#AND I KNOW SHES NOT TRIPPING OR OVER EXAGGERATING BECAUSE SHE'S CRAZY SMART AND SHE DOESNT DO THAT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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@buckyownsmylife hey babe! Remember that one time you threw that cool challenge? Here's my entry. Prepare to get absolutely ruined because daddy!Bruce is exactly that sort of man.

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emotional support nerd

Your best friend's dad, Dr. Bruce Banner, is hotter than you thought he would be. 6k words, NSFW. Kind of Alt!Reader - she refers to herself as 'goth' in one instance. Tony Stark makes an appearance because God forbid I write a fanfic without him in it.

This is filthy pron, ft. age difference (reader is college aged) daddy kink, throat fucking, dirty talk, praise kink, cream pie, possessiveness, belly bulge and ending with a hint at a threesome. I really crammed all I could from Eyre's wheel in here, didn't I. Oh well.

"How much longer, dad?" Lyra's annoyed voice struck a chord within me. I tried to hide my snickering - unsuccessfully might I add - causing my best friend to shoot me a hurt look, equally fed up with me as she was fed up with her forgetful adopted father. "You know what, we'll take the subway."

Lyra's father's voice, both agitated and apologetic, reached my ears in bitten-off phrases as the traffic noises around us grew in volume, NYC rush hour rapidly approaching its peak.

With a sound huff, Lyra removed the phone from her ear, staring me down with the most amount of petulance I've ever seen on her usually reserved, placid face. "It's twenty more minutes. Apparently he's driving Tony's car," she offered in the way of explanation, like it actually did anything to better the cold, wet situation we found ourselves in. "Please, and I can't stress this enough, please don't be weird."

I felt a flood of amusement at Lyra's pleading tone. "Darling, if you wanted a normal friend, you should have looked elsewhere," I gestured to my outfit. I looked like a goth boy's wet dream: chunky platformed boots, fishnets, heavy eyeliner. Of course, all in black.

"You know what I mean," she whined, waving off my pointing hand and fixing me with a hard stare. "The least my dad needs is someone that is terrified of him just because sometimes he turns into a big green monkey. It's not as exciting as internet thinks, anyway," the last part of the sentence was mumbled but I heard it nonetheless as Lyra stared out into the traffic, clever eyes looking for a particular car model.

What Lyra didn't know was that I was not at all considering to be terrified by the man who dosed himself with radiation and developed an advanced version of split personality disorder. I could be intimidated by him, sure, because he was incredibly intelligent, a world class scientist with more PhDs than I had zeroes in my bank account, but even despite his green problem, Dr. Bruce Banner was about as far away from 'scary' as a man could be.

The few scarce pictures of him on the internet showed a short, stocky man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper curls, always dressed in un-ironed, crumpled button-ups with dorky patterns. Looking at him, I mused that there was a high chance he spoke with a stutter and that fact amused me to no end. Jekyll and Hyde, alright.

Lyra was much the same way. Shy and reclusive, with curly brown hair and doe eyes, she spent a good chunk of her first semester in college being avoided by everybody because of her last name; I, on the other hand, avoided everyone out of habit, I'd never been a social butterfly, but the way people subtly made sure to exclude Lyra from all the activities filled me with quiet, seething rage, and I stepped over my general distaste of people and removed my bag from the seat next to me so Lyra could at least study in relative peace.

Yeah, yeah, you've heard it all, I'm sure. Weird goth chick adopts a socially awkward, shunned nerd and they become best friends forever. I had to admit that under the shy exterior, Lyra was smart, witty and even funny sometimes. She was willing to entertain my crude jokes without moaning, at least, and I was perfectly okay with listening to her rant about science every now and then.

Rain banged on the slanted roof of the café we were hiding in, the autumn wind howled, making both of us shiver at the prospect of having to go outside, even if it was for a short moment to run to Lyra's dad's car. The day had started out warm and sunny, but much like a badly calculated chemical formula, it all went downhill a split second after we had set out to leave campus.

"There he is," the grouch in Lyra's expression had me once again unsuccessfully attempting to conceal my snorting.

Nonetheless, I followed her out into the rain, struggling to keep up with the brisk running in my platformed shoes, unceremoniously crawling into the car behind her without sparing a glance at the driver in my eagerness to get out of the freezing downpour.

"Hi, dad," Lyra's tired voice spoke up at the same time as I angrily shook out my hair.

"I've just about McFuckin' had it with New York," I was afraid the dye in my hair would bleed out into my clothes, or even worse, the nice, cream-colored car seats.

"Hello, ladies," the voice that greeted us was low, gravelly and apologetic to boot.

My eyes shot up, meeting an expression full of surprise and amusement. I stared at the shockingly handsome face of Dr. Bruce Banner like a deer in the headlights.

The fine mimic wrinkles had stretched into a resemblance of a smile, soft, plush lips revealing a set of straight, white teeth. The five o'clock shadow framed his jaw, giving it a sharp, defined edge, his clever brown eyes slid down my form, faltering on the pentagram on my belt and my fishnet-covered legs, settling on my chunky boots before hastily snapping back up to my face.

"Dad, this is..." Lyra's voice was full of suspicious bewilderment as she attempted to dissipate the sudden awkwardness.

"Oh, yeah, I'm Dr. Bruce Banner, but you can call me Doc or Bruce," he cleared his throat, turning himself towards the windshield and starting up the car.

"Nice to meet you," I busied myself with putting away any stray hair just to occupy myself with something during the time I needed to recuperate from being just... Looked at by Lyra's dad.

It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I was so taken aback by his handsomeness and his aura of a gentle but powerful man that the ride to Stark tower, however swift, went on in slightly awkward silence. The streets outside were, thankfully, noisy, and the lack of an attempt to have a conversation could easily be attributed to Bruce's need to focus on the road, but Lyra's increasingly concerned looks did very little to settle the sudden racing of my heart.

"C'mon, I'll give you some sweats so you can let your..." Lyra's vague gesture towards my upper body disappeared behind her side of the door. "Hey, Tony," she suddenly interrupted her sentence, very obviously addressing another person who I managed to miss as Bruce parked in the spacious garage.

"I've been told you're finally bringing your friend, Green Pea," a voice I'd heard a thousand times on the TV poked fun at Lyra.

She bent down to retrieve her bag, shooting big eyes at me and mouthing an exaggerated "Sorry!"

Tony Stark looked about a week in debt on sleep, a contrast to the way he usually appeared in public. The exaggerated eyebrow raise made me shuffle awkwardly in my spot; the Led Zep tee caught my eyes as I lingered on it, aware of my own Mötorhead top on display. He noticed it too, causing his face leave the snide territory.

"Wow, I didn't expect kids these days to have any resemblance of taste in music but you've surprised me, Corpse Bride," he gave me a quiet wolf-whistle, watching me through lidded eyes.

I felt my eyebrow crawl upwards at his attitude but Bruce spoke up before I could say anything: "Tony, no," so firmly, I had to raise both of my eyebrows. I felt a smile tug at my lips, the situation strikingly familiar in it's essence. Like father, like daughter...

"No," Lyra's identical expression, fond and annoyed, topped up with an accusing finger pointed in my direction had everyone snorting a giggle at the situation.

"Lyra," I whined, just so I could coax her grin that she was very obviously trying to conceal. "See, I told you, every crazy genius needs their emotional support nerd," I fixed her with a pointed look.

She promptly grabbed me by the arm, leading all of us to the elevator as the two men behind us shared a hearty laugh at my well-timed joke. It was either that or I would have completely embarrassed myself by gaping and drooling over both THE Tony Stark and Lyra's father.

The rush didn't stop there. I was promptly and generously offered not only a spare pair of pants but also a whole room to stay in after an invitation to dinner I simply could not refuse. Dr. Banner firmly coaxed me into staying overnight with his pleading eyes and a hearty seasoning of guilt tripping, softly crooning how he simply could not let a young woman to wander the cold, rainy night in NYC alone.

Tony added something too, in a tone way too surefire and patronising. I guessed he noticed my eyes lingering on Dr. Banner, being a genius and all.

In a short amount of time, I found myself seated at a dinner table next to a happy, giggling Lyra who'd downed a glass of wine and was well into her second. I found it adorable how much of a lightweight she was; not hesitating in the slightest to point out that fact when she made hands for a pitcher of water.

Tony was the first one to snark back something vague about his college days and all the wild parties he used to throw, booing Bruce upon discovery that he, in fact, actually studied in college in favour of partaking in various illicit activities. That had both me and Tony giggling with Lyra promptly joining in, both of us losing it over the running joke or her being either a test tube baby or the result of immaculate conception.

Bruce's face blushed scarlet. He sputtered, a few stray drops of his lemonade landing on the (ironed!) collar of his purple shirt, cough disappearing in the wake of Tony's truly amused cackling. Dr. Banner was well on his way to either choke on his Lo Mein or turn green; thinking quickly, I decided to defuse a situation by sharing a harmless, funny story that happened to me as a freshman.

"I went on a date with this guy who said that music was the most important thing in his life, and I thought, wow, that's so beautiful!" I began my story over Lyra's incessant snickering. "So we had dinner and went back to his place because I'm a whore," the whole table erupted in laughter at my deadpan remark, Tony reaching over to give me a high five.

"And as we got there, he put on one of his demos which was just a bunch of sampled and remixed Guns'n'Roses songs, and I thought wow, that's gotta be one of the worst things I've ever heard," I pointedly looked away as Lyra's cackling grew in volume, having heard the same story several times by now and the outrage I expressed at the situation first hand.

"But instead of that I said, wow, that's so cool! Then we did the thing and his whole bedroom was covered in Axl Rose posters and I'm sure at some point Mr. Rose stared right up my asshole," there were tears streaming down Lyra's face as Tony flopped his upper body onto the table and Bruce convulsed helplessly in a silent fit of giggles. "And then I thought to myself: wow, I would have to pretend to like his music if I dated this guy and I just couldn't do that..." I breathed out, succumbing to the mirth at the dinner table. "It was good but not November Rain good, y'kno?"

Bruce snorted loudly, sliding down his chair with a hand over his face. The table shook with the force of Tony's cackling; I didn't see his expression but the howling, rasping noises sent me into another fit of laughter, right on par with Lyra.

"Is this..." Tony rapidly inhaled the much-needed oxygen. "Is this why you keep wincing whenever I play the 'Roses in the lab?" Tony wheezed and Lyra nodded.

"I just... I can picture it, and I-" she made a vague, encompassing gesture and a face.

"Please, don't," I urged with a snort. "There are better ways to get disappointed."

Dinner went on by smoothly after that, everybody happily making remarks on my dating fail, the topic of Lyra's birth and Tony's college shenanigans dismissed.

I caught Dr. Banner's pointed look as we finished our dessert - he was studying me, eyes searching for something that he very obviously wished was there. From the damp roots of my hair to the soft, cotton top clinging to my chest, I wasn't left unscrutinzed and unexamined. Like one of the many specimens he studied on a daily basis, Bruce lingered on the many characteristics that made me stand out in the grey crowd.

"Would you like to see the labs?" He asked, appearing behind me without a single sound.

The freshly cleaned dishes clattered in my arms. I'd almost dropped them, startled, but Bruce's hand landed on the top of the stack right before the top plate would have slipped off and shattered into pieces on the cold tile of his kitchen.

Blood rushed to my ears. "I'd love to," my brain had briefly returned to reality, the rush of meeting both Stark and Banner succumbing to logic and reason. My and his fields of study briefly overlapped, the question he posed was more than reasonable. In fact, many people would cheat, lie and steal to be in my position.

Bruce smiled, opening a cabinet and taking half of the dishes I was holding to stack them up in their proper place. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing wide, muscular forearms littered with dark, coarse hair.

I was sure my face was flaming. After waving off Lyra's attempts to put shoes on me and leaving her to watch her TV show, a wide, warm palm rested on the back of my waist, gently steering me towards the elevator.

I tried to keep my eyes off Bruce in the large mirror on the walls of the car as it swiftly moved down, scrutinizing my appearance instead. My throat bobbed, the elevator car suddenly too small and too hot.

His eyes left marks on me - invisible ones, the kind that I knew were there just from the scorching heat sizzling on my skin.

There was a certain je ne sais quoi about him. Perhaps, it was in the way he was acting - a polar opposite of what I'd had expected, Dr. Bruce Banner possessed a quiet confidence and his patience appeared to be endless, heartily doused with an appreciation for his closest ones. The way his eyes lit up in response to people smiling around the dinner table was hard to miss.

When Bruce spoke about his research - whatever wasn't classified, anyway - the spark expanded into a mischievous fire. I could hardly understand the nuances in his work, scratch that- I could not understand a single word he was saying, at all. The individual syllables registered as they should, but my traitorous brain could only focus on the way he licked his lips in between quickly inhaled breaths.

"You're not... Following, are you?" The corner of his mouth lifted upwards, clever brown eyes fixed on my face.

God, I hoped I wasn't drooling. But to deny the obvious would have been a stretch. "No, not really," I swallowed, willing my eyes to lift from the large veins on the hand that was pointing at a set of equations. Reasonably good at math any day, they looked like the scribbles of a madman to me at the time.

Dr. Banner sighed, letting silence creep among the whirring machinery in the lab for a brief moment. "I don't scare you?" He removed his glasses, cleaning them with the corner of his shirt.

The question reeked of self-doubt and, perhaps, insecurity. "No," I answered simply, not giving him the slightest chance to find doubt in my words. I was barely holding my voice from shaking, afraid he'd misunderstand my reaction to the sudden change in atmosphere.

He was closer to me than I recalled. My hip was almost brushing his, the bulk of his shoulder millimeters from touching against my bare skin, the smell of something herbal, like tea, and sharp chemicals clouding my senses. It was such a contrasting experience.

Bruce turned to me, an expression between hunger and regret forcing me to shiver and look him straight in the eye. A hand landed on my waist, holding me in place with gentle firmness. "I'm a monster, I could hurt you," he whispered, leaning into me like a touch starved kitten. The man screamed contradiction. "We shouldn't."

Vivid images of the Hulk and the rampages years prior flashed through my mind; the rubble, the collateral damage in the form of many lives. I barely remembered it, having been too little to really understand what was going on. One thing, though, I knew for sure: ever since the world became aware of Lyra's existence, there had been no incidents. Sure, the Hulk still appeared when there was a threat, but there were no documented incidents of the green creature running amok, accidentally.

"You won't hurt me," I spoke with conviction. Perhaps, I was bluffing just slightly but I wouldn't lie like that to myself. The variable, the... Twelve or so percent chance of things going... Awry, it made a small, malicious worm inside of me rejoice and fill my limbs with familiar adrenalised yearning. "You're not a monster. Far from it, actually," I used the hand that was not supporting me against the desk to gently cradle the side of his face, letting my fingertips brush over the rough five o'clock shadow on his cheek.

Bruce emitted a sound somewhere between an agitated grown and a pleading whine, sagging with the sound exhale, pressing himself flush with my chest. His face slipped from my palm, the warm tip of his nose running a steady line up my neck, sending goosebumps running wildly down my back as his hot breath tickled the arch of my throat.

"Baby," the nickname punched a stuttered gasp out of me with the intensity contained in just that one word. "I've been hearing all these amazing things about you," his voice dropped, low baritone rumbling straight into my ear. "I won't be able to hold back. I'll want you all to myself," his bicep flexed under my hand.

My knees would have bucked if I wasn't grasping onto Bruce for dear life after those words. I had some sense of personal pride in me, so while my body was an easy, traitorous thing, my mind was more than eager to participate in this game, to ping pong a little bit before... "Yeah? What things?" I breathed.

Teeth briefly closed around my tender skin, nipping for just a second. "You're kind, beautiful," his hand took a steadfast hold on the back of my neck, exposing my throat to his mouth. More skin to mark, more time to whisper. "Intelligent, bright and clever," the more he spoke, the fiercer he became. Bruce's grasp tightened until I was pliant in it, willingly following his silent commands. "A bit of a pain in the ass," a healthy dose of humour was added into the mix as my ass was roughly grabbed, our fronts pressed together at his insistence.

"That sounds about right," I didn't resist the sudden urge to snark, thoughts lazily floating in my head, like clouds on a bright sunny day, fleeting and sparse. None of them caught on. I was focused on feeling the need, on my need to feel.

A sharp smack landed on the plump of my ass, the sound resonating in the eerily quiet lab. The sounds of machinery had dulled at some point, leaving just the two of us panting our lust into each other's space. "I know you can be a good girl. Will you, princess?" His fingertips dug into my flesh, surpassing the soft sweatpants as if they weren't even there.

I could only nod, dumbly, overcome by the sudden rush of blood to my body. The life coarsing through me sang, demanding a release of the pent-up tension.

"What's that?" Bruce removed himself from my neck, catching my unfocused eyes with a crooked smirk on his lips.

"Yes," I swallowed, breathing through my mouth.

"Mmm," he hummed, running both hands over my sides, over the frayed edges of my Mötorhead top. He admired it, briefly, setting his eyes on the band logo that was right over my breasts. Having decided something to himself, Bruce promptly removed it, lifting it over my head with ease and leaving it right on the science lab table.

Taking hold of my hand, he walked over to a hidden set of sliding doors that revealed a rather large, frequently used bed, shutting them just as I walked in, wearing only my bra and borrowed sweats. My back was pressed to the door in mere seconds, hot palms chasing away the chill of the lab as Bruce slotted his lips over mine.

He tasted like something I've never had before. His lips - so plush and supple, took hold of the kiss with practiced gusto, sucking me in without a chance or the desire to escape. I drank from him, sucked on the bottom lip as his tongue explored my mouth, danced with mine.

The room was spinning, the ringing in my ears growing in volume. I was only partly aware of the sensation of sliding down the wall; our knees thudded on the carpeted floor simultaneously, heavy breathing the only noise I could distinguish.

"Breathe, baby, that's it," Bruce coaxed, gently stroking my nape. The soft cotton of his shirt crumpled under my fingers where I held onto him, desperately searching something to ground myself with.

The buckle of his belt clattered and then clinked again as he wrapped the worn leather around my wrists, bringing them together in front of my chest. I exhaled sharply at the intimate gesture, a whine bubbling up from my chest when Bruce used a single fingertip to raise my chin.

My eyes met his; a brown iris tinged with the faintest of green around the outer edge. "This okay, princess?" He sought my face for confirmation, for agreement, for anything.

I nodded, stuttering mid-gesture, remembering our previous interaction. My mouth did not want to cooperate but I forced it to, even if it came out as little more than a pitiful mewl. "Yes, daddy," the word, sweet and sticky like fruit syrup, poured from my lips.

My eyes slid shut as my conscience - or was it common sense? - took hold of the situation. I was on my knees in front of my best friends dad, a virtual stranger, and I'd just-

Bruce's soft chuckle stopped the negative spiral of my thoughts. "That's my girl," he sounded a tad more breathless now, a hairliner in his perfect façade of self-control. As if he'd sensed my indecisiveness, he tugged on the makeshift restraints, pulling me closer, closer and into his lap.

A warm, solid chest with a healthy amount of fluff greeted me. Bruce let my lax, pliant body fall into his arms, catching me effortlessly and bringing my face to his lips. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you're my good girl," he peppered soft kisses all over my flaming cheeks, my twitching nose, my fluttering lashes.

"Please," I begged, shame giving way to the flood of arousal that seemingly hit me all at once. I was aware of the dampness collecting in my panties, the stiffness of my limbs from holding back the ravenous desire to paw at Bruce like a wild animal. "Please, daddy..."

"I know, I know, baby girl," he soothed, not stopping his tender assault on my face. "Daddy will make it all better. I know just what you need," Bruce finally pulled away. I heard the sound of him undoing his zipper and then the awkward shuffle of him shucking off his pants.

Somewhere in between of all that, he'd ended up sitting down on the bed, wearing only his boxers, his shirt hanging open. The red crawled down his chest, partially masked by the coarse salt and pepper hair; his lips were cherry red and his hair was sticking out in odd directions. Bruce looked sinful.

My eyes inadvertently landed on the impressive bulge in his boxers; in response to my widened eyes, he reached out for it, stroking the outline of his thick cock through his boxers. "Like what you see, baby?"

"Yeah," My mouth watered.

"Baby wants a fat cock?" He teased, sounding like he knew exactly what he was doing, testing my self-control like that. With a flick of his wrist, it sprang free, slapping against his tummy, coating the fine hairs with drops of clear, musky fluid.

I swallowed, feeling the taste of him from afar and yearning for more where I was parked between his spread legs.

In a gesture almost loving, he tugged on the belt still wrapped around my wrists, bringing my face to his leaking shaft and my hands to the base of it, letting me feel the weight of his balls in them. The cock throbbed, neglected, weighed down by the heaviness of his full balls.

"Go ahead, baby, suck my cock," the encouragement came with a gentle push to my head.

I obediently followed, wrapping my lips around the pink, moist crown of it, a hum beginning in the back of my throat. My God, Bruce tasted heavenly... I whirled and slipped my tongue a around his head, I dipped into the slit to drink the nectar right from the tap, idly coming to awareness of the broken, choked moans coming from the man above me.

Raising my head got me a view of his chin; head thrown back, the lax O of his mouth glistened in the meager light. My eyes slid lower, to the flex of his abs. Bruce fought hard to stay still. The desire consumed me, a sudden rush of power at having Dr. Bruce Banner's cock in my mouth and the man at my mercy; I inhaled, sliding my mouth further and further down his throbbing length.

"Fuck," I heard him mutter before his hands gripped the sides of my face. "Hungry, baby, are you?" His eyes glowed a faint green; I shuddered at the power he held within himself. Held back for me. "Tap my thigh twice," he spoke and I had no choice but to obey. "Okay. Do that if it gets too much, alright?" I nodded. He gave me a wide, beaming smile. "Good girl," he praised, experimentally bucking his hips into my mouth a few times.

In and out. I focused on my breathing, sharp, little inhales: his girth took up all the free space in my mouth, the tip of it barely fit into my throat. The burn, the stretch; I felt every tenth of an inch, every bulging attempt of my body to accommodate Bruce's huge cock. It was delicious, I couldn't help but crave the same stretch in my neglected, sopping wet pussy.

"Fuck, you're taking it so well," Bruce moaned wetly. "Your mouth... S'like heaven... Could fuck it all day, that's my good girl," the rambling increased in it's intensity as the pace of his hips hastened. Drool and tears flowed like a river; my chin was dropping with it, spit connected my face to his pelvis. "Oh," there was a brief pause to his movements; suddenly, he pulled out, fisting the base of his cock, staring me down with a ferocious gleem in his eye.

I must've looked a straight mess; my face like a crime scene, my clothes disheveled, covered in fluids and most of all - I was desperately grinding against my own feet, too focused on the glorious cock in front of me to notice the weakness of my own flesh. "Daddy?" I questioned, wincing at the grating of my own voice.

Without a word, the belt was tugged once more; in a set of movements just slightly north of acrobatic, I found myself laying on my back in the middle of the bed, my sweatpants suffering a haste demise in the corner of the room.

Bruce crawled atop me, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on every inch of my skin he could reach, mouthing something inaudible into every pore of my body. As he drew closer, I discerned bitten-off phrases, stringing my desire into sticky, tangy mess at the apex of my thighs.

"My perfect baby girl," the words reached me; all tongue, he kissed me once more, arching into me as much as I arched into his hot grasp. A brief inspection of my face - he was satisfied with what he saw - and Bruce crawled back, settling in between my spread legs, breathing hot air on the lips of my sex still covered by a sopping wet piece of fabric.

"Oh fuck," I yelped, feeling him smooch it soundly, the hot wetness of his tongue penetrating the meagre lace barrier with ease.

He moved it aside anyway, with a single finger, giving my pussy a broad lick, moaning into my cunt like a man gone mad. It took a few more licks for him to feel sated enough to surface, all the while holding my hips down. I was so sensitive, I felt even the tiniest flicks to my clit, I was sure if I didn't cum then and there, I would explode.

"Such a pretty pussy, princess," his heavy breathing paused briefly. He nipped my thigh. "So wet, is that all for me?"

"Yes, yes, daddy," I rasped, pushing my cunt into his face, losing all shame and trepidation.

"So tasty," he continued the torture, outlining my lower lips before taking another nosedive right into it, swirling his tongue around every fold, sucking onto my clit.

Bruce ate my pussy until my thighs shook, until my core quivered and I could no longer hold back the choked, ragged screams starting somewhere in the low of my belly and coming out as unholy, all-consuming yowls filled with unadulterated lust.

"Louder for me, baby," he inhaled rapidly, and then, he sucked on my clit.

The world stopped, halted on it's axis, every muscle going rigid in my body and every nerve ending simultaneously coming alive. Faintly, I heard a chant, repeating two syllables over and over, it sounded like my voice - but I had no control over myself. All I could do was weakly grind my hips against Bruce's mouth, faltering when the crashing waves of my orgasm began to recede.

The infuriating overstimulation stopped; blinking hazily, I saw Bruce's eyes glimmer brown and green in front of my face. His nose and his chin was glistening with a thin coat of sticky fluid; disheveled and red, he looked a man on the verge of a revelation.

Something hot and blunt nosed at my cunt, bringing back the moment to me - I realized, with a great deal of impatience - how empty I felt. The decision was minute. "Daddy, fuck me, please, I want your cock," the words came easily.

"That's my girl," his eyes fluttered shut as the first inches squeezed through the snug of my cunt. I was sopping wet and as relaxed as I'd be, but even then, it was a stretch. "Good girl, good baby," the mumbled praise made me whine and my pussy clamp on his cock. "Relax, let daddy fill you up." Breathing through it, I consciously unwound myself around him, letting my palms rest freely on his shoulders. "Let daddy take care of you."

Like melted sugar, his husked words stuck to me inside and out. Short, sharp thrusts; Bruce was patiently burrowing himself inside of me, making his way to reach the deepest parts of me I didn't even know existed. His cock head pressed against something hard and spongy inside of me; stars burst behind my eyes I'd clamped shut on reflex.

I moaned weakly, tugging on his arm, pressing myself closer. It felt so, so good. Like a raw nerve had been exposed and he was stroking it, pushing that little switch with every stroke of his hips.

"I'm not gonna last," he muttered as once again, my cunt squeezed him snugly in place, just as greedy as I was to feel that tiny explosion spark up within me again.

"I want..." I panted. Bruce set in a punishing pace after that, a palm under my ass, squeezing it so hard there would definitely be bruising. I craved it, I needed to see the evidence this was not some elaborate fever dream. "I want... Daddy to fill me up," words came out garbled; it sounded like gibberish to my ears but Bruce - they spurred him on.

"Oh yeah?" That breathless, boyish cockiness was back in his voice again; despite how fucked out he sounded, I prepared myself for something truly out of this world. I just knew.

He sat back on his shins, dragging me by the hips with him, making me shiver and moan and twitch and clamp onto him again as his throbbing cock hit that special spot again. And again. And again.

"Look at me, baby," a hand on my belly and his eyes burning right through me. As they slid down, towards the apex of my thighs where he was still moving within me almost lazily, I saw it.

"Oh fuck," I couldn't utter much more than a two-syllabled profanity. There was a bulge in my belly, just above my pelvis, moving in rhythm with Bruce's hips. And then he pressed on it and I-

Something, someone, somewhere was screaming. The noise was loud and pitched, but even then, I could barely hear it though the neverending waves of bliss that enveloped my whole being. Gold and silver at the edges of my rapidly darkening vision; I was drowning in something that smelled and felt like Bruce. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his heated body, the rapid snapping of his hips-

Oh.

"I'm gonna, fuck," the last word was but a ghost of a human speech. Growling low and filthy, Bruce leaned into my ear, his breath hot and moist. "Mine," his hips stuttered, his cock nestled deep, the sensation bordering on painful, forcefully extracted pleasure. It throbbed with every spurt of his seed; each one felt like a solid punch in the gut to my abused pussy.

"Daddy," I mewled, my body jerking away from him but my mind and my soul yearning for more. His rapidly softening flesh made the idea of being separated unbearable.

"S'good, s'my good girl, m'so proud," he mumbled, looking slightly disoriented as he removed himself from me, immediately pressing me to his side and interwining any free, flailing limbs.

We laid in silence, each of us slowly coming back to Earth after the completely unreal experience we just had. I didn't know what to think, didn't know what to do as the realization set in, the post-orgasmic haze giving way to a sudden rush of clarity.

"I can hear you overthinking," Bruce's voice was fond.

Before I could muster up the courage to snark back, the divided doors opened, one very concerned Tony Stark standing there, armed with a tranquilizer gun in one hand and a pack of cookies in the other. His mouth, previously open to (probably) yell at us, remained as open when his eyes had registered the scene in front of him.

I stared at Bruce. Bruce stared at Tony.

"The noise," he offered in the way of explanation, dangling the pack of cookies, looking, for once - speechless. He recovered quickly, however, even if the remark was a thin ghost of his usual sass: "You pick the nerd over me? I'm hurt," he scoffed in mock irritation, although I was pretty sure I saw some satisfaction in there, too.

Bruce looked at me. I looked at Bruce.

A mischievous grin slowly crept up his face, an identical one beginning to appear on my own face seconds after.

"Hey, two nerds is better than one, right?" My response is what did it; or, rather, it was the evidence of my previous throat-fucking clearly audible in my voice... Tony dropped the cookies and then, the tranq gun.

Bruce Banner taglist: @pilloclock @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @mostly-marvel-musings @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @sapphicnoodle69 @couldntbedamned @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @tripleyeeet @tatestripedsweater @stuckybarton

#bruce banner x reader #bruce banner smut #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x y/n #Bruce Banner #bun writes #I haven't written shit in a month and boom #6k words in three hours #i don't like the ending #I'm bad at them #okay #okay .

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wannabe-fic-writer · 4 years

Text

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Prove Me Wrong

Summary: She can trust you, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

Warning: 18+ Mental Health, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, Smut

Chapter 6

******

Laughter sounds in the kitchen, the mix of yours and Carol’s filling the kitchen.

She leans against the counter across from you, sipping from a cup of coffee you’d made for her. And you sit on one of the few stools drinking tea with a new friend, Goose the cat, in your lap.

This morning you’d planned to just get a cup of tea and return to your room to read.

Finding Carol in the kitchen already changed that plan. The two of you started talking and she drew you in with even more exciting tales of space and the Air Force.

Much like the past few days you get wrapped up in how nice Carol is. Sure she’s a little sarcastic, and not so secretly cocky. But that’s definitely swept away by the fact that she’s very funny and friendly.

Goose purrs rhythmically as you pet him and listen to Carol talk about restoring a planet named Easik.

“Not to be nosey or anything but, how does your girlfriend feel about your space travels?” You maintain eye contact as you sip your tea.

Carol chuckles a little,“ she’s not really fond of all the time I spend away and she worries about the dangers out there. But she and her daughter always trust that I’ll get home safely. Plus I make up for it with cool stories and space gifts.”

“Ever the charmer Danvers.” You shake your head.

“Why thank you, I try.” The woman does an exaggerated bow.

Mid laugh, Goose stands up in your lap causing your hand to slide down his soft fur as he looks at the door.

Natasha steps through, clad in athletic wear and sporting a messy ponytail.

Subconsciously you find your gaze passing over the material of her pants that shape her legs and the tank top that shows off her toned arms.

Has she always been this hot or are you only just now noticing?

Thankfully the woman’s words pull you from your thoughts.

“Am I interrupting something?” She asks, walking behind Carol to the coffee pot.

Carol shakes her head,“ just Y/N telling me about her time at NYU.”

You’re quick to tell them,“ which was really just a lot of studying and sleep deprivation.”

“And crazy parties! You saw a guy jump from a roof into a pool of Jell-O. Which makes me wonder if you did too?” She tilts her head inquisitively.

“Of course not,” you finish off tour tea,“ but not because of the jump. I literally cringed at the idea of having Jell-O in places it shouldn’t be.”

The blonde is laughing again and you smile, almost proudly, at having gotten her to.

Natasha looks away so no one can see her roll her eyes.

“Ladies!”

The familiar voice of the one Mister Tony Stark hits your ears before he steps into view. He’s smiling at each of you in greeting and pointing at the cat that definitely wasn’t here the last time he was.

“T! What brings you by, again?” You return his smile sweetly.

“Oh I’m just here to cordially invite you all to mine and Pepper’s anniversary dinner Friday night. Figured getting out would do you some good since your social life is like watching paint dry.” He teases with a fake pout.

Standing from your stool, Goose leaping down from your lap at the same time, you speak to Tony,“ you know, the more time I spend with you the more I understand why Pepper needed to see me.”

Having said that, you leave out. Tony follows you and Goose pauses, looking from where you were to Carol, only to follow after you as well.

With you out of earshot, Carol turns to Natasha with a raised brow.“ I could be wrong here but, am I sensing that you’re interested in Y/N?”

“Of course not.” Natasha shoots the idea down quickly.

Too quickly.

Carol smirks,“ please. You came in here with every bit of jealousy in your tone.” She folds her arms and faces the red head fully,“ which is misplaced. I have a girlfriend.”

Natasha freezes at the information. It’s not a long pause but it’s noticeable enough, making Carol smile proudly.

She knows a crush when she sees one.

“It’s none of my concern who you or Y/N are dating.” She finally says, grip loosening on her cup as she leaves.

For the days that pass Natasha finds herself thinking more and more about what Carol said.

One thing Natasha knows is how to identify her feelings, but she’d only really encountered these feelings once before. With Bruce.

She felt differently with him than she did with Steve and Tony. The feelings scared her and when she decided to free fall into them, he pushed her away and left for more than two years.

That experience made her familiar with, wanting someone romantically. So when she began to feel that way towards you a mere few days after your second session she fought to push it away.

She’d be damned if she got hurt again, especially by someone claiming to want to help her.

And despite not wanting to be hurt, a part of her still wonders about you.

A part that she tries her hardest to ignore. So much so that she doesn’t go to your session the morning of Tony and Pepper’s anniversary.

You couldn’t lie and say you aren’t disappointed to not find her in your office when you got there. And even more disappointed the more time passed without her showing.

You consider going to find her, thinking that something must really be bothering her for her to not show up after all the progress she’d made. But you also considered that she could just be busy and decided that just this once you’d back off.

So, for the time being, you go over the files of the rest of the team, working on possible ways to make breakthroughs and just coping exercises in general.

Hours pass of this, you stopping only twice to get fresh tea and lunch. Until eventually you’re getting ready for the anniversary dinner.

After having received directions to the venue from Tony, you get ready to leave. Steve and Bucky offering you a ride and telling you that Natasha, Wanda, and Sam left already.

Light conversation flows between the three of you until you get there. Bucky parking and Steve getting out to open your door for you.

“Thanks.” You smile, hopping out of the SUV and walking beside them into the building.

It’s a lot simpler than you expected it to be. As simple as crystal chandeliers and champagne fountains can be.

While looking for Tony and Pepper, your eyes catch Natasha. She’s standing beside Wanda at the bar and looking more beautiful than you’d ever seen.

Something about the way that blue looks against her skin, the way the fabric of the dress clings to her curvy form, or perhaps the way her green eyes seem to stand out more than usual.

Has your eyesight changed in the last week? Why are you seeing her in a different light than before?

Whatever the case is, your watching her, has you tripping over your own feet.

Literally.

The only reason you don’t eat shit is because Bucky holds his arm out in front of you.

“Thanks.” You chuckle nervously hoping no one notices the flush of your cheeks, or what caused you to trip.

You gather yourself before heading over to wish the couple a happy anniversary. And of course it doesn’t take Tony long to make some sarcastic comment. In which Pepper shoos him away so the two of you can catch up.

All the while Morgan stands closely to her mother so you make sure to address her every once and a while, complimenting her dress and asking her about school(the girl is just as smart as her dad, at some point she’ll probably be smarter).

Soon enough dinner is served, you sitting with the team at one of the tables and listening to them talk.

It’s not until they open the dance floor that you see Carol. She comes in, effectively grabbing everyone’s attention.

The woman joins you, her eyes glancing back and forth from all of you to Tony and Pepper dancing.

“Awe man, I missed the food.” She half jokes, easing into the empty chair between you and Natasha.

You chuckle, shaking your head,“ I’m sure if you ask nicely, and stroke his ego a little, Tony’ll have them bring you something out.”

“Honey we both know I’d never.”

When you both laugh, Natasha pushes herself up and goes over to the bar, stepping around the person filled dance floor.

Your laughter dies, smile replaced by a frown.

Noticing this, Carol stands, offering a hand,“ dance with me?”

“Okay.”

On the dance floor, Carol’s arm glides across your lower back with ease, her other hand holding yours just level with your chests. You place your free hand on her shoulder.

The soft music that plays tells you that Tony had nothing to do with the selection tonight. Alongside that thought you notice that Carol’s a good dancer, cause she makes your uncoordinated self move easily.

“Is Natasha watching us?” She asks after a few steps.

Frowning, you look at the blonde, who’s eyes don’t meet yours. You let your gaze fall over the room, and find that Natasha is indeed watching you two. Only to look away when she meets your gaze.

“She was. Why?”

The woman’s chest shakes with a laugh,“ I think she likes you.”

That has you looking back over at the green eyed red head. Once again taking in how beautiful she looks.

Natasha likes you?

What had you done to get her to like you? Nothing. So why would she like you?

A frown masks your brows,“ why would you tell me that? Suppose I believed you and it wasn’t true, I’d look like a complete idiot if I did something about it.”

Carol leans back a little at that,“ you like Natasha?”

You flounder, mouth opening and closing stupidly as you think of a reply,“ no. She’s my patient and she tolerates me, at best.”

And she’s notebly the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. She’s godly beautiful in a human way. She’s, demi-godly beautiful? You aren’t sure that’s the right description but it’s what you think fits.

“What makes you think that?”

Breaking from your thoughts, you recall the interactions you had with Natasha in the beginning of your stay, or the lack there of. Followed by her barely even looking at you your first session.

At this point you and Carol have danced into a second song. You sigh and drop your head on to her shoulder.

“How often do you see me and Natasha talk? Like barely. The most we communicate is in my office where I am nothing but professional because if I’m not then I’d look like some bumbling idiot and that wouldn’t be helping her.”

Carol sighs,“ it’s not my place to say but, if you do have feelings for her, I think it would benefit you to tell her.”

You look up again, brown eyes staring back,“ did you miss the barely tolerates me part?”

“I find that hard to believe. You’re a very likeable person Y/N. Maybe it’s just her thoughts that are keeping her so distant.” She suggests.

The song comes to an end and you step away from her with a shake of your head,“ not to call you delusional, but I think you’ve seen things that aren’t there. I’m simply her therapist.”

As you turn to walk away Carol struggles to find something to say but she can’t. And your crestfallen face is heartbreaking.

That expression on your face completely debunks your claims at not liking the woman and Carol knows you only said it to convince yourself.

******

taglist: @username23345 @muffliat-o @aaron-despair @natasha-danvers @wildhoney32 @criminallyhamilton @fayhar @nat-km-mh

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #prove me wrong #reader insert

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aboutanancientenquiry · 2 years

Text

Herodotus and the Egyptian Cats

EGYPTIAN CATS AND GREEK CURIOSITY

Alex Tarbet

“My cat behaves in strange ways. For instance, I have a candle on my desk. Once, she was so mystified by the shimmering flame that she crept up close. Closer. She gave a curious little sniff, decided to inquire, pushed her face in – and burnt her own whiskers off. I reacted by drawing on Classical wisdom (rather than calling a veterinarian) and informed her that her pain was the result of hubris and curiositas. “You get what you ask for, kitty. You shouldn’t poke your nose into forbidden shimmery magical things, or you’ll get exactly what you deserve. There is a thing called justice in the universe. Know thyself.” I scolded her. In the end she learned nothing by suffering. But she did shoot me a glare and slink off to use my copy of Aeschylus as a litter-box.

The Egyptian cat goddess Bastet, Second Dynasty (early 3rd millennium BC) (Neues Museum, Berlin, Germany).

Classical authors had strange ideas about cats. Aelian (AD c.170–230) thought they would be your lifelong friends if you just kept them fed.[1] (He’s wrong: my cat is both overweight and resentful.) Aristotle (c.384–322 BC) thought that females have sex by scootching backward under males while they stand upright, apparently on hind legs.[2] (That’s just insulting to cats everywhere.) And they must have small minds because they have such tiny faces.[3] (My cat clearly disagrees.)

Freshly-salted cat liver, eaten with a glass of wine under a waning moon, will cure a fever, according to the Roman Pliny the Elder (AD c.23–79).[4] And a dead cat’s ashes mixed with water can be used as convenient household mouse repellent.[5] Cat dung is just sticky enough to help remove a splinter, but a she-goat’s will do it in a pinch.[6] Plutarch (AD c.45–120) thought cats had magical eyes that waxed and waned along with the moon.[7] And perfume makes them enter a Dionysian frenzy and go completely crazy.[8]

A possible reconstruction of Herodotus’ world, on the basis of his Histories.

Herodotus (c.484–425 BC), that curious world traveler, heard something about cats during his trip down the Nile in the 5th century BC, a time when they were unfamiliar animals to Greeks:

πυρκαϊῆς δὲ γενομένης θεῖα πρήγματα καταλαμβάνει τοὺς αἰελούρους· οἱ μὲν γὰρ Αἰγύπτιοι διαστάντες φυλακὰς ἔχουσι τῶν αἰελούρων, ἀμελήσαντες σβεννύναι τὸ καιόμενον, οἱ δὲ αἰέλουροι διαδύνοντες καὶ ὑπερθρώσκοντες τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ἐσάλλονται ἐς τὸ πῦρ.

When there is a fire, a divine state seizes hold of cats. The Egyptians stand in a line and hold guard over them but neglect the fire. The cats, rushing through, leap over them and dive right into the fire. When this happens, there is great public mourning among the Egyptians.[9]

Er, what? Herodotus’ tale of ‘cats leaping into fire’ seems suspicious. But given the behavior of my own little candle-sniffer, I can make a guess where it came from. A well-known factoid – ‘cats are not that smart when it comes to flames’ – had passed around the Mediterranean and been exaggerated through the ‘telephone game’ before it perked up the ears of Herodotus, who excitedly scribbled it down in Greek.[10]

Egyptian cat guarding geese, Nineteenth Dynasty (c.1120 BC) (Cairo Museum, Egypt).

Now, Herodotus was an entertainer. He loved flinging out fireworks of wonders from his faraway travels left and right to explode his audience’s minds. Greeks were really into (and would have paid good money for) short packaged tales that were catchy, exotic, or spooky enough to show off at drinking parties. Imagine the oohs and aahs: “Say, did you hear the one about Egyptian cats? Did you know they explode?” “By the dog, you’re lying!” “It’s true, I heard it from an expert!”

Herodotus was an expert, but not on cats. Rather, he was a great listener, a world traveler, a lore collector, someone fun for people all around the Mediterranean to meet and chat with as his entourage traveled around the world sponging up everyone’s favorite tales about this and that. He did a fair job translating what Egyptians had to say. (A few things they wrote square pretty well with his Greek, so we know he was not making stuff up.) But occasionally something was lost in the process and the result is just weird. The ‘cats on fire’ passage is one of those moments where we scratch our heads: “Huh? What happened there?”

Stories about exotic animals and their behavior floated all around the ancient Mediterranean, over tongues and through ears, before they settled into Greek as ‘weird science’ or paradoxography. (A paradox or παράδοξος meant a marvelous thing, such as a dragon, ghost, vampire, unicorn, werewolf – all of which Greeks and Romans heard whispered rumors about from faraway lands).[11] Folk love a good story, especially one performed with some flair. ‘Flaming cats’ may have been a fun thing to pass around for audiences of all ages. (I wish I could believe it was more than a coincidence that the word Herodotus used for ‘fire’ was πῦρ – purr.)

Egyptian ring with cat and kittens, Third Intermediary Period (late 2nd / early 1st millennium BC (Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, USA).

But what Egyptian told the tale? Herodotus tells us nothing about his informant except that he was a ‘priest’. That hardly helps. Temples had thousands of personnel, from groundskeepers to cooks to guards to the high priest himself. Many of these had seasonal priesthoods only for three or four months of the year with temporary prestige and pay. Perhaps Herodotus had a brief encounter with a farmer, merchant, craftsman, local guide, tourist-trapper, traveling bard, streetside raconteur – any of them a ‘priest’ only part of the year.

When someone, say, a metalworker or fishmonger, worked in a temple for a few months as a priest, creative lore from his daily home life could easily trickle in with him. Fresh stuff sourced from the family household: children’s tales, fables, rumors, jokes, myths, news, gossip, insults, spells, problems with the neighbor’s cats – you name it. And then it trickled out. Herodotus could have heard anything anywhere.

Cat with kittens on damaged box for animal mummy, Late Period / Ptolemaic Period (640–30 BC) (Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, USA).

Egyptians were diverse, and some of them would not have intended or cared to share feline biology facts with a nosy foreigner from a distant empire. Many were too busy farming. Or weaving. Or making jewelry. Or brewing beer. Or writing love songs. Or fishing. Or tending the kids.

Public storytelling was unofficial and unlearned, non-literate, talkative, playful, wide-ranging in register. And so were myth and religion: playful, sexual, humorous, private, open for improvisation – yet also political, religious, official, patriarchal behind temple doors, all at once. Our little cat tale came from somebody with their own private life, a family world, a sense of self and self-reflection, a profession or craft of their own, with their own style and horizon of imagination. (And it was certainly not the high priest.) So what was on their mind?

Egyptian cat mummy, probably from Bubastis, Mid-Ptolemaic Period (2nd cent. BC) (Penn Museum, Philadelphia, PA, USA)

Cats were venerated as goddesses by Egyptians. (They still know this.) Priests solemnly embalmed thousands and sold their mummies to pilgrims wishing to make offerings to the cat goddess at her temple. There must have been great celebration and lamentation for their little burials. (Humans have historically tended to be obsessed with or even enjoy cat death for one reason or another.)[12]

But ancient cats could be cute little morons too. On Egyptian craftsmen’s drawings we see a clear sense of humor, playfulness, and farce, maybe even social satire. Have a look for yourself. (I particularly like the masterpiece ‘Regretful Shitty Kitty – the one that seems to be looking back and saying whoops!) Somebody did not take pets all that seriously. And of course not! Cats are funny, universally speaking. And sometimes not so brain-smart. This is known.

Ostraca from the workers’ village at Deir el-Medina, reproduced from Patrick Houlihan’s Wit and Humour in Ancient Egypt (Rubicon, London, 2001) 76–85.

In popular Egyptian storytelling, felines were devious agents of humor and chaos. To wit, in the Petese Stories (c. 3rd cent. BC), a necromancer compels a ghost to tell him how long he has to live. With only forty days and forty nights left – desiring to spend it drinking and having sex with his wife, of course – he crafts a cat golem out of wax and sends it to terrify his boss, and extorts a solid 500 silver from him.[13]

In Setna I (AD c. 1st cent.), a horny sorcerer searching for a forbidden book has a nightmare in which the numinously gorgeous mystical lady Tabubu – in response to his many appeals for sex – hurls his children out of a window into the street to be eaten by strays.[14] So cats were associated in Egyptian ‘horror fiction’ with sexual desire, curiosity, and horrible divine vengeance, should magicians poke their noses into the forbidden.

Ancient Egyptian drawing from Deir el-Medina (c.1500-1100 BC), reproduced in Patrick Houlihan’s Wit and Humour in Ancient Egypt (Rubicon, London, 2001) 83.

The Myth of the Distant Goddess might give us a clue about ‘cats plus fire’. The goddess Hathor (or Tefnut) has an argument with her father, the Sun. Annoyed, she stomps off into the desert and metamorphoses into a cat. Desperate for her return, the Sun sends the crafty baboon Thoth to calm her with beer and humorous stories. Success! Soothed from rage and resentment, kitty feels homesick. But Thoth begins to lose ground. She becomes enraged again and – well, ignites.

She changed in her appearance into an angry lioness… her coat gave off smoke and flame; her back was blood-colored, and her face had the brilliance of the Sun Disk. Her eyes had a fiery glow, and her stares glowed like flame, casting fire out like the light of a summer day. She shone from within her entire body… she stamped with her paws, and the mountain produced a cloud of dust.[15]

A messy retelling of a ‘cat and fire’ myth may have been mangled beyond sense, or miscommunicated, or mistranslated, or spoken offhand if Herodotus was in some hectic spot along the Nile. Egyptian families enjoyed cat fictions not only as deep ritual lore, but as evening delights, part of their earthy world of family celebrations, leisure, relaxations, play and performance.

The obsequies of an Egyptian cat, John Reinhard Weguelin, 1886 (Auckland Art Gallery, New Zealand).

The Nile was a thriving hotbed of creative storytelling. Thousands of Egyptians celebrated festival lore around a ‘return of the distant cat goddess’ to her home city, Bubastis, and drank more grape wine on a single day than all the rest of the year (so Herodotus says). They played musical instruments, clapped their hands and danced, while women sailed up the Nile on boats, flashed their vaginas at women on the shore, and shouted all sorts of obscene things at them.[16] Greek women emulated this in their own secret ceremonies for Demeter, full of jokes, insults, wine, and genital-shaped cakes.[17]

The ancient world was a lively and intense mix of all sorts of imaginations, stories, and cross-cultural meetings. The idea that cats scorch themselves to death was a bit of creative runoff from Nile storytelling as it trickled into the rest of the Mediterranean imagination, something purred up from Bubastis and muddied into Greek science. Reading Herodotus is like rummaging through a mixed bag full of gems. Our little investigation here may have only burned our whiskers. But surely a spark of curiosity about other cultures, past times, and distant peoples is what Herodotus really wanted to cultivate in his audience.[18]

Alex is a first-gen PhD candidate at the University of Michigan. His work explores Egyptian folk humor in Herodotus and later Greco-Roman works.

Further Reading

Serge Sauneron, The Priests of Ancient Egypt (trans. Ann Morrissett, Evergreen Books, London/New York, 1960).

Laurie O’Higgins, Women and Humor in Classical Greece (Cambridge UP, 2003).

Dominic Montserrat, Sex and Society in Graeco-Roman Egypt (Routledge, London, 2012).

Patrick Houlihan, Wit & Humour in Ancient Egypt (Rubicon, London, 2001).

Jacqueline Jay, Orality and Literacy in the Demotic Tales (Brill, Leiden, 2016).

Kim Ryholt, The Petese Stories II (Museum Tusculanum Press, Copenhagen, 2006).

Notes

⇧1

On Animals, 4.44.

⇧2

ὀρθός,

History of Animals, 540a.

⇧3Physiognomics, 811d.

⇧4

Natural History, 229.

⇧5

Natural History

, 160.

⇧6

Natural History, 245.

⇧7

Isis and Osiris, 376ff.

⇧8

Advice to the Bride and Groom, 144d. Were Romans wearing catnip? Some Latinist out there please get back to me on that.

⇧9

Herodotus 2.66.3. My translation of the Greek text from A.D. Godley’s Loeb (1920).

⇧10

Ancient lamps and candles could scorch off curious whiskers just as easily as those today. A plump mouse hunched on top of lamps was a common decoration, probably intended to remind the owner to close the lid, lest rats and mice nibble at the wick. This would be especially important during Nile flood seasons, when they emerged in plague hordes: the cats were valiant protectors of the light who (maybe) burned their noses in humorous ways. See further Philip Kiernan, “

The Bronze Mice of Apollo Smintheus,” American Journal of Archaeology 118 (2014), 613–14.

⇧11

To read some original sources, see Christopher Nichols, Ctesias: On India

(Bristol Classical Press, London, 2011), and Gregory McNamee, Aelian’s On the Nature of Animals (Trinity University Press, San Antonio, TX, USA, 2012).

⇧12

From Tom and Jerry to the medieval French. See Robert Darnton,

The Great Cat Massacre and Other Episodes in French Cultural History

(Basic Books, New York, 1984).

⇧13

Ryholt, 2.

⇧14

Vinson, 125.

⇧15

Adapted from a translation by Steve Vinson (2018) 265; see also Jay, 225–44.

⇧16

Herodotus 2.60.

⇧17

See O’Higgins (2003) 19.

⇧18

A special thanks to T.G. Wilfong, Sara Forsdyke, Ian Moyer, Katherine Davis, and Sara Ahbel-Rappe for their help, and to everyone who works to make Demotic and other ancient languages available to students.”

Source; https://antigonejournal.com/2021/10/egyptian-cats-greek-curiosity/

#herodotus #greek classics #cats #ancient egypt #egyptology #late period egypt #humor #alex tarbet

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wefoundloveunderthelight · 3 years

Photo

Wonderland by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Read on AO3: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Or on FF

Tagging: @kmomof4 @lfh1226-linda @teamhook

Chapter 4: It’s a Mad World

“Are you feeling defensive today because of the way the group session went yesterday?”

Emma looked up defiantly at her therapist. “Do you always let them say whatever they want?”

“It’s important that everyone in group gets to speak their mind, that includes you.”

“August was doing more than speak his mind. He called me a goddamn spoiled rich kid with daddy issues.”

“Are you?”

“What the fuck?” Emma said angrily.

“Emma, your father is rich, you’ve been afforded things that most others have not.”

“So what? That gives him the right to talk about me that way?”

“I didn’t say that I just asked what your thoughts are on his statement.”

“I think he’s full of shit.”

“How is your relationship with your father?”

“Wow. Ok. Well, he traveled a lot.” She rolled her yes. She wasn’t exaggerating, she saw her father maybe once or twice a month when he wasn’t on some business trip that took him out of the country.

“Did you resent him for that?” The man was staring into her soul.

“Hard to resent someone you barely know.” She stared at her fingers, clicking her nails against each other.

“What about your mother?”

“She’s dad’s soldier. Does all his work for him back home while he’s out there making his mark on the world.”

“She’s a manager at the New York Hotel?”

“Yes, she runs all his North American hotels. She’s smart, runs a tight ship. Honestly, mom could have done anything she ever wanted.”

“Did she always want to work in management?”

“God no, she wanted to be a teacher. Mom loves kids.”

“Yet you’re an only child?”

“Yeah well, guess they got too busy to think about a brother or sister, or maybe I was just too much of a handful, you’d have to ask them.”

Emma knew her mother wanted desperately to have another child; she’d heard her parents argue about it a few times when she was younger. When she turned 15, her mother went through a period of depression. Emma had escaped the house on more than one occasion with Neal to avoid their fighting.

“David, we waited too long.”

“You don’t know that darling, the doctors said this could have happen for any number of reasons.”

“If you’d been home more, actually been here.”

“You’re blaming me for this?”

“Do we have to talk about my parents?” Emma stirred nervously in her chair.

“What would you like to talk about?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never done this before.”

“Let’s talk about Neal.”

“Why?”

“He’s your boyfriend?”

She bit her lip and shifted in her chair. “Ok yeah, sure. I met Neal when I was 12. We went to school together.”

“And your parents like him?”

“My parents love Neal. Sometimes I think they like him more than me.”

“I’m so disappointed in you Emma. How could you do this again?”

“Why do you care?”

“Don’t talk to your mother like that and answer the question.”

“I was just having fun with friends. It’s not that big a deal.”

“You’re drunk! You’re only 16. How is this not a big deal, Emma?”

“Seriously mom, stop acting so high and mighty.”

“You need to find better friends. I can’t believe you ditched Neal to go drinking. Really Emma, after the way he stood by you the last time you got in trouble!”

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Emma Nolan, you are grounded for a month.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Neal does no wrong. He’s perfect. Heir to the Gold throne. Hell, I think my dad believes he walks on water.”

“Are you jealous of their affection toward him?”

“Jealous? No, I just find it hypocritical. They immediately believe that I’m the bad influence, no one stopped for one second to ask about Neal and what he was up to. Not once.”

“Should they have? Was there a reason for them not to trust Neal?”

“And once again, I’m bored with this subject.” She crossed her legs underneath her on the chair and buried her face in her hands.

“Come on Emma, just try it one time. If you don’t like it, you never have to do it again.”

“I don’t know, Neal. Is it dangerous?”

“Of course not, why do you think so many people are doing it? It will make you feel good, don’t you want to feel good?”

“Ok Emma let’s talk about what happened after you got arrested. How long were you in jail?”

“I spent 11 glorious months behind bars at Lakeview Shock Correctional. Not like it was hard time or anything, daddy paid a pretty penny to hide me in a minimum-security housing facility.”

“So, it wasn’t a juvenile center?”

“Nope, that really pissed him off, I got busted a week after my 18th birthday.”

“Did you have a difficult time while you were there?”

“Emma you can do it. One more push.”

“Oh God.”

“That’s it, the head is out.”

“It’s a boy. Do you want to hold him?”

“No.”

“Nope, pretty ordinary. Bad food, lots of alone time. Nothing to write home about.” She stared out the window, willing her subconscious to float above her, to drown out the memories and keep the tears at bay.

Her father had paid a lot of money to keep her out of prison, but mostly to keep the story hidden. The minute the baby was ushered out of the room, she was returned to her cell and no one ever spoke of it again. Her father refused to talk about it when she returned home, and her mother continued to pretend like nothing had ever happened.

“Ok Emma, I think that’s enough for today.” He was looking at her with apprehension.

“Awesome.” She pushed out of the chair and sprang free from the room, all the air draining from her lungs. She started to tug at the hem of her t-shirt, feeling like she was trapped in her clothes. She looked around the courtyard, she felt like everything around her was blurring before her eyes.

No! She couldn’t have an anxiety attack out here in the open.

Before she realized what was happening, she was running. She didn’t turn around or stop until she reached the sands of the beach. Bending over and heaving out breathes as she tried to stop her heart from racing. She turned toward the pier and ducked under the boards, climbing the sandy hill hidden from the sun and falling into the sand, her sobs coming out in panicked spurts.

“We really need to stop meeting like this, love.”

No. No. No. No. Not now.

“Go away.” She shouted, sucking in her breath.

“Are you alright, Swan?”

She sat up, tossing sand in his direction. “I’m fucking fine, now go away.” She watched him standing at the bottom of the hill, she could tell he was debating his next move and unless it was leaving, she was going to beat his ass.

Of course, he wouldn’t just leave, she watched him climb the sandy hill toward her.

“You don’t appear to be fine, lass.”

“Why are you so damned irritating?” She screamed, the tears starting to fall down her cheeks again. She blew out a breath and sucked in the air again.

“Swan, you need to breathe. You’re going to hyperventilate.” She rocked back and forth, her arms hugging her chest. She felt warmth against her back, a hand brushing circles against the fabric of her shirt. “It’s better to let it out.” His breath was warm against her ear as he pulled her into the side of his body.

Her hand clinched in his shirt, balling her fist against his chest. “I told you to leave!” She sobbed into his body.

“It’s bad form to leave a damsel in distress.”

She pulled back from him, his face staring at her with a concern that only fueled her annoyance. She felt anger rising in her chest when their eyes met. “The only one who saves me, is me.” She spat.

“Don’t take offense, I’m only trying to help.”

“You are so goddamn frustrating.” He smirked, which only made things worse. She needed to run away from the heat of the man seated beside her, away from his eyes staring into her soul, his arrogant smile still stuck to his face. The fact that he actually seemed worried about her was making the hairs on her arm stand on end. She shoved away from him, “Let go of me.” She stood up and he grabbed her hand.

“Emma…”

She yanked her hand back as if she had been shocked. “Stop touching me, asshole.”

“You really are a pain in the ass.” He stood up, his face inches from hers.

“I’m a pain in the ass? You’re the one who keeps following me around.”

“I was here first, love.”

Emma balled her hands in his shirt before she could stop herself, yanking his lips down to meet hers in a fury of heat and wanton desire. He didn’t hesitate to respond in kind, his fingers tangling tightly in her blonde locks as his tongue pressed against her lips. She opened her mouth with a groan, clinging to him in desperation as their tongues intertwined. When she came up for air, his forehead pressed against hers.

A sudden realization of what she had done began to dawn on her. She frantically pulled away from him.

“That was…” He started to speak, and she panicked.

“A one-time thing. A distraction. That’s all.” She backed away from him, turning quickly to leave and not looking back.

“Emma.”

“Don’t follow me.” She spat.

“As you wish.” She heard him say softly behind her.

She grumbled to herself all the way back to her room, when she entered, Ruby was putting on yoga pants and a sports bra.

“Emma, you’re just in time.” She looked up at her. “Oh my, are you alright? You look pale.”

“Gee thanks, but yes I’m fine, rough day in therapy.” She tore her t-shirt off her body. “What am I just in time for?”

“Spin class!”

“Um, yeah pass.”

“No way, you’re coming with me. It’s the best way to de-stress after therapy. Trust me, Zelena is amazing.”

She considered her options, either sit in her room, and relive the last fifteen minutes over and over in her head, thus driving herself insane, or sweat the kiss out of her system.

“Ok fine, spin it is.”

What Ruby failed to mention was that when she said that Zelena was amazing, what she meant was an insane crazy person.

“Come on you animals, push it harder! Sweat your way to recovery.”

“Oh my God what is with this woman, I can’t push any harder.” Emma panted.

“I heard that.” Zelena yelled in her direction, “When you think you can’t go any faster, find it in yourself to pick up the pace.”

Emma groaned and wiped the sweat off her forehead with her hand.

“Don’t just walk in my room late and expect not to get on one of these bikes.”

Emma peered over her shoulder and grunted when she saw August and Killian enter the room.

Can she do anything without that asshole following her?

She expected him to jump on the bike behind her and make some sort of inappropriate comment about her ass but instead he took the bike next to Ruby.

“I love seeing a woman work up a sweat.” He smiled at Ruby who giggled loudly.

“No laughing in my class, if you’re having fun, you aren’t working hard enough.” Zelena yelled.

She peered in his direction and their eyes met for half a second before he turned his attention back to Ruby. She rolled her eyes and focused her energy on moving her feet.

“Let’s go kids, five more minutes.” The red head screamed.

“I can go for more than five minutes, lass.” She heard Killian murmur toward Ruby.

“Oh, I bet you can.” Ruby returned the flirtatious discussion.

“If only I knew someone who could make that happen around here.”

“Maybe you do.”

Emma was getting winded, letting out a guttural groan, she took her feet off the pedals, the wheels spinning on their own until they came to a stop. She jumped off the bike and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around her neck and swigging from her water bottle before walking out of the gym, ignoring the red headed instructor who was yelling at her to get back on her bike.

She turned the corner to the dorms and ran into something solid.

“Apologizes! I hope I didn’t hurt you, beautiful.”

She looked up and smiled at Jefferson. “Sorry, that was my fault, I should have been paying attention.”

“No harm, no foul, Miss Emma.” He stared down at her. “Are you quite all right? You seem sad.”

“It’s been a long day.”

“Trust me, I know, I’ve had six months of them here.”

She laughed. “How have you survived?”

“Wanna know my secret?”

“Oh yes.”

“Come this way.” He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her down a series of corridors until she no longer recognized where they were. He turned around and put his forefinger over his lips and she put her hand over her mouth. He pushed through the double doors, bending over, and creeping along the wall. He peeked up into one of the windows and then pulled her past it into a dark room.

When they were both standing in the dark, he let go of her hand and moved away from her to the other side of the room. She heard a clicking sound, a soft light illuminated his face before the light was extinguished.

He was by her side again, and she felt his lips against her ear. “Follow me.”

She turned and followed him back the way they came until they were standing outside the doors they entered, and he was dragging her through another set of doors into a part of the courtyard she had never seen before.

“What did we just do?” She exclaimed as he plopped down onto the grass lawn and patted beside him for her to sit. When she did, he passed her a small edible item. “Ding dongs? Did we just do all that to steal ding dongs?”

He popped one into his mouth, lying back on the grass. “There’s nothing better after a stressful day. And they don’t give them out to the patients, but I found out that one of the cooks absolutely loves them and hides them in the storage behind the kitchen.”

Emma fell back onto the grass next to him, leaning her head onto his crossed arm. She took a bite of the treat and moaned. “Oh my God, that is good.”

“I told you.” He smirked. “You forget the simple things when you are out there, dealing with the world.”

She sighed. “Why are you still here after six months?” She asked seriously.

“It’s hard enough to live in a land where you don’t belong but knowing it…holding conflicting realities in your head…will drive you mad.”

“And you think you belong in here?”

“Oh no, I hate Wonderland.” He exclaimed. “But unfortunately, I have an affliction. Do you know what it’s like to be at odds with yourself? It’s like having two lives yet they live inside one mind. Double the pain, double the suffering.”

Emma frowned. “Don’t you want to get better?”

“I supposed I do. And yet here I am.” He grinned at her.

“You’re very odd.”

“Thank you.” He laughed, sitting up on his elbow and leaning closer to her. “I could tell the first day in group that you were special. Don’t let August scare you off.”

“Oh, I’m uh, I can handle him.”

“I believe that.”

He leaned over, lightly brushing his lips against hers and then pulling back to look at her. “I apologize, I’ve been arguing with myself for the last ten minutes about doing that.”

She didn’t know what to think of the kiss, Jefferson was sweet and kind, with a strange air about him, and the kiss was so very different than what she had experience earlier kissing Killian. The kiss from Jefferson was almost comforting compared to the desperate need she experienced earlier under the pier.

Both of their watches began beeping and she sat up quickly.

“Oh my, have we been out here that long? I uh, guess we should get back to our rooms or we’ll miss lights out.”

“Time flies when you are having fun. I’ll show you the way back.” He stood up, reaching his hand out for her. He pulled her to her feet and tugged her forward, keeping his hand in hers. Once they reached the building, he dropped her hand, guiding her through the hallways until she started to recognize her surroundings. He stopped at the fork in the hall.

“This is where we part, beautiful.”

“Thank you for sharing your secret with me tonight.” She whispered.

“I only hope it helped. Goodnight.” He winked before turning away from her and skipping toward his room.

Emma grinned and walked the rest of the way to her room. Ruby was lying on her bed. “There you are.”

“Oh hey.”

“You just took off tonight. What happened?”

“Just overheated, needed to get some air.”

“Ah Zelena’s classes can be like that. She’s pretty serious about cardio.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You sure you’re ok? This wasn’t about Killian was it?”

“No, why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, you just seemed upset when we were flirting today. Are you interested in him? Because I can totally back off if you two have something going on?”

Emma bit her lip. She was most definitely not interested in that asshole. Not at all. Not even a little.

Liar.

“Nope, he’s all yours. I’m not into assholes.”

“Suit yourself, but honestly, can you imagine what he can do with that mouth of his?”

Emma flushed, remembering the feel of his mouth burning on her lips. “Never really thought about it honestly, he’s not my type.”

“Which part? The accent, the arms, his abs, or the bulge in his pants, cause I could keep going if I haven’t proven my point yet.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t hot. He’s just…” She got into her bed and turned off the lights to mask the redness growing in her cheeks. “I can assure you his ego is probably bigger than his dick.”

“Well, one of us needs to find out, and if you’re not interested, then I volunteer as tribute.” She joked.

Emma rolled her eyes and turned over on her side, squeezing her eyes shut and praying for sleep. “You’re such a nerd, Ruby. But seriously good luck with that.” She grumbled before she fell asleep, blue pools of light haunting her dreams.

Notes:

I have updated the Chapter length to 21 chapters, I'm excited to say I have written all the words for Wonderland and I'm just going through and editing it now. :) Hope you are all enjoying the fic. Thanks again for reading!

#wonderland #stacy's fics #my fics #captainswan #captain swan #captain swan au #captain swan fics #captain swan modern au #emma x killian #killian jones #emma x hook #emma swan

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nomoregoldfish · 4 years

Text

Imagine Pacho Sends You as a Gift to (Spy on) Amado 2/3

This is getting out of hand again, smh. (Not really) Warning: everyone loves Pacho. Un-betaed, I’ll post the entire thing on AO3 later. For now, you can find part 1 here.

Amado is occupied with all sorts of business affairs after you land in DF, leaving you to his younger brother Vicente. You quickly learn Vicente is in charge of security of all cartel business, that's something, you assume.

When asked why you don't go to Juárez directly, Vicente tells you Amado has several meetings with some important figures in DF. You have to figure out a way to infiltrate the plaza to learn more about Amado, staying at a luxury apartment owned by the narcos won't get you anything useful.

"She's crazy!" Vicente's whining when Amado finally shows up late that night, "She woke up at 5 in the morning for a fucking jog and dragged my ass to a wet market before it even opened. And that's not the end of it, she bought so much fish and my car still smells like a stinky fish tank right now."

Vicente is a bit exaggerating but you do have a fruitful trip to the local market.

"Yet you finished everything she cooked." Amado points at the empty plates on the dining table, not annoyed at all.

"Do you have some leftovers?" The tall Mexican turns to you. Vicente interrupts, "No, we ate all salmon sashimi because Ryoko said salmon has to be served as fresh as possible, and I ate all wasabi. Oh man, that shit is hotter than serrano peppers. But don't worry, we have a lot of more fish in the jacuzzi." Right, it comes handy to have more than one bathtub in the luxury apartment.

Finally Amado sends away his bratty little brother. Then it's just the two of you.

"I've got something for you." You remember to smile, which seems to work fine as Amado approaches. "All done?" He asks, you haven't figured it out what he's asking about, the dishes? Yes. Then the Mexican lowers your ponytail, running his fingers through your hair.

"You don't wanna hair in your grilled pacific saury." You joke, bringing him another set of hot meal you specifically make for him.

"Tell me more about it." Amado takes a large bite, looking satisfied and more relaxed.

You two are chatting over some mezcal and a plate of edamame afterwards. Amado asks about your day, and trades some anecdotes about Vicente when you tentatively ask about his. The fucker is smart and vigilant.

"I have to tell you something," Okay, you get his full attention, "The bluefin tuna you ate three days ago wasn't served in the best condition. Pacho wanted a show, everything grand and pretty, so I had to cut the red part of the fish and make a bright-colored akami plate right away. It's meaty and chewy, which should have been aged for three days in the fridge to allow the texture to soften and release more flavor," You opens the fridge, showing Amado several chunks of tuna you already cut out, "You can have friends over in three days, I bought enough for a full table."

"What about the pink ones?" He seems genuinely interested. You continue to explain that different parts of tuna offer variable tastes from super fatty pink otoro around the head and collar to chutoro, mixture of fat and meat from the back and belly.

To your surprise, Amado asks for a slice of the fat part, "You said it's the most expensive one. I shouldn't waste your hard-earned money, right?" Both of you laugh.

You take a really fat cut. When you're looking for a plate and the soy sauce, Amado just eats it from your hand. Your fingers are freezing from the tuna and when he swallows them with the slice, the hot and soft sensation around fucking turns you on like nothing else. The sashimi-hater even licks your fingers a few more times, "to clean the fat."

As he claimed, "It's better."

"Now you're gonna show me how you destroy my jacuzzi on day one."

You feel great sitting by the edge of the jacuzzi a.k.a. your temporary fish tank and checking out all the aquatic animals you bought earlier.

"It could've been us in it." What a tease. You laugh then get up, "I don't think it's a good idea to get naked with lobsters and octopuses."

"Wait," Amado turns you around, still sitting by the edge, "Let me make it up for you."

When Amado decides to give you a head, you simply don't say no. It's like sitting on his face because you can barely stand still. He notices then pulls you closer. The lips used to wrap around your fingers now make you feel like in heaven, and God bless his fucking tongue. The Mexican is driving you mad.

"Shh, you wake up the octopus." You're at the tipping point and the fucker pauses. You open your eyes, an octopus is on the move, two tentacles approaching the edge of the jacuzzi, sucker rings very close to your bare legs.

Then imagine Amado gets up and pushes you up against the tiles in the shower, silencing you with a rough kiss. You taste yourself, and something raw, could be the tuna or the cigarettes he smokes. You get even more aroused by that.

You're desperate for more of his touch. So you grab his big hand and put it between your thighs, and he's willing to comply.

This is too much. You cum just after a few rubs against him.

"I'm sorry for the other night. You're a genius." Amado's playing dirty, sweet-talking while he continues to rub against your oversensitive part, "Would you do me favor? I'm thinking about hosting a few guests, somewhere private, the tuna will be ready by Friday, right?"

You can't believe he falls for the trick. This could be an important business meeting and you're gonna be there.

"Sure. Can I ask something in return?" You already come to your senses while giving Amado a painfully slow handjob.

"Anything you want. Flowers? Jewelry? Cars? I have some better collections than Pacho's Corvette C4. Too flashy." Amado offers generously.

You can't help laughing, "Gosh, how could men make everything a dick comparison contest?"

"You saw his dick?" Amado bites your lower lips. He's rock hard, throbbing.

"I thought you did, too. You two seem very close. I mean, Pacho is a gorgeous man." You keep going, and teasing. You enjoy the fact that you just plant something really dirty in Amado's head. You bet he's having an imaginary threesome with you and Pacho. Not a bad idea though.

By the time you make him come, the Mexican almost forgets what you're asking.

"I ask 'Do you have some dumbbells?' I need my daily training and I don't have time to find a new gym here. What? How do you think I'm able to handle a 150lbs tuna in a line of work mostly for men?" You give Amado a little squeeze before licking it off.

You have a dream that night, being penetrated by Amado in some warm water while a giant octopus sucks you off. You wake up with wetness down there.

You visit several Japanese restaurants in town, unsurprisingly boring. You get the idea that local middle-class see Japanese cuisine as an exotic and cultural novelty.

You even invite Amado to have lunch at one of those restaurants during his break. He frowns at the food after the first bite, "You can't do this to me."

What? "Asking me to eat this crap is inhumane. I'm spoiled." Amado makes it sound like you're the bad guy, but these smiling eyes give him away. He looks at you the way that makes you feel wanted.

You two end up eating cheap Mexican street food and that's where you find some early blossoms of jacarandas with excitement.

"You want those?" Amado asks, picking up some dried petals from the street. All you can think of is jacarandas flower could be an interesting alternative to sakura, which adds a domestic touch to the food you're gonna prepare for Friday.

"Yes, please." Amado must find it weird but he just nods.

Once being brought to the outskirt location of the private meeting, you spend more time making rearrangement of the decor, trying to create an authentic Japanese ryotei experience.

You call Amado once for extra resources. It's tricky because you don't know if you're in a position to ask anything when he's away, busy.

"I'm glad you called. I may not be an Asian culture fanatic like Pacho but I promise you will have anything you want. Whatever rare shit he's bought you, just name it. I'll have an entire Boeing 727 team ready to fly it in from every fucking corner of the world." Yeah, the dick measuring thing is still going on.

What you don't mention is that you're also glad to hear his voice. "Will you come over?" You almost let it slip, "I mean, to see if you like everything."

"No. I trust you," Amado pauses, "I'll be an hour early."

"Mind the traffic." Bright laughter breaks from the other end of the line.

And thanks to the highly efficient Carrillo Air Express, stuff you request is brought to you the next day including a whole box of violet jacarandas petals.

You ask for a guest list before starting to set the table. "Just set tables for eight people." Vicente clearly has no idea of being a host. You explain that it's part of your job to make sure no one is allergic to seafood. "How the fuck do I know that?" The young man is still complaining.

"Don't worry. Give me a list. I'll look for their office numbers, call their secretaries and find out."

Vicente is easily convinced. You get what you want, a list of high-up politicians and business executives. Not sure how this is relevant but you memorize the names and companies anyway.

Amado makes his arrival almost cinematic. With a chopper still swirling outside, the man in black steps out from the driving seat on the right and waves to you like a king.

"You're early." You can hide your smile this time.

"Because someone suggested I should 'mind the traffic.' It happens I've owned a few choppers." The fucker looks like a dashing pilot out Hollywood movies.

You joke that he's nothing like what Pacho used to say, "Low-profile my ass."

"Oh, Pacho talks about me?"

"Stop. I'm really not interested in which one of you has a bigger dick."

Later Amado hands you a wrapped frame. "I heard you're looking for some Japanese art for decoration. I don't know anything about art but..."

You can't believe he brings you a shunga, tradition Japanese erotic painting, depicting a giant octopus performing oral on a woman with pink tentacles all over her naked body. "You're ridiculous." You frown, it's too explicit you're not sure if it's appropriate for such an occasion.

"I saw something similar at Pacho's house. Well, minus the woman. Just boys." The cheeky bastard winks at you, "You're also serving octopus sashimi tonight? It's a fit then." That's how a print of the famous Octopus and Girl Diver ends up in the main room.

Dinner starts at 8 and everything is ready. You're asked to briefly introduce each dish to the guests when one's presented. Guests praise everything from the chopstick rest made of porcelain with traditional Mexican patterns, to the floral-shaped bream sashimi slices. The tuna sushi is a hit, everyone loves it. You give Amado a knowing smirk when you catch him taking a few himself. The octopus sashimi is a bit tricky but the guests are so "polite", they still pretend to enjoy the exotic food.

The rest of the time you stay outside the room. You hear things but not in a coherent manner. Amado mentions NAFTA, export-oriented furniture and auto parts factories in Juárez, and two of them are head of the biggest tequila exporters of the country. Nothing makes sense for the drug business. Is the most successful Mexican drug trafficker gonna shift to other legitimate businesses? That might have an impact on Pacho's business.

When dessert is brought to the table, everyone wows — the improvised jacarandas mochi with dried petals is a nice surprise to end the dinner. You tell them the story that instead of the much-anticipated sakura which wasn't well-adjusted to the Mexican weather, how jacarandas was introduced to Mexico City by a Japanese gardener in the 1930s. All the guests finish their plates while giving you a few nods.

Amado seems very pleased with everything you've done. He lowers his voice to ask you to wait for him afterwards.

"Where are we going?" You ask through the headphones. Seems Amado is flying you back to downtown DF.

The Mexican smirks, "To the sky."

You finally land atop the roof of a skyscraper, "This is the tallest building in Mexico." Amado holds you tight when you exit the chopper. The wind at night in early January is insane, let alone you're 700ft above the ground.

It must be some five-star hotel but turns out it's an office building of Pemex, Mexico's state-owned oil company. WTAF? "Put it this way, the biggest exporters of the country hang out sometimes." Amado's sense of humor is something you didn't expect, "Well, I'm not saying they bring as many unattached US dollars as I do, not even close."

When you let the fact sink in — that the Juárez cartel probably earns twice as much as the biggest oil company in the country through exporting "goods," having access to a secret suite on the top floor of the Pemex Tower is not surprising at all.

"You bring people here often?" You ask when Amado pops a bottle of wine. The city view from the 54th floor is stunning.

"I didn't know you're the jealous type." He brings you a glass. You two stand in front the giant window, raising your glasses like you're celebrating.

"You haven't asked what we're celebrating." Amado takes a step closer.

You put index finger on his lips, which are incredibly soft. Immediately remind you last time you kissed, "I don't want to get myself killed in a foreign country."

"Did Pacho teach you that? Not asking questions, just do your thing." Amado starts kissing your hand.

"Oh, my God. You're so obsessed with him, and it's kinda cute."

"Nonsense." The Mexican disagrees, and turns to the window.

You sets both of your glasses aside, then leads Amado to the bed. You get undressed first, lying on the bed, waiting.

"You're sure this is something you want?" You ask, completely stripped. Amado stares at your flat-chested body like the first time he found out who you are.

"You make it sound like I haven't sleep with supermodels. That funny?" The fucker tickles you, "You have no idea..."

Imagine Amado makes you feel adored, marking every inch of your body with his big hands and soft lips. He takes time, mapping your body till he finds the most sensitive spots and makes you moan, shivering.

"Let me warm you up." Amado probably thinks you're cold, so he spoons you. The long limbs of his are like tentacles wrapped around you, fuck, you can feel his erection grinding against you.

You're so wet for Amado. When he finally pushes in from behind, neither of you can resist the sensation.

"Wanted to do this to you the whole week. You're such a fucking tease, aren't you? Dropped at my door in that kimono robe then left without letting me even touch you." Amado pounds into you, with hand reaching your little bean from behind, making you a total mess.

"Why didn't you make me stay then?" You're nearly breathless, "Is it...because it's within Pacho's territory?" You obviously cross some line with that. The thrusts become harder, feels like Amado is gonna fuck you senseless.

You're not sure if Pacho wants to know you are talking about him when you reach orgasm.

You decide to leave it out before you pass out.

#narcos mexico #narcos imagine #amado carrillo fuentes #pacho herrera #amado x reader

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epochofbelief · 4 years

Text

Breath Control, Chapter Ten

an A Court of Mist and Fury College Swim Team AU

Feysand and Elriel

All characters belong to SJ Maas

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

Author’s Note: Is it too early to apologize?

Enjoy!

Full Fanfic: Masterlist Link

TEN

~~~Feyre~~~

The world spun around me as I slammed back through the glass doors into the dark hallway of the club. I could have sworn I heard a voice shouting my name from far behind me but that was probably all the alcohol talking. I mean, I was going crazy right? Surely it hadn’t taken all of two days before my brand new boyfriend decided to cheat on me? I was just imagining that. Right?

I stumbled through the bathroom door and barely made it to a stall before I hurled up everything left in my stomach.

“Shit,” I spit out. Then--

“Shit,” I said again as I somehow managed to puke up even more alcohol. It was red--what had I been drinking that was red?

Fairly certain I was done emptying my stomach, I wiped my mouth, flushed, and emerged from the stall.

My eyes directed at my shoes, I bumped directly into Rhys’s hard chest.

“Get the fuck away from me,” I said quietly, pushing off his chest and stalking over to the sink. Well, I tried to stalk. The few steps from the stall to the sink seemed to take years, rather than a few seconds. Everything was spinning, ever so slightly.

“Feyre, you’ve got to let me explain.”

“No.”

“Feyre, please.”

I turned at his desperate tone of voice.

“Were you or were you not just kissing Amantha? I mean, Amarntha. You know who I mean!”

Alcohol, you are not my friend tonight.

“I was. But--”

“No buts! That’sss called cheating, Rhys, in case you didn’t know. So get out of my way. I’m going--”

I realized I had nowhere to go. I was staying with him, for crying out loud. I did have my car at his place... But I was drunk.

So I was stuck.

“I’m going somewhere and you better not follow me there! Wherever there even is!” I was shouting now, and Rhys looked like he wanted to keep talking, but I turned, stumbled, and burst back through the bathroom door into the quiet dark of the hallway. I ran as fast as I could without falling flat on my face and didn’t stop until I was in the center of the dance floor.

Bodies pressed against me tightly from every direction. Only two people grabbed my ass on the long journey to the middle of the group. I was pretty sure I was crying, the world spinning around me thanks to the alcohol and what I’d just seen, when I finally found Mor. One look at me and she stopped dancing.

“Feyre!” She shouted, gripping my wrists with her hands. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head. “I have to leave. Can you call me an Uber? I don’t have the app!”

Mor nodded, looking concerned. She pulled me outside of the club and we sat on the curb, leaning against each other as she fumbled around in her pockets until she found her phone. Ten minutes later, our collective drunken efforts resulted in a successful call for an Uber.

When it pulled up, I looked at Mor. “Wait, where are you sending me?”

She shook her head as though trying to clear it. “No, no. We’re going to my place! Where I hope to hear everything.”

At her mention of “everything,” I started to tear up again. Damn it. Sad drunks were the worst and now I was one of them. Mor merely tugged me off the curb and we collapsed into the back of the Uber together. Twenty minutes later, we were outside yet another massive estate on the edge of town.

“You Nights don’t mess around,” I mumbled.

“What?” Mor asked, giggling a little.

“Nothing, nothing. Can we just go inside?”

She nodded seriously and led me around to the back door.

“My father really doesn’t approve of my inclination to party, so I have to sneak in and out. Shhh,” she added before another fit of giggles hit her. That was Mor. Her upbeat mood could not be beaten, even while drunk and with a crying friend tagging along behind her. And I was full-on crying by now.

Mor carefully unlocked the back door. She led me into an enormous kitchen bathed in shadow. We made a brief stop so Mor could grab a huge bag of chips and a couple bottles of water. Except for a close call that involved a cat on the staircase, we made it upstairs unnoticed.

Mor’s room was the first door on the right on the second floor. She led me inside, flipped on the light, and proceeded to flop down onto her enormous bed in the center of the room. Her room was… like a fairytale. The four-poster bed, hung with gauzy white curtains, seemed to float freely in the center of the room on a white fluffy carpet. The pale blue walls were covered with pictures of her and her friends, band posters, Polaroids, and other various paraphernalia. A terribly cluttered white desk sat on one side of the room, and a white dresser on the other. In one corner there lay several enormous white bean-bag chairs covered in luxurious blue and gold pillows and blankets.

“Alright, Archeron,” Mor said, sprawled across her bed, her shoes kicked off and her mouth stuffed full of chips. “Please tell me why we just fled the club faster than Cinderella at midnight.”

I wasn’t sure why, but I chose to sit down on the floor in the center of her bedroom, halfway between the door and the bed. “I don’t even understand what just happened, Mor.”

“Well, tell me and I’ll help you puzzle through it. And maybe start with why we stranded Rhys at the club?”

I let out a groan and flopped onto my back. The ceiling was still spinning, but only a tiny bit now.

“Drink this,” Mor said and chucked a water bottle at me.

I jumped as the water bottle landed right next to my head. Then I sat up, chugged it down, and put my head between my knees.

“Mreesechertedonme.”

“What?” Mor said sharply.

I raised my head. “Rhys cheated on me.”

Mor sat straight up on her bed. “What,” she said again.

I sighed, then explained what I had seen and heard. The tears kept coming as I told her about Amarantha and Rhys admitting to me what he’d done.

Mor looked thunderstruck. Her water bottle, which had been halfway to her mouth when I’d broken the news, was slowly dripping water onto her shirt. “And he said he wanted to explain? I’m confused. Rhys would never do something like that. Ever. Especially not to you.”

“What do you mean, especially not to me?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not serious.”

“Serious about what?”

“Rhys has been in love with you from the moment you set foot on campus for your recruiting trip.”

“That’s a bunch of bullshit. I barely knew Rhys until like a month ago, when he saved me from the Halloween party.”

Mor shook her head slowly, her mouth hanging open. “No,” she began, eyes wide, “it’s not bullshit. I don’t know if you remember much about your recruiting trip. But Rhys and I were freshmen that year. You showed up to campus, your usual gorgeous self--” she winked at me “--and Rhys was a goner. He thought you were so pretty, and so cool, and you talked about books or something for like five seconds and then he thought you were so smart, too (which you are). And when the team decided to make the really dumb decision of drinking with the recruits that weekend, you turned down every offer for sex, drugs, whatever, that came your way from the upperclassmen guys, no matter how drunk you were. Not that he would have judged you if you had. But he could tell you knew what you wanted. It would have been easier, as a senior in high school on a recruiting trip, for you to do and say whatever the upperclassmen wanted in order to fit in. But you had those values, and you stuck to them. You surprised him.

“And then,” she added, laughing as I stared at her in disbelief, “you, drunk off your ass, got up on that table in the middle of the party, and announced to everyone that you were committing to swim at Prythian as soon as you sobered up enough to call the head coach. May I repeat--he was a goner.

“So,” she added somewhat awkwardly. “I hope he doesn’t hate me for telling you that shit. There’s a lot more behind it but I wanted to explain a little because you’re so obviously clueless!

“But none of that excuses him cheating on you, of course.”

Now it was my brain that was spinning instead of the ceiling. Rhys had been acting suspicious around me since the Halloween party--I had suspected his feelings even then, unwilling to admit it to myself. But I would never have guessed that he’d been interested for over two years… Why on earth had he cheated, then? Being drunk wasn’t an excuse. But it didn’t make sense that someone who was supposedly… in love… with someone else would go and cheat on them two days into their very new and fragile relationship.

I couldn’t puzzle this out right now. “Yeah. Um. I just want to go to sleep. Can you take me to Rhys’s in the morning so I can get my car and leave?”

Mor nodded sadly. “I wish things turned out differently,” she said. “But I do think you should talk to him.”

I shook my head. “Maybe. Where can I sleep?”

She patted the bed. “Right here. I’m about to pass out anyways.”

I merely stood up and shuffled over to the bed. I kicked off my shoes, tossed my rings and bracelets on the ground. The last thing I remember was how impeccably soft one of Mor’s pillows felt against my cheek as my tears dripped onto it.

~~~Elain~~~

***three days later***

I really did not want to do life for the next few weeks.

Okay, that might have been a slight over exaggeration. Really, I just didn’t want to do my classes and finals for the next few weeks. Christmas break was coming up, and the last thing I wanted to focus on during the holiday season were my exams. Nursing was hard--why had I decided to do this, again?

Of course, I did have one thing to look forward to now that I was back in Prythian.

Azriel.

We’d spent hours on the phone, texting, since the storm had stopped and Azriel had walked me to my car. He hadn’t kissed me. I’d wanted him to. And he seemed like he had wanted to. At least, that was what it seemed like.

I pulled my car into the parking lot, locked it, and started the trek to my eight hour long Monday morning nursing immersion ‘course’. I didn’t even want to think about all the ‘fun’ I’d be having until five pm tonight. But I only had to make it until five. Then I was meeting Azriel in the Student Union for dinner. His practice ended around five, so the timing was perfect. And I did like my degree, and job. It was just going to be very difficult to concentrate when I knew who I’d be seeing at the end of it.

Focus, Elain. Do your job.

Eight hours later, I shuffled out of the building, exhausted but satisfied after a hard day’s work. I barely made it to my car. I sat there for a moment, reclining the seat all the way back, and told myself I could close my eyes for just two minutes.

Twenty minutes later I jerked awake.

“Shit!”

I put the car into Drive and made it across campus to Student Union parking in what had to be record time. Still in my scrub top, I raced across the parking lot, body slamming my way through the front doors and directly into an extremely tall male standing just inside of them.

“Oof! I’m so sorry--Az?”

“Elain?”

“Uhhhh…” I suddenly became aware of what I must look like. I was wearing scrubs, my hair hadn’t been touched since that morning, and forget about makeup. Not to mention the crazed look that was probably in my eyes after my accidental nap and subsequent frantic race across campus. “Hey!” I gave him a hug.

His arms wrapped around me and as if by magic my body relaxed. Shoulders falling, I sank into Azriel’s strong chest, my head barely coming up to his shoulders. I breathed out. “This is nice.”

“It is,” he agreed.

“But I’m starving.”

He chuckled as I broke away from him and made a beeline for the line to the fast-food place that served the best chicken in the whole world. At least, it was the best chicken in the whole world when I was this starving and had no other options.

The line was way too long for a Monday night on campus. I was definitely going to die--of embarrassment at my appearance or hunger, I wasn’t sure which would kill me first.

“Elain?”

“Huh?”

“I asked you a question.” Azriel grinned. “But I understand if you were too busy bouncing on your toes to listen.”

I lowered myself to the ground and chuckled awkwardly. “I’m sorry--I’ve just had a horribly long day and haven’t eaten since eleven o’clock this morning.”

“I love it when you laugh like that.”

“Like--what?”

“When you’re uncomfortable--you have this laugh you do and it’s honestly the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

I covered my face with my hands and stepped forward to the front of the line. “Ohhhh my gosh. That’s so embarrassing.” I clenched my jaw to keep myself from laughing again.

Azriel gently prised my hands from my face and then put his fingers under my chin and pressed slightly. “Don’t do that! I live for every embarrassed laugh from you.”

I swatted his arm away--but I was smiling. “Alright. If you get to keep my embarrassed laughs, I’m gonna need something cute and embarrassing to hold over you.”

“Good luck finding one. I’m the portrait of smooth,” he said, rolling his eyes, hands in his pockets.

“We’ll see about that,” I said as I flounced up to the register. Azriel insisted on paying for my food--after he swore to let me pay for our third date. (Third date!!) It was ready before we’d finished paying and he swiped the tray before I could get to it. He carried it over to a table and chairs on the second floor balcony of the Student Union. I flung myself into the chair, resting my wrists on the armrests and slouching down.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Azriel said.

I raised my eyebrows and put my chin in my hand. “What makes Azriel Umbra uncomfortable? Hmmm..”

He shook his head, rolling his eyes.

“That’s it!” I said. Several heads whipped over to stare at us. “I mean,” I whispered, “That’s it.”

He sat down across from me. “What’s it?” Eye roll.

“You roll your eyes way too often. Like, way too often.”

I watched him attempt to restrain the eye roll.

“See, now that you’re aware of it you’re incredibly self-conscious.”

He stared at me. Then rolled his eyes. “I give.”

“Ha!”

Toward the end of the meal, I decided to be nosy.

“So… have you talked to Rhys recently?”

He looked up from his food so fast I thought he’d give himself whiplash.

“He mentioned a couple of things.”

I put my elbows on the table. All around us, the Union was emptying out for the evening.

“Feyre won’t give me any details about what happened between them. All I know is they went to a party, Rhys did something, and Feyre drove straight back to school from his place the next morning. She didn’t even come home to see if I wanted a ride. And I’ve heard squat from her since. They just seemed so… happy.”

Azriel sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I never actually saw them when they were ‘together-together’ because they got together over the break, but I know that whatever must have happened, Rhys didn’t do it on purpose. I’m not sure how much to tell you, but… he’s liked Feyre for a very long time.”

I bit my lip. “She was just so different while we were at home for the break. Much different than she’d been since she started dating Tamlin. Carefree, bubbly, talking with my father, joking with Nesta, of all people. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll try to get more out of Rhys. All he said on the entire car ride back to school was that he made a mistake, it was out of his hands, and it was probably better for Feyre if she hated him anyway. And I know that’s not true.”

“Let me know if he tells you anything else.”

“I’ll try,” he said. “Shall we go?”

He walked me back to my car. It was full dark outside, only the light of the streetlamps guiding us.

I opened the driver’s side door and threw my purse in. “I had a really good time--”

The world never heard the rest of my sentence because he kissed me before I could finish it.

His kiss was gentle, his hands cupping the sides of my face. My hands fumbled up to wrap around his shoulders as his lips caressed mine, increasing the pressure slightly. I understood and his tongue swept in. I ran one hand down his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his t-shirt, my other hands pulling him closer to me.

But he pressed one more kiss to my lips, then kissed the top of my head. “Good night, Elain.”

I gulped down air, the chill of the night surprising me as soon as his body moved away from mine.

I smiled at him and he kissed me again, briefly this time. “Good night, Elain,” he said again. “And there’s the laugh I was looking for!” He exclaimed after I chuckled nervously, but not unhappily, after the kiss.

“Oh go to hell!” I said, and he rolled his eyes. Purely for my benefit, I knew. I didn’t stop smiling the whole drive home.

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Tags

@aknymph @sleeping-and-books @queen-of-glass @fabfire

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #acotar au #a court of thorns and roses au #feysand #elriel #feyre #rhysand #azriel #elain #feyre archeron #feyre x rhys #feyre x rhysand #sarah j maas #fanfiction #acomaf ff #breathcontrol ar ff

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soldierswar · 4 years

Text

The Incident

Dad!Bucky X Reader

All the fluff

Plot: Bucky sends his wife on a little getaway trip for the weekend, leaving him alone with their two small children.

Little does he know how much of a handful they can be when it's just one parent watching them.

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Bucky had no idea how Y/N did it.

Y/N had been stressed out from work, along with mothering two young children. So, during her vacation time, he sent her on a five-day spa weekend with her sister upstate. He was more than happy to do so, and he loved the idea of spending more quality time alone with kids. But taking care of them by himself didn’t usually go past a few hours. This was actually the first time that Y/N had actually left for more than 24 hours since their five-year-old firstborn daughter Thea was born. And Y/N hardly ever left the house and left Bucky alone with the kids after their now 3-year-old son Aaron was born. It wasn’t like he never helped take care of the kids. Bucky and Y/N always made sure to share the workload. And that dynamic worked so well. But there were those times where Bucky did have to leave for a few days while out doing assignments. But now…he really understood why Y/N was especially stressed out when Bucky had to leave and she was alone with the kids while also working from home with them running around the house all of the time. They were absolutely crazy. “Thea, stop doing cartwheels near the top of the staircase!” Bucky warned. Again.

With Thea, it felt as though he had to keep an eye on her 24/7 so that she wouldn’t seriously hurt herself. It had been that way since she was a baby. Bucky and Y/N were so proud and amazed at how smart she was presenting herself to be from such an early point in her life…But that also came with its challenges. Because of that, baby-proofing had to be done at a whole new level. The second she learned how to walk, she knew how to get around to try to get to do what she wanted, which resulted in her putting herself in harm’s way. They always joked that they would have wrapped her up in bubble-wrap at all times if they could without child-services getting in the way. They would have even wrapped her while she was asleep just in case. Aaron was a lot more mellow than her. But if he didn’t like something, he would fuss and cry until one could figure out how to calm him down. Not necessarily in a bratty-tantrum kind of way. But he would be genuinely (and sometimes heart-wrenchingly) upset and not stop crying until things were resolved. If it wasn’t his hyperactive sister bothering him when he wanted to chill out, it was him not wanting to finish his vegetables, or not wanting to go to bed. Or, (here was the kicker), wanting to go to bed too early. The first time Aaron tried that, Bucky thought that it would be a great idea. Until he got up at two in the morning hungry for breakfast. He was just all-around a sensitive kid. Y/N made sure to keep a detailed schedule up for him, and even had a few meals prepped for them. At first, Bucky had protested that and claimed that he could handle it all on his own. 12 hours later he was extra grateful for all she had prepped for him. Finally, the kids were settled down on the couch with Sponge-Bob playing on tv, and they were ready for a snack. Bucky made his way over to the kitchen and opened the fridge to grab them their favorite apple sauce. He smiled hearing them in the background laughing with each other. Bucky and Y/N were so happy to have kids that not only loved one another so deeply but got along so well. Thea wasn’t planned at all. He and Y/N wanted to wait a little bit longer, before having kids. But in her signature fashion, Thea showed up with a dramatic and booming entrance. They later decided to have another kid a couple of years later so that she could have a companion to grow up with. And the two of them in no way regretted that decision. They were perfect. Suddenly the laughter stopped and Bucky heard a loud “thunk”, followed by a loud holler. His first instinct was to think that Thea had hurt herself. He really did think he dodged what was most likely inevitable, (especially since it was the middle of day 4). But it didn’t sound like that. It sounded a lot more like Aaron. He quickly made his way over to the living room and found Aaron standing against the back of the couch screaming louder, and louder by the second while holding his arm. Oh no.

He made his way over and carefully but frantically examined him for any potentially life-threatening injuries. His head wasn’t bleeding but would probably need a doctor’s examination. And since he could stand up, he knew that there was no way his spine was broken (thank God,). But, considering how he was holding his right arm that was turning red, and a little blue, that was definitely the main concern. Suddenly, Thea started to cry. And Thea crying made Aaron cry even harder. Dear God. Why today? He wanted to call the ambulance. But logically, he knew that it was nothing serious enough for that…But he still wanted to. He quickly threw that logic aside and acted quickly. “Thea, stop crying,” he snapped. “Get your stuff, we’re leaving now.” Thea looked at him angrily but was able to stop the waterworks. Which as suspected, helped Aaron calm down a little bit. Bucky quickly grabbed a long kitchen towel and made a makeshift arm sling for what he suspected to be a sprained and hopefully not broken arm, and hurriedly took the kids and strapped them in the car. … On the ride there, Bucky got Thea to talk about what had really happened. Aaron had decided that he wanted to take on traits that mimicked his sisters, and tried to balance himself and walk on the back of the couch. And then…well… the fall happened. Figures. But of all kids for that to happen, Aaron was not the kid he thought it would have happened to. Aaron still cried on the way there, but at least he was no longer screaming. When they finally got to the children’s hospital, the emergency room was luckily empty. Therefore, they were able to see him and get x-rays done on his arm right away. He was relieved to hear that there were no signs of a concussion. Another thing that Bucky was terrified about was hospital staff questioning whether or not he actually hurt his kid, or if he was just being neglectful. He knew that they had who he was and that it was on file. It would be an easy assumption for them to think that he snapped and did something to him out of anger. It was one of his biggest fears. He would never do anything to hurt his children like that. He felt guilty enough about that happening on his watch. But when Bucky felt comfortable enough to express that concern to Aaron’s doctor, she snorted followed by a chuckle. “Listen, Mr. Barnes,” she said. “You have two very young, and very active children on your hands. Things happen. And it’s a very minor ‘green stick’ fracture that easily checks out as one that happens because of a fall. You came in almost immediately after it happened, you made a makeshift sling for his arm, and you looked as though he was about to die if he didn’t get attention within the next 30 seconds. Nobody here thinks you did anything wrong.” He was so relieved. But still felt horrible about what had happened. He looked over at Aaron who had calmed down not long after getting his x-rays done. He contently sat on the ER bed playing with his stuffed duck that was thankfully laying on his car seat and sucked his lollipop that the x-ray tech had given him. He also got stickers for being such a good and brave kid. Thea sat on Bucky’s lap who also needed comfort. She too felt guilty about what had happened. But Bucky assured her that she was in no real trouble. But advised her that as his older sister, she had to watch out for him when he wanted to do something like that. He could have seriously hurt himself. She was feeling a little bit better and was also given a lollipop. But she still insisted on staying on Bucky’s lap and fell asleep with her head against his chest before Aaron even picked out what color he wanted. … It was finally night time, and the kids were sound asleep in bed. Y/N had insisted on coming home as soon as Bucky called her about what had happened while they were at the hospital, and she was home within a couple of hours. By the time she got home, the kids were fed, and they were both calmly playing games together on their play-rug in the living room. When she saw both of them, and they ran over to her over the moon to see her she didn’t even seem concerned at all. After a long day, Bucky and Y/N laid on the couch and ate popcorn and milkshakes with a movie playing in the background. Y/N could tell that Bucky still felt incredibly guilty and was beating himself up about what had happened, despite what the doctor told him. “Bucky,” she sighed. “Do you know how many times those kids bump and bruise themselves when it’s just me watching them? We have six ice-packs in the freezer for a reason. They’re crazy.” He chuckled. “I really underestimated their mischief,” he replied. She snorted. “Trust me, love. A broken bone was bound to happen any day. I’m just shocked that it didn’t happen sooner. And trust me…It will happen again.” She took a long sip of her milkshake. Bucky groaned. “Are you sure that you want to have another one?” Y/N looked down and rubbed her 8 month-old pregnant belly. “I think that you’re a little too late to ask me that question, Barnes,” she retorted. He let out an exaggerated sigh and set his hand on her belly. “We’re keeping this one in until she’s old enough to start school, okay?” he declared. Y/N nodded sarcastically and proceeded to rebut that she would only agree to it if he was the one carrying the baby. “Okay, fine,” he sighed defeated. “But we’re doing the bubble-wrap thing with this one.” This, Y/N agreed on, and they shook hands on it. The next few years were about to get even more interesting.

#Bucky X Reader #Bucky X Reader fluff #Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes X Reader fluff #dad!bucky x reader #fluff #marvel #marvel fanfic

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selfishsunnies · 4 years

Text

I wish you sidewalk pennies // JJ maybank x named reader

summary: Alice, Kiara’s cousin, comes to stay with her for the summer. for the first time in seven years. She attempts to remember all the memories, piece her family back together, and make the best friends. Maybe a little romance never hurt anyone.

warnings: nothing more than the show

word count: 2,200

Ch. 1

Alice had grown up in the city her whole life. Each summer, her and her parents would come to the Outer Banks to visit her mother’s family for a few weeks. She had gotten used to the idea of spending a month with Kiara and her friends, helping out at her aunt and uncle’s restaurant. The two girls were inseparable. They’d stay up late making up nonsense scenarios and messily trying to bake cookies well after they should’ve been asleep. It was where Alice could leave the school year behind her and act like she was one of the islanders.That is until her family stopped visiting. Alice didn’t understand why when the girls turned 11 they stopped coming around. She had even gotten a new number and had no way of contacting her cousin since then. Now, at 18, Alice was being driven, with a whole summer’s worth of luggage in the back of her mom's car, to the Outer Banks.

“But, Mom, I don’t get why now is a good time?” Alice asked, she had been asking her mother this since they told her she was leaving. Two weeks ago. Alice was angry to say the least, she wanted to spend her last summer before college with her friends. The ones she went to high school with and not Kiara, who she wasn’t sure would even still like her, and her friends, who’s names she could barely remember. For all she knew, they weren’t friends anymore. The possible scenarios ran through her head as her mother sighed, giving her the same answer she had been for weeks, “Your aunt and uncle want to see you and it will be good for you to get away for a little, see some things.”

“Three months is not a little,” she murmured. Alice didn’t understand. Why did her family just now want to see her? They hadn’t been there for her while she was growing up. Not when she broke her leg at a dance competition, when she went on her first date, or graduated high school. She didn’t understand why they stopped coming and neither of her parents gave her a straightforward answer. She just learned not to ask.

Alice thought back to the past seven years, her anger and resentment building. She tried to shake it, but she felt it coursing through her body. It was in her hands, her teeth.

“Well, it’s too late now, we’re only a few minutes away,” her mother responded, snapping her back to reality.

Alice watched the trees disappear into water and felt a sense of anxiety in her stomach. The air smelled of salt water and dirt, bringing back a vague memory she couldn’t quite visualize yet. The feeling her stomach only grew as the car drove down the dirt road to the house. It looked familiar in the way that she knew she should remember it, but didn’t. Her mother barely parked the car for Alice to get out.

“Now, be good for you aunt and uncle and give Kiara a hug from me. I’ll see you soon, bug. Love you,” her mother said. Alice sighed at the use of her old nickname, but it brought a warmth to her heart for a moment.

Alice stood there, watching her mom drive away, back down the dirt road they had come up on and struggled to pick up her bags. She didn’t have much, but it was enough that she had to make two trips from the steps to the curb. She marched up the steps the final time and knocked on the door lightly, it was loud enough for someone inside to hear and soon enough she was settling into the guest room.

Alice tried to put new images to the memories she had. Her aunt and uncle were older now, showing a few gray hairs and wrinkles where there weren’t before. The house was painted differently and it smelled like a new car in almost every room. She tried to remember how she felt here, afterall, this was home for a little. She placed a few personal items around the guest room, making it feel more familiar before passing out on the bed.

A few days had passed since Alice had arrived. It was awkward to say the least. She felt out of place in their routine, like everyone was making sure she wouldn’t fall over and break something. Kiara had been trying to be friendly, a lot changes in seven years though, Alice couldn’t blame her for the uncomfortable air lingering. The hallways rang with laughter from days passed, but Alice couldn’t quite place the memories. They talked about school for all of thirty seconds before they both realized it wasn’t important. Kiara had told her stories about surfing and the beach and even this crazy treasure hunt her and friends had gone on. It seemed a bit exaggerated, but Alice didn’t push.

“So, do you still have the same friends as the last time I was here?”

“Oh, yeah. John B, you remember him?” She asked, Alice nodded her head in agreement, although she didn’t. At least, she didn’t think so. You would’ve thought she’d remember someone with two first names.

“Yeah, and then he’s dating Sarah, who I don’t think you’ve met before. She’s great. Uhm, then there’s Pope. We’ve been together for a little bit.”

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” She saw Kiara blush slightly, “He’s the real smart one, right?”

She laughed at this, “Yeah, he’s got this crazy scholarship lined up for the fall,” she paused, “and then there’s JJ.” Alice tried to remember, but everything got mixed together.

“Sounds like a good crew,” she laughed.

“They’re the best,” Kiara answered, “I’m sure they’d be down to meet you, since you are spending summer with us. There’s a party tonight at the beach, I wasn’t gonna say anything in case you didn’t feel like going.”

Finally. “I’m so down,” Alice replied. Maybe this will break the tension she felt in the house. If not, it was an excuse to drink and meet some new people.

The two of them got ready to leave. Kiara effortlessly braided a few pieces of her hair and let them fall. She wore her swimsuit underneath a pair of shorts and a knitted tank top. Alice, feeling a little nervous again, threw on some makeup and let her hair down. She was wearing jean shorts and a black tube top.

“You two be careful,” a voice called from the kitchen, “stay out of trouble.”

“We will!” Kiara called out, letting the door shut behind her.

When they finally arrived at the party, the sun was setting and a cool air was settling in. Alice secretly wished she brought a sweatshirt with her, but knew that soon she’d feel warm from the alcohol. Kiara poured them both some drinks from the keg and said hello to a few people on the way over to a few logs with a group of people.

“Look who decided to show up?” a boy with shaggy brown hair and an open hawaiian shirt yelled when we got close enough, “Kie!”

Kiara lifted her drink as if to say hello. Alice subtly slid out from behind her and tried to look more confident than she felt. The boy who yelled at her, got up and hugged her before sitting back down next to a blonde with a pair of reflective sunglasses on her head. John B, Alice inquired.

“Alice, these are my screw up friends, John B, Sarah and Pope. Guys, my badass cousin.” And that was it for introductions.

“You used to visit when we were younger, right?” Pope asked.

She smiled, happy to be remembered, “Yeah, that seems like a lifetime ago.”

They sat down, Kiara throwing her arm around Pope’s waist on a log directly across from where Alice had laid down a blanket. Sarah and John B were to her right.

“Isn’t there another one of you?” Alice asked, taking in the scene and realizing they were missing someone.

“Yeah, JJ,” John B chuckled.

“He’s off macking on some poor touron.” Pope said, moving his hand as if to dismiss the question.

Alice’s confused expression must have been enough because soon Sarah realized and explained, “Uh, touron just means tourist. And JJ does this at every party. Kinda his thing, you get used to it.”

“You guys talk weird down here,” Alice responded, making everybody laugh. The pit in her stomach was soon gone and the group was laughing and telling stories like they’d known each other forever. Well, Alice thought, they practically had. Not just Kiara and the boys, but her too. She had spent so many summers here without even realizing it. Alice thought back to old hide and seek games with the kids in the neighborhood, inquiring that these were the same kids she’d team up with. They probably spent nights running around barefoot through backyards, catching fireflies before getting called in for the night by their parents. This wasn’t much different, she thought.

A few drinks in, the group seemed ready to leave. The music was bad and the alcohol was slightly warm even though the air had quickly gotten colder. They all agreed to head back to John B’s. As soon as they found the keys. After searching in the sand using their phone flashlights, someone spoke up, “Do you think JJ has them?”

“He shouldn’t. God knows he’s probably wasted right now.” Pope said, rolling his eyes and collapsing back into the sand. Pope was deemed the designated driver tonight after he lost a bet with John B earlier in the day. He was beating himself up about not having the keys.

“Shit, you guys.” He muttered to no one in particular. Kiara rubbed his back gently.

“Why don’t you just call him?” Alice asked.

Kiara replied, “Phone towers are down. Happens most of the time after storms.”

“This is just typical JJ though,” Sarah started, but was soon interrupted by a figure walking towards them. It was stumbling, but Alice couldn’t tell if that was because of the uneven sand or because of the possible alcohol consumption.

“Hey!” He yelled. Upon coming closer Alice noticed his blonde hair was falling in his face. He was wearing a muscle tee and had a cut just above his lip.

“JJ!” everyone, but Alice yelled in unison. JJ, she thought. Memories flooded back, he looked a lot more grown up then last time.

“Who’s the kook?” He asked, looking right at Alice. She felt her face light up, but luckily it was too dark to realize. What the hell was a kook?

“She’s not a kook!” Sarah responded quickly.

“Sorry, dude, you can’t tell me she doesn’t look like your people.”

“My-” Sarah started only for John B to cut her off, “Hey!”

JJ put his hands up in defense, “Well, she’s not a pogue and she’s definitely not a touron. I just got done dancing with about every single one.”

“She’s my cousin, JJ.” Kiara said, tense. There wasn’t even a slight change in his disposition upon hearing this. His face remained blank, his eyes far away. By the way everyone was acting, this wasn’t surprising JJ behavior. Alice didn’t bother introducing herself, she was sure he wasn’t going to remember any of this in the morning.

There was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before he showed up.

“You guys talk weird,” Alice muttered, once again. Sarah chuckled at her comment, breaking up the stale air.

“What’s your problem anyway, J?” Pope asked.

“Uh,” he glanced in Alice’s direction before continuing, “things got a little messy out there.” They waited for him to elaborate, “I guess this one touron has a boyfriend and he might have just seen me macking on her. I don’t know, but I ran out of there.” There were a few laughs from the boys and knowing looks shared between the two girls. Once again Alice felt out of the loop.

One awkward car ride later, they were all at John B’s house. Alice had since learned that John B and Sarah lived alone, with the occasional JJ sleeping in the spare room. She had also learned that they call themselves Pogues and the rich, snotty kids from the other side of the cut, kooks. She was still confused about the whole label thing, but didn’t question it. It was like a different language half the time.

The six of them naturally ended up in the living room, sprawled out on couches and chairs, a few laying on the floor. JJ had immediately grabbed another beer from the fridge upon getting home. There were a few looks from the others, but no one spoke up. Alice noticed though. They told stories until everyone was too tired to move and ended up crashing on the floor. Alice felt balanced for the first time since arriving. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Thanks for the love you guys! feel free to ask questions or just comment. new chapter will be up soon

#obx #outerbanks #jj maybank #jj x y/n #obx fic

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mysterylover123 · 4 years

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My Hero Academia Episode 76 “Infinite 100%”

mysterylover123

It’s. Finally. Here.

So this episode is finally Lady Time! After taking an L for the entire arc, the ladies have got it from here! (I consider Deku an honorary girl so he counts too). I do wish they’d done a little more with this scene but whatever, it’s big and exciting. (One thing they cut from the manga: It’s Ryukyu who instructs Ochaco and Tsu to do The Thing there. Here they just know. Cause they’re psychic or something).

Awesome Lady #5 to Save the Day: Toga, of all people. Posing as Deku she basically saved them all. Yes, for Villainous Reasons. But hey, it turned out ok in the end! And of course, as we manga readers know, Toga stealing Ochaco’s blood and later Deku’s will only result in good things! (laughs like a maniac waiting for season 5).

Me tearing up for Awesome Lady #6: Eri, who has to find the will to be saved. I kinda wish they’d kept this point in the anime where the narration in the manga stated that she needed the will to be saved too, but either way who cares.

asdh9p8hwerj!!!!!!!

HOLY. SHIT. MIGHT-U!?! MIGHT U MAKES ITS ANIME DEBUT!?!? I was not expecting that! Certainly not in this scene. OK for those who don’t know, that vocal track they play right here? IT’S THE LYRIC VERSION OF YOU SAY RUN. It was released for the soundtrack of the movie, and I am not exaggerating when I call it the greatest piece of music ever composed by mankind. And here it is, in the anime. I had kinda headcanoned it as a BKDK soundtrack, but whatever, Deku remembers the “Save to Win/Win to Save” thing here anyway so it’s an honorary BKDK moment.

Anyway I’m crying and I’m dead and this series has killed me.

You know, at first this kinda reminded me of that bit in Naruto where Hinata trips over a rock and can’t help him when he’s dying...

But then this happens and I remember Oh Yeah Uraraka is URARAKA. And she ain’t done with this arc yet! Awesome lady of the first 4 is gonna kill it! The animation on those shots was cool, BTW, just...her quirk activating on this little rocks. I’m getting even more hyped for a certain manga moment in the future...

I really like how they build up Overhaul’s appearance here in his This is my Final Form moment. (Yes, sorry to spoil you, but this is indeed his Final Form. Thank. God.)

HERE IT IS. WE’RE FINALLY HEREEEEEE. YES OMG. 100% INFINITE FULL COWL. THE LEGENDS WERE TRUE. LET’S GO-O-O-O-O-O-O-O! (Imagine that from OP4).

YES DEKU WRECK HIS SHIT.

TOGA IS ALL OF USSS!!!! Forgive me for skipping the Overhaul Flashbacks BTW. I really don’t care. Sorry Overhaul stans.

YAS THAT 100% ANIMATION YO!

Holy crap what? What was bones smoking (this is still amazing, btw) when they animated this? I bet they’re having a lot of fun right now. Just...holy hell that imagery. It was not in the manga, I don’t think...so this is just bones being like “How do we depict 100% full cowl Deku? I know! Multiple giant imaginary fists!”

That Chisaki POV was really smart too, just...conveying how terrifying our little hero truly is. (Honorary) Girl #7 Izuku is called the Absolute Madman for a reason, Chisaki.

YAS DEKU. F#CK HIM UP!!!! (And Eri too. This is a teamup fight guys!)

Nothing is inevitable as long as you can look it in the eyes and say “you’re evitable”.

Holy shit they stopped at the end of 158? I guess that means we’ll see more MadMan 100% in the next episode! OMG!

I’m pretty sure infinite 100% Deku was the only reason this arc was made. And hoo boy was it awesome to finally get to! My biggest moment in this episode, of course, was hearing MightU make it’s anime debut and finally seeing this scene animated as well. So yes, the episode is really good. But, of course, I do have some criticisms of this arc that still apply here...namely, that while this moment is unbelievably awesome and MadMan Deku is always cool...it’s also less so because this part of the series is almost a regression for Izuku as a character. Deku’s arc is about becoming more confident in himself and learning how to fight on his own without hurting his body, so having to do so again (and another bit that might be in the next episode) mark a bit of him going backwards in his progression instead of forwards. Still, either way, this does act as a kind of preview of how he will operate at 100%, and seeing him defy fate, help Eri and wreck Overhaul’s shit is still amazing to witness and experience.

Next episode: Presumably a new OP (BYE BYE POLARIS I DISLIKED YOU AT FIRST BUT NOW YOU OWN MY SOUL) and at least 3 crazy things! I’m predicting chapters 159-161, so be prepared to Fist Pump, Scream in Horror, and Cry Uncontrollably, in that order.

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myboiparkerimagines · 4 years

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Roadtrip Pt. 1 - Peter Parker

Prompt: Peter begs you to go on a road trip with him, and you finally agree.

“You are not spending spring break in your dorm eating cheese fries. Not like last year,” Peter states. “First of all they were cheese sticks so I need a formal apology on my desk by Monday.” Peter sighs. “It is Monday.” “Exactly, get chopping.”

Peter shakes his head, realizing what you’re doing. “Stop trying to change the subject!” You giggle. “But it’s so easy with you.” “Please come with us. May is like, probably your biggest fan in the whole world.” You contemplate. “I do love May.” “And you love me.” “Do I?” Peter gasps, throwing a pillow at you. “Of course you do!”

After you stop laughing, Peter locks eyes with you. “Please come with us.” You sigh. “Fine, I’ll go.” Peter breaks into a smile and pulls you into a hug. “You won’t regret it!”

“Last one,” you state, handing Peter your suitcase. He had insisted on loaded the car himself. He stood back to admire his work. “Like a glove,” he states, shutting the trunk. “It would’ve been much easier if Ned didn’t bring two huge bags,” you state, crossing your arms. “Hey! For your information one of them has all my school work in it. Some of us were assigned work over break, unlike you,” Ned retorts. “I didn’t chose your major, buddy,” you state, clapping him on the shoulder. Ned rolls his eyes and the two of you climb into the backseat of the car.

“Is everybody ready?” May asks, jumping into the driver’s seat. Peter sits next to her, a smile etched on his face. “Yeah!” you all cheer. May chuckles before pulling out of the driveway and onto the road.

You fall asleep after Ned’s fourth knock-knock joke, Peter’s eighth pun, and the ninth play of All Star. When you wake up, the car is parked. Ned shook you slightly and you sat up, becoming aware of your surroundings. You were at a hotel. You got out of the car and stood beside Peter at the trunk. He handed you your bag and you accepted it with a quiet ‘thanks’. After the car was unpacked you went to the front desk where May checked you all in.

“Where are we exactly?” you ask. “North Carolina,” Ned answers. “Halfway to Orlando.” May walks over to the three of you, key cards in hand. “What do you kids want to do? We can order pizza or find a restaurant close by..” “Pizza,” the three of us said instantly. “That was quick,” May laughed. She unlocked the first door, while Peter unlocked the second. The two rooms were adjacent, so you could be close, but not too close. You set down your suitcase before running to Peter’s room and jumping onto his bed.

“Why did you take a nap? Now you have too much energy, and we all know that’s when you’re most annoying,” Ned states. “First of all, rude,” you state. “And second of all, it’s not my fault I got bored when you two nerds started talking about math. You know I can’t even add right.” “She’s right. I took math with her in high school and she thought 15+8 was 24.” “That was one time!” you exclaim. “And it caused me to almost fail our final so you know it’s a sore subject, Peter.” Peter raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Maybe we can go to the pool after pizza or something to burn off all your extra energy.” “OR,” Ned begins,” you could go now, so she falls asleep before she eats six slices. “Why did we bring him again?” you asked Peter. “I’m going to go get changed before you two start throwing hands,” Peter replied, going into the bathroom. “Who does he think he is?” you ask Ned, before returning to your room.

May was on the phone so you took care to be extra quiet as you went to the bathroom to change. You walked out with a towel around your waist. Peter stood in the doorway between the two rooms, already changed. “The pizza will be here in 45 minutes,” May announced. “I’m guessing you’re going swimming?” “Yeah, we’ll be back in a little bit,” Peter replied. “Okay, don’t get into any trouble. Oh, and Peter, take your cell phone. If something comes up, call me.” Peter nods, showing her the phone in his hand.

The three of you exit the room. “She’s really protective of you, isn’t she?” you ask. Ned laughs. “Yeah, you should’ve seen her face-” “Ned!” Peter yells. “Stop talking!” “Oh, right, sorry.” “You two are so weird,” you state, throwing your towel on an empty chair. “You’re the one who’s friends with us,” Peter states before jumping into the pool. You sit on the edge, allowing your legs to adjust to the cold water. Ned had already gotten into the hot tub. He hated the cold more than both of you.

Peter emerged, rubbing the water out of his eyes. “It’s really not that bad.” “Then why are you shaking?” “Why aren’t you?” “Because I’m smart and decided to adjust to the water before I jumped in.” “‘Smart’. Sure,” Peter laughed. He swam backwards to the edge of the pool, then beginning a set of laps. You watched how quickly he moved through the water, soon getting enough stamina to jump in yourself.

You emerged with a yell. “Peter, it’s freezing in here!” “I wouldn’t say freezing,” Peter began, swimming over to you. “I would. I can’t feel my toes!” With that, you splashed him. He gasped, and retaliated. You wiped the water from your eyes and continued splashing until you saw the looks from the adults staring at you.

“I’m going to the hot tub,” you said, climbing out of the pool. You sit across from Ned, allowing yourself to sink into the hot jets. “Had enough of Parker?” Ned asks. “Yeah, I didn’t want to babysit any longer than I had to.” “Are you guys talking about me?” Peter asked as he sat down beside you. “We would never talk about you!” you exclaim, while gently nodding your head in Ned’s direction. “Hey!” Peter said, gently pushing you. “Kidding! Kidding!”

After a few more minutes, Peter looked at his watch. “Pizza’s probably here by now.” The three of you waddled back to the room, trying not to slip on the slick floors. Peter knocked on the door and May quickly opened it. “It’s about time you got here. I almost had to eat it all by myself. Now, go get changed before you get water on the carpet.”

You emerged a few moments later in a loose shirt and shorts. Joining Peter on the bed, you grabbed a piece of pizza. Peter flipped through channels and you settled on a cooking show. “No way is that guy a real chef. Look how bad he flavored his dish,” Ned exclaimed. “Ned, we’re eating cold pizza at 10 p.m, I don’t think we have much room to talk,” you replied. “They just announced that he was the faker,” May said, eyes glued to the t.v. “Called it!”

After you finished off the pizza, you decided to call it a night.

You woke up to Peter standing over you. You gasped and pushed yourself up. You looked over to see May still asleep. “Peter, what are you doing in here?” “Ned’s snoring and I’m about to drill a hole in my skull.” You sighed. “Why didn’t you just wake him up?” “I did. Four times.” “Get in, I guess. But, sleep on top of the sheets so we don’t touch. Don’t need May getting any ideas.” You felt the bed indent as Peter laid beside you. “Goodnight (Y/N).” “Goodnight, Parker.”

When you woke up again, it was to an empty bed. Peter had presumably left before everyone else woke up. After a quick shower and change of clothes, you returned to your bed. Peter sat beside you, waiting on Ned to finish getting ready. “We need to be out of here by ten, so we can meet Tony in Orlando by seven.” “Who’s Tony?” you ask. “Stark,” May replied. “Oh.” “As soon as Ned is ready-” “Wait, why are we meeting Tony Stark?” Everyone just stared at you for a moment and you started to wonder if you were the crazy one. Doesn’t every college student just invite superhero billionaires onto their trips to Disney World?

“Remember, I had the Stark internship when I was in high school. He hired me as a full-time employee and now we’re like, super close,” Peter explained, a bit too nervously if anyone asked you. “Ah yes, because you always invite your boss on vacation with you.” “He goes on vacation with all of his employees.” At this point in your conversation, Ned and May had found convenient ways to exit the room.

“Why are you lying to me, Peter. I thought we were close,” you say, only exaggerating a tiny amount. “We are close! And I’m not lying, I-” “Peter, did he pay for this trip? Because I hadn’t really thought about it up to this point and I know that you didn’t buy them because we’re all broke college kids.” Peter sighs. “Okay maybe he did. I don’t want people to know that he and I are that close so I don’t go sharing that information with everyone,” Peter said very quickly.

By then, the information had all clicked in your head. Of course. The answer was so obvious. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone, though. Promise?” “Obviously, Peter. I already connected the dots. You’re-” “Spider-Man,” Peter nodded. “Tony’s secret nephew,” you said simultaneously.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, both floored by the others statement. “You’re Spider-Man?!” you practically screamed. Peter put his hand over your mouth. “Can you keep it down. As much as I would love for the entire hotel to know, it kind of defeats the point of a secret identity.”

You pulled his hand from your mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, now at a much lower volume. “Because I didn’t want you to worry or put yourself into danger.” “Put myself into danger? You’re the one who went to space, Peter!” “Shh, (Y/N)!” “Okay, sorry. You were right, I am worrying a tad. But that’s only because I love you.”

You and Peter both registered your words at the same time. Peter was the first to speak. “I didn’t want to tell you because I love you.”

You smile gently, blissfully unaware of everything that would come next.

#peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #spiderman imagine #mcu spiderman #mcu peter parker #mcu #marvel imagine #avengers imagine

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deadlifts-and-derrida · 5 years

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Well, it's been a while since I posted any long form writing here. So how about I do that now? Let's get UNCOMFORTABLY CLOSE.

To tell the story of my first boyfriend, I need to tell the story of coming out to my mother.

I came out to my mother the week before I left to begin university. It didn't go as I hoped it would. I chose mom instead of dad because I thought mom would be easier. Girls and women seemed safer than boys and men. To teenaged me, active homophobia seemed mostly a masculine trait.

I'll stop there. I don't want to set mom up like she had the worst reaction. She didn't get mad. Mad, I could have handled. I was a bold, righteous, outspoken teen; I was equipped to deal with anger. Mom wasn't mad - mom was sad. As if a precious object had dropped to the floor and was now damaged - even if it could be repaired, the crack would always be there.

I couldn't handle sad. It was like I told her I had an inoperable cancer. That's a homophobic attitude just as much as throwing your kid out is, but it's… subtler. How do you respond to it? If you get angry she'll just get sadder. Her sadness hurts you to witness. You wish you hadn't spoken up, because you love your mother and you don't want to make her sad. You regret ever opening your mouth. By you I mean I.

I left for university a week later having had no follow-up discussion, having stuffed myself back into the closet, more or less. When I got to university I would be free to be as gay as I wanted, and I intended to be very. Very. Very. Gay.

Why do I need to tell this story before I get to Matthew? (His name was Matthew). Well. I guess I'm trying to explain why I was the way I was, and I'm hanging the blame on Mom. It's not really fair. Her reaction was bad, and it hurt me, it didn't give me the support I needed at a critical moment. But all of it - her reaction, the fact that I needed the support in the first place - is because of our damned stupid homophobic society, right? Mom and me, we're both just products of the hate machine that spat us out, right? Right?

I love my mother. I forgive her. She danced joyfully at my wedding. It's all fine. Everything is fine. The precious thing got repaired so well you can only really see the crack if you know where to look.

So Matthew.

I spent all of highschool wanting a boyfriend and sex. Unrequited crushes on unattainable men. But the fear. That was real, too. Not just fear that if you got caught checking out the wrong guy he'd gaybash you - although that was a real, potent fear. But also the fear that if you got caught checking out the right guy, then you'd have to go through with it.

Isn't that crazy? Being afraid to go through with the thing you want to go through with! But it's true. Actually attainable men? No. There was one other gay guy in my high school class, and we shared a friend group, although the two of us never really clicked. I was too weird and he was, for want of a better word, too basic. I was also very unfortunate-looking in high school. But in addition to all of this - there was the sense that I couldn't be attracted to him because if I was then something would have to happen and I wasn't ready for that.

But I wanted to be ready for it!

So Matthew, again.

When I got to university, free from my mother's terrible sadness, free from my high school self, I wanted to shed my skin like a snake and slither my way into a new me. Now that I was out and lived in a city (a small city, but the biggest one we had), I really femmed up. Glitter. Tight clothes. Limp wrists. Hair dye. Even eyeliner, sometimes. I wanted the world to know. In part because I was signalling to whoever around me who had the correct receptors: I'm here, I'm queer, for the love of god please do something about it.

Matthew picked up on that signal. He was a (female) friend's best friend. He was in his last year of high school in a town about 90 minutes away, but he made trips in on some weekends to see his best friend. One of those weekends, only a couple of weeks into my very first semester, he and I fell into each other's gravity. Nowadays, I know the sensation well. I'm sure most people will, too. You feel this tug between you and someone else. You draw closer. You look at each other. Closer. A few touches, at first passing it off as innocent. Then more touches. Closer.

We were so close our lips were brushing each other's as we spoke quietly. I don't remember how long the lip brushing lasted before it became kissing, but despite everything, despite the utter hell Matthew would eventually unleash on my life, I still think this is probably one of the best first-ever kisses on record.

(It wasn't his first-ever kiss. He already had an ex-boyfriend. I was his second. But it was my first-ever kiss).

Matthew wasn't my type. He had a shrill, harsh laugh. He had a giant mop of curly hair that he liked to dye. It was kind of like a clown's wig. I was still unfortunate-looking myself, please understand. He wasn't active, didn't exercise - which is fine, except all of my sexual fantasies focused on very muscular, large men. "Being young, gay, and mean isn't a personality," as the line goes. Matthew had a bit of that. But he was smart and funny, too. I shouldn't pretend he wasn't.

But I was so ready. Over-ready. I needed someone to fuck me, already, and I figured I would be lucky if anyone, anyone at all, would ever be willing to do it. So. It was Matthew because he was the first one who stepped up to the plate. Although attempts at sex were always awkward and we never really quite figured that out.

He became my boyfriend. It lasted for about four months. Because he lived 90 minutes away and was still in high school, I only saw him on weekends, but not every weekend. Maybe one weekend a month. This was 2001. Smartphones weren't a thing. Texting wasn't even really a thing. I wouldn't even own a cellphone until 2005. We messaged each other on ICQ and spoke on our landlines.

He broke up with me in January.

Did I love him? I don't know. I think I did. Or I loved the idea of him. I loved the icon I had built in his shape, a representative of all the things I wanted to achieve by Having A Boyfriend. I wanted it to affirm my sexuality. I wanted it to mean I wasn't unlovable. I wanted it to refute my mother's sadness.

It felt like a failure that I couldn't keep him. When he got a new boyfriend before I did, that felt like a failure too, like it had been a race to see who could land a new man first. Why was I thinking this way? Looking back, it's awful. I instrumentalized him, made him a symbol, and made relationships and sexual experimentation into some kind of… clout game. It wasn't about having fun and enjoying myself - it was about proving something, something to myself, something to my family, something to the world. Sex? A boyfriend? Things to acquire.

But maybe I did love him. I cried a lot, and it wasn't just over the insult to my ego and the setback to my plans. I remember distinctly walking through the underground tunnels that joined buildings on campus, thinking to myself - well, we're still friends, maybe we'll get back together in a few years. It was a story I told myself to comfort myself. It wasn't a forever breakup - he'd come back to me in a few years if I was just patient and kind, if I just waited.

When he got a new boyfriend, I needed to get one too. I found a guy on the gay.com chatroom, which is the closest thing we had to apps back then. He… had problems. Valentines was a couple of days after our first date and he got me an ostentatious bouquet of roses, an over-the-top gift that made me more uncomfortable than charmed. He already showered me with the l-word. I remember waking up in his bed, the one night I spent at his place, him slipping his dick into me. It's this hazy nocturnal memory and I'm not even sure if it's real or false. If it's real, it was my first time successfully bottoming. If it was real, he didn't use a condom.

A few days later he told me that if I ever left him he'd kill himself. I didn't know what to do. I just turned very cold, hoping he'd break up with me. It worked. He dumped me after another few days. The whole thing didn't last more than two weeks.

Matthew was still with his new boyfriend and they seemed very happy together.

So. It's clear I reacted badly.

Around the time we broke up, I moved into a basement apartment with his best friend (remember, she was also a friend of mine) and a third party who was also a good friend. Our apartment was a bit of a party house. Matthew would come into the city on weekends, and he'd stay at our apartment - because his best friend lived there, and I lived there too, and even though we had broken up we were still friends, right?

I don't know what I did to deserve what he did to me. I don't think I was ever malicious to him. If I was ever cruel, it was a clueless and unintentional kind of cruelty.

He was staying with us. I was out of the house. He went into my bedroom and went on my computer. He snooped around and found folders of niche porn that I enjoyed. Should I say what sort it was? Is it pertinent to the story? It wasn't all that weird. It was basically bodybuilders. Muscle men. Some of them photoshopped to be bigger than would otherwise be possible (some much bigger). Some of them with exaggerated genitalia (some of them very exaggerated). I also had an interest in fat guys and I know there were some pictures of that nature in there too (some of them very fat).

But he was 17 and mean and judgemental. He showed my friends my secret porn in a deliberate attempt to humiliate me. He shared it around. He let everyone know, in a cruel, mocking way, about sexual interests I didn't yet feel strong enough to share with the world. Sexual interests I still felt a lot of shame about.

I only learned about this because my other friend who shared that apartment took me aside and told me what he had done. She did this because she thought it was wrong of him.

Despite this show of support from a friend who had the good sense not to follow the current of cruel mockery, I was beyond mortified. The shame was galling.

My new gay life ended there. My clothes became drab, baggier. My manner less femme. I stopped transmitting "I'm gay!" to the world. I stopped trying to fit in with the gay crowd Matthew had introduced me to. They all had a name for me now, anyway. Psychael. Like, psychotic Michael. How could I fight a battle when the first strike was nuclear? I quit. It seemed like the only move available to me.

It was 5 years before I'd kiss another man. I fled back into the embrace of my family. My coming out was never mentioned. I basically went back into the closet. At least the people in there loved… some version of me that I could maintain without that much effort. Just… close the door on the seven months when I had been an out gay man and pretend the whole thing didn't happen. Easy.

I don't hate him.

We were both very young.

We were both inexperienced.

I would hate for someone who only knew me as an 18 year old to think of me now, in my mid thirties, as if I was the same person. So I don't think of him as he was when he was 17. He's 34 now. He's probably a much better person.

Maybe he feels sorry.

Maybe he doesn't.

I wish I could have those years back. The long years I spent frightened to be myself.

I wish I had been strong enough to look him in the face and say "so what?" I wish I had been strong enough to own my sexual interests, none of which are immoral or wrong or even all that strange.

But I was weak. I was weak and alone. And wishing doesn't get you anywhere.

I don't know if there's much point to this story.

#me

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astudyingreer · 5 years

Text

Corrupted Chase, as requested!

Henrik glanced up from his desk, seeing Chase slip into the room and lock the door behind him as always. Despite having regular appointments for several months, Chase still refused to share the details with the others. Henrik understood; it was a difficult situation and secrecy was just easier.

“Sit down,” Henrik ordered distractedly as he read through his notes of Chase’s last visit. “We may start in just a moment.”

Chase obeyed silently, settling into the chair across from Henrik’s desk. He wasn’t fidgeting like he usually was... maybe that was a sign of improvement. Henrik hoped it was. To be honest, he had not been seeing as much progress as he had hoped.

“I have to say,” Chase said, “I’m excited about this new treatment.”

Henrik glanced up, mostly as a reaction of surprise to such a change in behavior. Excited? This was unexpected. “I am glad to hear,” Henrik replied. “I expect it vhill make great progress.”

Chase nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair as he looked around the room. “So what’s this new treatment like?” he asked casually. “Do I have to stick a screwdriver in my own brain like you did?”

The scratching of Henrik’s pencil halted abruptly. He looked up, his eyes wide. “Vhat did you say?”

He watched as a strange grin crossed Chase’s face. He threw his hands up in a shrug. “I mean I know that I’m batshit crazy, but I’m not that batshit crazy.”

Henrik stood, so quickly that his chair scraped loudly on the floor. Chase didn’t move from where he lounged in the chair, only looking up at the doctor with that smirk. That familiar smirk.

“No,” Henrik seethed. His heart was pounding out of his chest.

“Don’t act surprised,” Chase exclaimed, letting out a long satisfied sigh as he reached over to Henrik’s desk and picked up one of the many knick knacks spread across it. “Did you honestly think that it was a secret?” he continued as he turned the glass object in his hands with disinterest. “Kind of hilariously ironic, that the big smart doctor went to the guy who wears a fucking cat mask for medical help.”

Henrik glanced toward the door. There was no chance he could run.

Chase shrugged again and dropped the glass, letting it shatter onto the wood floor. Then he stood too, leaning against the desk. “You gotta help me, doc,” he said, his voice lowering despite the mockingly desperate tone he had put on. “I’m a loser alcoholic who pushed away everyone important in my life, and now I’m having these awful awful nightmares about slaughtering my own children like pigs. I’m scared it’s going to come true, because deep down I know I’m just an ugly worthless piece of shit with anger issues.”

Henrik reached down into the open drawer of his desk, his hand closing around the cold metal of a pistol. His stomach turned in terror but he forced himself to maintain the facade of courage.

Chase chuckled, biting his lip in amusement as he drank in Henrik’s expression. “I really got you good, huh? Coming in here, pretending to be a poor sad depressed little fuck with bad dreams. I’m a monster, doc. I’ve always known it. Honestly, it wasn’t a question of if... just when. God knows I’ve thought about it. Maybe that’s why Stacy took them away from me, right? Maybe she was smarter than all you and she saw the signs first.”

He leaned in closer, his eyes flaming with insane euphoria. “I have all this rage and anger, doc,” he purred. “What am I supposed to do with it, huh? Maybe I should just blow my brains out and spare everyone the trouble.”

Henrik’s hand moved like lightning, and in an instant he was pointing the gun directly at Chase’s temple. His hands were shaking, visibly.

“That wasn’t very lit fam squad goals of you,” Chase mused, exaggerating Chase’s speaking tone like it was some fucking joke. “Catch you later.”

In a moment, that fire in his eyes shifted, and instead turned to panic. Chase wheeled back, nearly tripping on the chair as he looked at Henrik in horror.

“What the fuck!” he yelled. “Henrik, what the fuck!?”

Henrik dropped the gun, his hands barely able to even hold it anymore. He couldn’t breathe. He could only look at Chase, trying to wipe that smile from his mind.

Not again.

#corrupted chase #chase brody #jacksepticeye #henrik von schneeplestein #jse #jse egos #dark chase brody #schneep #jacksepticeye egos

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lousylark · 5 years

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blue lace

(Part 7. Read the previous part here, read the first part here. Check the “blue lace” hashtag for updates/other chapters. This is one of my favorite chapters. Enjoy. <3)

NOTE: at this point in the writing process Lark decides to start writing in present tense. You are not going crazy. Sorry.

Oak Tree Town - West Park. Midday.

In hindsight, with her pencil balanced between her teeth and a healthy smattering of charcoal painting the outside curve of her hand a steely gray, perhaps she could’ve tried to look a little bit less scrambled. But Klaus’ “good afternoon” has caught her in a moment of deep creative gusto, and trying to get an inspired artist to compose herself is about as fruitless as trying to get Bessie back in the barn before the spring sunset.

“I’ve interrupted your work,” he observes, his eyes trailing her up and down, no doubt taking in her disheveled appearance.

“Not at all,” she lies, waving her hand dismissively. “I could use a break, anyway.” Even as she says it, her heart stutters in protest. On the one hand, she rather loves talking to Klaus — on the other, her fingers are itching to finish these festival designs.

“How long have you been working out here?” Klaus asks, though he still seems hesitant to fully engage in the conversation. She bites back a smile — he is far too courteous, and she is too easily readable.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know,” she says, running a hand through her hair. “Maybe a few hours? I’ve got to get these designs done for White Day.”

Now his interest is piqued. It must push him over the edge of politeness, because he leans a little over the bench to look at her sketchbook.

“White Day designs?”

She hums, opening the sketchbook fully so that he can see her work. “It’s kind of a long story, but, um, we’ve decided to throw a little festival for White Day this year.”

“Isn’t White Day in, what, a week?”

She smiles. “Precisely. Which is why I’ve been sketching out here all morning.”

He looks at her with concern painting the corners of his eyes. “Minori, you do realize it’s the middle of the afternoon, yes?”

She blinks once. Twice.

“Is it really?”

“Indeed.”

She flips over her wrist to check her watch. Sure enough, the digital time reads half-past two.

She can’t help but bark a loud laugh at herself. “Ha! I definitely need to take a break. No wonder my stomach has been growling for the past half hour.” She sets the sketchbook aside but doesn’t close it. Instead, she pats the bench next to her legs, and bravely ventures, “Would you want to sit with me for a minute or two? I could use the company. Unless you’re up to something important, of course.”

“Nothing more important than entertaining a lovely maiden such as yourself,” he says, and his eyes are so sincere that it makes her heart warble in her chest, despite his exaggerated speech. “I was just walking home from the inn.”

He rounds the bench to sit beside her. She allows herself to relax into the sloping wooden back — careful, of course, not to jump when her arm brushes his. She can’t pinpoint exactly when being around Klaus turned her into a middle school girl, but here she is — damn him and his enchanting snowflaked hair.

They sit in easy silence for a few moments. She subtly tries — to no avail — to rub the charcoal from her hand, grateful that Klaus seems distracted enough by the finally-lovely spring weather to pay no attention to her.

The West Town Park is one of her favorites she’s ever designed. The flower pots, though all but barren at the moment thanks to the grueling winter, are filled with annual plants, and a modest fountain stands in the middle of the greenery. The flowing water provides a peaceful and inspiring background noise, hence why she often comes here when the weather is nice enough to design outside.

She sighs. While she’d much rather sit here thinking about nothing with Klaus’ thigh grazing hers, there’s work to be done.

“Maybe you can help me,” she says eventually, taking up her sketch book once again.

He looks at her with teasing eyes, apparently forgiving her for breaking the peace. “I thought you were taking a break?”

She grins. “Well, yes — but a lovely maiden such as myself ought to take advantage of the smart gentleman sitting next to her, should she not?”

His chuckle tells her all she needs to know. “Fair enough. But I would ask that you allow me some paper, as well.”

She tilts her head to one side in curiosity, but acquiesces nonetheless, tearing a corner of one of the pages out. As he reaches to take the paper from her, his pointer and index finger brush against her hand. She knows the touch is intentional from the way he lingers a bit even as he already has the paper in hand. She bites back a smile, hoping that the warmth on her cheeks isn’t too obvious.

He pulls a pen out of his coat pocket. Clicks it. “I’m certainly no artist. But I do find painting to be calming.” As he puts the pen against the paper, he continues, “Now, do tell me how I can be of assistance.”

She explains to him the concept of Otmar’s lunch auction — how it works, how she might tweak it to be more socially acceptable in this age, and what sort of decor ideas she’s been toying with for the past few hours. He listens without interrupting, instead nodding every so often to indicate his attention isn’t lost on other things.

“I think I’m settled on a 1950’s ice cream social theme,” she says, flipping her sketchbook to show him some decorative designs. “Raeger has a popcorn machine, which we could use to make some extra cash along with the auctioned lunches. I really want a cotton candy machine, too, but I don’t know if I could find one in time.”

He looks up from his drawing — which he’s keeping carefully concealed from her gaze — to say, “You know, I’m taking a trip to the city tomorrow. I could look for one for you.”

She smiles. “Seriously? I could pay you back. You’d do that for me?”

“I’d do that and more for a lovely maiden such as yourself.”

Again, she’s struck by how he can so effortlessly say such flowery things — and how strangely sincere he manages to come across. If any random man on the street called her a “lovely maiden,” she might be tempted to whip out her pepper spray. But Klaus, with his warm eyes and his gentle mannerisms, emotes only politeness and authenticity.

And on top of that, she hasn’t the faintest clue how he can flirt so brazenly and not betray even the slightest bit of embarrassment. She can can only wield such a talent when she’s had at least two glasses of wine.

He must detect her inner floundering, because he very graciously changes the subject.

“Your sketches are beautiful, Minori.” He points without touching, because it would smear the charcoal (and the fact that he must realize this only makes her even more smitten with him), to her sketch of a vintage cotton candy machine. “I believe it was Marian who recently told me you studied fine arts at university? I was convinced you studied agriculture, given your natural aptitude for it.”

She smiles at the compliment. “No — I got my degree in design and applied arts before coming here.”

“From where?”

She pauses. Her answer to this question always gets interesting reception.

“Uh, you know — a place in Wine Country.”

He raises an eyebrow. Looks up from his drawing again. “In Wine Country?” His realization is slower than most — she watches as the gears turn in his brain, as the thought formulates first in his mind and then on his tongue. “You went to L’Université de Beauchamp, then?”

Her eyes don’t leave her sketchbook. “That was some pretty good pronunciation.”

He smiles, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that she’s seen in other reactions before. “You must be kidding.”

She shakes her head. “I half wish I were.”

“Oh, perish that thought,” he says, setting down his drawing for the first time to lean toward her and rest a hand firmly on her knee. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just strange, that…”

He trails off, but she can fill in the blank well enough.

“You’re wondering how I went to a prestigious art school abroad and ended up in a tiny town like this?”

“Again, I meant not to offend.”

She smiles gently at him. Tries to ignore the burning sensation his hand on her knee is causing.

“I would never accuse you of trying to offend me, Klaus.”

“I’m glad, for I should never hope to in my life.”

A bird squawks not far off, startling the both of them. He withdraws his hand from her knee, and she leans back into the arm rest of the bench just a bit. Her heart is dancing in her chest, like a bumble bee that keeps running into a window. She takes a deep breath in an attempt to wrangle it in.

“Anyway,” she says, hugging her sketchbook to her chest. “After college, I came back to Norchester and tried to make it as a designer for a bit — but I wanted to do everything: interior, exterior, clothes, graphics for businesses…I couldn’t settle on any one thing. When I saw the ad for Oak Tree Town, it just seemed right.”

“And it was that simple? You just decided to try your hand at running a farm?” he asks, pulling out his drawing again. For once, she thinks he can read him pretty well: though his drawing allows him to play a charade of nonchalance, she can tell by the crease in his eyebrows that he is indeed interested by her story.

She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and shrugs. “Well, you know — I guess it wasn’t too out of left field, to be honest. I didn’t want to be stuck in the monotony of an office job, and I visited my grandfather’s farm a lot when he was still alive. It was my main source of inspiration for my art when I was growing up.”

“So perhaps there was a little bit of fate involved,” he muses.

“Perhaps — though I think everyone I tell the story to perceives it as more of a mid-life crisis.”

He pauses. Looks up at her with a raised eyebrow. “Minori, you’re clearly very young. I doubt it qualifies as mid-life, or even quarter-life.”

She giggles, nudging his knee with hers. “You’re just saying that ‘cause you think you’re an old geezer — which you’re certainly not. You can’t be more than thirty-five.”

“I’m at least ten years your senior,” he supplies, nudging her back. “Which, for all intents and purposes, makes me the wise old man you can turn to for support and advice.”

“And help in scoping out a cotton candy machine.”

“Of course; I assumed that fell under the support umbrella.”

She smiles. Can’t help it. She hasn’t had a case of puppy love like this in years. He doesn’t have snowflakes in his hair like he did the morning at the Guild, but the early Spring sun is shining on his dark hair just so, and she wonders if she’ll have to draw another portrait of him later just to get the image out of her head.

He returns to his drawing, and she opens her sketchbook up again. But just when she thinks the conversation is moving forward, he asks the one question she always dreads answering.

“Do you plan on moving back to the city, then? If you can?”

He asks with a closed heart. She can’t read him at all now, hard as she might try. So she purses her lips. Focuses on the fountain in front of them.

“Yes.” Then, following the pang in her heart, “No.” And finally, “I have absolutely no idea. You certainly ask the hard questions, don’t you?”

“I find the hard questions considerably more interesting than small talk, if truth be told.”

“Oh, same here, though I’m usually on the opposite end of the interrogation table.” In an attempt to divert the conversation, she asks, “How about it, then? Do my answers to your burning questions warrant a look into the mysterious Mr. Schultz’s background? How did you pronounce the name of my alma mater so flawlessly?”

She thinks she’s teasing — but the way his face drops as soon as she mentions his past makes her feel suddenly as if she’s overstepped a boundary.

Before she has the chance to apologize, he points to some of her sketches. “Your drawings are in charcoal. What kind of color scheme were you imagining for the festival?”

She brushes off his not-so-subtle topic change and willingly bounds back into more comfortable conversational territory. They spend a long time sitting on the bench, discussing her plans, sometimes lapsing into silence as she makes a few modifications that he helps bring about.

As she’s adding some finishing touches to a rough balloon archway blueprint, she glances up again at the little West Town park. She does love designing these parks in town, and she can’t believe she’s lucky enough to lead the life she does. And yet —

“Here’s the thing,” she says, resting her pencil against her mouth. “What I have right now, in this town, is a dream. I get to farm, and design, and schedule my day…but it isn’t sustainable.”

“And why not?” Klaus asks, putting down his drawing for a moment.

“We’re bound to run out of parks eventually. Oak Tree Town is only so big.”

He crosses his arms. “Oh, I don’t know. What with the growth that you and the other farmers have provided, I can only see our humble little town getting bigger.”

“Then we run into an alternative problem,” she explains. “If the town gets bigger, I’ll be busier. I’d have to have some extra help at the farm — someone to help cook or clean, or even with the crops or the animals. And I can’t very well ask someone to do that for me when everyone in town has their own livelihoods to think about.”

A tiny pause. Minori thinks Klaus is just thinking about what she’s said, but when she turns to look at him, he’s donning a peculiar little smile.

“You ought to be careful, Minori,” he says, not breaking eye contact with her. “If you talk about needing someone to help with the household chores, the young bachelors of the town will suddenly remember you’re on the courting market.”

Her eyes widen. For just a moment, she wonders — dare she say hopes — if Klaus counts himself among the ‘young bachelors’ of the town.

Surprisingly enough, this time she manages to come up with a coquettish quip of her own: “Well, we’ll see who wants to buy my lunch at the White Day auction, I suppose.”

“Will it be tied with ribbon? How shall I identify it?”

Her heart leaps. He wants to buy her lunch! She manages to suppress the stirring in her stomach well enough to respond, “I’ll tell you on White Day — if you find me a cotton candy machine.”

He chuckles. “High stakes.” He brushes something off his pants, then looks at her pointedly. “You’ll have your cotton candy machine, or I’m not an honest old geezer.”

She smiles. “I’ve never met an old geezer as young as you, Klaus.”

“It’s what in the heart that counts, Miss Awald.”

A beat passes. Then he says with a hint of regret in his tone, “Well, I really must be off — though I’ll admit I’d rather stay here and interrogate you than get back to work.”

“It’s fine, I should get back to work, too.” She gestures to her sketchbook. “Thanks for all of your help.”

He stands. Yawns. She notices for the first time the dark circles under his eyes, and wonders if he gets enough sleep. Before she can advise him to get some rest, however, he speaks again.

“I fear I didn’t help so much as provide a listening ear, but if that was helpful to you, then it was my pleasure.” A quick bow, and then, “Oh, and I almost forgot. For you — though I fear I didn’t quite do the subject’s beauty justice.”

He hands her the little drawing he’s been working on throughout their conversation — a drawing of her, as it turns out. She takes in the curves of the sweeping ink lines, the way that he’s captured her hair pulled over one shoulder; the blush on her cheeks and her nose from sitting outside for so long. He’s even managed to include the freckles, like a child’s band-aid splayed over the ridge of her nose.

“Oh,” she breathes, “Wow. You’re too modest, Klaus —”

But Klaus is already far away, walking back toward his home, and he gives no acknowledgment that he heard her compliment.

She looks down at the drawing again — the sketch isn’t perfect by any means, but the attention to detail leaves her breathless. Her heart thumps in her chest.

“Dessie,” she breathes, “I’m smitten. Lillie and Raeger are going to have a hay day.”

Iris and Mistel’s house. Evening.

Elise is grateful that the weather has warmed up, or else her walk to Iris’ house would’ve been rather treacherous. After all, she is nothing if not a gracious guest, so she’s brought with her to the ladies’ night two trays: one with cheese and one with chocolate eclairs. Throughout her walk, the silver trays have become rather heavy — Cookie, of course, insisted that she allow him to plate the meal on paper plates, but she was adamant that she’d be able to carry the silver platters to Iris’ house without her arms getting tired.

It turns out she was painfully wrong — but she would never admit that aloud.

She finally arrives at Iris’ door, grappling with the trays for a moment as she tries to free a hand to knock. When she finally succeeds, it takes a few moments before there’s any answer.

Finally, the door swings open to reveal a giggling Agate, clad in pink pajamas with pandas all over them.

Her smile drops slightly, however, when she sees Elise.

“Oh, um — hi, Elise!” she greets, quickly recovering. Her smile is back, though there’s a touch of questioning in her eyes. “What’s up?”

Elise is quick to realize the bittersweet truth: while Minori was very kind in inviting her to the ladies’ gathering, she obviously didn’t inform any of the other guests. Her appearance is nothing but an awkward surprise.

“There’s been a mistake,” she says cooly, taking a backwards step away from the door. “Do excuse me for interrupting —“

But then Iris appears behind Agate. Since she’s much taller, she can look right over the her head to survey the situation.

“Elise! I’m so glad you could make it,” she says without missing a beat, opening the door further so she can enter. She looks elegant, almost matronly, in her long, lavender nightgown. Her hair spills over one shoulder, curling gently at the ends. “You got my invitation, then?”

Elise never received any such invitation, but she is not so foolish as to forgo Iris’ gracious save.

“I did, thank you,” she lies, nodding politely to Iris. “I brought a plate of cheese and some chocolate eclairs — I hope that’s sufficient.”

Agate’s eyes widen to the size of tea saucers. “Omigoddess, chocolate eclairs?!” She all but snatches the two trays from Elise’s arms. “Oooh, yes!”

Without another word, she turns and squeezes past Iris back into the house. Elise hears her stomp up the stairs and yell, “Angela, Elise brought chocolate eclairs!”

Iris looks over her shoulder, watching the young safari girl disappear. Then, she turns back to Elise, still smiling softly.

“Forgive me,” Elise says. Now that her hands are free of the platters, she crosses her arms over her chest. She feels like a jester standing before Iris in her day clothes, which consist of a frilly pink shirt and black dress slacks. “Minori asked me to come a few days ago. I wrongfully assumed the invitation was a group effort. I shall return home forthwith.”

Iris smiles. “Nonsense. We’d love to have you. Truly.” She looks genuine enough, but Elise still isn’t sure she trusts her.

She sighs, weighing her options. She can either stay here and masquerade at a party she wasn’t really invited to, or return home and eat broiled fish and asparagus under Madame’s leering gaze. Neither options are ideal, but she knows which of the two is a lesser evil.

“Thank you,” she says, nodding. “I’ll stay.”

Iris opens the door and steps aside for her. “Good. I’m glad.”

It’s been seasons since she set foot in Mistel’s shop, but not much has changed. She always found the store to be a little distasteful — after all, what value is there in buying other people’s dusty junk? But the store has been known to draw in a great deal of tourism from the surrounding towns, so she tries to be polite whenever it comes up in conversation.

She’s never been to the upstairs section of the house, so she’s surprised to find upon entering that the main living is actually very tastefully decorated, with dark hardwood and lovely purple curtains. There’s even a phonograph sitting in the corner that adds a quaint, vintage touch.

“Elise, these eclairs are delicious,” Agate squeals, pulling her from her thoughts. The corners of her mouth are smeared with chocolate. “Like, so yum!”

“I tried to tell her to save the dessert until later,” Angela adds, pushing her glasses further up on her nose. She, too, is dressed in pajamas — though the fact that her simple black top and bottoms don’t have any pandas on them makes Elise feel a little more at ease. “She wouldn’t listen — as usual.”

“No matter,” Iris says, crossing the room to sit next to Agate on the couch. As soon as she does so, the latter snuggles right up against her shoulder. “Elise, feel free to sit and have some snacks. There’s some cab sauv, but if you want something a little less dry Minori should be bringing some rosé later.”

“The sauvignon is fine, thank you.”

As Iris pours her a glass, Elise attempts to decide where she should sit. Since the five present girls — Agate, Angela, Iris, Lillie, and Licorice — are occupying the two couches, she chooses a rocking chair that’s just slightly off to the side.

She now realizes that Agate’s pajamas aren’t even pajamas — it’s a onesie. She’s forgotten that such a garment even exists. Licorice is hidden underneath a fuzzy purple blanket, but Elise is quite sure that she’s wearing pajamas as well. As Elise is looking, however, her gaze suddenly comes to rest on the two tiny bundles of fur sitting in Licorice’s lap.

Unable to help herself, she interrupts the girls’ tittering to ask, “Agate, are those…kittens?”

Agate grins. With her mouth still half-full of eclair, she says, “Yup! My cat gave birth a few weeks ago. I thought I’d bring these two over for some cuddles. You wanna hold one?”

Despite her arguably cold heart, not even Elise can turn down that offer.

“Oh, why not.”

Stuffing the rest of the eclair in her mouth, Agate stands and gently lifts one of the kittens from Licorice’s lap. The creature lets out a tiny mew but doesn’t struggle. When Agate places it in Elise’s lap, it takes a few tiny steps on her legs before curling into a ball and beginning to purr.

“She likes you!” Agate comments, gazing adoringly at the kitten before stepping back toward the couch. “She usually takes time to warm up to strangers. You must have a kind aura.”

Elise almost scoffs at the notion — but she catches herself just in time, and attempts to give Agate a half-smile. “I had a cat when I was young — a darling Maine Coon.”

“Oh, I love Maine Coons! They’re so big and cuddly!”

“Indeed.” Elise scratches the little kitten’s cheek with her forefinger, delighting in the way she pushes her cheek against it in response.

A glass of wine later, Elise feels a bit more at ease in the group. She contributes little to the conversation, fearing that her often-snide comments might get her kicked out of the party, but she does her best to listen politely. She learns that Iris has a new book that’s almost ready to be published, and that Angela has been given increasing responsibilities at Marian’s office, since the population of the town has been growing at such a quick rate.

“Lillie,” Iris says after at least an hour has passed, settling deeper into the couch. “What was it that you needed to tell us about?”

An uncharacteristic blush spreads over Lillie’s cheeks. “Oh, um, we should wait until Minori arrives.”

“Where is Nori?” Agate asks. She’s only had a glass of wine, but with the way she’s sleepily splayed across the couch with her head in Iris’ lap, Elise can only assume she has a rather low tolerance for alcohol. “She was supposed to be here, like, an hour ago.”

As if in answer to their prayers, there’s a sudden knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Licorice says.

“No way, you have a kitten in your lap,” Agate replies, yawning. Then, she simply yells, “It’s open!”

There’s a short wait, and then Elise hears the sound of feet coming up the stairs. She looks over her shoulder to see that Minori has arrived — and, bless the Goddess, she’s in work clothes, too. With the person that invited her finally here and not wearing pajamas, perhaps she can finally begin to relax.

“Noooori!” Agate greets. “Didja bring the Rosé?”

“Of course I did,” she says, approaching them. “Though it looks like perhaps you don’t need any, Agate.”

Agate pouts. “I’m not even tipsy, I’m just sleepy. It was a long day of kitten-sitting.”

“Fair enough.” That’s when Minori finally notices Elise’s presence. Her entire demeanor lights up. “Elise! You came!”

Elise clears her throat. “My schedule had an opening. I thought it would only be polite to accept your invitation.”

“Well, I’m really glad your schedule opened up.” She sets the Rosé on the coffee table and reaches for the bottle opener. “Sorry I’m so late, guys. I was at the Guild giving Veronica my plans for the White Day festival.”

“There’s going to be a White Day festival?” Licorice asks.

“Yup.”

Elise can’t prevent her relieved sigh. “So you figured something out. About time.”

The other girls look a little taken aback by her bluntness — and perhaps, in hindsight, she might’ve been a little gentler — but Minori actually nods in agreement.

“I know — it was really coming down to the wire. But I didn’t get a good idea until I talked to Otmar this morning at Raeger’s restaurant.”

“Otmar?” Angela peers at Minori suspiciously. “What is the festival, exactly?”

“It’s a lunch auction,” Minori explains. “Otmar says they used to do them all the time when he was younger, but eventually it became kind of…frowned upon. But I’m tweaking it so it’s less weird, don’t worry.”

“What’s a lunch auction?” Agate asks.

“It’s like this,” Minori begins after taking a sip of wine. “Anyone in town can make a lunch. You can put in a picnic basket or tupperware or a lunch bag — doesn’t matter, as long as it’s edible and packaged somehow. That lunch gets put on the auction table, and then it gets auctioned.” She takes another sip. “Whoever pays the most for the lunch gets to eat it with the person who made it — unless, of course, that person is uncomfortable with whoever bought their lunch, and we’re gonna have ways to monitor that.”

“But what if someone buys several lunches?” Iris asks.

“Well, then I guess it can either be a speed-date situation or a group lunch. You know?” She grins. “And, you know, nobody is required to put their lunch for sale. It’s supposed to just be a massive picnic, with a cute auction thrown in.”

“It’s brilliant,” Elise comments, earning some surprised looks from the other girls. “After all, there are famous bachelors and bachelorettes in this town — Raeger’s lunch is sure to fetch a high price, for example.”

Lillie looks away, crestfallen. But Minori doesn’t notice — instead she smiles at Elise’s compliment.

“Thanks. I’m glad you like it. I actually was hoping you might put a lunch for sale.”

A wily smile spreads across Elise’s lips. “Oh, most certainly. I’ll invite a group of my suitors so they can fight over me and ratchet up the price. I presume all the proceeds are going to our fundraising efforts?”

“Absolutely. Speaking of,” Minori says, looking to Iris, “is Mistel around? I was hoping he might agree to being our auctioneer.”

“He had a meeting with a possible buyer in Norchester,” Iris explains, “but he promised to be back sometime tonight. If you stay long enough, you’re bound to run into him.”

“Great.” She leans back into the rocking chair she’s chosen to inhibit, the one opposite Elise. She, rather abruptly, gulps down the remaining rosé in her wine glass. Meeting the stunned gazes of her friends, she admits, “It’s been a really long three days, you guys.”

The girls dissolve into giggles, of course. Even Elise, softened by the effects of the wine and the relief that Minori has finally come up with a White Day plan, can’t stop the smile that edges onto her lips.

“Oh, by the way, I expect all of you to put lunches up for sale,” Minori says, “not just Elise.”

“Ooh, nuggets,” Agate says, “You know I’m no good at cooking.”

Iris strokes Agate’s hair. “I’ll help you, angel.”

“Talk about celebrity bachelorettes.” Agate rubs her eyes and finally sits up on the couch again. “I bet Iris will have loads of people trying to buy her lunch, what with her new bestselling book.”

“It’s not just me!” Iris objects, though her cheeks are flushed pink. “Lillie is a weather reporter, for goodness’ sake — you don’t think she already has a gaggle of young men wanting to go on a date with her?”

Lillie turns beet red. “Iris —“

“Actually,” Minori cuts in, her tone weighted with double meaning, “Lillie, maybe you should tell them about, you know, the thing.”

Agate squeals. “Ooh, a thing?! What thing?”

Watching them go back and forth, Elise is surprised that women of their age still engage in such idle gossip. Of course, Agate is rather young, so at least she has that excuse, but Iris is at least thirty. Elise has always been taught that, past twelve years of age, she can never get too excited in public, let alone squeal.

It is, as much as she finds it a little distasteful, terribly refreshing. In fact, saccharine as it may be, the buzzing excitement of the girls’ energies makes her head feel a little lighter.

The kitten in her lap squirms a bit. Elise lays a hand on her tiny head, and she starts to purr again.

“It’s not really a…thing,” Lillie starts, pulling Elise out of her thoughts. “It’s just, uh, you know. Well, I guess it’s kind of a thing.”

“Oh,” Licorice breathes. “It’s Raeger, isn’t it?”

Licorice hasn’t talked much this entire time, so Elise is surprised to hear that she would make such a confident accusation. Minori and Lillie must be equally surprised, because their mouths drop open. Lillie hides her face in her hands and lets out a little whimper.

“How did you know?” Minori asks, while the other girls readjust in their seats a little, listening intently.

“I, uh, well,” Licorice stammers, caught in the spotlight, “I saw what happened at the New Year’s Festival. I had assumed — but, I’m sorry, it wasn’t really my business —“

“No, no, it’s fine,” Lillie says, waving a hand. She seems to be coming, at least partly, to her senses. “I should’ve known someone would probably see.”

“See what?” Angela asks, one perfectly tweezed eyebrow raised in anticipation.

“Indeed, do tell,” Iris says, adjusting her wine glass in her hand a little.

Thus, Lillie recounts the fateful tale from the New Year’s festival, starting with the dreadful man who kept following her and ending with how Raeger swooped in to save her with a kiss.

“And ever since then,” she finishes, her voice quiet, “I guess I just haven’t been able to see him the same way.”

Surprisingly enough, Lillie’s tale tugs at Elise’s (admittedly numbered) heart strings. Lillie is one of the few people in town that Elise could come up with absolutely no reason to hold a grudge against: she’s a sweet girl with a respectable job, and her unbreakable bond with her sister and father is straight out of a fairy tale. It seems logical that the only piece missing from Lillie’s puzzle would be that she ends up dating her best friend from childhood — and Elise, being a closet fairytale-lover, feels its their responsibility to see the Lillie’s tale reach a happily-ever-after.

“We must concoct a plan, of course,” Elise says, taking a sip of wine.

The other girls look at her with doe eyes. “A plan?” Licorice asks.

“Indeed. A plan. Raeger and Lillie are childhood friends. It’s only right they end up together.”

“Oh. Um, of course.” Licorice ducks her head just a little. Elise makes a mental note of her reaction, marking it down for later — just in case.

“You mean, like, play matchmakers?” Agate asks, her eyes sparkling.

Lillie defensively waves her hands in front of her face. “No, no, that really won’t be —“

“Great idea, Elise.” Minori completely ignores Lillie’s disbelieving stare. “Raeger just needs to see Lillie as more than a childhood friend, you know?”

“She has to rock her hot bod!” Agate agrees, throwing her hands in the air.

“Agate!” Lillie squeaks, hiding her face in her hands.

“But how?” Angela asks, a little desolately. “Are you suggesting she walk into Raeger’s restaurant wearing lingerie?”

The girls become quiet, considering Angela’s words. She’s right: they would need an excuse for Lillie to get gussied up. It would be uncharacteristic of her to walk around town in thigh-highs — and, worse, it could sully her flawless reputation as the adored Norchester weather reporter.

“What about the fashion show?” Iris muses. “Anyone can be a model, yes?”

Agate grins. “Yes! That’s what I’m talking about! We can design a super cute outfit and Lillie can be one of the models!”

Elise smirks. “You know, that’s…plausible.”

“But isn’t the fashion show in, like, three days?” Lillie asks, taking her head out of her hands just briefly to bestow an incredulous look on Elise. “You can’t make a dress in three days.”

“Of course you can,” Minori replies. “Designing only takes a few hours. We could design it tonight, all together, if we wanted to.”

“Ooh, sounds like fun!” Agate says, jumping up. “Iris, where’s your paper and pencil?”

Iris shakes her head, standing. “Downstairs. Come help me get some.”

“Okay!”

They stand from the sofa and start toward the staircase. Lillie, meanwhile, has turned sheet-white.

“Oh, no,” she says, “Absolutely not. This is not happening.”

“Why not, Lillie?” Minori asks. Elise notices that her voice has softened with sincerity; all traces of teasing are gone. “It’s not a bad idea. Raeger already loves you as his best friend. He just needs to love you as a young woman, too.”

Angela nods. “That’s fair.”

Lillie looks back and forth between all of them. “But…I…who will I model for? You already designed your dress days ago, Nori.”

“That’s okay, I’ll just use this new design —“

Elise clicks her tongue. “Certainly not.” She makes eye contact. “As the Agricultural Representative, you have a responsibility to win every single contest from now until Fall. You need to give it your best, and hiring your best friend as your model could dilute your chances of victory for multiple reasons.”

Lillie sighs in relief, not even looking at all offended at Elise’s words. “Finally some rationality. Thank you, Elise.”

“Which is why,” Elise continues, disregarding her, “Lillie will model for me. We can slightly misinterpret the theme to ensure I can only come in second place — not first.”

Minori blinks, stunned. Then, a grin lights up her entire face.

“Elise, you minx,” she drawls, taking a sip of wine. “You’d better be careful, or I might actually start to consider you a friend instead of a rival.”

Her cheeks suddenly feel a little pink. “Yes, well, it’s almost certainly the wine that’s making me feel more generous than usual.” She looks down at her lap. “And this precious kitten.” As if she can understand Elise, the baby cat raises its head and blinks. Elise’s heart turns to mush. “Yes, sweet baby, I’m talking about you. Now go back to sleep.”

“So do I have absolutely no say in this?” Lillie asks, exasperated.

“Certainly not,” Elise says, and a “nope” comes from Minori. When Lillie looks helplessly to Licorice and Angela, they just smile at her.

“It is a pretty good idea,” Licorice says softly, bringing her glass of rosé to her lips. “I wouldn’t turn it down.”

“We’ll help you win Kamil’s heart next fashion contest, Licorice,” Elise says dryly.

Licorice’s face turns ashen, and Elise immediately regrets her comment. Apparently, Licorice’s rather obvious crush on Kamil is not obvious to everyone, because the remaining girls in the room gasp.

Of course, Elise can’t take anything back — so she keeps her head high, finishing off her third glass of wine but completely avoiding Licorice’s gaze.

“Licorice, you like Kamil?” Minori asks, gently.

But the botanist just stands from the sofa, setting her glass down on the coffee table. “I’ve got to use the bathroom. Excuse me.”

She tiptoes past the girls and heads for the staircase. Elise’s ears are burning, but she doesn’t say anything, lest she risk offending anyone else. She suddenly makes eye contact with Minori — who, rather than looking miffed or appalled, gives her a sympathetic look.

“Perhaps I should head home for the night,” she says, already lifting herself from the chair — much to the kitten’s protest — to gather her things.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Angela says with a sigh. “We need your help designing the dress.” She pauses to straighten the hem of her shirt. “Don’t worry about it, Elise. I knew, too. Licorice is shy, but she’ll be okay.” She looks up at Lillie. “Actually, I think she’ll feel a little less lonely knowing there’s someone in the same boat.”

Before anyone can comment further on the matter, Iris and Agate trudge back up the stairs, arms full of paper and pens.

“Alright, time to make the prettiest friggin’ toga the world has ever seen!” Agate cries, dumping her pile of paper on the coffee table.

Iris and Mistel’s Kitchen. Night.

Three hours later, the girls manage to throw together a viable design for the fashion contest. Elise agrees to take it home and sew it up by the competition — of course, Minori mentally notes that she’ll have to confirm with her again tomorrow, seeing as Elise also downed at least six glasses of wine by the time she started home. In fact, her rival-friend was so inebriated that she actually kissed both of Minori’s cheeks before leaving. She smiles at the memory.

Elise also ended up taking home the little kitten that spent the entire night in her lap. Agate tries to give the other kitten, the tom-cat, to Minori, but she insists that she’d rather pick him up later in the week when she can consider adopting a new pet with a sober mindset. She isn’t quite as brave as Elise.

One by one the girls leave until it’s just Iris and Minori, the latter of whom insists on staying to help clean up and do dishes.

“Are you sure?” Iris asks when she offers to help. “You’re not too tired?”

“I’m pretty wired up, actually,” she replies. “Doing dishes usually helps calm me down. Something about the warm water.”

And so, they situate themselves at the sink: Iris on drying duty and Minori on washing. Their lack of conversation doesn’t feel awkward, rather, Minori feels at peace. After all, it’s been a long — but terribly fun — evening, and Minori has never been one to force conversation when it isn’t necessary.

Eventually, however, Iris comments over the steady rush of the sink water, “I saw you and Klaus sitting in the West Park earlier today.”

From her slightly cautious tone, Minori doesn’t know quite how to respond. She settles with nonchalance — after all, she’s quite sure that if any of the girls, even Iris, have discovered her budding feelings for Klaus, they would’ve brought it up during the course of the evening.

“Oh, um, yeah.” She wipes her hands briefly on one of the dish towels. "He was helping me with some of my ideas for the White Day festival.”

Iris smiles thoughtfully. “He does have a rather good listening ear, doesn’t he? I used to work through ideas for my novels with him all the time.”

They fall into silence again, and Minori wonders if — hopes, really — that that’s the end of that conversation. To her understanding, Iris has long-since moved on from her feelings for Klaus. Apparently they dated before Minori was in town, and only for a very short while. She hadn’t previously considered that if Iris still harbors feelings for him, even something small, that it could put a wedge in their friendship.

Minori grabs another wine glass from their stack next to the sink. The stem is stained with chocolate — no doubt from the delicious eclairs that Elise brought.

“Minori,” Iris begins — and she immediately knows where this conversation is going from her tone of voice — “I don’t mean to pry, but —“

“There’s nothing going on between me and Klaus,” she blurts out, refusing to make eye contact with Iris. “At least, not like that.”

But Iris snorts, rather uncharacteristically. “You misunderstand me, dearest. I’m long past my feelings for Klaus — if there ever were deep ‘feelings’ in the first place.”

As she passes the washed wine glass to Iris, they’re forced to make eye contact. But she looks more sincere than any actress Minori has ever seen on TV, so her heartbeat slows down a little. “Oh. Sorry.”

Iris shrugs. Smiles. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

A slight pause. Minori turns the faucet knob to the right to heat up the water a little more. Suddenly the tips of her fingers feel frozen.

“It’s just,” Iris starts again, not making eye contact, “no matter where you stand on the matter, Klaus looks at you in a way I’ve never seen him look at anyone.” She sets the now-dry wine glass on the counter. “You must notice that he has feelings for you.”

Minori scoffs. “Oh, I highly doubt there are any ‘feelings’ involved. We’re just…playful friends.”

Still, despite her joking, her heart flutters in her chest. Klaus does look at her in a sort of funny way, like he’s staring straight into her soul. And today, when he asked how he might identify her lunch at the White Day auction — does he really intend on buying it? Does that mean he wants to go on a date with her? She certainly wouldn’t deny him if he asked her on a date. And, on that note, if he came to her house at midnight and declared he wanted to make rampant love to her, well, she might play coy for a little bit, but she might not deny that, either, but perhaps that’s just because she so loves the way his hair might look in the moonlight as he kisses her senselessly —

“Minori?”

“What! Oh, shit —“

Iris calling her name causes her to jump, which in turn causes her to drop the plate she’s been vigorously scrubbing into the sink. The resulting splash of water drenches the front of her sweater.

“I’m so sorry,” Iris says, handing her a dry rag. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s totally fine, I was just zoning. You know, like I do.” She takes the rag and dabs helplessly at her sweater.

Iris kindly reaches over and turns off the faucet. Pulling the last dish from the sink, she forgoes her towel method and instead just places it on the drying rack.

“All I’m saying,” she says, turning around so that she can lean with her back against the counter, “is that Klaus…isn’t exactly who he seems.”

Minori pauses in her dabbing. She looks up at Iris with wide eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, it’s like this.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Klaus’ past is a mystery. Half of his current life is a mystery. And he’ll do absolutely everything in his power to keep it that way.”

She blinks. Remembers how, earlier today when they were talking in the park, he completely avoided her questions about where he came from and what he did before he arrived in Oak Tree Town. And —

“Have you noticed how often he goes to the city?” Iris asks, quietly. “And how when you ask why he’s going, he never answers?”

Minori doesn’t respond — not because she doesn’t agree, but more because she’s scared of the implications. Klaus is indeed gone from Oak Tree Town a couple of times a week, sometimes for full days and nights. He did, after all, promise to find her a cotton candy maker.

“Does he have, like, another job or something?” she asks, hoping Iris can provide a simple answer.

But she just shrugs. “I have no idea.” Her expression softens. “And truthfully, Minori, if you do have feelings for him —“

“Which I don’t.”

A coy smile appears on Iris’ lips. “Of course. But on the off-chance that you’re lying, which wouldn’t be unusual because you’re a terrible liar…” She inhales. Resets in a more serious tone. “I’m not trying to dissuade you from a relationship, if that’s what you want. But I care for you, and I’d hate for this to end in heartbreak.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not about to hand him my heart to break, isn’t it?”

The door to the house swings open. The creaking of the wood startles Minori a bit, and she’s grateful there’s nothing for her to drop in the dish water this time.

“What’s this about heartbreak?”

Mistel, finally returned from his meeting in Norchester, stands in the doorway. His hair is wind-tousled, and his almost boyish physique is swallowed in a large gray overcoat.

“You’re back,” Iris greets, smiling at her brother. “How was the meeting?”

Mistel’s demeanor turns unusually dull. “Awful, to be rather honest.” He sighs, removing his suave top hat and hanging it on a hook near the door. "Right before I left, I couldn’t find the blueprints I meant to sell with the antique.” In a show of defeat, he hangs his head. “I’m afraid they’ve been stolen.”

Minori blinks. “Stolen?” She feels like that conclusion might’ve been a little bit rushed, but Mistel is nothing if not shamelessly dramatic.

Iris seems to be thinking the same thing. “But how do you know you haven’t just misplaced them?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “I tore the house apart looking before I left.” Donning a tiny smile, he adds, “I thought you’d be upset about the state I left it in.”

She tuts a bit, crossing her arms. “Yes, well, Agate and I did a lot of cleaning before the rest of the girls came over. But I didn’t realize it was because something had been stolen.” In a tone that sounds more like a worried mother than a frustrated sister, she adds, “You should’ve told me.”

He crosses to sit at the kitchen table. “Alas, but then I would’ve ruined your lovely ladies’ soirée.” Collapsing into the chair, he explains, “In any case, yesterday I laid out the blueprints on my desk in the shop so that I would be prepared for the meeting. Even though I looked everywhere for them, they were gone. A keen customer must’ve realized how much they were worth and snatched them when I wasn’t looking.”

“And just how much are they worth?” Minori asks, turning around to lean against the counter. She isn’t sure she believes that anyone in Oak Tree Town would do such a thing, but perhaps for the right price, a visiting tourist might’ve been tempted.

“At least ten thousand dollars.”

She utters a rather colorful curse. “Ten thousand dollars?”

Mistel nods sullenly. He looks rather like a waterboarded cat. “Indeed.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, frustrated that someone could do this to her friend. “It must’ve been one of your out-of-town customers. We’ll make a poster or something. I’ll let Veronica know when I head to the Guild for our meeting tomorrow.”

Mistel waves a hand. “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure they’re long gone from Oak Tree Town by now.” With a sigh, he adds, “Of course, thank you, in any case.”

Iris opens one of the cabinet doors to start putting away the dishes. As she does so, Minori makes a mental note to let Veronica know about the missing blueprints, anyway. Surely they could put together some sort of investigation.

Still, she remains a little doubtful. Oak Tree Town doesn’t have a proper police force, let alone any stray detectives. They share a law enforcement with the next biggest town over — they’ve just never really had to worry about crime in such a nice town. Now, with the growing population and increased tourism, she wonders if this, too, will have to change.

“Oh, Minori, why don’t you ask Mistel about the White Day festival?” Iris suggests, pulling her from her melancholy thoughts. “No doubt that will cheer him up.”

Mistel lifts his head. “A White Day festival?”

Her worries of change will have to wait, she decides, as she notices the hopeful look in MIstel’s eyes.

She grins. “Indeed. Mistel, how would you like to be an auctioneer for a day?”

Elise’s Manor. Night.

Elise’s walk home is uneventful. In her drunken state, she nearly trips up the cobblestone stairs leading up to her mansion, but she can’t bring herself to mind. After all, the night sky is peppered with gleaming stars, and with her newly-adopted kitten curled up in her deep peacoat pocket, she feels a deep sense of contentment.

She approaches the front door of the mansion, fumbling in the not-kitten pocket for her keyring. She stands on the porch a bit longer than usual, trying to find her house key with nothing more than the moonlight as her guide. A long time ago, when she first moved to Oak Tree Town, she denied her locksmith’s suggestion to just give her a master key for every building on the farm. Instead, she requested each key be color-coded, with the key to her own home being her favorite shade of pink.

She finally finds the right key, and sighs. She would like to capture this moment, she thinks — between the wine, the lingering effects of laughing with the girls, and her new kitten, she feels rather content just now, standing on the porch, drinking in the spring moonlight.

That contentment is shattered, however, when she hears something shatter just inside the house. Despite the immediate pounding in her heart, she shoves the key in the lock, turns it, and shoves the front door open.

Inside, she’s met with a scene that, to any person who didn’t just singlehandedly down a bottle of wine in one evening, would be very worrisome: Madame Dupont stands at the bottom of the stairs in her nightgown, while a very alarmed-looking Nadi stands opposite her in the entrance of the parlor. The antique lamp that usually sits on the little table next to the banister is shattered on the floor in between them, and Dupont is holding what remains of the glass body.

“Merde, mon dieu,” Elise swears, looking between them with wide eyes. “What the hell —“

“You,” Madame hisses, noticing her for the first time. She takes a heavy step toward her, waving the broken lamp-shard. “You lying little witch —“

Madame raises her hand — the one with the glass shard— high into the air, preparing to strike.

Due to her incapacitation, Elise’s reaction time is abysmally slow. Nadi’s, however, is not. In two large strides, he crosses the foyer to stand in front of Elise, blocking her from Dupont.

While Elise appreciates the gallant gesture, she knows that this battle is between her and ex-nanny. She feebly attempts to elbow Nadi out of the way, but he won’t budge — she catches his gaze when he looks over his shoulder at her and his eyes are steely gray.

“Don’t touch her,” Nadi says, and Elise is surprised — and impressed — by the intensity of his warning.

She stands on her tiptoes, attempting to make eye contact with Madame over Nadi’s shoulder. “Sweet Angelique,” she drawls, trying in vain to conceal her slurring, “please do explain to me why you’ve broken my favorite foyer lamp.”

“I’ll tell you when you stop hiding behind your Silk Country street rat —“

“Oh, absolutely not.”

Elise finally pushes Nadi out of the way using both her arms. He stumbles to the side, thankfully making no effort to stand between them again, allowing her to stand-face-to-face with Madame.

“Nadi had no part in this,” she explains, finally understanding what’s happening: their Prince-ruse is up. “I paid him off to keep quiet about our little prank.” She looks over at him — at the way he’s perched, ready to jump to her defense, and, upon feeling the warmth that blossoms in her chest like a spring crocus, adds, “He’s a more esteemed member of this household than you are and ever will be, and for the rest of your duration here, you’re to treat him as such.”

As much as she means for the speech to be dignified, her last couple of words slur together. In an attempt to regain her mental foothold, she reaches for the loping stair banister, but instead loses her balance when she underestimates how far away it is. Nadi is quick to stretch out an arm to catch her, while Madame steps away, disgusted.

“Elise, are you alright?” Nadi asks. If she weren’t so woozy, she might be touched by the evident concern in his tone.

“Certainly,” she replies, raising a finger and a foot and abruptly falling back against Nadi once again. The warmth radiating from his chest makes her feel like she’s standing with her back to a cozy bonfire. She remembers the night sky, her moment of contentment, and smiles despite herself.

Madame’s nose crinkles. She must piece together the implications of her slurring, stumbling, and strangely sappy expression. “Mon dieu, you’re drunk.”

It’s less of a question and more of a disgusted realization. Elise grins.

“Absolutely,” she agrees, and promptly throws up right in front of Madame’s feet.

The next few moments pass like an out-of-body experience: Nadi manages to support her while she threatens to collapse on the floor. Madame starts fuming in French about how while she was off “galavanting” with her “nightmare girl-club,” she called Elise’s father and found out that Nadi is indeed not a prince from Silk Country and that Elise indeed has made a fool of her for the past several days. Meanwhile, Nadi calls for Jenny to help Elise and clean up her mess. And meanwhile to that, Madame keeps screaming in French —

“Ça suffit!” Elise cries finally, shocking all of them into silence. Somehow, standing in front of Madame with some drool on the corner of her mouth and supported by Nadi’s arm around her waist, she feels without fear for the first time in days.

“Cela suffira Madame, merci beaucoup.” She sighs. Wipes the drool from her mouth. Nods at her best servant. “Jenny, when you’re finished cleaning this up, please take Madame Dupont to bed. I fear she’s feeling ill.”

Jenny stands from the puke-stain and nods. “Yes ma’am.” Perhaps Elise is imagining it, but she thinks she sees a tiny smile playing on her servant’s lips.

“I will not be — be put to bed,” Madame splutters.

“Oh but yes, you most certainly will, and as will I,” Elise replies, wiping her bangs away from her sweaty forehead. “I think the both of us could benefit from some rest. We can discuss our dispute in the morning. Le matin apporte les renouveaux; that’s what my mother always said.” She tries to stand straight but staggers; Nadi catches her. “Goodnight,” she manages, and then drops her head again.

Jenny, bless her, takes the shard of the broken lamp out of Madame’s hand and drops it in her cleaning bucket. Then, she motions to the stairs. “Shall we, ma’am?”

Madame shoots Elise the nastiest glare to ever exist, and then turns on her heel, trouncing up the stairs with Jenny obediently close at her heels.

When they’re gone, Elise sinks into herself. She feels heavy. Hopefully, she thinks as she stares at the stain she’s left on the runner rug, the calmness in her stomach means she’s done sicking all over the floor. She wonders if perhaps she shouldn’t have had quite so much wine at Iris’ darling get-together — but then, of course, she doesn’t dare imagine how this situation might’ve gone down had she been sober.

Nadi suddenly clears his throat. She starts — she’s entirely forgotten he’s still there, even though he’s half-supporting her as she clings to his waist with one arm.

“Elise, are you…alright?” he asks gently, like prodding a sleeping tiger with a stick. He’s looking at her with one eyebrow raised. He’s in pajamas. Pajamas! She hasn’t seen a grown man in pajamas since she was a teenager, or younger.

“Oh, absolutely,” she replies, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “I always feel just peachy after sicking all over my foyer floor, don’t you?”

“Dupont didn’t…frighten you?” he asks, and he’s still looking at her so peculiarly, like she’s a kitten who’s been forced to take a bath.

She shakes her head. “Dupont doesn’t scare me. Few things do. Besides, my drunkenness makes for a perfect suit of armor against her word-daggers, wouldn’t you agree, dear Nadi?”

He scoffs, but there’s a softness in his eyes. “You really are drunk. You know, in my two years of working here, I’ve never seen you take even a sip of alcohol. I guess now I know why.”

“Mmm.” She points a lazy finger at him. “I resent that insinuation.” Lips loose with wine, she continues, “It’s not that I’m an angry drunk or even a sloppy drunk, it’s actually that I find myself particularly amiable when I’m intoxicated — and one must keep up appearances.”

“You’re out of your mind. Come on, let’s get you up—“

Whatever he’s about to say is abruptly interrupted by a mewling sound from her pocket.

She gasps. “Mon minou!”

“Your what?”

She reaches into her pocket and gently pulls out her new kitten. “Oh, my sweet princess, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot you were in there!” She brushes her nose with the kitten’s. “Are you alright, my darling?”

“You’re kidding,” Nadi says, deadpan, staring at the kitten in disbelief.

“Indeed, I’m kitten,” she replies, chortling at her distasteful pun.

He pinches his the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “You need to go to bed.”

She cradles her kitten in her arms and sighs. “Yes, well, I’d rather like to, but I don’t completely trust myself to get up the stairs. Shall I sleep in the parlor? Or my office?” Addressing her kitten, she adds, “What do you think, ma princesse? Where would we be more comfy?”

“Neither,” Nadi answers instead, touching the small of her back. Guiding her toward the staircase, he continues, “Come on, I’ll help you up.”

Elise is content enough with this decision. As much as it would be easier to fall into oblivion in her office chair or the parlor or even the floor, at this point, she would rather like to wrap herself up in her pink duvet with minou and sleep until well after the sun is up.

“You know, Nadi,” she says when they’re halfway up the stairs, “your cold façade doesn’t trick me. You can be pleasant — when you want to be.” Her voice is loud and brash to be saying such words, especially in the quiet tenseness of the entry foyer.

He doesn’t respond, but he moves a hand to her waist as she stumbles a little against the banister. She likes the way his arm feels like a wall against the small of her back, like she could lean all the way backwards and still never fall. He would catch her, she thinks. It is a soft sentiment, one that she wouldn’t dare allow herself to feel were she sober.

They reach the door to her bedroom and she slumps against the frame, exhausted. Little minou jumps out of her arms and proudly enters the room, as if she somehow has some keen intuition that tells her she’s arrived home.

“Goodnight, Elise,” Nadi says, starting to turn away from her.

“Wait.”

He stops. Looks at her. Grins. “What, do you need to be tucked in, too?”

Her shoes are pinching her toes, her brain is swimming, and her forehead is terribly sweaty — and yet all she can focus on is the way his hair looks so nice when it’s tied away from his face. It accentuates the sharpness of his jawline, reveals the muscles in his neck.

She crosses her arms over her chest.

“If you tell anyone about what happened tonight,” she begins, surprisingly un-slurred, “and I mean any of it, I’ll find the remains of the lamp Madame shattered and shank you with it myself. Got it?”

But she may as well have threatened to put a downy pillow under his head and sing him to sleep, because he just chuckles quietly.

“Of course, your highness. I wouldn’t expect anything otherwise.”

“Excellent. Goodnight, Nadi.”

“Goodnight, Elise. Sleep well.”

#draw a scene from this chapter and i'll love u forever #i love this chapter y'all #the plot thickens #Blue lace #lousylarksings #story of seasons #klaus #minori #annie #elise #nadi

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doom-dreaming · 5 years

Text

Hidden Away

Rhys confesses something to Sasha in the Atlas terraforming facility.

Read it on Ao3 here!

******

Rhys didn’t know how to describe it. It seemed silent, but at the same time, it...wasn’t. Leaves rustled. Trees creaked. Insects droned. Sure, it was probably the most gorgeous place he’d seen on Pandora so far, but something about it still made his skin crawl. “This is...uh…”

Sasha smirked. “Romantic?”

“Well, I guess it could be…” Rhys ducked under a low branch. “If it weren’t for the hissing.” He tipped a thumb toward a group of the floating plant-creatures, watching as they drifted serenely overhead. “It’s...a little creepy.”

Sasha shrugged. “Compared to the rest of the wildlife on Pandora…”

Rhys grumbled a reluctant agreement to her unspoken implication. At least these things hadn’t tried to kill them on sight. Regardless, he didn’t really want to be in this facility any longer than he had to be. “Kinda hard to see the tower from down here…”

“We’ll find it. We weren’t too far off when that catwalk collapsed.” She elbowed him in the ribs as they pushed through a curtain of huge leaves. “And you were totally scared, Mister I-Could-Jump-A-Million-Times-Further-Than-That.”

Rhys scoffed, but didn’t bother denying it. They walked on in comfortable silence for a few moments. Well, calling it comfortable silence was maybe a bit of a stretch, since every movement in the leaves around them set Rhys’ nerves on edge. And again, it wasn’t really silence, with all the jungle noises— “So...you think you could get back together with August?” Maybe not the best topic, but he was desperate for conversation. “If that’s even something you’re interested in at all, of course.”

“I...don’t know,” Sasha admitted with a sigh.

“He seemed kind of...disrespectful. And not just during the entire Gortys...core...fiasco, either—which I actually totally understand why he would be then, I mean, that whole thing was craaaazy—”

“He tries to act tough,” Sasha cut in. “But...once you get to know him…” Rhys glanced down at her just in time to see a slight smile tug at the corners of her lips. “He can actually be pretty sweet.”

She didn’t elaborate and Rhys chewed his lip. He hated to press the subject, but hearing nothing besides bugs, leaves, hissing plants, and his own footsteps only made him think about the potential danger they were in. Dreamy, glowing jungle or not, this was still an Atlas facility, and given his track record at the previous two Atlas facilities...he’d barely make it out of this one alive. If at all. At least Vaughn was with Loader Bot and Fiona could (hopefully) rely on Athena if things got too dicey—

“While we’re on the subject though, why don’t we talk about you?”

“Wh—uh, huh?” He looked down at Sasha, not at all comforted when he was met with narrowed eyes and a cunning smirk. “Wh—wha—haha, uh, what is there to talk about...about me…?”

She gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes. “I’m not blind, Rhys.”

“I...know that…” He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“And I’m not stupid, either.”

Yeah, it was going there. “I…officially ha-have nooo idea what you’re talking about, a-anymore,” he lied, hating how nervous he sounded. Fiona makes it look so easy… He swallowed maybe a little too loudly when he felt his face heating up at the thought of the con artist.

“That blush says you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Sasha stopped walking and crossed her arms over her chest. “So go ahead and tell me why I catch you staring at my sister practically every time I look at you.”

“I...uh...ha, I don’t stare, okay? I…” He drew in a deep breath. He could do this. He could say it. Sasha wouldn’t shoot him. They needed to hack the security system and she couldn’t do it without him, so he was safe...right? “Fine, I...think she’s...really beautiful. There, I said it. Happy?”

Sasha’s eyes narrowed to slits as she studied his (uncomfortably warm) face. “That’s it?”

“Wha...what do you mean?”

“You like the way she looks,” Sasha clarified, voice hard.

Rhys immediately realized his mistake. “No, no! Well, yes—she’s...God, she’s gorgeous, but that’s not the only thing! She...she’s smart! A-and funny—sometimes—and I like how she rolls her eyes and pretends not to care but actually smiles when she thinks I’m not looking—oh, and when she asks for my opinion on things, that’s nice—”

Sasha waved dismissively. “Okay, okay… Don’t...choke on your tongue.” She let her arms drop to her sides and continued down the path.

Rhys fell into step beside her, wringing his hands. “Is it...okay with you? I mean...if I were to, I don’t know, like...ask her...out, or...something? I haven’t really known either of you for very long, but...surviving death with someone tends to make you think about—”

“Rhys, just...stop, for a second. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I...do that a lot.”

“It’s fine with me if you want to…” she looked down and picked at her nail polish, “...date Fiona, I guess, but I’m just gonna tell you right now… I don’t know if she feels the same way.”

“I...kinda picked up on that, actually.” He sighed and scuffed at the dirt. “Which is why I wanted to make sure it was okay with you so I could...ask what kinds of things she likes. So I’d...have a better chance.”

At that, Sasha turned. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

He didn’t immediately reply. Was he serious about this? It sure felt like it. Ever since he’d met Fiona, he’d had this strange sense of...a loss of control. Which, honestly, was kind of troubling. He’d always had a plan—or...he’d always thought he had a plan—but then along came this crazy Pandoran woman with a hat and a sleeve pistol and a silver tongue and he just...lost it. Poof. Gone. Every clever one-liner he managed to think of didn’t have the same effect on her that it would have had on some tight-skirted secretary back on Helios. In fact, more often than not, he found himself tripping over his words, stuttering and blabbering and generally looking like an idiot. And she would just patiently raise that eyebrow—the one with the weirdly cute scar through it—and wait for him to finish whatever it was he was trying to say. He tried to hate the way she insulted him, but it always felt more like teasing than anything else; there was rarely any actual venom in the words. He could fake animosity well enough around the others; keep up the charade of reluctant partner-in-crime, but when they were alone… He’d never felt anything like this before, so...that had to mean—

“Rhys? Hello? Ugh, God, you...you really mean it, don’t you?” Sasha tossed her hands in the air and kept walking. “Go figure, you come down from your fancy moonbase and pretend to go on and on about “filthy Pandoran criminals,” when actually—”

“I think I love her, Sasha,” he murmured, still caught in his thoughts.

“See? That’s what I’m talking about. How would you even know what love feels like, Hyperion boy? I bet you’ve never loved anyone besides yourself and maybe your parents. It’s just because we’re “dangerous” down here, right? You want to be able to brag to all your buddies about how you’ve got a “bad girl” and how you’re so smooth that even—whoa.”

She stopped so suddenly that Rhys almost walked straight into her. “What’s gooooh...wow.” A clearing had opened up in front of them, and dozens of the glowing balloon-plants floated through the treetops. “That’s…”

Sasha took a few hesitant steps out into the glade, turning around, taking everything in. “This is incredible,” she breathed. “Oh, come look at these!” She was bent down beside a small tree, inspecting a patch of purple flowers growing on the trunk. “You know...after a while, you just sort of feel like you’ve seen everything; like you can’t be surprised by anything anymore…” She reached out to touch one of the flowers. “Something so delicate...hidden away…”

Nothing she was saying was incorrect, and he honestly wanted to bring a small handful (or an entire basket) back to Fiona, but he also had a sneaking suspicion that maybe the flowers would be better off left undisturbed. There had been a small carnivorous plant of some kind back in that initial “living area” after all... “Maybe...we should just let it be.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, however, Sasha grinned and plucked one anyway, holding it out to him. “Give it to Fiona.”

The blush that had been slowly subsiding over the past few minutes suddenly rushed back into his cheeks with nearly painful intensity. “You’re sure? Is this even her thing? I mean...would she like it? And weren’t you just complaining about how—”

She waved him off with a short laugh. “Yes, she’ll love it. Trust me. Just stick it behind her ear or something.”

Rhys accepted the flower hesitantly. “You’re absolutely sure you’re okay with me and her...being together? If it...even happens…”

Sasha put her hands on her hips and cocked an eyebrow. “Would I be telling you to give her a flower if I wasn’t okay with it?”

“I don’t know, I mean, the whole thing could be another con,” he muttered, only half-joking. “Maybe she hates flowers. Maybe she’s allergic to them and—”

“Would you just keep the flower and walk so we can find this secur—pfff—” A splatter of orange liquid covered her face before she could finish the sentence.

Rhys looked down at the flower, then back up at Sasha’s pollen-splashed face, laughing softly. “You deserved that.”

“Yes I did.”

Rhys tucked the flower into his vest pocket and turned back in the direction of the tower. He paused mid-step, however. Something wasn’t right. That leaky-gas-pipe noise had gotten louder. And...somehow more aggressive. “Uh...Sasha?”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear it.”

He backed toward her, glancing around the glade. The bluish-white glow provided by the docile floating plants had turned into a harsh red and about sixteen of them were propelling themselves slowly toward he and Sasha. “This is why we can’t have anything nice.” He pointed toward the angrily-hissing plants. “I told you we should have just left it alone… Red means bad, right...?”

******

Fiona hadn’t expected to see Rhys leaning on her sister’s shoulder, barely conscious, when the door slid open to reveal the two of them.

Vaughn took a step closer. “What happened?”

“Oh, um, Rhys just took a spill,” Sasha explained, half walking, half dragging Rhys through the door. “He’s...he’s totally fine.”

Fiona chewed the inside of her cheek, watching Rhys’ head roll limply from side to side, and accidentally bit down a little too hard when Sasha dumped him roughly against a stack of crates.

“Jussst...take spill,” he slurred. “...fine.”

Fiona kept her eyes on him for a moment longer. “You sure about that? He...might have a concussion.” As her gaze slid back to Sasha, she caught a glimpse of purple sticking out of the pocket of his vest and couldn’t keep herself from doing a double-take.

“Nah, he’ll be okay,” was the dismissive reply. “He’s got a thick skull. But we learned something about Cassius…”

Her sister’s words faded out as she stared at the scrap of purple. It was a flower. A glowing flower. A crushed glowing flower. Where had he…? She blinked a few times, then glanced back at Sasha. She didn’t have a flower on her, at least not that Fiona could see… Had she given it to him? Had he planned to give it to her? Fiona couldn’t help the little spike of jealousy that pierced through her chest at the thought. Sure, Sasha was her sister and her best friend and she wanted her to be happy and Rhys was a decent guy (even if he was Hyperion) but she didn’t think she’d been imagining all the—

Athena’s enraged screams snapped her out of her daze and she snatched the flower from Rhys’ vest before turning to see what all the commotion was about. Athena had her sword at Cassius’ throat, snarling, while Vaughn, Gortys, and Sasha just watched in horror. Fiona spared one last look back at Rhys. She didn’t really know where this jealousy had come from, and didn’t even know if her juvenile reasoning was justified, but as she started across the room toward her sister, she dropped the flower, not feeling any guilt whatsoever when the heel of her boot mashed it into a weakly-glowing paste on the concrete.

#no gyf tonight #i have the next part written #but i wanna have a bit more of a headstart #plus I wanna finish another prompt #borderlands fanfiction #my writing #rhyiona #augusha #implied

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infantacarlota · 5 years

Text

hi guys! here’s carlota’s bio + a list of wanted connections. if you’d like to plot please drop me a message and i’ll find you!! i’m seldom on the discord server bc i get overwhelmed easily/large group chats stress me out, but i love to chat and plot, in fact i’m a sucker for extensive plotting and i do want a bit of everything for carlota so pls throw any and all ideas you have my way.

- ̗̀✰ •【 LILY JAMES / FEMALE / 27 】announcing the arrival of her royal highness, ( CARLOTA LUÍSA ISABEL ), the ( INFANTA ) of ( PORTUGAL ). I’ve heard that she is ( IMPULSIVE ) & ( PARANOID ) but can also be ( INTUITIVE ) & ( PASSIONATE ). ( CARLOTA ) is arranged to marry ( MICHIEL HUISMAN, BOB MORLEY, ALFONSO HERRERA ). Rumor has it ( SHE'S THE REASON HER BROTHER THE CROWN PRINCE IS IN A COMA ). We hope you enjoy your stay at London!

STATS

name: carlota luísa isabel, house of coimbra, infanta of portugal age: 26 family:

henrique (father, deceased) terezia (mother, deceased) luís (uncle, 52, regent, childless younger brother of henrique) pedro (brother, 33, in a coma) ____ (brother, 29-31) ____ (brother, 27-29) ____ (brother, 23-24) silvia (sister, 22-23) ____ (brother, 19-20)

relationship status: betrothed to espen jarle lillegarde, crown prince of norway. language(s) spoken: portuguese (fluent), english (fluent), french (well), spanish (fluent), italian (decently), deutsch(okay-ish), danish (okay-ish) eyes: brown hair: brown physical ailments: not an ailment per se, but she broke her right arm in her youth and it didn't heal properly so it's slightly crooked at the elbow. she's a little self-conscious about it and it aches at times, especially if she has to carry something heavy, but for the moment that's about it. neurological ailments: low key depressed but isn't even close to being aware of it because depression is such a foreign thing to her. this quote explains it nicely:

"Being an extrovert with depression and constantly maintaining a lively personality can sometimes feel like you are lying to the world. It makes depression something only you can deal with, when you can finally take off “the mask” [...] suffering from depression as an extrovert comes down to not being taken seriously. It’s hearing how you must be over-exaggerating your condition because there is no way you can be laughing with friends on the same night you go home and cry yourself to sleep. [...] is knowing that people will make you happy because sometimes being happy by yourself seems like an impossible task. It is having a constant need to be there for everyone but yourself. It is – as crazy as this sounds – feeling as if you aren’t allowed to be depressed [...] You have to be the person people gravitate towards to when they want to have a good time."

smoking: mostly in the past drugs: in the past and here's to hoping it stays there alcohol: in the past: drank a lot and often during her teenage/boarding school years. started drinking way less after that and was primarily a social drinker, but enjoyed a glass of wine every other meal. currently: keeps telling herself she'll have just one or two glasses but ends up drinking the whole bottle. when she's feeling down, it helps her stay bubbly, like people are used to see her. tattoos: pretty much always covered. 1 dainty lavender tattoo under her left breast, 1 small conch shell on the inside of her left arm style: enjoys looking stylish but values comfort above all else. doesn't follow fashion trends but enjoys playing with styles. has worn pant suits, bowties, and ties to several events. she often opts for comfortable flats (even trainers when she was younger) when wearing long dresses that cover her feet. secret: she’s the reason her brother, the king, is in a coma

personality

sociable, bubbly, energetic, romantic, intuitive, impulsive, kind, compassionate, audacious, youthful, low-key very sad and depressed, curious, passionate, slightly air-headed, well meaning, romantic, at times speaks without thinking, used to be very gullible growing up, insecure, authentic, bad liar, self-deprecating (esp in the past couple years)

BIO (tw: death, drugs):

[ for carlota’s full / proper bio + more in-depth explanations, please click here & check the ‘biography’ tab.]

for nearly half a decade before carlota’s father was born, instability was the norm in portugal. carlota’s father was born just as the conflict was drawing to an end and he spent his whole life honoring his father’s hard work, heavily focusing on diplomacy, and being slightly ( but understandably ) paranoid about the safety of his family.

like his parents, carlota’s father was fortunate to marry out of love. carlota’s mother isn’t portuguese ( she's a hungarian princess ) nor was she supposed to have become henrique’s wife, but the two had been in love almost since they first met when they were teenagers. at court, some never fully accepted terezia, still, the pair was very happy together.

carlota’s family was always very close-knit and kinda nosy about each other’s business. she has always enjoyed this greatly as she’s a family and people-person, but at times it felt suffocating, even when she was only a child.

carlota’s innate almost child-like passion and curiosity for life as well as her good-humored casual demeanor have always been both a blessing and a curse and often landed into trouble. she’s well-meaning, always, but sometimes speaks without thinking or acts impulsively. she’s a little bit air-headed and selfish in this manner, and her emotions and feelings often control her more than she controls them.

still, she has three older brothers with very strong personalities so from a very early age she’s been trying to keep up with them and showing them that girls can do everything boys can. she’s never been rebellious or assertive by nature, although she likes to make bold choices and statements at times, but having a lot of brothers just forced those sides of her to develop.

when she was 8, shortly after her youngest brother was born her mother passed away - this was carlota’s first heartbreak

carlota’s relationship with her father was always...... not complicated, but perhaps filled with misunderstandings and good intentions gone wrong. he kept her at bay a lot because carlota has her mother’s demeanor, and he worried immensely about her future. her father always felt like out of all his children carlota was going to be the one who was going to struggle the most with an arranged marriage so he was always pressuring her to focus on her romantic life in a serious manner which carlota often found bothersome.

in her teens carlota felt very isolated and out of place. surrounded by people but all alone. that's how she felt.

annnnnnd then her father sent her to boarding school which was never supposed to have happened but he changed his mind thinking it was the best for carlota (spoiler alert - it wasn’t)

carlota was extremely upset and sad over this. being apart from her family and friends she had known all her life brought her great pain and frustration. she also couldn’t understand her father’s change of heart, and a part of her felt like she had done something deeply wrong. honestly she felt kind of abandoned.

these years were somewhat tumultuous, especially because she wasn’t making the right kind of friends - the ones that are good for you. this lead her to have made several questionable life choices. she also got in the habit of drinking too much and doing drugs (she never officially went to rehab but she was very close to and she honestly probably should have gone even if only to really file this chapter of her life away).

all of this is, mostly, behind her thought. it took years but she realised she was fostering unhealthy friendships and habits and that the longer it took her to walk away the harder it would become to do so at all. eventually she cut them all out of her life.

( “what is it with you and your uncontrollable need to be liked?” one of her acquaintances from boarding school asked her once, and she was already a little drunk, so the words didn’t hit her as hard as they normally would have. her shoulders simply rose and fell in a lazy shrug. “i don’t know.” it had been an honest answer, she kept talking anyway, no filter between her thoughts and her mouth. “i guess i - well, i've never been the pretty one, or the smart one, or the brooding one, or the bold one, or the funny one... but i’ve always been good at meeting people so i guess... i guess very early on i just thought ‘maybe i can be the likable one’.” )

her father died of heart decease when she was 21. she always got along with her eldest brother and the two became even closer after their father’s death, however, a couple months before the summit carlota thought she wouldn’t be participating as she had been seeing someone, but the boy ended up deciding that they were better off parting ways. it was all very last minute and out of the blue and he did it via text and she didn’t take the news well in the least so she ended up resorting to finding comfort in bad old habits and companies.

her brother grew increasingly worried and one day the two had a quarrel in the palace’s foyer after carlota showed up to dinner so merrily out of it she could barely stand. at one point he tried to reach for her but she pushed him away - once, twice, trice, and on the forth time he lost his balance and fell down the long imposing staircase.

she was so inebriated that it took her brain moment to register what had happened but once it dawned on her she was immediately struck by a wave of frantic panic and promptly made her way down the staircase ( nearly tripping on her own feet and tumbling down multiple times ). her brother was still conscious when she reached him, falling on her knees by his side, already crying and apologizing. the last thing he told her was to leave so no one would blame her for what had happened.

carlota is not an agitator. she’s not pro nor against the summit. she dislikes the idea of spending her life with a stranger or someone who won’t love her, but above that at the moment she simply feels a great weight of responsibility towards her brother and is just trying to do what he wanted her to. she’s going with the flow in a dutiful manner, trying to always be on her best behaviour, while at the same time trying to stay as true to herself as possible.

at the moment, she almost likes that things are being figured out for her. it goes against her usual demeanor, but she has so much on her mind and feels so much guilt that anything that figures out her responsibilities for her is welcome. frankly, she’s walking towards a big depression, but depression isn’t something she has ever experienced before and personally doesn’t think it’s something she herself could experience.

i want SO MANY THINGS for carlota. good and bad. i want positive character development, i want negative character development. i want to break her and put her together again. i want her to grow, learn, and face past mistakes... and maybe make new ones.

i’m all about extensive plotting, and i’m in things for the long run, so throw all the ideas at me.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

FAMILY

siblings - ill be posting her family request here.

cousins: carlota’s mother wasn’t portuguese, she was likely german, hungarian, belgian, austrian, english, or french. so if your character is from one of those countries and you’d be up for them being related to carlota let me know!!!

ON GOOD TERMS

(open) best friend: someone carlota is very close to at the moment

(open) childhood friend(s): someone carlota has known pretty much all of her life

(open) accidental friendship: carlota and this person weren’t supposed to get along because of their personalities but instead of clashing, to everyone’s surprise, they compliment each other nicely

(open) “a boy tried to make us compete for his attention so we ditched him and became close friends”: self-explanatory lmao i’d love for them to be super close. or maybe he was dating the girl and tried to fool around with carlota so she told the other girl and she dumped and him and her and carlota became close friends. many options.

(open) exes on good terms: i love this trope - two people who dated but who are still friendly (and possibly super close)

(open) one time date (positive): carlota and this person went on a date/found themselves on a date but quickly figured out they’d be better off as friends, and they are

ON BAD TERMS OR IFFY

(open) the guy who ditched her: carlota didn't think she would be participating in the summit as she was beginning to develop a relationship with someone. whether they were officially seeing each other/dating or not is open, but around four months ago he ended what they had, momentarily leaving carlota in a really bad place. i left this super open and vague on purpose, i would love to plot it with whoever takes him.

(open) the boy from the “a boy tried to make us compete for his attention so we ditched him and became close friends” connection: self-explanatory lmao

(open) betrothal’s romantic interest: i’d obviously love for carlota and her betrothal to be end game (like, romantically, not just being married for appearances) but i’m also big on stuff taking its time and i’d love for her betrothal’s to have a romantic interest (even if it’s onesided and he’s not interested in her - altho he can be obviously). above all, i just want a scene like this one lmao

(open) clashed from the start: clarlota and this person never got along (open)

(open) former teenage-hood friends: carlota and these people used to be close when they were teenagers but aren’t anymore.

(open) former best friend: carlota and this person used to be very close but something happened that drove them apart. maybe they were part of the same group of friends and when carlota suddenly started bailing on and not wanting to be associated with them the former best friend felt used and betrayed, like they were had only been a “party” friend to carlota

(open) exes on bad terms: self explanatory

(open) one time date (negative): carlota and this person went on a date/found themselves on a date and it went awful

(open) toxic romance:

NEUTRAL OR UNCLEAR

betrothal: i’d obviously love for carlota and her betrothal to be end game (like, romantically, not just being married for appearances) but obvs that’s not mandatory. his personality is completely open, honestly do with him whatever you wish i just ask that he’s not a very artsy person. as a suggestion, i’d love for his secret to be something like he has toddler from a past fling/relationship, or even if that’s not his secret i honestly just like the idea of him having a secret or not so secret kid. fc suggestions for him are: michiel huisman, bob morley, oliver jackson cohen, and santiago cabrera.

(open) star-crossed: carlota and this character have, or had, feelings for each other but for whatever reason their relationship just can’t work out.

(open) met in a bar: : this could have happened when they were kids/teens or recently. carlota and this royal met in a bar without knowing of each other’s backgrounds.

(open) push and pull: : there’s flirtation and mutual interest… and there’s also a lot of annoyance.

(open) bonded over doing smth they shouldn’t: this could have happened when they were kids/teens or recently. carlota and this person were caught (or nearly caught) doing something they shouldn’t be doing (such as sneaking out or sneaking back in)… individually. it was a chance encounter and their first meeting & can go many ways.

(open) flirtation: (open)

(open) accidental bonding: this person accidentally confided something in carlota, whether because they were drunk/tipsy, or simply completely saturated and needed to vent.

(open) betrothal’s ex: id honestly love for carlota to meet an ex of her betrothal and they get along super well. i have several ideas for this tbh but yeah!!

#buckingham:intro

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