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hier--soir · 7 months

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a lover's pinch | four

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: after a conference in new york, you and j miller phd take things a step further. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, i think i describe reader as having sweaty palms about 1500 times so it deserves a warning, alcohol consumption, the plight of being a woman in academia, oral [f receiving], unprotected piv sex [IN A BED ??? GASP] for you filthy animals, prone bone, a little roughness and then not much at all, uhhh pet names during sex.... uhhmm intimacy errrrrr.... soft!joel... feelings... okay bye word count: 9.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: hey folks, thank you so much for all your patience as i took my sweet sweet time writing this. we get to know our prof a little better in this one so a fair amount of dialogue for you but yeah anyways i hope you enjoy it, and i'd love to hear what you think! [and if i Fell Off because of the depression, don't tell me lol] A WORD ABOUT THE TAG LIST: i will continue the taglist for this part and for part five, and after that i will rely solely on my notifications account @hier--soirupdates so pls follow that and turn on notifs to be told when i post writing x this is part four of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three.

Saturday.

The conference centre is vast.

A large space that protects you from the threatening clouds that loom over New York City, and exposes you to countless dense conversations.

An NYU teacher’s assistant is glued to your hip, parading you through the centre with a wayward index finger that points out the bar, the room where the keynote speech will be given [large, with an imposing stage], and the room where you will give your presentation [less large, with a far less imposing stage].

Your presentation.

You fight the urge to pull up the email for the thousandth time while she explains how there will be fifteen minutes to set up beforehand, and advises on when the doors will open for guests, and reminds you that you have a strict allotted time of 20-minutes, do you understand?

But the email is branded on the inside of your eyelids after this morning’s flight was spent reading and rereading and rereading the words. So you nod and smile and placate her on the tour of the centre, as you run through it in your mind.

We look forward to welcoming you to NYU’s Annual Classics and Ancient History Conference. Our team was intrigued by the presentation devised around your translation study in Athens…

“Did you hear me?”

You wish she wasn’t dressed so casually.

Loose balls of lint are collected on the back of her cardigan like trinkets, weighty and threatening to fall off in a sort of bread crumb trail behind her every movement. It makes your dress feel all the more serious, all the more formal. Navy blue and a little tight, with sleeves that slant across the middle of your bicep and a hem that cuts modestly across your lower thigh. Professional, smart, sexy, but not too sexy. You and Nora spent two hours at the mall picking it out last weekend. And you can see people in suits, in blazers, in dresses, everywhere you turn, but your eyes keep returning to the TA’s cardigan. Little pills, sad morsels of broken fabric.

She says your name sharply.

“Yes,” you snap to attention, and clock her poor attempt not to roll her eyes. “You were saying?”

“It’s an open bar,” she continues from a few steps ahead, slowly back away while raising her voice to be heard over the countless others sprouting across the room. “And food is served after the Keynote.”

Finally free of her and her cardigan, you scale the edge of the hall, curious eyes glancing across faces familiar and not. You notice some other postgrads from UNE, and some professors from your alma mater. But it isn’t until three hours into the conference that you notice him.

You’re in a painfully long conversation with Professor Carmichael, an ancient history department head from Boston, when you notice them.

“Well you see,” he’s saying, slowly. “The First Roman Triumvirate was very unique. Surely you agree with me there, my dear?”

“Of course,” you nod amiably. A waiter floats past you holding a tray of glasses. You grasp one with a grateful smile, and turn back to face him with a sip of cold white wine moving down your throat. “The Big Three, it’s all very interesting. Although I must say, I am personally more interested in the second triumvirat—”

“Oh they all say that,” he waves his hand. “Everyone is so taken by Antony and Octavian that they forget about Crassus! So tragic.”

“A very tragic death,” you offer an exaggerated frown. “I agree.”

Carmichael hums, eyes narrowing as if you’ve said something wrong. Sipping your wine, your eyes float over his shoulder, determinedly trying to spot any sign of food, gaze spilling across countless faces and tables and waiters and professors until one set of people makes you pause. Wild dark hair atop a floral dress floats in your vision, her pale hand hovering over the sleeve of a tall man in a suit. You watch the backs of their heads; the way the woman tilts her chin upward to speak to the man and laughs at what he says in return. That laugh. You frown, and feel yourself take a step forward, a step in their direction.

“Is something the matter?” Carmichael asks and you halt, flash him a sweet smile and shake your head.

“No,” you rush, practically tasting the opportunity to escape the conversation. “I’m sorry, Professor, I thought I saw someone waving me over. If you don’t min—”

“Always so many people to talk to at these things,” he says in a sing-song tone of voice, smiling obliviously. “All in due course, dear. You’ll find them later I’m sure.”

It’s not until fifteen minutes later that the tap comes on your shoulder. You turn and feel relief wash over you as you come face to face with Rachel, with her tangle of curls and bright orange dress. But then a jolt shudders through your frame, for you spot the man accompanying her; the man you watched her traipse around the room with, the man in the sleek black suit—Joel, hovering a step behind her.

“Rachel,” you blink. “Joel. Hi—”

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Rachel says. Her eyes are wide, lips pulled back into a crooked grin that immediately sets you at ease. Joel, on the other hand, looks uncomfortable to say the least. You watch him tuck his hands in his pockets and then take them out again quickly, lips pursed together in a tight line as he glances between you and Professor Carmichael.

“Joel,” she grips the sleeve of his blazer and tugs him forward to stand beside her. You watch where her hand grazes him - the ease with which she jostles him around. “Did you know?”

“No.” He stares for a moment, lips parted and eyes darting across your face, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t know.”

“I’m giving a presentation,” you explain quickly, eyes darting between the two of them, fingers tightening around your glass every time your eyes settle on him. He trimmed his beard again; the hairs are shorter, neater—almost too short and too neat for your liking. His shirt is pressed and crisp, shock white beneath the midnight black of his jacket. He’s wearing different glasses. Tortoise shell glasses. Someone clears their throat to your right, snapping you out of your reverie. You apologise quickly, “This is Professor Carmichael.”

“Of course,” Joel nods, stepping forward to grip the older man’s hand. “Good to see you again, Professor.”

“And you, Professor Miller,” Carmichael chuckles, patting a shaky hand against Joel’s shoulder. “When was the last time we crossed paths? A year ago?”

“Must’ve been a year,” Joel smiles easily. His eyes slip to look at you every few seconds. “The conference in Ottawa.”

“The conference in Ottawa!” Carmichael cheers, nodding away. A weight sinks in your stomach like a cinder block as you watch the Professor gear up to wrangle Joel and Rachel into another conversation about Crassus’ untimely demise. But then Rachel slips away, called out to by someone across the room. And before Carmichael can open his mouth, Joel is speaking again, that honeyed drawl like music to your ears.

“Excuse me, Professor Carmichael,” he smiles again. Two of his fingers grip your elbow, tugging you a step backward. “Do you mind if I steal my star student for a few moments?”

Joel tilts your body to the left, and then the two of you are veering off into the crowd, wandering through throngs of people, his warm fingers pressed against the soft flesh above your elbow.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” you say under your breath, glancing around warily, trying to spy any curious eyes that might notice the two of you.

“Could say the same thing,” he murmurs, dragging you to a stop at the edge of the hall with his eyebrows raised. “When’s your talk?”

“At one. Overlaps with the Keynote, which I’m a little relieved about,” you smile, a pinched, tense thing. “Hopefully everyone will go to that, and I’ll have a smaller crowd.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise. You think you notice his shoulders stiffen. “S’that right?”

A persistent pang of hunger stabs through your stomach, you rub a hand over the front of your dress and nod. Curious brown eyes follow the movement.

“Here,” Joel reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. His fingers graze your skin as he tucks the shiny rectangle of foil into your palm. “They don’t put out any food until after the Keynote.”

It’s a granola bar. Peanut butter and banana. You stare at it for a moment, almost dumbfounded by the kindness of the gesture. By how attentive he is; how much he notices without you even having to speak.

“Thanks,” you say. Nestle it into your purse and give him an appreciative smile.

“Sure,” he nods jerkily. Adjusts the glasses on his nose. “I’m disappointed to miss it.”

“Oh?” you blink. Your eyes focus then, flitting downward to focus on the badge hanging from his lanyard.

Joel Miller, Ph.D.

University of New England.

Keynote Speaker.

“Oh, shit.”

“Mhm,” Joel squints at you. “Sorry if I don’t share the sentiment that everyone comes to watch me instead of you.”

“Why didn’t you…” you gape. “You didn’t say you were giving a talk?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“The Keynote speech is a big deal,” you say, as if he wouldn’t know.

“I was their third choice,” he shrugs you off with practiced ease. “First two weren’t interested.”

“Third time lucky then,” you smile, and he chuckles. Someone calls Joel’s name then, and you both spin to see Rachel across the room with a group of people, all eagerly waving him over. Something nasty curls in your chest – something bitter and unwarranted and cruel. You smother it with a mouthful of wine and a soft smile of farewell to him as he turns and walks in her direction.

A hand clasps down on your shoulder and you flinch, turning to see Professor Carmichael beaming.

“Where were we then, my dear?”

You eat Joel’s granola bar at the back of the hall five minutes before your talk and walk onstage with the taste of peanut and banana on your lips, brushing crumbs of dried oats off your fingers.

Fifteen people attend, spotted miscellaneously across the amassed rows of chairs. The slide clicker is damp in your palm, and your thumb hovers trembling over the button, awaiting each moment you need to press down.

“Working alongside some fantastic translators,” you tell them. “We focused on studying the disparities between how Greek texts are translated by men and women. Particularly, we aimed to delve into the way emotive language has been downgraded or elevated depending on the lens through which a text is being viewed.”

Professor Carmichael sits in the front row, those sun-spot covered hands clasped in his lap, offering an encouraging smile as you shift upon the stage. Rachel is a few rows back, and she nods intently whenever you glance in her direction.

“One of our main points of focus,” you continue. “Was to understand points of difficulty in translating while accounting for cultural nuances, and how the context of differing authors can impact upon this. In my next slide—”

It’s as you turn to glance at the display that you notice them for the first time. Three rows from the front, where a group of men sit. Two of them young, maybe around your age. You change your slide and watch them whisper in each other’s ears. One of them points at you. Or not you, rather—your legs.

And you yearn for it to be meaningless. A meaningless gesture between colleagues. Meaningless legs, meaningless dress, meaningless curves and slopes and dips and spins. But as you continue, you know it can’t be. The way they talk through your presentation, as if they aren’t bothered to be heard. The way they leer at you over Carmichael’s shoulder, grinning to each other. Your words in one ear and out the other—simply a talking point for them, a blue dress, something to stare at. Your dress feels hot, tight, and your chest feels hotter, tighter under the lights as those eyes glaze over you. You glance back towards Rachel. She gives you a thumbs up that doesn’t serve to cool your nerves.

“When translating word for word in our field, it’s uncommon,” you stutter to a stop, eyes flashing warily. “Sorry, it is not uncommon to find that narratological creativity dwindles.”

You hear a chuckle to your right and swallow down the urge to shoot daggers in the direction of the sound. “Translators struggle to maintain the in-depth imaginative expression that the original Greek text inspires. But through my discussions with Professor Samaras, we found that…”

It’s in the final minutes that you notice him. Tucked away in a back row of the room, arms folded across his chest. You pause for a moment, words caught in your throat. But Joel merely gives you a short nod. The faintest hint of a smile, of the corner of his eyes slanting upward, and it’s as if a cool breeze washes over you. Hands steady, knees lock, and you push through. You don’t look at any of their faces until it’s over.

And when it is, and scattered applause decorates the air, you can’t help but cast a smile in Joel’s direction. A smile that slips and wavers when you spot the broad expanse of his back, that sharp black blazer, as he slips out the doors without wasting a second.

The rest of your audience follows suit, a slim line that wanders out the doors without a second glance—spare Carmichael, who tells you he was quite taken with how you presented yourself, my dear.

You hear your own name and turn to see Rachel approaching, a burst of floral frock and swinging earrings. Her smile is wide and crooked, and you can’t help but smile back.

“That was wonderful,” she cheers, squeezing your shoulder. “I was so taken by how you spoke about the importance of linguistic quality assurance when translating emotive texts. Brilliant!”

Your face warms. “Thank you,” you shake your head quickly. “It was… thank you. That’s very kind.”

You glance over her shoulder, wondering if he’ll reappear – perhaps share her sentiments, maybe shower you with praise. He doesn’t.

She catches you looking. “Joel was in a rush,” she offers easily. “Lots of people wanting to talk to the man of the evening.”

“Of course,” you swallow thickly. Another smile.

Rachel stares at you curiously. “He’s very impressed by you, you know.” Her voice is warm, gentle—soft spoken like a mother who can sense the slightest flash of insecurity. You cringe immediately, feel your arms cross protectively across your chest. Don’t give the game away now. “Honestly, I think he read your comparative paper on the katabasis three times. Practically raved about it when I asked what it was.”

“Oh,” you blink, shifting uneasily under her gaze. “That’s… wow, I’m flattered.”

“He sees a lot of potential in you,” she says.

“Right,” you nod. “Well, he’s a grea—you’re both great teachers. I’m very lucky to be learning from the two of you.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment, and you fear your face grows warmer in the silence. Can feel the slick on your palms returning, the flash of heat in your chest, the longer you sit in it. You make a quick and tumbling excuse to flee the scene, spitting a mess of thank you so much and just need some fresh air, before you’re stumbling out of the hall and wandering outside on newborn deer legs. You snag a flute of something bubbly off the bar on your way, and find yourself on a secluded bench in the breezeway behind the conference centre.

You sit there alone and watch the grass, the way the light from inside shines out across the green. Feel the chill of the wind slip past you, rustling your hair and raising goosebumps on your bare legs. Sip dry Cava and contemplate how many more of these things you can feasibly imagine attending in your career. There’s a single text from Nora on your phone, asking how the presentation went. You tuck it into your purse, leaving the message unanswered.

By the time you hear the door hinges creak, the glass is near empty. You spy a shadowy form snaking its way down the path, headed in your direction.

“Mr Keynote Speaker,” you hum. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Funny,” Joel mutters dryly, knees cracking as he falls onto the bench beside you. A heavy sigh slips from between his lips, fingers lacing together in his lap as he gazes across the breezeway. You down the last of your drink and place it on the concrete by your feet. “Needed some god damn peace and quiet. All that chit chat drives me insane.”

You murmur in agreement and stare at the side of his face – the neatened beard, the thick frame of his glasses. Purposeful or not, the side of his body is pressed against yours. Thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder – he’s sat directly in the centre of the bench. Heat radiates off his body and it’s almost too warm, and yet you find yourself relaxing against him.

“First time at one of these?” Joel asks gruffly. He’s still not looking at you, his eyes trained on a pigeon pecking at a discarded foil wrapper on the grass.

“Is it that obvious?” you grimace.

“Only because I’ve been to twenty of the damn things,” he says. “Y’learn how to smell the nervous energy comin’ off the first timers.”

“Twenty?” you mutter. Feel your stomach curl and twist at the idea of doing this day nineteen more times.

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Went to a lot during my second degree. Had to get good at talkin’, fast.”

“Ahh,” you say. “So, you weren’t always such a sweet talker then?”

He lets out a low chuckle, as if amused by the thought. “Sweet talker, huh? That what I am?”

You shrug, suddenly emboldened by him following you outside, by how close he is, by how open he seems.

“I suppose,” you say slowly.

“And what gave you that idea?”

“You here alone?” you offer a poor imitation of him, voice low and breathy with your awful take on a Southern twang. “Meet me in the bathroom.” You wink, quietly delighted by the way his lips have tightened into a flat line.

“Funny,” he says again, entirely unamused now.

Something warm shifts in your lower stomach. Something wet—a vivid memory of him on the ground behind you in the bathroom of a bar, of hands spreading you open, of his tongue pressing inside you, of The Eagles playing faintly in the background.

“You do that kind of thing often?” you ask.

“Do what?”

“Approach young women at bars,” you wiggle your eyebrows, smirking. “Rob them of their virtue in the bathroom and then hope you never see them again.”

“You? Virtuous?” Joel rolls his eyes. You can see the corner of his lip curling upward. “Must be gettin’ yourself confused with somebody else.”

“Maybe,” you smile.

“Sometimes,” he casts you a look, after a moment. “Not… often. And not young.”

“Younger,” you counter quickly.

“I didn’t expect you to be…” he trails off and shakes his head. “It’s not a thing I do, alright?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s not.”

“You don’t date then?”

He tilts his head at you curiously, eyes planted firmly on your face now. “Not for a long time.”

“Why not?”

“Been busy,” he grunts, clearly growing impatient by the line of questioning. “Spent a lot of time studying. Working.”

“Where did you study?” you press.

“This twenty fuckin’ questions?” he snaps, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Came out here for—”

“You came out here,” you interrupt. “Because I came out here.”

He glowers at you, but doesn’t try to deny it.

“Night classes at Texas A&M for my undergrad,” he grits out. You smile sickly sweet, pleased. “Did my postgrads part time at UT Austin,” Joel says.

Your eyebrows kick up again, the teasing pretence all but forgotten. “Sounds… unconventional?” you offer softly.

“That’s one word for it,” he agrees vaguely. “Spent the better half of a decade at school just to end up teaching at one. Ain’t that somethin’.”

“And before that?” you press.

“Before that,” he continues with a wry grin, one full of distaste and frustration and resentment. “Was a contractor for a long time. Houses, buildings.” He rests a hand against his shoulder, fingers pressing against the muscle there, as if working out a decade old knot.

And for a moment you can see it. Can almost taste it. Collared shirts and glasses replaced with hard hats and hammers and dirt in the lines of his palms. Joel carrying a plank of wood on his shoulder, wearing a toolbelt. Joel on his knees, sweat shining on his forehead while he wields an electric drill.

Your dress feels too tight suddenly. Too warm.

“A contractor,” you say distractedly, and hope he doesn’t notice how your thighs press together.

“Mhm,” Joel nods. “With my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

He ignores that. “Where did you study?”

“San Diego State,” you flash him a grin. “Go Aztecs.”

“Good school,” he hums. “You’re a long way from California.”

Only a little further than Texas, you think.

“You did good up there,” Joel adds.

Your smile dips and wanes into a scowl, uninterested in the change of subject.

“What?”

“It was…” you shake your head slowly, face warming as you glance down to your lap.

“What?”

“It just wasn’t what I expected.�� You pick at a loose thread on the hem of your dress. “That’s all.”

“And what did you expect?”

“To be listened to,” you grunt. “Not gawked at by some ancient jerkoffs that were only there to stare at my ass when I turned to change a slide.”

Joel nods, quiet.

“I wanted it to matter,” you mutter. “Wanted to… fuck, I wanted to impress them.”

“I was impressed.”

“Oh yeah?” you snort, finally looking up. “You hightailed it out of there pretty quickly.”

Joel shakes his head and stares back at you, gaze heavy. His hands tighten into fists against his thighs, knuckles lightening to white as he squeezes. You shuffle on the seat—ignore the flare of heat that erupts where your shoulder nudges firmer against his.

“I guess you could say,” he speaks slowly. “I’m tryin’ to keep my distance.”

You arch an eyebrow and attempt to swallow the laugh bubbling up your throat.

“Well, you’re doing a great job,” you smirk.

Joel laughs and your smile falters, mouth going slack at the sound. How rare it is, and how much rarer to have it all to yourself like this. For all of his sharp angles, his sweet talking, his harsh words, and harsher touch—that laugh is the cruellest part.

He jostles his shoulder against yours a little. An acknowledgement; perhaps a glimpse inside. Something that says, I know, I see it, I feel it, I can’t stop either.

“You make it hard,” he says then, and his voice is soft—almost a whisper.

“How’s that?” You match his tone, as if you’re two little kids who’ve snuck outside to share secrets where no one else can hear them.

“You bein’ here,” he murmurs, eyes searching. “Startin’ to feel like you’re everywhere I turn.”

A breeze swims past and you shiver, locks of hair floating in a mess around your face until you pat them down. Joel moves almost imperceptibly, curling his side tighter against yours to shield you from the onslaught.

“I know the feeling,” you admit.

The muscle in his jaw ticks and he clears his throat, looking out across the green again. For a moment the pair of you sit in silence. Not as professor and student, but simply a man and a woman on a bench. Breathing the same air, soaking in a shared silence that only the two of you could understand. And there are so many more questions you want to ask him, so much more you feel compelled to know, but instead you settle for this—sitting on a bench together, shoulders and thighs and chests pressed side to side, two frames moulded around the welcoming shape of one another. For now.

“It gets easier,” Joel says then, jaw tense as he spares a glance back in your direction. “This stuff, these people, all the talkin’.”

You acknowledge him with a small smile, just the slightest twitch of your lip. Don’t bother saying, maybe for you. Maybe for a man.

“You know,” you suck in a breath and give him a lazy smile instead. “I think this might be the longest conversation we’ve had without ripping each other’s clothes off.”

“Mm.” He leans his head back to rest on the wall, eyes focusing up towards the sky.

“I like it,” you say quietly. Hear how vulnerability chimes in your voice – a wobble that begs to be ignored and understood all at once. “It’s nice… talking like this.”

Joel’s head tilts towards you, dark eyes locked on yours. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see that wariness in his eyes. The same wariness that poured out in flecks of brown and amber and gold in the light of your bedroom a week ago, when he told you he was fifty. A hesitant curiosity, an incessant suspicion, a bark of disbelief. You feel the desire to pluck the feeling out of him and swallow it whole. To lock it safely inside yourself and make it so he never has to feel it again.

So you lean in a press your lips against his. Painfully soft, just a whisper of two mouths slotting together. Chapped and dry from the wind, he tastes like bitter sparkling wine. You sigh into him, uncaring. Hook your ankle around his, place your hand on his thigh, and sink closer, deeper.

He pulls back an inch, mouth still hovering over yours, the tip of his nose pressed into your cheek.

“Shouldn’t do this here,” he warns quietly, eyes still closed. His breath is hot against your face, and you inhale the taste of mint and Cava and Joel.

“I know.” You grip the lapel of his blazer and kiss him again. Firmer this time, grazing your tongue along the seam of his lips until he welcomes you inside to taste behind his teeth. The frame of his glasses presses into your nose, your cheeks, and you smile into his mouth. Rough palms and lazy fingertips graze the skin of your bicep, your neck, until they find a home at the nape of your neck. His thumb presses against the hinge of your jaw, hot wet tongue working your mouth open until you’re whining, teeth nipping at his bottom lip and fingernails digging into the meat of his thigh.

Only when you move to press a hand beneath the collar of his shirt does Joel pull back again, this time to stand and take a step away from the bench. A tinge of scarlet creeps its way from the hollow of his throat to the apple of his cheeks. He clears his throat and glances over his shoulder, towards the door. When he looks back, there’s something new there. Some dangerous that flashes in his eyes and lingers when his gaze dances down the curve of your body against the seat.

“Where are you staying?” you ask, breathless.

For a minute he doesn’t answer. Simply stares, contemplating, broad chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The lenses of his glasses are fogged, and you watch them slowly clear.

Then— “The Pendry.”

Joel reaches into his pocket and retrieves something small and laminated. You take it from his outstretched palm carefully. “Fifth floor.”

You stare at it for a moment. Turn it over in your palm once, twice. Read the room number printed on the key card before tucking it safely into your purse. When you look up again, Joel is already walking back inside.

It’s nearing midnight by the time you arrive at the Pendry – a high rise in Manhattan West, the kind with a fancy lobby and a doorman in a neat black suit. The polar opposite of the hotel where your suitcase lies unopened across the city. You feel out of place in an instant, but you’re still in your dress, and the staff don’t bat an eye at your presence. The key card he gave you is hot where your fingers curl around it, plastic damp and foggy with the sweat from your palms. By the time you reach his door you have to wipe it on your dress before the sensor will recognise it.

A hollow beep echoes through the hall, and his door presses open with a soft hiss.

The room is enveloped in darkness. Moonlight shines in through a slim gap in the curtains, highlighting vague edges of the space. A desk against the wall, a large bed on the left of the room. For a moment you consider that he isn’t here—that he got caught up at the conference, sweet talking into the midnight hour with other professors and alums. You can hear sounds from the street, music and car horns blaring, even from the fifth floor. But nothing else. No Joel.

Tentatively, you take a step inside the room. And then another. Kick your heels off and feel rough carpet hairs sift between your toes. Holding your hands out into the darkness, fingertips ghosting the wall for support, you venture further into the room, only pausing when your shin thumps against the corner of something sharp and sturdy.

You spit a surprised curse and stumble into the wall, hands falling to grip your leg where it throbs and smarts.

“Jesus fuck,” you hiss, smoothing your fingers against the already forming lump.

A lamp flicks on, and the room lurches into view, tinged in a soft yellow light. You jump, eyes squinting against the sudden brightness. Bed sheets rumple and shift, and Joel is frowning at you from his place amongst the pillows, a hand raising to drowsily scratch his chin.

“The hell are you doin’?” he rasps.

Heat flares in your face as you straighten up, mirroring his frown. He moves slow, a sluggish stretch out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and he looks almost concerned. It gives you pause for a moment, eyes unsure of where to settle, as you note just how much of his body you’ve never seen before. The soft muscles in his legs, the dark hair over tan skin. You can see the slight round of his stomach through the thin fabric of the shirt.

“Were you asleep?” you accuse.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” Joel mutters, and the sound is a fractured medley of words and yawns. You feel a dull pang of disappointment in your chest as you watch him rub sleep from the corner of his left eye.

“Were you hoping I wouldn’t?”

He doesn’t respond.

“You gave me a key.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“Of course I was going to come.”

He nods. Yawns again, hand snaking upward to cover his open mouth.

You turn your back on him slowly. Take a glass from the little kitchenette and let the faucet run a cool burst of water into it. Little specks of water splash up, dotting against your hand. Your feet ache from wearing those damn heels all day, but you wilfully ignore the pain, gulping down half the glass while staring at your reflection in the splashback. Blue dress, hair tucked behind your ears, charcoal smudged around the curve of your eyes.

Joel’s fingers wind around yours, peeling the glass from your clutch so he can steal the final few sips. He discards it on the counter and leans against it. You try to make out his expression in the shadowy light, wiping your water-dotted arm against your side.

“S’a good dress.” He looks more alert suddenly, eyes sharp and focused, wide shoulders squared.

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

“Didn’t say anything about it earlier.”

“Was tryin’ not to think about it,” he says plainly. “And how badly I wanted to take it off.”

Your hand stills. That misplaced disappointment slips out of the room, an unwelcome third party, and you grin at him. A sleazy, sleepy smile, and walk backwards in the direction of the bed without taking your eyes off of him.

“So take it off,” you challenge.

Your heartbeat is a steady thrum against your breastbone as he crosses the room. Badoom, badoom, no less than three strides and he’s there, gripping your waist to turn you so his chest is against your back.

Your zip is a low whir in the air, spinning downward slowly, slowly, from the nape of your neck to the sloping base of your spine. Deft hands trace skin, grazing every mark, every freckle as they are revealed to him, until the material of your dress is a gaping smile across your back. You shiver as the air rushes to meet your bare flesh, and then careful—cautious—you feel a pair of lips press against the top of your spine, soft pink against steely vertebrae. You say his name, low and surprised, and he doesn’t say anything. Those hands push the dress down your arms, and you watch it tremble and fall, a mess of blue at your feet.

You can hear his breathing; the way it stutters and jumps as he traces the clasp of your bra, the arch of your spine beneath it.

“Take it off,” you say again, and feel a sharp scratch of desperation that perhaps this time he won’t deny you this. This something that you’ve not experienced even once, and yet you find yourself missing.

The idea of his skin against yours is something prophetic, something inevitable, something divine—something determined far before the two of you met in that bar. It’s out of your control or his, irrevocable—a beast bred from desire that claws and snaps at the bars of its cage, calling you kicking and screaming into each other’s arms.

His fingers pluck at the clasp, and you smile. Sigh in relief as your bra hits the floor and the weight of your breasts are borne to the increasingly warm air. Joel is still behind you, still not seeing you. But broad palms splay across your back, massaging and flexing into your skin as they roam your sides, your stomach, up your front to cup your breasts. You gasp, eyelids fluttering as he squeezes softly, palms warm and solid against the stiff peaks of your nipples.

“Fuck.” Joel’s nose buries itself in your hair, his forehead against the back of your head. Your legs shake, and you lean back into his chest, your body a soft and tremulous thing that would surely float away if he weren’t here to hold you up.

His hands are on your breasts, sweet and tender and finally, and you wonder how long this wanting will feel like burning. Like nicks of flame that gloss over you and spit embers at anyone who dares to get too close—at him, sparking and sputtering as they collide in a spitfire symphony. This man who lives set ablaze in his own right. This man who welcomes your flame every time—swallows it whole, and lays kisses against the back of your neck with lips still warm.

Calloused fingers roll and circle your nipples, playing gently, listening for every gasp, every sigh, before diligently repeating whatever it was that called the sound forward. Your underwear is all but ruined, already damp and clinging to the slick skin between your thighs. And you can feel him against your lower back, albeit unmoving—not grinding against you, not pushing you down onto the bed, but waiting – for what, you can’t be sure.

You turn around faster than he can stop you. Hook fingers into the band of your panties and drag them down in a swift movement before straightening, holding his gaze all the while. And Joel—

He looks in pain. Dark eyes lock onto on your face and don’t stray. Don’t dip downward, don’t glance around the room. His hands hang by his sides, palms facing upward in a dejected fashion, jaw slack as he just—waits.

“Why won’t you look at me?” you whisper.

“You don’t….” he shakes his head. “If I look, I won’t be able to forget. And I—I can’t—”

There’s a flash of that memory again. Sweating in the dark bathroom of a bar in Portland. Joel wiping stained lipstick from your chin. The words I’m gonna remember this dripping from his swollen lips.

You take a step forward. Feel your nipples graze the soft material of his shirt. “And what if I don’t want you to forget?”

He says your name quietly, shoulders tense. But when you grip the hem of his shirt, he doesn’t stop you. Rather, he lifts his arms and lets you drag the fabric over his head. You marvel at the bare skin, eyes dancing across jutting collarbones and the soft swell of his stomach. Watch the way his chest rises and falls as stilted breaths flurry inside him before spilling into the air between you. Admire the trail of dark hair that rests between his bellybutton and the soft band of his underwear. His eyes don’t leave your face as you push the boxers down his legs.

“So handsome,” you say and Joel exhales, hands hovering a hairsbreadth from your waist. The weight of the moment hangs heavy between you. This moment of more. To be with him like this feels like more. To be naked feels like more.

You grip his hand and raise it to your breast again. Squeeze your fingers over his. His thumb flicks across your nipple and you gasp. His eyes darken, nostrils flaring as he fights to restrain himself.

“Joel,” you whisper. “Look at me.”

Finally, he does. Those brown eyes flickering downward to rake in the sight of your body.

He’s on you in a second, mouth slanting desperately against yours while his hands drift aimlessly across skin, untethered in their access. Fingers pinching and grabbing and squeezing, teeth searing at your lips, and you gasp as his cock presses against your stomach. The long, thick weight of him, drooling and needy. Your fingers slip around him, rub softly over the underside of his head, the vein on the underside of him. Joel grips your wrist and pushes you backward a step, his lips leaving yours with a wet smack.

“Sit on the bed,” he orders firmly.

You wander backward, stumbling onto the edge of the bed when your calves collide with the heavy wooden base. He watches you, hand drifting to wrap around the base of his cock. He strokes himself gently, black eyes tracing vigilantly over every inch of your body. And you expect him to push you down, to crawl on top of you. Instead, you watch with bated breath as Joel drops to his knees in front of you. His knees crack as they bend but he ignores it, nudging your thighs apart so his broad frame can fit between them. Hooded eyes gaze between your thighs, roaming across all of the bare skin on show. Slowly, he lifts a hand and rests it gently on your mound. Calloused fingers stroke over the dark hair there, stroking through the short curls. You sigh and cant your hips up, but Joel only grunts, his free hand squeezing your thigh to hold you against the mattress.

Before you can process it, he’s leaning forward, nose nestling in your hair as his warm tongue parts your folds. You groan in unison, your fingers carding through his curls to hold him against you. He murmurs something that you don’t quite catch over the roaring in your ears, but you don’t care. Too caught up in a smooth slide of his mouth slotting against you. The flat of his tongue glides up and down your sex, smearing a mess of slick and saliva in his wake. You gasp as it flicks sharply across your clit, your jaw tensing at the harsh sensation. Joel notices—pulls back.

“Tell me,” he urges.

“Slower,” you say quickly, voice feeble and desperate.

“Slower,” Joel repeats with a nod, and he massages your thighs as he licks into you, fingernails scraping your skin as his grip tightens and loosens and tightens and loosens. He traces slow circles around your clit with the flat of his tongue that have you gasping and bucking against his face. And when his tongue presses inside of you, you moan, fingers twisting in his hair and tugging.

“Fuck,” he growls into you, and he likes that. You do it again and his eyes flick open, pupils blown, gaze darting wildly across your stomach, your arms, your breasts, your face – watching, admiring, taking in every detail of the offering that you’ve laid so generously at his altar. The tip of a finger curls inside you and he grins when your thighs tense around him. He rears his head back to watch how you welcome him inside, eyes locked on the way your weeping cunt clenches and drips around one of his fingers, and then another.

“Yeah,” you sigh, nose scrunching at the slight stretch. “Yeah, like that, fuck.”

“Look at you,” he mutters. “Christ.” And then the cut of his wet red mouth is back on you, lips parting to suck against your clit until you’re crying out, voice a hoarse shout as you speed rapidly towards your end.

“Shit, Joel,” you gasp. One of your legs kicks out straight and his hand drops from your thigh, one set of fingers working you open while the other comes up to part your lips, giving himself more access. As he lathes wet kisses against you, the coarse hairs of his beard scraping your inner thighs, you can feel it. That liquid heat that coils and stirs in the base of your stomach.

“Joel, I—ohh—I think I’m gonna come,” you whimper, hand shooting out to grip his shoulder. Your nails dig into the tense muscle there, using the leverage to rut your hips against his face.

He groans into your sex, fingers moving faster, unforgiving against that spongy spot deep inside that sets you alight. His teeth graze against your clit, the lightest brush, and your stomach is tensing, every muscle in your body locking up.

“Give it t’me,” he says gruffly. “That’s it, come on, baby.”

A choked gasp falls from your lips and then you’re coming, twitching against his face, pussy bearing down on thick fingers that stoke you through the high. Your hand leaves his shoulder to grip the back of his neck, holding his face against where you’re aching for him still. Joel moans, a low sound from deep in his chest, dragging his fingers away so he can drink down every heady drop of your orgasm.

Baby.

The word rings in your head, bouncing inside your skull, a fierce ricochet. Baby.

Trembling fingers feather across the cowlick at the crown of his head, twisting and petting soft wayward curls as his mouth pulls back, a wet drag across the skin of your hip. You catch a glimpse of his cock, heavy and throbbing between his thighs.

Joel’s teeth nip at the sensitive skin of your thigh, a sharp pinch that makes you flinch. Tired muscles tensing, face twisting up as he sucks and licks, hot tongue soothing over the stinging red mark. He breathes your name, mouthing the sound into your flesh once, twice.

“I’ve been tryna remember this,” he murmurs. “Only ever had it for a second.”

You whimper as he licks into you again, slowly. And you’re so sensitive, and maybe—maybe—it’s too much, too soon, but he doesn’t care. He grips your calf and tucks it over his shoulder. Holds it there in a vice grip.

“Wasn’t enough,” he says. Dark eyes look up and you’re rapt in them—bound and boneless simply from having those eyes on you you you nothing but you all he sees is you and he loves it, you can tell. Thrives on the way you melt beneath his rough fingertips, the wet drag of his tongue. “Remember that first day in my office?

Remember, remember, remember, how could you forget? I’m gonna remember this this this.

“Yes.” Your leg trembles against the side of face, the coarse hairs of his beard scratching your skin. The tip of his tongue lathes slow circles around your clit. A cruel, leisurely slip of flesh on flesh that has you gasping and twitching beneath his hands.

“I wanted this that day,” Joel rasps. “Needed it. But you were gone so soon, ‘n’ I couldn’t help myself.”

“What—oh fuck—” He flicks his tongue faster, hot swipes from side to side that have your thigh clamping down against the muscles in his neck. Your mind is a blur, eyebrows furrowed as you try to make sense of his words.

“Fucked my fist the second you left,” he growls. “My fingers in my mouth, the taste of you—Christ, couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“Joel,” you gasp, impatient. “I—get up here. Please, just—”

Strong hands push you up, push you back, further onto the bed until your head hits the pillows. His hair is a wild fray around his head, knotted and mussed from your fingers raking through it.

“I don’t have anything,” he says.

“I don’t care,” you say.

His knees press onto the mattress on either side of you and his eyes glance down your chest before he grips your waist and he’s turning you. Your stomach meets the sheets and you move to arch your back, to tilt your hips up towards him, but a firm hand rests on the small of your back, and keeps you down.

“Like this,” you hear him say. “Trust me.”

His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel him there, knuckles brushing the flesh of your ass, spreading you apart so his cock can press inside. The pillow swallows your wet gasp, and your eyes pinch shut against the stretch as he sinks deeper and deeper. Every delicious inch splits you open wider, further, carving out that space that’s just for him, and it’s more. Your vision blurs and you clutch at the sheets, fingers tangling in linen as Joel’s breathy groans fill the air.

“God,” he grunts. “Always so fuckin’—tight.”

You cry out as he begins to move, pressing you further into the mattress. The stretch of him is so broad—so deep—it has hot tears pricking in your eyes. Your legs are straight, almost clamped together, leaving the smallest gap for him to break through. His chest melts against your back, sweet sweat sliding from skin to skin. And his stomach is soft against the base of your spine, but his teeth are sharp where they nip and smart against the skin of your shoulder, your neck. He sets a pace that has you biting down into the pillow to muffle your groans. It’s almost overbearing how good it feels, how he surrounds you. Flat against the mattress, there’s nowhere to hide from the pleasure, no way to twist or curl your body away from how good it feels. A choked moan is muffled by the pillow.

And then his fingers are in your hair, dragging your head up.

“What are you fuckin’ doin’?” he grunts. You gasp, eyebrows furrowed and mouth ajar as you take take take. He pulls your hair harder when you don’t respond, presses his chin against your shoulder, lips curling against the skin of your neck as he speaks. “Don’t do that, not here. No more hidin’, I wanna fuckin’ hear it.”

He grips your hips and drags you upward so you’re on your knees, bracing against your forearms, and then his hand snakes around the front of your body, fingers dragging between your thighs as he begins moving again.

“Oh fuck,” your eyes widen in surprise, jaw hanging slack as he rolls his finger in expert circles over your clit. “Fuck, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he gasps.

“Fuck,” you repeat, mewling every time one of his thrusts sends your face forward into the pillows. “Yes, oh god.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust of his hips. “That’s it, lemme hear it.”

“Joel,” you cry out, voice cracked and broken. “So good.”

“I know, baby,” he grunts. “I know.”

“You’re so—deep,” you gasp.

“I know,” he soothes.

“I missed this,” you babble, mouth moving faster than your mind. “Missed you.”

“Christ,” he spits, pulling you up until you’re leaning against his chest. His fingers are a blur against your clit, cock a fast wet shift in and out in and out.

You tilt your head back against his shoulder, mouth hanging open as you press your ass back into him.

“Missed me?” Joel says, and his cheek is warm against yours. Wet. Your face is wet. “Gonna show me how much?”

“Yes,” you moan. His free hand grips your breast, squeezing and pinching.

“Need to get my fuckin’ mouth on you,” he growls.

“No,” you beg. “Joel, don’t—fuuuck, fuck, don’t stop.”

“Wanted to,” his hips stutter against you, losing momentum for a second. “Jesus, wanted to take my fuckin’ time.” You snake a hand behind his head to grip his hair again, to press his face into your neck. His mouth latches onto your skin, spit mixing with sweat where his teeth and tongue trace your roaring pulse. Your thighs are trembling, knees weak and wobbling against the mattress as he pistons into you, unrelenting, unforgiving.

“I’m—” your eyes start to roll back. You can feel your back arch and twist against him, toes curling into the sheets. “Oh my God.”

He says your name in a panicked hiss and pulls out.

You gasp at the loss, eyes flying open in alarm. He moves your body, not wasting a second as he lowers you down onto your back presses inside again, hands gripping the underside of your knees, holding them against your chest. Practically bent in half, you tremble in his grasp, eyes blurred and wet as you sob his name.

“Lemme have it,” he goads you, voice a dull vibration against your chest. “Bein’ so fuckin’ good for me, yeah, just like that.”

And it feels like something splinters within you as heat floods your senses, vision whiting out until all you can see is the soft edges of his curls against your chest, the wet smear of his tongue over your nipple. All you can hear is the words he speaks against your skin.

I’m close, he warns, and you say yes, say please, say I want it, because you do.

“Where?” You call the shots.

And you say, Inside, say, I want it, because you do.

Because you want everything. Everything he has and whatever dark matter is left after that. And everything is a naked thought, a stark realisation, a frighteningly bare streak of madness that zips down your spine and melts in your belly, and you can feel yourself tightening around him with the enormity of it. Can feel your body squeezing and sucking and holding it holding it holding it and with black eyes, spheres of a night sky’s pitch, he stares at you. Unruly eyebrows pinched tight. Mouth slick and swollen and snarling, white teeth grit like prison bars, keeping everything contained inside himself, just out of your reach.

“Fuck,” Joel spits, pleading, desperate. “Don’t—”

But his hips are bruising against yours and you relish in the ache. The jut of bone amidst the softness of his skin, a reminder of the coldness in him, the determination, the impatience. And you know that you can only have so much softness until there is stone. But you cannot understand don’t, you never have with him, so you grind upward. Meet him thrust for thrust, and shiver in delight as a tortured expression passes over his face. And when you come again he curses, broad palms bearing down on you, holding your frame into the mattress as he pushes you through it, prolonging that naked thought, that fearsome idea. You only hope that he cannot see how your own everything spills. How it cools and congeals around him with its palms spread open, longing to receive as much in return.

Joel comes with a shout, hips dragging backwards so his spend can spill across your stomach and the puffy lips of your sex. He grips his cock, milking himself for all he’s worth until wet ropes of his come are smeared across your thighs too. You gasp and writhe against the bed, trying in vain to keep your heavy eyelids open, not wanting to miss a second. The shine of your slick on his thighs and lower stomach is clear in the dim lighting, and you smile at the sight of it – your claim on him. Chest heaving, he follows your gaze, fingers swiping across his skin before sinking into his mouth. He groans around his fingers and you stomach lurches as he lowers his chest to the bed, mouth drifting between your splayed thighs.

You cup his jaw and hold him still.

“I can’t,” you murmur, and your voice is cracked and broken. “S’too much.”

And he agrees, tracing the marks on the inside of your thighs with his mouth until your eyes drift closed.

Time passes slowly after that. You don’t open your eyes for a while. Too fucked out, too tired, too tender.

There’s a warm glide of something soft and wet over your stomach, your thighs, between your legs—Joel cleaning up his mess. You almost wish he wouldn’t.

“Sorry,” you mumble a few minutes later. “I’ll go in a second.” But your eyes are closed, and the sheets smell like him.

You feel the mattress dip beside you. Hear a soft click as he turns off the lamp, and darkness swells around you once more.

“S’okay,” he says, and his voice is so close, as if he were whispering against the shell of your ear, breathing the words into you. “Don’t have to go.”

And it makes sense not to go. To stay, to stay, to stay. To sink deeper into the hotel mattress, and let the sounds of his heavy exhales lull you further to sleep. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t come any closer. But you can smell him. Can feel his warmth, a radiating sun that shines across the side of your body closest, and you sink deeper still.

You think of the katabasis - the hero’s journey spiralling down into the underworld. Of Orpheus seeking the safe return of Eurydice, his love lost too soon. Of Odysseus, guided by Circe to discover Teiresias on his quest for homecoming. Of Aeneid, venturing downward to meet his father and hear his true destiny. This descent into the afterlife, into the realm of the dead, wherein upon return our hero is irrevocably changed. But to stay, to stay, to stay. So warm it is here, you think, so lovely and warm to descend wholly into this wanting, this burning, this everything.

“Is this a good idea?” you murmur, voice a drowsy call into the darkness. “For me to stay?”

Joel doesn’t respond.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @bbyanarchist @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @@lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5 @psychedelic-ink @what-is-your-wish @sugadolly @elissaaa @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul

thank you for reading! x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #ALP #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut

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hairyjocktf · 6 days

Text

Greek Vacation

It was finally June, and Alex could barely sleep. He’d worked his ass off the last year in college to avoid having to take summer classes, which meant he could join the rest of his family on their trip to Greece. His mom had apparently won tickets or miles or something through her job, he couldn’t remember. All that mattered was he was going to Greece! It was finally time to relax and unwind from the insanely stressful last few months. He’d gone over his packing list six, seven times now; he was absolutely sure he was ready. His family was meeting him at the airport, so he was just pacing now, waiting on that text to start moving. The phone on the countertop buzzed and he lunged for it. It was time.

Alex grabbed his oversized suitcase and lugged it down the stairs of his apartment building out to the street. He hopped on the bus and found a seat. He was giddy, this trip was his dream trip as a kid, and now he was finally getting to go. He’d helped plan out their whole itinerary, from the Acropolis to the ruins at Delphi and so so many more. Before he knew it, they were dropping him at the airport. Inside the chaotic lobby he managed to spot his parents, his dad was already wearing a massive sun hat which helped. The next hour was a blur getting their bags checked, through security, and corralling everyone to the gate. Then began the longest part of the trip: the flight. Alex had brought noise canceling headphones and an extra strong dose of melatonin that he prayed would do the job. And miraculously, it did. Nearly ten hours later he woke up to the sounds of the plane landing, and next thing he knew they were in a cab headed into Athens.

The cab pulled up to their hotel, depositing them and their bags at the foot of a beautiful white building with a grand entrance. This part was his mother’s domain. She ushered everyone inside and got them to their room in no time. Alex was unpacking and setting his stuff out when he realized he couldn’t find his phone charger. He tore everything out of his suitcase and backpack, trying desperately to find it. Nothing. He must’ve left it in his haste getting out the door, after all his phone was plugged in while he was waiting.

Shit, he thought, before solemnly announcing the news to his family.

“We’ll stop by a store or something and get you a new one, it's fine,” his mother said, buried in her own suitcase. What a start to the trip. Alex sat on the side of his bed looking out the window at the building next door, kicking his legs waiting for them to get going. Finally, after another 30 minutes, they were getting back out the door.

Alex and his family started wandering through the massive metropolis of Athens, surrounded by white buildings and the intense noise of a city. Only a few blocks away they came upon a massive street market, with locals selling everything imaginable. Fruits, street food, bags, shirts, phones, you name it. Surely, Alex thought, they would sell a phone charger here. He squeezed up and down through tight corridors of shops, flooded with people. He was deep into the market when his path was blocked with a crowd. He turned around, only to find the way he came in also packed tight with tourists. He was stuck. As panic started to set in, Alex heard a deep, husky voice from the stall behind him.

“You there, tourist boy,” the voice said, and Alex whipped around to see a large man with dark olive skin, and the hairiest body he’d ever seen. It was on his fingers, hands, forearms, and crawled out of his open shirt solidly up to the thick bushy beard on his face that nearly hid all his features. Alex was frozen, taking in the sight of this man. He was snapped out of his daze by the man speaking again.

“You look tired, boy. Did you just arrive?” he looked Alex in the eyes.

Alex was jumbling his words, “Uh, yes, yea I did. But I slept! I shouldn’t be tired.. I don’t think…”

The man grabbed his hand and pulled it towards him. “Here boy, this will help you,” he said in his thick accent. He took out a small beaded bracelet and slipped it onto Alex’s wrist, tying it tight.

“Uhh, thanks?” Alex remarked, a little confused about the whole situation. The moment was interrupted by his mother’s voice piercing through the crowd.

“Alex!! Alex!! Are you over here?” Alex jerked his head towards the voice, starting to back away from the man.

“Enjoy your trip, boy,” the man said, releasing his arm and giving a slight wave. Alex turned away and pushed through the throng of people in his way, eventually reaching his mother.

“Alex! Thank god you’re okay, we lost you immediately. Here, we found someone selling chargers,” she handed him a cord, not even noticing the bracelet on his wrist. “Alright, let’s get back on track today, shall we?” she put some pep in her voice. As the family squeezed through the crowded Athenian streets, Alex failed to notice a slight itch where the bracelet clung to his wrist.

The summer sun beat down on them as they slowly made their way up the hills of Athens. Alex was sweating buckets, the back of his shirt absolutely drenched. He looked over in envy at his dad’s sun hat that he had mocked earlier. After what felt like an eternity, they made it to the base of the acropolis. Alex’s dad groaned at the sight of not only immense crowds, but another massive rock they had to climb. Alex was undeterred however, his eyes lit up with the sight of the ruins atop the hill. This was what he’d been waiting for, and he let nothing get in his way as he dragged his family into the crowd to get closer. The slight itch under the bracelet continued, unbeknownst to Alex. His skin under it was darkening to an olive shade, slowly creeping up his arm and down towards his hand. Where the darker tone had spread, hairs began popping up, thick black hairs in contrast to his light brown wispy hairs. They continued to sprout, growing in between the last, creating a dense, curly coat. The back of his hand was next, the same black hairs wriggling out. Soon enough, his forearm stuck out like a sore thumb next to the rest of his pale body, yet no one seemed to notice.

The next couple hours were heaven for Alex. He explored the acropolis with his family, pointing out everything he’d researched and explaining even more. Between the numerous ruins and museums, the rest of the day was jam packed with artifacts. Alex even found himself remembering facts about spots he didn’t remember researching. The other constant of the day was the sun. It beat down on them from above with the full force of a Mediterranean summer, sweat constantly dripping from his forehead. It seemed like significantly more than usual for Alex, but he chalked it up to the different climate, and how much they’d been walking. Under his soaked shirt, however, his body was adapting. The deep olive color had spread all the way up his arm, with the forest of hair following, coating his upper arm. The hairs crawled over his inflating shoulder, sprinkling it with black wisps. His bicep has also grown substantially, almost like he was a regular gym-goer, matching his now beefier hand and forearm.

The sun-kissed shade continued to spread, imposing itself over his chest. Not long after, his chest began growing. It pushed out two meaty pecs, skin stretching to accommodate the immense muscles growing in slowly. His chest was sore as years of workouts applied themselves at once. The crisp definition melted somewhat as his form softened, fat layering itself onto his chest and further down as a thick muscle gut grew in. His stomach pressed tight against his shirt, stretching it to its limit. As the muscle pushed out of his frame, so did the hairs. Small black hairs began rearing their heads around his growing nipples, pushing out like thick shoots of grass. The hairs radiated away from his nipples, surging across the open fields of his pectorals, burying them in a black, curly forest. They grew longer and thicker, matting together into a rug across his chest that scratched against his shirt. The fur coat grew denser in the center of his pecs and right below, making them look like real pillow cushions. His gut tingled as the hairs began erupting, swirling together and giving his belly a thick black coat to match. By the time Alex and his family were headed to dinner it looked like he’d eaten plenty, putting on dozens of pounds.

They sat down at a street-side restaurant that Alex had recommended, exhausted after a very active first day. While they browsed the menu, Alex scratched loosely at an itch above the neckline of his shirt. The wave of darker skin tone had slowly been inching up his neck, leading a wave of black hairs. His chest fur had overtaken his collarbone and continued to spread. His neck remained bare until, suddenly, a single dark hair sprouted above his shirt. It was black, thick, and curly. Seconds later, a second hair joined it, shooting out from his shirt collar. More and more began sprouting, giving Alex a thick dark tuft of hair curling over his shirt. This was just the beginning, though. The dark hairs climbed up his neck, following the wave of olive complexion. Alex’s lean face cracked as it widened, jaw growing thick and square. His brow jutted out and his nose grew more prominent as his face took on the darker tone. His wavy brown hair pulled back some, turning black and more curly. The itching grew as a shadow developed across his jaw, darkening as thick stubble emerged from the bare skin. The scruff seemed to age Alex up a good few years, he seemed like a real adult with the stubble, hairy forearms, and chest hair pushing out of his shirt.

As they ate, Alex briefed his parents on their plan for the next day, starting with an early bus out to Delphi. He already knew the exact times, costs, and routes to take for the perfect day. His parents were impressed at how well researched he was, not noticing the dark scruff covering their son’s face. They finished up dinner and caught a cab home, knowing they had to be up at the crack of dawn the next day.

The next morning came quickly, and with some disgruntled grumbling from his parents, they were off on their bus to Delphi. It was a three hour trip, so they settled into their seats and his parents tried to get a little more rest. Alex stared eagerly out the window, watching the mountains rush past with the sea behind. As the ride went on, he found himself shifting uncomfortably in his seat, like his body was agitated and he couldn’t figure out why. He tried to focus on the beautiful scenery and the maps of their destination instead. In reality, beneath his clothes, the slow moving wave of Mediterranean skin had crossed his muscle gut and reached his groin. It swept through his crotch, seeding the growth of new hair. His existent bush was sparse, and was quickly engulfed by the torrent of dark curly hairs that erupted from the base of his cock, spreading outward. Black hairs wormed out of his skin like weeds coating the entire area, pushing up towards his navel in a triangle pattern, and out onto his thighs.

Alex tried to subtly scratch at the area as the itching grew intense, using his map to hide his meaty hands groping the area. His flaccid cock absorbed the same olive color, and a thick foreskin stretched itself back over the head. It didn’t stay soft for long, engorging and pushing six, seven, eight inches in his pants. Alex shifted again to try and keep comfortable in his seat, but the growing rod was not helping him, leaving a massive imprint on his shorts. His bush continued to thicken, hairs sprouting between others, curling together into an impenetrable forest. The hairs even started climbing the base of his cock, popping out a ways up. There was a thud on the seat when Alex’s balls suddenly inflated to the size of baseballs, his sack growing furry as the same curly black hairs engulfed them. Alex had spread his legs as much as he could, he was practically on top of the guy in the seat next to him, and he was still feeling squeezed. He was about to reach his limit when the bus came to a stop. They had made it.

Like it was instinct, Alex gathered his parents and started their exploration of the site. He took them to the Temple of Apollo, the museum, and the spring. It was another relentlessly hot day, and within minutes he had started sweating buckets. He ignored it to continue guiding his parents around, but it began to take a toll. Underneath his arms, his paltry smattering of hair was starting to soak up some color, growing thicker and darker. The more sweat dripped from his pits the more hair began to shoot out of them, catching the drops and adding to the stench that began to waft from him. Throughout the morning, more and more hairs poked out from under his arms. His beefy arms weren’t able to hide the enormous tufts of hair that were pushing out of his pits, kept nice and damp from the heat.

They stopped briefly for lunch at a spot Alex knew and recommended, taking a break from the heat before they continued walking through the town. Alex scratched at his face, his fingers pulling through a little more hair than they had the night before. The meal was a nice reprieve, showcasing some delicious local cuisine to his parents. He took the chance to explain their next destinations, and before long they were back walking up the hills. Alex was glad he’d worn shorts today, it was brutal even for June. His exposed legs had begun taking on the same tone as the rest of him, no longer standing out as pale twigs. Curly hairs brushed against his shorts as they grew en masse, traveling from his pubes downward. The hairs pushed out of his growing thighs, a burgeoning field of dark curls spreading across them. His calves experienced the same, putting on size before getting engulfed with black hair.

They’d made it to the stadium and viewpoint at the top. Alex left the couple to take in the vista and address his current problem; his shoes were way too tight. Luckily, it seemed he’d worn sandals for the day. He bent over to loosen the straps, giving some breathing room to his now size 15 feet, not noticing the coarse hairs popping out across the tops of them. Even his toes were hairy now. He stood back up and looked out over the valley, scratching his ass that had been a little itchy. The same thick curly hairs had started bursting out of his crack, creating a furry mass between his cheeks. The hairs spread out, growing like weeds over the expanse of his ass. The sweat dripping down his widening back helped the hairs take root, and they shot upward sprouting from the small of his back. His lats grew darker as black fur erupted before climbing up to his neck and blending with the thick coating on his shoulders. The coarse curly hairs grew dense and long enough to push his damp shirt nearly an inch away from his body all around. Curly black hairs poked out of the back of his shirt collar too, mirroring the front side.

The sun had begun to hang lower in the sky, signaling it time to head back to the bus station. Alex’s legs had bulked up enough to handle the constant walking up and down, as he should be used to it by now. He guided the couple back down to the town and they got on their way back to Athens, another multi-hour journey. He felt his seat was even smaller this time, his body having swelled with muscle and mass throughout the day. As the bus bumped along the mountain roads, Alex stared at his reflection in the window. His short beard was pushing out. Hairs grew longer, curling together. More hairs sprouted to fill the gaps, climbing higher on his cheeks. The beard grew incredibly dense, adding another couple years to his face. He finally gave in and scooted over, taking up both seats. The bulky man then closed his eyes for an hour until the familiar noise of Athens began leaking through the windows.

They stopped at the station, and he grabbed the couple’s bags from the rack. WIth that motion, his short sleeve shirt that had been taught against his massive chest all day gave out, bursting open. His thick chest and belly and the incredible rug that covered them were exposed, but that was nothing out of the ordinary for him, especially in the summer. He lugged the bags to the curb and handed them over. The woman was exhausted looking, but still had a beaming smile.

“Oh, thank you so much Alexios! You’ve been amazing these last two days.” He swallowed, a large adam’s apple bulging out of his throat, “You’re very welcome. Enjoy the rest of your visit to Greece,” he said with a baritone voice and accent.

The man handed him a large stack of bills as a thank you, and the two headed off towards their hotel. Alexios sighed, it had been an exhausting day. And after all that, he needed to prepare for the new tourists he was to guide the next day.

Hey y'all, I was going to start on the poll story but it's been so close I couldn't predict it! So enjoy this race change tf in the mean time. Speaking of which, if you havent yet, go vote in the poll for the next story! There's still 2 days left.

#male tf #hairy tf #bear tf #race change #greek tf #hairy #hair growth #hairy chest #hairy pits #hairy back #beard #my writing

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joeys-babe · 3 months

Text

Joey B Imagines: Out of My League

————————————————————————-

Summary: Flashback. The story of how you and Joe came to be. Years before marriage and your little family.

Warnings: none, fluff

Pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

Imagine universe: Beginning of… Into The Mystic

A/N: Joe is a senior in high school and you are a junior. It's your first year at Athens HS! Also, most of these students' names are made up.

————————————————————————-

August, 2014

(Joe’s pov)

“Yo! Joey!” - Zach

I turned around to see one of my best friends running up to me.

“First day of senior year!” - Zach

“Yup! Just think about it, we’re like the big dogs now.” - Joe

“Ya know it. I heard that there's this really hot new chick coming from Kentucky.” - Zach

“Well, I don't want any part of that. I've got enough going on with football and schoolwork. Don't be surprised if my next girlfriend is in college.” - Joe

“Damn dude, that was pretty forward. You haven't even seen her yet. This could be your Juliette, Romeo!” - Zach

“I highly doubt it.” - Joe

We rounded the corner to find a few more of the football guys and a few of their girlfriends with them.

“Yeah, her name is y/n.” - Cassidy

“Who is?” - Joe

After making my presence known, Cassidy turned around and rolled her eyes at the sight of me.

“Dude, what was that for?” - Joe

“Shoo, Joe.” - Cassidy

“What, why?” - Joe

“Because I'd rather you leave than explain that we have a new girl just to hear you say you're focusing on football.” - Cassidy

“She’s got a point.” - Zach

“Who's side are you on?” - Joe rolled his eyes

Before Zach could answer, the bell rang, telling us to head to first period.

The group disbanded, and when everyone else went in the direction of the same classroom, I realized I was probably going to be alone in this class.

My first period was chemistry, and sadly, the teacher was notorious for a boy-girl seating chart.

I walked upstairs and found the room. When I walked in, everyone was in their seats already.

Looking for my name attached to a seat number on the board, I found it and then went on trying to find it.

The tables were for two people, and in the back corner where my table was, I saw that a girl was already occupying the other seat.

She was pretty, I won't lie, but I'd never seen her before.

The girl was looking down at her schedule when I sat my stuff down on the table, causing her to look up at me.

A warm smile spread across her lips, and I found myself studying her face a little too long.

“Hi.” - Joe

“Hey.” - you

I sat down next to her, my mind trying to come up with a conversation.

“Enjoying your first day so far?” - Joe

“Yeah, pretty well, you?” - you

“Same. Other than my friend’s girlfriend being rude to me for no reason.” - Joe

She laughed. It was one of the cutest laughs I've ever heard, and it was infectious too.

“I'm sure you didn't deserve it.” - you

“Thank you! I walked up to them, and she just rolled her eyes at me.” - Joe

“Dang man, she has beef with you.” - you

“That's what I'm sayin’. I don't know what I've ever done to her, though.” - Joe

“Ask her.” - you shrugged

“Nah, I don't care that much. Why am I even telling you this?” - Joe

“I don't know.” - you laughed

There's that laugh again.

“I just started unloading on you, huh? Well, I haven't seen you before so tell me about yourself.” - Joe

“Well, I'm a junior, so that's probably why. I'm not that interesting though. I strive for good grades, and I do gymnastics with a side of dance.” - you

“Oh really? I play football.” - Joe

“That's cool.” - you smiled

“Yeah, I’m feeling really good about this season, I just know it's gonna be great.” - Joe

“Well, I wish you luck.” - you

“I appreciate that, and you too. Hope gymnastics goes well.” - Joe

“Thank you.” - you smiled

Before the conversation could go further, the teacher started talking about what we should expect in this class. The teacher didn't stop me and my new seat buddy from talking, though.

As we talked longer, I realized we had a lot in common. I wouldn't be lying if I said she was the first girl I've talked to about Star Wars.

She was really fun, though, and easy to talk to.

Our conversation lasted till the bell rang, and we both sheepishly smiled when we realized that we'd been loudly talking in a quiet classroom.

I stood up and started packing my things. She did the same. The rest of the students were filing out of the room when we both put our backpacks on, seemingly in sync.

“I… I’m Joe, by the way. Joe Burrow, but most call me Joey.” - Joe

“It was nice talking to you, Joey. I'm y/n.” - you

She shook my hand and walked out of the door, leaving me shocked.

y/n… new hot girl from Kentucky.

After talking to her, it felt wrong to refer to her in that way. She was really pretty, but hot isn't a word I like to use when referring to girls.

I hope I have more classes with her. Woah, what am I saying?!

Focus on football, Joe.

——

Sadly, I didn't have any more classes with y/n, but I thankfully had friends in all my other classes.

I had lunch B, and most of my football buddies were in there, but I found myself zoning out while trying to look around the room for her.

Ever since the bell rang in chemistry, I haven't stopped thinking about y/n. It was becoming a slight problem, but it seemed like all I wanted was to go to chemistry tomorrow and talk to her.

After school ended, the football team stayed after school since we had our first home game the same day.

Hours later, we were suited up and ready to go out and stretch.

When we ran out and took the field as the senior quarterback, I was naturally the one leading the pack, but my eyes drifted toward the sideline.

One of the cheerleaders was flipping while the others were in stunts, but when she landed her last trick and posed, I gasped lightly when I saw who it was.

y/n.

That's how Cassidy knew her name! She’s a cheerleader!

“Joe! Where are you going?” - Zach

The sound of my teammate yelling snapped me out of my daydream, and I realized that when the rest of the team stopped running to stretch, I kept going because all I was paying attention to was y/n.

“Oh.” - Joe

I turned around and ran to where I was supposed to be, but when I turned around, y/n was smiling at me. I smiled back.

——

We ended up winning the game, which is always amazing, but even better since it was our home opener.

After walking back into the locker room to hear what the coaches had to say, I showered and packed up to find my parents.

I wasn't at all surprised when most of the cheerleaders were standing outside waiting. Most of their boyfriends were players, so they'd wait after for them.

My eyes landed on my parents and brothers, but as I was walking in their direction, I heard a familiar voice calling for me.

“Joe!” - you

I turned in the direction of the voice to see y/n speedwalking over to me with a smile on her face.

“Hey, y/n.” - Joe smiled

“Hey, you did well! I knew you said you played football but I wasn't expecting that. You're super good.” - you

Is it hot out here all of a sudden? Why is my face heating up?

“Thanks. You're really good too. I know those flips are hard to do. You make it look effortless.” - Joe

“Thanks… sorry I distracted you though.” - you

“Not your fault, I just wasn't expecting to see you. You look uh… good, by the way.” - Joe

“You too.” - you giggled

Just as I was about to say something else, I heard my mom's voice calling for me.

“Sorry, that's my mom. I gotta go.” - Joe

“It's all good. See you in chem?” - you

“See you in chem.” - Joe

As I walked away from her, I felt something I'd never felt before.

Oh no.

——

Next Day

It was Friday and lunchtime.

All my teammates were feeling good after the win yesterday, and sure, I was too, but that wasn't what was on my mind.

This morning in chemistry, I found myself lost in a conversation with y/n again. The disappointment when the bell rang was insane. I never wanted to stop talking to her.

She was just different.

The attention she got from other guys was because of her looks, and she was pretty, gosh, she was pretty… but I didn't like being around her for that.

We had a lot in common and never ran out of things to talk about. She listened to what I had to say and gave great feedback. We talked about our futures and what we wanted to be when we graduated.

I told her about my hopes of going to the league, and what she replied with gave me a flutter in my stomach that I'd never felt before.

“If you make it to the NFL, you have to invite me to come see you.”

I’d known this girl for two days and I was already ready to make that promise.

My mind was so stuck on that altercation that I didn't hear Zach talking to me from across the table.

“Joe? Joe!” - Zach

I flinched slightly and looked up at him, all the guys at the table watching me with weird looks on their faces.

“Sorry… I spaced out.” - Joe

“Anyway, Cassidy told me that y/n was asking about you at their lunch.” - Zach

“What? What'd she ask?” - Joe

Should my heart be beating this fast?

“Asked if you had a girlfriend, I guess. Don't worry, though, Cas told her that you're focusing on football.” - Zach

“Oh. Okay.” - Joe

Is that really what I want?

“She’s so funny to tease.” - Chad

“Seriously, she's got cheerleader brain.” - Max

Why are they talking about her like that??

“I gotta go.” - Joe

I stood up from the lunch table, quickly finding a trashcan and throwing my stuff away before walking out of the lunch room.

“What’s his problem?” - Max

“I don't know, bro.” - Chad

Zach knew because he was right. What he told me yesterday was haunting me.

Romeo, this could be your Juliette.

——

My thoughts ran wild as I went to the office and asked to do some volunteer work.

The receptionist gave me the okay to go down to the middle school for the remainder of the lunch period.

I drove over to the middle school and went up to the office, clicking the button to signal the office worker that I was out there.

When the door unlocked I was able to open it. I did, and whose eyes I met surprised me.

“y/n?” - Joe

“Oh, hey Joe.” - you

“What are you doing here?” - Joe

“Gonna head to a class to volunteer, I have a free period right now. Aren't you supposed to be in lunch?” - you

“Well, yeah, but I had to get out of there.” - Joe

“Why’s that?” - you

Her brows were furrowed like she could hear the slight edge in my voice.

“Some of the guys were saying stuff about you, kinda pissed me off, so I left.” - Joe

“What? You left because of that? I’m used to it, Joe. I'm just a dumb cheerleader.” - you

“You're not, though, that's why I didn't want to listen to it. I've only known you for two days, but I look forward to every conversation we share. They don't know you as I do.” - Joe

y/n placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled at me. Her eyes gave off a grateful look.

“You're the first person who’s made attempts to get to know me, and I appreciate it.” - you

“Not even your teammates?” - Joe

“I love ‘em, but they're not the Star Wars type like you are.” - you

“Yeah… I'm pretty cool like that.” - Joe

“Oh, whatever!” - you rolled your eyes

We laughed with each other before the receptionist cleared her throat. Both y/n and I froze when we realized where we were.

“Oh, sorry!” - you

“You guys can both go to room 379 if you’d like, seems like you two have a spark.” - receptionist

I rubbed the back of my neck nervously, but y/n smiled at the older lady and walked through the double doors into the building.

There weren't any words shared between us as we walked to the room, both of us were thinking about what the woman had said. Do we have a spark?

——

Ten minutes into hanging out with the sixth graders, the teacher sent y/n and me to the copy room.

“Hey, have you thought about formal?” - Joe

“What about it?” - you

Winter formal wasn't coming until December, obviously, but I felt the need to ask.

“Like are you going? Date ideas?” - Joe

“I figured I'd go, yeah. I don't know who I'm gonna go with, though. Might just go with friends, the guys here aren't the best.” - you

“Ouch.” - Joe

“Hey, I don't count you with them. You’re separate.” - you

“I think that's good.” - Joe

“It is. You're a jock, but a nice one, you know? I like you.” - you

My face dropped as I looked at her, feeling my cheeks flush and my stomach flop.

“Not in that way!” - you rushed to say

“Oh… okay.” - Joe

“Why do you act disappointed? I thought you weren't looking for anything and focusing on football.” - you

“I don't know. I thought I was, but you're making it hard to.” - Joe

“What does that mean?” - you

“I barely know you, but I can't stop thinking about you. You understand me in a way I didn't think was possible… you're just different.” - Joe

“I feel the same way about you. You're nerdy but athletic and have these quirks that I'm obsessed with. You're oddly the guy version of me.” - you

“Nah, you're the girl version of me.” - Joe

“Oh, whatever!” - you shoved his chest

I'm feeling a little bold after she told me she can't stop thinking about me either. Should I make a little move?

“You look cute when you do that. You roll your eyes at me but are smiling.” - Joe

“Oh, uh. Thanks.” - you blushed

“You're welcome.” - Joe smiled

——

October, 2014

That's as far as we went talking about it.

Nothing ever came from that one conversation we shared at the middle school. That's the closest thing we ever did that could come close to showing feelings for one another.

We just continued being really good friends who giggle in the back of the chemistry room, but the eye contact we make while I'm on the field and she’s on the sidelines tells me there's something there.

In the past two months, I've concluded that no matter how hard I try to deny it, I have a crush on y/n.

I just don't know how to act on it.

She still thinks that I don't want a relationship right now, so I need to start dropping hints.

The first step of my plan was to ask her to study with me after school, like at my house.

So, when I walked into chemistry this morning, I had that idea in the back of my head.

“Hey.” - Joe smiled

“Morning.” - you smiled back

I sat my stuff down and took my seat next to her.

“I need to ask you something.” - you

“Oh, what's that?” - Joe

“They haven't announced it yet, but I won junior attendant for homecoming.” - you

“Really?! That's awesome!” - Joe

“Yeah, thanks. We have to have a guy from the football team be our escort…” - you

“And you want me to ask someone for you?” - Joe

She looked at me with a “boy, please” look on her face that made me laugh.

“I'm just playing. I'd love to walk you.” - Joe

“Okay, good. Thanks, Joey.” - you

“Mhm. When will you find out who won Hoco Queen?” - Joe

“Not till the game, but if I win, you’ll get a little crown too.” - you

“I get a crown too?? Now you have to win.” - Joe

“I'll try my hardest. You have to help my campaign, though.” - you

“Sounds like a deal.” - Joe smiled

——

Later that week, I met up with y/n during my lunch period and her free period. I helped her campaign, and when she wasn't around, I convinced the football team to vote for her.

I wanted to make sure she'd win.

——

“Junior attendant, y/n y/l/n, escorted by Joey Burrow.”

The announcer’s voice beamed through the speakers as we walked down the middle of the football field. My arm was looped with y/n’s, and I shortened my strides with the length of her heals in mine.

I hadn't seen her till she walked out and looped her arm with mine, but she looked so beautiful.

“You look gorgeous.” - Joe whispered

“Thank you.” - you blushed

We smiled for the camera when we reached the end of the field, and y/n gently squeezed my arm when we walked over and stood in our directed spot.

“You don't look too bad yourself.” - you

Our conversation was drowning out the announcer’s voice, who was reading the short paragraph that y/n wrote a couple of days ago. She'd made me proofread it so many times that I had it practically memorized.

“y/n would like to thank her parents and friends, especially her best friend, who is escorting her tonight.”

That part was new.

My cheeks heated up when I looked down at y/n to see her already smiling at me. She'd never come out and said that I was her best friend, but I couldn't say it didn't make sense.

“Surprise.” - you nudged him

“I'm your best friend, huh?” - Joe

“Yeah.” - you smiled

“You're mine too.” - Joe

“No way!” - you pushed Joe’s chest

“Don't tell Zach I said that, though.” - Joe

Her smile was infectious, and I felt my lips mirror y/n’s expression.

The announcer went on to introduce the senior attendant and read her little background story.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen. Your 2014 football homecoming queen is…”

I reached my other hand up to squeeze y/n’s that was wrapped around my bicep.

“y/n y/l/n!”

“You did it! Go get your crown!” - Joe

She let go of my arm and walked back to the middle of the field.

I watched with a proud smile on my face as y/n was handed a bouquet, a sash draped over her shoulder, and the crown on her head.

There was so much adoration in my heart for her, and when she turned around to look at me, my smile only widened.

“C’mere!” - you mouthed

I slowly walked over to her, and y/n re-looped our arms.

Bowing my head slightly, the crown was put on top of it. y/n laughed at the sight of the crown adorning my forehead.

“Lemme fix that. It's kinda sideways.” - you

She stepped on her tiptoes and fixed it, a blush forming on my cheeks when her fingers brushed down my face when she pulled away.

“You look cute.” - you smiled

“Thanks.” - Joe grinned

——

December, 2014

“Hey.” - Joe

“Oh, hey.” - you

I put my stuff down and sat down in my chair, the same routine since the first day of school. Hopefully, though, today some things will change.

Or at least be set in the right direction to change.

“I need to ask you a question.” - Joe

“Shoot.” - you

“Be my date too formal?” - Joe

I looked at her with hopefulness in my eyes. Please say yes.

“I'm already going with Chad… sorry, Joe.” - you

“Oh. It's okay, I just thought… nevermind.” - Joe

My shoulders slumped as I turned away from her and faced the board, biting the insides of my cheeks nervously.

The one time I shoot my shot with a girl, and I get rejected.

Guess that tells me what my priorities should be.

Focusing on football.

——

“What do you mean Joe’s here alone?” - you

“Yeah, Zach had to practically beg him to even come. Joe said there wasn't any point in going since he didn't have a date.” - Cassidy

“That makes me feel terrible…” - you

“Why?” - Cassidy

“Because he asked me, but I'd already said yes to Chad.” - you

“It's not your fault, how were you supposed to know that Joe was gonna ask you? I mean, he isn't looking for anything right now.” - Cassidy

“Yeah… do you know where he is?” - you

“No idea. Probably hiding in a corner.” - Cassidy

“Chad literally ditched me after pictures. Joe never would've done that…” - you

A few seconds of silence between the two girls went by before Cassidy had a lightbulb moment.

“Do you have a crush on Joe?!” - Cassidy

“What?! No!” - you

“You so do! y/n you should tell him! I honestly think he feels the same way…” - Cassidy

“No… he's focusing on football.” - you sighed

“So you do like him?” - Cassidy

“Maybe…” - you

When you admitted it out loud, it felt real. You like Joe.

Joey Burrow, the quarterback with the nerdy side that only you knew of, the one with the imperfect but adorable smile, the one that made you look forward to first period, your crush.

“I'm gonna go find him.” - you

You walked as fast as your heels allowed you and threw your half-drank cup of subpar punch in the trash can, pushing open the gym doors as Tongue Tied by GROUPLOVE playing through the speakers served as a soundtrack.

Zach wasn't hard to find as a sea of letterman jackets was in the hallway.

“Where’s Joe?” - you

“Oh, hey, y/n! He said he was gonna go take a walk around.” - Zach shrugged

You nodded and walked away toward the academic wing of the school.

Only the generator lights were on, but there was enough lighting to make out that familiar tall frame looking into the trophy cases.

Carefully, so as to not scare him, you slowly walked up behind Joe and tapped his shoulder.

“Hi.” - you

“Hi.” - Joe

“Chad ditched me…” - you

“That sucks.” - Joe

He hadn't even looked up at you yet.

“I'm sorry. If I had known you were going to ask me, I wouldn't have said yes to him.” - you

“S’okay, probably for the better.” - Joe

“Why are you just walking around by yourself, Joe?” - you

“Nothing else to do. Kinda bored.” - Joe

“Wanna go see what teachers left their classrooms unlocked?” - you grinned

Joe’s eyes drifted away from the trophy case for the first time and found yours. A smile pulled at his lips as he nodded his head.

You held your hand out to him, and Joe gladly accepted, clasping his fingers with yours.

There were so many unspoken feelings shared between you two as you made your way down the hallways to find an open door.

“The chem room is open…” - Joe

You gently opened the door and pulled Joe in behind you, the lights being motion-activated turned on as you two walked in.

Joe flicked the light switch back off as the moonlight through the window lit up the room.

Making your way to your table, you and Joe sat down in your respective seats without sharing a word.

“Your dress is pretty.” - Joe

With a longing glance, you examined Joe’s hair, outfit, and shoes.

“Thanks. You look handsome.” - you

“Thanks.” - Joe smiled

A few seconds of silence went by before Joe cleared his throat, immediately getting your attention.

“Uhm… can I be honest with you?” - Joe

“Always.” - you

Here goes nothing.

“I think you're amazing. Talking to you every day makes me want to come to school, and I enjoy every word that's shared between us. You get to see a side of me that many people don't because I feel safe with you. I hope what I'm about to tell you doesn't ruin that, and you might just see me as a friend… but I like you.” - Joe

“In what way?” - you

In all honesty, you knew exactly what he meant, but you wanted to hear him say it.

“In the way that I find myself staring at you all the time because I think you're beautiful, In the way that you give me butterflies when you laugh or smile at me. You are incredible, y/n; gorgeous, smart, talented, crazy athletic, loyal, trustworthy.” - Joe

He paused for a second to scan your face for somewhat of a reaction.

“Now that I think about it, you're so out of my league.” - Joe laughed

“Go on, Joey.” - you giggled

“What I'm trying to say is… I have a crush on you, y/n.” - Joe

“Mr. ‘I'm focusing on football’ has a crush on me?!?” - you

Joe felt his stomach drop at your teasing. He'd just poured his heart out, and was thinking the worst.

“So you don't feel the same way?” - Joe

“What? I didn't say that!” - you

“So…?” - Joe

“I like you too, Joe. More than friends.” - you

“Really?” - Joe smiled

“Yeah.” - you grinned

You two sat there, no words shared, just tooth-rotting grins.

“I've never done this before… what happens next?” - Joe

“I think there's another question you need to ask me.” - you

“Oh, yeah! y/n…” - Joe

He took your hand in his, the size difference making your heart flutter for a second before you shifted your attention back to his beautiful blue eyes.

“Be my girlfriend?” - Joe finished

“I'd love to.” - you smiled

Somehow, your other hand found its way into his. Almost as if magnets were pulling your faces together, you both leaned in.

Your lips molded together so perfectly like you were each other’s missing piece.

Maybe because you guys were.

Joe would forever be grateful that he took the leap of faith and confessed to the girl that he swore was out of his league, for she would become his everything for the rest of his life.

That chemistry room is where you found your first real boyfriend, who would be your first kiss, and unbeknownst to you, you were Joe’s first real girlfriend and kiss as well.

In fact, you were each other’s first everything.

And you'd also be each other’s last.

————————————————————————-

Authors note: One of my favorite requests to write, it was so fun picturing the beginning of their relationship!

Request for this fic;

Hope you enjoyed! 💕

#joe burrow #bengals #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joey b #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow fan fic

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olympushit · 1 year

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ARES DOESN'T DESERVE THE HATE HE GETS. 10 REASONS WHY:

Apart from being the god of war, he was also the god of generalship, manliness and civil order, which means that he was the god responsible for the correct function of every ancient city in order of laws and politics.

As the god of manliness, he was considered to be the patron of a fine man that every man looked up to. He was a fighter, not only as a merit from being the god of war, but he always fought for his beliefs, just like at the Trojan War when he complained to Zeus about Athena's unfair action. Also, he was the best father to his children and always supported them and their mothers, just like Cycnus fighting with Heracles, or when Aeropos' mother died during childbirth and he made it possible for the baby to drink milk from his dead mother's body.

He was the only greek god that never raped a woman. All his sexual encounters were consensual and he always seemed to respect his lovers, because he kept his private life low key and none of them suffered or were subjected to tortures, unlike Zeus' or Poseidon's lovers did.

He was the god of dance. Legend has it that before he was taught how to fight, Priapos, his tutor, refused to teach him unless young Ares knew how to dance. Afterall, war is considered to be the ultimate dance a man could perform in ancient times. Also, he appeared to dance for his daughter's Armonia wedding with joy, leaving behind the animosity for her husband Cadmus. Finally, in the feasts of the Gods, it was said that Apollo played the lyre, while the Harites, Artemis, Hermes and Ares danced with great joy.

He was a forgiving god. Despite his enraged and bloodthirsty behavior, Ares knew how to forgive someone and appreciated what they were doing to gain his trust. After Cadmus slaughtered the Dragon, he was put 8 years under servitude to indulge Ares. Finally, Ares not only forgave Cadmus for his crime, but he also blessed his wedding with his own daughter Armonia. Cadmus, in order to gratify the god, built the city of Thebes and made Ares its patron god.

He wasn't a coward. Many greek myths refer to Ares' lack of courage to face danger. This is far from true. At the Trojan War, when he found out about Ascalaphus' death, he disobeyed Zeus' order with the risk of his immortal life in order to go to the battle amd avenge his son's death. He was later stopped by Zeus' thunderbolts. Also, when the Aloadai were about to take Olympus, he was the first god to interfere in battle in order to save Olympus. Afterall, one of his epithets was "Olympus' Protector".

He was sentimental. At the Trojan War he was seen greaving for his children's loss and always wanted to inervene for their safety. Also, he understood the rejection of his parents towards him and he was a lonely god that lacked love. But he found the love he was seeking to Aphrodite, and did not only lust her, but he loved her deeply. Together they had 8 children, and both of them were jealous about each other's affairs, because of Adonis and Eos. They also had an open relationship, because he never refrained Aphrodite from her nature, which was love and sex. Afterall love is not meant to be given to only one person.

He was the protector of women. When Hallirothios attempted to rape his daughter Alcippe, he flashed in the scene and brutally killed the rapist. From that moment on, a temple in Athens was built for Ares "Gynaikothoinas", which means the one feasted/worshipped by women.

He knew the feeling of loss. A war has two sides, the winners and the defeated. A war isn't always to be won, and everyone must learn what it is to lose. He lost many wars, but he also won many. That's why he is among the Olympians.

He was a god of justice. That is because he was referred to be "Themis' Ally", which means that he was a helper to the goddess of justice. One of his least famous daughters, Adrestia, was the goddess of balance, justice and retaliation. Also, "Areios Pagos" or aka "The hill of Ares" was named after him because he was the first man ever to be tried for substatial homicide, for slaughtering Alcippe' rapist.

DON'T TREAT MY BOY LIKE THAT! HE IS JUST ADORABLE!

#greek mythology #greek gods #ares #on this blog we love ares #ares greek mythology #ares x aphrodite

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sweetbans29 · 2 days

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Greece - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: You go on a holiday to Greece with CC and the girls - Based on THIS request

Warnings: none, just some fluff for ya

Word Count: 2.8k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: Hi all! Here is a cute one for you!

It was summer break and you and some of the girls from the team decided it would be super fun to go on a vacation somewhere. You all got together to choose where you wanted to go. Jada had the great idea to do that trend of everyone putting a place into a hat and each person would draw at random until there was only one left.

You and Cait had talked endlessly about where you two thought would be fun. Caitlin knew where she wanted to go and was incredibly hopeful about her choice. Meanwhile, you were naming off every place under the sun.

When you both got to Jada's apartment to figure out where you all were headed, Caitlin couldn't contain her excitement. There was a group of 8 of you going which meant that eight locations were going into a hat to be chosen from.

You all sat around her living room and took turns writing down where you wanted to go. You looked over at your girl and saw her writing 'Greece' on her piece of paper. You smile, thinking about all the times she has talked about vacationing off the coast of Santorini.

Caitlin had wanted to go to Greece ever since she was a little girl. There was something about it that just seemed so enticing to her. Ever since you started talking to Caitlin you heard her talking about wanting to go to Greece. Any time you talked about going somewhere together, it always came up in the conversation. It was quite cute.

She put her paper in the bowl on the table. You looked down at your piece of paper and pondered the list of places you were thinking about. Nothing seemed as great as seeing your girl live out the vacation of her dreams. So you secretly write down 'Greece' and place it in the bowl on the table.

After everyone sticks their paper in the bowl, you all take turns pulling out pieces seeing where you will not be going.

As the bowl goes around the room, you hear 'Spain', 'Australia', and 'Japan'. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Caitlin's knee bouncing with anticipation.

'Amsterdam' is read next followed by 'Canada' and 'Thailand'.

It was your turn to pick a place and you already knew how this was going to play out. You pull out a paper and look at it. Caitlin's eyes are intensely staring at you. You give her an apologetic look and show everyone the paper that reads 'Greece' in Caitlin's handwriting.

"Greece," you say as you lean over to kiss Caitlin's temple. Her disappointment doesn't hide well. She tries to compose herself because she is the one who is saying where they are going to be going on vacation.

Little does she know, that her disappointment isn't going to last long. You pass her the bowl knowing that the last piece of paper remaining is yours. And you know you would do anything to bring joy to Caitlin.

You rub her arm as she grabs the remaining piece of paper. You try to hide your smile but are failing. She grabs the piece of paper.

"We are going to..." she begins as she unfolds the paper. A scream escapes your girlfriend and she jumps up on the couch.

"WE ARE GOING TO GREECE!!!" She exclaims as she jumps on the couch like a little girl.

You are so caught up in how Caitlin is reacting that you don't hear that some of the girls are excited and the others say it's not fair that you two can vote the same.

Caitlin jumps into your arms, wrapping her legs around your waist and repeatedly mumbles thank you in your ear. This reaction alone was worth writing down Greece, you can't wait to see what being there with her will be like...

*2 months later*

The time has come and your girl's trip has arrived! Speaking of arrival, your plane just landed in Athens, and are now in a cab on your way to the Airbnb you rented.

Everyone is so excited to be there, especially Cait. It is all she has been able to talk about for the last two months - so much so that you have had to threaten her to get her to stop talking about it. Now that you are actually here, all the work put into planning this trip is paid off.

As the cab pulls up the Airbnb, you all take in how beautiful it is. You all decided to splurge and get a 5-bedroom villa that overlooked the city. It was unanimous when it came to finding a spot - since it was your big trip for the summer, it was worth every penny.

You all run into the villa and being freaking out over how stunning it is. Everyone running and excited about a different thing - Kylie ran to the balcony, Sydney ran to the infinity pool, Jada and Hannah ran to the bedroom with the biggest mirror (those girls and their Tiktok dances), Kate ran to the courtyard that housed a beautiful outdoor patio set, Gabby and Caitlin ran to the living room that was practically a movie theater and you of course ended up in the kitchen.

If there is one thing you love to do, it's cook. Making and serving food is your love language - at least how you express love. When looking at places you were 100% biased to this place because of the kitchen. It housed a beautiful island that had a 4-burner stovetop attached on top of the 6-burner over stove tucked along the wall. Two sinks - one of which was on the island for convenience. A walk-in pantry that was already stashed with all the spices and staples you could ever need. On top of it all, it had one of those foot vacuums where if you dropped anything on the floor, you could push it over to the opening and press a button for it to get sucked up, never to be seen or stepped on again.

As you are falling in love with the kitchen, you feel a pair of familiar arms come and wrap around your torso. Your arms come to rest on top of your girl as you lean back into her. Her head comes to rest on your shoulder and she squeezes you even more.

"I know we just got here but this is the best trip I have ever been on," she says as she turns you to face her. You rest your backside on the island and admire your beautiful girlfriend.

"I am glad you are happy with our choice of summer vacation," you say teasing her.

She pokes at your stomach, which results in a laugh from you.

"Ya, well, I have a pretty amazing girl who would do anything to make me happy," Caitlin says genuinely as she takes hold of your hand. You decide to poke at her some more.

"Well I don't know about anything to make you happy," you say, exaggerating the 'anything'. When she looks down at you, you give her a smile and a peck before grabbing your bags and heading to find the room you will be staying in with Cait.

"I already put my stuff in our room, let me show you where it is," she says as she leads you down a hallway that leads to a whole other wing of the villa. It is like its own separate house within the villa. When you arrive, you notice it is the only room on this side of the Airbnb.

"I chose this room intentionally," Caitlin says. "It is the only room on this side of the villa - completely separate from everyone else." She gives you a suggestive look as she begins to approach you. Right as you wrap your arms around your girlfriend's neck you hear the phone ring.

You both look to see a landline on the bedside table. You pick it up and say 'hello'.

"Hey! You two lovebirds need to come back to the main house - we are going out to explore," Gabby says and the other girls are yelling at you two to hurry up.

"Okay okay we are on our way," you say as you motion for Caitlin to change into lighter clothes. You hang up the phone and begin to change yourself.

Once again, you feel Caitlin's arms wrap around you.

"It's a good thing they won't be near us tonight - because I have some ideas on how I want to say thank you to you and I know you have trouble staying quiet," she says as she kisses your neck.

"Why don't we just stay here and start now," you say as your eyes close and your head leans back into her shoulder.

"As tempting as that sounds, we are burning daylight baby!" She says as she completely removes herself from you, earning a groan.

"Tease," you mumble as you finish changing out of your travel clothes.

The first few days are spent exploring Athens. Going to see different historic sites and museums. The place is beautiful and the food is delicious. Everyone is having the time of their lives, Caitlin especially as you all explore a new city.

The next morning you and a few girls head to a local market. You plan on making dinner that night for everyone. As you are walking around, you buy everything you will need and more. You are overwhelmed with everything they have and have an absolute blast. Jada and Kate are with you and get flowers and other small things that will liven up your stay.

When you get back, you start some of the prep while everyone else is lounging or doing their own thing. Caitlin is sitting on the counter watching you do your thing in the kitchen. Watching you cook is one of her favorite things. She could sit and watch you all day - it’s when you are in your element.

Every now and again you would bounce over to her to give her a little kiss or to squeeze between her legs to be held by her. Being held by your girl makes you melt every time.

Once everything is all done, Cait rounds the girls and everyone meets at the patio table. You come out bringing the last dish. Family dinners are where you feel most at home (the only exception being Cait). Everyone sits and feasts and life is good.

The next few days are for sightseeing. Everyone heads out to different museums and places that hold Greek culture. Some things are done together while others you all break off into small groups, you never leaving Caitlin’s side. It didn’t matter what you were doing, doing it with Caitlin was better than doing any of it without her.

You are all back at the Airbnb enjoying the amenities that are there. Everyone is out by the pool, some in it and some sitting next to it. You are reading a book when you feel a sudden cold reach your legs. You tilt your book to the side to see nothing out of the ordinary - no one is looking at you or acknowledging the fact you made any movement. Going back to reading, you pass it off as a phantom splash until it happens again.

You immediately sit up and look around to find Caitlin in the pool trying to conceal a giggle. A smile forms as you get up from your chair and make your way to sit next to where she is. You sit poolside and dangle your feet in the water.

“Why don’t you come all the way in,” Caitlin says. “We can race!” It was cute how she was playing in the pool like a little kid. Seeing her here in Greece has you believing that this trip is healing a part of her inner child and it makes your heart swell.

“Maybe in a little babe, I’m about to go in to make everyone lunch,” you say reaching over to take some of her wet hair into your hand and combing your fingers through it.

She moves to position herself in between your thighs, leaning her arms on them, and looks up at you with puppy dog eyes. “Please please please,” she begs.

You lean down and kiss her on the top of her head.

“Maybe a little later love,” you tell her. “Actually you should probably get out of the pool and do some packing.” You tell her.

“Pack? Why? We have another 4 days here, I have plenty of time to pack babe,” she says, slightly offended you suggested leaving this wonderful place so soon.

“Not pack to go home, pack to go on a little adventure,” you say with a little smile. She immediately perks up.

“Wait, what?” She says as she tries to get your attention back. You were not leaning back and looking up at the sky. She starts tapping on your thigh and splashing you with water.

“Hey! Don’t splash, I need to make lunch,” you give her a look.

“What do you mean adventure?” She says. She is too cute.

“Well, I thought it would be fun if we broke away from the group for a couple days and headed over to Santorini,” you say with a smile.

“We’re going to Santorini???” She exclaims, jumping up and down in the pool.

“Ya babe, we weren’t going to come to Greece and not go to Santorini,” you say with a laugh.

She gets overly excited and grabs your arms, pulling you into the pool. She wraps herself around you as you instinctively wrap your arms around her. You try to act mad that you literally just told her you didn’t want to get wet because you were going to head in and make food but you can’t keep a straight face when you see how excited she is. There isn’t much you wouldn’t do for this girl.

“Ok now go pack. We leave tonight and you need to be ready,” you say and you pull yourself out of the pool and grab a towel.

You make everyone lunch and make sure Caitlin packs. Before you know it, the two of you are on a plane heading to the beautiful island of Santorini. The second you knew you were all going to Greece, you started booking this little side quest to Santorini. It was fun to be able to get some of the girls' help as you wanted to keep it secret from Cait until you were there. They helped get some details out of her about things she would want to see and do without it coming straight from you.

The two of you have a small little Airbnb that is right in the middle of the classic white hillside. As you are settling in, you tell Caitlin what your next few days look like. The hikes you have planned and the markets she has mentioned to Gabby. Places to eat and you even have a nice little boat ride planned. She is over the moon with all you have managed to plan without her knowing.

The two of you have the time of your lives exploring Santorini. This was literally her dream - to be here. And being here with you was the cherry on top. She has no idea how she could ever thank you for all of this.

It’s your last night in Santorini before you head back to be with the group. You have planned a nice little candlelight dinner overlooking the coast. As the two of you sit there and just take in each other’s presence and the scene around you, you take hold of her hand.

“I hope this has been everything you dreamed it to be,” you say to her as you grab your glass of wine. She gives your hand a squeeze and just looks at you.

“What?” You say beginning to squirm under her eyes.

“You are the most beautiful human being I know,” she begins. “Not just physically, but your heart is so big and full of love for others and the world. I truly cannot believe you have chosen me to love. You are the best thing that has happened to me and I am the luckiest girl in the world to call you mine.” As she finishes, there is a little twinkle in her eye from the moon hitting the tears that have begun to form.

You don’t say anything. Nothing you say could even begin to describe your love for the girl sitting in front of you. So instead you stand, her hand still in hers. You guide her to a little spot near the edge of the patio where you were having dinner and pull her close to you. Your hand free hand coming to her waist, hers coming to your shoulder. You begin to slowly dance in the moonlight, soaking up this moment.

A moment you would never dream of forgetting.

AN: This was a fun one to write! I hope you all enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

#caitlin clark #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark imagine #iowa hawkeyes

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libraryofgage · 6 months

Text

PJO Steddie Two

One

So, this part was kinda supposed to be attached to part one, but I got tired and the part was getting too long so here we are lmao

Anyway, we get a few parents revealed here, but most are still a mystery

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;P

---

Eddie is on the other side of the park and wondering if he has enough time to see that fake Parthenon when he hears the unmistakable sound of a harpy's shriek. Those things have nearly eaten him enough times at camp for their bird screams to be seared into his memory. And if he's hearing the overgrown chicken, that means it's found those demigod kids before he could.

Fuck.

He whirls around just in time to see the harpy shoot above the trees, wings flared and feathers bristling, before dive-bombing whichever unlucky kid it's decided to eat first.

"Motherfucking shit bitch," Eddie mutters, taking off across the grass to where the harpy dived.

On the bright side, he managed to find the kids pretty quick; he'd only been in Athens for a few hours. On the fucked up side, he might only be able to sneak one or two kids away from the monster. Which, like, he'd love to save more of them, but he's not exactly the best fighter. He's the best runner and hider. This is why he's sent on these missions: the camp has learned that stealth and hiding usually bring more kids into safety than straight-up attacking monsters.

Eddie skirts around a tree, just barely missing the branch that threatens to whack his head off. He can hear music (something light and jumpy, soft and clear) and kids shouting in what he assumes to be fear. Just based on the sound, he's not going to be able to sneak those kids away. They're probably right in front of the harpy.

He'll have to be a distraction so they can run. "I'm gonna fucking die today," Eddie says, resigned and annoyed all at once. He reaches up and tears off the guitar pic and chain around his neck, the small triangle bursting outwards into a shield with straps that wrap around his arm.

It's ready to withstand some harpy claws by the time Eddie gracefully trips over a tree root and reflexively tucks and rolls over his shoulder. He pops up from the ground, eyes trained to the harpy, and freezes as three very important things become incredibly obvious.

One: the kids are not, in fact, shouting in fear. They're shouting with excitement, cheering at the fight happening before them. Eddie watches as a boy wearing a baseball cap punches the air and shouts, "Get 'em, Steve! Fuck the bird up!" His words are quickly followed by two girls jokingly shouting, "Language!" in return before laughing.

Two: the song playing is coming from a Bluetooth speaker on the blankets. It's a pop song. At least, it sounds like one. It's definitely old, though, and he only knows the name (Dancing in the Moonlight, by Toploader) because one of the muses' kids sang it once at a campfire night when Eddie first arrived at the camp.

Three: the most gorgeous boy Eddie has ever seen is currently beating the ever-loving shit out of the harpy with a nail bat. His mouth is pulled back into a vicious grin, his hair is somehow unaffected by the violent swings, and Eddie can somehow tell he's dragging this fight out with the harpy to blow off some steam.

"Oh! Steve!" one of the kids shouts, a girl with a beanie covering her hair. Her hat seems to be shifting just slightly, but Eddie thinks it might be a trick of the light. "Hit her to the music, like one of those movie fight scenes."

Then Eddie hears the boy, Steve, laugh. The sound is bright and clear and pierces right through Eddie's chest. "Sure thing, kiddo," Steve says, sliding back a step and twirling the bat in his hand. He tilts his head, listening to the song and catching the drums and keyboard, and then jumps right back onto the harpy.

And he does it. He starts swinging and landing hits on the harpy in time with the drums. Steve roundhouse kicks the harpy in the chest right as a guitar solo starts, his foot making contact with the first strum. Feathers are bursting in the air around Steve, brushing by him and creating brief, tiny dappled shadows over his face. The way he fights is like a dance, especially when he has music to follow and an audience to entertain.

Here's the thing: Eddie has never been one to keep his imagination in check. Why would he? Some of his best songs have been inspired by daydreams. So, when he sees the most gorgeous boy in the world beating a harpy's ass with a violent yet graceful dance, Eddie really can't be blamed for daydreaming.

The bright sun is replaced by a full moon, the park has become the shore by the lake at camp, and the audience of kids has disappeared completely. It's just him and Steve at the lake, smiling at each other and dancing, trading off lead between them. Eddie spins Steve and Steve dips Eddie. Somewhere, Dancing in the Moonlight is playing softly, nearly drowned out by their quiet laughter and whispered jokes and the waves of the lake brushing against the shore.

Oh. Oh.

That stupid prophecy. It was talking about this. The oracle predicted this moment and, apparently, considered it important enough to actually tell Eddie about it months ago. And he's spent this entire time trying to fight that obscure prophecy, trying to turn it into something bitter and filled with rage when it's just...just Steve. And Eddie doesn't know Steve yet, sure, but not even the gods could stop him from giving it a shot.

"YES!"

Eddie blinks, dragged harshly from his daydream by the kids shouting with joy as Steve brings the bat down on the harpy's head. The monster bursts into that familiar puff of smoke and mist and dust, and the kids cheer even louder.

Steve grins and stands up straight, rolling his shoulders and cockily resting the bat on his shoulder. He starts to turn toward the kids only to stop when he's facing Eddie, their eyes meeting and catching right as the song finishes playing.

----

The rush of joy and adrenaline at beating the harpy is still surging through Steve when he sees the guy his age standing a few feet away, staring at them with wide eyes. For a brief moment, Steve thinks he's a human who just happens to be able to see monsters, too. They've run into a person like that before. Then he notices the shield on the guy's arm and realizes he must be like them to some degree.

Steve blinks, his shoulders tensing slightly as he studies the other boy. Hair that definitely needs a more specialized shampoo, big brown eyes, and a whole grunge kinda vibe that Steve finds inexplicably attractive. He could spend another hour staring at the guy, but then one of the kids leaps onto his back, laughing right in his ear and nearly making him go deaf.

"That was so awesome!" Dustin shouts, wrapping his legs around Steve's waist as the other kids rush to surround him.

El grabs his free hand, smiling up at him. "Thank you for dance fighting," she says, her words almost drowned out by the other kids shouting their favorite parts and Max insisting she could have helped with the fight.

Steve grins a little wider, feeling his adrenaline drain as the relief of keeping his kids safe takes its place. "She shouldn't have interrupted our day off," he says, stubbornly keeping his eyes on the kids instead of the guy still staring at them. "C'mon, we need to keep moving."

"Where are you going?"

The guy's voice is a little rough, and Steve thinks he'd be able to pick it out from any crowd after hearing it just once. He looks over at the guy, frowning slightly. "I don't think it's your business," he says, trying to ignore the part of him that feels bad.

Thankfully, the guy doesn't seem to care. He just shrugs and takes a few steps closer. "Oh, I don't know, big boy. I think your gaggle of demigods is definitely my business," he says.

"Is that a threat?" Steve asks, really hoping it isn't. It would be a shame to punch the guy's face.

The boy blinks, pausing like he's reconsidering how his words sounded. "Shit, yeah, that did sound bad," he says, frowning and tugging on a lock of hair. He pulls it in front of his mouth, a few more seconds passing before he says, "I'm gonna start again."

The guy clears his throat and the retracts his shield. It shrinks down into a guitar pic on a chain that he latches around his neck. "Okay," he says, "Eddie Munson, son of Hermes, future rockstar, and your guide to Camp Half-Blood."

"Future rockstar?" Max asks, her voice low and sardonic.

"Hermes has kids?" Mike asks.

"I've never heard of Camp Half-Blood," Steve says, pushing forward and herding the kids to stand behind him. He stores Eddie's name for later, forcing himself to focus on the whole Potential Threat to His Kids thing.

Eddie nods like this is something he's expected. "That's fine. Lucky for you, pretty boy, I'm here to explain it all."

"Pretty boy," Steve mumbles, doing his absolute best to not think about his face heating up.

From behind him, he hears Lucas groan, "Aww, man, they're gonna be gross."

Thankfully, Eddie doesn't pay them any mind. "Camp Half-Blood is a safe haven for demigods like us. It's got a barrier around it that keeps monsters out, and we make sure everyone is trained to fight monsters and survive as adults," he explains, grinning at Steve.

"Wait, how many more of us are there?" Will asks, poking his head around Steve to look at Eddie with wide eyes.

"Oh, hundreds. The gods aren't exactly known for keeping it in their pants."

"So, we'll be safe at this camp?" Steve asks slowly.

"Safe as can be, big boy."

"Is it demigods only?" Steve asks.

Eddie nods once, flashing a grin. "Of course. We've got one Olympian who helps run the camp as, like, a punishment thing. He doesn't do much, actually. But we've also got some nymphs and Chiron. Uh, there are a few monsters in the forest, but they aren't too dangerous. They're mostly for training. The main thing is that big dangerous monsters can't get to us, and the Mist keeps humans from stumbling on the camp, too."

Honestly? It sounds way too good to be true. Steve has spent years running across this country and back, collecting the kids along the way and struggling to keep them alive. How is he only now learning about some camp that's built just for kids like them?

"The Mist?" Dustin asks, pushing around Steve. He'd be halfway to Eddie if Steve didn't grab his shirt and drag him back. "What's the Mist?"

"It's, like, this camouflage thing that keeps humans from noticing monsters and our powers," Eddie explains, vaguely sweeping his hand in the direction of a few other park-goers. "It's why nobody started screaming when you beat that harpy."

"Oh, that's what it's called," Dustin says, his grin saying he's about to grill Eddie for all his knowledge if Steve doesn't stop him.

Eddie nods and looks over the kids before settling his gaze on Steve again. "You and the kids will be safe there," he says.

"I wouldn't mind settling down," Will says, tugging on Steve's sleeve and looking up at him hopefully.

The other kids nod in agreement, and El squeezes Steve's hand. "It sounds like it'll be safe for me, too," she whispers.

Gods, is it tempting. No more running around, a place they can actually settle down and call home. He could get a full night of sleep for once instead of waking up every other hour to check their surroundings. He wouldn't need to worry about food or clothes or what to do if the kids get sick.

Steve frowns slightly, thinking for a moment before looking back at Eddie. "What happens when we get there?" he asks.

"You'll be given the grand tour by yours truly," Eddie says, playfully bowing to Steve and the kids. "Then, you'll get sorted into cabins and start training."

"How will we be sorted?" Lucas asks. He sounds genuinely curious, so Steve swallows back his retort that they certainly won't be separated if he has anything to say about it.

"By your godly parent. So, pretty boy here will probably go into the Aphrodite cabin," Eddie says, winking playfully at Steve.

"Aphrodite isn't his mother," El says, pushing closer to Steve as the other kids agree.

Eddie blinks. "Uh, who is?"

Steve hesitates, studying Eddie for a few seconds before looking at the kids. This isn't something he should reveal without a general consensus from them. What he gets is a few shrugs, an exasperated sigh from Lucas, and some nods. "My dad is Zeus," Steve says, looking back at Eddie.

"Dude," Eddie breathes, his eyes wide as though his entire world has been shaken, "How the fuck are you alive?"

And Steve can't help it. He laughs, shrugging off the nerves he'd felt earlier because he just can't bring himself to mistrust Eddie. "It's a bit of a long story," he says, "but I could tell it to you on the way to Camp Half-Blood."

The way Eddie lights up is enough to slightly calm the ever-present anxiety that hums through Steve's veins. Maybe this won't be a disaster.

Tag List (there is definitely still room, so just let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@mugloversonly, @mentallyundone, @hairdryerducks-blog, @carriethesaint, @lunabyrd, @weekend-dreamer7, @farfaras, @littlelady03, @my-tears-are-becoming-a-sea20, @mogami13, @a-little-unsteddie

#steddie #steddie fic #semi divine steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #the party #percy jackson au #my writing #please don't expect quick updates like this on the regular btw #weekend me is just too productive actually #so ya know just vibe i guess lmao

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stalkerofthegods · 6 months

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Aphrodite And Venus deep dive, straight to the point

Herbs • anemone, daffodil, myrtle, lettuce , pomegranate, apple, rosemary fresh roses, vanilla, cinnamon, cypress, jasmine, the olive tree, narcissus, honeysuckle, the apple tree, the lime tree, Strawberries, Oranges, Pears, lotus

Animals• hare, turtle-dove, sparrow, goose, swan, horses, hummingbirds, cats, butterflies, bees, fish, hare.

Symbols• Hearts, Seashells, Mirror, Girdles, Dolphins, Doves, Swans, Sparrows, Bees, Sea Foam, Pomegranates, Apples, Strawberries, Oranges, Pears

Colors • pink & red, rose gold , blue, green, white, gold, baby blue, pastel colors, Seafoam green, Aqua

Appearance in astral or general • many ancient artworks of her, depicted her with traditionally male features, like beards, along with traditionally female features, she can change looks many times, but no matter her looks she is the most beautiful alive.

Crystal• rose quarts, garnet, pearls, diamond, sapphire, aquamarine, opal, sea glass, silver, emerald, rhodonite, rhodochrosite, ocean jasper, morganite

Jewelry • pearls, rose gold, promise rings, diamonds

epithets of Aphrodite• Psytiros - whispering Aphrodite, epithet also is attributed to Eros, Euploia - a marine epithet to Aphrodite of easy sailing, fair voyage, Leaina -the Lioness, an epithet given to the Goddess by Athenian orator Democha, Praxis - Aphrodite of action, a statue to whom stood in the city of Megara, Peitho - as an epithet to Aphrodite, it describes Her a persuasive, Epiodoros - Aphrodite of bountiful gifts as She was titled by Greek poet Stesichoru, Argounis - shining Aphrodite, worshiped in Boeotia and likely associated with Dawn, Philomedes - Aphrodite of a lovely smile or smiling Aphrodite, Helikoblepharos - quick-glancing, or Aphrodite with an ever-moving eye, Polychrisou - rich in gold, rich in many golden gifts, Chrisopeplos - gold-clad, Aphrodite dressed in gold, Chrisostephanos - Aphrodite wearing a golden wreath, Chrisanios - Aphrodite holding golden rein as Her chariot was often said to be fully made of gold, Nikêphoros- She is the Warlike, Areia- She is the averter of unlawful desires and actions, Apostrophia- She is one who blessed marriage and unions, Migôntis- She is the one who turns to love, Ourania- Heavenly, Divine Love, Pandêmos- Common To All, Epistrophia - She who Turns to Love, Nympthia Hêrê - Of Hera of Marriage, Symmakhia- Ally in Love, Pontia - Of the Sea, Kypria - Of Cyprus, Pothon Mater - Mother of Desire, Chrysea- Golden, Aphrodite Urania (also spelt Ourania), Aphrodite Pandemos, Venus Genatrix, Peitho, - meaning persuasion, Philommeidḗs - "smile-loving", Cypris and Cythereia - for her association of Cyprus and Cythera, Eleemon, In Athens, she was known as Aphrodite in kopois ("Aphrodite of the Gardens”, At Cape Clias, a town along the Attic coast, she was venerated as Genetyllis "Mother", Aphrodite Euploia - of the fair voyage, Anaduomenê - The Goddess Who Arose From The Sea, Ambologêra - The Ons Who Delays Old Age, Antheia - The Blooming One / Friend Of Flowers , Apotrophia - The Expeller ( Of Shameful and Sinful Desire), Areia - The Warlike, Kupria/Kuprigeneia - The One Born in The Island Of Cyprus, Despoina - The Rulling Goddess/ The Mistress , Genetullis - The Protectress Of Births , Nikêphoros - Bringer Of Victory

Cult epithets • Ourania (heavenly) , Pandémos (common to all) , areia (of ares, warlike) , hòplismené (armed) , Symmakhia (ally in love)

Poetic epithets • Kypris ( of Cyprus) , philomeidês (laughter loving) , aphrogenia (foam born) khryseé (golden) Pothón Mêtêr (mother of desire)

Names• Venus, Aphrodite, Harthor, Astare, Priyah, inanna, isis, Freaya,

Mortal or immortal • immortal

Zodiac • Libra, taruas

How to get closer • sign her hymms or dance in her honor

Number• 5

Courting• Ares, she is no longer married.

Past lovers and flings • Anchises (a mortal in the past she dated), Adonis ( handsome young man killed by a boar (Ares in disguise), Dionysus, Zues (maybe), Hermes, Phaethon, Posideon, Butes, Apollon

Devine children • Phobos, Deimos, Harmonia, Eros, Anteros, pothos, hermaphrodios, (From the mortal Anchuses), Aeneas a mythical hero of Troy and Rome, and Lyrus/Lyrnus (From Butes), eryxs, Meligounis and several more unnamed daughters, Hymenajks, lacchus, priapus, the Charites, (graces: Aglaea, Euphrosyne, Thalia) (From Dionysus) Phobos, Deimos, Harmonia, The Erotes (Eros) , Anteros, Himeros , Pothos, from Ares, Hermaphroditos, Priapus, from Hermes, Rhodos from Posideon, Beroe, Golgos, Priapus (rarely) (from Adonis), Astynous from Phaethon, Priapus (from Zeus)

Attendees • The erotes, Harmonia, Hebe, peithos, the kharites , Naiades

Regions• Cyprus; Kytherea, Corinth, Eryx in Sicly

Holiest shrine• Paphos, island of Cyprus, (her birth place & seat of her mysteria)

Other shrines • Temples throughout Greece and Asia Minor and ur moms house. Some places, most notably Sparta, Thebes, and Cyprus honored her as a goddess of war.

Parents • Ouranos Sometimes it’s said that she is the daughter of Zeus and Dione. And born from the severed genitals of the primordial god Ouranos.

Siblings • Aeacus, Angelos, Apollo, Ares, Artemis, Athena, Dionysus, Eileithyia, Enyo, Eris, Ersa, Hebe, Helen of Troy, Hephaestus, Heracles, Hermes, Minos, Pandia, Persephone, Perseus, Rhadamanthus, the Graces, the Horae, the Litae, the Muses and the Moirai.

personality• she isn’t intimidating at first, she likes not having already used products on her alter if possible, a clean, nice smelling alter.

dislikes• She does not like Medusa, she wants nothing to do with her for some reason, just what I’ve heard from people who worshiped Aphrodite and Medusa in close timelines

Diety of • Sex, libido, self-image, self-love, relationships, friendships, parent love and pet love, crushes, lust, procreation, seduction, pleasure, happiness, sadness, passion, stalking, ports, port homes

Home• Olympus and was living in the sea before Olympus

Hate• Boars, pigs.

Likes• Faries, unicorns, butterflies, lacy & frilly things, music boxes, ballet, cars.

Roots• Greek, born near Paphos, on the island of Cyprus

Offerings • pastries, cakes, , olive branches, dark chocolate, wine, apples, perfume, makeup, Pomegranate: said to be first planted by Aphrodite herself, Strawberries, Raspberries, Blackberries, Figs, Watermelon, Sea shells, handheld mirrors/ beautifully ornate mirrors, makeup products, perfumes (sweet/sensual/seductive ones), skin/body care products, fruits, apples, lettuce, pomegranates, chocolates, sugar and cream, honey, wine (rosé or sweet-scented), sweetened rose tea, rose quartz, pearls, jewelry, roses, flower bouquets, statues of her sacred animals (ex- swans) , myrtle or myrrh incense, pink/gold/white candles, seawater, the artwork of her, devotional poems, self-care routines, ritual baths, have a rose garden that you can take care of in her name if possible, be supportive of women and the LGBTQ+ community. • olive oil, fruit, honey, chocolate, dark chocolate (she loves it) , Apples/golden apples, Mermaids, Jewelry, Cherries, Dolphins imagery, Perfumes, Cologne, Makeup, Combs, Affirmations/Affirmation Cards, Beach Sand, Sea imagery, Water, Love poems, Oyster shells, Pink Salt, Driftwood, Sea glass, Amenome/Roses/Carnations, Other flowers, Valentine's Day gifts, Teddy bears, Rose water, Eros/Cupid imagery, Cakes, (Dress up) Dolls, Chapstick/lipstick, Fishnets, Honey cakes, Undergarments, Hearts, Handheld fans, Pictures of loved ones, Condoms/lube(18+), Lingerie(18+), Undergarments(18+), Sex toys(18+), NSFW magazines/books/movie(18+) (AND I MEAN IT WHEN I SAY 18+, OR ASK HER!!), roses, Myrtles, Apples, Pomegranates, Honey, Chocolates, Cookies or cakes made to look like one of Her symbols (ex- hearts), Strawberries, Oranges, Pears, Bath Salts, Bath oils, Bubble bath soap, Scented lotions or fancy soaps

Devotional• light your favorite candle, put on your favorite lotion or perfume, put on your favorite piece of jewelry, put on your favorite article of clothing, enjoy a sweet treat, Sex magic, Glamour spells, Dressing up, acts of self care and acts of self- love, Caring for mental & physical health, Take a bubble bath,Spend time at the sea, Collect sea shells, Read Sappho poetry, Donate to LBGTQ+, Support sex workers, Have safe sex and learn about it, Stand up for yourself and what you believe in, Donate to woman programs and shelters, Do stuff to make ur self feel empowered and beautiful, Honor her kids and ares, watch a romcom, watch a regular romantic movie or show or read your favorite romantic story, Make plans with loved ones and friends or your lover in her honor, Treat yourself to something you enjoy, if you have a pet and they like to snuggle, snuggle or lay with them. Talk to them and tell them how much you love them (If able take them for a walk or a ride), listen to ocean/sea soundscapes, read up on all the many kinds of love, engage in an act of self-care, listen to love songs, listen to a devotional playlist for her, make a Pinterest board or playlist, or journal all of your favorite things and things that you love, learn about the different kinds of love, do things that boost your self esteem, be gentle with yourself, take it easy, etc, watch a ballet, read love poems, Dress up and selfies, Keep menstrual products on you (even if you don't bleed), Advocate for pro-choice, Give/accept compliments, Advocate for SA victims, Go on a date, Take yourself on a date, Do something nice for your partner, get a Manicure/pedicure, Flirt, Affirmations in the mirror, Drink wine, Advocate for proper sex ed (Including queer sex ed), Experiment with your style, Mirror scrying, Listen to sleep affirmations, Love letter to self/her/partner, Take a bath/shower,Go to the ocean/water, Finally give into that one kink (You know the one, 18+), do Masturbation in her honor (only 18+, I heard she’s not comfortable with minors doing it, but that’s between y’all, just ask her beforehand.), Practice safe sex (18+), Educate yourself on the porn industry, Support sex workers (TIP THEM, 18+), Have sex (18+), Get educated on consent/safe sex, Take nude/lewds (18+)

Holiday • on March 18, goddess of fertility day

Season• spring

Status• Olympian, major goddess

Music • Harry styles, Classical music, old love songs (50s & 60s)

Day• Friday

Planet• Venus

Tarot• High priestess, the lovers, the empress, the star

Rituals • honored and invoked for love and fertility and beauty

Festivals • Aphrodisa, kinyrades ( summer festival) adonia ( mourning for Adonis, woman only)

Fact• She was most worshiped during times of politics, Many people offered her Opiates, or did Opiates in her honor. opium-burners were often found at her shrines in ancient times, please do not do opium.

Prayer•

1• sing, sing, oh i sing to aphrodite who is most beautiful! she who stirs the passionof men & god alike! o, to she — i sing! golden goddess with soft lashes, golden goddess withsoft arms, i spin and sing and delight in the bright rose that is you. may i dance with your grace, lifted up as the foam from the sea as you were — may my smile be blessed with delight. golden-haired goddess, bless my tongue to be sweet as honey, bless my fingers to be delicate and swift, bless my steps so they may bound forth in soft beauty. glory to she — praise to she! goddess of ever golden smiles, of fierce beauty, of spilling laughter and delight. o! may i love as you love — may i delight as you delight! goddess, fill me with your beauty — may i shine & rise above the wrathful waters of those around me and delight, delight, delight in the glory that you have given to me!

2•Golden Aphrodite

Lady of beauty and grace, Please give me the power to appreciate my body, Grant me confidence in my masculinity, Help me to feel your love within myself, and to express it outwardly as well, Lady Aphrodite, please hear my prayer, I sing your praises and offer you this incense

3•Aphrodite, guide me towards love. Help me discover it, receive it, embrace it, give it, celebrate it, honor it, teach it, and live it. Let love be the mark I leave, as your devotee, as a human being.

4• Antheia

Hear to me my call for spring to have sprung,Oh, sweet one scented of honey and nectar. Hear my call Aphrodite Antheia,As I harken a need for the sweet bloom. I crave the beauty of the opening flower, The sweet taste of its nectar upon my lips. Ah Aphrodite Antheia, Bring to me the joy of the fresh blooms. Let the petals cascade upon my body, Allow me the joy of the sunshine. Oh sweet one, Oh Aphrodite Antheia. Bestow upon me and mine, The gifts of the flowers fair.

5•daughter of seafoam, goddess of beauty, aphrodite please hear my cries. please listen as i describe all the parts of me that are shattered & torn, please understand as i tell my stories of pain. aphrodite accept me please. aphrodite pick me up & help me mend myself for i am yours, thank you so much & so mote it be

6• Aphrodite rivals the beauty of the sun setting over an ocean's horizon as you stand on the shore, the water tickling your feet as it pulled in and pushed back out repeatedly by the waves.

Scents/Inscene • Rose, wine, fresh roses, Frankincesne, Myrrth, vanilla, cinnamon, cypress, jasmine, cherry blossom, lavender.

Other• images of things she’s associated with, jewelry, perfume, bath salts , scented lotion, seawater, seashells, sand, makeup, feathers, self care essentials.

Links/websites/sources

@khaire-traveler

ephemeral-cryptid.tumblr.com

@mars-and-the-theoi graffitiphilosopher.tumblr.com teawiththegods.tumblr.com

@seleniangnosis

@melitheoidevotion

@seafoamsister

evilios.tumblr.com hearthcreation.tumblr.com orsialos.tumblr.com

@hisfluer

Aphrodite is the goddess of our hearts, we all love her, and she has a great personality, and is beautiful in looks and soul.

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burningvelvet · 9 days

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a post in honor of lord byron's 200th death anniversary —

the greeks were very fond of byron, who when he died in 1824 was a military commander and notable influence in their war of independence. as one of the most (if not the most) famous members of the philhellenist movement, byron used his poetic platform to try to remind people of greece's reputation as the source of western traditions in art and culture. the greeks then honored byron by decorating his coffin with a laurel wreath (below). they also erected statues for him, like this one below in athens depicting him being crowned with a laurel wreath (a symbol of greatness, especially in poetry/music [which historically overlapped]) by a female personification of greece. to this day, some statues of byron are annually wreathed in tradition, and the names byron/vyron/vyronas are still used in greece for roads, towns, and people in his honor.

"’Tis sweet to win, no matter how, one’s laurels,

By blood or ink; ’tis sweet to put an end

To strife; ’tis sometimes sweet to have our quarrels,

Particularly with a tiresome friend:

Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels;

Dear is the helpless creature we defend

Against the world; and dear the schoolboy spot

We ne’er forget, though there we are forgot.

But sweeter still than this, than these, than all,

Is first and passionate love — it stands alone,

Like Adam’s recollection of his fall;

The tree of knowledge has been pluck’d — all ’s known —

And life yields nothing further to recall

Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown,

No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven

Fire which Prometheus filch’d for us from heaven."

— excerpt from Lord Byron's Don Juan, Canto the First (writ 1818, pub. 1819).

"The mountains look on Marathon –

And Marathon looks on the sea;

And musing there an hour alone,

I dreamed that Greece might still be free;

For standing on the Persians' grave,

I could not deem myself a slave."

— excerpt from Lord Byron's Don Juan, Canto the Third (writ 1819, pub 1821) — this stanza is part of a section often published on its own under the title "The Isles of Greece."

"Byron was at once a romantic dreamer, who wanted life to square up to his illusions, and a satirical realist, who saw what was before him with unusual clarity and found its contradictoriness amusing. The clash between the two Byrons is nowhere more noticeable than in his last writings, done on Cephalonia and at Missolonghi during the months before his death. There we see the Greece he dreams of, and the Greece which, in different ways, destroys him."

— excerpt from Peter Cochran's "Byron's Writings in Greece, 1823-4."

"Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story;

The days of our youth are the days of our glory;

And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two and twenty

Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.

What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled?

'Tis but as a dead-flower with May-dew besprinkled.

Then away with all such from the head that is hoary!

What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory!

Oh FAME! - if I e'er took delight in thy praises,

'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases,

Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover,

She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.

There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee;

Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee;

When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story,

I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory."

— Lord Byron's "Stanzas Written on the Road Between Florence and Pisa" (November, 1821). What is illustrated here, and what I try to illustrate all throughout this assortment, is Byron's conflation of love and glory, and the idea that poetry and politics are both ways to deserve and achieve — not fame, but what fame seems to promise — love.

"But 'tis not thus—and 'tis not here

Such thoughts should shake my Soul, nor now,

Where Glory decks the hero's bier,

Or binds his brow.

The Sword, the Banner, and the Field,

Glory and Greece around us see!

The Spartan borne upon his shield

Was not more free.

Awake (not Greece—she is awake!)

Awake, my Spirit! Think through whom

Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake

And then strike home!"

— excerpt from Lord Byron's "On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sxith Year" (1824).

"What are to me those honours and renown

Past or to come, a new-born people's cry

Albeit for such I could despise a crown

Of aught save Laurel, or for such could die;

I am the fool of passion, and a frown

Of thine to me is as an Adder's eye

To the poor bird whose pinion fluttering down

Wafts unto death the breast it bore so high –

Such is this maddening fascination grown –

So strong thy Magic - or so weak am I."

— although the much more popular and published "On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sxith Year" is often believed to be Byron's last poem, the above is likely Byron's actual last poem. Like the former, it wasn't solely written for Greece, but for his page Lukas Chalandritsanos who he was in unrequited love (or lust) with. It is sometimes titled "Last Words on Greece" (named so by his friend and sometimes-editor Hobhouse).

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indigovigilance · 6 months

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Anthony, Anthony, Anthony

What does your Anthony mean, exactly?

I feel like your Anthony and my Anthony are different Anthonies…

In 1941 we learn that Crowley has named himself Anthony J. Crowley (Aziraphale doesn’t pronounce the H but closed captions write it and Neil Gaiman hashtags #Anthony and also it’s Anthony the script book so I guess Michael Sheen is just doing a thing idk). I haven’t seen extensive discussion of this topic but I’m going to jump in with both feet.

I propose that Anthony actually has a double meaning; that is, Crowley chose this name for one reason, but Aziraphale believes he chose it for another.

(I cite as indirect inspo a wonderful Tumblr meta about how the ineffable blockheads have completely different interpretations of Jane Austen and how this informs their S2 decision-making).

Read or bookmark for later on Ao3 because this got away from me and now it's a 2,888 word meta on people named Anthony what am I doing with my life

~~~

First and foremost, let it be stated that there is no canon for when Crowley anti-christened himself Anthony. Neil Gaiman himself won’t know until he writes it.

Secondly, let it be known that I am not an historian nor a literary scholar of any kind. So people who actually know these stories may find themselves cringing at my surface-level summaries and inaccurate interpretations: I’m just piecing together what I could find easily. I invite someone else to revise and republish if they can delve deeper on these topics.

Part 1: Mark Antony

There is a bust of Marc Antony in Mr. Fell’s bookshop as of S1E1 modern day (2019) which is still there at the end of S2E6, where it features prominently in the center of a shot. In 2019, the bust is adorned with yellow ribbons; in 2023, it is naked. The flashback to 1941 doesn’t give a good view of the part of the shop where the bust would normally be located so I have no idea when the bust actually got added to Aziraphale’s collection. I’m going to assume, for argument’s sake, that Aziraphale acquired this bust after the Blitz. I’m going to further propose that he acquired this bust because he believes that Crowley named himself Anthony after Mark Antony.

Why would Aziraphale think that? Two reasons.

1) Mark Antony was the loser of a civil war for liberty

Mark Antony was a good and loyal Roman citizen, serving Caesar with distinction, even attaining the title of Master of the Horse (Caesar’s second-in-command). See additional metas on horse symbolism seen throughout S2. After the death of Caesar, however, Octavian and members of the senate turned on Antony, starting a civil war. You know, much like a certain someone we know that was involved in Dubious Battle on the Plains of Heaven.

Mark Antony was loyal to Caesar’s political mission, which was to establish a Roman republic, where the voices of the citizens would be heard through their representatives [a suggestion box, if you will]. But Antony’s defeat marked the end of the republic, ushering in an age of autocracy. Octavian, following his victory over Antony, crowned himself the first Emperor of Rome.

2) Mark Antony was a libertine, but also the loyal, ardent lover of Cleopatra

Mark Antony was an infamous, lascivious, debaucherous, womanizing lush. He was also Cleopatra’s lover and closest ally. Though Mark Antony could not often meet with Cleopatra, their affair was allegedly very romantic, and from afar Antony did everything in his power to support Cleopatra politically, expanding her territorial holdings even while they were apart for years.

So legendary was Antony's wanton hedonism that when he went to Athens, he was deified as the New Dionysus, mystic god of wine, happiness, and immortality. Religious propaganda declared Cleopatra the New Isis or Aphrodite (mythic goddess of love and beauty) to his New Dionysus. The ineffable emperors, if you will. [source: Encyclopedia Britannica]

Parallels arising after 1941:

After Antony had officially divorced Octavian’s sister, Octavian formally broke off the ties of personal friendship with Antony and declared war, not against Antony but against Cleopatra. Much like how Shax, after her S2E1 “you scratch my back I’ll scratch yours” proposal, threatened Crowley that if he did not assist her search for Gabriel, Hell would declare war not on him but on Aziraphale.

The legacy of Mark Antony, therefore, is one of hedonism, romance, fighting for a cause that you believe in, and losing that fight. It’s easy to see how Aziraphale drew the conclusion that Anthony J. Crowley took his inspiration from this historical figure.

Part 2: Antony & Cleopatra

How is this a part 2? Weren’t we just talking about Mark Antony and his relationship with Cleopatra? Hear me out.

Crowley has never expressed much interest in politics. Every time something of political import happens, he declares that the humans made it up themselves while also taking credit for it with Hell. This includes 1793 Paris and the Spanish Inquisition. If I forgot any, drop them in the comments.

But Crowley has a deep and pervasive interest in stories, especially romance stories. If he can keep the Bentley from turning it into Queen, he listens to the Velvet Underground. He watches Richard Curtis films (to the degree that he identifies them by director rather than by title). Though book canon is not show canon, it’s worth mentioning that his favorite serial is Golden Girls; while not a romance, it is certainly heartfelt storytelling at its finest and a homosexual staple.

We know, too, that Shakspeare stole a line from him, with an adjustment for pronouns:

"Age Does Not Wither, Nor Custom Stale His Infinite Variety”

Let’s first talk about Crowley’s context for the quote.

Picture it: the Globe Theater, 1601, the house is empty because it’s one of Shakespeare’s gloomy ones and an irritated young Burbage, in the role of Hamlet, is droning out his lines like he would rather be anywhere else.

Burbage: To be or not to be. That is the question.

Aziraphale: To be! I mean, not to be! Come on, Hamlet! Buck up!

Aziraphale looks at Crowley, grinning with delight. Crowley stares back at him, shaking his head slightly, but a smile tugs at the corner of his lip. He wants to be embarrassed, but cannot help being charmed.

Aziraphale: He’s very good, isn’t he?

Crowley: Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety.

Crowley is looking up at the stage, and speaks immediately after Aziraphale has made a comment about Burbage. But is Crowley talking about Burbage? Does it stand to reason that age would not have withered, or custom not staled, this twenty year old (yet somehow jaded) stage actor?

I propose that this is a poetic inversion of the S2E1 cold open, wherein the Starmaker, looking out upon creation, says: “Look at you, you’re gorgeous!” and Aziraphale erroneously thinks the statement was directed at him. Here, even though Crowley isn’t looking at Aziraphale, I believe that Crowley is actually talking about Aziraphale when he delivers that iconic line. Unlike Burbage, Aziraphale is old, very, very old, and we know that he has a penchant for custom, wearing the same clothes and listening to the same music for century upon century. Yet here is this precious angel being a cheerful little peanut gallery of one, continuing to surprise the demon after all this time. Neither age nor custom has staled Aziraphale’s infinite variety.

When Shakespeare commits the line to a play written 1606-1607, a few years after this event, Crowley will recognize his own sentiment about Aziraphale issuing from Antony’s mouth about Cleopatra. The actual historical events will not have left much of an impression, but the immortalization of his own admiration of the angel in human romantic fiction will have.

It must be mentioned that Antony & Cleopatra is a tragedy, where the star-crossed lovers are kept apart by warring factions that demand loyalty to the state at the preclusion of each other.

There are also some (as far as I can tell) nearly copy-paste plot points from Romeo & Juliet about a misunderstood faked suicide followed by actual suicide and the lovers dying in each others’ arms. It does not have a happy ending. Anthony Crowley deliberately choosing his “Christian name” from this play embodies not only his deep love but his hopelessness that he can ever get the happily ever after he desires.

In Summary

Crowley was an admirer, in one respect or another, of Mark Anthony, though he relied more heavily on Shakespeare’s portrayal and reimagining of the character than Aziraphale gives due credit. Nevertheless, the difference…

Wait a minute…

What’s that?

Is that…

A piece of canon evidence that completely undermines my argument??

This screenshot will only be visible to Tumblr users (sorry Ao3), but at some point we get a good look at the Mona Lisa sketch that Crowley has hanging in his apartment. It is signed (translated from Italian) “To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo da V.”

The problem with this is, the Mona Lisa was painted 100 years before Shakespeare penned Antony & Cleopatra.

However, Neil Gaiman reblogged this transcription and translation, posing the hypothetical, “I wonder if Crowley knows what the A in A.Z. Fell stands for.”

Could it be that the Notorious NRG is jerking us around and sending us on wild goose chases? Absolutely a possibility. But. Let’s give a little grace for a moment, and assume that this comment was made in good faith. A bold assumption, I know. But humor me.

We know that Crowley and Aziraphale both knew Jane Austen, but from completely different perspectives. It stands to reason that Crowley knew da Vinci the scientist, but that Antonio Fell knew Leo da V., an artist with a heart that yearned for an unavailable lover. I’m just making wild conjecture that Lisa Gherardini (aka Mona Lisa), the wife of Florentine cloth merchant Francesco del Giocondo, was a love interest of da Vinci, but it could be true in the GO universe and would make for a great story.

Aziraphale also collects signed items from famous people; the inscribed books of Professor Hoffman to a wonderful student, and the S.W. Erdnase book, signed with his real name, come to mind. The Mona Lisa draft fits in much better with that collection of souvenirs than with anything in Crowley’s apartment. So it stands to reason that it could actually be addressed to Aziraphale.

There remains the question of how or why Crowley has it, but I won’t subject that to speculation here. All to say. Neil Gaiman’s implication-by-redirect is… possible. So let’s assume that it is the case, just for a moment.

If the Mona Lisa sketch is signed to “Antonio” Fell, then this allows the above theory regarding Crowley’s self-naming to remain intact. But it brings up a few questions regarding Aziraphale, not the least of which is: why did he name himself Antonio/Anthony?

Part 3: Saint Anthony of Padua

Anthony was the chosen name of a Portuguese monk, taken upon joining the Fransican order. Anthony rose to prominence in the 13th century as a celebrated orator, delivering impassioned and eloquent sermons. He is also associated with some fish symbolism, since he preached at the shore and fish gathered to listen. He was, incidentally, a lover of books:

Anthony had a book of psalms that contained notes and comments to help when teaching students and, in a time when a printing press was not yet invented, he greatly valued it.

When a novice decided to leave the hermitage, he stole Anthony's valuable book. When Anthony discovered it was missing, he prayed it would be found or returned to him. The thief did return the book and in an extra step returned to the Order as well.

The book is said to be preserved in the Franciscan friary in Bologna today. [source: https://www.catholic.org/saints/saint.php?saint_id=24]

This miraculous incident, wherein the thief not only returns a valuable book but also has a change of heart and returns to the bosom of organized religion, smacks of angelic intervention. But that is neither here nor there.

Saint Anthony is the Patron Saint of the Lost, and is prayed to by those seeking to recover lost things. What is “lost” in this context is usually an item, rather than a person or an intangible concept, however he is also “credited with many miracles involving lost people, lost things and even lost spiritual goods,” such as faith. [Edit: @tsilvy helpfully contributes that "Here in Italy Sant'Antonio is commonly not just the saint patron of lost things, but, maybe primarily, the saint patron of lost *causes*."] He died at the age of 35, and in artwork is typically depicted with a book and the Infant Child Jesus.

It’s a defensible position that the thing that gives Aziraphale the most consternation across the millennia is Crowley’s loss of his angelic status, and it could even be framed such that Aziraphale does not consider Crowley actually fallen, but rather simply lost. It is a fact that he finds difficult to reconcile and, depending on your reading of the Final Fifteen, the offer to restore Crowley’s angelic status is one that is so pivotal to resolving his internal conflict that he cannot refuse. If this conflict is so central for Aziraphale, perhaps he did name himself after a booklover and the patron saint of lost things, hoping that the name would carry with it some of the power of the blessing, and return Crowley to the light, and in turn, to him.

But wait.

Because I googled “St Anthony” to look for some images and….

St. Anthony of the Desert

I shit you not there are multiple St. Antonies and we’re going to talk about another one of them with respect to Aziraphale because this guy is bonkers. The story traces to the Vitae Patrum, yet another fringe biblical text and I cannot even get a quick answer on whether it is canon or apocrypha because it’s so fringe. Anyways. I think the best way to explain St. Anthony of the Desert comes from the wikipedia page on the Desert Fathers:

Sometime around AD 270, Anthony heard a Sunday sermon stating that perfection could be achieved by selling all of one's possessions, giving the proceeds to the poor, and following Jesus. He followed the advice and made the further step of moving deep into the desert to seek complete solitude.

[He] became known as both the father and founder of desert monasticism. By the time Anthony had died in AD 356, thousands of monks and nuns had been drawn to living in the desert following Anthony's example, leading his biographer, Athanasius of Alexandria, to write that "the desert had become a city." The Desert Fathers had a major influence on the development of Christianity.

Let’s all agree that this guy is not Aziraphale; this whole becoming an ascetic and living alone in the middle of a desert thing? Not his cuppertea. But St. Anthony is interesting not just for his decision to go into the desert, but what happened when he got there.

The Torment of St Anthony is a 15th century painting commonly attributed to Michaelangelo. It depicts demons crawling all over and attacking a hermit.

But the first round of demons are scraping the bottom of the barrel, practically the damned. Anthony’s journey continues and he meets another demon. Actually he meets two; a centaur, who is not very helpful, and then a satyr who is. It is much easier to find paintings of St. Anthony and the Centaur than of St. Anthony and the Satyr, so you don’t get an image, but I find the satyr to be a much more interesting character, so you get that story instead:

Anthony found next the satyr, "a manikin with hooked snout, horned forehead, and extremities like goats's feet." This creature was peaceful and offered him fruits, and when Anthony asked who he was, the satyr replied, "I'm a mortal being and one of those inhabitants of the desert whom the Gentiles, deluded by various forms of error, worship under the names of Fauns, Satyrs, and Incubi. I am sent to represent my tribe. We pray you in our behalf to entreat the favor of your Lord and ours, who, we have learnt, came once to save the world, and 'whose sound has gone forth into all the earth.'" Upon hearing this, Anthony was overjoyed and rejoiced over the glory of Christ. He condemned the city of Alexandria for worshiping monsters instead of God while beasts like the satyr spoke about Christ.

St. Anthony, then, is entreated by a demon to ask forgiveness from God upon the demons, and St. Anthony, seemingly, agrees to do it. He’s overjoyed to ask God to forgive demons. In connection to my analysis of the origins of the Metatron, and how Aziraphale and Crowley’s potential beef with him is that, as a human put in the exact same situation, he did the opposite, refusing to take the demon’s petition for mercy to God but instead taking it upon himself to confirm their unforgivability (yes that’s a word now) and damnation.

That seems like it would be pretty important to Aziraphale.

In Summary

I give up. I have no idea what’s going on with this show anymore. Here are two options each for both of our ineffable husbands to have given themselves the same God-blessed/damned name. You guys tell me what you think, I just have a pile of evidence and no spoons to evaluate it.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley

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