either side of Ben, wrap around your boy's back completely so that his large fingers overlap.

They’re not talking. Neither of them says a single word as they stare at each other before Ben throws his arms around Thor's neck and hugs him, resting his chin against Thor's hard left shoulder.

Thor hugs him back, wrapping him up in his arms then kisses Ben's blonde head then his neck and shoulder, and you've wanted go see that perfect picture for so long you can’t stand it. You’re so close to tears that you force yourself to look away from them.

You rush to the carrots beside you and start to chop them up, moving with frantic energy. Your Vision blurs as your eyes mist over, threatening heavy hot tears. You move your hands faster, cutting almost blindly until a sharp slicing pain shocks you into dropping your knife onto the floor as you take a step back.

You gasp as the shocking pain gives way to a searing burn.

“Ow! Sh-shoot.” You adjust the word quickly, even upset as you are and as easy as you’ve always been with the swears, Ben’s little ears are pure and you’re going to keep them that way as long as possible.

Luckily, you'd pulled your hand back fast enough that your blood only got on the counter and floor.

Ben's carrots are still okay. You haven’t ruined his lunch. This is your worry as you hold your right hand tightly curled around your left index finger. That is most important.

“Mommy!” Ben exclaims.

“I’m okay, sweet pea. Just a cut.” You assure him but you look up to find him already squirming out of Thor’s arms who is also watching you with worried eyes.

He puts Ben down then rises to his feet and moves towards the kitchen after your son who’s running for you.

“Wait, no, Benny, there’s blood on the floor.” You warn him but he looks from your tightly clutched finger, blood seeping from the tight cracks, then up to your face where you suddenly realize those tears from before had spilled over with the pain of your cut.

Ben stops at the end of the kitchen by the counter and his mouth curves into a very pronounced upside-down U with his full lower lip jutting out as he frowns. That little lip quivers and his eyes flood with tears as he watches you silently cry and in seconds he’s crying too.

His cry is a loud emotional sobbing and it breaks your heart because you know he’s only crying because you are, and he sees the blood, so he thinks you’re hurt worse than he is.

“Ben, I’m okay.” You assure him.

However, he continues to stand there with his hands clenched into little fists before he lifts them up to his eyes as he continues to cry heavily, loudly, filling your home with his heartbreaking sobs.

Thor takes a step towards you, his brow furrowed at the blood gushing from your hand onto the floor, but you shake your head as he lifts his eyes to yours and freezes. His first instinct needs to be to tend to Ben! You look pointedly at your baby and Thor knows instantly what you’re saying.

“Ben, your mother is alright, nothing to worry about. It is just a small cut. Is it not, Y/N?” He asks you, pressing a tender hand to the back of Ben's little head.

“Yes, of course.” You assure your baby boy, but Ben is inconsolable, and he only cries harder.

Thor drops to his knees and pulls Ben into his arms to hold him close. Ben’s hands fist Thor’s shirt as he buries his face against his chest and continues to cry while stealing blue-eyed glances at you.

You know that he’ll only continue to cry until you’re holding him, so you quickly move to the sink and wash your finger with water then pull a small towel from the drawer by your sink and wrap it tightly around your cut.

“Oh, sweet pea,” You gush and squat down and open your arms for him. “Come here, Ben.”

He pulls away from Thor eagerly and rushes into your arms, successfully sidestepping the small pool of blood by the counter where you’d been cutting.

You hold him close, rubbing his little back with your uninjured hand and sigh as his crying rises in pitch for a minute as Thor hurries to the stove to tend to the chicken.

“I will finish cooking this. Go and tend to your hand.” Thor instructs and you’re so eager to settle Ben’s tiny worried heart that you get up and carry him with you out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into the bathroom at the end of the hallway on the right.

There’s nothing special about this bathroom. It has a beautiful and chic modern shower with dark red tiles on the floor and wall and stunning black steel borders around the glass door and walls. The floors of the bathroom are a dark gray ceramic tile, heated like your wooden floors; a light gray porcelain toilet, and a matching sink with a black steel faucet on a concrete black counter over which hangs a plain wide mirror.

You move to sit on the shut toilet seat, sighing as you settle Ben on your lap as he continues to sniffle but gladly is no longer bawling his poor eyes out. His usual bright blues are rimmed red, and his lower lip continues to quiver with every sniffle he makes.

“Ben, I need your help. Can you bring me the first aid kit from under the sink?” You need to get his mind off of your own tears downstairs.

As long as you get his mind busy, he’ll put your tears out of his mind and he’ll start to feel better.

Without a word he slides off of your lap and moves to the cabinet. He pulls the dark gray painted door open and leans in on his hands and knees to pull out the clear box with the big red plus sign in the middle of a plain white label. He struggles to both hold it with one hand and wiggle back and out, but he manages it and hurries to you. He turns to give you his back as soon as he reaches you wanting to be held again. You lift him back up onto your lap, careful not to use your injured finger, and place the first aid kit on his little lap before opening the box.

Ben isn’t leaving your lap until he absolutely must, and you know this, so you don’t fuss or ask him to get down as you hold him between your arms. You lean down to kiss his plump little cheek then hold your injured finger in front of him as you whisper.

“We can’t wrap it up until we know it’s not bleeding anymore. Should we check?”

“Yeah.” Ben says, sadness still lingering in his voice.

You kiss him again, loving him so much as you peel back the towel and look at the half inch slice in your skin. It’s not deep enough to need stitches but with the amount of blood spillage downstairs, you’d thought you’d need them.

“See, it already stopped bleeding.”

Ben smiles a little, happy to see that you’re not bleeding anymore, but it fades as you rifle through the supplies in the box and pull a small alcohol wipe.

“What is dat, Mommy?” Ben ask curiously.

You suddenly realize that you’ve never needed to use a first aid kit in front of him. He’s never been cut or injured in any way since he’d been born.

“It’s an alcohol wipe.” You tear the small and square paper wrapper to expose the moistened corner then split the rest open and pull it out. “I’m going to wipe my cut with it to clean it.”

“Weew it hot?”

“It’ll hurt a little bit. It stings.”

“I dun’t want you to hot, Mommy!” Ben exclaims, his voice teetering back towards sorrow.

“It’s good that it hurts, Ben. If it hurts, then I know that I’m cleaning my cut so that it doesn’t get infected. Remember we talked about how mommy’s cuts can get infected?

“Yes.” He responds, serious as he continues to watch the nasty cut on your finger. “With jumms. Wite, Mommy?”

“With germs. Yes. So, can I clean it?” You ask him, leaning forward on his right side to try and get a look at his face.

“Okay, Mommy.”

How can he be so amazing?

He stares the entire time you tend to your wound. His face serious, more so with worry than concentration but he’s also got lots of that too, he watches you like he watches you when you sew. There’s a fascination in his eyes as you apply some ointment and then get the biggest band-aid you can find and cover your cut.

Both you and Ben are so absorbed in each other that you don’t realize that Thor has been watching the two of you for the past several minutes.

You kiss Ben’s cheek as he holds out his own tiny index finger and traces the edge of your bandage. “I’m okay.”

Your promise seems to mean more now that you aren’t bleeding and crying.

“I’m sorry I scared you, sweet pea.”

“Is okay, Mommy. I wuv you, Mommy. So, mush.” He says intensely.

You pretend to gasp. “Me? You love Mommy so much?”

“Yeah.”

“How much is ‘so much’?” You ask, teasing him slightly, you need to hear his laugh after that craziness.

“A ho wot.” He nods.

“I don’t know. Someone told me that you only love me a little bit.”

“No, Mommy, I wuv you wots. Pweese dun cwy, Mommy.” He begs and your heart breaks.

“Oh, sweet pea. I’m sorry I scared you. Really. I promise to try very hard to not scare you like that again, okay?”

“Okay.” He says with a soft smile then turns to wrap his arms around your neck to press kiss after sweet kiss against your chin and cheek until you’re chuckling lightly.

Thor suddenly clears his throat and you turn to look at him.

There’s a yearning in his eyes that catches you off guard. How much did he see? So much sadness radiates from his eyes towards you and Ben and you can see the envy in them. You think that you also see love in his eyes for a second and it’s very possible that he is feeling some love. Who would meet Ben and not love him right away?

“Daddy!” Ben exclaims and since you’re better he squirms off of your lap and runs to Thor with his little arms held up.

Thor's face lights up instantly and he scoops his son into his arms before looking at you.

“Lunch is ready, but I was not sure how to operate your rice cooker?”

It's surreal, Thor asking about your rice cooker, but you look at Ben. “Wanna show your daddy how to get the rice out of the cooker, Benny?”

“Okay! Wes go, Daddy!” Ben pulls on Thor's left ear and Thor gives you one last parting glance before heading back down.

You sit in the bathroom for several minutes after they’ve gone. As you sit there, you can hear Thor asking Ben questions and Ben's adorable easy voice reply. Thor chuckles and it booms up the stairs and settles into your bones along with the gentle peal of Ben's replying giggle.

Swallowing hard you pack up the first aid kit and replace it under the sink before you stop to stare at yourself in the mirror. This is a good thing. Thor being back is what you’ve been wanting. You’d just wished for it a few hours ago. Ben needs his dad.

You look yourself over nervously, straightening your top and then pulling your gray shorts down before sighing as you accept the truth that Thor is not here for you. He’s here for Ben. At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you move back down the stairs to rejoin them, all the while ignoring the logic of the simple fact that until Ben had clung to Thor’s leg, he hadn’t known that he even had a son.

You lean against your tree with your arms crossed over your chest, watching Thor with Ben in the distance. Thor is down on his knees, his hands on Ben’s small shoulders as he talks to him for what feels like ages.

Ben too is so absorbed in whatever Thor is telling him that he doesn’t even look at you. All of a sudden Ben turns and runs, his golden portal appearing. He disappears for a split second and while you blink another golden portal forms behind Thor who turns to face it and Ben comes zooming out and into Thor’s arms.

Thor’s resonating laugh reaches you across the large expanse of the yard and Ben laughs with him. Though your heart is rapidly beating in panic, in fear, your boy and his dad are having a good time.

You watch Thor’s face carefully, looking for any sign of the fear that you feel in yourself but find none. He looks impressed and he pats Ben’s back several times before saying something again which makes Ben run towards a nearby tree and leap up onto a branch just over six feet high. He grabs onto it and climbs up and once again, your heart is pounding in your chest.

You’re used to Ben’s jumping but when you aren’t expecting it, it always shocks you. He’s so tiny. Just at three feet in height and yet he can jump more than double that. You’ve seen him jump clear over Steve’s head when they’ve played outside.

As you’re watching them you don’t realize that you’re clutching your chest as an ache grows steadily stronger and stronger.

Ben jumps down and races towards Thor at a stunning speed, but Thor catches him and swings him around chuckling at his son’s feats while you wallow in your anxiety.

You can see the clear understanding that Thor has for Ben and the ecstatic expression on Ben’s face tells you that he’d been yearning to share his gifts with someone who could understand them.

The relief you feel is comforting but also jagged and painful. Here’s the confirmation that you had never been enough for your boy. Yes, you loved him. Yes, he needed you and loved you. However, Ben had never been and will never be a normal boy. He’s different and special and you have been seriously lacking in your ability to provide him with the support he’s needed.

It makes you so happy to see them together, enjoying Ben’s strength and skills in a way that he’s never been able to with you and before you know it, you’re crying again. You quickly turn away from them, hating yourself for not being able to keep it together.

You’ve been so desperate, feeling so lost in Ben’s world. With Thor back, you’re happy to see that you were right. All he’d needed was his father and things would be okay for him.

You sit yourself down slowly, still facing away from them but only get down to your knees when you hear a rustle of quick small feet. “Mommy!”

Ben’s voice is laden with worry. How does he know?! He always knows when you’re feeling this way.

You quickly wipe at your cheeks and turn to him with a smile, but Thor is right behind him and your eyes meet his and for a moment you hate him. You give in to that hate and you give in to the pain that he’d left you with when he broke your heart and then the loneliness you’ve felt ever since you found out you were pregnant.

Yes, you’d had the Avengers and they were amazing and so kind to you, but Thor had been your partner. However short that time might have been, you’d needed him in those months of pregnancy, and you’d needed him even more after Ben was born and he’d been somewhere else in the universe. Away from you. Away from Ben. Away from where he should have been!

As he meets your eyes, he can see the agony in them. His own reflect that back briefly at you before his eyes fill with remorse and shame. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out as he slows to a stop a few feet away.

You hate him! You hate him so much! He left you and you were so terrified, and your boy needed him, and he left! You hate him.

Ben stops short of you as he watches your face and then follows your gaze. You’re so wrapped up in your past that you forget that your three-year-old is not normal in strength alone. He has a way of reading you that you realize he must actually get from Thor. Thor had a way before of looking at you and knowing that something wasn't right and fairly quickly he’d been able to decipher its cause.

Suddenly Ben shoots forward towards Thor and with a small grunt he kicks his shin. Thor’s eyes go slightly wide as he gasps and winces, curling down towards his right leg as he reaches towards the spot Ben had kicked.

Surprise replaces the hurt in your face as you look down at Thor’s leg and then up at his face to see that he’s in genuine pain.

“Torben Y/L/N!” You say sternly and Ben slowly turns back towards you, his face contorted into a small angry pout.

He doesn’t meet your eyes, knowing that tone of voice well and that it means he’s in trouble.

“I’m alright.” Thor says, the frantic worry in his voice clearly meant to assure you he’s okay and to try and deter you from chastising Ben. It might have worked if his voice wasn’t also heavy with a groan from the pain no doubt radiating from his shin.

"Ben, come here. What did we say about hitting?" You put your hands on his little shoulders as he reaches you and look into his eyes. "Your hits hurt more than anyone else's, remember?"

Ben pouts, fuming from watching you cry and knowing that it’s all his daddy’s fault. His hands are clenched into little fists as he stares into your own eyes, still seeing the hurt in them probably. How can he see so much? How are you supposed to be strong for him if he can see your pain?

"Daddy can take it." He argues, then shoots Thor a glare.

“Ben!” You chastise again but he’s not budging and as he looks at you, he pouts more.

“Daddy made Mommy cwy.” He argues.

It’s true. You can’t deny it and even if you try, Ben will see through you.

You sigh, exasperated and lean forward to rest your forehead against his little chest and his arms immediately embrace your head, tiny comforting hands shifting your hair as you chastise yourself for being overcome with your hurt and for letting it ruin the very beautiful time he’d been spending with Thor.

“I think it’s time to go inside.” You announce and pull your head up gently.

Ben’s little hands stroke your cheeks, wiping away the tear stains before wrapping his arms around your neck. It’s a few hours before dinner and nap time is imminent.

You lift your boy up and he settles his head against your left shoulder, pointedly looking away from Thor. As you rub his back, you feel him relax and know that he’ll be asleep in a few minutes. He’s already breathing more calmly.

You turn to look at Thor and find him looking shamed and apologetic still.

“I’m sorry.” You tell him then move towards the house.

Thor follows. “No. I-I deserved it.”

He’s actually limping a little. “Does it hurt a lot?”

“Yes.” Thor says with a chuckle. “And no.”

“I’m sorry.” You repeat.

“No. It is good to see that he is so protective over you. It reminds me of me with my mother when I was a bit older than Ben.” Thor smiles, and gives you a quick glance which makes the smile fade. “I am glad that he loves you so. Why were you crying?”

You look at Ben and hesitate because you don’t want him to overhear but his breathing is deeper which means he’s fast asleep already. You don’t know if you want to talk about this yet. This is much sooner than you’d anticipated. Maybe you’ll skip over the, I can’t believe you left me part of why you were crying.

“It’s an understatement to say that it’s been difficult raising Ben by myself. The guys at the compound, Nat, Steve, Sam and the rest help when they can. Tony gives us everything we need, and Steve has been so supportive and helpful, but I’ve been alone with him. With Ben. Day in and day out it's me and him.” Your eyes dart to Thor’s face and find him looking shamed and upset but you’re not going to stop now. He asked!

“If I’m honest, that’s been fine. I haven’t missed a man in the house, although technically I guess Steve has kind of stepped into that role. Ben spends more time with him than anyone else after me, but I’ve been okay raising him on my own. Most days I didn’t and don’t feel like I need someone here with us.”

Thor seems to read between the lines and his shoulders slump in sadness as his blue eyes meet and hold yours. “You mean to say that you did not feel that you needed me around.”

“No.” You agree. “I didn’t need you here. I haven’t needed you here and that was fine…most days.” You relent and sigh heavily.

Ben fidgets with your heavy breath and you rub his back again to soothe him.

“But sometimes there were days like today, the…the portal thing he did for you earlier, he did that for the first time today for me too. I’m not sure how long he’s been able to do it but on days like today…” Ugh! You don’t want to risk Ben hearing you even in his sleep. “Hold on, I need to put him to bed first.”

Thor hurries forward to open your front door for you. You move inside and he follows you up the stairs past the your bedroom on the left and the guest room on the right before you move to the second door on the left. Inside is Ben’s room.

There are toys everywhere, scattered along the floor along with books and a few broken crayons. Though it’s not visible right now because it's still light out and Ben's blinds and light blue curtains are open, there are tiny little lights covering the black ceiling of his room that in total darkness make it seem as if Ben is sleeping under a beautiful star strewn sky. Tony had installed them when he'd realized Ben’s obsession with space and he'd made you lay underneath them for almost an entire day.

You step around the mess expertly. When you reach his small bed, you keep your hand pressed against his back and with the other pull back the navy sheets, speckled with white dots to represent stars and a mish mash of planets at seemingly random patterns.

Thor rushes forward to help you, pulling the sheets back more as you lower Ben onto the bed and then step back as Thor pulls the covers almost up to Ben’s neck.

His large hands are very gentle and hesitant as they try and figure out just how to tuck him in. He blinks in confusion and you hurry forward to push his hands away.

“Ben gets hot sometimes. His temperature is hotter than a human’s. Like yours, I’m guessing.” You inform him in a hushed whisper. “So put the blanket just under his chest and that’s usually enough to keep him comfortable.”

Thor’s electrifying blues are focused on your hands as he watches you settle the blanket over Ben’s tiny body and then tuck it in at his sides before you lean down, and with a soft graceful pushback of the blonde hair on his forehead, you kiss his temple.

He shifts and sighs in his sleep, but he reaches over to grip your finger for a second then releases it and continues to sleep.

“Come on.” You wave to Thor.

As you move towards the door you bend over and pick up as many toys as quickly and quietly as you can then drop them into the black, blue, and red cubes by the chestnut shelf where they find home. You stop at the door and turn back to see Thor also picking up after him.

Your heart does a quick somersault and you shake your head, chasing the familiar feeling away. You’re not going to fall back in love with Thor.

He drops off the much larger number of toys and stuffed animals that he was able to pick up, thanks to his large arms, then moves out of the door as you slowly shut it, looking at Ben as long as you can.

As the door shuts and you turn to go downstairs, you find yourself pressed almost chest to chest with Thor as he’d also been eagerly staring in at Ben as you shut the door.

“Oh.” You mutter in surprise as Thor’s heat washes over your body in familiar waves.

You have vivid flashes of large, hot, calloused hands gripping your thighs tightly, as they pull gently, prying them apart. Those same hands run down the length of your bare back, erupting goosebumps along every inch of your skin. Soft burning kisses trail up along your throat. Your own hands gently stroke hard chest muscles as strong arms hold you close, squeezing you with love and affection.

Your neck suddenly begins to burn and your breathing hitches as you try and wipe the memories of making love with Thor from your mind. Having him so close so suddenly is confusing and you quickly move away from him, almost tripping over his large foot.

Swallowing hard you move down the hall and stairs then make your way back into the kitchen to clean up pans from lunch so that you can use them again for dinner.

Thor follows but he stops on the other side of the counter so that he can still watch you but give you space.

“So?” Thor prompts and you turn to him with wary eyes, afraid he’s going to ask about what just happened in the hallway. “You were saying about Ben’s portals?”

Wow, you’d completely forgotten that conversation was happening. “Right.”

“You were crying because Ben can make portals?” He asks.

“No. Not because he can make portals but because I’m not…I’m so normal. And Ben is so special. I’ve never seen him look so comfortable doing the things he can do. Watching you with him—I don’t know why you came back, Thor, but I’m glad you did. Ben has needed you for all the things that I can never do and all the things he gets from his Asgardian side. I don’t understand that part of him and he looked so happy to be sharing his gifts with you. That’s why I was crying.” You shrug with one shoulder, feeling vulnerable and exposed in a way that you haven’t felt since Thor then give him your back and go back to washing your dishes.

“I came back for you.” He says quietly.

The water flowing in the sink is so loud that you’re not sure you heard him correctly. You’re not sure you want to have heard him correctly. You reach to shut the water off and turn to look at him. You lean against the sink and hold the edge of the counter with both hands held at your sides.

“What did you say?” You ask, slightly irritated but calm.

“I-” He hesitates, observing the look in your eyes to see if it’s a good idea to repeat himself. His eyes suddenly burn as he narrows his brow giving you no chance to catch your breath as you process the intensity in his gaze and before he even repeats himself, you know you’d heard him correctly. “I said I came back for you.”

“Why?” You give him no chance to think.

“Why?!” His eyes soften and his forehead relaxes as his eyebrows shoot upwards. “Because I missed you, as I said before.”

“Thor…” You begin, hating the pleading look in his eyes.

“I…I know that I made many mistakes.” Thor suddenly cuts you off and he quickly begins to round the counter towards you. “It seems there were even more mistakes than I ever knew. I did not expect to come here and find you with our son. I am sorry that I left you alone in that. But I have never stopped, not even for a single day, loving you.”

His words hurt but you don’t interrupt and instead watch him with that same pained look from the yard. It might be better to let him say his piece.

“This is not the situation I expected to find myself walking into when I returned but I do not lie when I tell you that I am happier than I ever thought I could be.” Thor gushes and finally rounds the counter to your side.

He moves towards you and you don’t move, waiting for him to finish whatever it is he wants to say. As he reaches you, he takes hold of your left hand first and then your right and his touch is so searing that you must be on fire for it to hurt this much. With your breathing slightly labored, you keep your eyes trained on his, reading the surprised glee on his face as he smiles softly down at you.

“We have a son.” Thor says, ecstatic. “It was a surprise but one that I welcome gladly. Now, perhaps, we might…we could be a family?”

He raises his eyebrows again, dropping his deep voice even lower as he leans in towards you, engulfing you once more with the heat radiating off of his body.

“Can we?” You ask him. “Do you really think it’s that easy?”

How can he be this cocky?

His smile falters but he reinforces it and lets his hands travel upwards towards your shoulders. It hurts so much for him to touch you. Can’t he see that?

“I know it will take some time for us to be as we were. But we have a son. He’s perfect and you are perfect and-”

“I’m perfect?” You ask him, your voice calm but still full of the toxic sludge of your deep-seated pain. “Now I’m perfect? Until I bore you again, right?”

“What-?” Thor’s smile finally disappears as he focuses harder and reads your mood.

“I made you weary before, didn’t I? We had fun but you got bored. That’s what you told me. And you expect me to believe you now when you tell me that you love me when before you made it very clear that you’d lied to me the entire time we were together?”

“No!” Thor hurries, gripping you harder in the shoulders and pulling you closer. “No, I did not mean what I said then. I said it for your benefit so-”

“My benefit? So, you did me a favor by leaving me? You breaking my heart like all the other guys that came before you was for my own good? Is that what you’re saying? And yours was worse because you played me for a fool Thor, you made me believe that you wanted me, that you loved me when the entire time it was all a game?”

“Y/N, please-”

“Am I just a toy to you? Some plaything you can pick up whenever you want and drop whenever you don’t?”

“No.” He says, his voice strangled as his hands slide up along your neck to rest on the sides of your face, cradling you close like he used to. “No, that is not what you are.”

“I know that you didn’t know about Ben but what were you expecting Thor? Did you think that you could just come back, and we could go back to the day before you tore my heart out from my chest? Did you expect me to be sitting here for four years waiting for you to come back?” You gasp, finally giving into the stabbing grief of his abandonment. “I know that four years is like the blink of an eye to you but for humans it’s a really long time. I’ve moved on, Thor. You haven’t been the man in my life for four years.”

Thor’s hands slowly slide back down the sides of your neck as he processes the words that you’re saying. When he realizes that you’re telling him that you’ve been with other men, he drops his hands altogether and takes a half a step back before turning to lean back against the counter, his shoulders slumped and his head hanging.

“You told me you didn’t love me, Thor.”

“Who?” Thor asks, his voice somber and defeated.

“Who what?”

“Who were you with?”

“Does that really matter right now? It’s not going to change anything for you to know who I’ve been with.”

“Who?” He asks, more sternly.

“Eddie. Eddie was very supportive during my pregnancy. He was with me from the very beginning until Ben was born and a few months after.” You don’t owe him an explanation but if he can understand that you’ve lived your life with him away, then maybe he’ll stop trying to make things happen again?

It hurts too much for him to keep trying.

“Eddie…” He repeats the name, scoffing lightly before he glances at you nervously then looks down at his feet. “Did you and he…? Did you two-?”

It takes you a few seconds to understand what he’s asking but you nod. “It took a while but yes, Thor. Eddie and I were together for almost a year. Yes. I slept with him. Not that that’s any of your business. You left me, remember?”

“Was he the only one?” Thor asks, his voice strained and weak.

You scoff at his question, hating the audacity that he seems to have to ask you these questions like they are any of his business. “No. Thor, he isn’t the only man I’ve slept with since you left me. Thor! Where are you going?”

Thor’s already moving down the length of your kitchen, through the dining room and opening the front door.

“Thor!”

He shuts your door firmly but doesn’t slam it and you’re thankful for at least that because overhead, Ben is blissfully unaware of just how complicated the relationship his parents share is.

Thor isn’t exactly sure what do with himself or where he’s going exactly. He knows that he needs some space. He’s angry. Angrier than he’s been in a long time.

The thing that hurts the most is that he’s angry with himself because all of this, you being touched by other men, being loved by other men, you loving other men is all his fault. He knows it is. He was the moron that left you here for other men to love you and touch you and he made sure that you were in no doubt of how much he didn’t care even if it was a lie.

He stops halfway down the overgrown trail that leads to the compound, shoulders heaving, nostrils flared, and his large hands balled into fists the size of cannonballs. He turns to look back at your house, fighting the urge to go back and make you his by force because he wants you. But he can’t have you. He knows he can’t. If it’s true. If you’ve moved on and you no longer love him, what chance does he have?

He made it clear! He did! He’s the idiot that made sure you thought he didn’t and never loved you. Then he left you. Why can’t he stop thinking about how this is all his fault and he did this to himself and to you and he lost out on the first years with his son. You must have been beautiful with your belly swollen with his child. Glowing and gorgeous and the pinnacle of perfection and that other moron, Eddie had been the one to see you and love you and touch your stomach when Ben kicked for the first time.

He had been there to deal with your cravings and to help you sit and stand and to massage your swollen feet when the day was too long and hard.

“You moron!” Thor shouts, shaking the trees with his booming timber, and making chirping birds take flight.

Eddie had looked at your glorious form, bare and exposed. He’d touched your shoulders, caressed your breasts, kissed your neck, and lain on top of you. You, so small and exquisite, so unbearably iridescent when you shine with love had been under another man’s sweating body. Thor shuts his eyes against the image but it’s in his head. There is no escaping it and his anger mounts.

The caustic anger turns him and pulls his arm forward towards the large trunk of a tree and Thor’s fist breaks it in half. Wood splinters fly out in every direction before a loud creak precedes the large innocent fall on its side with an irritating hiss of leaves on the ground. The suddenly empty spot allows a ring of sunlight to seep into the shadowed spot and Thor focuses on the light as he fights image after image of you in someone else’s arms.

You are right. You are right about many things but one. These four years for Thor have been the longest in his existence. Every day away from you felt like an eternity. Every day he fought the urge to return to you, to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. Now he realizes that had he given in that first day he would have been here to salvage the love the two of you had cultivated in those three, blissfully life-altering weeks. Three weeks that feel now like a distant dream in the wake of this horrid nightmare where you no longer love him. You no longer want him. He’s pushed you away and now the only reason you are allowing him into any portion of your life is for the sake of Ben, for his son.

“Ben…” Thor sighs, agonized over the three years of lost time.

He’d missed his first steps, his first words, he’d missed everything.

The thought of his son drives the terrible images from Thor’s head, and he uses the opportunity to get away from the scene of his outburst. Moving slowly, with his shoulders slumped and his head hanging, he heads back to the compound focusing on the thought of his son.

He makes it inside drawing minimal gazes if only because the halls are so barren. He takes the stairs, moving sluggishly and finds his way to the third floor common room. “Hello, is anyone here?”

“Thor?” Steve’s even tone greets in shock.

“Captain Rogers.” Thor gives his friend a small sad smile, trying to see the happiness in this reunion but only feeling it superficially. “Steve, it is so good to see you again, my friend.”

Steve gets up from his seat and after a brief concerned look, he gives Thor a brief hug. “We weren’t expecting you. It’s good to see you.”

“I was not expecting to return. I found my way here without meaning to make the trip.” It’s true.

Thor had woken up today and had no kind of plan to come back but suddenly you’d popped into his head and he’d reacted to the thought instinctively and found his way home.

He follows Steve back to the kitchen island and stands beside him as Steve sits in his stool in front of which is a pile of reports he’s clearly been filling out.

“Are you um…back for good?” Steve wonders and Thor is not even remotely aware of the strange awkwardness in Steve’s demeanor.

Still lost in his regrets and sorrow, Thor nods, still smiling sadly. “I have a mind to stay.”

“Oh.” Steve reaches for his pen and fiddles with it for a second before putting it down to shift in his seat and face Thor. “Does…have you seen Y/N?”

“I went to her old house first, but it was no longer there. Just an empty lot.” Thor sighs.

“Yeah. They demolished about two years ago. The thing was condemned just before Tony had her move here to that bungalow he’d built for her. He’s actually thinking about building a few of them to offer to agents with families. It’s a good idea, I think. For us too.” Steve says conversationally.

“Yes, I saw it. It is a nice home for Y/N and Ben.”

“Oh, so…you know?” Steve says, realizing that Thor must be depressed from already having been with you.

“Yes. I have been here for several hours. I met my son, Ben.” Thor suddenly smiles more brightly and looks at Steve with weak pride if only because he’s still reeling from the thought of you with other men. “He is astonishing. An amazing boy.”

“Yeah, he’s really great. Very funny kid. He reminds us all of you a lot. Y/N too. She says it all the time. Then she kind of gets sad. Always brings up the three week thing.”

Thor’s smile fades and he sighs heavily looking away from Steve to lean both elbows on the counter, hunching forward over it as he tries to fight the dark pull of his regrets again.

“Yes. I…I talked to her.”

“How did it go?” Steve asks carefully.

“About as well as it could have when the man that left her makes a passionate speech about how he still loves her and has a desire to be a family. She turned me down.” Thor hangs his head more, lifting his hands to bury his face in them.

“I’m so sorry, Thor. It has been a really long time though.” Steve says softly. “She’s had a hard couple of years. Raising Ben and doing it alone? It hasn’t been easy.”

“Oh, I know that she has not been alone. She has told me of her other suitors. She told me of the other men who she has been with and I have only myself to blame.”

“S-So she told you about us?” Steve asks and for a moment Thor doesn’t process his words.

Thor blinks into his hands before slowly lifting his face away from their shield and very slowly, as Steve’s words begin to sink in, Thor turns to look at him with desperate eyes. At fist the desperation is pleading, wishing and hoping that he misheard his friend. Then the desperation shifts into anger and Thor’s brow furrows with rage.

“What?”

“She didn’t-?” Steve shakes his head, his body tensing as he eyes the fury in Thor’s face. “Oh, God. Thor, look, it’s not what you-It happened once about a year and a half ago.”

Thor lunges at Steve, grabbing the neck of his shirt a he shoves him back until he can pin him against the large black pillar that separates the kitchen from the sitting area. The walls quiver from the impact and the ceiling creaks as Thor slams Steve hard with veiny fists threatening to choke Steve’s neck.

“Thor, Thor, wait!” Steve begs, desperate to calm the Asgardian.

“You…you and…you touched her?” Thor asks, spitting and glaring as he shake Steve once.

His eyes flash blue and his hands begin to spark making Steve more nervous.

“Yes, but Thor I-I’m sorry.” Steve gives in reaching up to grab Thor’s fist with his left hand but then winces as Thor’s electricity shocks him. “I’m sorry.”

Almost as quickly as Thor’s anger appeared it falls away leaving pure agony in Thor’s blue eyes as he stares into Steve’s own storm blues. His electricity fades with his rage and Thor’s hand loosen slightly and he slowly lowers Steve back to the ground, not realizing in the heat of the moment that he’d lifted him.

This is all his fault. Thor did this. He knows he did. He’d pushed you away into Eddie’s arms. Into Steve’s arms. Thor lets go fully as his face contorts with sorrow very near tears. He turns away from his friend, his comrade, with a pained look of revulsion for not only the images flashing in his head of Steve holding you in ways that only he should have ever held you but also the part that he played in causing this.

Both of them are breathing heavily but as Thor moves away to get as far away from Steve as possible, Steve follows a few steps.

“Thor, wait.”

Thor stops.

“I-She and I didn’t plan for it to happen. I’ve been alone for a very long time and I was feeling down. Eddie had left her about six months back and when Ben broke her arm-”

“Ben broke her arm?” Thor asks, looking back at Steve with sudden concern and worry over this injury that has obviously been healed for a long time. He suddenly has the urge to go check on you.

“Yeah, she didn’t tell you?”

“We…we didn’t talk for long.” Thor explains, back to feeling depressed and broken and tired after that second burst of anger.

“Ben was strong even before he was born. He broke her ribs a couple times before he was even six months. Broke her fingers a few times too when he was a few months old. When he was one, he threw a tantrum and that’s when he broke her arm. She needed help taking care of him and since I’m a little more resilient than the rest of the team I volunteered to help her out.

“A few months after Eddie moved to the English branch of S.H.I.E.L.D.-we were just both in the wrong place at the wrong time, Thor. She was really broken up about you and about Eddie leaving and worried about Ben, and I was lonely. We both just wanted to feel something other than miserable. It only happened once, and we knew that it couldn’t happen again.” Steve sighs, holding out his arms as if in surrender. “I swear to you, Thor. There’s nothing going on between Y/N and me.”

That explanation, although it gives the night in question context, doesn’t exactly make it any better. The fact of the matter is, if Thor had been here then you’d have had no reason to be depressed about Eddie and you would not have spent so much time alone with Steve because he would have been there to help you out.

“So, you are not in love with Y/N?” Thor asks, desperate for any sort of good news.

“No, Thor. I’m not. I mean, I do love her, but not like that.”

Steve’s assurance gives Thor’s heart a little peace. He moves over to the nearest sofa, a beige almost orange cushioned chair in front of the coffee table with a chessboard and collapses into it.

Steve follows and grabs the back of the larger sofa with both hands as he leans forward, looking Thor over. “What are you thinking?”

“I do not know. I have a son.” He looks at Steve and smiles at him briefly, still kind of hating his guts. “Y/N and I share a son. And he is the most incredible boy I have ever met.”

Steve smiles in return. “He’s something else. Are you-You’re not going to leave again, are you? He needs you, Thor.”

“No. I am not leaving again. I will never leave them again.” He swears, leaning forward, elbows on knees.

He looks down at the floor and his agony returns, painting a grimace across his handsome face. “I still love her, Steve. I never stopped. And I’ve lost her.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Steve argues, smiling still.

“What do you mean? She has told me with her own lips that she has moved on.” Thor gestures with his right arm, sweeping it as if he’s laying out a plan for Steve to see.

“Y/N is complicated, Thor. She hates you.”

“Right, thanks.” Thor rolls his eyes.

“No, I mean, she hates you because she loves you, Thor. She’s angry at you. She still believes those things you told her four years ago. We were all there and you said some pretty harsh things to her.”

“Yes, I am aware of just how much of a moron I was, thank you.” Thor gripes.

“There is a very thin line between love and hate. She’s never forgotten you, Thor. She’s going to fight it like hell. You hurt her. You broken her. The first few months after you left, she didn’t come into work, she stopped eating, was hardly sleeping. The only reason she snapped out of it was because Tony showed up and gave her an earful when he realized she was pregnant. He’d gone to check on her at that hole of a house she’d been living in and when she answered the door, Tony saw what condition she was in and he got her in here fast.

“I wasn’t here but Wanda and Bruce told me that everything changed after she heard Ben’s heartbeat. She had a reason to live again. And even when she was dating Eddie, she was really just thinking about you. She’d considered naming the baby Thor.”

Thor smiles but he’s also hating himself more with these new images of you in his head.

“I walked in on her a few times talking to Ben in her stomach and sometimes she would cry and tell him how much she loved you and missed you. It was hard to watch. You fucked up, Thor.”

“I know that!” Thor gets to his feet, angry again but only at himself. He veers away from his seat and away from Steve. “But I do not know how to fix it.”

“You can’t. What happened, happened. If you want her, Thor, you’re going to have to appeal to the woman she is now, not the woman she was back then. She’s different. She’s had a baby. She’s been in other relationships. She’s struggled and fought tooth and nail to raise Ben with love for you even though it must have been hard for her to watch video after video of you.”

“How do I do that?” Thor begs.

“I don’t know. That’s something you’re going to have to figure out.” Steve finishes leaving Thor with a budding determination to win back your love.

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quiet-in-the-book-hoard · 5 years

Text

Welcome post

Hello there, I’m Rae!

This blog is where I’ll be posting anything about my Arthurian project(s), and possibly any other writing projects I have going on.

In this post I’ll try to answer whatever questions I can come up with, but please don’t be afraid to message me with questions or comments, related to Arthurian content or not.

What kind of content will I be posting?

I plan to post drabbles, sketches, completed artworks, notes, pretty much anything that’s related to this project that has physical and/or digital form. This is also where I’ll reblog most of the Arthurian content that comes through my dash, as well as any writing prompts, advice or content from other creators I reblog. (though I’m sure a fair amount will still make it’s way to my main.

I do plan to keep all the content on here clean and safe. If anything contains swearing it will be tagged under ‘potty mouth’, any art or images with nudes or partial nudity will be tagged under ‘nudies’. Any other sensitive content will be under ‘nsfw’ and changes or updates to my tagging system will be posted separately as well as added to this post.

(Don’t expect the same from my main, though. There my tagging is only regular when it comes to writing resources-- most of which will be moved here.)

How often will I be posting original content?

At the moment I can’t really answer that. I’m as new to this as you are, so much of it will be learning as I go. I would like to post original content a few times a week, but I’m not making any promises and we’ll have to see how it goes.

What is my Arthurian project?

There’s a bit of a summary on this post of the three parts (which I call ‘The Merlin Arc’, ‘The Camelot Arc’, and ‘The Space Arc’), but I’ll try to explain better here and will likely put up a more comprehensive summary in the future.

It’s difficult for me to pinpoint when this idea began to bounce around my head, but I’d say it definitely picked up steam my Freshman year of high school, by which point I had begun taking notes and making a family tree. (That family tree has become a monster and it’s still not complete-- I get awed and slightly horrified looks when people glance over my shoulder to see what I’m working on.) A real kick-starter was when I decided to use the first arc as the basis for a school project where we had to make a podcast. (I think I still have the two complete episodes buried in my computer, I might post them someday. I’m actually rather proud of it-- quite the feat considering I’m not really proud of anything I made my Freshman year.)

I think it was about a year ago (but it may be more or less, my brain is terrible at judging time) when I decided to look deeper into Arthurian lore. I even joined a discord, the link to which can be found at @fuckyeaharthuriana, so go check that out if you’re interested. (Though I mostly just watch other people discuss-- I’m terrible at being regularly active on anything that isn’t Tumblr or Ao3.) Unfortunately, it doesn’t feel like that particular resolution has gotten very far. Between trying to plan out my future for the next four or five years and working to not fail in a school system where about 40-60% of my teachers aren’t prepared or willing to work with a special ed student, this may not have been the best time to take on a(nother) massive personal research project. Also, Arthurian lore is massive. t’s been growing and changing for fifteen centuries, plus there’s it’s relationship with Celtic and Welsh lore, not to mention how it interacts with real history-- so yeah, there’s a lot. I’m still very much a newbie to the Arthurian fandom-- there are people who have dedicated their entire lives to the subject and still don’t know nearly everything. But I’m nothing if not persistent, and there’s something thrilling in taking on something that could very well take my entire life.

Please note that The Arthurian Project may also be referred to as The Camelot Project or The Chronicles of Camelot, which was the name of that Freshman podcast.

What is my plan?

My plan is to eventually publish as a series of novels, though for a short period I had considered retaining the podcast format and for a while I had my heart set on a webtoon so that might change. Right now I’m continuing to write and develop.

I’m really just trying not to stress myself out about it too much since I know far too well that I freeze up and nothing gets done if I panic. This is something I’ve enjoyed doing and would like to continue to enjoy.