#I think a bit after that era there was a small period of fear where ppl stopped then they started again due to Facebook

[gwenlovesreggie]

Tbh I see posts talking about how when the internet first came around ppl wouldn’t share even their names and now ppl share everything online and while I understand the sentiment I also am an internet archeologist who digs through old websites as a hobby and it’s just not true ppl on their geocities and angelfires were posting full body images of themselves with first and last name date of birth university they attend and hometown

[ajokeformur-ray]

HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYY ~ 🎂🙌🥳🎉💖

Outrageously late gifts - your birthday was in MARCH😱 - for my dearest @rosesloveletters 🥰🙏🫂

Very happy and late birthday, my dearest sister!!! I cannot believe I'm so fortunate as to get to see you do another trip around the sun🥰🙏you're the sweetest, kindest, gentlest and most precious sister. I don't know what I'd do without you. May it be that I never have to find out.🫂I hope that you enjoy everything I've put together for you here but if not then please let me know, I'm more than happy to make you something else!!! (Or a bunch of somethings...👀)🫂🫂🫂💗💗💗

Total word count for this gift package: 4,978

First, as is always our tradition, a handwritten note from me written in perfect Wonka colours🥺💗

Industrial, illustrious // Wilder!Wonka x Rose🍫🌹

Summary: it's been a long, long day. Full of jobs, errands, tasks, chores, on and on the list goes as your energy further depletes. As you finally crawl into bed, the day put behind you, your chocolatier is there to remind you of one constant, no matter what you do or don't do: he's proud of you. So, so proud.

Word count: 2, 081

The start of every year was the hardest time for you. There's busy and then there's busy, and unfortunately for you, this time of year was the latter.

There was barely any time for you to breathe between your two jobs, maintaining and running your own house, caring for your cats, taking care of yourself, and everything else that the world kept trying to throw at you... also while helping Willy with any odd errands in his factory which he didn't have the time or resources to attend to... you were so busy that it was genuinely dizzying. If you stopped to think about it, you got overwhelmed to the point of panic and so you didn't think about it. You just kept your head down and got through every day as best as you could, one step at a time. So exhausted, down to the core were you, after the end of every day, that when your head finally hit the pillow, you could have sworn that the world was turning even though you were stationary.

Willy was not faring much better; he was the elusive figurehead and centrepiece of an internationally famous chocolate brand. Beloved the world over, even with or perhaps in spite of the lack of public knowledge surrounding who Wonka was. People only knew what little he had shown the world during the Golden Tickets era, which was understandably short-lived and had cost Willy a small fortune from lack of production supply.

It was nothing short of a miracle that the Oompa Loompas worked quickly and efficiently; that small fortune had been regained and then some over the Christmas period last year, and Willy had been able to step away from the public eye once again, with worldwide curiosity sated and four children restored to their terrible selves, though hopefully a bit wiser. The parents had been punished too, forced to confront the consequences of their awful parenting choices, and therein lied the genius of Willy Wonka. You admired him deeply for his cunning, his planning and his ability to execute such a plan so flawlessly. He was still teaching Charlie everything there was to know about the chocolate factory, and the child would be schooled in the beautiful art of chocolate and the ruthless world of business for many more years to come.

You looked forward to them all.

Even still, the both of you were exhausted from living your own lives and helping the other in their own where you could, as much as possible given your individually extremely busy schedules, and you feared that there was no end in sight. You were tired, overwhelmed, but determined to find your way and get everything done to the best of your ability. If anyone could do it, it was you. You had always been so hard-working, so diligent with the things that were important to you. When you wanted to do something, you found a way to be able to do it with whatever you had to hand, and your resourcefulness had gotten you further than most people knew. You carried your pain well, but that didn't mean that it wasn't heavy - you set it down, sometimes, when you found somewhere to place it, but it was yours, so you would always pick it back up again.

Sometimes it felt like pain was all you had, but then you would look at Willy, or you would hear his voice, see a flash of purple dart around one of the many corners in the impossibly vast factory, and the encounter, which would only last a second, would feel like sunshine breaking through the clouds after a storm. Such glimpses of your beloved would carry you through the rest of the day; you knew not if Willy knew the effect he had on you, but you were grateful all the same. Your pain wasn't so heavy when you were with Willy; he made it much better once you had been welcomed into his world of pure imagination. You held onto him as tightly as you could now that you had found him, and indeed during the times when your grip slackened somewhat, when the world got too loud and those storms turned to hurricanes threatening to rip you apart, Willy was there to lace his fingers through yours and squeeze. You kept each other grounded, safe within yourselves.

The days felt endless, filled with more work than there were available hours, but good or bad, everything ends, and so too did this day. All you wanted to do was to crawl into bed with Willy, bury yourself in him and let the day be swept away. It was the simplest things that meant the very most, when all was said and done. You would be forced to wake up tomorrow and do it all over again anyway, so why not take moments of reprieve when they presented themselves to you?

Perhaps that was why you clung so fiercely to Willy when you got to go to bed and put the day to rest - it would be another day before you got to do this again, and the thought of that always brought a lump to your throat and tears to your eyes. You just wanted to stay beside him all day every day; that was where you felt safe, supported, wanted. All you had to do to be loved by Willy was just to be yourself. There were no demands, no responsibilities, no duties except to be you - there was no greater gift. How could there be?

You were so beautiful, in every sense of the word. You had one of the biggest hearts Willy had ever seen; holding the doors open for the Oompa Loompas if you were around and you could see that a bit of assistance would make their jobs easier. You would stop what you were doing, as busy as you were, just to hold the door open, and then you would keep walking like you had never been there in the first place, smiling at his workers so warmly that he almost felt jealous to not be feeling the warmth of your gaze. You were compassionate, hard-working, gentle, tender-hearted and you felt so many things so strongly that sometimes, if he really stopped to think about it, Willy wondered how you hadn't lost yourself yet. But that was just it - you knew yourself, far better than you thought you did, and that was how, even in the worst of times, you managed to hold onto who you were and what you loved. You were kind, loving, patient, you had a wicked sense of humour, if you decided you wanted to do something then you would find a way to make it happen... in all his years, in all that he had seen and done, he had never met someone like you.

He knew he never would again, and perhaps that was why he held onto you as tightly as he did every night.

It was always the same routine when you were getting ready for bed, and yet you both desperately loved it, for the routine in itself meant that you were home, you could drop all defences and strength at the door, and you could simply be together.

Finally, you got to pull the duvet back and slide into bed. Your first leg hit the cool Egyptian cotton sheets, and that was all Willy could handle after his own extremely long day. He was almost always up earlier than you were. He still hadn't managed to reply to that note from the Queen. His arm reached out for you even as he slid his body back across the mattress so that you could have all the space you needed to get comfortable. You made what Willy affectionately (and privately) called a 'happy noise' as you finally got to lay down. You had never been the type to nap during the day, even when your exhaustion had reached your bones; it was only really something you did when you were ill. Willy barely slept, he came to bed when you did because that was your time together. It was the only time of day in which you could close the blinds, shut the door, and let the world fade out and disappear until it all shrunk down to you, Willy, and your bed.

Heaven.

You never crawled into bed feeling cold or empty; Willy's arms encircled you as you were crawling into bed, pulling you into him while somehow also giving you the space you needed to get yourself comfortable. He was as physically warm as the sunshine which bloomed within your heart every time you looked at him; it was no wonder that you melted into him just like the chocolate he had long ago learned to master. Even in the hot summer months, you craved to be as close to him as was physically possible, and sometimes you longed to reach into his chest, crack open his rib cage with loving tenderness and nestle yourself within his heart so that nothing and no one could tear you asunder. You had gone through so much, far too much for one so young, and you would not let Willy be taken from you now that you had experienced what it was to love him and to be loved by him, unconditionally and without apology or restrain.

You pushed yourself closer into Willy's hold, wanting to be closer than close. Wanting to be held so tightly by him that it would be like every fractured or outrightly broken (you couldn't help thinking) part of you would be forced to come back together; Willy's love and the strength of your relationship had become like the lacquered gold which held a shattered vase back together in the gorgeous Japanese art of kintsugi. Willy only smiled with tenderness warm as the summer as he flexed his arms around you, squeezing you. His oceanic blues were so gentle as they gazed upon you.

"Are you comfortable, my dear?"

You nodded, your love for him a lump in your throat, emotions so much bigger than you always rendered you speechless. Still, the look you gave him managed to ask, 'are you?', and Willy nodded, his eyes full of understanding. He knew you, and the love that you shared. He knew you, and how hard you worked every single day; neither of you were especially afraid of hard work. He saw the tears you pretended you didn't shed when you cuddled with him in his office chair, he saw the panicked breaths and the way you ran your fingers through your dark hair, he saw the way you white-knuckled your steering wheel sometimes or the way you jabbed a bit harder than usual at your music screen in the car when you were frustrated but wanted to change a song, he saw how hard you tried every day, no matter the personal cost... Willy saw everything, and he also saw how badly you needed to hear something from him.

And who was he to deny you anything you wanted, when he had a world of pure imagination at his very fingertips and an entire factory under his command?

"You know," Willy's quiet voice breaks the silence, but it doesn't disturb the tranquility you feel. His voice enhances it, the syllables he speaks wrap around you as surely as the duvet, and you smile as you shuffle across the minute space between your bodies to rest your forehead against his, "you must not underestimate the value of your progress, my dearest. You did your best today, you always do, and I am proud of you."

You went still, processing, the burning behind your eyes and inside your nose telling you that you were about to cry. You wanted to say so much, but despite your poetess soul, all that came to you was, "thank you. I'm proud of you" and Willy smiled at you as he drew you closer. The time for words was over, all you could do was recharge your batteries by basking in one another's presence. Willy's head was resting in the crevice between your pillow and his as closed his eyes to sleep. Morpheus would come for the both of you soon and grant you a night of restful sleep, but he would not separate you; for even in dreams, you would follow each other anywhere.

The only way to win money in a casino is to own one // the Benedicts🙏

Summary: Your daddy has noticed your exhaustion, and he's decided to step in and help his daughter with everything she has going on. Life is all about chances, possibilities, and playing one's cards well... just like in a casino. And who knows better than Terry Benedict about how to win a hand or two?

Word count: 2,897

"You look tired," Danny pointed at you with his index finger as he raised a tumbler of whiskey to his mouth, "Rusty keep you up last night?"

Several of the Oceans men laughed; it was such a familiar noise to you that it was almost like a song composed to raise your spirits of everyone in the world, and indeed was that the effect it had on you despite your stress and exhaustion. The inside joke, which was actually about your Rusty, the sweet kitty who always looked so sad, was an old one, but you loved it just as you loved each of the Oceans boys. In their own ways, they made up different facets of your family. Your Daddy was the figurehead of the family you had found within the Oceans boys, though you wouldn't tell him that. You knew that he had a begrudging respect for Linus and a reluctant appreciation of the way Danny and Rusty orchestrated heists, but that was as far as it went. Terry Benedict never forgot, and he never forgave. He was like the mongoose under the house when the snakes slithered by and the Oceans boys knew that. They had gone up against your Daddy before, though you had only heard about it during nights when the boys were drinking and coming up with new places to hit for the fun of it.

Thoughts of your Daddy were broken by a yawn big enough to threaten to split your face in half. It prevented you from joining in with the laughter; you turned your face away so that the others couldn't see. You stayed like that until your yawn was finished and you sleepily blinked the tears away; they had been caused by the yawn itself and told an unspoken truth about how exhausted you were.

Unfortunately for you, Danny saw you, and made a mental note to tell Linus. Linus would then, out of a sense of love for you and a healthy respect for Terry Benedict (said respect included a modicum of fear, it was true, your Daddy could be scary when he wanted to be), tell the man in question, and then Terry would step in and help you.

It was a plan, though shaky, but it was the only one Danny had. Like hell would he tell Terry with his own words that you were struggling like this. Terry would be grateful to be made aware, but he would still have it out for the Oceans boys. Sometimes you couldn't tell if it was nostalgic for your Daddy to be working against the Oceans boys, because they could work together exceptionally well, though begrudgingly, when the time called for it due to a shared enemy. It wasn't the first time you had seen them join forces and it likely wouldn't be the last. Willy Bank had been an especially formidable opponent, and yet everyone had come together to take him down and give him what he deserved; almost complete destitution, and then some, with money that wasn't legally his to begin with. That had brought karma to Willy, but no justice. The operation had been pulled off flawlessly.

"Yeah," you sighed, not able to look Danny in the eye, "I'm pretty tired. Rusty wasn't with me last night."

'Pretty tired' was an understatement for how exhausted everyone knew you really were. The eye bags you sported were practically designer at this point, stretching purple beneath your deep and soulful eyes and telling everyone that you were used to less sleep than you should be. You were always out and about in Las Vegas, driving between various casinos along the strip as you ran smaller errands for your Daddy. There were days you were in the office with him doing the harder work such as working out audits and filling out the corresponding paperwork or calculating the days' takings and running comparative sums, but then there were other days where your Daddy left you with a list of 'outside' tasks to do, and then there were Sundays, which were your days to get things done and take care of your own life.

Several of the Oceans' boys exchanged glances with Linus, who nodded and turned away as he pulled out his phone, shooting a quick message to Terry; code red🌹. Terry would not reply, but he would understand and appreciate the head's up that you needed a little extra love this day. In truth, he would have known it the second he saw you. His daughter and his casinos, in that order, were his only two priorities in life; even his own well-being fell short sometimes, though none who took a moment to look at him would notice it. The Benedicts were good at hiding what they were thinking and feeling in their daily lives; only behind closed doors and only when the sun had gone to sleep beneath the bruised horizon would they reveal their truths.

"Well, ain't that a shame," Rusty grinned, shaking himself out of his beaten leather jacket. His piercing blue eyes leveled with yours; the way he could flip between moods gave him a bit of a dangerous edge, though not one meant for you or the rest of the boys. "But seriously, you all right? Lookin' a little - " he gestured vaguely, a circular type motion near his face, and Danny turned around to fix you with his serious look, too. No one messed around with Rose Benedict, lest they find themselves on the end of the Oceans' boys and Terry Benedict's wrath.

Someone could survive one of those, if they played their cards right, but both? That was a sure-fire death sentence.

Several of the Oceans' boys turned around to look at you and you felt your forehead grow a little hot from the inside. You did not deal well under pressure, and Rusty must have seen this cross over your face because he got closer to you and turned it into a private conversation. The Oceans' boys picked up on it and turned back to what they were doing, effectively leaving you alone with Rusty and Danny. Reuben looked like he wanted to come over, as did Saul, but evidently the two elder Oceans' boys thought better of it. They would get an update from Rusty and Danny later.

"I'm just tired," you sighed, your eyes sliding closed for a moment. "And I miss my Daddy. Feels like I haven't seen him for a long time."

In fact, it had been yesterday, but the only talking you had done was all about business, and other than a very quiet, "you all right?" from Terry while walking down one of the many glamorous corridors in the Bellagio, the two of you had barely spoken at all. You were ships in the night these days, and you hated it.

It felt like you were constantly working and never spending time with the man who you looked up to for guidance and company when you were in the thick of working, and it was starting to wear on you. You needed your Daddy and everyone knew it.

Somewhere deep inside the expansive labyrinthine vaults of the Bellagio, Terry read the message which Linus had sent him and began to make mental adjustments to his schedule. He wouldn't adjust his routine, per se, but there were a few meetings which others could attend to in his stead, and some tasks could be de-prioritised for the day; which would open up his time to you and give the both of you some much needed bonding time. Tess had always told him that he needed to be a little more open with you; he was always so proud of you, but Terry Benedict was a hard man to read at the best of times.

You had been doing smaller errands for most of the day and had spent a good few hours with the Oceans' boys while you completed some paperwork which you were doing for your Daddy's administration while they were on a business trip, but the clock struck three in the afternoon and you knew that you needed to go back to the Bellagio to return the paperwork before finding another task on your seemingly never ending to do list which you could complete before the day was out. You wanted time with your Daddy, but you doubted that you would get any... you bit back against the lump in your throat at that thought and tightened your jaw, standing up and slinging your favourite loungefly bag over your shoulder as you bid your goodbyes to the boys one by one. Danny, Rusty and Reuben got the longest goodbyes but no one took it personally - everyone had their own personal connections within the group, but you were all still a part of a very tight knit family unit.

Danny and Rusty, as observant as they were, saw the way you had to keep steeling yourself against continuing to miss your Daddy, but they did nothing more than exchange a look with Reuben, who responded by raising his eyebrows. He had already seen Linus send Terry a message, so there was nothing to say beyond what had already been discussed without you being aware of it.

Or, if you were aware of it, you didn't say anything. The boys weren't sure sometimes, you were so much like your Daddy.

You were bundled into the back of a car and then it was like you blinked and found yourself back at the Bellagio; your every thought was focused on getting this paperwork returned so then you could maybe, if you were lucky, find some time to spend with your guidance and compass. That was all you wanted, as busy as you were, and no amount of money in the world could ever replace what your Daddy was to you. He was priceless.

It seemed that someone, or multiple someones, had intervened on your behalf, because your Daddy was stood outside the Bellagio, without any clipboards, files, suitcases or anything work related in hand. He was simply there, stationed with one of his many security guards; looking for all the world like he was just having a casual chat about the weather or something equally inane. Your heart leapt up into your throat but you did your best to maintain an air of professionalism; it wouldn't do for the daughter of Terry Benedict to throw herself out of someone's car and into her Daddy's arms.

The thought was tempting, but it would remain just that - a thought.

Terry opened your car door, giving you one of his subtle-but-noticeable smiles as you stepped out, making sure your loungefly was secure against your back. You walked with your Daddy back into the Bellagio, your head tipping back as you took in all of the intricate details and architecture of the Benedicts' second home.

"It has been brought to my attention by Linus Caldwell that you have not been feeling well."

That was all your Daddy needed to say; he didn't need to ask. He had a begrudging respect for Linus, and often treated him more favourably than the other Oceans' boys were treated. Linus' word was trusted, he was allowed to sit in Terry's car, and he was entrusted with your care. If Linus sent a code red, it was a code red.

"I haven't," even in those two words did Terry hear how defeated you were. "I have all of the paperwork that you needed for admin, and a bunch of other - "

"Rose." That was all it took for you to be stopped in your tracks on the way to your Daddy's office. Just your name, spoken in that soft but firm no-nonsense tone your Daddy was famous for. "I don't care about the paperwork. I care about you." He put a hand on the middle of your back, right where your hair rested, and gently nudged you forward; helping you to keep moving so that the two of you reached his office in no time at all. To all the world, because in a Benedict property, someone was always watching, it looked like an affectionate moment between a father and his daughter.

And it was. But what very few knew was that within Terry's office was a second smaller room - a room he had built just for the two of you so that you could watch television together, cuddle on the expansive sofa, or talk. There was a well stocked fridge with plenty of drinks - pink drinks, teas, coffees, dairy alternative milks so you knew you were safe - and all of your favourite snacks. You enjoyed much of the same foods. Work was not permitted in this room. It was just for the two of you, to find those rare pockets of time in constantly full schedules in which you could catch up with each other.

You couldn't say anything in response, you could only nod as tears pooled in your eyes and cascaded down your face, the dark circles under your eyes making Terry clench his jaw and momentarily look away; he hadn't been taking very good care of you, and neither had those damned Oceans' boys. They couldn't have been. If they were, would you be this overwhelmed, this upset and exhausted?

Terry knew you wouldn't be.

He knew his daughter, his only child, like the back of his hand, like the Bellagio and the other casinos he had along his strip. One look at you and he could see everything. He could see the hours of lost sleep in the name of getting more things done, he could see how your feet and legs ached from being so busy with countless errands, he could see the skipped meals, the 'oh, I'll wash my hair tomorrow, it'll be fine', and everything you fought so desperately to hide. Terry saw you, and it broke his heart to see you like this.

It was why he didn't hesitate to pull you into his side the second you were both on the couch, your head resting on his upper shoulder. You turned your cheek to nuzzle into the dark starched fabric of one of his favourite suits, and Terry gave the wall an almost imperceptible sad smile as he leaned back, letting his body sink into the black leather cushions while he held you close. He knew what you were thinking and feeling, he had been there before, many a time. He had weathered it alone or with LeMarc, who always taunted Terry out of a bad mood and back into the determined spirit he was infamous for.

Terry briefly considered calling LeMarc, to see if he could get you through this, but selfishly, Terry wanted to be the sole one to support you. No one could look after his daughter the way he could, no one. Quite frankly, he wouldn't let anyone else close enough to try. Times like this, when you needed your Daddy, were only for Terry. You were an adult, but even so did Terry struggle to entrust your care to anyone else.

"Nothing else needs doing today, Rose." The heavy rumble of your Daddy's voice in his chest made you shut your eyes, and for a moment, you were a child ago, being held by your parent. You wanted to capture this moment and cradle it in the palms of your hands, protecting it from the cruel sands of time, preserving it for a rainy day. There were many more to come, this you knew. You also knew that your Daddy would be there to help you weather them all, no matter how severe or complicated, or even mundane. You would never be left alone to navigate life, which Terry thought to be like a casino, alone. Not under his watch, where there was always someone paying attention to you and the things you did and didn't do.

"Okay," your voice was quiet, almost like a sigh, and your head grew heavier on his shoulder, "I'm tired." You shut your beautiful eyes and felt your dark hair fall over your nose; you let it tickle you, you didn't care. You didn't want to move. You just wanted to enjoy the moment with your Daddy. It was so very rare for the two of you to get some time like this, and even rarer still for Terry to deliberately cancel the rest of his day, delegating tasks to others, whom he rarely if ever trusted, just so he could spend some time with you. The Benedicts were always incredibly busy, so moments like this were coveted and fiercely protected.

"I know." To anyone else, this may have sounded like a placation, but to you it meant that Terry really did know, for he was as tired as you. He said nothing more, he just picked up the television remote next to him and clicked on the monitor, watching the news while he held you. If you fell asleep for twenty or thirty minutes, and if Terry's head happened to tip back onto the cushions before he closed his eyes, then who was anyone to say? This room was only for the Benedicts and what happened there, stayed there.

It was Terry's solemn vow.

So there we are!! Happiest of birthdays to you, my love, and I hope that you enjoyed everything I made for you here!! If not, let me know and I'll happily write you other things!🥺🫂💗💗💗I'm so sorry that this was such a horrifically late birthday gift; life happened, a lot of it wasn't on my bingo card for 2024, but I hope the length of the fics makes up for how late this is! I'm gonna finish up working on your Christmas gifts now, so then they're done in time.😂🥺I love you so, so much and I'm really proud of you.🥺🥰💖

[linkedhearts]

The group watched quietly as the next couple of memories came and went. There was some ribbing but only quietly as they watch their youngest grow from a baby into the young teen they see.

Their Goddess also watched over him, hiding out of sight in the shadows and guiding a gentle breeze to help him along the way. She would often slip a bit of her power into Grandma's soup and hum under her breath when there were nightmares for either him or Aryll.

Then Aryll was kidnapped and they watched as Wind stepped up as the Hero of that era, the Goddess trailing faithfully after him.

Wind couldn't help the tears that escaped from his eyes when he saw that after she had ensured both Wind and his Grandma were okay, she had immediately gone after Aryll to check on her. And did so periodically as Wind's adventure continued. Warriors squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.

(Both First and Wind had been unable to help themselves and tried to touch the Goddess when the portal to Hyrule first appeared. She was unable to even approach the entrance as a deep paralysing Fear rendered her stuck for some time by the entrance.)

As the memories passed, they noticed that with every shard of the Triforce of Courage Wind collected, she would look strange as if something had caught her attention on her periphery but vanished before she could look closer.

Finally, the memory of Link and the King of Red Lions arrived back at the entrance to Hyrule with the full Triforce of Courage.

As Wind presented the ancient power to the entrance, something seemed to settle itself deep within him and their Goddess snapped her head towards him.

"...Link?"

"A brave child. One worthy of both the Spirit and my power, don't you think, Young One?" A breeze tugged playfully at their Goddess' clothes and she nodded her head, curtseying.

"My Lady Farore." Trepidation and Fear shuddered through her and she kept her head bowed.

Farore seemed to twirl around the Goddess and brushed over the top of the head gently. "Peace, Young One. I am merely here to ensure the Spirit awakens proper. The life he spent within the Hero of Time exhausted him greatly. It was only thanks to the Spirit that your son's soul was not overwhelmed by a greater power."

Their Goddess shot her head upwards. "What?!"

There was a small echo of laughter from the Goddess of Courage. "Peace. The entity did not mean to harm him but was too powerful for any mortal soul to contain even one as strong as a Hero. The Spirit held him back enough that he did not overwhelm the Hero of Time, but that kind of strength sapped his strength not to mention the stunt he pulled when Hylia interfered with the Battle against Demise's Curse. The Spirit is still recovering, but having the Triforce of Courage will strengthen both the Spirit and your latest son."

The Goddess slumped in relief and tears trailed over her cheeks. "Thank you. I've been so worried about both of them. Thank you."

Farore laughed again. "Nonsense. You have cared for the Heroes throughout the ages and have done your best. We could not interfere earlier, but this is a special occasion."

The two Goddesses' attention was drawn to where memory-Wind was staring at his hand and grinned at his companion.

"At last, my power resides where it ought to be. You must be very proud."

Their Goddess smiled tearily. "I am. I am so incredibly proud of him. I just wish I could do more."

Farore ruffled her hair as Wind and the King of Red Lion sailed down to Hyrule, fading away as they did. "Ah, Young One. Do not forget that you do the most for them. You give them the Hope they need to survive and the Home they need to live. Is that not what all Heroes fights for?"

Their Goddess was left hovering by the portal into the drowned Hyrule, waiting as she always did for her boy to return.

“Woah. So, you were tired? Can spirits get tired?” Legend asked.

“I-I remember none of this. I just figured after Time, that I woke up within another one of you,” First answered.

“How many of us do you think you were absent for?”

“I don’t know. Hopefully not many of you. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because I wasn’t there.”

“Wind? Are you ok?” Asked Twilight.

Wind was staring unseeing at the floor. Shoulder hunched and arms crossed. “I don’t have the hero’s Sprit?” He said softly.

“I, oh Wind-“First started before being interrupted.

“So am I even a hero?!”

“Of course you are-“

“How?! Everyone knows that you need the hero’s spirit to be a hero! So I’m just a boy in a tunic?!” He had started crying. Wind has always struggled to find his place among the older heroes and now he doesn’t even know if he is one.

Time bend down and grasped him by the shoulders.

“That’s enough,” he said. “Spirit or not you’re still a hero.”

“But-“

“No, listen to me. You still saved your sister. You saved the princess and Hyrule. That is what makes you a hero. You didn’t need the spirit to do all that. And you don’t need it now.”

It seemed to cheer him up a bit, but he was still conflicted.

[dianapana]

SH Day 7- Genin Era

Rated T

Honestly I’m never confident in writing in the original Ninja Universe, my depiction of most of the characters is so OOC and that works fine with AUs but I fell like I need to be in character to write in the Ninja Universe, not sure I achieved it in this story but yes…either way, I hope you enjoy.

~Love Dia.

@sasuhinamonth

Hinata POV

When Iruka sensei first announced the teams, I was disappointed that Naruto-kun and I were on different teams, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it was actually best that way. No matter how hard I try I always get flustered and distracted around him and for a ninja focus is important, especially in the middle of important and dangerous missions. And even despite being on different teams, I’m always able to find him around town and look from afar, just seeing him is enough for me. I got used to this way of thinking for a while now, thus when Kurenai mentioned that we’d go on a mission together with team 7 my anxiety levels rose higher than my excitement to see Naruto. I was already too weak and dragging my team down, father always made sure to remind me just how much of a disappointment I was, our initial track record of failed missions, or barely passed ones only added as proof to his words. I was terrified I was going to put everyone in danger, I was scared to make a fool of myself, I was filled with fear that was threatening to overflow from deep inside me.

I tried approaching Kurenai about the issue, tried to ask her to allow me to stay behind, but they needed every one in our team in order to track a run-away criminal, they needed Shinos bugs, Kiba’s nose and my eyes. Naruto’s team was in charge of fighting him if necessary and bringing him into the village. Kiba had been furious when he heard our job was to be a map basically, but I was glad we wouldn’t have to fight. However, my relief was short-lived when Kurenai mentioned that it was an A-class criminal so there was a high chance that team 7 would need our help in combat as well.

The day of the mission started pretty similarly to my usual days, I got dressed, packed bentos for everyone and left bright and early for the training ground where we were told to meet up. The whole way there I kept thinking about what I should do if Naruto was already there, what if it were just the two of us there, what would we talk about? Or would we just sit in silence? However, my worries were futile, Naruto wasn’t there, it was only Shino, I and Uchiha-san. Shino greeted me, but Uchiha-san didn’t acknowledge my existence, the three of us stayed in silence which usually I wouldn’t have minded but my thoughts were hectic and I would have liked any sort of distraction. Slowly more people joined, Kurenai, followed by Sakura and Kiba and soon there was no longer silence, Sakura was talking to Sasuke and Kiba was complaining to Kurenai-sensei. After a few minutes of being ignored Kiba let it go and came to talk to me, he was telling me about some of the new dogs his older sister rescued and Akamaru placed himself in my lap for pets, it almost felt like a normal day and for a moment I forgot all about Naruto and the joined mission, that was of course until Naruto appeared, he had been running to get here on time, you could tell he was hurrying by his slightly red cheeks, the rapid way in which he breathed and the droplets of sweat rolling down his temples.

His sunny disposition was wonderful from far away but it was maybe a bit too bright and blinding from this close. I followed him with my eyes as I were so used to do, not even registering he was walking to me until he was barely a few feet apart, his eyes focused on me with a smile.

“Mornin’ Hinata-chan” I loved how my name sounded on his lips, I blushed hard and murmured a reply, before any more talking could occur Kakashi-sensei arrived as well. Kurenai laid down a map for us and told us to gather around, I was too conscious of Naruto’s presence so I moved as far away from him as I could, I needed to focus on the explanation, my distraction could already be seen for in my attempts to distance myself from Naruto I bumped into Uchiha-san. I screeched, took a step to the side and apologized but he didn’t acknowledge me this time either. The only nod I got from him was when I gave everyone their bentos right before we split into smaller teams.

Thankfully I was able to focus on the plan and understood my part in it. I was to be in front of the team together with Kakashi-sensei and Uchiha-san, I’d use my Byakugan at the beginning until my chakra level was about half and then took small breaks if we hadn’t found the criminal by then. I was glad that Naruto wasn’t directly next to me, however, I was extremely uneasy around Kakashi and Sasuke as well, I had hoped at least Kiba would be next to me, but he was with Sakura and Kurenai to the left while Shino and Naruto were in the back.

“Ok Hinata, you can turn it on whenever you want, if you see anything unusual let us know immediately,” Kakashi said as we stepped outside Konoha grounds. The scroll with the mission information had a portrait of the man and information about his chakra type as well, which all in all helped me a lot, I knew exactly what I was looking for, thus being able to ignore all the movement around me that belonged to the team. The criminal had escaped from Suna three days ago and from their sources, he would pass through the forest outside Konoha somewhere today or tomorrow depending on his speed.

We had been running for almost 3 hours when I felt my chakra levels falter for a moment. I had never used it for such an extensive period of time, plus Kakashi and Sasuke’s speed was much higher than I was used to, all in all, I was having a tough time keeping up with them. I turned off my Byakugan when I felt my left eye hurting badly. “My chakra needs to recharge” I let them know and Kakashi nodded. We didn’t stop running, however, we slowed down significantly in order for Shino and Naruto to catch up with us, Shino too had been using his bugs and was tired, thus it was only Kiba that was still actively searching. Once my chakra felt stable enough, I turned on my Byakugan again, I could still feel discomfort in my left eye but ignored it for the time being.

Another hour passed when Akamaru barked loudly and not even a second later I spotted the criminal, he was far to the left, Kurenai’s team was maybe 45 minutes away from him, I informed Kakashi of that and we too turned to run that way, slowly increasing our speed.

“Hinata, we need you to keep your Byakugan active and let us know exactly where he is going, Shino if you can send some poisonous bugs ahead, our best plan is to knock him out without much fight needed”

The closer we got the more I felt his chakra overpowering me, the faster we ran, the faster he ran too, I wasn’t sure if he knew we were on his tracks, he had made no movement that indicated he knew. It was a split-second event, he was one, he was alone and then there were two others. before I could even open my mouth to tell everyone I felt a sharp pain at the back of my neck and the world slowly started getting blurry and black, the last thing I saw was Uchiha-san’s hand reach out to me.

Sasuke POV

The mission started about 2 hours ago but I could hear Hyuuga’s breath getting heavier and heavier with each step, I kept waiting for her to tell us she was tired, but she didn’t. Kakashi was quite far ahead of me and her but I’m sure he knew she was tired as well. Finally, an hour later she admitted to being tired, I turned for a mili-second to look at her and her left eye was closed, you could see the eye twitching underneath her lid, she had exhausted herself. We met up with the dobe and Aburame, I expected Hyuuga to lose her composure just as she had at the meeting place, but she was either too focused or too tired to give Naruto any attention. Even Naruto was uncharacteristically quiet.

The mission had been a long run thus far, that was until Hinata finally saw the suspect in the distance, we changed our path the way she guided us and kept increasing our speed. Kakashi told her to keep her Byakugan on and she made no comments. Out of everyone I was the closest to her and I could hear her getting more tired by the second, I kept mental tabs on her just in case she was going to pass out. For a split second, I heard her breath patter change, as if she was about to speak and I turned to look at her, her left eye was bleeding and from behind her came a man that hit her hard with the side of his hand on the nape of her neck, I reached out to her and barely caught her, held her against me before we hit the ground. Before checking how Kakashi and the others were faring I cupped her face and brought it up to my ear, for an agonizing long second, I couldn’t hear or feel her breath, but thankfully she was breathing, she was alive.

“Sasuke, take care of Hinata” Kakashi ordered, he had already knocked out the man that attacked us and was carrying currently carrying him on his back while writing a scroll and running at the same time. I picked Hinata up and continued running too.

“Is she ok?” Aburame asked and I nodded trying to ease his worry. I had been worried too, for a moment there I panicked, what would I have done had she died? Her left eye was still bleeding slowly, it looked as if she was constantly crying blood, I could feel my shirt getting wet with her blood, having her blood on me made me feel even more in charge of her safety.

“I found them too, I put a bug on each of them, there are three men in total” the information was welcomed “Kurenai-sensei’s team should reach them about 10 minutes before we do, I managed to inject with a small dose of poison one of them, the other two killed my bugs” Despite Hinata’s approximation beforehand, the criminal and his partners, apparently, were running too, all we could do is try to catch up to them in due time.

Holding her into my arms I felt oddly detached from the mission, for the majority of it I had been distracted, more interested in her state of being than the mission itself. Today had been one of my first interactions with her, what was it about her that caught my attention? Her blush and stutter when Naruto was concerned? Her loud scream when she bumped into me? The bento she offered me with no alternative reason? Either way, her presence distracted me and I did not appreciate that, her weight in my arms felt comfortable and even that annoyed me.

“Sasuke, you turn around with Hinata, I trust that there are no other men involved with the criminal. We can’t be sure how long the chase will take, Shino will keep trying to poison them and we hopefully will be done soon, however Hinata needs medical attention”

My detachment to the mission only furthered, I asked no questions, I gave no reply but simply turn around and run towards Konoha. Despite the extra weight and the long run thus far I wasn’t tired, I was oddly energized, my blood was boiling and I was running even faster than I have ever had. We were about 5 or 6 hours away from Konoha, but I wanted to reach it in 4 if possible. My focus returned and I heard every little leaf crunch on the ground, every little branch being moved by the wind.

When we were getting closer to Konoha, meaning maybe under an hour away Hinata moved into my arms, I stopped abruptly and looked down at her, her eye had stopped bleeding 2 hours ago thankfully, her complexion which had been white before was rosier and I could feel her sweating under her enormous jacket. I lowered myself to one knee and propped her legs onto my knee thus using that hand to undo her zipper, then without much thought I took off her jacket and threw it on the forest floor, it was covered in blood, sweat and dirt anyway, she wouldn’t miss it. I got back up and adjusted my grip on her, my hand was touching the skin of her upper arm, it was moist and hot but soft. I was about to start running again when her eyes fluttered open. The sclera of her left eye was blood-red, her right eye was also red but not quite to the same extent.

“Uchiha-san…? Where are we?” her voice was meek, but for the first time, she was looking me straight in the eye.

“We are maybe 1 hour away from Konoha”

“D-did the mission end…? where is everyone else?”

“The mission hadn’t been over when we departed form the group. Kakashi sent me to take you to the hospital. I am sure he assessed the situation and decided they could finish without us and that this was the best course of actions”

I had no expectations of how she would react, but her sudden sobs took me by surprise. Without even realizing it, I brought her body closer to mine and raised it a little. “Hold onto my neck” I ordered, Hinata looked at me with glossy eyes but obeyed nonetheless. I resumed running in that position. Was I offering her privacy to cry? Was this meant to comfort her? Even I couldn’t say.

The rest of the run went by fast, after crying for a while Hinata fell asleep, in the meantime, I started nothing things that I was grateful for. I was grateful for her short hair since the wind couldn’t blow it in my face, I was grateful for the soft skin of her arms since they felt nice onto my neck, I was grateful for her height since it made her the perfect size for me to carry, I was grateful that she was asleep and not dead.

When we reached the hospital, I placed her onto the bed in the room a nurse guided me to. She didn’t let go of my neck for a moment and whispered “it’s a-all my f-f-fault, I ruined another m-mission. I’m so s-s-sorry” her voice broke, and for some reason hearing her say that hurt me as well. I didn’t know how to comfort her, so all I did was rub circles on her back with my hand, I sat down on the bed and allowed her to keep holding onto me for a bit longer. “You did nothing wrong, thanks to you the others knew where the enemy was. We failed you because we didn’t notice the man behind” I had heard about the Hyuuga blind spot from father, but had forgotten about it until that moment. I wasn’t sure f my words or actions were of any help to her, but she didn’t cry, she was just hiding, and even that didn’t last long, for the doctor came to check on her.

I walked out of the hospital and went home to rest, in the middle of the night, hours later I heard a knock at my door, it was Kakashi-sensei. He came to let me know everything went well and to ask about Hinata. I told him what the nurse told me, a blood vessel busted in her left eye, she was knocked out and had a slight concussion, but nothing major. They were going to let her out of the hospital in the morning. After Kakashi told me some more about the mission he left for the night and I made a sudden decision.

I found myself in front of the hospital. I knew which window belonged to Hinata’s room, I had seen her through it when I left that evening. So instead of going through the door, I decided to jump onto one of the trees and then right outside her window. I tapped it lightly, not wanting to wake her if she were asleep, but thankfully she wasn’t.

“Uchiha-san?” she said as she opened the window for me to get into the room. She looked confused and embarrassed. I walked to her bed and took a seat on the side of it.

“I just wanted to let you know the mission was a success, everyone is fine.” Her eyes widened. “You didn’t ruin it, as I said before they couldn’t have done it without you” it felt odd o say that and the more the words gained meaning into my mind the more embarrassing they became. “Either way, I just thought you’d worry so I came to tell you that there’s no need for that”

I got up and wanted to leave, the room felt small and warm, but Hinata grabbed the back of my shirt. “Thank you” she mumbled the words about a dozen times, each time a little quieter and broken than before. I wanted to stay and comfort her some more, but I also didn’t want to see her crying anymore. My feelings were confusing me and so was she, so I simply replied ‘go to sleep’ before going out the window and leaving her behind into the dark hospital room.

The first week of Sh month done oof, can't believe I pulled through, especially since I didn't really plan on posting anything but day 1 so most stories (apart from day 6) I things I randomly wrote at 1 am. Thank you for reading and interacting <3

[germanicseidr]

Wodan

It has been more than a year since I published my post on Wodan. Just like with my post on the Batavi, I wanted to rewrite this post as well to include more information about this fascinating God and also add a bit of my own personal experiences with this deity. This group has gained thousands of members since last year so there are also quite a lot who have perhaps missed my previous post on Wodan. I also want to discuss the similarities and differences between Wodan/Odin and the moment when humans started to worship him.

Wodan is the chief God of the Germanic pantheon. He has countless of names in many languages, it would be truly fascinating to try and collect all of his names into one big list. He is the God of wisdom, knowledge, battle, magic, death, primal rage, healing, tricking humans and the runes. Most of our knowledge on Wodan is based on the eddas. Unfortunately the ancient Germanic people did not write anything down about him but we do have archeological evidence for his worship.

His name comes from the proto-Germanic word Wodanaz which means rage. This already provides us with a clue on how the early Germanic people viewed this deity. Interestingly, the Dutch word for rage is woede, derived from the old Dutch name for Wodan, Uuoden>Woen, Weda in old Frisian. The meaning of the word Wodanaz has not changed for the Dutch people in over 2000 years. This God personally holds a very special place in my heart. Through my work with seidr I have come into contact with him several times.

When did the Germanic people start to worship Wodan?

The first written mention of Wodan comes from Tacitus in 98AD. Tacitus describes several Germanic Gods but unfortunately he uses Latin names to describe them. The Romans compared Wodan with their own God Mercury. Why the Romans compared Wodan with Mercury also isn’t fully clear. Both Gods escort the dead and carry a staff but that is where their likeness ends. Curiously, the Romans compared their chief God, Jupiter, with Donar. This is perhaps a clue into the changing roles that Wodan played.

Just because this is the first written mention of him, doesn't mean that the worship of Wodan comes from this time period. The Germanic people didn't write anything down, their religion was passed down to the next generation by telling stories, it's an oral tradition so we still do not know how old Wodan exactly is.

We can look at archeological evidence as well. When do we first see images appearing that look similar to Wodan? I think most of you are familiar with the classic Odin/Wodan images found all over the Germanic world, from Norway to Denmark, Germany and the Netherlands from the Vendel period and early medieval era. But looking at these images provides us with another problem. How can we be absolutely sure that these images represent the same God? Maybe Wodan was portrayed completely different from how we know him now? Maybe a face of Wodan was carved on wood, similar to the wooden statues found in bogs dating back tot he bronze age? Maybe all the early depictions of Wodan have simply been lost in time.

There is however another theory that suggests that Wodan was introduced to the Germanic people by the Saami. One of Wodan's most defining traits is that he is able to wander across all the realms, speak to spirits and gain knowledge this way. Technically this makes Wodan a very experienced shaman. The Saami people were/are practitioners of shamanism. The Goddess Freyja taught Wodan how to practice seidr. Seidr is a mix of shamanism and witchcraft similiar to the shamanic practices of the Saami people.

Another theory suggests that a Saami shaman, called Wotan, simply became deified by the Germanic people. Perhaps he led a tribe to victory after leading them into battle. Another even wilder theory suggests that Wotan was a Celtic druid who was deified by the Germanic people. The only historic truth that can be verified is that the Germanic culture borrowed elements from both the Celtic and Saami people.

Wodan could also have been introduced to the North-western European people during the bronze age by the proto-indo Europeans. The proto-indo European language spread all across Europe and evolved into different languages, perhaps the same happened to their chief God, Dyeus, as well. Almost all Indo-European cultures have a (chief) God who is quite similiar per example, Zeus, Wodan, Perun, Tiwaz, Jupiter, Dagda, Dievas, Papaios, Brahma.

Even if you research all these possible topics deeply, it is still impossible to say when exactly Wodan was a known deity amongst the Germanic people. The Germanic culture developed during the late Bronze age and if you combine all these theories together, his possible origin could lie near the end of the Bronze age and the start of the Iron age. That would mean that the worship of Wodan began around between 1800BC-1300BC in modern day Denmark, northern Germany and North-eastern Netherlands, more than 2000 years before the viking age even began.

However most of the physical and written evidence for the worship of Wodan came from the early medieval ages until the middle medieval ages, the era between 400-1000AD. One example is a fibula found in Heiloo, the Netherlands. This fibula from 7th century Frisia depicts Wodan flanked by two wolves. There are also coins found in Frisia that depict Wodan. More of such fibula, amulets and coins have been found throughout Norway, Sweden, Denmark, the Netherlands, England and Germany.

Written sources outside of the eddas that mention Wodan have also been discovered. This is the nine herbs charm which was written somewhere during the 10th century AD in England. Christianity was the official religion of the English people at that time but it seems that the common people would still fall back on the old Gods in times of need. Here is the charm:

“A snake came crawling, it bit a man. Then Woden took nine glory-twigs, Smote the serpent so that it flew into nine parts. There apple brought this pass against poison, That she nevermore would enter her house.”

There is also an Old English rune poem that basically explains the futhark. This is the stanza for the ansuz rune:

"god is the origin of all language wisdom's foundation and wise man’s comfort and to every hero blessing and hope" The word Ansuz/Os is used for God. Christians did not use this word to speak of their God so this rune is directly related to Wodan.

He is also mentioned in the Old English poem Maxims I:

"Woden worhte weos" Woden made idols.

  The last written record that I want to mention is the German Merseburg charm which I have written about before:

"Phol and Woden travelled to the forest. Then was for Baldur's foal its foot wrenched. Then encharmed it Sindgund (and) Sunna her sister, then encharmed it Frija (and) Volla her sister, then encharmed it Woden, as he the best could,"

 Wodan later became known as Odin in the early medieval Scandinavian world. Wodan and Odin are essentially the same deity but there are some differences between the two. These differences formed over time since Wodan is an older depiction of Odin. Here I tried to list the attributes of both Wodan and Odin in an attempt to show how the early Germanic people viewed Wodan compared to how the vikings viewed him.

Wodan: Skilled sorcerer, God of death, trickster of humans, God of knowledge, bringer of the runes, still has two eyes according to some sources, shaman, primal force of rage, leader of the wild hunt, God of war, God of healing, carries a staff and spear, two ravens, is a deceiver and was a feared God because of his ability to trick humans into death or madness.

Odin: Skilled in battle and magic, God of Knowledge, bringer of the runes, one-eyed, shaman, shapeshifter, dead fighters go to Walhalla to fight for him, God of war, owner of Sleipnir, carries a staff and spear, two ravens and two wolves guide him, more closely related to the Saami culture.

 There are still some traditions left in Europe that are linked to Wodan/Odin. Since I am Dutch, I will explain some Dutch traditions: Sinterklaas, the old wanderer on his white horse who rides in the sky and gives presents to children. Midwinterhoorn blazen, the blowing of the midwinterhorn to announce the arrival of the wild hunt, the traditional start of winter. Hanging the placenta of a horse in an oak tree. Sint Maarten, the old wanderer on a horse who shared a piece of his cloak to a freezing stranger. And lastly possibly the game of paalzitten. If you know about other traditions from other countries that are linked to Wodan/Odin, feel free to share them in the comments.

Here are some of Wodan/Odin’s names in different (Germanic) languges:

Proto-Germanic: Wodanaz Old English: Woden Old Saxon: Wodan Old High German: Wuotan Old Frisian: Weda Old Norse: Óðinn Dutch: Wodan/Woen Old Dutch: Uuoden English: Odin Norwegian: Odin

Feel free to expand on this list in the comments.

 The reason why I decided to rewrite and post this article today is because Sinterklaas has arrived again in the Netherlands. This was traditionally viewed as the start of the wild hunt led by Wodan. He would ride in the cold dark winter nights through the sky, trying to collect as many of the dead as possible. If you were unfortunate enough to see him in the sky, it meant that your life is soon ending and you would join Wodan’s hunt back to the underworld.  In order to please the wild hunt, people left behind small offerings of food near the hearths of their homes. Carrots were left behind to feed Sleipnir. Until this very day, Dutch and Belgian children gift carrots to his horse in the tradition of Sinterklaas.

 At last I want to share one of my own personal experiences with Wodan. As a child and teenager I was always searching for a spiritual home. My mother is a practitioner of witchcraft, a tradition which goes back for many generations in my family. I was raised with this practice of witchcraft but still I felt spiritually lost. That was until one day, on my birthday several years ago, I started to explore the older variant of witchcraft, shamanism.

During that first trance I met Wodan by surprise. His appearance was so unsettling that it caused me to experience a full blown panic attack and I was thrown out of my trance. I felt physically ill for two days until I returned into trance and stumbled upon Wodan once again. I was finally able to communicate with him and it turned out that he caused my panic attack because he likes pulling such tricks on humans, especially when he senses fear. We talked for a few minutes about knowledge until it was time for me to return to the mundane world. Before I left, he gave me a name in Proto-Germanic which I now use as my spiritual name.

Of course I was extremely skeptical about this whole experience afterwards. Was this just something I imagined? I was thinking about this for days at an end while at the same time I had the thought of placing a tattoo on my left arm with the word Wodan spelled out in the elder futhark. Eventually I decided to visit the local tattoo shop to make an appointment for this tattoo. Until my great surprise, the tattoo artist was not only a skilled artist, she is a professionally trained shaman of the native Canadian culture. She knew instantly that I was also dabbling in the art of shamanism and that I was in doubt whether it was actually real.

She then told me everything that Wodan had told me. Wodan , knowing that I am quite a skeptical person by nature, decided to inform another shaman in order to finally convince me that this was after all a real experience. She had to pass this information to me in order for me to finally believe in the old Germanic Gods. It’s interesting that Wodan decided to use a shaman from a completely different culture, showing that the practice of shamanism is at its core exactly the same all over the world. I got the tattoo as well. This first experience with Wodan led me to finally find my spiritual home and it started the quest for knowledge on the ancient Germanic culture. I eventually decided that it would be best to share as much knowledge as possible, the reason why I started this facebook group.

 I am so sorry for this incredibly long post and I congratulate the ones who actually fully read it. In the future I also want to write more about Wodan/Odin’s role in the Germanic mythological lore, his work with the runes and his archetype.

 Here are images of: A depiction of Wodan as a wanderer by Georg von Rosen, 1886, A depiction of Odin by Mary H Foster, 1901, A depiction of Wodan riding Sleipnir from a 18th century manuscript, Frisian Wodan fibula and coins, Sacrifices made to Wodan in the Netherlands around 300AD (human and horse remains, arrow heads and jewelry), The Merseburger charm, Wodan VS Sinterklaas,

[poptod]

Leeway (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Sometimes, you just need to feed the person you accidentally embalmed alive a lot of vodka. A LOT.

Notes: so this is a tad strange and i thought it would be fun to write so hello this exists now and im not apologizing for it this time. i do love how easy it is to tell who learned english in cambridge and who learned english from a crazy american though. fluff and humor, gender neutral, only warning is getting sick from drinking too much Word Count: 2.5k

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Despite the popularity of the Egyptian exhibit in the museum, there was really only one hallway and one room for it. A hallway filled with smaller artifacts, and in the center of it all, Ahkmenrah's tomb. What with being the only ancient Egyptian in the whole of the museum, he was rather lonely – that made up one of the reasons for the new exhibit, but the main reason was a money grab.

Now, the new exhibit wasn't nearly as royal as Ahk's room. No massive guards, no rooms catered specifically to it, no hieroglyphs surrounding it. In fact it was the tomb of a servant – that's what historians categorized you as after seeing your wooden sarcophagus and the poor wrappings of your mummification. There was nothing but you in your tomb; no dolls, no artifacts, not even any pottery offerings. Ahkmenrah didn't know any of this, though – no, he was just excited to have someone who came from the same era. His thrill stemmed mainly from his fear of forgetting how to speak Egyptian. With you on your way, he could rid of that fear.

He was told of your exhibit about a day before you arrived, and throughout the whole of the waking night he thought of you. Who could you be? Maybe your times were a thousand years apart; Egypt did have a rather long rule, after all. There was also the chance you were from exactly his time, and part of him hoped that was to be.

The next evening he awoke giddy, a grin on his face from the moment he opened his eyes. A few minutes and Larry came to help him out, stripping off the remaining linen before standing tall, gold falling from his body as silk.

"Is the new exhibit here?" He asked immediately, eager to meet you.

"Yeah, this way," Larry said, guiding Ahk out of his room with a chuckle.

A bundle of nerves began to ache in his chest, begging him to hurry his step. He tried his best to keep calm, soon standing in front of an open archway, leading into a room filled with the broken down, dusty artifacts of his previous daily life. Shabti dolls came to life in glass cages, and beside all the shields and various weapons lay a rotted, wooden coffin. At the sight he frowned – there were no inscriptions on the coffin, not even a hint that they might've once been there. Without those inscriptions it was terribly hard to navigate the afterlife, but that wasn't his main problem at the moment.

The biggest issue was that you were rattling against the wood, moaning weakly from your first wake of the dead. Your coffin sat in a large, glass box, and as both Ahk and Larry realized that, Larry dug into his pocket for keys to open the box.

The moment the glass door opened, Ahk crammed himself inside, careful not to step on the bits of pottery as he knelt at your side. Gently he raised the lid, helping you sit up. Together you worked out of your wrappings, which fell to the bottom of the coffin, before the last of it came off, revealing your face.

"Wait a -"

"You!" You shouted, brows furrowed in a rage both Larry and Ahk rarely saw. Jabbing him in the chest with your finger, you glared him out of the box, following him as you stumbled onto the linoleum floor. "You're the guy who killed me!"

"Wait, what?" Larry said, his tone suddenly serious.

"I did not kill -"

"You fucking buried me alive, you son of a bitch! Do you know how painful it is to have all your organs removed for a damned embalming?!" You yelled as your face grew red, filled with the pressure of your anger.

"Okay, wait, wait –" Larry stood inbetween you two, but your eyes never left Ahk's rather terrified face. "First thing's first. How do you know English?"

"You think you guys get to be the first people insane enough to bring me to life? I lived in a sorcerer's home for ten years and he treated me better than you ever did," you said, aiming your venom at Ahk. Again. "I felt safer with him and he took off my arm and resewed it back on!"

"In my defense, I didn't know you were alive, alright?" Ahk tried defending himself, but you wouldn't hear it.

"You fucked up big time, buddy," you seethed, shoving your face right up against Ahk's. "I wasn't the goddamn murderer. The other one was."

"Oh. Oh, no," he said as the color drained from his face. "Shit, you were innocent?"

"Okay can someone tell me what the hell is going on here?!" Larry finally interjected, gaining both of your attentions.

"There was this, um, incident, while I was a prince," Ahk began, reluctant to tell. "A few murders had happened in the city, so the soldiers tracked down who they believed the murderer to be, but they were fighting with someone. Like, really bad. I was with them and there was quite a lot of blood."

"I would've won, too, if you let me," you grumbled bitterly.

"One of them claimed to be a famous poet, and the other one was unemployed. Obviously the murderer, but we couldn't tell the difference between the two," he continued, ignoring your remark. "There was this whole trial to figure out who was who. What – what was your penname again?"

"Siamun," you said.

"Right. Unfortunately, I guess we got the wrong one," he said rather blankly, regret plain on his face.

"And then he threw a spear at my chest, proclaimed me dead despite the fact that I was still breathing, and then they tore out all my goddamn organs," you finished for him, telling 'Larry' the rest of the story Ahk hesitated to mention.

"It wasn't a spear," Ahk said as though it mattered.

"Knife. Sharp pointy thing. I'm still pissed at you," you said, crossing your arms with great force.

Larry looked between the two of you for a moment before speaking.

"I think I know how to make you feel better," he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and leading you out of the room.

"I highly doubt that," you said quietly, sending one last seething glare over your shoulder at Ahk before you turned the corner, leaving him alone.

He almost cried – he rarely did, but this time was close. All that excitement for nothing. There was no way you'd be able to hold a conversation with him, which was fair, considering he didn't think he could hold a conversation with someone he wronged so deeply. The worst part was that he was quite the fan of your work, and it had been a long, long time since he'd been able to read or hear your words.

About an hour later he dragged himself to his feet with a weary sigh, slowly shuffling into the main room, where he could already hear music and the shouts of dancers and soccer players (for some reason). At the balcony he overlooked the whole of the crowd, eyes scanning over the jumping crowd till he found you sitting with Larry at the center globe. You had a bottle of some sort in hand, and from what he could tell, you were incredibly intoxicated. A new, sick hope sprouted in his head – maybe you'd be able to tolerate him while drunk. Strange thought, certainly, but not entirely improbable.

So, with that in mind, he headed down the steps, his cape floating down with him till he reached the crowd. Worming through the people, he made his way to stand on the other side of the help center desk.

"What did you do?" Ahk asked Larry, gesturing to you sitting on the office chair, spinning as fast as you could.

"I thought they could use some loosening up," Larry answered with a shrug. Ahk frowned.

"That's... what did you give them?"

"Hmm? Oh, just some vodka the previous night guards stored in Rexy's mouth," he said, nodding pleasantly.

"Isn't vodka ten times more powerful than our beer?"

"I hadn't really thought of that," Larry said with his hands on his hips, looking to you for a moment before returning to Ahk.

Once you stopped propelling yourself, your chair stopped spinning, and your smile quickly dissipated into a pale face as sickness overcame you. With lopsided eyes you tried standing, balancing the bulk of your weight on the desk. You gagged on your own tongue.

"That's no good," Ahk muttered under his breath, circling the desk till he stood beside you, wrapping an arm over your shoulder. "I'll take them to the bathroom."

"I think I'm going to throw up," you slurred, leaning into Ahk.

"Thought so. Let's hurry now," he said as he took you through the crowd, feeling thankful that the bathrooms weren't a floor above you. No, they were just to the side, and soon he was holding your hair as you hurled into the porcelain toilet.

You shivered despite the room being warm, and Ahk recognized it as tremors brought about by pain. He winced when you gagged, nothing but acid coming out as you moaned, white knuckles trying to find purchase on the tile floor.

"You.. what's your name?" You asked weakly, your voice rough from acid staining the back of your throat.

"... Naguib," he said after a moment of thought. He wasn't sure if you would remember his name, but he preferred to stay safe, and took his servant's name.

"You're being.. thank you," you mumbled, immediately gagging again afterwards. Nothing came out.

"Of course," he said softly, moving his hands to rub at your tense shoulders. You hummed, unable to move from your spot without feeling intensely sick.

"You're from Egypt, too, aren't you?" You said, tilting your head onto your arm to meet his eye.

"Yes," he confirmed. "Same time period."

"God, I miss it sometimes. Don't you?" You whispered, barely able to find the energy to keep speaking.

"It can get very lonely. That's why I'm glad you're here," he said with a small smile, making you close your eyes and offer your own soft, barely-there smile. "Do you mind speaking Egyptian with me?"

"Sure," you answered in the language he'd been longing to hear from a mouth other than his own.

"So... what was life like for you back then?" He asked despite knowing of most of your exploits (and accidentally being part of the final one. Death.).

"I was a scribe, didn't work for the King though. Didn't really want to. I liked his son, though. Nice guy except for when he stabbed me," you grumbled, your eyes half lidded. He flinched at your last words.

"What did you write of?"

"The world," you said with a weak smirk. "Poetry. Lots of it."

"Really?" He said, keeping his voice soft to soothe you. "Could you share some?"

"Maybe if I remember what I wrote," you replied with a snort. "Been a whole fuckin' while since then."

Wow, you swear a lot, Ahk found himself thinking blankly, watching you tremble and try to keep yourself even.

"What about the prince?" Ahk asked after a long silence, his words barely there.

"Gods.. um... well, very kind. Got a bit of a stick up his ass, but damn, he was handsome. Pretty scary too, but don't tell him. Any of this," you slurred, once more readying yourself to hurl into the bowl. Ahk quickly moved his hands from your back to your hair, keeping it out of your eyes as you gagged, acid and vodka dripping off your tongue.

Even with you having a rather unpleasant time in the bathroom stall, Ahk felt rather good. You liked him – at least you did at one point, and for him, that meant there was a chance you could forgive him. Yes, embalming you alive was probably not the greatest thing he could've done, but you seemed forgiving enough. With anger formidable and forgiveness imminent, he almost smiled. Almost. And then you hurled again.

In the last hours of the night you started to get better. You could stand with help from Ahk (though you much preferred lying down), and your wits were a little more about you, words still slurred but not quite as unhinged. A few hours previously you stopped throwing up, and Ahk moved you from the bathrooms to McPhee's office. He had a nice couch in there, and Ahk doubted he would mind, considering how McPhee practically revered the living exhibits.

"Feeling better?" He asked, knelt beside you on the cushioned velvet couch.

"A little," you hummed, your voice cracking as you looked to him with tired, baggy eyes.

"We'll have to get you back to your coffin soon. I'll have to go to mine too," he said, stroking your hair. You blinked slowly.

"Why?"

"I'll tell you when you're a bit more coherent," he said with a smile. The edges of your lips turned up, but you were far too weak to form a full smile.

A few minutes later Ahk heard a knock on the closed door, and he excused himself from you with a gentle kiss on your forehead. Opening up the door an inch, he slipped through the gap, coming face to face with Larry.

"They doin' okay?" He asked, hands on his hips.

"Will be, eventually. Don't give them vodka. Ever," Ahk said, earning a hurried agreement.

"Yeah, no, definitely. What's up between you guys though?" He asked with vague hand signals gesturing between the two of them. "Like, you friends? Enemies? I can't tell."

"Currently my name is Naguib and I'm a servant."

"Oh, so not good."

"I didn't say that," Ahk said with a frown. "I asked them about 'the prince' and they actually had a pretty high opinion of me, all things considered, so that's good."

"Honestly I find it hard to believe you actually stabbed them. You don't come across as.. murderous," Larry said, a questioning look on his face.

"You've clearly never seen me watch TV," Ahk said flatly. "I'm a Pharaoh. I'm not sure what you were expecting, but my brother tried to kill me five times and I lost my best friend to banishment. I think I'm allowed a little leeway."

"Yeah, I guess so," Larry said with a sigh, forgetting they were genuinely discussing murder. Murder. "Ready to get them back in the coffin?"

"Right."

The two of them helped you back into your casket, a task that was made infinitely easier by the fact that you passed out while they were conversing. Before placing the wooden lid back on, Ahk leaned in, kissing your forehead one more time. Only then did he reluctantly crawl out of the glass cage, watching Larry lock you up.

"Why do you like them so much?"

"Eh," Ahk shrugged, "they're prolific when they aren't drunk."

"Fair enough."

[humans4vampires]

Cold Heart

Context: This story was inspired by a tumblr post from tumblr user @cozycullens. The post outlined the potential for sappy holiday content that the original story lacked. The post noted that Twilight fans had to fill in the blanks; I thought it would be fun to write out what Valentine’s Day could have looked like for Edward and Bella. The timeline of this story edits the original canon, meaning the breakup in New Moon and subsequent recoupling happens earlier, allowing the pair to be reunited in time to spend both the Christmas holiday season together and Valentine’s Day. This is before the events are set in motion for the vampire army attack in Eclipse. I’d also like to mention that this story addresses a scene that occurs later in the timeline of the novel. I’ve edited it here to give Edward and Bella a bit of private time that is free of the pressures that the later happenings of Eclipse bring to the moment. In this, I have used direct quotes from Meyer’s novel, and I do not claim to own that content in any way. As stated, this is purely for fun and to share with my fellow Twilight fans.

READ PART TWO HERE

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The dull blue grey light of the morning filtered through my window in a haze, waking me gently from inconsequential dreams. My natural instincts to unfurl myself from my usual swaddle of blankets to reach for him felt empty and unnecessary. Rather, I found myself spread across my bed in a sweaty mess of fabric.

“Edward?” I said softly, propping myself up to take in the room. I blinked quickly and tried to brush the mess of my hair from my face, speaking his name again as a question. There was no reply.

I tried to think back to the night before; I didn’t think he had gone hunting. No, he had surely been with me when I fell asleep. A compilation of Victorian poetry was open face-down on his side of my bed. We made the trip to Seattle a few weeks ago to get the book I needed to get started on my research paper. I had chosen the topic of Tennyson and Rossetti as an ironic gesture toward him – my very own post-Victorian era angel. He was reading his favorites to me, his voice a velvet whisper when I had fallen asleep in his cool embrace.

No, I was sure he had been with me throughout the night. I ran my left palm over the bare sheet beside me and felt the lingering presence of his wintry skin. It was unusual for him to leave before I woke. It was my favorite part of each day, and his. I was wondering what had called him away as I picked up the heavy text to see where he had left off. As I turned the pages to face me, a small piece of paper fluttered into my lap. The note he had left in his elegant script explained his absence.

‘Who are wise in love, love most, say least. Happy Valentine’s Day, love.’

He quoted Tennyson, I was sure, but the poem he had left open was not the same one he referenced. Instead, the book was open to Tennyson’s ‘Crossing the Bar,’ which was certainly not a love poem. I scanned it quickly, trying to garner any meaning from it without success. My mind was racing elsewhere, my heart beating quickly with exultant dread. So he had gone to prepare whatever exorbitant Valentine’s Day surprise he had planned. As fate would have it, this holiday had arrived on a school day and would provide a public audience to witness the surely over-the-top display Edward had planned for me.

Edward’s obsession with making the most of my human experiences had only intensified since reaching our compromise for Carlisle to turn me after my impending high school graduation. Christmas had been a deluge of cheer and merriment thanks to Alice, who was overcompensating for lost time with me – while also, just being Alice. I was still convinced it hadn’t snowed quite as much as she’d wanted and she had somehow managed a snow machine to fill in my yard for Christmas morning. Alice had laughed off my assumptions as absurd, but Charlie was still trying to work out how our yard had had a good three feet more snow than the rest of our neighborhood.

The halls had certainly been decked in Cullen home, too. It had to be visible from space from the sheer amount of Christmas lights neatly hung on every eave and railing. For the entire month of December, the house smelled of fresh gingerbread and pine. Every surface had been transformed with fresh garlands and shiny decorations. The fireplace in the grand living room was constantly crackling a gentle fire, flickering its light against the enormous tree trimmed with ornaments gathered over the many decades of Christmases past. And the gifts – oh – I couldn’t even bring myself to continue the thought.

I was brought back to reality, the sweet valentine in my shaking hand. I took a staggered breath and made a passing glance at the clock as I rushed to the bathroom. I tried not to think about the day ahead as I dressed. Charlie had already left for the station and the rest of my morning at home seemed to move in a blur of anxiety. I stumbled out the door in a black turtleneck, jeans, bean boots, and my mustard yellow coat. I thought my very standard attire might signal Edward to my disinterest in any outlandish public displays of affection. I drove slowly to Forks High School through the rain muddled snow. My truck dredged through the sludge into the parking spot beside the familiar silver Volvo.

The parking lot was already full and busy with the usual Friday commotion. I looked out my rearview mirror to take in the pops of pink and red from the Valentine’s baubles that everyone seemed to be toting. I had always found the holiday rather arbitrary – a well-marketed event to boost the sales of chocolates and flowers. Until my mother had found Phil, Valentine’s Day was usually spent in front of the television with a pint of ice cream, two spoons, and a chick-flick. I was trying to remember the last Valentine’s Day movie my mom and I had watched together when a quick knock on my driver’s side window snapped my eyes from my rearview.

The morning’s panic melted from my bones as I took him in. Edward was standing there, my favorite crooked smile on his lips, a single and perfect red rose held up in his hand.

“Good morning,” he murmured as I opened my door and got to my feet to stand in front of him. “Did you get my Valentine?”

“Mmm,” I hummed. “Tennyson?”

He nodded, a smirk crossing his expression. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”

I felt a blush beginning to mark my cheeks and looked down at my feet as he handed me my rose. He moved to rest that now empty hand above my head on the frame of my truck, leaning to tighten the space between us. His free hand swept down my jaw, his gentle fingers stopping below my chin to tilt my head up. He bent down to press his lips to mine, his cool breath sending my delicate humanity into a tailspin. The kiss was, as expected, refined… at first. Unexpectedly, he draped an arm around my body to pull me closer to his frame. He lifted me effortlessly to continue the kiss as my free hand found its way around the base of his neck and into his bronze hair.

When his response became rigid and he began to return my feet to their reluctant ground, I realized I had forgotten to breathe. My legs trembled against the sudden gravity and he steadied me as I took in sharp breaths. He chuckled lightly and shook his head.

“What am I going to do with you?” he teased.

“With any hope, that, again.”

He took a slow step back and smirked, “I do enjoy sweeping you off your feet.”

My head was still spinning as I grabbed my bag from the truck and shut the door behind me. Edward took my right hand as we walked to class, my single rose in the left.

The rest of the day continued on and I was a happy bystander to the couples declaring their love for one another throughout the day. It seemed each period passed with another sudden delivery of roses, large teddy bears, or chocolates. Joyce Lowell in Government received a loud serenade from half of the school’s marching band, her boyfriend, Aaron, the faux-conductor. Each time the door to the classroom opened my heart skipped a beat with the fresh fear that Edward might have some embarrassing demonstration planned. I wasn’t eager to hurt his feelings and so I kept the question from him all day. I had cracked by fifth period when he finally asked, “Why is your heart is thrumming like a hummingbird’s?”

“I’m worried that you have a grand romantic gesture planned,” I took a sharp breath, anxious for his response. My heart rate only increased when he shrugged and walked ahead of me into the classroom.

I was at a loss for words when he chuckled. “Am I not allowed a grand gesture on Valentine’s Day?” Panic rushed through me before he continued in a more serious tone, “Do you honestly believe that my romantic displays are akin to those of someone like Mike Newton?”

His eyes glanced down at the trinkets gathered in my arms. I thought this tradition had been left in elementary school, but it seemed my friends still enjoyed giving each other Valentine’s treats. Jessica and Angela both had given me small paper crafts and chocolates to mark the occasion. Even Tyler and Eric participated, handing out boxes of tiny heart candies.

The only class Edward could not manage to work out to have with me our senior year was math – considering my being in a far lower level than was excusable for him to fail into. This, of course, was the only class I had exclusively with Mike. I had found it funny that it bothered Edward in the slightest; until today, when Mike seized the opportunity to give me a large stuffed bear, a rather huge box of chocolates, and a clearly handmade valentine. All platonically, Mike had assured me, as he was still on-and-off with Jessica and I was still very much Edward’s – only Edward’s.

I shook my head as I fumbled to stack all of my favors onto a pile on my desk, keeping the rose in my hand to tap lightly on the tip of Edward’s nose.

He tilted his brow at my playful gesture. “You have nothing to worry about. I simply have arranged for us to have a night alone. My family have their own Valentine’s Day traditions and we’ll have the house to ourselves. For this one night could we try to forget everything besides just you and me?” he pleaded, unleashing the full force of his eyes on me. “It seems like I can never get enough time like that. I need to be with you. Just you.”

“No,” I shook my head again. “Just you is good.”

The hitch in my tone caught his attention, but he didn’t have a chance to respond. Mr. Banner began lecturing on optics and light. I couldn’t focus on Physics; I could only hear Edward’s methodic voice repeating ‘I need to be with you’ again and again. Each passing thought brought a new blush to my cheeks that I tried to hide behind a curtain of my hair. I was sure he could hear my fluttering heart, but I couldn’t focus on that either. I was entirely clouded with thoughts of him. I stared at his strong hands, folded together in front of him on the table. How I imagined them on my body a million times, his cold fingertips grazing over my bare skin in the places he refused to wander. It was all I could think of the rest of the day.

When I was back in my room, a different blur of anxiety plagued me than when I had left it in the morning. Edward and I went our separate ways after school. He had filled me in on how exactly he had planned to handle the issue of Charlie. My father was still learning to trust me again and another night out of the house was certainly going to come under some heavy interrogation. I was technically still grounded even though Edward had been following Charlie’s very strict rules to a perfect degree. I was sure that Charlie hadn’t missed the fact that it was Valentine’s Day and I could only imagine the things he would think Edward and I would be doing if left alone. I was pressing the subject when Edward said, “Esme spoke with Charlie today and let him know that Carlisle is taking my brothers and I on a long-promised camping trip. You’ll be having a girls’ night with Esme, Alice, and Rosalie, as Charlie knows it. He’s been hoping you’d be spending more time with Alice soon.”

I felt a twinge of guilt for all the lying that had to be done to protect Charlie. This lie was much less to protect him from the perils of life threatening vampire attacks and much more about protecting him from the thought of his teenage daughter being alone with her boyfriend on Valentine’s Day. The guilt subsided when I remembered that I would get to be alone with Edward.

I stood in my room, hands steadying me on my dresser, knees shaking from the anticipation. The mix of emotions kept wracking me in waves. Edward had made it very clear; we could not be together physically until I was changed. My safety, was not something he was willing to jeopardize to satisfy any desire – which, to his credit, was entirely the reason I was alive. It was difficult to argue with Edward on that fact, but it was so incredibly difficult to argue with my own desires, still. And yet, I felt foolish all the same. I was so intensely human. Though he’d told me many times that he felt the same way for me, I knew he couldn’t possibly lust for me the way I did for him. I was able to reason that point logically, but part of me questioned it in this moment. Had he changed his mind?

I knew what was waiting for me at the Cullens’. It hadn’t been much more than a month since the last time I had genuinely spent the night there for a ‘girls’ night.’ Edward didn’t want me anywhere near Jacob and so Edward had been avoiding distant hunting trips to keep a close watch on me. Alice was all too eager to babysit to allow Edward a satiating hunt; it left me free to be played with as if I were her life-sized doll. That wasn’t what I was fixated on now. The image of the intricate wrought-iron bed burned in my mind. The thought of Edward and I wrapped tenderly in its golden threads made me quiver again, a sigh escaping my lips.

A knock at the front door made my heart stutter. I heard Charlie gather himself up off the couch to get the door. I stopped listening and only heard the light murmur of greetings as I rushed to find something appropriate to wear. What kind of outfit were you supposed to put together to seduce your vampire boyfriend? I was clashing hangers together across the pole, a bit frantic, when I heard her behind me.

Alice shook her head. “You look like you need to sit down. Let me handle this,” she said.

I decided it was better not to argue with her. I was, in all fairness, a mess, and there was only so much harm she could do with my own wardrobe to work with. She confidently pulled my small duffle from the top shelf of my closet and began packing things without truly looking at them. She had already seen what she would need.

I was sitting in my rocking chair when she looked back to me, still absently packing my bag. She looked like she was waiting for me to say something, but I swallowed uncomfortably rather than working up the nerve to talk.

She cast me a sympathetic smile as she removed something from my closet and tossed it toward me. “Try this,” she said.

I stood to change into the hyacinth blue sweater Alice had given it to me as a Christmas gift. Unlike many of the other fashion pieces Alice had tried to dress me in, I did like it. It was soft, probably a thin cashmere, with a plunging V neckline. It fit my frame tightly and was flattering in a way that I couldn’t justify being embarrassed by. She moved to my dresser then, digging through the very bottom drawer to pull out a short skirt she had also gifted me that I was not particularly fond of. Before I could argue, she slung it onto the bed.

“Work with me here, Bella,” she said sternly.

I pulled on the black skirt without a fight. Alice finished off my outfit with a pair of expensive black leather boots.

“And those were a gift from Esme, before you think of disputing them,” she lectured.

“No, I like them. At least they’re covering more of my skin,” I said, zipping them up.

Alice peaked her eyebrows, a smirk budding on her face as she closed my bag. I felt the rush of blood on my complexion again. “Alice – “

“Come on, let’s go before you lose it,” she said quickly, pulling my hand and leading me out of my room and down the stairs.

Charlie didn’t bother looking away from the television as we called a quick goodbye to him. Alice carried me through the slush in a movement so brief that I had no time to process it, placing me in the passenger seat of her small yellow Porsche. Forks blurred outside the windows and in the darkness of the car, it was easier for me to talk about what I was getting myself into.

“Does he…” I asked in her direction, not finishing the thought.

“I don’t think I should really say anything, Bella.” She answered, plainly.

“Since when do you keep things to yourself, Alice?”

She chuckled quietly, “Whatever I say now is not going to help. I’m just dropping you off. You’re not the only one with Valentine’s Day plans, you know.”

“That’s not fair,” I complained. “He’s seen whatever you’ve seen. He’s not going into this blind like I am.”

“Oh, yes he is,” she said proudly. “I’ve been careful to stay away from him today – and it’s not quite clear what’s going to happen. You’ve only been growing bolder in the last few hours.”

Bolder? I certainly didn’t feel it. In the light of the dashboard, I saw Alice turn to me as the car began to slow. We were already in the driveway. When the car stopped, I felt a quick breeze from the opening and closing of her door. She had slung my bag over her shoulder quickly before arriving at my door to help me to the porch steps. I doubted even Alice thought I was that uncoordinated to walk a few feet without falling; she was carrying me everywhere to keep the boots safe, I thought. She set me down on the porch and walked ahead of me into the house. I followed her in, confused.

“I thought you said you were just dropping me off?”

                  We were in the living room when she said, “I am. Edward isn’t here yet. He had an errand to run. He’ll be here soon and we’ll be gone – don’t worry.”

                  A fresh blush met my cheeks as I locked eyes with the another set in the room. Rosalie was perched on the edge of the sofa, bent over the coffee table arranging what looked like a large photo album. She had small papers and photos scattered all over the table, some in small piles on the floor beside her. She gazed up at me with the come-to-be-expected level of enthusiasm I generally received, but there was a hint of something else in her expression. It caught me by surprise and left me gawking at her silently. Rosalie’s appearance always struck me, but tonight she was especially beautiful. Her tight satin dress was just the perfect shade of red to compliment her equally satin skin, her golden hair a perfect, elegant twist, and her long bare legs crossed in front of her were only further elongated by her strappy, red stilettos. Alice had done her best with me, but I felt myself self-consciously tug at the hem of my skirt.

                  That inexplicable look that I had caught in Rosalie’s expression seemed to grow stronger as she gauged my assessment of her. A small smile crossed her lips as she looked back to what she was working on and I looked to Alice, who was dancing back down the stairs now. I hadn’t noticed her departure, but she was already redressed in an ensemble that mirrored the glamour of Rosalie’s. Alice bent one leg up behind her, fastening the tiny buckle on the strap of her heel, careful not to bend and crease the fabric on her burgundy slip-dress.

“Alright, Rose. Let’s not keep them waiting any longer.” Alice rolled her eyes at me quickly before Rosalie noticed. Alice had her keys in her tiny hands as she walked my direction to head for the door.

“I will see you tomorrow,” she said with a coy grin.

Rosalie was out the door faster than I could follow. I turned to Alice as she moved at a more mortal pace. “Where are you going?” I asked.

Alice waved as she replied, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Bella!” The door was shut behind her then. I heard the muffled roar of her Porsche as she and Rosalie left me behind. I assumed that I was completely alone then. I was curious to know where they were going, but my mind was busy calculating other worries. I stood in the Cullens’ living room, taking in the sheer silence. The only sound was coming from the low burning fire still crackling dimly in the fireplace. I unlocked my tense limbs to move toward the heat. I stopped briefly to survey Rosalie’s project and flipped through a couple of pages on the bound album.

Were these all valentines? I picked up a few loose papers from the table and skimmed them quickly. It seemed that Rosalie had been collecting notes from her admirers for decades, compiling the highlights in an album with cards dating back to 1929. Some of the earlier letters were from when she was still human, if I wasn’t mistaken. A few authors were brave enough to sign their names, but most were anonymous confessions. I spent more time snooping through Rosalie’s valentines than I should have, but part of me thought that she must have wanted me to see them. Why else would she have left them all here?

I focused myself again and took a seat on the edge of the hearth.

                  I was glad I had a moment to gather myself and took the opportunity to take a few deep, but unsteady, breaths. Why was I so unnerved? I closed my eyes and tried to summon my buried fantasies of Edward. There I let myself imagine him, pulling me tightly to his chest, letting his lips roam my jaw, my neck, and the dips of my collarbones. What would he look like bare? I’d only been able to guess the parts of him that were always just beyond my reach. I let those thoughts in too, imagining my own fingers tracing patterns around the curves of his muscles. To bring him close to me, skin to skin – the thought alone painted my face in a soft blush. I bit my lip, letting go a full breath I had been holding. I opened my eyes then and immediately found him.

He was standing across the room from me, a statue of indescribable, sculpted beauty, leaning on the wall casually. He had a peaceful expression resting in his features, but his bright golden eyes were burning with something I couldn’t explain. My favorite crooked smile slowly crossed his lips as his eyes seemed to search my body. I blushed more deeply, a decision forming more firmly in my mind.

I loved him, purely, and every ounce of my body and soul ached to be his. It was exactly the reason I had asked him to change me himself. I wanted his venom to alter me permanently, his lips on my skin to be the last human sensation I’d ever feel. I wanted to be tangibly his, forever; for Edward to lay claim to me in an absolute and eternal way. If I was his, then he was mine. This desire burned in me more brightly in this moment than it ever had. But there were other human sensations I ached for now. And suddenly, I was sure I was not willing to sacrifice them.

Edward moved slowly across the room to perch in front of me. The height of the hearth and his tall body in a crouch before me, leveled us to be equally face-to-face. As he bent, he balanced a small, thin velvet box on my knees. I made no move to open it, so he chuckled lightly and opened it to reveal a small glittering heart-shaped charm. Even in the dim firelight, the brilliant crystal’s intricate cuts glinted countless sparkling rays of color. It was hung on a silver chain as thin as thread.

He was the first to break the silence.

“It was my mother’s.” He shrugged deprecatingly. “I inherited quite a few baubles like this. I’ve given some to Esme, Alice, and Rosalie throughout the years. So, clearly, this is not a big deal in any way.” I could feel his eyes on me, but I continued to stare down, not quite ready to speak. “A hand-me-down,” he reminded me sternly. “You said that was allowable.”

“I guess I did say that,” I said in a whisper.

He chuckled at my reluctance. “I thought it was a good representation,” he continued. “It’s hard and cold.” He laughed. “And it throws rainbows in the sunlight.”

“You forgot the most important similarity,” I murmured. “It’s beautiful.”

“My heart is just as silent,” he mused. “And it, too, is yours.”

I offered the box to him and moved to gather my hair away from my neck, turning to the fire. As he moved to clasp the chain around my neck, I said, “Thank you for both.”

His fingers seemed to linger on the skin of my throat as I turned back to face him. Our lips were only inches apart now. I moved my hands to wrap them around his neck.

“No, thank you. It’s a relief to have you accept a gift so easily. Good practice for you, too.” He grinned, flashing his teeth.                   His eyes wandered down to take pride in his accepted gift. I was grateful for the plunging neckline of my sweater when his gaze lingered where the crystal charm hung delicately above my chest. I made a mental note to thank Alice later and took a steadying breath. I began to feel cautiously optimistic. Perhaps getting what I wanted would not be as difficult as I’d expected it to be.

No, of course it was going to be just exactly that difficult. I cleared my throat lightly and braced myself. “Can we discuss something?” I asked. “I’d appreciate it if you could begin by being open-minded.”

He hesitated for a moment and returned his eyes to mine. “I’ll give it my best effort,” he agreed, cautious now. He unwrapped my arms from around his neck as he moved to put space between us.

“I’m not breaking any rules here,” I promised. “This is strictly about you and me.”

“Listen to your heart fly,” he murmured. “It’s fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings,” he repeated the analogy he had applied to me earlier in the day. “Are you all right?”

“I’m great,” I said formally. I wondered why I was being so formal.

“Please go on then,” he encouraged.

“Well, I guess, first, I wanted to talk to you about that whole ridiculous marriage condition.”

“It’s only ridiculous to you. What about it?” He was backing further away from me now.

I leaned closer to him, placing my hands on his knees to keep him near me. “I was wondering… is that open to negotiation?”

Edward frowned, serious now. “I’ve already made the largest concession by far and away – I’ve agreed to take your life against my better judgment. And that ought to entitle me to a few compromises on your part.”

“No.” I shook my head, focusing on keeping my face composed. “That part’s a done deal. We’re not discussing that now. I want to hammer out some other details.”

He looked at me suspiciously. “Which details do you mean exactly?”

I hesitated. “Let’s clarify your prerequisites first – matrimony?” I made it sound like a dirty word.

“Yes.” He smiled a wide smile. “To start with.”

The shock spoiled my carefully composed expression. “There’s more?”

“Well,” he said, his face calculating. “If you’re my wife, then what’s mine is yours… So there would be no issue with Dartmouth tuition.”

“Anything else? While you’re already being absurd?”

“Time. I’m finding it quite ephemeral… like it’s slipping through my fingers,” as he spoke, he rose his finger tips to sweep a gentle line over my exposed collarbones.

I shook my head, trying to forget his distracting touch. “No. No time. That’s a deal breaker.”

He sighed longingly. “Just a year or two?”

I refused to give into his burning amber eyes. “What else?”

“That’s it. Unless you’d like to talk cars…”

He grinned widely when I grimaced, then took my hand and began playing with my fingers. “I didn’t realize there was anything else you wanted besides being transformed into a monster yourself. I’m extremely curious.” His voice was low and soft. The slight edge would have been hard to detect if I hadn’t known it so well.

I paused, staring at his hand on mine. I still didn’t know how to begin. I felt his eyes watching me and I was afraid to look up. The blood began to burn in my face.

His cool hand cupped my cheek. “You’re blushing?” he asked in surprise. I kept my eyes down. “Please, Bella, the suspense is painful.”

I bit my lip.

“Bella.” His tone reproached me now, reminding me that it was hard for him when I kept my thoughts to myself.

“Edward,” I said, nervous, staring at a freckle on my wrist. “There’s something that I want to do before I’m not human anymore.”

He waited for me to continue. I didn’t. My face was hot.

“Whatever you want,” he encouraged, anxious and completely clueless.

“Do you promise?” I muttered, knowing my attempt to trap him with his words was not going to work. But he was unable to resist my coaxing.

“Yes,” he said. I looked up through my lashes to see that his eyes were earnest and confused. “Tell me what you want, and you can have it.”

I couldn’t believe how awkward and idiotic I felt. I was too innocent. I didn’t have the faintest idea how to be seductive. I would just have to settle for flushed and self-conscious.

“You,” I mumbled almost incoherently.

“I’m yours.” He smiled, still oblivious, trying to hold my gaze as I looked away again.

I took a deep breath and leaned closer to him, pressing my lips to his. He kissed me back, bewildered but willing, his lips gentle against mine. I began to slide my hands from his knees, up his thighs and slowly toward his waist. I hadn’t gotten very far when I all but heard the click in his head as he put together my words and my actions, his lips freezing in place.

He pushed me away at once, his face heavily disapproving.

“Be reasonable, Bella.”

“Edward, I –. “ He had cut me off, placing a single finger over my lips to quiet me.

“No.” His face was hard.

I was surprised by my reaction to his dismissal. I raised my hand to swat at his. My action didn’t move him, of course, but he moved his hand from my mouth in response. “You are not going to shush me,” I said sternly. “We’re here discussing terms of an eternity together – marriage and other promises – but sex?” I said the word louder than the rest. “Edward, why can’t we talk about sex?”

He was frozen there, hands at his side, eyes locked on mine. I felt the charge of adrenaline passing quicker than it had come. We sat there for a moment in silence with only my quick breathing and rapid pulse as audio. I shifted my gaze down as the rush subsided. It took me a minute to recognize why I was staring at my freckle again, the blush returning – why my stomach felt uneasy, why there was too much moisture in my eyes, why I suddenly wanted to run from the room.

Rejection washed through me, instinctive and strong.

I knew it was irrational. He’d been very clear on other occasions that my safety was the only factor. Yet I’d never made myself quite so vulnerable before. It was hard to beg for the mercy of an angel.

Edward moved then, bringing his hand up to my chin to pull my face up until I had to look at him again. He scrutinized my face for a long moment while I tried unsuccessfully to twist away from his gaze. His brow furrowed, and his expression became horrified as I continued to fight off the onslaught of water in my eyes.

His other hand rushed to my cheek, his thumb stroking there reassuringly. “You know why I have to say no,” he murmured. “You know that I want you, too.”

“Do you?” I whispered, my voice full of accusation and doubt.

He held my face at my jaw now, his fingers on my neck at the base of my hair. “Of course I do, you beautiful, oversensitive girl.” He laughed once, and then his voice was bleak. “Doesn’t everyone? I feel like there’s a line behind me, jockeying for position, waiting for me to make a big enough mistake… You’re too desirable for your own good.”

It seemed like he wanted to press on, anxiety flooding him as it had me throughout the day. I took a breath.

“Tell me if I have anything wrong,” I tried to sound detached. “Your demands are marriage, college, more time, and a faster car.”

“Only the first is a demand,” he said taking a breath. “The others are merely requests.”

“And my lone, solitary demand is – “

“Demand?” he interrupted, on edge again.

“Yes, demand.” I said confidently, looping my fingers around his wrists and tugging until he dropped them. I was not going to concede, now that I knew he wanted this as badly as I did. I would have to be brave for the both of us. I kept my gaze locked on his, placing a hand on his chest to request more space between us.

Edward immediately responded, backing up slightly and resting on his knees with room in front of him. Without breaking the contact we had, I slid down so that we were both on our knees. I brought both hands to the collar of his shirt and began to unbutton slowly, never moving my eyes from his.

“Please,” I begged. “There is nothing I want more than you.”

He took a deep breath. I was surprised that it sounded a little unsteady.

“I could kill you,” he whispered.

I had the last button undone then and slid the fabric from his shoulders to the floor. I was gliding my hands down his chest and placing my lips over his heart when I murmured against his skin. “I don’t think you could.”

As I kissed him there, a low sound escaped his lips. A moan? My body ached in a way it never had. I felt electrified. My heart jolted, words tumbling out of my mouth to take advantage of the sudden uncertainty in his eyes. “Please, try,” I pleaded.

His hands were wrapped around my biceps then, his head bent down to bring his lips to my ear, making me shiver. “This is unbearable. So many things I’ve wanted to give you – and this is what you demand. Do you have any idea how painful it is, refusing you when you plead with me this way?”

“Then don’t refuse,” I suggested breathlessly.

He didn’t respond. I tossed my head back to catch my breath, letting my hair fall down behind me. Edward’s hands still held my arms firmly. “Please,” I tried again.

He bent his head to my neck. “Bella…” He shook his head slowly, but it didn’t feel like denial as his face, his lips, moved back and forth across my throat. It felt more like surrender. My heart sputtered frantically when his lips finally stopped to embrace my skin. The same low sound spilled from my lips now, which seemed to hit Edward with the same electrical shock.

His grip tensed instantly and I was sure he was going to push me away again.

I was wrong.

His lips were on mine, his hands pulling me up to close the space between us. His mouth was not gentle; there was a brand-new edge of conflict and desperation in the way his lips moved. When his hands moved into my hair, I locked my arms around his neck, tightening my hold on him. To my suddenly overheated skin, his body felt colder than ever. I trembled, but it was not from the chill.

He didn’t stop kissing me. I was the one who had to break away, gasping for air. Even then his lips did not leave my skin, they just moved to my throat. So quickly that I wasn’t even sure how it happened, I was in his arms, his lips still exploring my skin, as we nearly flew through the house. Human velocity was not fast enough for him. We were in his bedroom then, still locked in each other’s arms as he fell onto his back on the bed.

The thrill of victory was a strange high; it made me feel powerful. Brave. My hands weren’t unsteady now and my fingers traced the patterns I had dreamed of a thousand times. He was too beautiful. What was the word he had used? Unbearable – that was it. His beauty was too much to bear…

I was on top of him, our lips pulled together again and moving in heated sync. Edward’s hands were exploring my body. His hands were tight around my waist, straining me closer to him. All I wanted was my skin to be bare against his – his grip made it difficult to reach to remove my sweater, but not impossible. Just as I had my stomach exposed, cold iron fetters locked around my wrists, and pulled my hands above my head, which was suddenly on a pillow.

His lips were at my ear again. “Bella,” he murmured, his voice warm and velvet. “Stop trying to take your clothes off.”

“Do you want to do that part?” I asked breathlessly.

“Not tonight,” he answered softly. His lips were slower now against my cheek and jaw, all the urgency gone.

“Edward, don’t –,” I started to argue, trying to free my hands and arching my body to mold myself more closely to him.

“I’m not saying no,” he reassured me. “I’m just saying not tonight.”

I had never felt frustration this way before. I was restless, eyes wild and questioning on his.

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” he laughed. “Out of the two of us, which do you think is more unwilling to give the other what they want? You just promised to marry me before you do any changing, but if I give in tonight, what guarantee do I have that you won’t go running off to Carlisle in the morning? I am – clearly – much less reluctant to give you what you want. Therefore… you first.”

I exhaled with a loud huff. “I have to marry you first?” I asked in disbelief.

“That’s the deal – take it or leave it. A compromise.” Edward pressed himself to me, urging me to accept his terms. His arms wrapped around me, and he began kissing me in a way that should be illegal. Too persuasive – it was duress, coercion. I tried to keep a clear head… and failed quickly and absolutely.

“How did this happen?” I moaned, and not in a good way. “I thought I was holding my own tonight – for once – and now, all of a sudden – “

“You’re engaged,” he finished.

“Edward, no.” I objected.

“Are you going back on your word?” he demanded. He pulled back to read my face. His expression was entertained. He was having fun.

I glared at him, trying to ignore the way his smile made my heart react.

“Are you?” he pressed.

“No,” I groaned. “No. I’m not. I just need time to think. I can’t think right now – give me some time to think.”

He kissed me again quickly. Another too persuasive kiss.

“Take all the time you need.”

He kissed me another time. “Do you get the feeling that everything is backward?” he laughed. “Traditionally, shouldn’t you be arguing my side, and I yours?”

“There isn’t much that’s traditional about you and me.”

Neither of us would surrender in this moment – that was clear. But there were compromises that were pending on the horizon. And, if nothing, I had this night to service my fantasies for awhile. I bit my lip and chuckled.

“I’m curious,” I sighed. “What exactly did you have planned for tonight?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he was up and out of the bed, a hand extended toward me.

I let out my last sigh of contest and threw my hands down on the bed to heave myself up. Edward laughed to himself as I slid to the edge of the bed and stood. I fidgeted in my sweater and straightened my skirt as I walked toward him. I took his hand and noticed him taking in my figure again.

I raised a brow. “Did you want to get back in bed?”

Edward chuckled again, shaking his head. “No, but please do remind me to thank Alice in the morning.”

I rolled my eyes as he led me from his bedroom and into the rest of our romantic evening alone.

PART TWO

 ____

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Twilight Saga world, which is trademarked by Stephenie Meyer and Little Brown Books. All characters referenced are owned by Stephenie Meyer, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the Twilight Saga. The story told here is of my own invention. This story is for entertainment only – fun – and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Stephenie Meyer for the creation of these characters and I in no way am profiting from the creation and publication of this story. Some lines are directly quoted from Meyer’s book, Eclipse, and I do not claim to own Meyer’s words.

References:

Meyer, Stephenie. Eclipse. Little, Brown, 2013.

Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, and W. E. Williams. Tennyson: Poems. Penguin, 1985.

[lostinfic]

Art for Hearts’ Sake

Pairing: Jean-François Mercier/Betty Vates

Rated E  |  4400 words

Summary: Betty works in a care home and every week she sneaks out one of her elderly patients to a nearby art gallery. There she meets a mysterious Frenchman. He's an art dealer of some kind, or so she thinks, until he takes her on whirlwind escapade.

Fluff and smut / Art thief AU (loosely based on The Thomas Crown Affair)

Ao3

Betty peeked outside the room, left and right. At the end of the corridor, Mrs. Mansfield opened the door to the stairwell.  As soon as it closed behind her, Betty whispered: “The coast is clear.”

“Let’s go.”

Eighty-three year-old, Maurice Delorme, donned his fedora, pushing it low on his forehead to shade his eyes.

Betty pushed his wheelchair out of the bedroom, down the corridor and into the hall. She winked at 92-year-old Annette who shrieked, clutching her chest, thus distracting the nurse away from the front desk. Betty and Maurice rushed past the reception area, out the front doors and around the building.

Betty stopped to catch her breath. Maurice laughed wheezily, slapping his thigh.

“We did it, ma chère.”

“Remind me to get that fudge Annette likes.”

“Did I ever tell you I once saw her perform at La Scalla de Milan in 1963?”

“Have you?” Betty replied though, of course, she had heard the story before. She didn’t mind, Maurice had had the most amazing life, and she enjoyed his reminiscence however embellished they might be.

The St. James, where she worked, was a small and exclusive care home for elderly millionaires. Certainly nothing like the conditions in which her mother had lived. For many years, Betty had taken care of her mother, who suffered from an early-onset form of dementia, in their small flat in Leeds. When her mother passed away, Betty not only had to grieve for her parent, but also for the many years during which she had put her own life on hold. The day after the funeral, she’d looked at herself in the mirror and realized she didn’t know who she was. On a whim, she had moved to London and promised herself to live life to the fullest.

Things had turned out significantly less glamorous than expected. She couldn’t afford a home in a desirable neighborhood. And, with no formal education or work experience to speak of, she had found employment doing the same chores she had done for her mother. At least, at the St. James, she was paid for it, had real days off, and suffered less verbal abuse. Most of all, moving away had not magically rid her of her shyness and anxieties. Wherever she went, they followed, but she was getting better at giving them the slip.

Part of living life to the fullest had involved letting Maurice convince her to sneak him out of the care home. His doctor advised against any taxing activities and public spaces where germs abounded. But he longed to visit a museum or a gallery.  

“What is a life without art, but a body without a heart?” he’d complained dramatically.

And thus had begun their weekly escapades.

Just a few streets away from the care home was Kinwood Palace, an illustrious property with a world-class art collection open to the public. Betty loved the gorgeous gardens, but Maurice was here for the Rembrandts and Vermeers.

Betty pushed her accomplice over the gravel leading to the neoclassical villa. Despite being hot from the physical effort and warm summer air, Betty kept her cute coat on to hide her unflattering scrubs. She liked the coat’s sixties vibe with its big black buttons and bright colour, something she would never have worn before.

Tourists already filled the great blue and white entrance hall of Kinwood. Maurice flashed their English Heritage membership cards to the box office clerk. Betty scanned the crowd.

“Shall we pay a visit to Boticelli today?” Maurice asked. She nodded inattentively. “Or shall we visit Ringo Starr?”

“Whichever you prefer.”

“Betty, are you looking for him? The Frenchman.”

“Dunno what you’re on about.”

But her blushing cheeks betrayed her.

“You should invite him for— what is it youths call it?— ah, yes, for Netflix and chill.”

She burst out laughing. Her laughter echoed in the gallery, and she promptly slapped a hand over her mouth.

“If I were your age, I would invite him,” Maurice said.

“You were married when you were my age. And you loved Felicia.”

“Yes, yes. I could never love another woman after her. But I was always curious about sodomites… Do you think you could find me a rent boy, dear?”

She giggled and rolled her eyes.

“Well?” he insisted.

“Oh... Maybe?”

“It was good enough for Leonardo, after all,” he said as they stopped in front of framed sketches drawn by da Vinci himself.

Every room of Kinwood palace was breathtaking, Rococo frescoes decorated the walls between Roman columns, and hanging from the coffered ceiling, massive chandeliers sparkled. And there were books, so many books, and vases of fresh flowers everywhere. As Maurice admired the masterpieces in gilded frames, Betty imagined herself living in a place like this, a century ago, or imagined being an actress in a period drama.

“He’s here,” Maurice whispered.

“Who?”

“Who?” he parroted; She wasn’t fooling him.

She glanced sideways and spotted the Frenchman, smoking just outside the garden doors, his jacket hooked on a finger over his shoulder. His hair was neatly pomaded, his trousers tailored, his shirt smooth and sharp: an old-fashioned sort of cool, straight out of her wet dreams.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she bit back a simper. She knew that from behind his sunglasses, he was studying her. One corner of his mouth rose in a languid, crooked smile.

Five times now they had visited Kinwood at the same time.  Five times he had watched her from afar, with that penetrating gaze of his, the hesitated— no, not hesitated, evaluated or calculated— and finally approached her. Though he never stayed long in their company, he’d made a lasting impression on both her and Maurice.

He’d said he was a subcontractor for Kinwood, as an art appraiser, she assumed because of the way he observed everything. Including Betty herself. Being seen, it unsettled her. Most days she felt indistinguishable from a potted plant. Perhaps a side effect of having lived with a mother who couldn’t recognize her anymore for years. Though Betty considered herself plain by contemporary standards, she liked to think that, on a good day, she had a hint of beauty from another era. Perhaps he could appreciate that.

He greeted Maurice warmly, in French, then turned to her, “I thought I’d recognized your laugh.” He pocketed his sunglasses, then took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

To anyone, she would have claimed he was laying it on a bit thick, but deep down she melted.

“Son nom est Betty et elle est célibataire,” Mr. Delorme said to the Frenchman.

Betty glared at him, though she didn’t know what he’d said beside her name.

“I’m Jean-François,” he said, mostly to her.

They walked together through the rooms, and soon forgot about the art. He had a way of mentioning things she had said in previous conversations: he’d read a book she liked, and he asked after the stray kittens she worried. Betty, too, remembered every word he had ever said to her, but was trying very hard to look like she didn’t. But here he was, being so openly infatuated, she’d convinced herself it was too good to be true. Yet every time they met, her misgivings vanished, and she let herself be thoroughly charmed.

They stopped in front of a small canvas, “The Enchanted Castle” by Claude Gellée, and this time Betty paid attention.  

“It’s one of your favourites, isn’t it?” Jean-François remarked.

“I like landscapes the best. They’re like a window to another place, another time. I can almost… jump in. Escape.”

She covered her mouth, regretting that last word. But Jean-François brushed her hand away.

“Yes,” he said simply.

Emboldened by his touch, Betty said, “Would you— I mean, I’m working now, but later, maybe we could— if you’d like…”

“Yes,” he said again.

“Okay.” She laughed and bit her bottom lip.

“But first, I have a painting to steal.”

“What?”

He slipped his jacket on and popped the collar. He said a few words in French to Mr. Delorme, then vanished out of the gallery.

Betty blinked, mouth agape. Well, that’s one way of getting dumped.

“Oh, no, I think I dropped my pills,” Mr. Delorme said, patting his breast pockets. “I swear I had them.”

“I’ll go look for them,” she said, thankful for an excuse to get away.

Fifteen minutes later, she found the bottle of medication in the antechamber thanks to a security guard. After that, Mr. Delorme asked to leave.

On the way back, Betty didn’t say a word. In her mind, she kept replaying the scene, trying to figure out what she’d done wrong. Her eyes teared up, but she blamed it on the dry wind. Humiliation, sadness and anger warred in her chest.

*

They weren’t careful going back inside the care home and were caught by the nurse at the front desk. Mrs. Manfield was a real stickler for rules and disliked Betty.

“We were only out in the garden,” Maurice retorted before Betty could gather her wits.

The nurse narrowed her eyes at them. “If I find out otherwise…” she warned.

Betty could lose her job over these little escapades, all for what? A rich old man and a weird Frenchman?

She took Mr. Delorme back to his room. With an unusually cold attitude, she helped him out of his outerwear and onto the armchair in front of the TV. Her behaviour shocked him, and he tried to soothe her with jokes and charm, but she ignored him.

“We won’t be going back to Kinwood palace,” she announced and left his apartments.

She went back to work, to menial tasks and being called by other carers’ names.

By the end of her shift at 5 pm, on top of the humiliation, sadness, anger and fear of losing her job, she was now feeling guilty about having been so cold with Mr. Delorme. She changed out of her dirty scrubs into her own clothes. Putting on the yellow sundress and cardigan cheered her up. She decided to pay Maurice a visit before leaving.

*

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Delorme. I panicked.”

“Don’t worry about it, ma chère.” He patted her hands. “You will feel better soon, I just know it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I just am.” He winked.

She chalked it up to his eccentric nature, but then there was a knock at the door.

“Told you,” he said.

Betty opened the door and gasped at finding Jean-François standing there.

“Good evening, Betty.”

“What— what are you doing here?”

“I have some unfinished business.”

He closed the door behind him and walked to Mr. Delorme’s wheelchair. He knelt beside it and fiddled with the underside, finally pulling out a slim leather case.

“Let’s see it,” Mr. Delorme said, rubbing his hands excitedly.

In a smooth move, Jean-François set the case on the table, flipped the locks and revealed its content: a painting. A painting from the Kinwood collection. One of her favorites: a moonlit forest by Joseph Wright of Derby.

“Tell me it’s a very good fake,” she whispered.

“There is a very good fake,” he said, “whether it’s in that case or at the gallery, well…” he smirked.

He closed back the case and checked his watch.

“Perfect.” Jean-François offered her his arm. “Are you ready for our date?”

Betty rubbed her brow and laughed incredulously. She cast a glance at Mr. Delorme who was nothing but encouraging.

“Where would we go?”

“First, I am going to hang this in my home, then we can grab a bite to eat. Is that all right with you?”

Mr. Delorme whispered, “Netflix and chill.”

Betty felt rooted on the spot. Her first instinct was to refuse. Going to a stranger’s house on the first date, a stranger who might be a thief? That was a bad idea. A fantastically terrible idea. A terribly alluring idea.

She looped her arm through his. Striding out of her place of work on his arm, she felt like a million bucks. Which is to say, less than what that masterpiece was worth.

Outside the doors, a gleaming vintage Jaguar awaited them, chauffeur standing straight beside it. They slipped in the backseat. When the door closed, butterflies erupted in Betty’s stomach.

The chauffeur smoothly navigated the traffic and drove them just outside London, to a private aerodrome. Jean-François opened the car door for her just as two men in coveralls rolled a ladder up to a small aircraft.

In a daze, Betty held Jean-François’s hand and followed him inside the cockpit. He buckled her seat harness and gave her some instructions she barely registered. He flicked switches and talked to Ground Control.

“Ready?” he asked her.

Betty should have been scared, but she couldn’t muster any fear, only excitement. Perhaps that’s what should have scared her.

She took a deep breath. “Ready.”

He taxied the plane into position and down the runway, faster and faster. Betty’s heart rate accelerated. Jean-François pulled back the controls, and as they rose in the air, a flush of adrenaline tingled through her body. Soon, they were flying over twilit London.

“Where are we going?”

“Like I said, to my home, first.”

She laughed as the blue-grey waters of the Channel appeared on the horizon. France straight ahead.

Her cheeks ached from smiling, and her heart never slowed.

They landed on a small strip in the middle of a wooded area. Betty’s legs wobbled when she stood up. Jean-François offered his hand to help her deplane. He was so frustratingly cool and composed for someone who’d just flown a stolen masterpiece across the border.

The country air was pure and warm. They weren’t in Paris, but in southern France. They walked along a trail then a grand villa came into view. Whitewashed stone, terracotta roof and blue shutters among ambitious vines and towering cypresses. Dogs ran in the tall grass, and wildflowers decorated the lawn. Solar panels hinted at an off-the-grid lifestyle.

“So?” he asked with a sweeping gesture.

She rolled her eyes with a grin. “Showoff.”

“When else can I show off if not on the first date?”

“All I’m saying is you’re setting the bar pretty high for the second date.”

She thought, even if this turns out to be all a ruse to get her in bed, even if he sends her back to London tomorrow without a goodbye, she didn’t care. It would be worth it. She deserved an incredible fling.

A middle-aged housekeeper came out to greet him and narrowed her eyes at his guest.

“You brought someone with you, monsieur?”

“Don’t worry, Marie.”

He stepped forward, still holding Betty’s hand, but she tugged him back.

“Hey, if I’m not back for my shift tomorrow morning, Mr. Delorme knows I’m with you and what you did.”

“Understood.” He bowed slightly. A curl fell to his forehead. “Smart girl.”

Although the house was old, the interior was modern. Selected antiques blended harmoniously with the warm, minimalist style. Crown molding and tapestries hid a high-end security system. She caught a glimpse of a library and of a workshop filled with art supplies. Portraits hung on the walls, going back generations. A photo of a younger Jean-François with a woman stood out: a wedding portrait. At the sight of it, Betty stopped dead in her tracks. Her nails bit into her palms. She didn’t trust her voice to ask a question evenly.

“Ah.” He scratched the back of his head.  “She… she passed away five years ago.”

“I’m sorry. I thought— well, I’m sorry.”

He hesitated by the photo. For the first time, he looked almost destabilized.

“You thought what?” he asked after such a long pause she didn’t understand his question right away. “That I was a playboy?”

“Maybe. Are you?”

“Is that why you came with me?”

“No.”

He studied her for a moment then brushed a knuckle along her jaw. Without another word, he resumed guiding her through the house.

He led her to the living room. There was another painting in here: a large canvas of hazy water lilies.

“Another very good fake?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

He carefully removed the Wright of Derby painting from the leather case.

“What do you think?” he asked.

She had many thoughts, mostly about all the people who wouldn’t get to see it now.

“Dunno,” she said. “Will you sell it?”

“No. I will deliver it to Maurice’s granddaughter in Vienna. But until then...”

He placed the canvas upon a wooden picture ledge above the fireplace. The moonlit landscape shone against the plain wall.

“Hold on. What? Mr. Delorme?”

“The painting belonged to his wife’s family, but it was stolen by Nazis in ‘38.”

“Are you telling me you’re some sort of Robin Hood?”

“Oh, no. My fees are exorbitant.”

She snorted a laugh.

“Couldn’t they get it back legally?”

“They tried. In the 1960s, I believe. But they’d lost proof of ownership during the war, and the family at Kinwood denied any transaction with former Nazi officers, as one does.”

Betty puzzled over this new information. In less than twelve hours, her idea of him had shifted so many times she could hardly keep track. But one thing hadn’t changed: her attraction.

“You know, you nearly derailed my plans,” he said.

“How so?”

“A year of meticulous planning and then, out of nowhere, comes this lovely woman I cannot stop thinking about. I shouldn’t have let myself be seen talking to Maurice so often.”

“You’re having me on.”

“I brought you here, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I gave in too easily. Where’s the challenge in that for you?”

“Where’s the challenge in letting someone get close to me?” A rhetorical question veiling a confession.

She tilted her head to the side and considered him. He let her.

“Was anyone hurt by your plan?”

“Not a soul, I swear.”

Marie brought in a bottle of red wine with two glasses and a plate of cheese, bread and thin slices of roasted duck.

Jean-François pressed a button on the wall. Curtains swayed aside, revealing tall sliding glass doors that framed a landscape not unlike the one in the painting. One of the doors was open, warm air swirled in, balmy with dew and night blossoms.

He opened the wine bottle and sampled its bouquet. Satisfied, he filled their glasses which they rose in a silent toast to whatever delights the night might bring. Drinking, she stared at the landscape outside. Beyond a small terrace, the ground sloped to a valley where centennial trees grew around a lake, mist skated upon its silvery surface. Away from the city lights, myriad stars shone in the night sky.

An escape.

The glass pane hazily reflected Jean-François as he came to stand behind her. She felt his warmth radiate over her skin though he wasn’t touching her yet. Drawn in, she leaned back, just a little, an invitation, an ouverture.

He trailed a single finger from her earlobe, down her neck, to her shoulder. And she shivered with longing. He gently swiped her hair away, and his lips replaced his finger, careful, precise kisses, inching towards the strap of her dress and sliding it aside.

“What does it feel like, striding into a gallery and taking whatever you want from the walls?”

“Calming. At that moment, I am utterly focused and in control. Then when I slip away with my prize, my blood begins to sizzle.”

“Is it still sizzling now?”

“Yes.”

He met her reflected gaze on the glass pane.

“Mine too,” she said.

She turned around in his arms, and he watched patiently as she put their glasses on a side table. Placing her hands upon his chest, she felt his sharp intake of breath, his rapid heartbeat. She slid her palms up to his neck, and his eyelids fluttered when her fingers delved into the locks at the back of his head. With a gentle push, she guided his lips to hers. He let her take the lead, modest and timid at first, then slowly yielding to instinct and hunger. When she opened her mouth to his, he cupped her cheek and leaned into her until her back pressed to the window. He kissed her with dedication, with utter focus, tasting and caressing her lips, intent on making her tingle all over. Heat flared through her, and she arched into the curve of his body bent over her.

Oh boy.

Eyes still closed, she broke the kiss for air and licked his taste on her lips.

“That was some grade-A kissing,” she whispered.

Jean-François laughed and pecked her forehead. “I like you.”

“Yeah? ‘cause I stroke your ego?”

“Because you’re honest.”

“Well, if I’m being honest I'd very much like you to sweep me off my feet again.”

“As you wish.”

In one smooth move, he grabbed her thighs and hiked her up on his hips. Betty squeaked and held onto him. He kissed her against the glass door, exploring her neck and cleavage, all lips and teeth and tongue. She wound her legs tighter around him, seeking friction to soothe the throbbing he’d triggered. He sucked in a breath and bucked his hips.

He carried her outside, to a nearby wooden chaise lounge and laid her on the striped cushion.

She expected him to flip up her skirt and pound, but he knelt beside the chair. He rubbed her ankles, then slid his hand up her leg to her knee. Betty’s breath quickened. She parted her legs. The ascension continued, his hand slipped underneath the hem of her skirt and up inside her thigh. He stopped inches from her underwear, and kissed her again. It was agony to have his hand so close to where she needed it. His mouth traveled to her breasts, he pulled down the bodice of her dress, just enough to access a nipple. Betty squirmed and keened, and finally his fingers slipped inside her knickers.

She looked like a Renaissance muse, lounging, with her arms over her head, one breast bare, and layers of fabric bunched about her waist. And he studied her as he sought the spots that made her sigh and cry. Her lewd noises accompanied the cicadas’ song. And she should’ve been ashamed to make such a wanton display, but the heat in his eyes was worth it.

This man could take anything he wanted, and he had chosen her.

She came embarrassingly fast.

He licked his fingers and grinned.

“Showoff,” she said again.

She grabbed his tie and pulled him over her. He laughed against her lips, and it hurt with how good it felt to share this joke, this joy.

She blindly unknotted his tie as he fumbled with his buttons. Unable to wait any longer, she cupped the tantalizing bulge in his trousers. He groaned and that filled her with pride.

He stood up to take off his trousers, and she made him recline on the chaise. With half-lidded eyes, he observed her straddling his legs. She admired him, as he had her. His hair was completely disheveled now. His open shirt revealed a lean, firm chest and taut stomach down which she dragged her fingernails. His cock twitched as she neared it. She teased the surrounding skin until he growled her name. She stroked him to full hardness, enjoying the way he hardened in her hand. Because of her.

And now, for the pièce de résistance. She rose to her knees, and Jean-François’s jaw went slack.  She had barely had time to enjoy his fingers, but she planned on savouring this. Slowly and with a long, luxuriating moan, she slid down every inch of him, wetting him to the root.

He gripped her hips, urging her to move. His chest heaved with panting breaths. She gorged herself on his lust and desperation. With every bounce, her dress slid lower down her torso.

She held onto the top of the seat for leverage, but she must have been too vigorous for the adjustable back suddenly collapsed. Betty yelped and Jean-François caught her.

“Crikey!” she said, pressing a hand to her heart.

“Are you hurt?”

“Scared me half to death, but I’m okay. You?”

“I’m fine.”

They looked at each other, then broke into a loud guffaw. Mirth and embarrassment heated her cheeks. She truly couldn’t stop laughing. Jean-François even teared up.

“You’re so beautiful when you laugh,” he said. It came out so naturally, it was almost reckless by his standards.

Her heart swelled, and she kissed him. He rolled on top of her, spurred on by this small shot of adrenaline.

Betty shivered; it was getting cold outside.

“Shall we go back inside?” he asked.

“If you don’t mind.”

They picked up their clothes and closed the patio door. With a remote control, he turned on the fireplace.

He picked up his glass of wine from where she’d left them. He drank while watching her undress and lie down on the plush carpet, in the orange glow of the flames. With a beckoning smile, she extended a hand toward him. He removed the last of his clothes and crawled over her.

Skin to skin, bodies entwined, they moved together. And suddenly it was so tender and so very real. A leisurely give-and-take of pleasure. Delight and satisfaction mirrored in each other’s face. They gasped and moaned and laughed, then fell silent, foreheads together, fingers entwined, staring in each other’s eyes, toeing the edge of bliss.

Even after climaxing, they didn’t part. Jean-François buried his face in her neck and held her even closer.

Betty looked up at the stolen painting, and, for once, didn’t feel the pull to lose herself in its landscape. She closed her eyes and stroked his hair and thought nothing would ever be this perfect.

*

Eventually, hunger and thirst caught up with them. They put their underwear back on, and Betty borrowed Jean-François’s shirt.

They ate, sitting on the carpet, their legs still entwined. The wine, the cheeses, the meat, everything was unbelievably tasteful. She licked her fingers clean and refilled their glasses. Jean-François slouched down, head against the couch, unwound like she had never seen him before.

“Betty, do you still want to go back to London in time for your morning shift?”

“Goodness no.”

“Good. I know an excellent restaurant in Vienna. It’s inside a tropical greenhouse, you’ll love it.”

“Vienna?”

“How is that for a second date?”

[theradioghost]

I don't know if you're still doing podcast recs, but if you are, I really like dramas, horror, sci-fi, honestly anything that gives you the feels (especially if it has lgbtq+ rep). I am not much of a comedy person though unfortunately. The only podcast I finished was tma and I really loved it.

The recommendations are always on tap here, whenever my askbox is open! You might wanna check out:

Archive 81, for a found-footage horror about mysterious archives of tapes full of encounters with otherworldly horror, dark rituals, cults, and a long-suffering archivist with the same name as the show creator who plays him, which despite all that could not possibly be more different from TMA and yet easily matches it as one of the best horror stories I have ever enjoyed. The sound design on this show is basically unparalleled – where TMA has fairly minimalist sound design, A81 goes all out. Quite a few lgbtqa+ folk also.

I Am In Eskew, for a surreal, Lynchian horror about the city of Eskew, where it’s always raining and the streets are never the same twice, as narrated by a man who is trapped there and the woman hired to find him. Take the most viscerally disturbing episodes of TMA as a baseline for how intense this show is, then imagine the Spiral built a city and invited all the other fears over for a party. Also right up there as one of my favorite horror things ever, and recently ended, so you can listen to the whole thing right now.

Within The Wires, for a found-footage scifi dystopia, telling stories from an alternate-history world. Three of the four seasons focus on lgbtqa+ leads, and the first season, a set of instructional meditation tapes provided to a prisoner in a shadowy government institution, is still some of my absolute favorite creative use of medium and framing device ever.

Kane and Feels, for a surreal noir-flavored urban fantasy/horror hybrid, about a magically-inclined academic (and sarcastic little bastard man) named Lucifer Kane and his demon-punching partner with a heart of gold, Brutus Feels. They share a flat in London, they bicker like an old married couple, and they fight supernatural evil. This show WILL confuse the hell out of you and you will enjoy every second of it.

Alice Isn’t Dead, for a weird Americana horror story about a long-distance truck driver, criss-crossing the US in search of her missing wife. Along the way she discovers that both of them have been drawn into a dangerous secret war that seethes in the empty and abandoned expanses of America, and that inhuman hunters have begun to follow her. Also finished! And as the title kind of gives away, the lesbians do not die!

Janus Descending, for a sci-fi horror miniseries about two scientists sent to survey the remains of a dead alien civilization on a distant planet, only to learn all too well why the original inhabitants have disappeared. You hear one character’s story in chronological order and the other in reverse, with their perspectives alternating, which is done in an incredibly clever way so that even technically knowing what will happen it still holds you in suspense right to the end. Also, it made me cry, a lot.

SAYER, for a sci-fi horror with a touch of dark comedy, and probably the single best use of the “evil AI” trope I have ever seen. Tells the story of employees of tech corporation Aerolith Dynamics living on Earth’s artificial second moon, Typhon, in the form of messages from their AI overseer SAYER. The first season is great, the second season is okay, and the third and fourth seasons are fucking amazing.

Tides, for a really interesting sci-fi about a lone biologist trapped on an alien world shaped by deadly tidal forces. It’s different from just about any other sci-fi I know, focusing more on the main character’s interactions with and observations of this strange new world, where she’s very aware that she is the alien invader. (Also I don’t think any of the characters are straight.)

Station to Station, for a thrilling sci-fi mystery where a group of scientists and spies on a research ship (the ocean kind) discover that the time-warping anomaly they’re studying might be causing people to vanish from existence. Corporate espionage and high-stakes heartbreak abound. (And once again I’m not sure anyone is straight.)

The Strange Case of Starship Iris, for Being Gay And Doing Crime IN SPACE! Or, decades after a war with an alien species leaves humanity decimated and under the control of totalitarian leaders, the lone survivor of a research mission joins up with a ragtag crew of rebels and smugglers to figure out why the very government she worked for tried to kill her, and to stop them from inciting a second war. 100% lgbtqa+ found family in space heist action and it’s glorious in every way.

Unwell, for the horror-ish Midwestern gothic story of a young woman who returns to her hometown to help her estranged mother after an injury, and discovers that there is something just a little bit wrong, not just with her mother, but with her mother’s house, and with the whole town. Subtle and creepy. The protagonist is a biracial lesbian, one of the other major characters is nonbinary, the cast in general is super diverse.

The Blood Crow Stories, for an lgbtqa+ focused horror anthology! The four seasons so far have been the stories of an ancient evil stalking the passengers of a WWI-era utopian cruise ship, a dark Western mystery about a group of allies trying to stop the mysterious killer known only as the Savior, a 911 operator in a cyberpunk dystopia who starts getting terrifying phone calls from demons, and strange and deadly goings-on at a film studio in the golden age of Hollywood. Everyone is Very Gay and anyone can die, especially in season 1.

The Tower, for a melancholy experimental miniseries about a young woman who decides she’s going to climb the mysterious Tower, from which no one has ever returned. Quite short and very, very good.

Palimpsest, for a creepy, heartbreakingly sad and yet incredibly beautiful anthology series. Season one is the story of a woman who suspects her new home is haunted, season two is a turn-of-the-century urban fantasy about a girl who falls in love with the imprisoned fae princess she’s been hired to care for, and season three is about a WWII codebreaker who begins seeing ghosts on the streets of London during the Blitz.

Mabel, for a part-horror, part-love story, the kind of faerie tale where you feel obliged to spell it with an E because these are the kind of faeries that are utterly inhuman, and beautiful, and dangerous. Anna, the new caretaker for an elderly woman, leaves messages for her client’s mysteriously absent granddaughter Mabel. An old house in Ireland has a life and desires of its own, few of them friendly. Two women fall in love and set out for vengeance against the King Under The Hill. Creepy, strange, and gorgeously poetic.

Ars Paradoxica, for a sci-fi time travel Cold War espionage thriller. Physicist Dr. Sally Grissom accidentally invents time travel, landing herself – and her invention – in the middle of a classified government experiment during WWII. As the course of history utterly changes around them, she and what friends she can find in this new time must struggle with the ethics of what they’ve done, and the choices they’ll have to make. An aroace protagonist, Black secret agents, time-traveling Latina assassins, Jewish lesbian mathematicians, two men of color whose love changes the course of time itself, this show says a big fuck you to the idea that there’s anything hard about having a diverse cast in a period piece and it will break your heart, multiple times. Also finished!

The Far Meridian, for a genre-bending, poetic, at-times-heartwarming-at-times-heartbreaking story about an agoraphobic woman named Peri who decides to begin a search for her long-missing brother Ace after the lighthouse in which she lives begins mysteriously transporting to different places every day. I can never forget an early review that described this show as “the audio equivalent of a Van Gogh painting.” Suffice to say it is beautiful, and fantastically written and put together.

What’s the Frequency?, for a Surrealist noir horror mystery set in mid-20th-century LA. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I can really explain what goes on in this show, but it features a detective named Walter “Troubles” Mix and his partner Whitney searching for a missing writer. Meanwhile, the only thing that seems to be playing on the radio is that writer’s show Love, Honor, and Decay, which also seems to be driving people to murder. Fantastically weird, deliciously creepy.

Directive, for a short sci-fi miniseries about a man hired to spend a very, very long trip through space alone, which doesn’t seem all that sad until suddenly it hits you with Every Feel You’ve Ever Had, seriously I don’t want to spoil it so I won’t say anything more but listen to this and then never feel the same way about Tuesdays again.

Wolf 359, for honestly one of the best podcasts out there, containing all of the drama and feels, seriously this show ended over two years ago and I still cry literal tears thinking about it sometimes. It has definite comedic leanings, especially in the first season which reads a bit more like a wacky office comedy set in space, but it takes a sharp turn towards high stakes, action, and feelings and that roller coaster never stops. Take four clashing personalities alone on a constantly-malfunctioning space station eight light years from earth, add some mysterious transmissions from the depths of space, toss in some seriously Jonah-Magnus-level manipulative evil bosses, and get ready to cry.

or, may I suggest Midnight Radio? It’s a lesbian-romance-slash-ghost-story completed miniseries about a late-night 1950s radio host in a small town who begins receiving mysterious letters from one of her listeners, and I have been assured by many people and occasionally their all-caps tweets that it provides ample Feelings! (also I wrote it.)

[enchantedlokii]

Field Trip

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: language

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, FRIDAY, Minor OC

Mentioned: Quentin Beck, May Parker, Thanos, Happy Hogan, Pepper Potts, Morgan Stark, Bruce Banner

Every time Peter Parker went on a field trip, it ended with disaster. First there was the trip to Oscorp that ended with him being bitten by a spider and being sick all night before leaving him mutated. Then came the Decathlon trip to Washington D.C. where he got trapped in a fault and then proceeded to almost watch all his friends be killed by a falling elevator in the Washington Monument. Next was the trip that ended with him turning to dust and being dead for five years. And most recently, the summer vacation that ended with Mysterio attempting to kill him.

He could see why Tony was worried when Peter told him about the trip to Albany. It was a simple history trip, but with Peter’s history, anything could happen. Peter knew that. May knew that. It was possible that something could go wrong, but he couldn’t live in constant fear. “Things have been quiet since Mysterio,” Peter pressed, trying to ease Tony’s worries. “I’ll be fine.”

“I have good reason to worry that’s not true, Pete,” Tony sighed, rubbing his face. He was protective of Peter after everything that had happened. Peter could vividly remember him breaking down days after being home when May come to take Peter home. Because the boy had been gone for five years and he didn’t want to lose him again. It had took weeks to convince him that it was okay for Peter to go to Europe, and he had panicked when Happy got the call to pick him up in a tulip field because Mysterio had attempted to murder him via train. Peter had begged him to go home and let him take care of things, but that didn’t happen. That was the first time Tony had put the suit on since Thanos.

“I’ll be careful,” Peter promised, pressing into his side. They were on the couch, watching TV. It was late, and Pepper and Morgan had already gone to bed hours before. “I can take care of myself, you know. And I’ll have my suit if I need it.”

Eventually, Tony agreed that it was okay. Peter knew that realistically the man couldn’t stop him from going. He wasn’t his legal guardian. He wasn’t his parent. He couldn’t force him to stay home, but Peter would feel guilty going without his permission. Because there was an unspoken agreement that their bond wasn’t just that of a mentor and apprentice. Not anymore.

“Dude, you’re tense.” Ned’s comment snapped Peter from his thoughts. Truthfully, he was nervous. Sure, it was just to Albany. It wasn’t that far from home, and May or Tony or Happy could come pick him up if he needed them too, but there was a prickle of anxiety in his chest. “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Peter told him. “Just. . . You know, when it comes to field trips my life is sort of like the Magic School Bus. Something crazy happens every time.”

“Pretty sure it’s a lot different than the Magic School Bus,” MJ chuckled. She quietly slipped her hand into Peter’s and squeezed it once for reassurance. “Relax, Peter. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

And at first, everything was fine. The trip was amazing, actually. Peter wasn’t a big fan of history, but he did have a soft spot for the revolutionary period (courtesy of Hamilton) and there was a lot about that era in the city. By the time lunch came, he was glad that he had come. They were eating at the park, and he was about to text Tony and let him know everything was going smooth when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his neck that warned him of danger. “Sh*t.”

“Uh oh,” Michelle muttered. “What is it?”

Peter shook his head, not sure where the threat was yet. Then he heard it; a speeding vehicle’s brakes locking up, the tires squealing as it came into view. Without a second thought, he jumped and ran forward to shield his classmates. He knew it would be suspicious when he survived the accident, but he couldn’t let anyone else get hurt.

“Peter!”

Peter barely heard MJ’s scream as the vehicle collided with his body. Pain spread through him, and he was sure that he cried out before the wind was knocked from his lungs. He fought to stay awake, but his vision blurred and before he knew it, everything faded to black.

Tony knew he shouldn’t have let Peter go on that d*mn trip. Every time. Every single f*cking time something like this happened.

He had gotten the call fifteen minutes ago that Peter was in a hospital in Albany in critical condition. Why? Because he jumped in front of a speeding car that threatened his classmates. He jumped in front of a car to save his classmates. Of course he did.

“FRIDAY, how much longer?” he huffed. Pepper had asked him to have Happy drive him, but he knew this was faster. He wasn’t going to wait almost three hours to see Peter when he was in the f*cking hospital. It wasn’t happening.

So when he got there and the nurses refused to let him in, he was furious. “I’m sorry, Sir. We can only let immediate family in at the moment,” the young woman told him. Her voice was kind and sympathetic, but he didn’t care.

“Excuse me?” his voice was close to a snarl. “You think we’re not family just because I’m not on his birth certificate?” The woman started to speak, but he cut her off. “How dare you refuse to let me see my son?”

“Mr. Stark—”

“It will be at least three hours before any of his ‘real’ family can get here,” the ‘real’ tasted bitter as he spoke it. “I will not let him lay in a hospital bed alone for three hours before his aunt can get here. He’s my kid whether you like it or not.”

Tony pushed past her, twisting open Peter’s door and walking inside. He didn’t even stop to see if the nurse was following him. Maybe she would and would see that Peter wanted him there. Because he knew that Peter would want him there. He wouldn’t want to be alone when he’s hurt and away from home.

Peter glanced up as he heard Tony come in, a small smile growing on his face. There was pain in his eyes, and Tony realized that the pain medicine they gave him probably wore off within ten minutes with his spider metabolism. Still, he seemed alert, reaching a hand out as if asking him to come hold it. So Tony did just that. “Hey, Buddy. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” he murmured. His words were slurred, and he silently hoped it was more from exhaustion than pain. “I’m jus’ tired.”

“Don’t lie to me, Kiddo. I can see you’re in pain,” he said gently. Bringing a hand to the kid’s forehead and brushing the hair out of his eyes. His skin was pale and cold, and he wished that he could pull him into a hug to warm him up. “Do you want me to tell someone? I can make them sign something and they won’t tell anyone.”

“No,” Peter said sharply, his eyes widening with fear. Ever since Mysterio, he was even more careful about his identity. They had learned that the man planned to reveal it to the world, and Peter had spiraled into a panic attack watching the video that they had found while hacking into his database. His identity had almost been revealed to the world. Not only that, but Mysterio planned to make him seem like a murderer. “‘M ‘kay, Dad.”

They were both quiet for a moment before it was obvious Peter realized what he had just said. His eyes widened and he struggled to sit up, hissing with pain. “I-I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I didn’t mean— It was an accident. I—”

“Hey, hey, relax.” He put a hand on Peter’s shoulder, lowering him back to his pillow. “Not mad at ya, Kiddo. Did you not hear me out there with your super hearing?”

“I did but—”

“Then you know that it’s fine,” Tony interrupted. “But we can talk about that more later. Right now, you get some rest. I’m going to call Bruce and see if he can send something stronger for your pain when Happy brings May up, alright?”

“That’s not legal,” Peter mumbled. Still, there was a small grin on his face as he said it.

“Since when have I cared about what’s legal, Pete?” he asked, ruffling his hair gently. He knew that the kid was going to be fine, but he also knew he most likely had some sort of head injury; at least a concussion. He would hate to be too rough and end up making it worse. “Try to sleep.”

“Mkay,” he murmured, closing his eyes. His grip on Tony’s hand loosened a bit as he relaxed. “Thanks for comin’ so fast.”

“Anything for you, Spiderling,” he whispered.

Peter was quiet for a few moments, and Tony was sure he was asleep by now. He got his phone out to call Bruce when the boy shifted slightly, peeking his eyes up at him again. “Tony?”

“Yeah, Kid?”

“You really meant it?” he asked carefully. “When you said I was your kid?”

“I— I, yeah, um,” suddenly he worried that maybe Peter was implying that he didn’t want that. That he had took it too far. “Unless you don’t want me to say that. I would understand. It’s just— it’s been a long time for me and—”

Peter squeezed his hand to tell him to stop rambling and look at him. “‘S okay,” he told him, smiling before closing his eyes again. “Love you.”

Tony smiled and bent down to kiss the boy’s forehead. He almost cried as his smile grew and he seemed to relax in the bed. “Love you too, Pete.”

[my-soul-sings]

just my luck: chapter 13

Fandom: Wannabe Challenge Characters: Taehee x Reader

|| chapter 13: a fresh start ||

Read on AO3! 

full chapter

***

It took only one more day for Taehee to be discharged. The doctor had been amazed at the rate of Taehee’s recovery, and the both of you had said nothing, only nodding in agreement while exchanging sheepish, knowing glances.

Hansol drove the car to pick you both up from the hospital, and when he arrived he was cheery as ever. It looked like he hadn’t been worried about Taehee at all, which made you wonder if getting injured like that was a common occurrence for this man. Or maybe it was simply the fact that it was impossible for Taehee to die or get gravely injured in the first place. Thinking back now, it made sense that Hansol and Biho had been more concerned about you than Taehee when they came to visit that day.

Once everyone was back at the apartment, the first thing Taehee did was make two announcements to his friends.

The first was that you now knew that they were all goblins. Biho and Hansol’s eyebrows had both shot up at that, but otherwise they looked like they had expected something like this to happen eventually.

The second thing was that you would be staying with them longer than expected. When Biho asked why the change of heart (none of them were unfamiliar with your stubbornness by now), all Taehee did was interlock his fingers with yours. The man didn’t know the meaning of being discreet or subtle.

Hansol and Biho instantly understood, brightening with smiles and words of congratulations. Embarrassed, you had pulled your hand away from Taehee, who only laughed and rested his hand against your warm cheek.

Hansol had complained loudly, wondering if this would be the amount of PDA he and Biho would have to put up with from now on.

Biho had been more opportunistic—while Taehee went to unpack in his room, he pulled you aside to request you to distract the clean freak while they tidied their rooms and did the pile of dishes in the sink. Apparently, they thought they would have one more day with the house to themselves, so they hadn’t bothered cleaning up after last night’s dinner.

You had agreed easily—Biho wasn’t the kind of guy people could say ‘no’ to without feeling a prick of guilt.

However, the plan backfired quite quickly when they weren’t able to clean up in time, and even you were powerless to stop Taehee from going on one of his tirades once he started. Soon, the house was filled with the sound of Taehee’s scolding, Hansol’s defiant retorts and Biho “accidentally” dropping a few dishes while washing them, adding to the heightening noise levels.  

It was just another day of living in a house with three goblins.

The funny thing was, you had grown used to it. You liked it even—the bickering, the nagging and the bantering.

It was starting to feel like home.

***

Taehee was happy.

It had been a long time since he felt like he could breathe without feeling heavy iron chains around his chest. He couldn’t recall the last time he could smile so much without realising it until his cheeks hurt.

Actually, he did remember. Somewhat. His memory had weathered, chipped away slowly like rusted metal as time went by, and now all he had left were scattered bits of the time spent with her back then.

But the memories were slowly coming back to him as he spent more time with her. They had to stay at home for a week or so, since he was still on medical leave and she had to work from home while the office was being fixed. And as the days went by, Taehee was quickly learning that she was the same woman that he had come to know and love a long time ago.

Things were completely different now—the era they lived in, the world that had changed so much from the conservative town he had grown up in—but he was relieved that some things could withstand the test of time.

For one, she still had that habit of saving her favorite food for last—and that applied to his cooking now. Cooking was only something he had picked up after becoming a goblin, and for the longest time he had regretted not learning sooner and cooking a meal for her when she was alive. It was why he had nearly cried when he got to cook for her for the first time after meeting her again. Fortunately, no one had noticed.

She also still found the most peculiar things amusing, even when he didn’t mean to make her laugh. There was one time he almost wore his apron to sleep by accident and she had laughed for a full minute, bending over and clutching her abdomen while he scrambled to take it off.

Then there was her caring side. Occasionally she’d forget that he was a night goblin and chastise him for staying up late instead of resting. Sometimes he would be engrossed in cooking or reading something, and when he looked up, he’d find her staring at him with a curious smile playing on her lips. While she wasn’t usually the one to initiate hugs or skinship, she would do it sometimes when she thought he was sleeping—running her fingers through his hair, patting his head, pressing a kiss to his forehead and whispering, “Sweet dreams”...

It really did feel like a dream. Everything did. He couldn’t remember the last time he dreaded sleeping and was excited to wake up.

And so it was ironic when Taehee remembered one day that soon, his time would start running again. Falling in love with a human and pledging to love her for the rest of his life meant that he would now have a limit on his life—one that he had wanted to lose for so long and was starting to cherish and desire again. The thought of death now scared him rather than relieved him.

But then she would hold his hand, and the worries and fear would scatter. He would notice the lines on the palm, the ones on his, and imagine the wrinkles that would form in years to come. The one thing that he didn’t want to change was their intertwined fingers, her hand held tightly in his.

And Taehee decided that he finally had a new goal. This time, it wasn’t to be the top scholar of a national examination, nor was it to place a flower crown on her head.

This time, the goal was far more pressing and urgent: he had to find a way to protect her from her misfortune… or attempt to change it entirely.

***

Two weeks later, your wrist healed, which brought your recovery period to a total of seven weeks. The three goblins were ecstatic on your behalf and Taehee cooked up a feast that evening to celebrate. This time, you were able to help them out with the cooking and the washing.

It wasn’t until later that night that you realised Taehee was being unusually shifty and restless around you. He seemed to be making rounds around the house, walking from his room, passing by the couch where you were, drawing near but then taking an unnatural turn towards the kitchen, before returning to his room. The process repeated quite a few times until it became too obvious not to notice him circling you like a scared shark.

Eventually, you called his name to get him to talk.

“Do you need help?” he asked, eyeing your recovered wrist as you set up your “bed” with the blankets. You had vehemently refused to move into his bedroom despite your new relationship status—it was more out of embarrassment than anything else, especially with Biho and Hansol around. Making things awkward was the last thing you wanted in this house, especially when you were perfectly happy with the way things were at the moment.

“I’m fine,” you smiled, waving that hand around to show that it didn’t hurt anymore. “The exercises you told me to do were very helpful.”

A small breath escaped him. You couldn’t tell if it was a sigh or a laugh. You continued setting up the blankets while he watched quietly. Something felt off; he clearly had more to say than ask if you needed his assistance with a piece of cloth.  

“Taehee.”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay? You’re being awfully quiet and you’re just staring at me.”

“Oh…” He looked away sheepishly, as if he hadn’t realised he had been boring two large holes in your head. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“I, um… Well, your wrist has healed, but you’re still going to stay here, right?”

You blinked at him, confused. “What? Didn’t we already talk about this? I’m not leaving, unless… you want me to?”

“No! No, I didn’t mean that.” He exhaled in relief, almost as if he had been holding his breath for a long time. Then without warning, he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace, squeezing you until it was hard to breathe. “Thank you,” he said, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

He was acting like a puppy with abandonment issues—probably because of all the things he had been through before. You hugged him back, a hand running up and down his back.

“You worry too much.”

He nodded in agreement. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Were you pacing up and down the house for the past thirty minutes because of this?”

“...Yes.”

The reluctant admission made you chuckle. It was tempting to tease him further, but you decided to cut the poor man some slack.

“If that’s all, you should go to sleep now. You have work tomorrow.”

“Actually... there was something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

Your brows arched as he released you from his embrace, although he held on to your hands. You had learned over the past two weeks that Taehee was much more clingy than he appeared to be—not that you disliked it.

“It’s not confirmed yet and it’s just a theory for now, so I don’t want to get your hopes up for nothing, but I thought you should know.”

“Okay…”

He sounded serious, in the same way he did when he shared about his past that night in the hospital. Goose pimples began to rise on your forearms, but you couldn’t make any likely guesses as to what he was about to tell you.

Taehee stared at you hard for a moment, as if to assess if you were truly mentally prepared for this. Conflict was written in his eyes and it was making you nervous as well. It was hard to tell if this was even good or bad news based on the constipated face he was making.

Finally, he spoke. And it was the last thing you would have ever expected to hear in your life.

“There might be a way to get rid of your bad luck.”

[calamity-callie]

The Inspiration Behind Khrysalis (Probably)

This may be an unpopular opinion but Khrysalis is my favorite world in the spiral. The story, the bugs, the characters… I just love everything about it! There’s one age old question that’s been circling around for a while though… what, or when, is Khrysalis based on? Krokotopia is obviously ancient Egypt, Mooshu is clearly feudal Japan, but what time and place is Khrysalis inspired by? 

Well, I think I’ve found the answer.

I hope you remember your prehistory, because after a bit of thinking, I’ve come to the conclusion that Khrysalis is based on the Paleozoic era, specifically the Carboniferous period, up through the early Triassic. The Carboniferous period is sometimes also known as the ‘Age of Plants,’ and is the first period where life on land really began to flourish after it’s beginnings in the Devonian. Perhaps the most defining feature of this period though is the incredibly high oxygen levels; 80% higher than what they are today. This massive amount of oxygen allowed for some of the most stunning animals to ever walk the earth to appear; those of course being the gigantic arthropods.

This brings the most immediate parallel with Khrysalis to light; the giant, sentient bugs! Not only that, but on Khrysalis, the insects are clearly the dominant races. The spider arachna seem to have hoarded most of the power for themselves in the Hive, and the bees hold an absolutely gigantic hive of their own in Moon Cliffs. Even the mantises have a pretty spectacular city in Sardonyx, and while the centipedes aren’t the smartest, they’ve definitely got a very orderly, warlike culture. Compare these to the small burrower and hopper villages in Last Wood and Kondha Desert, and it’s easy to see who the more advanced society is. It’s true that due to the horrible effects of the war in Khrysalis much of the burrower settlements are gone, but even when looking at a barren place like Silent Market, we don’t see any sort of ruins to indicate that what was there before is much different to what’s there now.

Another major parallel manifests itself in the oceans. In the Paleozoic era, there are six major periods, and life did not find its way on land until midway through the fourth one. By the later periods, life in the oceans had much more time to develop, and thus living in the water was far more competitive than life on land, at least at first. Early Paleozoic periods produced the ever popular trilobites and ammonites, as well as the terrifying sea scorpions; while later periods produced some truly vicious fish: Dunkleosteus, with its fanged, bony skull; and Helicoprion, the shark with a buzz-saw on its face; to name a few. Marine reptiles were quite just beginning to evolve at this time as well.

Compare this ocean, teeming with some truly monstrous life, to the fear felt by sailors at the prospect of crossing the Starfall Sea. We never really find out what’s down there, but that just adds to the lovecraftian nature of the place. The thought that there’s creatures down there that not even our incredibly powerful wizard could stand up to is very telling. Fighting the deep spawn alone is already a difficult prospect, and where there’s deep spawn, it’s not irrational to believe that creatures like the one summoned in Call of Khrulhu might live down there too. Even the animal we use as a submarine is a pretty powerful beast in its own right!

Want more parallels? Think about how Khrysalis is laid out on the map. Unlike most other worlds, Khrysalis is two distinct landmasses, separated by an ocean - which immediately brings to mind the Paleozoic continents of Laurasia and Gondwana. Gondwana, being located more squarely on the equator than its northern partner, was the warmer of the two, while Laurasia had a more temperate climate. Compare this to the southern half of Khrysalis where we begin, with its lush forests and mountainous landscapes, and the northern half, with the arid city of Sardonyx, and the harsh landscape of the Kondha. The differences in climate almost perfectly mirror Laurasia and Gondwana, only swapped so the harsher climate is on the northern landmass.

There’s one major point that throws a wrench in this theory though; the existence of the burrowers. Mammals did not evolve until the end of the Triassic period, alongside the first dinosaurs, and thus would not have interacted with a Paleozoic world. I don’t think this is necessarily damning evidence though. Kingsisle has been known to mash periods in history up before, most notably with Polaris’s French/Russian revolution, and Mooshu and Mirage taking elements from all over east Asia and the Middle East respectively. Insects are an immediately alien species to us humans, and large ones may be especially tough to sympathize with at first. I believe the reason they added in the cute little rodents was to give players a race to immediately identify with. They’re not completely out of place either, as while it wasn’t as dramatic, the Mesozoic was just as well known for having some large insects, and terrifying oceans. Laurasia and Gondwana didn’t even break up until the late Jurassic period. Dinosaurs in the Triassic were also very few and far between, and with Azteca just having concluded, it was too soon to introduce another dinosaur race.

It may not be a perfect match, but when scrutinized closely, none of the worlds mirror their inspiration precisely - and that’s a good thing! For me, this evidence is enough that I’m at least confident in saying that Khrysalis is based on the late Paleozoic era.

[im-not-looking-for-forgiveness]

Hi! I saw you said your requests were open? If they are I was wondering if you can maybe write a future!reader X Tommy Shelby story? Idk like maybe she gets stuck before the war? And she becomes close to the shelby family? Then they go off to war and when they come back Tommy’s not the same and then everything with grace and the reader is heart broken? They were never together but there was always something there. When Tommy chooses grace reader leaves?

Time to be Alive - Thomas Shelby x Reader - Peaky Blinders AU

Full request: "Hi! I saw you said your requests were open? If they are I was wondering if you can maybe write a future!reader X Tommy Shelby story? Idk like maybe she gets stuck before the war? And she becomes close to the shelby family? Then they go off to war and when they come back Tommy's not the same and then everything with grace and the reader is heart broken? They were never together but there was always something there. When Tommy chooses grace reader leaves? Continuation of my last lol So reader maybe ends up back in her time? When Tommy and the shelby's finally realize there all heart broken? Maybe she eventually comes back? Idk just a thought."

A/N: I absolutely love this request! I'm making it into a series, instead of just doing one long part. I think it'll be better that way, since it's such a rich idea! Also, this is really fun to write because of pre-war Tommy!!!! From what I gathered and from how I imagine him, I see Tommy as happier and more carefree.

Taglist: @tranquility-or-chaos @captivatedbycillianmurphy @hxnky-cat @imagine-richards @sweetiekokkiri

*****

“Fuck!” you bit out, cursing both your ability to travel through space-time and your inability to remember to check if your phone had been in your pocket.

You used your power to get away from a man stalking you because you didn't have your phone, and now you couldn’t find your way back the present day. Jumping, as you named it, was like being on a very long leash and then running through a maze. You could see that there was a way back, but you had to untangle all the rope in order to do so. On top of that, you needed to replenish the energy you lost by running through the figurative maze. It had been a fun trick when you were younger, but it was too inconsistent. You could get stuck, like you were now, while waiting for your energy to come back. Your longest stint on one of these trips had been a little over a year, and that had been bad enough. You had a feeling that this one was going to be very, very long.

First things first, you had to figure out where you were and when. Then, it was clothing and housing that you had to get to next. Those were always the trickiest parts since you had a bad habit of seeming extraordinarily out of place. Being from the year 2020 could do that to a person. You tried to study world history in order to prepare, but you never really ended up in the era or the place that you’d been studying. Some superpower this was, right?

You emerged from the alley, and immediately the pungent scent of the city hit your nose. This was some sort of industrial era for sure, but you needed a newspaper to double-check.

Folding your arms around your chest in an attempt to hide your modern looking black top and trousers, you went down the muddy street to find a newspaper stand. Surely they must have one, if the early Ford cars were anything to go by. Perhaps you were in the early 1900s?

"Please be the twenties." you muttered to yourself. It was your favorite era to learn about in school, and you had been to that time period once before. Though, you hadn't gotten stuck there and it was after the war.

Spotting a newsstand, you hurried over to it. You just needed to see the date, and then you could be on your way. The muddy ground sucked at your boots uncomfortably, threatening to pull them off.

"Hello, dear. Paper?" a man asked, his accent strong but hard to pinpoint. It seemed to be a blend of English and Irish.

"Thanks, but I just want to see the headline. I don't need the whole thing." you gave a smile, and quickly sought out the date. If he noticed your American accent, he didn't comment.

May 3rd, 1914.

You scanned the paper quickly, and then walked away. You didn't want him to get annoyed with you, especially since you were suddenly close to tears. You'd gone back to Birmingham, England before the start of the first World War. This was bad, very bad indeed. Fuck.

"At least you don't have family to worry about." you muttered bitterly to yourself, eyes stinging. You should have just tried to fight your stalker off instead of using your power. You wish you'd never used it in the first place.

Lost in a torrent of anger and regret, you kept walking until you found yourself inside a horse stable. You couldn't get anything done with you being in such a state, so you figured you might as well stay until you could figure out what to do. It was warm and dry here, and it was unlikely anyone was going to ride one of these animals until the morning. Or so you hoped.

You nestled into the corner, and borrowed a horse blanket to cover yourself. Cold and exhausted from the day's events, you tumbled into an uneasy sleep.

"Hey! Wake up, you're not supposed to be in here." a man's voice startled you awake. It felt like only moments since you'd shut your eyes, but the early morning sun pouring in told you it had been hours.

"Sorry. I have nowhere else to go." you mumbled an apology, finding the eyes of the man above you. They were a startling shade of blue and held such weight that you could almost believe he had some sort of power of his own.

"It's alright, just get up. Arthur is the one you have to look out for. What's your name?" he answered. You couldn't help but notice how smooth his voice was. He could probably talk anyone into anything if he wanted.

"Y/N. Uh, what's yours?" you asked him tentatively in return, getting up and brushing off bits of straw and dirt. Oh shit, your clothes! Your clothes were definitely not a trend for women these days, nor had the style even been thought of yet. Had he noticed?

"Thomas Shelby, but you can call me Tommy." the man said, taking the blanket from your hands. His gaze skimmed down your body, and you immediately knew he had caught on. Shit!

Tommy questioned immediately, "Where are you from?"

"The year 2020, almost 100 years in the future." you got out, feeling inexplicably like you could trust him with your secret.

He snorted with amusement, "Alright, and I'm God."

You felt desperate to convince him, "I'm serious. I'm not from this year. Look, see my wristwatch? You don't have this kind of technology yet."

Thomas' eyes were transfixed on the metal around your wrist. The digital face read out the time in bright green numbers: 7:09a.m.

While showing your (missing) phone would have been a bigger shock, you knew better than to show him too much. It wasn't so much that you were afraid he would try to replicate it, but that showing him something from the future would cause too much havoc in the current day. You never wanted to find out what directly messing with the timeline of events did if you could help it.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, taking a step forward. With you already in the corner, you had no choice to put your back against the wall. You wondered again if he had some sort of power.

"I have the ability to travel through time. I don't know why or how it works, and it's very unreliable. I was trying to ditch a man that was following me, and I ended up stranded here. I can't leave until my powers are working again. That's the only explanation I can give." you told him helplessly, gaze caught in his.

Tommy stared at you a while, not even blinking. You hoped he wouldn't find a way to lock you up, or send you to an asylum. You'd already been through that before, too, and had to wait two weeks until you were able to jump out of there. The one unwavering conclusion that you'd learned from your using your power was that humanity always feared what it didn't understand.

"Alright. I believe you." Thomas acknowledged, taking a step back once more.

"You do?" you sighed in relief.

"Yes. You'd either have to be mad or honest, and my bet is on the latter. It's too insane a story to make up just for being caught sleeping here." he gave you a small smile, which made your breath catch in your throat. It was such a dazzling display that it caught you off guard. He was breathtaking.

"Wow. Alright, then. Most people don't believe me that quickly." you gave a nervous chuckle.

"I'm not most people. Come on, we've got to find you a job and a place to stay if you're going to be here a while. Oh, and take this. Your clothes will attract attention." he said, beginning to head out of the stables. He paused on the way to shrug off his coat and give it to you.

"Thank you, Tommy." you said, mouth enjoying the way his name felt. You took the offer and slid into his warm coat. It smelled of hay and some sort of soap, a comforting smell.

For the first time since arriving in 1914, you weren't thinking of how to get back to 2020.

To be continued...

[draconivn]

008 | In His Arms

Summary: I made this fic mainly for me, so I stuck my name in it. Due to some things, I’ve been feeling super down lately, and after talking to @lordbunshin, it really got me thinking how Masamune would comfort me if I was feeling down. If you do decide to read this and find it relates to you, just mentally insert your name in where it says ‘Minju’. Pairing: Masamune (Ikemen Sengoku) x Reader Warnings: Angst, fluff, low self-esteem.

Everything hurt.

Everything felt like I had been hit by a horse at full-speed before getting dragged through town. I felt alone, I felt hurt.

I felt nothing but pain and an ache in my heart that told me I wasn’t good enough. Everything I did wasn’t good enough, and I had to work myself that much harder. That no matter what I did to learn how to survive in the Sengoku period, I was far from the princess type that Nobunaga saw in many of the princesses within his clan. That one day, the man I love would find someone much prettier, much cuter and with the most perfect smile of love without having to worry about the pain inside. 

I felt ugly. I felt disgusted. I was small, and had been caught in the centre of one too many rescue missions before Masamune came barreling in with his sword raised.

The lucky charm name that Nobunaga gave felt like a pathetic excuse to keep me around and under watchful eyes, after I had just appeared out of nowhere to scoop him up and save him from his assassin. I was just thrown there into a world that was no longer the history I knew, and the frantic pace of war drove my beliefs to act out. It was the only way I was safe, how I somehow gained the attribute of being ‘brave’.

I was afraid and in the end, I knew I was nothing.

I was no princess.

I was no brave lass.

I was a scared insecure fool, who only knew how to run and push, but never how to actually fight my own battles. I never had the right ammunition to protect me, and that was no different to how I saw my looks.

My feet dragged themselves, a placid expression on my face the entire day as my own little invisible rain cloud followed me. The walk from manor to manor allowed me to get some fresh air, but the sun felt much too bright for me. The castle felt like it was probably the best place for me to be, hiding behind corners, until I found somewhere that I could just curl up.

All of my thoughts felt overwhelming, overpowering and dragged me into an internal abyss. 

“Hey, Hideyoshi.”

“Oh. Masamune. Did you already see Lord Nobunaga?”

“Yeah, I was just coming back from there and was going to look for Minju for a late lunch. Have you seen her?”

No, please go away. Please don’t find me. 

“Uh… not since this morning. She’s been acting a little weird today though.”

“Weird, huh?”

“Yeah. I don’t know if her head’s in the clouds or something, but she wasn’t too happy. She didn’t even respond when I said good morning to her! Mitsuhide said she looks like she’s been avoiding eye contact with everyone.”

I didn’t want anyone to look at my eyes. If anyone so much as sat me down, I knew I would burst into tears. I kept my head down as the two talked, making sure I was out of sight and in my little corner. My eyes were already pricking with tears, my shoulders hunched over and trembling. 

“Hm… thanks for that, Hideyoshi. I’ll see if I can find her.”

I thought they had both walked away, sniffling quietly as I gripped my hair, knees pulled up to my chest.

“Kitten…?” Masamune’s touch came gently to my shoulder, but I still jumped and jerked away, raising my head to look at him. “Hey.”

I looked away immediately, not knowing what to say.

“What’s wrong, kitten?” 

Even if I couldn’t see his face, I could hear the frown in his words, and he moved next to me to take a seat on the floor. My hair draped over my face, shielding my expression from him, so he wouldn’t see me.

“Hey, kitten. Hideyoshi tells me you haven’t been feeling too good. Want to tell me what’s wrong and why your whiskers aren’t twitching with happiness today?”

“I just want to be alone.”

“Minju.” His hand reached over to cup my chin and tilt my head towards him, even though I kept avoiding his gaze and his free arm wrapped around me to hold me close. “What’s wrong?”

I felt more foolish in telling him everything that I felt the whole day, every single thought and worry that I had pent up inside me, but in broken sentences. I wasn’t too good at being verbal, and more so better at writing, even though I was still learning bits of the Sengoku Era’s vocabulary. When I looked up at him, I could see the frown that my words brought to his lips. I hated upsetting people, and I hated it even more when I was the reason for it.

Yet Masamune still held onto me, making sure to listen to every word I said. “You’re wrong about that. You’re not ugly… you’re the cutest and most beautiful when you smile. There’s no one else I could love other than you. And all those things you’re thinking? Those aren’t true. You’re amazing, kitten, whether you realize it or not. Sure war isn’t for you, and it’s not something anyone should go through. You’ve come here from a different time, and had to learn how to survive. You had no idea what to do, but that shouldn’t have to mean you’re pathetic. You did your best to try and survive, and you’re doing it every day you’re here and choosing to stay instead of going back home.”

I didn’t know how to feel about that. My personality had been constructed since day one under my parents’ guidance, set to their expectations and make sure that no one was upset as a result of my actions. I kept busy to avoid their lectures and dodge the yelling they gave me when I was a teen, and I had to fight tooth and nail just to be able to live on my own in a city far away from them, only to be thrown into a life 500 years in the past where I found my love in a whirlwind of freedom.

“Minju… kitten…” he called to me softly. “You’re not in a world of grades anymore. There is no classification for the hard-working and wonderful person you are. The only one left holding any expectation for yourself is you. All we want is for you to be yourself, but you should do things for yourself and not for others.” His fingers combed through my hair, beckoning my trembling body closer to him.

I was a crybaby, and in the middle of those words, I had already felt tears start to leak bit by bit until he finished speaking. I wanted to please everyone, work hard until I gained some sort of approval. I never thought about myself. 

Masamune stayed with me the entire time I cried. I felt guilty, trying to wipe at the hot tears to get rid of them, but he would do it for me every time. My head was running blank until I cried every last tear I could.

“I-I’m sorry… I’m keeping you from your work…”

“Hm? You don’t have to apologize. You’re important to me, kitten, and I’m not going to let you stay in a corner by yourself.” He looked at me for a moment. “In fact… I’m going to make sure you stay with me, no matter what.”

“Huh…?” I was pulled to my feet, our fingers laced as he pulled me through the halls of the castle, in the direction of the castle gates. “Where are you taking me…?” I could see Hideyoshi and Nobunaga coming and I couldn’t help but hide as Masamune came to a stop.

“Masamune,” came Nobunaga’s booming voice. There’s a pause, like Nobunaga was throwing a gaze behind him, trying to see through him. “See to it that our fireball is smiling by the morning, or for however long it will take.”

“As you command.”

I kept my head down. I felt guilty that I couldn’t greet them, but it seemed like Hideyoshi had told Nobunaga about my mood today.

Not choosing to linger any longer, Masamune was gentle in guiding me to his manor where I stayed close to Masamune until we got to his room. The door shut behind us, and he sat down, tugging me into his lap. He smiled gently, nudging my cheek with his finger and he turned to peck my lips gently. We had been caught in this quiet mood when something furry brushed up against us, paws climbing over both of our laps until Shogetsu was settled in and nuzzling my chest. “Hey. Have you come to make her smile too?”

Shogetsu meowed at us, cuddling and curling up with a purr.

I hesitated, not wanting to transfer my anxiety over to the cub, but he looked at me expectantly until I finally started to pet him. It was the warmth of Masamune’s arms around me, and Shogetsu cuddling up to us that allowed me to calm down and ease the tension off my shoulders. 

“I got you something while I was in town today,” Masamune murmured softly. His fingers reached into his kimono, pulling out a rectangular package and handed it to me. 

With shaky hands, I took it and carefully unwrapped it. It was a new brush set.

“I noticed you were using your brushes quite a bit lately with your drawing and writing lately, so I thought you would like this.”

Quietly, I kissed his cheek in a silent ‘thank you’. I could feel the tears start to warm my tired eyes, touched that they would both try to cheer me up in every way possible. I couldn’t bring myself to write, not when thoughts like these dragged my mind and my performance down. Like everything was the worst in the world, and I had no right to be a part of–

“Hey…” Masamune’s voice pulled me back before my mind went back down that path, my slight startled expression meeting his serious expression. 

I swallowed quietly, a sniffle as I reached up to wipe a stray tear.

He caught my wrist, leaning in to kiss the tear away for me. “I’m here, kitten… you don’t have to hurt anymore. I’m not going to leave you.”

My voice was quiet, breaking as he was tender and gentle with me. “I envy you, Masamune…”

He looked at me with a questioning expression. “What do you mean?”

“I’m so closed up like this, so scared at times… yet you live so freely. I wish I could be like the strong person you are… with your strong convictions and living without fears like the ones in my head.”

“No one is perfect, kitten. This is all still new to you. I’ve lived a lifetime of this, but you’ve been here for months. You can learn how to have it, how to use it, how to keep your beliefs while doing so… but learning how to keep every conviction without fear is something that isn’t going to be done overnight. But I’ll help you, so you can live a life without fear, if that’s what you want.”

His words soothed me, calmed me in my fears and was drawing me out of my slump bit by bit. My words hung in tongue-twisters, trying to find the right thing to say, but all I could muster was a simple, “Thank you.” I wasn’t completely better, but I was starting to feel it. My little rain cloud was evaporating and the sun didn’t seem too bright anymore.

He smiled his warm smile, thumb brushing over my lips. “There’s the smile.”

I hadn’t noticed that my smile returned to my lips, though I must’ve looked silly with puffy eyes and a smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too, kitten.” His lips were warm and gentle against mine, kissing me with love as he pulled me close until Shogetsu yelped between us, breaking our kiss to meow in protest at us.

For a moment, we looked at him as he leapt off us to curl up in the corner then at each other, our smiles formed anew.

“C’mon, kitten. Let’s go test out these brushes and see if I have to go marching back for my money,” Masamune joked. He never did let me go the entire time that I did try my new brushes, his arms around my waist and his chin on my shoulder. 

I felt safer this way. I couldn’t cry or show my writing to anyone else except him, his words complimenting in my ears at the work I produced on the paper with my brushes.

Because we are vulnerable to no one but to each other.

[disaster-fruit]

and I know it's unfair because I haven't answered the ask yet but you're Brazilian so you know way more than me but I'd love to hear your thoughts about Imperial Brazil?? I'm really struggling with him bc i know about him in this era more from a portuguese perspective.....

YOU THOUGHT I WOULDN’T ANSWER THIS HUH 

Sorry for taking so damn long audshdf I was saving this ask to do a real deep dive into the whole empire with a lot of historical explanation and a lot of detail buuuut I was having some trouble coherently organizing my thoughts about Pedro II’s reign so instead I’m gonna use this ask to more loosely talk abt the first half of the empire. You’ve seen my basic thoughts on the second half on that other post, so now I’m gonna ramble mostly about 1808-1840.

Also, hm, this is LONG. It’s embarrassingly long. I hope you have time. 

And yes 1808-1822 is not part of the empire, but Brazil was no longer a colony in practice during those years, and I think they were crucial to his development as a person. 

Before 1808, Brazil pretty much grew up alone. His mother was around less and less, and he had no friends. Portugal was, as we already know, a shitty dad. Up to that point, he was not only absent but also very controlling. He never allowed Brazil or his people to learn how to read, Brazil wasn’t allowed to have libraries or universities or newspapers or even print. Portugal alienated Brazil both from his mother and from Port himself. He was forcefully kept from developing his own ideas, and his growth was stagnant – even physically. The way I see it, after 300 years he was still a small child, while the others around him were already growing into teenagers even though they were younger in actual numbers. Portugal literally kept him from developing as a person, by force. 

But suddenly, Portugal needed him. Suddenly, he showed up at his shore, with hundreds of people, and objects, and books. And though Portugal desperately needed Brazil at that time, his king couldn’t be there with Brazil being like that. That land with no cities and no libraries and no economy no nothing because he was forced to have nothing. 

He starts growing really, really fast, and forcefully again. And it was a painful process – his people were being kicked out of their houses so that the people that arrived from Portugal had where to live. In a few years, he grew almost as fast as humans did. But it was still an incomplete growth – most of his people were still living in misery, but now he had a structured state that allowed him to more firmly fit into what a nation means. But it all happened so fast he was… dizzy. 

And that was all combined with what was happening in his relationship with his father. They had both gotten much closer now that Portugal was physically there more often. I think Portugal is considerably less shitty to Brazil during these years, both because he needs him and because he is a relief from everything going on in Europe. But that doesn’t mean he became a good dad, but also Brazil was a lot smarter now, a lot freer, and quick to realize something that had always been true – Portugal needed Brazil more than Brazil needed Portugal. Much more. 

The fact that he wasn’t a colony anymore but wasn’t quite independent, and thus still had to obey Portugal to some degree, started to annoy him. This has quite a bit of teenage rebellion element into it, but that doesn’t mean it came from unjustified anger. Not at all. His pride and ego were starting to really develop. The king of Portugal liked him better than he liked port himself, Brazil was heaven on earth, Brazil was rich, Brazil was full of potential, Brazil was great, Brazil was paradise, Brazil was not his own.  

And that just keeps building.

And when Portugal starts talking about making him a colony again. After all that shit about the being a united kingdom, about Portugal being his father and trying to get close to him, of seeing him as a refuge and a relief, after all of that connection I think Portugal genuinely tried to build with him, the ugly truth is bare again – Portugal never saw him as worthy of equal footing, never saw that united kingdom as anything but temporary, never saw brazil as anything more than a colony. 

And Brazil is mad. 

When he found out the plans of Pedro I to declare independence, he’s more than happy. He’s been thinking of it for a while, and I think maybe deep down he didn’t love the idea of another Portuguese man being his boss, but Pedro had grown up in brazil, dude was carioca at heart, his wife was wonderful, Brazil could work with that. He declared independence, fought against Portugal, won, still had to pay for his independence, but, at last, he got it. 

I think in a way Brazil’s anger, as righteous as it was, did blind him to what was going on. He wanted so bad to get rid of Portugal and avoid going back to how it was when he was a colony, that he waved away or even approved things that really just kept him stuck in the same place. Very little actually changed for most people, and as someone who literally represented all the people, he knew that and could feel that, but he was still so euphoric personally about it that he… ignored it. 

Pedro I’s reign was… messy. He needed a constitution, he got into a war with Argentina, everyone was talking about who Pedro was fucking, it was just a whole mess. For that reason, I think despite declaring his independence, brazil remembers Pedro as being mostly an irresponsible asshole who couldn’t keep it in his pants and was too busy being a playboy to rule this country yet still managed to be authoritarian and also made him lose Uruguay. And when it came time for him to choose Brazil or Portugal, just like his father, he chooses Portugal. 

That was a blow on his ego. Brazil at this point was still just a teenager, who had in two decades grown insanely fast for a nation, has been told by each king his land was heaven on earth and so much richer than Portugal, yet no one was willing to choose him. Ever. He was still an afterthought. Like a colony, that still had a metropolis. Pedro left him with a 4-year-old, with a government disorganized, and no money. 

And then the Provinces start to rise up. 

So, hm, a quick background on how I see the provinces: Some of them existed since around 1530, some were younger and some weren't around yet, and if Brazil first appeared representing the people that were born in this new colony, the provinces were much more… administrative and political. Yet many of the ones that were around grew much faster than Brazil – they were already teenagers or even adults by independence. They had always responded directly to Portugal and for a long time saw no connection between themselves or between them and Brazil. The idea of “Brazil” was only like… 100 years old, even less than that. And some of them were not loving being attached to those two kids – Brazil and the baby emperor. They saw the weak government of the regency as a chance to rise up and declare their own independence, as many who started as provinces around them had – like Uruguay.

The regency lasted 9 years, but I think those few years were also crucial to form Brazil as a person, due to how stressful they were. Think about it, he saw what was happening around him, with Spain’s former colonies. And I think he for the first time had to grapple with the very human existential fear of death. 

If each of his provinces became their own country, would he still be around? Would he just become… Rio? But Rio existed as a province too. Would he just… be a lot of different countries? Probably not.  He would probably disappear. He had only just started to be allowed to live, but that could be taken away at any moment. Uruguay and Rio Grande do Sul succeeded in getting their independence. How long until the others? It was quite terrifying. And I think that experience not only made him averse to the idea of being a republic in general at the time, but also created a lot of emotional and psychological problems for him, a lot of insecurity, as well as it made him realize he was nothing. There was nothing to justify his existence. He couldn’t say he existed because he wanted freedom or republic, he had none of these, plus it was something the provinces too could have. What united that land? What made him him? Those were all questions that would haunt him for the rest of the empire, and he would soon be more than willing to go after and accept easy answers. That’s how he gets to that whole indianismo think I talked about some time ago.

He fights his own provinces, on people, countless times. Revolts that really were like civil wars kept popping, and he, who was just a teenager, had to fight to oppress his provinces and force them into being a part of him, for a reason he himself didn’t know. He couldn’t explain why they should be a part of him, except that they were and he wanted them to be and he wanted to live. And he didn’t know why.

In summary, this whole period was one of fear, and insecurity, and doubt. It shook him profoundly as a person more than as a country. Because once Pedrinho was in power, things were quick to stabilize and it was, in some ways, as if those revolts had never happened, but Brazil remembered them, he lived through them, and never really forgot that fear. 

If the regency was marked by external peace and internal turmoil, Pedrinho’s reign was one of relatively internal peace and external turmoil. Pedro II was… a complicated figure. Most Brazilians today regard him as an excellent ruler and a wise man, but I at least can’t be this optimistic about the man who insisted on the Paraguayan war, refused to abolish slavery for decades, and basically laid ground to a lot of the problems we still have today, like bad distribution of land and late industrialization. He didn’t do all that by himself, of course, a lot can be blamed on the senate, but he was the most powerful man on the country, and he receives way too much credit for his personal beliefs of being an abolitionist and a pacifist. Maybe he really was both these things, but that doesn’t change the fact that he didn’t use his power to end slavery and avoid war, quite the opposite. And why is that important here? Because I think brazil, the tan, was also fooled by it. He quickly bought into the narrative that Pedro II was this wise incredible man, and overlooked all the ways he kept the worst structures of the country untouched in order to not upset the elite that kept him in power. Brazil wanted nothing but stability and power, and Pedro, looking like the opposite of his father at the surface, brought that. There were no more separatist movements or civil wars once he rose to power, Rio Grande do Sul was reabsorbed, and the years that followed were ones of relative prosperity, and all of that really made brazil more and more attached to the whole concept of the empire. I think just like he was willing to ignore a lot of things during independence for the sake of it, here too he ignored all the ways Pedro II held him back so that he could fully feel the pride of being a powerful empire.

Brazil really did like being an empire during that time. The narrative of the empire was one that answered the question that haunted him for so long – what justified his existence. Justifying it, in the 19th century, is what I believe to be the main motivation underlying everything he did and thought. And the narrative was that the empire guaranteed stability and avoided civil wars and fragmentation, allowing Brazil to be, to quote José Bonifacio, “This majestic and solid piece of social architecture from the Prata to the Amazonas”, and again, all that in comparison to his neighbors that were constantly drowning in civil wars and fragmenting. For stability and that justification, he was willing to turn a blind eye to anything else.

So he rose from the regency feeling stronger than ever. Pedrinho had put everything into place, he was growing, he had a Brazilian in power for the first time, his coffee was going well, and he had survived. Many of his neighbors hadn’t, or at least not in the sense of managing to keep their territories intact. He did. His neighbors were unstable, with wars and coups and wars (like he hadn’t just had exactly that), he was stable and growing and he was the strongest. Once free of the fear of being destroyed from the inside, his ego grew once again, and he felt good. He felt pride in being a big strong and centralized empire, and to look down on the other Latin Americans and even on his father. He was ready now to make his power and influence spread, as an Empire. 

That's it, sorry if this is both ridiculously long and also a mess, I have way too many thoughts about imperial brazil and I could've probably written ten more pages of it and still have something to say. Also I'd still love to hear your thoughts on the empire for a Portuguese perspective, because I genuinely have no clue what that would look like. But anyway hmm I hope this was fun? 

[xillveart]

Ancient Soul

Time Travel, Quirkless, Feudal Japan AU

“Your soul does not belong here.” Those were words you never thought that you would hear. Now, thrown into the past in feudal Japan, you must find a way to survive, all while struggling to avoid the growing feelings for one hot-headed war general. War, romance, death and love drive you forward, to find the place where your soul truly belongs.

Bakugou Katsuki x Fem!Reader

Want to start from be beginning? Check the Ancient Soul tag. New chapters released every Wednesday as long as schedule permits.

Genre: Romance / Angst Story Rating: Explicit | Adult Themes, Sex, Death, Depictions of Violence, Alcohol

Chapter 10: Soft on You

Chapter Rating: Teen | Cursing Words:  2756

The feeling of Bakugou’s eyes on you was something that you had difficulty ignoring. You knew that he was watching you closely for any signs that you were about to totally bullshit your way through your next prediction, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. In fact, you had no idea what happened at this particular skirmish, yet you were having difficulty admitting such a thing to him. The past couple of months that you had been his “strategy assistant”, or whatever you were called, had gone by swimmingly. Nothing you said had been wrong and everything had gone just as you predicted, so the fact that you were drawing a blank on this one battle was eating at you viciously. More than worrying that he may no longer believe you, you didn’t want to disappoint him. 

You had grown to love the feeling of being praised by him and by anyone else who found your predictions to be helpful. Seeing Bakugou or whoever was sent out to battle return victorious filled your heart with joy, and you dreaded how he may react if you had no suggestions or information for him. What if that was a battle they ended up losing? Surely it would look bad on you, as if you were trying to sabotage them or something similar. What you could do was alluding you completely, and you were feeling very much helpless at this point. Making something up was out of the question, as your conscience couldn’t handle such a thing. So, the truth was the only option. Or, as close to the truth as you could get in your current predicament. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m just not seeing anything for this…” Shaking your head, you sat up from leaning over a map, having difficulty looking at the ever-vigilant man beside you. “It’s… Blurry.” 

“Blurry. Hm.” Bakugou tapped his finger on the map his other hand on his chin as he thought. “Must not be very impactful, then. Isn’t that what you said?” 

Nodding, you glanced up at him, though your felt a heat rise in your cheeks as you caught his gaze. “Yes, though I can’t say for sure. I know I’ve done really well up until now, I’m sorry--” 

“Don’t apologize.” Bakugou began to fold up the map, seemingly not upset at all with your inability to assist him this time around. “As you know, we take your suggestions seriously, but we don’t base our entire strategy around them. That would be foolish.” 

At this point, you learned not to take things that he said to heart. He was a rough man, with very little sense of sympathy or gentleness. You didn’t mind that. In fact, you quite liked it, as it made the moments when he was kind to you all the more special. You liked that he was brutally honest, that he shared the majority of his thoughts and opinions with you without restraint. There were hints of his more tender side shown to you every so often, with a hand to assist you up off the floor or even bringing you a lunch that he prepared himself. Often, you could have sworn that he was even flirting with you, but due to your nature, you had built up this wall around yourself that prevented anyone from coming inside. That included Bakugou, though he had similar defenses built around his own mind. 

You thought that, perhaps, it was just like yours. Getting close to people wasn’t easy for you, as you had a deep fear of rejection and abandonment. It wasn’t something you could really describe with words, but the thought of letting someone in only to have them hurt you deeply was a horrifying thought. Not just a thought, but an experience that you never wanted to relive. Still, this man had an… energy to him. Just being beside him made you feel comfortable, safe and content in this world that you hardly knew. Over the half a year that you had been here, he had taught you so much, even if he called you stupid every time you did something wrong. You were a quick learner, however, and impressed him more than you annoyed him, which was a plus in your mind. 

It would be easier, you thought, for him to accept your mistakes if you could just… tell him the full truth. If you could just tell him that you were from the future, where people drove cars and talked to each other from all the way across the world. He would surely think you’re crazy if you even attempted it, though he seemed to find your oddities more interesting and amusing rather than scary in some way. He enjoyed your phrases and words that were commonplace in your time, but had yet to be created in this era. In particular, he loved the word ‘fuck’ and all its variations, though you had yet to really teach him what it meant. The thought embarrassed you greatly, so instead of the definition, you just told him how to use it properly and… sparingly. He didn’t really listen to you on the sparingly part, since no one else really knew what it meant, he used it as he pleased. 

Besides the fact that it was hilarious, it was also cute, to see his smug grin any time he told Kaminari to ‘fuck off’. His yellow haired subordinate begged both you and Bakugou to know what the word meant, but it seemed that you shared a very similar sense of humor with Bakugou. The confusion was funny to you, and though you felt bad at first, there wasn’t any harm in it that you could recognize. If Bakugou didn’t know those words, he would just tell Kaminari in his own just as crude way. That, and you didn’t really want to change the course of time and linguistics all that much by spreading your phrases across the country. One man was enough, and since it was your favorite man of this time period, you didn’t mind it all that much. 

“I’m kind of glad you don’t take what I say all that seriously… I mean, I’m happy you listen to me, but it makes me feel better that you’re not completely counting on me. That could end up a disaster.” You gave him a smile, moving some of your hair back behind your ear. “I think that your tactics for this particular situation are perfect, though. I’m learning a lot about these things from you.” 

Bakugou nodded, taking a moment to stand and walk the map to its regular resting place, inside of a small cabinet along with other documents. “You’re learning very quickly. At least, you retain information well. That’s a good quality to have. It could help you survive out here for sure.” 

With a small sigh, you gave a shrug, eyes on his bare feet as he came back towards the low table you were still sitting at. “I guess so. Though, I don’t have to learn much being cooped up in this palace all the time.” 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Coming to stand beside you, Bakugou held out a hand, which you took to use his assistance up off the floor. “In this palace is the safest place you could be. Out there is nothing but death.” 

After standing, you fixed your clothing back into place a bit, smoothing out the fabric around your hips. “I mean, that is true. But it would be nice to at least get to go out to town occasionally. I haven’t stepped foot outside of the palace since I got here.” 

“Again, why would you want to leave? You have your pond with Sushi, your books, your paper and ink to keep you occupied. By now you’ve made friends to visit when you’re able.” 

“I know, and I really am grateful for all these things, but…” Feeling your chest grow tight in nervousness of admitting the truth to him, you fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, not wanting to offend him or belittle his generosity in any way. “I still feel like… I’m nothing but a prisoner. I’ve been here almost seven months, and I’ve done nothing but show my support and loyalty. I had just hoped that… that perhaps by now, I’d be more accepted into the clan.”

Bakugou stood in front of you for a moment, his presence silent and tense. You could tell just by the way he didn’t move or say a word that your confession had upset him, but in what way? When he was angry, he lashed out with words and angry body language, so it wasn’t that. This seemed more like… he was contemplating his own choices on how you had been treated thus far. 

“You have done well. But there is still something about you that my Lord is having difficulty trusting, so he cannot accept you, no matter how… others may feel. I cannot allow you full freedom without his consent.” 

Your stomach bubbling with that dreadful feeling of rejection, all you could do was give a small nod, knowing that anything else you had to say wouldn’t change your situation. 

“But…” 

Confused, your gaze was pulled off the floor to look up at Bakugou’s face, instantly feeling your cheeks flush with heat at the calm expression on his face. Sly smirk crossing his lips, you immediately knew that he had noticed your blush, though you didn’t have a chance to hide it before he spoke again. 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t go into town with a chaperone.” With a gesture to the door, arm outstretched, Bakugou took a step back to allow you room. “Let’s go.” 

“‘L-let’s’?” You made your way towards the exit, even though your legs felt like jelly. “You’re taking me into town? Right now?” This was beyond anything that you had expected from Bakugou of all people. He wasn’t one to enjoy going out into public to begin with, so for him to willingly take you into town himself was intensely shocking. Had something you said struck a guilty chord? Was he doing this because he pitied you or because he wanted to cheer you up? Was this like… a date?

No, no! Don’t think things like that! This isn’t a date! It’s not!

“You’re the one complaining that you don’t get to go out. If you don’t want to--” 

“N-no, I want to!” You stopped for a moment, turning to look up at him in worry. You didn’t want him to change his mind. This opportunity was something that you couldn’t let slip through your fingers, no matter how embarrassing or frustrating it may be. Bakugou, this brute of a man, was stopping any plans he had for the day just to take you into town. It made you excited, nervous and… happy. 

In truth, although your attitude was pleasant and as content as possible, it had been a very long time since you could consider yourself truly happy. Even before you were sent to this world, your life was void of that lightness in your chest, that fluttering in your stomach that spread warmth through every inch of your body. But this… this simple action Bakugou had decided to make was filling you with a happiness you had nearly forgotten. 

“Good,” Bakugou huffed with an annoyed scowl on his face, sliding the door shut behind him as he joined you outside. “Because I won’t be offering to do this again. You’d better enjoy it!” 

Unable to resist the small smile on your lips, you followed him as he made his way towards the stables, finding it difficult to pull your eyes off a particular spot between his shoulder blades. “I’m sure it will be wonderful.” 

“More like a pain in the ass. You keep your name and anything about you to yourself, understand? There will be people who will want to pry and be curious about why you are with me.” 

“What will you tell them?” 

“That it’s none of their fucking business.” Bakugou snarled at you over his shoulder, though you couldn’t resist giggling at his use for the modern curse. “Shut up! Why do you always laugh when I say that word?!” 

“It’s nothing!” You smiled up at him, walking a bit faster so you were beside him instead of behind. “It’s just so silly to hear you say that when you don’t know what it means.” 

“Then tell me what it means! I don’t care if it’s offensive, I want to know!” 

Tapping your finger to your chin, you hummed out in thought, wondering if it was worth it. He would surely get embarrassed if you told him, so you didn’t want to ruin your chances of getting to leave the castle. “Okay, I will tell you. But not until we get to town.” 

“Excuse me?! You don’t get to make the rules around here, Demon. I command you to tell me!” 

“And I promise that I will,” You smiled up at him, bringing a frustrated and flushed expression to his face that you couldn’t quite understand. “But not until we get to town. Deal?” 

“Tch, fine! I’ll hold you to that…” Nearly pouting, Bakugou turned his glare back in front of him, shoving his arms into the adjacent sleeves. Placing your own back behind your back, you peeled your eyes off his cute expression to instead watch your feet as you walked. Your wooden geta sandals clacked against the pristine flooring with each step, as did Bakugou’s, but you found it to be a pleasant sound. At the moment, the paired resonating noise represented a companionship, one which you hadn’t expected to bloom. And yet, your closeness to this ruthless and hot-headed man had blossomed into more than just a professional relationship based around occupational necessity. 

Bakugou was your friend… and your crush. That only made it harder for you to not think that this was something more than him just doing a favor for you. You wanted it to be more, for there to be some other motive that was driving him. Although there may have been a hint here and there as you both made your way to the stables, there was nothing definitive. 

His ears and cheeks flushing could be from the heat. 

Right? 

His sideways glances and wandering gaze could just be him watching you for any mischief. 

Right? 

His gentle touch and lingering hands as he put you up onto Yonaka’s back were just him helping you out and supporting you. 

Right? 

His arm around your waist as he settled in behind you was just to make sure you were body steady and comfortable. 

Right? 

That’s all it was. There was nothing deeper about any of his interactions with you, now or from the moment you had met him. You were just a woman that he used for his own gain and he had no romantic feelings for you whatsoever. 

“Maybe while we’re down there, you can pick some clothes for yourself, so you don’t wear the same rags every day. And some pork noodles sound good, there’s a place in the center of town that sells it with their own special sake that will probably ruin you.” Bakugou spoke calmly as Yonaka lumbered his way out of the castle gates, waiting until you were out of earshot of the guards so no one else caught wind of what was going on. “I hate town, but it will be good to get away.” 

Feeling heat rush to your cheeks, you kept your eyes on Yonaka’s ears, which twitched and twisted at the sound of Bakugou’s voice and the chirping birds in the trees. “I-I don’t have any money…” 

“Who said you needed it?” 

Clutching onto the pommel of the saddle tightly, you suddenly found it difficult to breathe, a tightness in your chest constricting your lungs and throat. If only you could tell him that a man taking a woman to buy clothes and dinner during your time meant something more than just a simple favor. In your mind, all you could think of was the possibility that he was doing this in pursuit of something more. 

But he couldn’t be. You absolutely could not fall for this man, and he couldn’t be falling for you. It just wasn’t something that could happen. 

Right?

“Ah, okay… Well, thank you, Bakugou. I look forward to it.” 

“Katsuki. Call me Katsuki.”