#and maybe accept that short men can be hot and there is nothing weird about it

[smimon]

I don't know anything anymore

Do you think this fandom will ever stop making fun of short people

[iwaizumis-bitch]

in which your acquaintances are actually perverts!

FEAT: IWAIZUMI, KENMA, UKAI, ATSUMU, BOKUTO & TSUKISHIMA

CONTENT WARNINGS: brothers best friend trope, invasion of privacy, male masturbation, pics saved without readers knowledge, boss!keishin, pervyroommate!atsumu, panty stealing and sniffing, diary stealing and reading, teachersassistant!tsukishima, reader is kinda a bimbo, creepy behaviour

ADDITIONAL NOTES: this is sort of a rewrite of some of my earlier works,, i recently hit a milestone and i’m happy to see how far my writing has come in just a year. check out my milestone matchup event 💆‍♀️

i do not condone any of this behaviour irl! it is simply just a fantasy, and this behaviour is not acceptable in real life.

and a firm ask for minors to not interact.

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

❥ beach hangouts!!! or pool, or suntanning. anything where he can see you in a skimpy bathing suit

❥ ignores your protests of how much gas he's wasting each time, don't worry, it's all worth it for him

❥ ceo of ‘lemme take pics of us (you) for memories!’

❥ looks at the pics he takes later at night in bed with his fist wrapped around his cock

❥ his favourite photo he’s ever taken was when you were tanning, propped up on your elbows as you poked your tongue out at the camera.

❥ he could see the beautiful dip in your waist and your smooth, long legs on display. your tits covered by the little string bikini (that he bought you), and there were droplets of water all over your sunkissed skin.

❥ always ‘slips’ in the waves, and his hands find their way onto your thighs, on accident, of course.

❥ and trust me, he’s thought about pulling the loose knot at the back of your neck and finally getting a look at those sweet nipples, but he knows your body was too good for other men not to look at.

❥ sunscreen!!!!! omg he’ll offer to do your sunscreen all the time, even the parts you can reach, like your ribs and the side of your thighs.

❥ he’ll stand behind you, peering over your shoulder to get a peek at your tits, hands slathering the cream all over your back, the heels of his palms slowly digging into your lower back, stop just above the swell of your plump ass.

❥ and yk maybe he’ll invite the other three quarters of the infamous ‘seijoh four’ some time. it’s not like you would notice another three pairs of eyes and wandering hands, silly little oblivious you.

KENMA KOZUME

❥ he’s definitely not brave or confidence enough to go for just any girl he finds hot

❥ but his best friends little sister, she could be easy.

❥ of course you trust kenma, you’ve known him since you were a toddler! the small, awkward, short haired boy from across the street

❥ there was nothing weird about hanging out with kenma now that kuroo was gone, it just meant more time for the two of you to blossom your friendship

❥ takes any chance he can to get you to wear the most revealing clothes

❥ ‘shorts or skirt?’ ‘skirt.’ ‘jacket or no jacket?’ ‘no jacket.’ you get the gist of it.

❥ always hugs you! you don’t notice how much more physical he’s gotten since kuroo left, haven’t you?

❥ the feeling of your nipples pebbling up against his chest when he gives you a goodbye hug had him shifting not to grind his erection into your thigh

❥ he’ll try and fix your computer if it’s not working, free of charge because ‘you need a day off to relax at the mall’

❥ goes through your search history and almost creams in his pants when he finds the ‘cute virgin gets fucked by fat cock’ in your search history

❥ will go through all your photos, sending copies of them to his own phone as he quickly moves them into a seperate folder for him to find quickly later at night

❥ the picture of you standing in front of your mirror, arching your back as your ass pokes out? he’s gonna need that later.

UKAI KEISHIN

❥ shimada’s new girlfriend.

❥ you were a cute little thing, always following him around like a lost puppy

❥ and when you all met up for drinks at the bar one night, and you mentioned how much you needed a job, keishin was happy to help

❥ you looked so cute in your polo, the sakanoshita market logo sitting just above your left tit.

❥ speaking of your tits, they barely fit in the top keishin had given you. he had apologised with a sly grin when handing it to you, claiming it was hard to get a larger size on such short notice

❥ you always treated him so well. it was hard to get a job as a uni student, and keishin was so generous offering the position to you with no prior experience.

❥ he taught you how to calculate the stocks, pressing up behind you and whispering into your ear as his hand guided yours to write down on the clipboard.

❥ he’s thinking about changing the uniform to a skirt, but he hasn’t quite got there yet.

❥ he’s quite alright having you bend over to the lowest shelf, your round ass stretching out against your leather jeans.

❥ or, his personal favourite, when you can’t reach the top shelf, and come to meekly ask him for help, nibbling your bottom lip. he just hopes you can’t notice him pressing his erection against the counter top.

MIYA ATSUMU

❥ roommate 🙄

❥ he’s a pretty good roommate, just very annoying at times

❥ ‘if i do the dishes can we cuddle and watch clueless?’, he begs nearly every night, sponge and plate in hand.

❥ he knows how to play it cool if he gets caught. ‘why are you in my room?’, you’ll ask, returning from a bathroom break. ‘brought ya this’, he’ll answer with a grin as he hands you a frappuccino, slipping out with your diary and a pair of your used panties stuffed up his hoodie sleeve.

❥ he’ll press the soiled fabric to his nose, alternating between breathing in your scent and licking it up.

❥ holds your diary in one hand and uses the other to pump himself as he reads your documentations of trying to fit three fingers inside of your poor little pussy

❥ offers you his hoodies to wear all the time, and gets so possessive when he sees you wearing them.

❥ will wear the same hoodie later that day, nose digging into the collar where the sweet scent of your perfume laid, grinding against the crisp bedsheets.

❥ feels ashamed of himself when he throws your cum stained panties into his hamper, making sure to bury it beneath his other clothes.

❥ the guilt all but disappears when he sees you the next morning, dressed in flimsy cotton shorts and a brown cami.

❥ he only flashed a smile back at you, mind racing to figure out what you were going to write in that silly diary today.

KOTAROU BOKUTO

❥ kotaorou didn’t even realise his puppy crush on you, the new MSBY manager at first.

❥ it wasn’t until you had asked if there was something on your face one time when he was staring at you during your lunch break

❥ he only shook his head, looking away to make conversation with someone else. truth be told, his eyes were focused on your pretty lips, wondering if they would fit around his fat cock or how soft they’d be against his own.

❥ he’s surprisingly good at hiding his tendencies, from you, at least. meian is way too observant to not notice, and it’s not like he’d actually bring it up to him.

❥ sometimes, he can’t wait until he gets home to start fucking his fist. maybe it’s getting a bit concerning how he keeps disappearing every few hours, coming back after ten minutes looking for more relaxed. well, he was the starting outside hitter, it’s not like coach foster could really reprimand him.

❥ his favourite time to see you was during the hot summer days. bokuto licks his lips as you peel off your jacket, revealing your navy blue polo, taut around your tits. you tied your hair back with such femininity, it had him weak in the knees.

TSUKISHIMA

❥ i am a firm believer in tsukishima being a TA after he graduates college!!

❥ he really only chose to help out because he adored the professor, but once he saw you, practically spreading your legs for him under the table, he was hooked.

❥ gets an instant hard on when he calls you out in front of the entire class for getting you’re and your mixed up, burning the image of your glowing cheeks and eyes wide with embarrassment into his mind for later on that evening.

❥ he doesn’t have classes with you everyday, and it’s hard for him to feel any sort of pleasure when he hasn’t had a whiff of your perfume, or been flashed the delicious sight of your blue panties for the fifth time

❥ luckily for kei, you’re so dumb that your public instagram is just your full name. not to mention slutty, he adds on in his mind, quickly scrolling to bookmark and screenshot all of your photos of yourself.

❥ he lets out a bated breath once he scrolls upon a mirror selfie of you, wearing only a sports bra and skin tight booty shorts. it’s clear you’d just been working out, due to the sheen of sweat laying atop your cleavage, something kei only spots after zooming in.

❥he cums in record time that night, having his best nights sleep in a long time. when he shows up to class the next day, he immediately spots you, adorned in a familiar looking pair of spandex booty shorts. kei curses under his breath, missing the way your eyes trail over his figure, hoping he’d enjoy your new attire.

thank you for reading! likes, reblogs, follows, and other general feedback are all appreciated🪷🫶

[feralattentionwhore]

Get to know the blog:

So apparently my horny posts are something worth following for so I guess I'll do a bio and about me thing that definitely won't turn into a random ADHD ramble about shit

About me

I'm Feral, 19 and I never learnt how to read ✌️

^^ I'm leaving this up because I think it's hilarious but I'm 20 now

Living in the UK but not white

demisexual as fuck, preference for women but honestly I'm more interested in how we vibe than any gender. I tend to identify most with lesbian/sapphic labels because I feel most comfortable in this community.

fuck knows my gender either, I mostly present femme atm but I just identify as *all* I'd say I'm more nb/w or nb/nb & t4t but just in love with queer people in general. I am a girl but I'm also a boy, I'm not cis. You aren't straight if you're attracted to me

Owned, completely and utterly in love, technically poly. I'd rather start off as friends and see how it goes (benefits available if we vibe)

-Dni and more under than the cut-

DNI:

I'm saying this now, I love y'all but minors please get off my page *respectfully*. This includes blank blogs without your age/ age range

Cis men-Age regressors-People who fetishise trans people, s*ssies and cross dressers-Gender/sexuality correction-terfs/homophobes etc-

Oh and PSA this fucking includes people who gatekeep LGBT labels, including but not limited to hating on butch lesbians who transition, nb&he/him lesbians. Just honestly if you aren't accepting of the ✨ENTIRE✨ LGBT+ community and how people choose to identify please leave. No buts no ifs no maybes

How to give attention:

Asks are completely okay, if you want to talk through anon regularly pick an emote and I'll be sure to tag it so they're easy to find. Flirt with me or ask questions, just keep it within my limits please.

Requests are also totally okay along with reblogs of any of my posts. They're always appreciated!

Unless we've interacted before please don't randomly DM me. Mutuals are obviously always welcome to chat, for non moots I prefer asks as I get a lot of anxiety

I tend to check out profiles that reblog/follow so if you want to be moots then that's the way to go

I can't believe I have to say this, but if you're only messaging me to sext or roleplay or whatever you call it you can leave. It makes me uncomfortable, and will most likely make me feel weird about talking to you again in the future. I'm happy to flirt but unless we've talked about it nothing more.

Safe words and talks about boundaries and limits are non negotiable in kink. If you're not respectful of that you're not a dom, if you don't have complete understanding of how this works and expect to engage in anything sexual with someone without doing proper preparation you're practicing unsafe and frankly dangerous kink. Kink is something serious and you need to know what you're doing

I'm demisexual, with a partner and require actual communication before I engage in anything other than flirting. If you're literally only talking to me bc I'm hot or for sex n stuff you're going to be disappointed

I also have a shit tonne of anxiety, so I will disappear if something makes me feel unsafe. If I don't reply, don't make it worse by getting upset. I'm sorry but I really just don't have the energy to deal with things, especially when we don't really vibe.

About ✨whore✨me:

I'm a sub mostly, total bottom and complete mess irl. thought I was ace until this year and basically innocent af (I mean significantly less as of v recently but still fairly shy). Also kinda a hermit so I'm very touch starved.

Short long summary of my kinks.. To be continued..

- Praise and nicknames, specifically cute ones that start with "my"

- Exhibitionism Mostly being uh, fucked in front of people and stuff

- hands and fingersJust god, everything to do with them. In my mouth? Yes, Pulling my hair? Yesss, choking me?? Yesssssssss, hurting tf out of me?? Please

- being manhandled, strength, just be stronger than me and throw me around pls&ty

- being a simp for me and letting me get away with pretty much anything?? Yes

- being controlled and posessiveness Like a lot, like probably more than a healthy amount

- being teased, constantly

- marks.. Just fucking marks feeling owned and having proof of it with collars and stuff

- and also pain, pain and more pain all the hard kinks

- voices, dirty talk, the way they beg, and moan, and call me a good girl, the way their voice drops when they tease me. Everything about voices

- corruption.. 👀 😤

- being free use, letting friends fuuck me, being a whore for everyone. Them sharing my nudes with their friends, them letting their friends fuck me? Yes please

- affectionate domination / soft doms but rough sex

- most of this is just the long way of saying I have a massive kink for my pretty ass girlfriend though.. Just everything about them.. Mostly their hands, and their voice and uh.. Yeah just them

Limits:

-degradation, any way shape or form,I'll most definitely cry. Acting like you don't like me, hurt me because you love me not because you think I'm worthless

- pet play, Ddlg and that kind of vibe aren't for me

- I don't quite know how to explain it but the strict af, black suit and tie, academy / high protocol/training style/straight people bdsm. It's just way too nonpersonal for me and not fun. I prefer messing around and stuff plus my gf looks way better in a skirt

- discipline, punishments and other things that make me think you hate me (see: I'm a big ass baby and sensitive af)

- refering to my uhh *anatomy* just uh it gives me dysphoria like a lot so please don't

- body fluid shit, incest, feet, tickling, hypnosis

- other things that I'm not perticularly comfortable talking about here, you don't need to know unless we're talking

Tags I use:

Yes I'm insanely bad at tagging things, yes I'm trying, no it's not working. If I forget to, just get mad at me in asks or something. I'm sorry ADHD just kind of does that

#feral asks - all asks that I've answered

#feral music - music recommendations because I have a god complex about music

#feral in love - direct posts about my gf/wife/partner/Dom/love of my life

#feral tmi - random personal shit about myself and figuring out my body

#feral reblogs - stuff I reblog, I have a separate account where I keep most of my reblogs but sometimes I can't help it

#needy feral - me begging for attention on Tumblr

#feral exposed - photos of me

#tw feral - depressing shit, mute the tag if you don't want to see that shit

#dark feral - hard kink shit, mute if you'd rather not see it

#feral complaints - shit that bothers me

#feral blogs - thoughts, updates and questions for you all about the blog

[watchmegetobsessed]

Never Have I Ever - Harry Styles (part 4)

i hope yall enjoyed the last part, we took a sudden and quite dirty turn ther,e but we are heading down romantic street and its all sweet and cute with a little hotness. let me know what you thought about the part!

pairing: Harry x actress!reader

word count: 4.7k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

Harry Styles managed to leave quite the impression in you following his late night visit after the Emmys. He surely surprised you with not only the unbelievable orgasm he gave you with his talented fingers, but also with how big of a gentleman he really was, so keen on taking you out on a date first before he would kiss you. The timeline got a little messed up and he did apologize before he left at two in the morning for getting too carried away, but you assured him he didn’t do anything you didn’t want him to. To be honest, you wouldn’t have had a word against him kissing you right away, but you liked the respect he had for you, not something you’ve had plenty of lately. The men you dealt with in the past year were eager to get into your pants without the respect part, only hungry to earn fame through you, trying to blind you with sex so you wouldn’t realize their ugly motives.

This was not a threat when it came to Harry, he was just as famous as you, maybe even more. He had his own career, his own money, his own life apart from yours and he clearly wasn’t trying to use you and it was quite a refreshing change for you.

He stayed and the two of you talked so much, just sharing crazy stories from your life before and after fame, enjoying that you had someone who shared more or less the same background as you. Apart from Florence, you pretty much kept your old friends when your career took off, afraid to make new ones, always feeling a little paranoid that new people would have unholy motives when they try to befriend you.

Though you truly love your friends, they don’t really see behind the life you are living, while Harry completely does. His company is the best you’ve had in a long time, he is able to make you completely forget about everything outside the room you two are in.

You tried your best to hide your disappointment when he left that night. After offering him to stay in one of your guest bedrooms, he politely turned it down, and even though you could tell he wanted to stay, the urge to be a gentleman was greater in him, something you admire him for.

He left with the promise to see you soon on a real date and he got you as excited as a little school girl on the day of a fieldtrip.

However, given the lifestyles you two were living, finding a suitable evening for the both of you turns out to be a bigger struggle than you expected. Harry reaches out right the next day after his little visit. A good morning text waits for you by the time you open your eyes in the noon and by the evening he asks you out, however you have to realize the date has to wait a little.

You have two trip outside the city upcoming in the next two weeks and he is also planning to fly back to London for a while, the trips totally crashing in the timeline, not even having just the smallest window that would fit the both of you.

Accepting the fact that it would have to wait a little longer, you keep in close touch, eager to find the date that would finally be suitable for you and him as well. Endless texts, sweet calls and sneaky FaceTimes scatter through the days you spend apart and you find it hard to think of a time when he wasn’t hitting you up all the time.

On a Thursday evening, after a long day of fittings for upcoming events, you find yourself sitting on your couch with a sweet glass of wine, scrolling through your social media feeds when something catches your eyes.

Harry has been away in Los Angeles in the past few days and he mentioned having an interview the other day, but you didn’t think it would be out so soon, but here it was, a short video clip cut out by some random page that had a rather interesting title.

“Harry Styles talks about next album and mystery girl in his life.”

Your curiosity is way too strong not to click on it and have a look at it, so taking a sip from your wine you tap on the link and let the video load.

“It’s been some time since your last album came out, have you been working on new music lately?” the interviewer asked from behind the camera as Harry sat on a lilac sofa, wearing black high-waisted pants with a pink and white floral printed shirt tugged into it, his suspenders topping the look perfectly. His green eyes are fixed on the person asking him as he nods.

“Yeah, I think I never really stop making new music. I do have sessions when I’m trying to put a new album together, but I also write in the meantime as well, whenever I have an idea or inspiration. I don’t hold back,” he adds with a cheeky smile.

“Have you found any inspiration lately?” the question is heard and Harry nods once again.

“I have, actually,” he answers shortly, but his smirk gives it away that there’s a lot more behind his words and you feel your heart flutter in your chest. Is he talking about you?

“Has it been a person?” the reporter inquires, making Harry’s smile grow wider.

“A lot of things and people inspire me.”

“Alright, and is your latest inspiration something or someone new in your life?” the guy tries again, even though it’s well known that Harry likes to give vague answers instead of straight yeses and nos.

“Kind of new,” he simply answers and the reporter realizes he won’t be sharing more about the topic so he moves on with the next question and the video cuts out right there.

Though it wasn’t mentioned that he was talking about someone in particular, his fans drew the assumption that he is definitely seeing someone who has been his inspiration behind his new music. Feeling bold and a little flirty, you open up your messages and send him a quick text.

“A kind of new inspiration, huh?”

His reply comes almost right away, as always.

“Have you been stalking fanpages about me?”

“Would it be weird?”

“From you? It’s flattering. Little scary, but in a good way.”

You can’t help but chuckle reading his words. He never fails to make you laugh, you find his humor your favorite kind, never hurtful, but a little spicy, if you could say that, a lot of irony laced into it.

“Back to the topic: what’s your inspiration? Or should I ask… who is your inspiration?”

“Not gonna beat around the bush and just admit it…”

You wait and wait… and wait, but nothing comes afterwards and you are dying to have him admit that it’s been you, but not even the three dots appear at the bottom, so you take the lead again.

“Well, do it. Admit it, Styles!”

The fucker likes your message right away, meaning he has been in the thread all along, waiting for you to write something.

“Alright, but don’t tell anyone, because she is kinda famous and I don’t want the media to find out about it.”

“You have my silence.”

You watch the three dots dance at the bottom, holding your breath while you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, trying to contain your wide grin that’s been plastered across your face this whole time.

When the text finally arrives you snort loudly, almost spilling your wine, laughing so hard you are happy you don’t like in a tiny apartment anymore with paper walls, because your neighbor would have definitely heard your laughter all the way down the hallway.

“It’s Betty White. Fuck, she is all I can think about.”

You need a minute to stop the laughter and type your reply.

“She is hot, gotta give you that.”

“Right?? I hope she is not afraid to date younger guys though.”

“I’m sure she would make an exception for you.”

“I hope so too.”

There’s a short pause, where you just read back his lines, chuckling to yourself some more. He always has a witty comment or comeback, no matter what you’re talking about and not once has he made you laugh madly on a set, at a meeting or just lying in bed before going to sleep.

“Joke aside, would it scare you away if I said I have definitely written about you?”

“Is this another theoretical question? Like the one you asked me on Ellen?”

You smile to yourself thinking back at the conversation the two of you had on the show when he was trying to figure out if you’d be up to give him your number.

“Maybe. So theoretically, would that be weird to you?”

“No,” you write, but quickly send another text. “But you know, it’s just theory. You’d have to tell me for real to find out.”

“Should have saw that coming…”

“Yeah, you really should have,” you muse to yourself, finishing up your glass and you carefully put it to your coffee table before sliding further down on the couch to get back to the conversation with Harry. You see that he hasn’t sent anything after his last one, so you decide to actually answer his question.

“Joke aside from my part, I wouldn’t find it weird. I think it’s flattering.”

“Okay, because I was ready to burn all my notes if you said it would be too much.”

“What if you’d be burning a Grammy worthy song though?”

“Would be a shame. But I would still burn it for you.”

“You are such a flirt…”

“Can’t help it! Or should I not be?”

“I like it. So don’t change.”

“Noted.”

Your little conversation has to come to an end since he is about to go into a meeting, but when you say your goodbyes and decide it’s time to head to bed, you already know a text will be waiting for you when you wake up in the morning.

Days and even weeks go by and you start to have a little too much on your plate. No matter how much you love your job and that it has always been your dream, sometimes you just need a breather. In the past week you’ve been in and out of auditions for a movie they keep top secret, you didn’t even get a script, just a few pages you had to memorize and they’ve been asking for more and more tapes from you with kind of absurd requests, but your agent told you it’s something major, that’s why they are so secretive. However, when they ask you to come in for another reading for the fifth time in seven days and you still don’t know what you are really auditioning for, you are kind of starting to have enough with all your other projects running at the same time. Your days start at six in the morning and rarely end before eleven in the night.

An entire month after the night Harry came over to your place, you kind of lose patience. The frustration that’s been building up inside you just simply bursts when your agent texts you on your way home that you’d have to go in for another casting in the morning for the same mystery movie.

“Have they not seen my face enough?” you snap, hands meeting the wheel as you keep your eyes on the road ahead of you.

“I’m sorry, Hun. I know it’s annoying, but they requested you, that means you are still an option for them.” Mona’s voice comes through the speakers of the car since your phone is connected to it.

“Do they need me to read the whole fucking Bible in front of a camera or what?” you growl.

“I have a good feeling about this last one, alright? And if they still can’t decide after that, we can always just say that we want out.”

“Then I would be labelled as the problematic little princess,” you sigh, knowing well how this industry works. Just one mistake and you can easily end up in a theoretical ditch.

“Just hold on a little longer, okay? I’ll send you the details in email and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Bye, girl.”

Mona is an angel. She’s been your agent for about five years now, she is the one who gets you into castings, well, at least that’s what she was doing before you managed to reach your breakthrough. She got your name on lists you couldn’t even dare to dream of and she is the reason why you are here today. Now she mostly handles requests for you to go in for castings, creators started to reach out to you a while ago, though Mona still works her magic sometimes to get you into castings that are still out of your league.

By the time you get home, you are desperate to do something. Anything. You’ve been nonstop working these past weeks and you just need to get out of this loop that sucked you in. Before you could even think through what you’re doing, you dial Harry’s number.

He is back in the city, that you know of because he texted even before he got home. You both ditched the idea of having your date today, because you just knew it would be a long day for you, and it’s the truth, it’s past ten, so not quite ideal for a date, but you ran out of fucks to give.

“Y/N? Everything alright?” he asks, noticing that you called, which is not what you usually do, or at least not without checking in if he is free to talk.

“Yeah, sorry I called so randomly. Are you busy?” you ask, feeling a little out of breath, even though you definitely didn’t do anything physically hard. You just can’t help but feel anxious since you are about to ask him out on a spontaneous date.

“No, just… packing and all that. What’s up?”

“So you don’t have anything to do right now?” you clear up.

“No,” he chuckles.

“Alright, so then… what do you say we have that date now?”

Even with him always being so blunt and open about how interested he is in you, it still makes you perfect to ask him out. The silence that comes from his side doesn’t necessarily help either and you are already preparing yourself to get rejected.

“You know it’s ten pm, right?” he then asks, a little unsure if you really thought it through.

“I am aware, yes.”

“Don’t you have work in the morning? I know you always start your days so early, I don’t want to be the reason why yo—“

“Harry,” you stop him midsentence. “I do not give a fuck about what I’m doing in the morning,” you bluntly tell him and you can tell he is smiling on the other end of the call. “So the question is still the same. Do you want to have that date now?”

He doesn’t ask anything else, just simply say the following: “I’ll pick you up in thirty.”

“Make it twenty,” you tell him and end the call before he could protest.

Ignoring the adrenaline rush you that just washed over your body you quickly make your way to the bathroom to take the quickest cold shower before putting on some clean clothes. You really don’t want to overdo it, knowing well since it’s so abrupt he wouldn’t be taking you anywhere that would require you look spotless. You choose not to put on any makeup, not just because you don’t have the time, but also because you feel a weird urge to just be bare, be yourself around him. The same goes for your outfit. You put aside all designer clothes and opt for a simple pair of jeans, a black tank top and a bright yellow knitted jumper over it, looking awfully casual, but feeling rather comfortable.

It takes Harry 22 minutes to get to your place, but you choose not to comment on those two extra minutes when you get into his car. Luckily, he isn’t dressed to impress either, wearing a simple pair of jeans with some kind of washed out, vintage printed tee shirt with his Bode Jacket he has worn in his famous SNL episode. His hair looks a little mess and even wet, making you wonder if your call caught him in the middle of a shower or he showered after you agreed to meet up.

“Long time no see,” he smiles at you, his boyish smirk making your heart flutter so easily as he eyes you while you buckle yourself up.

“You had plenty of paparazzi photos to look at in the meantime, Mr. Styles,” you smirk at him teasingly as he starts the car and leaves from in front of your complex.

“My favorite was the ones of you where you were walking out of a restaurant wearing that silk dress and the coat.”

“So you did see pap pictures?” you ask chuckling, you didn’t mean it entirely, but you find it funny that he actually saw pictures of you.

“You know, it’s been hard to avoid you online, especially because I keep liking all your posts so my phone thinks I’m interested in you. Which is true, and I’m not complaining about the content I’ve been seeing about you lately,” he admits chuckling and your eyes wander down to his ring clad fingers on the wheel. Your thoughts take you back to when they were touching you at places you haven’t been touched in a while. How they felt inside you and how desperate he could make you with just his hands.

You force yourself to look away from his hands and focus on the present time before your arousal becomes way too evident.

“Sorry I’m everywhere,” you smirk at him, enjoying the situation maybe a little too much.

“Don’t be,” he chuckles, glancing in your way for a moment, his green eyes meeting your gaze. “I don’t mind it,” he adds and those damn butterflies as quick to act up again in your stomach.

You don’t try to get him to tell where you are headed, wanting it to be a surprise yourself, so you just stare out at the night city as it runs past you, still quite a lot of people walking on the streets even though it’s now nearing eleven.

What you know is that you’re still in Manhattan and it seems like you won’t leave it either. Harry navigates his way through the city easily, he is not even using GPS, something you could never do. No matter how long you’ve been living here, you’ll always get lost in this jungle some call New York City. About fifteen minutes after leaving your complex, Harry parks the car down in a spot he found along the road, and looking out the window you’re trying to figure out where you are, but it doesn’t ring a bell. Seems just like a usual part of the Upper West Side, so now he has you curious about his plans.

“Where did you bring me, Mr. Styles?” you ask him as the two of you meet on the sidewalk and he glances at your with a sly smirk.

“Since you gave me such a short notice about our date, I thought I would show you one of my favorite places in the city and I hope you haven’t it.” “Well, I can assure you I don’t know it, because I have no idea what could be here,” you admit.

Harry nods at you to follow him and you walk side by side until the next corner.

“I think you already know that I’m English,” he starts off, making you chuckle.

“Yeah, it’s pretty evident,” you nod.

“So, in the past decade I haven’t spent as much time in the UK as I wanted, and a few years ago I discovered a little piece of my home in the city.”

Trying to figure out what he meant by that you don’t even realize where you just took a turn to. Harry stops and you snap out of your thoughts, looking up and seeing a charming little street ahead you, looking totally out of place in the city’s fashion. The townhouses all the way down look like they’ve been placed here straight from England, the Tudor style complex is a refreshing change in the fast paced, busy streets of Manhattan.

You can’t help but gasp at the sight in front of you, taking in every tiny detail with your eager eyes as the feeling of being in a fairytale takes over your mind. If only it weren’t for the busy noises of the streets around the micro-neighborhood, you would completely believe that you’ve been magically teleported to England.

“It’s called the Pomander Walk. Always makes me feel like I’m home away from home whenever I miss my family and my hometown.”

Harry starts walking down the narrow pavement that runs between the houses, lined with quite some greenery, something you noticed right away. There are just so many plants and flowers down the street, it’s pretty clear the residents keep them in good care.

You catch up with Harry, eyes still taking in the pleasant contrast Pomander Walk has to offer for any visitors.

“I feel like we are invaders,” you tell him. It looks so secluded, makes you feel like you weren’t even supposed to be here.

“Don’t worry, it’s totally public. The people who live here are pretty nice too. Love it when someone comes around.”

“How did you find this place?”

“A friend told me about it and just came to see it for myself one day,” he tells you as the two of you slowly make your way down the street, slow enough so you could see everything. “There are 61 units and they were built in 1921 by Thomas J. Healy. He originally wanted to build a hotel here, but didn’t have the money to just yet, so he built these instead to make some cash for the hotel. He never got to do that though, died a few years later, so Pomander Walk stayed.” You listen to him, soaking in every word that leaves his lips, finding his oddly specific knowledge about this place quite exciting and… kinda hot. You could listen to him talk about historical facts for days without getting bored.

“The whole complex was renovated in 2009, they restored a bunch of architectural details that lost through the years.”

“Looks fantastic. I wonder what they look like on the inside,” you muse, your eyes wandering over the colorfully painted old school window blinds on most of the townhouses.

Walking down the pavement you realize there’s not a single soul around here, something you don’t get to experience too often in the city.

“It’s not too well-known, right? I don’t see any tourists and all that.”

Harry shakes his head, eyes ahead of him as he hides his hands in his pockets.

“No, ‘s quite hidden, not often listed in sights to be seen in the city. That’s why I like to come here so much.”

“Easy to stay unnoticed,” you add with a smile as your eyes meet his gaze and he nods, returning the smile.

You walk back and forth on the street at least five times, just talking and sharing and laughing, finally falling out of the misery of your everydays. He still amazes you with how good of a company he is, with his broad view of life and many experiences, you can truly connect with him on a level you haven’t been able to reach with anyone in a long time.

It’s way over midnight when you head back to his car, holding hands that happened at a point earlier, but you can’t tell who reached for who. It was kind of mutual, but now you didn’t want to let go of him… ever. You let your fingers play with his S ring on his pinky while he keeps running his thumb over the back of your hand whenever he has the chance. It’s a little disappointing when you have to let go of each other when you climb back into his car and head back home.

“I know this date wasn’t much, but I hope you liked it,” he smiles at you shyly before his eyes snap back at the road ahead of him.

“Shut up, this was literally the best date I’ve had,” you tell him making him chuckle. “Thank you for showing it to me.”

“Now it’s your secret place too. Maybe we’ll run into each other here one day.”

“I’ll definitely come back,” you admit smirking.

The city lights pass by you faster than you want them to, and you arrive to your complex way too early. Well, not according to the time, because it’s way past half past midnight now, but you just don’t want the night to end. However, you know Harry would not come up if you asked. He is way too big of a gentleman and he wouldn’t want to make you miss your appointment in the morning, but you are definitely collecting that kiss he promised a month or so ago.

“Walk me up, will you?” you ask him softly when he parks down in front of your building. He nods and follows you inside without a second thought.

You both know it’s about to happen, the air thickens between you two in the elevator and neither of you can hold back the small smiles on your lips. Harry walks next to you until you reach your front door and you turn to face him, his green eyes already examining your every move.

“I’m happy we finally got to do this,” you tell him, feeling a blush warming your cheeks from the way he looks at you now.

“I’m glad you called. Was starting to think we would never meet again,” he chuckles making you laugh as well. It really did feel like the universe was plotting against you, but you bet it didn’t expect your sudden move tonight.

There’s a longer pause where neither of you knows what to say or do next and your patience is running low, especially when you see him run his tongue over his pink lips. You just can’t wait any longer to taste them.

“Harry,” you breathe out, the frustration and desire at an all-time high now in your system. Never in your life did it take this long for you to get to a kiss with a guy you were clearly interested in and who returned the feeling as well.

“Yeah?”

“Swear to my lost Emmy Award if you don’t kiss me right now I’ll—“

You don’t get to finish, you don’t even know what you’d have said, but it’s all forgotten when Harry kisses you hard, hands cupping your jaw on both sides, angling your head to grant him the best access to your lips. You return the kiss without a second thought, hungrily tugging and pulling on his lips, your tongues meeting in the middle and fuck! He really knows how to make your toes curl with just a kiss. You grab a fistful of his t-shirt at his stomach, pulling him close and the cold touch of his rings on your skin makes you shudder. Everything about him makes your legs turn into jelly and you are willingly offering yourself to him without a doubt.

He pushes you against your front door, one of his hands wanders down to your waist and he gives it a gentle squeeze that makes you open your mouth more for him. You are a mess and so is he. You have no idea how long you make out, but when you eventually pull back, your chest is heaving and your lips feel swollen. Harry pecks your lips two more times before forcing himself to let go of you.

“Good night, Y/N,” he murmurs in a low voice as he starts to back towards the elevator.

“Good night, Harry,” you say a little out of breath. He smirks at you one last time before walking into the elevator and the doors close, officially ending your first date.

 PREVIOUS PART

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[honestsycrets]

Love in a Cup | Floki x Reader

❛ pairing | Floki the Boatbuilder x Autistic!Reader, Floki x Helga. light!Ragnar x Reader

❛ type | one... shot?

❛ summary | Aslaug gives you a cup to give Floki: but your morals keep you from delivering. Tricky things, they are.

❛  warnings | Non-Autistic writer, first time writing autism, first gen vikings, love potions, light physical abuse, one-sided love, sister wives, jealousy, ragnar’s feely hands, trickery, mention of witchcraft, witch!aslaug (but good witch!), semi-mean reader, doesn’t follow Hirst’s specific timeline.

❛  sy’s notes | gif to ofmanderley (really in love with their work). not that happy with this piece but i’m exhausted with it.

Floki was her world. 

When she breathed, when she slept, it was as if she was symbiotic with his presence. Whatever Floki threw at her: insulting a suitor or murdering someone close. That was why, for the longest time, you repressed all thoughts of him when you were with Siggy, Helga, and Aslaug. You were the only one of the four and the youngest who had not married. It did not bother you. It gave you time to play with Ragnar’s youngest boys as a maiden who lived in the Great Hall. 

You whirled to the strumming of the oud. Sigurd mimicked the swirl of your hips and twirl of your wrists. Every once in a while, you tumbled over the little boy. As hard as you worked at dancing, the balance between strength and balance didn’t always add up. 

In the corner of your eye, Floki stood watching. His unapologetic smile, lips wrapped around the rim of his cup, gave you encouragement. He was watching-- with Ragnar by his side whose thumbs were hooked tightly in the belt looped around his waist. 

It was only when the music abated that you heard your name traveling like a howl on the oud’s notes. You tumbled out of a spin and dipped down to pick up the little boy. He was the one place where you felt free. That space where the music met the song. His bouncy golden hair was slick with moisture. 

“Yes?” 

Aslaug crossed the dark planks with a drink between her fingertips. You noticed her fingers twiddling along the surface. She looped her hand through your arm and began to walk with you despite the warriors’ complaints.

“Floki was watching,” she whispered. You couldn’t help sneak a slight glance at the man, whose blackened fingertips waved at you in succession, wild like the unpredictable ocean beating the sandy floor. She speaks again. “Why don’t you give him this?”

You handed over Sigurd to a slave and took the cup from her fingers, turning your back toward Floki. Your fingers grazed around the lip of the cup, drawing repeated circles. “What is it?” 

“A drink.” 

A drink, you soothed yourself by repeating it again and again. “But what else?” 

“Do you trust me?” 

Of course, you did. Perhaps Aslaug made some bad decisions, selfish ones, but you never doubted her love for you. You wrapped your hand around the bone cup and gazed into the surface of the mead. It glimmered with a golden sheen. It was no ordinary cup. 

“I-- I think so. But why?”

You turned over your shoulder where Floki was. His fingers rolled in Bjorn’s face and told him some raunchy joke. He laughed wickedly as Bjorn’s cheeks pinked. Ragnar must have run off with Athelstan outside for some privacy. Aslaug prompted your name again. Her palm settled on your golden shoulder. 

“Married men are always the hardest to catch,” Aslaug slid past you. “But not impossible.”

You glanced down to the golden cup and dipped your fingers in the gilded liquid. It coated your fingers like molten gold. It affirmed that whatever she gave you, it wasn’t mead. Or at least, not mead alone. It’s tainted in some way. When you turned up your head again, Floki’s lips were by Helga’s ear. He held her with warm consideration, rubbing her distended but empty belly. Light dances along the surface of her eyes. Everything pumps with a distinct, obnoxious loudness. You shake your other hand free of anxiety and turn toward the door.

It’s time to go.

You pushed through crowds of drunken couples, men with grabby hands, and women who laughed with the purest joy. You breached the doorway. Cool air bit your cheeks. Although winter was on its way out, you felt its touch nipping your cheeks.

You reclined against the wooden longhouse with a cup of mead charmed with love’s fleeting kiss. It wasn’t as if you were unfamiliar with spells. You made simple ones as a healer: mending Torstein’s arm was nothing short of the touch of Eir. Besides: if Aslaug made it, you decided, it had to be a love potion. 

Freyja, you thought, what next? You should spill it on the ground, let it dry and return to the love of the earth. But then what would happen if someone else came upon it as it dried? Would they use it for their own devices? Steal the heart of someone just like Helga: sweet, unsuspecting, and perfect? No. You would go the beach and dump it into the depths of Kattegat’s deep lake. 

“Look at you, moping all alone.” 

Light filtered out from the double doors of Ragnar’s mead hall. Floki bounced out and came to a stop in front of you. His hand rested on the head of his axe. You become suddenly aware of how this might look. A lone woman standing outside, lamenting your sorrows to Hati as the moon shone dolefully above. Floki comes closer.

“Ah--” you pursed your lips. “There are men standing guard.”

“They are still men,” Floki chirped. “They’ll do what suits them.” 

“Hm,” you nodded through his assertion. “And Helga?” 

“What about her?” There’s a pause before Floki reached for your cup. He loosened your fingers around the horn cup and brought it to his nose. He knew what it is, too. His tone darkens, playfulness undercut by a sharpness in his eye. “A tonic. A love tonic. What poor fool were you trying to trick with this?” 

“Floki,” you struggled to meet his eyes. Not that you could on regular days, but flicking your hands free of the animals crawling underneath your skin, you hoped that he would listen for once in his short life. “Go away.” 

“No. Why would I? I’ve been waiting to see something like this,” words pushed past his lips. “You are always so stiflingly good. No one is truly that good at heart. Who was it for?” 

You said nothing. Not with guards watching weird and weirder speaking alone: not forgetting that Floki was indeed a married man and you were a single woman living under Ragnar’s protection. Or, under Aslaug’s. 

“No?” Floki tilted his wrist and swirled the liquid around. He brought the cup to his lips and threw his head back to drink the potion. Your hand lurched to catch his gloved hand, squawking in desperation. 

“Athelstan!” you lie. “It was for Athelstan!”  

He ignored you and downed the drink in no more than three large gulps. Shame flooded your stomach when he pulled the cup away. You whirled away from him. 

“You liar.” Floki chucked the cup to the side. It clattered and rolled. In a last-ditch effort to protect what was, you snapped your hands to your eyes. If he couldn’t look you in the eye, you tell yourself, Aslaug’s potion wouldn’t take. Besides; why would you want to look into his silvery-blue eyes? They would be like Níðhöggr’s eyes-- when he tore you alive for tearing Floki from Helga.

“I wasn’t lying,” you murmured into your hands. Your cheeks were hot, but the tears soaking your fingertips remained as a constant reminder of the truth. “It’s the truth. Now go away, don’t look at me! You’re Helga’s!”

“What are you talking about?” Floki seized your forearms. 

“Go away!” 

As willowy and thin as he is, you expected him to be weaker than he was. He forced your fingertips from your eyes. You looked anywhere but his eyes: the make-up down his slender cheeks, his warm brown beard, or straight past him. For a moment, you try. But you’re locked with the reality of Floki’s impassioned stare. He met your gaze boredly.

“It… didn’t work?” 

“Not on me.” Floki hummed. “I thought you knew that.” 

“I told you. It wasn’t for you,” you bit out. “I didn’t even make it.” 

“What a lie.” 

“I hate you.” 

“An even worse lie.” Floki stands there otherwise unaffected, giggling at your deemed stupidity. He stood like the idiot, not you-- he laughed at your discomfort. 

“If you didn’t ruin it, maybe I would have given it to him!” 

“Go ahead, make him another.” he twiddled his fingers in your face, voice rising. “He won’t want you. All he wants to kiss his cross.” 

With that inflammatory answer, you lashed out. You did the only thing you could think to do: Thwacking him on the side of his gaunt jaw. His jaw gave a click as you pushed out from under him, biting back the tears welling up in your eyes. 

“I hate you, Floki.” 

He isn’t the type to chase and luckily, you’re not the type to apologize. You whirled the door open, bumping into Helga whose sweet smile felt like a hundred fallen suns. It’s too warm for what, inevitably, Floki will tell her. Tomorrow she will hate you. 

She called your name. You brushed past her for your warm bed in the Great Hall. Its woolen sheets felt prickly under your back. As the night progressed and the loud voices became soft whispers, you heard Helga’s soft voice like the scurry of the housecat that sat between your numb legs. Everything had gone numb. 

“Can I see her?” she asked. 

You closed your eyes. If you were a better communicator, maybe you would have told Aslaug to tell her no. But lo, you did not, and Aslaug agreed in turn. You forced your eyes shut and awaited a lashing out. If you were asleep-- maybe she’d go away. Save your beating for tomorrow. She kneels before you. You feel her warmth, her willowy hands grasping yours, willing you to open your eyes. You press them together harder, if possible. 

“If he loved you, it would be okay,” she cooed awful acceptance. Over and over. A wretched chant from the perfect woman. “You could come home.” 

As time passed and the drunks are collected, she took her drunk from the Great Hall too. You were left staring at the cat between your legs and the dread in your belly. 

She’s too good for you.

Helga doesn’t hate you the next day. 

Not that you expected her to. Her soft eyes were all the familiar, soft, and loving that any man or woman could need. Instead she told you, with pitiful sweetness, that you were welcome to marry Floki. Imagine your discomfort when you recounted the fight-- and the source of the welt across Floki’s pale skin.

Aslaug bid her time like a patient goddess, mindfully telling you that it wasn’t all for not. Whatever that meant. At the end of the next day, you sat nursing your aching heart with an ale that you usually took to ease pounding headaches when the light came in too strong. If only you could tear your heart out and pin it up in the stars. Then you would be happy. 

Alcohol made your fingertips tingle. Or maybe it was the soft fur of Aslaug’s marital house cat that made your fingers tingle. One or the other. At some point, you felt Ragnar slip in beside you. Whether it was the weighty scent of his sweat or his large palm that cupped the bottom of your back, inching like a worm to squeeze your ass, you weren’t sure. You squeezed the cat in your lap like a hunk of bread. 

“Don’t look now,” Ragnar hummed, flowing into your belly with warm affection. The man was like an older brother. One you didn’t question: just listened to. “But Floki is watching.” 

“But why?” 

Unlike Aslaug, Ragnar’s words were always followed by certainty. So despite his hand caressing your ass and the kitten kneading into your thighs, you turned your head into the side of his neck. Athelstan swung his leg over the other side of you like a second shadow. His patient smile another reassurance. Still, your hand shook in anticipation over the cat. 

“I think he’s jealous.” Athelstan chimed in. 

Heavy footfalls alerted you to the fact that Floki was quickly advancing. Unlike his patience with Ragnar, he shoved Athelstan unceremoniously to the side of a quickly overcrowding bench. Your sweet kitten bounced laps to the wooden floorboards. 

“What are you doing, Ragnar?” he asked Ragnar. With a sassy flick of his fingers, Ragnar’s hand fell away from your ass. He reached for a hunk of your meat, sliding it into his mouth with a less than a ceremonious smile. 

“You were watching.” 

Floki bristled. You turned toward him. Perhaps he could fool others with that tightly-knit jaw or the wildness of his eyes, but not you. You knew Floki too well for that. Your handset on his scrawny thigh. 

“Of course I was watching. You brought that priest--!” he hissed, glaring Athelstan off of the bench. Somethings the priest might have held his ground and accepted Floki’s typical beratement. Not this one. “To force her into warming his dick.” 

Ragnar swallowed his hunk of meat, wiping his fingers against one another. Just when you think he is about to say something, Floki goes on. “If you want to poison your mind with a Christian, fine,” Floki pressed. “But don’t sully hers too.” 

“Floki,” you dared. “Isn’t that a choice I should make?” 

Like a snake, his dark eyes flickered back on you. Something wasn’t right there, you decided. You pushed him from a state of indignation to one of range. He snatched your shoulders in his large willowy hands. Ragnar flicked the remaining bit of meat and leapt out from the table to Athelstan. 

“What does that mean?” he quipped, voice raising into a shout. “Were you planning on fucking him? Were you?”

You could have quipped back something mean. Perhaps, better luck next time? It lingers on your tongue a moment but seized by the panic that rides in Floki’s voice, you simply slumped forward with the stress. Your cheek connected with the exposed hairs poking from his tunic. 

“You are so stupid. I hate you.” 

His hand hovered in the air. Then, twirling down, he drew his hand through your hair with a suppressed sigh blossoming from his chest. He reached for your cup of alcohol. “What kind of answer is that?” 

“It’s a no, Floki. A no.”

He giggled. The warmth of his bouncing chest warms you somehow. Although you know that he’s going to put you through hell, you glanced up at him. His scrawny finger drew a line under your chin before he’d squeeze it for emphasis. He parts his lips to speak. You beat him there. 

“Yes, Floki-- it was for you.” 

I knew it! He bellowed out amidst full blown cackles. You sigh through them because of course-- he would have to show off in these little victories. The knowledge that the cup was for him or your affections-- as he perceived them-- were all his. 

He reached out to lift you from the table, spinning his jaunty feet over the floor. He’s more than your boatbuilder. More than a Viking. More than a man. He’s your Floki. You know he wouldn’t let you fall to the floor with even drunken, flowy step to the door because after all, Floki was the one who taught you what it meant to dance.

“Let’s go home. I want to see you dance.”  

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit​ @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur​ @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse​ @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1​ @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia​ @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys  @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim​ @msmorganforever @destynelseclipsa​ @soleil-dor​ @strangunddurm​ @superwolfchild-fan @willbilliamson  @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie

[xbunnybunz]

Weak Hero University (2/?) [Reader x Weak Hero]

Summary: I know you assholes are crying now that the first season of Weak Hero is over. But you’ve got other things to focus on, like where the fuck you’re going to live after getting kicked out of your old dorm. Luckily, you’ve found one last open room on the other side of Weak Hero University. What could possibly go wrong?

Genre: Romance, Humor, Slice of Life

Date: 6/1/2021

A brief introduction of everyone later, you haul a suitcase into the room while Ben noisily and clumsily pulls on his shorts, after much persuading from his friends.

“You’re living… Here? In the boys dorms?” Eugene asks, tagging beside carrying your schoolbag. “Isn’t that against the campus policy?”

You park the suitcase beside by your room and sigh, popping your back briefly.

“I’m just as confused as you guys are, but the keys here seem to be for this room here.” You allow a single gold-hued key to dangle from your fingers on a cheap polyester lanyard, Eugene’s eyes follow the menacing stare of the school mascot printed on the side until you pull it out of his sight.

“Let’s see just how fucked up this school is when it comes to money extortion.” You put the key in the door and hear a tell-tale metallic ‘click.’

“Wow.” A voice says from the couches. “Pretty fucked up.”

You sigh, shoulder slumping forward. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

Most of the items go into your room without much hassle at all. A suitcase full of cute PJs you and your nonexistent best gal roommates could rave over, a plastic box full of face masks you’d probably never be able to use without being made fun of, and a waterlogged ziplock baggie half-full with notes (and corn chips) from last semester.

What? A folder? What the fuck is a folder?

A boy with silver hair passes by and begins to say something to you, but seems to debate better options when he sees the plastic baggie on the floor.

Feeling slighted somehow, you ask Eugene who he is once he’s out of earshot.

Eugene laughs and begins to speak but an arm looping around his neck cuts him off.

A pair of shimmering emerald eyes meet your own, but it’s clouded with a shadow of mischief. “You haven’t heard? That’s the white mamba of E-quad. He’s fearlessly beaten bastards so bloody with belts that we have metal detectors installed at the dining hall entrances now!”

“Stop exaggerating, Alex.” Eugene chokes out, sounding mildly discontented while desperately trying to pry the arm from around his neck.

“Wait, that was because of him?”

Eugene and Alex both freeze, brows furrowed. “Wait, you weren’t kidding?” Eugene asked.

“I was.” Alex says.

They both fix their gazes on you, and you’re suddenly struck with the memories of needing to surrender your lockpicking kit in front of several dozen freshmen behind you, and the hot desire to bury that memory consumes you.

“Haha, me too.”

They don’t seem convinced.

Before the conversation about buckle-assisted homicide can continue, a large shadow descends upon your form and a great arm reaches out from the heavens above. “Here, I grabbed this from the kitchen in case you needed a snack.”

You look up and see Gerard, the tallest and blindest of the group. You accept his gift of a single (1) lunchables capri-sun with much adoration in your heart.

“Thanks Gerard.”

He gives you a smile to remind the audience that he is, simply put, cool as fuck.

“No problem.”

Well, one problem. You eye the last bit of your luggage sitting at the doorway like a heaping pile of hot flaming garbage. It’s an amalgamation of the extraneous bits of your personality you’ve collected over the course of the past semester at Weak Hero University and maybe a forgotten bagel. Despite your previous roommate’s pleads for you to throw some of it out, you’d be damned if you weren’t a treacherous little hoarder. Simply put, it was a huge box of insignificant trinkets that made for a very significant problem. You had gotten lucky to cross paths with a cute but gullible junior earlier, who you immediately marked as prey and flirted with before unceremoniously dumping your crap on him to carry across campus. But now you’d have to pick up the box of crap yourself, which would prove to be a challenge with how little you actually wanted to be responsible for your own items.

The three boys see you eying the box and you perk up immediately, eyes glimmering with the possibility of wooing the fine gentlemen into helping a oh-so-meek lass like yourself.

You twirl a piece of hair between your fingers and bat your eyelashes at nothing at all, pouting your lips and hoping they weren’t too crusty. “Oh, I’m so tired. How am I ever going to move that big and heavy box?”

You stare dismally into an off-corner and attempt to look forlorn, grimacing when you see a weird  construction of a human-sized dorito-chip statue made of empty dorito bags beside the television. This was the moment your main love interest would swoop in and offer his servitude to you, dewey roses blossoming on convenient parts of the screen. Here it was, your very own shoujo moment!

But there’s no offer. In fact, you stare so long at the doritos statue that you begin to get spots in your vision.

When you turn back, the boys are by the box in question, though they are not attempting to move it at all. Instead, they lament over the problem with you as opposed to offering a solution.

“Ah, that thing looks so heavy. Sucks to be you.” Alex laughs.

Euguene shakes his head. “Right? I wouldn’t even be able to get a corner off the ground.”

Gerard places a thoughtful hand on the back of his neck. “You should probably save the capri-sun for after moving everything.”

Ugh.

Just when all hope seemed lost, Ben meanders out of his room. This time, all his articles of clothing are intact.

“Hey, what are you guys staring at?”

Yes! This was your movie-moment after all!

“Oh Ben! Thank god you’re here.” You resume your maiden in distress pose. “I was just so tired from the trip, my feeble heart and body can’t bear to-“

Alex pokes his head up when he hears Ben approaching, waving him over. “Look at all this shit she has. She’s like those people on My Strange Addiction!”

Irritated that he’s cut you off, you try to continue. “I won’t ever be able to lift all that on my own-!”

“Aren’t you talking about Hoarding, Buried Alive?” Gerard asks, clearly already losing interest in the luggage.

“Actually, I think that would be Hoarders, the reality television show that aired a little before My Strange Addiction took flight! It’s actually really interesting how that all started out, if you want to hear about it.”

You scowl at the back of Eugene’s head and stop quickly when Ben shoots a grin at you.

He puffs out his chest in a stupid himbo way and thrusts his thumb into his chest. “I can move this for you! No sweat! Just tell me where you want it!”

Sweet! You were about to resort to desperate begging, but those plans are cancelled!

You clasp your hands together and sigh, envisioning a world where men with muticolored hair fall in love with you.

“Oh, anywhere in here is fine, thank you so much Ben!”

As he goes in to lift it, you can see his muscles straining against the well-fitting fabric of his shirt.

Oh yes, this is definitely worth the dorming fee.

“Ben, you’re so sweet for helping me with this!” He ambles past you while struggling to hold the lid of the box closed. A strained voice comes from beyond the green rim of the bin. “Yep, no problem at all.”

You follow him into your room, tailing him while rambling about how grateful you were.

“You know, there was a junior who I met by the campus square on my way here. He helped me move everything to this building, but he struggled with that box a lot longer than you! I’m actually not sure how you’re even getting it off the ground without a wedge and trolley, but boy am I glad!”

Ben stops at the foot of your bed, barely able to peek over the edge of the bin. “Erm. Is here okay?”

“Hey I mean, as strong as that guy was, you’re definitely cuter than him. I was almost sad to see him go, but that’s the life of a busy woman!”

“Pleasemyarmsareshaking-”

“As great as all this is, I’m actually really excited to make friends with everyone! Given these strange circumstances that usually only happen to indulge borderline psychotic fans, we should take advantage and-”

Ben drops the box on the floor and you screech, a pain shooting up your leg and pumping adrenaline into your veins.

“-FUCK! Shit!”

Ben freezes and realizes the absolutely fuckery he has just caused, but before he can react, you grab the corner of the box and throw it off your foot in a show of brute gorilla strength, crumpling to the floor in agony.

The boys have their heads poked into the doorway, curious after hearing two cuss words successively. They blanche when they realize the situation.

“Oh fuck. My bad?” Ben wants to comfort you but is frankly quite scared to after seeing your display of power.

“Did she just throw that thing with one hand?” Gerard asks.

Alex stares at the scene before him. “What the hell happened to her foot?”

Eugene titters about nervously, playing with his fingers “Do we have first aid?”

From the kitchen, a deadpan voice is heard. “Where’s my capri sun?”

[purplebass]

#2 Celbratory Fic! And it's another one with Jesse and his uncles + cousins. This time, Jesse spends time with uncle Gabriel, Thomas, Anna and Grace. You can just say is a continuation of this other fic I've posted a few days ago. The next fic will be about Grace and Christopher (also: anon, I hope you don't mind I'll use your prompt!). I also hint at this in this fic. So, happy reading! ✨

Characters: Jesse Blackthorn, Thomas Lightwood, Gabriel Lightwood, Anna Lightwood, Grace Blackthorn, Lucie Herondale

Jesse sat across his cousin Thomas in the carriage, and it was a bright morning. He forgot how hot the weather could turn towards the summer season, and wished he hadn’t worn a coat, because the air in the vehicle was stale, and he was sweating. Too late. Too late and too bad the windows seemed to be stuck, but at least they had almost arrived at his uncle Gabriel’s house.

“Are you adapting well?” Thomas asked him.

“Uncle Gabriel and aunt Cecily are very kind,” he said. He accepted to live at their house for the time being, while he continued training to become a shadowhunter. “And Anna decided to give me her room while I’m there. I can’t express my gratitude enough.”

Thomas smiled. “Don’t mention it. You’re part of our family. But even if you weren’t, we would still help you, Jesse.”

Jesse couldn’t help but grin, and blush a little. He remembered when he was a child. His mother never failed to mention how his uncles and their families were corrupted, evil, and they needed to be kept at arm’s length, if he ever were to cross paths. But his relatives had been nothing short of welcoming.

“Looks like we’re here,” Thomas announced, glancing outside. “By the angel, uncle!” he exclaimed next, as he opened the door to get off.

Jesse exited after him, and saw his uncle Gabriel touching the side of his shoulder. “Is everything alright?” he asked. Thomas seemed to have stormed inside already.

Gabriel looked up, and winced a little. “Yes, yes. I wanted to open the door for you, but Thomas beat me to it,” he shrugged. “Did you have fun at Gideon and Sophie’s?”

Jesse nodded. “They took me around Idris. It was really nice,” he said. He had seen Idris already, when he was a ghost. But seeing it during the day was something entirely different. He liked the shadowhunter city, and the life that came with it. Although, if he had to be honest, he preferred the area where Blackthorn Manor was located, at the edge of Brocelind forest, where there was nothing else but vegetation around him. And Herondale Manor.

“I’m glad, I’m glad,” Gabriel replied. “When you’re ready, we will accompany you to the manor like you asked last time. Do you still want to renovate it?”

“I think it’s my duty as the last Blackthorn alive.” It felt weird to utter the word alive without thinking himself dead. I am alive. I am alive. I am living. “And I want to see if there is something that can be salvaged from the ruins. You know, family heirlooms, and things like that.” There weren’t many things in the manor that Jesse had cared about, because admittedly, there hadn’t been much to begin with. He hoped that most of the items he used whenever they were there, like the old books which probably belonged to his father or grandparents, hadn’t been destroyed in the fire. He had cherished those books. They were one of the few goods that had given him a glimpse of how his father might have been around his age. He didn’t live that long, after all.

Sometimes, he found himself thinking about Rupert. How life might have turned out, if he hadn’t lost his life before he was born. Now his uncles, aunts and cousins were the closest thing he had to a family. His uncle Gabriel offered to teach him how to use the bow and arrow, which had surprised Jesse. He hadn’t asked anyone to help him with training. He was happy someone offered to help him.

“I’ve always wanted to learn how to use it, but we didn’t have one at Chiswick,” he told Gabriel in the training room of the London Institute, where there was more space available to practice.

Gabriel had made a face. “Strange. There was one which belonged to me, but maybe,” he had shaken his head, lost in thought. “Nevermind. Let’s get started, shall we?”

And then he had spent the day learning how to hold the bow and shoot. It hadn’t been easy, and his shoulders were a little stiff, but he had managed to pull a few good shoots by the end of their session. His uncle had patted his shoulder lightly and had congratulated him. It felt good.

“Not bad for your first time,” he had commented. “How did you find the bow?”

“I think I like it.”

“If we train more, you will get even better. No pressure.”

Jesse wasn’t sure if the bow and arrow was his weapon of choice, but he surely wanted to know more about it. “Thanks, uncle Gabriel,” he had replied, making his uncle’s face brighten.

It was the first time he had called him uncle.

Gabriel and Jesse reached the drawing room. Perched on an armchair, newspaper in hand, sat his cousin Anna Lightwood. “About time, cousin. My tea’s got cold,” she said, twirling the cup in her slender fingers for show. It was empty.

Jesse had heard a lot about Anna. Had seen her while he was a ghost as well. She had a reputation for being fashionable and very direct, confident. Two things he didn’t think he was, but not everyone was perfect, and he was sure that Anna had demons of her own. Perhaps, someday they would talk about it like cousins did. He believed.

“You know that our family’s carriage is slow, Anna,” said Thomas from the window, his arms crossed on his chest.

“Right. Anyway, you’re here, finally,” she said, rising from her seat. “Are you excited that we’re about to redo your wardrobe?”

“I trust your judgement” he answered. “But please, don’t make me ridiculous.”

“You, ridiculous?” Anna’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “You could never be ridiculous with such features. Trust me on that. I will make your black hair and green eyes combination shine.”

“If you say so,” he pursed his lips. “Grace,” he said then, as his sister crossed the threshold. She had been staying at the Lightwoods as well, but lately she had been spending more time at Grosvenor Square, where the Fairchilds lived. She told him that she liked to help his cousin Christopher in the lab, and that she wanted to learn more about science. Jesse couldn’t object about that, because he knew that his sister could never truly pursue what she wanted. He just wanted her to be happy, and if science was what she was interested in, so be it.

“I’m sorry I’m late, but I had to change.”

“Did my brother burn something again?” Anna asked. “Last time I wanted to watch what he was doing, he ruined my tie.”

“And he almost burnt my eyebrows once,” Thomas reminded them.

“Nothing of the sort,” Grace said. “It’s late, isn’t it? Shouldn’t we go?” she asked hurriedly, as if she didn’t want to continue that conversation. She barely talked about what happened in the lab, and he guessed she didn’t want to. Not that he wanted to know. He respected her privacy, but not everyone did.

Thomas stayed behind because he had something to do, whereas Jesse, Anna and Grace decided to take a walk to get to the shops where they could find something for him. They didn’t disguise themselves, which he liked. It made him feel part of the world again, to be seen by people. The street Anna had taken them teemed with pedestrians going about their day, and they reached the clothing shop soon. It had a big sign on it, and some dresses on display.

Anna decided that purple and burgundy were Jesse’s color, and she chose a couple of waistcoats. She insisted that she would pay, saying they were a welcoming gift. Now they were visiting the third shop, which was a three floor building which sold different items for men and women alike. He believed they had bought several pieces already, but Anna was convinced that he needed a coat for the winter season, even if it was almost summer. Ah, and a bathing suit. Really? As she was looking around to find the perfect piece, he decided to take a tour around the store, since he had never seen one like that before.

He was by himself as he waited, because Grace excused herself that she also needed to look for something. He walked around and glanced at the accessories and the clothes, until something caught his eye.

“I don’t think that is her style,” Grace said, reappearing by his side as if she had appeared out of thin air.

He lifted a brow. “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he feigned ignorance. “And how do you know what her style is?”

“You’re right, I have no idea about that. Although I’ve paid attention to her, I’m not sure.”

“About what?” he peered at her as she was checking something from the same rack.

Grace gave him an unreadable look. “She seems fickle. I’m worried that now that she managed to bring you back, she won’t be interested anymore.”

“I understand your concern, Grace,” he told her flatly. “But I can assure you, it’s nothing like that.”

“Has she told you she loves you already?”

“How do you know that?” he asked, blushing, glancing away.

“She did,” Grace said, inclining her head. “I can’t believe it. I thought she would never.”

Jesse didn’t know how Grace had realized that, but he could tell that she understood his feelings, and she didn’t want him to get hurt. He was about to ask her something, when Anna interrupted them.

“This looks refined, cousin,” she commented. “Lucie will like it,” she added, before she stormed away again.

Jesse and Grace exchanged a glance, and the latter grinned. He felt his cheeks warm, and he walked away before his sister could notice he was blushing.

...

A few hours and several bags of clothes and accessories later, they all went back to the Lightwood residence. Anna was pleased with what she had chosen for Jesse, and said that she’d be looking forward to seeing him in one of them at the next event, whatever that might be.

“Anna has a good eye for fashion,” Grace commented, holding two bags of clothes as well. “Do you think she likes us?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Jesse shrugged. It was a curious question he did not expect.

“Well, you’re her cousin, whereas I’m -” Grace stopped mid-sentence, making Jesse wait. “Lucie.”

She turned abruptly, as if she had been caught with her hands in the cookie jar. She glanced at Grace, then at him. “Hello, Grace. Hello, Jesse.”

“What are you doing here?” Grace asked bluntly. It sounded a bit like an accusation, but considering the conversation they had had in the shop earlier, he expected it. Grace was wary of Lucie.

Lucie sighed, and managed a smile. She wasn’t wearing a hat nor gloves, and he suspected she had been waiting for them. He glowed inside. She came to see him. Which excuse would she use today? He bit his lip expectantly, amused.

“I had to run an errand for… for aunt Cecy,” she mumbled, clutching her hands nervously. “She needed something to do something, I guess.”

Grace wasn’t convinced at all, but she let her go. “See you next time,” she just said, then gazed up at Jesse one last time before leaving them alone.

Once Grace was out of sight and out of earshot, Lucie advanced. She offered him her best smile, which he exchanged with one of his own.

“Nice excuse you’ve got here, huh,” he said.

“Was it that obvious?”

“She already knows, Lucie,” he revealed, to which Lucie just nodded. “You know that Anna took me shopping today,” he changed the topic quickly. He opened his arms, and she hurried to him and put her hands behind his back, and her head on his chest. He closed her in an embrace, and interlaced his fingers behind her neck.

“Did you buy a lot of things?” she asked excitedly. “I can’t wait to see you in one of the suits you bought with Anna.”

“You will see them soon enough, I think. Isn’t there a party next week? At the London Institute?”

“Is it?” she glanced up. “I didn’t. Why has no one notified me?”

“Do not sound so angry,” he chided, a smile dancing on his lips. “No one knows.”

“Are you teasing me, Jesse Blackthorn?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I have something for you,” he said, and produced a small pouch from his pocket. “Here.”

Lucie examined it, and then looked inside. There was a silver comb with a butterfly decoration in it. “It’s precious,” she told him. Unable to hide her joy, she hugged him again, this time more tightly than before. “I really like it.”

“I’m glad,” he remarked, caressing the back of her neck. “I had to make up for the one I couldn’t retrieve from Chiswick.”

“Nevermind about that. I like this one more,” she said, and raised her head so that he could kiss her.

Someone cleared their voice, and they separated. It wasn’t a secret that they were together… to most. But probably, not everyone had caught up.

“Does Will know about this?” Gabriel asked, but they could tell he wasn’t serious, just curious. And he was smiling.

“Come on, Gabriel. Leave them alone,” Cecily intervened, taking her husband’s arm to lead him away, winking at them. “They were just embracing.”

“He will know next week,” Jesse said, making Gabriel and Cecily stop in their tracks. “That I plan to spend the rest of my life with Lucie, however long that might be.”

Lucie opened her mouth in surprise, and looked at him. “Jesse, are you...”

“Yes. Are you?”

“Undoubtedly, yes!” she exclaimed, embracing him again.

“Did he just propose to her or it’s my impression?” Gabriel wondered out loud.

“He did. Yes, he sure did,” Cecily said, and dragged a blabbering Gabriel away, while Jesse basked in his own happiness with Lucie, and he felt alive.

Taglist (if you want to be added or removed, send me a PM): @princesslucinda @kit-12 @immortal-enemies @lucian-evander @esa-emery @danieldyers @blackthorn-trash @rinadragomir @fortunesandfables @itsdaughterofthemoon @silvenys@thomastair3 @livvyheronstairs @ holding-infinity-and-a-book @lovelaces @axoloteca @autumnangel20 @cordelia-cardale @lucie-blackthorns

[macgyvertape]

Castlevania kinda had a pacing problem

spoilers for all of Netflix’s Castlevania. I haven’t seen much analysis for the show on tumblr, im honestly curious if discussions I had with irl friends mirror what fandom talks about

tldr: Castlevania seems inconsistently paced from season to season, and within season as well, leads to a lot of characters motivations feeling unclear so characters repeatedly explain why they are doing something while they’re doing it

overview of the seasons:

S1 I know somewhat of a test for Netflix but it has good main trio character establishment and sets the scale of the conflict

s2: pretty complete emotional arc for most characters and resolves the plot of killing Dracula while setting up additional characters to continue the story. Isaac, Hector, Carmilla all established with the audience as characters whose story would continue

honestly I would bet this is the most popular season

S3: s2 did a bit of worldbuilding, but this season really fleshed out the world with both a wide range of locations and exploring the question of “what now, Dracula is dead but vampires and night creatures remain”.

There were basically 4 plot threads: 1) Sypha/Trevor investigating the cult & Saint Germain; 2) Hector & Carmilla (also introducing Lenore, Striga, Morana); 3) Isaac’s journey of revenge & self discovery; 4) Alucard sits around the castle and is betrayed.

overall characters roughly feel like they are in the same place if not worse. A big criticism I saw at the time, which hold up after rewatching this before s4 is nothing felt resolved for the main characters

I would say this season is where the pacing issues start to become apparent, juggling 4 plot threads that lack a central theme or even mutual character connection. If there was a central theme it would be “humans are awful to each other”. The Judge doing Hot Fuzz style murders, The Wizard in the tower, Sumi & Taka

S4: it starts with the same 4 plot threads, though upfront it is made clear that the plot theme is “people are trying to resurrect Dracula”, and the progression of the plot works to resolve unrelated plot threads until the main trio reunites for the boss fights. To me and my friends watching it was obvious that the show would reunite the main trio, the question was how and how far into the run time.

Season 4 is why I’m writing this essay, for the past 2 days I’ve been like, yeah that character sure explained their motives repeatedly maybe with some philosophical discussion, but it’s just such a weird place considering where they were in s3

Alucard’s arc:

Where he was left in season 3, it was after killing people he had trusted in self defense and impaling their corpses. It was clearly meant to parallel Dracula’s dislike of humanity. However overall his character lacked a proactive motivating force.

Honestly the most interesting thing I found in s3 was Alucard clearly misses Sypha and Trevor, however they don’t miss him or refer to him

One reason Sumi & Taka betray Alucard is for the secrets and power of Castlevania. After inviting the village including St Germain who Alucard was warned of into the Castle, Alucard makes 0 effort to secure anything, not even his personal childhood room. Guess he really learned nothing

Discussing St Germain, I think it’s funny that they had a several minute flashback sequence for his lost girlfriend (who doesn’t have a name or a voice actor), to remind the viewer of who he is, and to justify how he’s suddenly back and down for murder.

In s4 there is the call to help the village, and the walk back to the castle is a montage of Alucard opening up to Greta and becoming friendly literally overnight. He laughs off the impaling, and basically all of the darker things he went through in season 3, which has me asking what was the point of his season 3 arc then? 

Honestly writing this I realize the biggest parallel he has with Dracula is the call to action from a bold woman with a dramatic entrance speech which then leads to a romance

Isaac’s arc:

in s3, with all the other themes of “humanity sucks” I was always unsure if the townspeople were meant to appear irrational while attacking a larger force instead of letting him pass through an leave, or him not caring about how he’s provoking them is meant to show his insanity

ive seen the discussion elsewhere, curious about the Discourse here

is s4 Isaac has the whole monologue about how he now has agency but him gaining that agency was his s3 arc. In s4 he’s already at the point of accepting it. By the end of s4 he’s one of those who comes the furthest from his first character appearance to his last.

s4e5 where of Isaac attacking Carmilla in Isaac’s 2nd appearance had him resolving like 4 plot threads at once (Carmilla, Striga& Morana, Hector, and Isaac himself).

but i do wonder if Trevor, Sypha, or Alucard even know any of these people exist. I think not

I was honestly confused if I missed a scene from his dialogue about building something and what is inherent nature, to “My plan has evolved, my plan is now conquest” because he only conquests the one castle and the rest is left unclear

Upon rewatch the connection there is “killing [the wizard] felt just ... I liked that feeling”, so the show says that Isaac in the end attacked Carmilla for the sake of justice and not revenge.

Isaac in his last conversation expresses the theme of s4 “build something new on these old bones, where people can live for the future”

however, his arc honestly feel scenes were cut, and then dialogue was written around it. He’s the only living character who doesn’t show up in the epilogue and the sentient night creature “what if I could empty hell” dialogue was some of the most interesting worldbuilding. Night creatures with sentience and possibility of regaining memories!!!!

The Council of Sisters & Hector’s arc:

oh I’ve already seen s4 discourse about Lenore/Hector while searching for character analysis, a chunk of it seems to be rationalizing the absolute difference between how s3 ended with these characters and s4. It was extremely confusing for me and my friends; wondering if 1) was Hector showing more emotional intelligence than before and putting on a facade to cover up hatred? Nope 2) did more time pass than 6 weeks for there to be some kind stockholm syndrome? No, Hector seems fine to let Lenore kill herself

The slave control ring: played up in the climax of s3 and easily solved s4. s3 Lenore says if he tries to harm them, flee, or take it off it would cause crippling pain, in s4 Hector just easily cuts off his own finger.

for a control ring that they take time to show a version being on the Rebus, it doesn’t do much controlling of Hector

also guess the definition of “do harm” just refers to direct action

Lenore in s4: has no purpose in conquest, has that useless remarked on by multiple characters, is imprisoned, then kills herself after a genre aware philosophical discussion. This essay is long enough, but what the fuck happened to this character who ended s3 clearly physically and sexually abusive? Seriously this was one of the biggest writing changes to the point where she was treating Hector as an equal. Compare her last words in s3 “shh the real people [vampires] are talking”. The change in the relationship is actually something I would have taken being shown, or atleast told of what exactly caused this change other than the vague “you adopted him”

Striga&Morana get the best arc of the Council. 3 scenes: the tent argument, Daybreak armor fight & argument resolution, declaration of feelings and turning away. You could argue Castlevania is plot to be connective tissue between fight scenes, but for all the dialogue about human resistance in different seasons it was nice to see it. Overall the scenes were short but had a lot of showing what their relationship is not just telling,

unlike Carmilla. For as much hyping up as they did with her, and as much power as she had, she only appeared in 2 episodes and no other group except Isaac knew about her military conquest.

the map scene where she states her motive for conquest of wanting to take things from old men is the key example of how characterization became tell not show. How interesting was that monologue compared to the past seasons flashback to her murmuring the old vampire lord, or all her repeated insults of men/man-children that shows how she judges people??

That monologue had to carry the weight of justifying the Sisterhood bonds falling apart as well as why her motivation changed from building a human pen from Styria to Braila to world conquest. I think it did so poorly

Sypha & Trevor

really Sypha & Trevor have the main plot in the show. I checked and post season 1 the only episode they don’t appear in is s4e6, which is entirely devoted to the Isaac, Hector, and Council of Sisterhood arc. Their partnership and adventures are the main plot of the show.

Its easy to see what Trevor’s arc was over the show: coming to peace with the deaths of his family, taking up the mantle of being a Belmont, and starting a new family with Sypha.

With Sypha I actually had to scroll through tv tropes for what is her character arc, and I guess hers is disillusionment from adventure and life outside the speakers? My friends joke that Sypha’s magic is what the plot demands to look cool in a fight, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Tangent: the ending of their arc was easy to guess: as soon as Trevor went to fight the final boss alone I literally said “oh i bet Sypha’s pregnant, Trevor’s doing a heroic sacrifice, theyll use the unexplained magical dagger mcguffin, and 60/40 odds that he goes through an infinite corridor to outright come back vs just the implication he might come back”

I guess my final thought of the show, was overall the SUPER Final Boss got my by surprise. It was a good twist I enjoyed. Not that Death appeared, I had guessed that from the heavy foreshadowing, but I was surprised by who it was, because I had thought I thought the characters involved feeling shoehorned into the plot was just more bad writing. The Alchemist who put St Germain on the path or murder for no discernible motive for helping? Sure gotta move the plot along. New Dracula court member Varney who has a whole introduction with almost every character he meets and banter about his smell? Sure thats basically how all characters talk with a snarky and acerbic voice.

[bisluthq]

Hey! I'm fairly new here and I have a pretty uncommon take on Kaylor. But I just wanna start off by saying I try my best to be as supportive of LGBT people as possible and if they're both bisexual, then I would be 100% okay with that! I'm not trying to "defend their heterosexuality" or anything, I think that's really weird

Okay, so my personal theory is that Kaylor did happen, but that Taylor and Karlie are both straight. I know that might sound contradictory, but I say this based on my own personal experiences based on how I am with my best friend. I think Karlie and Taylor's relationship might have been similar in some ways to ours

Right, so I'm straight and I'm not into women in the gay kind of way (but it's completely cool that some girls are), and I have this roommate who's gorgeous. Really gorgeous, she's like a 10/10 "I would sell my kidney to look like you" kind of girl. She's very attractive, she has like tan skin and long legs and gorgeous brown hair and pretty eyes and nice lips and just like… she's just very good looking. I'm definitely jealous of her body, I won't even pretend I'm not 😪 I lowkey hate her because of it (jk)

We've been living together since not long before COVID started, and we're very good friends. There were three of us before, but our other roommate went back home to stay with her parents until in person classes are back on and we agreed to it and worked something out because she has really bad anxiety so we understood her reasoning for it

Anyway so it's just been us two and because we've been at home a lot during this time instead of out for most of the day like before, we've gotten to know each other a lot better and have become a lot closer. We were already friends from before, but now we're like super close besties, we've been hanging out a lot together and playing board games, watching movies, helping each other with essays, just having long conversations about anything and everything, etc

Like it's been so nice having a best friend that I can be this close to now because I haven't had a best friend since I was a kid

So my friend and I were having like a conversation last year about how hard it's been in quarantine not being able to go on dates and how we miss kissing people, and so we decided to just like, make out for fun you know. I mean, there's not really anything that's inherently romantic or sexual about making out, that's just society that says that. But tbh I think making out with your friends if you want to should be normalized, it's fun and it can even be emotional sometimes. It's not that different from hugging people

After a couple of weeks or so, I think we got bored of just making out with each other and decided to like, fully hook up. It started off because we were modelling lingerie for each other for banter and were pretending we were each other's runway judges and then I think we just decided to hook up with each other as like part of the whole "game". I can't remember who initiated it now, I think it might have been me as a joke lol

Like just in a platonic way for fun, as a kind of substitute until we can go back into society

And tbh I always expected hooking up with a woman to be like mediocre and boring and awkward, but although it was a bit hard to get the hang of at first and there was a learning curve, it's actually very enjoyable. Like I was very surprised actually at how hot it can be, I think I can maybe see why bisexual women and lesbians like doing it

Anyway we both liked it and we just carried on hooking up on the regular and it's been like 8 months now and tbh I just think it's very sweet and heartwarming, like it actually makes me feel a little emotional how we're close enough and care about each other enough that we can even help each other out with the physical intimacy side of things so that we don't get sexually frustrated while we're stuck in lockdown

I just think it's really cool and we even sleep in the same bed most of the time now because tbh what's the point in sleeping alone when you can sleep in the same bed as someone else? It's nicer, like you can cuddle and stuff

Anyway, I think that maybe Kaylor's relationship might have been similar. I think they're both straight but they became really close friends in a short space of time, and that their friendship was so intense that it became physical but in a platonic way

I think lesbians and bisexual women are amazing and I have so much respect for you guys for accepting yourselves in a society that tries to erase you, and I think there definitely needs to be more wlw representation on TV and in movies

But at the same time, I would also like there to be more close female friendships like the one that me and my friend have where you can just talk about everything together and do things that society usually reserves for romantic partners, but in a platonic way. Because female friendship is really important and beautiful, whether that's between straight women like me and my friend who I think is probably straight too, or between queer women because one thing I've learnt during my short time on this blog is how queer women can have very close platonic friendships with other queer women too

I think society just has overly strict ideas of "straight" and "gay". Like for some people, they would hear about two women sleeping together and think "Oh that's gay", but not necessarily because straight women can enjoy sleeping with other women too, like it's normal 🤷‍♀️

I think it's just a result of women being a lot more physically beautiful than men are, like straight women really got the short end of the stick tbh compared to straight men

I also think it's because women are so oversexualized in the media, and obviously straight girls see that too and so we sort of internalize that attraction to women because we're so used to seeing women being presented in a sexual way? Except it's not real attraction with us like how it is for queer girls

Like I'm very much "attracted" to my friend, she's genuinely stunning and just very hot tbh. But I still identify as straight because it's just a case of what I mentioned above, it's a "fake" attraction. And also because men are afraid to compliment other men because it's seen as "gay", but women can be fully confident in their sexuality and still recognize other women's beauty and sex appeal. You see it all the time in instagram comments, and I really love how we're all so supportive of each other like that

Like I can be fully confident in my sexuality and yet still say that some women like my friend are gorgeous as hell and also 100 times better looking than most men I've seen. I'm very much obsessed with some women's appearances but in a platonic way

And I just love the concept of "girl crushes" and I think that from a feminism viewpoint, it's beautiful that we're focusing on other girls and showing love towards other girls too, instead of just to men who, let's be real, don't even fully appreciate it half of the time

I am going to be sad when we all have to return to life as usual and my friend and I won't be able to spend as much time together anymore. I'm dreading it tbh, I don't want it to end yet. And it really sucks that the physical side of our friendship will probably have to stop too once our other roommate comes back because I think she'd definitely misunderstand the situation and think it's something different than it actually is if she ever saw us kissing or something. I really am going to miss it a lot though, I really like how things currently are and it's just really really nice and I don't want it to change :/

Btw I'm sorry if I sounded fetishistic or offensive with any of this, I just get a bit jealous sometimes that you guys get to date girls and we're just stuck with men. Honestly if it wasn't for all of the homophobia and the struggles that you all have to face and the fact that it would feel disrespectful to the LGBT community, I would probably really wish I could change my sexuality to be bisexual or gay instead because I just think women are better. Sometimes I really do wish I was into women in that way because dating girls just sounds so much more appealing to me (in a non fetishizing weird way) but unfortunately I'm stuck with dating men 🤦‍♀️ But I also know I'm lucky and privileged to be straight even though most men are mediocre and kinda gross and I don't mean to be disrespectful because I know you all have to face homophobia and other LGBT difficulties and it really sucks, people are awful. There's nothing wrong with women dating women or men dating men at all, society is just ugly and bigoted

Anyway, does anybody else have a similar sort of take on Kaylor where they think they could have both been straight and just had a very close friendship with a physical side to it? I think it would explain a lot. But like I said, this is just a theory of mine based on my own situation, and I'm also open to the idea that it was an actual relationship and that they're both into women for real, not just fake "into women" like I am.

Also pls feel free to call me out if I accidentally said anything offensive towards LGBT people, I tried my best but if I made a mistake anywhere pls let me know and I'll avoid it next time!

You’re not offensive. Please stop apologizing. And we’re gonna come back to the Kaylor stuff another time because... Honey. You and I need to have a conversation for a bit.

So firstly, I’m not trying to like “diagnose” you and at the end of the day it’s your choice what you want to call yourself but... tbh you might not be straight. Sexuality is fluid not static and exists on a spectrum not in absolutes. It’s not like it’s straight, 50/50 bi, gay and you’re born knowing and there’s no room for anything else. That’s not true. There’s a lot of room in between all of these and labels can change over time. We’re people, not cereal brands, and sometimes we don’t even KNOW the word for what we might be. I’m tagging a tag for you from when we asked people to share their label journeys for you to see. It’s not simple or easy and it’s not just because of external stuff - it’s because figuring this out internally is HARD. If you found yourself having such an intense friendship it became physical, repeatedly, you liked it a lot, you still sleep in the same bed and continue to share all your thoughts and you don’t want any of that to end... I’m not sure you’re Kinsey 0. And I think you might lowkey have a girlfriend dude. 

You can obviously prefer men but like... hun I reaaallly don’t think you’re completely straight.

Also: it’s okay to say “I see myself winding up with a man and this is a situationship for right now!” but that doesn’t make you straight because again, sexuality is a spectrum and you can manifest a particular kind of endgame while experiencing other things along the way.

But here’s where you really got me: “most men are mediocre and kinda gross” and “women being a lot more physically beautiful than men are, like straight women really got the short end of the stick tbh compared to straight men” because that’s the kind of thing I used to say in my Bi 1.0 era before I ID’d as a lesbian for a bit and before Harry Styles (KING 🥺) made me bi for real. Hun, no. Straight women like men. Tbh BI women like men. I genuinely, unironically, find Harry and Timmy and Matt Smith to be sexy beasts and I would do dirty things to the former two but maybe not the latter irl in 2021 but yes also him if I could be on that Spain trip with him and Karen where they got sloshed and which I think of often. These men are genuinely fucking beautiful to me in the same way Taylor is and Di Silvers is (okay she’s prettier than all of them but like same ~vibe) and like Megan Thee Stallion is and Indira Varma in everything but especially GOT and Gillian Anderson and Keira Knightley. Like those women are HOT to me and SO. ARE. THE. MEN. 

Straight women find SO MANY DUDES hot. So many. Starting from objectively pretty options I just cannot personally understand like Chris Evans all the way through to bitches who are outchea simping for wrestlers and Cole Sprouse. Do I understand? No. But like... that’s straight girl culture and ours is not to judge. 

If you’re struggling to find men hot then... you might be gay.

Also, I’m not sure what you mean by “fake attraction”. Like queer women - especially femme women which I assume you very much are - experience the same kinds of feelings straight girls do. We have women we want to be like and look like and find enviable (me and Oenone Forbat) and women we find aesthetically gorgeous (me and Anya Taylor Joy) and we have extremely close female friends who we can spend hours on end spilling our guts to - as you say female friendships are truly special - and without going into personal people that you don’t know, that’s me and Cam and Sim right? I literally talk to them for hours. Like those are not gay feelings. And yes we can chat about those kinds of feelings with straight girls and call them “girl crushes” and not immediately get “caught out” because they experience this exact shit too.

But here’s the thing. They never do and I don’t want in the cases above to fuck these women. It’s not sexual.

The moment I can actually imagine fucking the women in question that’s... gay. 

Like it’s not “fake attraction” it’s literally just gay. That’s how we desire women. We want to fuck them. Not all women. Not always. But sometimes we want to get under or on top of one and just really truly fucking make each other moan with pleasure.

I have no idea if Karlie or Taylor are into women. They could both literally be straight. I have no idea.

But I have a better idea about you.

Hun, you’re fucking your roommate/best friend and don’t want to stop.

You’re not “into women”.

You’re into this woman.

And possibly into women more generally.

So I know it’s weird to have to be the one to tell you this, and if you want to keep chatting via anon or in my DMs or if you want me to try collate resources for you from around the web but...

Like.

Dude.

You’re a whole ass part of the rainbow.

Welcome to the community you thought you weren’t a part of earlier today 🌈 ❤️

It’s nice here, sure there’s homophobia, but at least we get to fuck girls and man is it good.

[ectora]

Review episode 312

It’s weird because I enjoyed the episode but most of my comments are actually criticism so bare with me 😂

Overall it was a nice episode to watch. The acting was on point especially for Sarah and Poppy imo they carried this episode but also probably cause they’re the one with the most compelling stories on this one. The episode kinda felt like a filler but honestly that’s because the show is focusing too much on the allergy and we know that’s not gonna be fixed til the end so as long as they make that the main story of the sisters, most episodes are gonna feel like fillers when it comes to them. Macy and Maggie had their own little adventure with a ghost which was funny (again kudo to Sarah), Harry and Mel went on a quest for a soul tho we still have no clue what it actually meant and Abigael was going through her own little traumatic hell in the tomb (Poppy really has been particularly slaying this storyline acting wise ).

Screen time

Abigael: 6m11s

Macy: 17m24s

Mel: 11m15s

Maggie: 18m24s

Harry: 11m03s

What I liked

Maggie still got the internship and I’m glad back she deserved it. I really don’t dislike Antonio but I’m also glad they kinda made it clear she wasn’t interested and that she finally made progress with her feelings for Jordan.

Abigael. I liked it because it gave us more insight on Abigael’s past (tho I still think they should have given us this earlier). I always theorised that from her childhood, she was obviously scared from the fact her mom never really accepted her demon side which created her deep feeling of rejection and how she was never accepted and never belonged. But I also thought she had some kind of loving family. Like to me these two things were not necessarily contradictory. Well apparently not. Her mom straight out abused her during her childhood. Which definitely explain why she choose the demon side like that. Both her parents were terrible to them but as she said in the past, at least she can understand demon a little but. She can rationalise it base on their nature. When it came from her mom however, it came fully from a place of dislike which must have been very harmful on a child. So obviously when I say I like it I don’t mean I like what her mom did to her, but I really like the insight and explanation. And again, Poppy did an amazing job. She made Abigael feel so vulnerable and scared, and confirmed that, ultimately what Abigael always wanted was acceptance. Which she first needs to give to herself.

Marisol and Macy sharing a scene. I have my issues with how it went which I’ll come to later. But I’m glad it existed and Mads really showed great emotions.

That was a short list because if I did enjoy the episode and there was some highlights I’ll talk about later, I also can’t really pintpoint things I loved.

What I disliked

Harry’s story. I just really don’t like how they make it all about the relationship when it could be so much deeper than that. I also am not sure I like the length to which he’s ready to go for it. Like the entire soul donation is a bit weird to me.

Marisol and Macy. Listen that one made me angry. Maybe it wouldn’t have if Macy actually had other stuff going on than her relationship with Harry but with the way the show has been writing her mostly around her relationship with Harry, it really didn’t come across well to me. The fact we had for the first time a in present tense scene between Macy and Marisol and all they talked about a man has me fuming. Maybe if they had had a longer time to talk. But they had like two minutes and most of it was about men.

The sisters. I don’t like the fact Mel wasn’t there when they were going to connect with their mom. I feel like that should have been a story kept for all three of them. I’m also annoyed that they once again refused to give us some Mel and Macy. I would have liked to see them a bit. Once again that sisterly bond feels like it’s non existent.

Melby. I cannot believe anyone would actually look at them and think yes that’s good. The treatment is absolutely terrible. The buildup was bad - because it was supposed to last - and the fact it’s all off screen is absolutely terrible. Ruby has been in three episode this season. One of them she didn’t actually share a scene with Ruby. The second episode they were full of drama and jealousy and they were so easily breaking up. And suddenly we jump to the I love yous. And were supposed to find that cute ? Like what are we supposed to think they love about each other? The constant breaking ups ? Cause that’s the most consistent thing about them. It kinda feels cheap in the way it’s done ngl.

What doesn’t make sense

Why was Jordan in the description ? I feel they’re kinda trying to avoid putting Abi’s name in the summaries (or at least it feels like it) but like .... Jordan had not reason to even be talked about. He didn’t appear once. It should have been Abi’s name in there.

The pills falling from the pocket Like ... Harry you had literally one job. How exactly did they fall ??

Why did they seem lost until their realised Jordy was a descendant and they could use his soul. Did I miss something saying it needed to be a male descendant ? Cause like ... Gil (Jil ? Idk) was literally right there. (Nevermind apparently I missed them saying « male descendent » my bad dkdjd

How did abi know she was in the tomb. Like I know my girl is smart but like ... she has basically no contact with the sisters at this point so how on earth did she learn how the tomb works and what happens inside ??

Highlights

The hammer. Listen, don’t ask me why but this picture of abi has been sending me for weeks now and I’ve been wondering the context since I’ve seen it. Like it gives me the biggest dumb bitch energy ever. The fact that abi is a very smart person and just thought a hammer would get her out of the tomb just has me laughing like it’s just too funny to me 😭

“The British hot lady” Swan I understand You

The way Maggie calls for Abi and gets into her apartment. I don’t know why I just love it.

Macy trying to lie to Antonio. Macy’s face when she lies is always a delight.

No but do any of these older generations know what not having an affair even mean? But I mean like father like son I guess.

« Who footnotes a spell » Macy’s face was so funny 😭 she was so done with it.

Theories

Not gonna lie. I’m a bit scare about next episode. I think it might be really interesting but also I’m very scare of the execution especially when it comes to Abigael and Macy. I do believe Macy has valid to distrust Abigael. However the show has been terrible at portraying those. And ultimately, especially lately, the sisters and Abigael have barely crossed paths. They’re barely in each other’s lives. All the do is coexist in the same city and interact when demons are involved which isn’t really the case. So right now all abi is doing is keeping the demons in lines. So I’m scared that Macy’s rightful dislike and distrust is almost gonna come across as pettiness or jealousy. But I also think that there is a difference between not trusting Abigael and say she deserves to be in the tomb. Cause at the end of the day past episode 4 what has she really done so terrible that deserves eternal suffering/delusion or whatever the tomb actually does. She’s manipulative and self serving sure but she also helps more than anything. The sisters have actually nothing to win have having Abigael stuck in there. And more to lose.

One theory is that the perfecti are trying to isolate the sisters. Putting abi and Jordan in the tomb is separating them from their allies and helping Harry to lose his powers is taking their guidance/healer away from them.

Another is just that really just have a very strict black and white vision and Abigael being a demon and Jordan helping them makes them automatically in the black category. Which the title seems to be referring to so it’s probably this.

I think the upcoming episode might be a way to introduce the whole controversy around Macy’s demon powers. And slowly bringing up the story of Abigael giving them back to her.

I think it also might be a way to actually have the show approach the wrongs Abigael did in the show. But also the rights. After all, it seems like they’ll need to prove she doesn’t deserve to be in it. Which I personally don’t think she does. Though she definitely did wrong things in her life. So I think they might actually use this as an occasion to have the sisters talk about what she did do that was wrong. And hopefully also highlight that she did help them on multiple occasions.

With the “previously in charmed” it makes it feel like they’re still going with Maggie not knowing Jordan can actually touch her and this doesn’t stop confusing me. But I can see the show have them hug once he’s out of the tomb and then kinda admit their feelings finally and Jordan say something in the lines that he kept it from her because he didn’t want to put pressure on her or that him being able to touch her didn’t change the fact she wanted to focus on herself or something on those lines.

One thing I want to talk about is Abigael. Please don’t read this paragraph if you haven’t heard about the rumours going around. //// The fact is, there is a very strong change Poppy is leaving the show. And the way they made this episode made it very clear Abigael was abused as a child. But that she is also absolutely craving love and acceptance. And that she does love her mom and always wanted her love. I’m very scared that if they make Abigael leave (better than die) they’d make her go back to her sister and family and try to fix their relationship. Which would absolutely be terrible message to give as we literally know now that she was abused. And making a character go back to their abusers because of the trauma it caused (her fear of rejection and inability to actually accept herself) would just be disgusting. But I’m scared that’s the road they’re gonna take.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Gonna Be Home Soon

Time’s passed and things don’t feel better. It’s like settling, accepting, the new normal. But sometimes exceptions can be made to the rules. 

My fingers slipped. Part 2 of Away for a Moment. 

Enjoy my masterlist

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________________________________

When Calum’s phone rings at 8:05 am, he doesn’t waste a second to answer it. He’s been anticipating this call ever since the two of you talked last night and you mentioned errands you needed to run in the morning. And there you are, grinning into the camera, the morning sun bright behind you.

“Morning,” you chirp.

“Morning, love,” he returns, falling back into the mass of pillows on his bed. “Waiting for the bus?”

“Nah, the store’s not too far and I’m already half way there.”

He nods, a hum falling over his lips. Your breathing is a little heavy. He can hear the pants as you walk. There’s a bit of a hill on the way there, if his memory serves him correctly. “Sleep okay?”

You shrug, ducking under a tree to take a short cut up to the concrete steps that lead you into the tiny shopping center. “Slept alright. Woke up in the night sweating my ass off.”

“What about your fan?”

“It was on. I had just cocooned myself and got to hot that’s all. What about you? How’d you sleep?”

Calum starts to answer but like his body knows, a yawn interrupts him. “ ‘Cuse me. Slept okay. Still trying to wake up even though I’ve been up for a while.”

“I’m sorry, love. I can let you go. You need rest.”

“No, no, I’m okay.” He doesn’t it say it but you know just by looking at him that even if he were dead tired he’d answer your call. And you know it’s because of the two incidents you told him about while just out. Approached once by men who was too chatty for your comfort—asking too many questions about you personally. And then someone asked for directions which wouldn’t have been weird but they never got off at the stop that you gave them directions for. So when you got off at your stop in front of a gas station you marched right into it and lingered until you were sure the bus had passed.

You don’t regret telling Calum about these strange encounters. And Calum knew you could defend yourself but he didn’t want you to have too. He didn’t like that you had to be on alert and that you were always looking over your shoulder. He knew you would and did still do it in LA with him. He knew all the times you had gone out without before. But he had always been close by. And now he’s not. He’s miles away, across state lines and though he’s not too far it’s still far enough for him to worry more than he did before.

You walk into the Wal-Mart and grab a basket, cradling your phone in one hand. “Wow, it’s kinda quiet in here.”

Calum remembers previous how packed the place was when he helped you move and how you recounted going on a Saturday and immediately regretting it.

“Better hurry,” he teases, looking to Duke who’s now waiting at the edge of the bed. His ears are perked up. Calum picks him up and sets him on his chest.

Your screen when you glance back down is full of Duke’s face and his fur hiding away Calum. But that’s perfectly fine by you. “My boy! Is pops treating you well?” 

Duke barks in response to the question. His snout pressing into the screen almost as if that will bring you closer to him. You don’t even realize tears are welling until one falls and hits your screen. “Love you Duke.”

He barks again at the sound of your voice, leaping off Calum to unearth your sweatshirt he buried into the sheets.

“Oh Duke gets tears but I don’t? I see how it is.”

You quickly wipe at your cheeks. “Shut up. I didn’t realize how much I missed him until just then. I know I miss you.”

“Hey, no, I’m just teasing. Is too soon for a visit?” 

Calum knows it’s only just over a month. Maybe a full month and a half since the last time he visited. He’s not really sure. All he knows that the days are long. All the clothes you’ve left behind have lost all your scent. Big’s too big and most nights Calum falls asleep on the couch. You text him though well before he falls asleep to make it to the bedroom. You beg him really, knowing that it’s better to have a healthy sleeping schedule. Sometimes he makes it, even sends a selfie from underneath the covers, pouting of course. 

In the studio, things feel normal. He can focus on the tasks at hands. And he still can crack jokes. The guys know though. They can all tell that Calum lingers around his phone more so than usual. He takes every call, even the ones that he’d normally ignore because he can tell they’re probably spam. But he takes them know because he can’t be sure it’s not you. Sometimes, he wishes it was you, instead of some bullshit car insurance scam. 

The other guys can tell Calum’s a little down in the dumps because when they ask him if he wants to join for dinner, he declines. And it’s not like he couldn’t shoot you a text saying that he’ll have to push back the FaceTime until later, or just hold off until tomorrow. It’s not like you’d flip your shit. But instead, he holds to those FaceTime dates. He holds for the times even if he’s writing, he can glance to his phone and see you riding the bus or walking into your classes. 

It’s the new normal and though Calum misses the way it used to be. It’s his new normal that keeps him mostly sane. It’s this new normal that helps Calum orient his days. Monday you text early in the morning to head into your office and you message at every stop too. And then around 2 he can call, after you’re done with one stint of classes. On Tuesdays, you morning starts early but he can call during your morning commute. Wednesdays he knows that it’ll mostly be a text day, you have meetings all in the morning and then classes well into the afternoon. Thursday start to lighten up and you can FaceTime most the day of the day minus the tutoring hours you’re putting in. And Fridays, Fridays are Calum’s solace. He can wake early, knowing you’re up early too, and he can be there for just about everything. It’s your reading day too. So you two talk mostly in the morning while you run errands. 

Like today, as you pull out your grocery list, Calum watches you smile at the folks passing you by. “What’s on the list today, love?”

“Batteries. Restock on the veggies and figure out what’s for dinner for the next couple of days. I found these two recipes that I want to try. Just can’t decide on which one.”

“What are they?”

“One’s a chili recipe. Other one is a one pot spaghetti recipe.”

“I vote chili. You can freeze part of the portion for next week.”

You nod, with a hum. “Smart call. Knew I kept you around for a reason.”

Calum laughs, scooping Duke back up into his arms. “Not my devilishly handsome good looks.”

“You’re hot, don’t get my wrong. But it’s what? Two years in now? Good looks don’t make a relationship. But they do help.”

“I see, loving me for my brains. I can’t say I’m upset with that.” The aisle aren’t clear as you walk down. But you pause. Calum can’t really see where, thinks it might be the clothes or close to it. You hold up a cartoon sports bra, wiggling your eyebrows. Calum whistles. “Hot.”

You snort. “I’ll pair it with my school sweatpants.”

“Doubly hot,” Calum snickers.

 As you wonder about, you show small things to Calum, laughing together as you goof about in Wal-Mart. You show Calum a T-shirt that says ‘I can’t people today’ stating that you need that saying tattooed to your forehead. Even though you’ve gotten into a routine it’s still hard some days just to deal with any other human being. Calum’s always enjoyed watching you, even if it’s just you reading the ingredients lists on the back of box. And you do it out of habit now, taking the time to make sure nothing has changed in the ingredients list. Depending on what it is, sometimes there’s a recipe. 

“How many bags of mango slices do you go through in a week?” Calum asks, watching the package fall into your cart. 

You duck your head, speeding down the aisle even though you’re reaching back for another bag. “We do not talk about that.”

“You’re going to have a whole mango budget!”

“At least it’s better than you and your Oreos,” you sass back, waiting for the elderly couple to cross in front of you. “How many packs are you up to in a week?”

“Two,” he states through a mumbles. “But I’m cutting back!”

The giggles dissipate and you warn Calum that you’ll have to put him in your back pocket while you check out. It’s not a bad haul and you’re glad for it. You’re trying to keep the weekly grocery spending low, since the rent’s a little high at your place. With all your groceries bagged, you find your reusable bag and then head for the bus stop. Though it’ll take it a little far out of the way, it beats hauling your groceries up two hills and reduces it to one. 

The morning’s growing warmer and Calum can see the beads of sweat as you walk down to the stop. He knows he ought to get up too. He should think about getting grocery, and washing the bedsheets, and scrub the bathroom. He doesn’t want to. He wants to wrap his arms around you and bury his nose in your neck and inhale the smell of your shampoo and body wash. 

Once you’re safe into your apartment grocery sitting on the counter, you say your goodbyes. It’s in Calum’s eyes. The way the tears don’t fully form but they do glaze over his eyes and you know. It’s going to be a hard day. And if it weren’t for the 200 pages you had to read between your classes, you would’ve stayed longer on the call. You almost ask if he wants to stay on as you read. It almost crosses your lips. 

But Calum sighs. “Guess I gotta let you go, but we’ll talk throughout the day?”

You don’t know if he’s got a busy day or not. It’s Friday and while it’s your easy day, Calum might be buried in some work. So you nod. “Of course.”

The groceries are easy to put up. You settle down for the first half the reading, pen and highlighter at the ready. Calum drops the phone into the sheets and turns onto his stomach, face buried in the pillows. The day will be long if he stays like this. But he can afford himself a little misery, a little grace so that he can sigh about how much he misses you but eventually get his own ass into gear. 

Between the grocery, scrubbing the bathroom, three loads of laundry, Calum doesn’t even realize more than half the day is gone and there’s nothing much else to do. But that ache of saying goodbye to you finally comes back and he took today off from the studio. Which might’ve been a mistake. But it’s too late now, so Calum walks into his own office and picks up his acoustic guitar. 

He was only going to send it to you. But he didn’t want to inundate you with the same old sad sentiments. And sure, this one was a little different, him strumming as his voice is just above a whisper, to let himself finally release the yearning. But still, he didn’t want to bother you. The texts were less consistent than normal but he also understood when you had reading days you were focused on nothing else but the readings. 

Your phone buzzes an alert to let you know about an email. You check it, not sure if it was a student making an appointment for tutoring, but it’s just from the school’s bookstore. “Fucking, now I have anxiety about my email,” you chuckle to yourself. 

Then your fingers wonder, you exit the mail app and tap onto instagram. Right in the bubbles up top is Calum’s icon. You tap onto it and see, or hardly see the  lamps illuminating him. And it’s dark back at home much like it is where you are. His voice is soft as he croons, his cry out for a return. The semester is halfway done and you know even though you’re going to be soon buried in work for midterms, though mostly for the tutoring and teaching and less of midterms for you, you text Calum. 

Gonna be home soon. Just for the weekend. I’ll book a train ticket.

Almost immediately after sending the text, your phone buzzes with a phone call from Calum. “I can come to you,” he rushes out. 

“Well, it’s not home.”

“Home’s not a building, not a place,” Calum whispers. “And I know some people are going to say it’s not smart to find home in other people. But it’s too late for me. You make me feel at home.”

“Literally, I’m crying into my books,” you return, wiping your cheeks. 

“What time are you free on Thursdays? After 6 is good, right?”

You nod, “Yeah, after 6 I’m free.”

“I’ll see you then. We can try that Indian place you pass on the way to class. And I’ll be there to remind you to drink water when you’re grading.”

A soft exhalation of laughter escapes you. “I definitely need that. See you Thursday.”

[fangirlingincamouflage]

Blind Hope: Chapter 7

Title: Blind Hope Author: Rosie Dayze Word Count: 1,232 Pairing: Nick Jakoby x Reader Chapter Rating: PG-13 Themes: Angst, Plot, affectionate frustration Disclaimer I do not own Nick Jakoby, he is the intellectual property of Netflix Originals, I make no money from this fanfiction. Dedication: @14readwritedraw96 and @thezucchini​ (For being so wonderfully enthusiastic) TW/CW Descriptions of pain, long term hospital stay

Previous chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 <~ You are Here

You are standing in the middle of the pasta isle at the grocery store when your cell phone goes off. It's that distinctive ping of an unknown number texting you. You sigh, roll your eyes, and wonder what is the easiest possible thing that you can make for dinner that night. In the past six days your workload has tripled. June and Em are on a much needed vacation and Nick is still unconscious at the hospital.

You know that because you called right before you left to go grocery shopping. You also called first thing this morning, and last night, and the morning before, and the night before that. You have called the hospital at least twice a day for the past thirty-seven days. You got the exact same information.

“Officer Jakoby is still in an induced coma, and he is not ready to be seen by friends or family.”

It was maddening.

Your phone goes off again and you set a jar of premade sauce back on the shelf. Your stomach isn't feeling red sauce. It isn't feeling pasta. Or oranges. Or any one of a thousand other things you were totally down for eating. You hadn't been hungry since the night part of LA went up in magical flames. Since Nick had been hospitalized.

With a sigh you eased into the snack isle. Is a bag of chips an acceptable replacement for dinner? Probably not, but you've had take out for the past two weeks and absolutely none of it has filled the steady, continuing ache in your heart.

Your phone goes off again.

“What?” you snarl loud enough to make the old lady with a basket full of frozen dinners blink with bewilderment. “Sorry. Not you.”

You pull your phone out and waive it at her. She doesn't look convinced, and doubles her speed to get into the next isle.

With a few swipes you bring up your new messages.

“This is Jessica, the Head Nurse at the Intensive Care Unit at the UCLA Medical Center.” The first message reads.

Your heard pounds so hard in your chest that your vision goes a little hazy. You grip your phone tightly enough to make the screen rainbow with protest.

“Nick Jakoby has achieved a state of continuing consciousness. One of my nurses made the mistake of telling him that you had stopped by.”

That hazy feeling turns to ash. You had wanted to see him yourself, to let him know what had gone on, and why you hadn't talked to him in six, not seven, months.  He must be angry, furious.

The third message is brief, and comes across as a little mad. “In order to keep him in bed, I promised him you would come see him tonight. Do not make me a liar.”

You desert your cart, and take the shortest possible trip to the hospital that you have ever taken. Which is impressive, considering all the times you driven up there in the past month, just in case something had happened between your morning and evening check-ins.

You don't stop at the front desk, you know where you are going. The elevator doors close as you turn the corner, and the wait for the next ones seems like an eternity. The moment the doors whoosh open, you surge inside hitting the buttons for the ICU floor. You don't even wait. You ht the close-door button and watch your reflection stare back at you as the lift starts to rise.

What are you going to say? Should you have gotten balloons? Flowers? A stuffed animal? Would he even be allowed those things? Did he want them from you? Did he want to see you to make up or to have a final talk? In the twenty-eight seconds that it takes to get to your floor, your mind plays out you greatest hopes and worst fears in a strange, overlapping loop that leaves you feeling a little lightheaded.

Though maybe that has something to do with the fact that you haven't eaten well in a month.

Your clothes don't fit right, you think as you tug at the fabric. You should have gone home to change. You were wearing your comfy clothes to go shopping. The fabric weird. Then you realize its not the fabric, its your own skin. You are so nervous that your skin feels like an electric current is running through it. With a huff you roll your shoulders, trying to settle your nerves. It doesn't help.

The doors slide open and as fast as you got into the elevator, you hesitate to get out. This could go wrong. What if his mother is there? His partner? What about Johnassen, the jerk who broke his phone so long ago?

It doesn't matter you tell yourself as you take that first step off the elevator. All that matters is he's awake. You'll be able to see him with your own eyes.

A stern looking woman with stark gray curls looks up from a desk as you approach. She tilts her head and inspects you.

“For Jakoby?” she asks like she already knows the answer. “Follow me.”

Your heart is in your ears as you follow in the steps of her worn out shoes. She swipes her badge, taking you through a set of secure double doors. The sounds of the hospital change. The ICU is bereft of human noises, but it isn't quiet. You can hear televisions on a half a dozen channels turned down low, doing what they could to preoccupy patients who were in layers of pain. The sound of breathing machines hiss and whirl. A man in green scrubs wheels supplies down the hall. There's no happy, warm chatter. Just a strange sense of desolation and pain.

You do not like it here, and you can't imagine Nick here. Nick, with his warm laugh and kindness. Nick who kisses you like the universe exists in your lips. You want to scoop him up and take him away.

The nurse stops outside of a door at the end of the hall.

“They are quarantined behind a see through partition,” she tells you in the kind of no-nonsense voice that must come from years in her work. “Do not attempt to breech this partition.”

She holds out a long medical gown. Confused, you shoved your arms into the sleeves. She spins you, and starts to tie it up, and then she puts another one on your back, spinning you again so she can tie it in the front. She hands you a cap, and a mask, and you put them both on as she helps your feet into medical grade booties.

“How dangerous is it?” You ask as she holds up a pair of gloves to slip on your hands.

“Unknown,” she tucks the end of the gloves over the wristband of the double set of gowns. “But you saw the news, you know where they were. Better safe than sorry.”

She types a number into the key pad. “You get ten minutes. No more, no less. I'm not being mean, but we need to minimize any chance of exposure.”

You nod your understanding. Ten minutes isn't much time, but you'll make the most of it.

“There are armed men in there,” she finally says. “Don't do anything to make them think you are a threat.”

It's the last bit of advice she gives you before the pad turns green and the door is opened.

The room is long, white, and empty save for what looks like a box made out of hanging plastic. Only a few of the lights are on, casting half the room in evening darkness. There are several beds, but only one of them is occupied. The long, lean body of a black male is visible beneath the harsh lighting. Three other people stand guard, dressed from head to toe, AR-15 clutched in their hands. The door closes behind you.

For a moment you stand there, frozen and unsure. A little, ugly thought makes you wonder if this is some weird trick. Then you hear your name.

Your eyes are drown to the shape of a man sitting in a chair. You hadn't noticed him at first because the dark lines of his body blend a little too easily with the pseudo darkness on that side of the room. But now that you've seen him, you can't pull your gaze away.

Nick. You'd know the shape of him anywhere. The broad, strong line of his shoulders stands guardian against the pitch black behind him. There's a blanket across his legs, and an IV in his arm.

“It's you,” he says softly, disbelieving.

“Nick.” You take one step, and then another, and before you know it your legs are carrying you across the room. You almost forget the plastic. When you foot hits it, you're startled. The guards watch you with cold glares. “Sorry.”

And once you start saying it, you can't stop. Over and over again you apologize. You don't realize you are crying until you taste the hot salt of your own tears. You are sorry you didn't call him. You are sorry you left. You are sorry you didn't answer him back. You are sorry for everything you ever did in the last six months because none of those things was going to him. You sink to your knees at the edge of the partition, the tears making it impossible to speak.

He says your name again, so soft you wonder if you dreamed it. You look up, and he's shaking his head.

“Please, don't cry.”

Slowly, unsteadily, he gets up. He doesn't look at you as he pulls the chair from one side of the plastic sheet box to the other. Right in front of you, he plops the chair down, and then lowers himself into it. His staccato motions belie how hurt he must still be.

The pair of you are silent as you look one another over. You see the bruises beneath his woad blue spots; purple and yellow and, in some places, black. You see the stitches in his arm, the thick swelling of his hands. The skin around his cheeks is slack with the lack of food he's gotten in the past month. But his eyes, those gorgeous eyes that are yellow and red and orange all at once, they are filled with pain that has nothing to do with being thrown half a football field by a magical explosion.

“You're here,” he says, his voice soft. “I thought-” He stop short, shrugging, and then wincing.

“I know,” you tell him. While you aren't sure of the exact words he must have thought, you know that it couldn't have been good.

“Why?” he asks.

You open your mouth to tell him, but the words wont come. You remember Elizabeth, his mother, and the way she had looked at you. You could tell him everything, but what good would that do? He might get angry at his mother, it might cause some kind of rift between them and how many people did Nick really have who cared that much for his safety? Not nearly enough, you think as you take in injuries you hadn't noticed before.

Instead you shrug. You can't bring yourself to lie, but you can't bring yourself to tell him the truth either, no matter how much it's burned inside of you. You turn the words that she said over in your mind, pulling an answer from them without revealing their source.

“You got hurt because you were with me.” Your voice cracks as you say it.

His eyes close and his shoulders sag. His body leans forward. You think he's about to slide out of the chair. The pair of you kneel on the floor, staring at one another. Emotions that you don't think have ever been named whirl through you. You want to touch him, you want to hold him, you want to vanish together into the night.

“No,” he said shaking his head. “No. You were just the excuse. When they saw me-” he cuts off, coughs, and shakes. “They'd already decided what they were going to do.”

He looks away. You can tell that there's more to say, that he's struggling. Rather than push you give him a moment. He deserves that at the very least.

“It wont happen again,” he says.

“Why not?”

He opens his palm, I can't see anything there, but he must because he's staring down at it like it's something special.

“I can't talk about a lot that happened that night,” he says. “I want to, I want to tell you everything but...I can't.”

You shake your head. “I just need to know you are safe.”

“I think I am. I mean-I gotta tell you, it was not a normal night. I was...I was blooded.”

Your eyes go wide. You can't help but stare at his lips. He smirks.

“It'll take a while for the tusks to grow. But I don't need to file them anymore.”

You sit back on your heels. “Are you okay with that?”

He shrugs. “I guess that depends.”

“On what?” you ask.

He takes a deep breath and looks at you. It's a long look, a scared and hopeful one. It's like he's weighing a thousand dreams as he watches you and all you can do is wait.

“I thought I was getting over you,” he finally says. “It'd been months. Long months. Really, really long months. My mom even set me up on a couple dates with some unblooded girls from other states.”

Your stomach twists.

“Yeah?” you say, hoping that he's not about to tell you that he has moved on and this whole thing was about him saying goodbye.

“They were nice, but they...they didn't understand me. They didn't like what I do. They didn't like my jokes and they all thought Alaska is stupid.” The two of you laugh and it feels so good. He shifts his position until the two of you are nearly the same height. “I wasn't falling for someone else but I was pretending really hard like I was getting over you.”

You nod, you know what he means. You'd been going through all the motions, acting like you were moving forward when all you were doing was playing the role and hoping.

“I was going to come see you,” he said. “As soon as my shift was over that night. I was going to go right to your apartment. Everyone said I shouldn't because I'd just get hurt, but I thought that it would be worth it. I just..”

Slowly he reached into the blanket still twisted around his legs. His thick, injured fingers shook with pain as he pushed the fabric around.

“Where-hold on-it's here, I swear.”

Your heart, which has already gone through far too much, pounds all over again. Your mouth goes dry.

“Nick...”

“I almost died you know,” he says as he lifts a corner, continues to look. There's a little wetness on his brow, and you wonder if it's fear, nerves, or pain that's put it there. “And not just once. I almost died like four times.”

One of the guards cleared their throats.

“I know,” Nick said, holding up his free hand. “I know. I can't tell her anything. But you only have to look at me to see that it happened.” He went still, and bowed his head. “I did die.”

It's not even a whisper, there's no sound. It's a breath of words that you are sure the guards couldn't hear. You pounding heart turns to ice in your chest.

“What?”

But he doesn't say it again. Instead he looks up at you and his eyes are bright with a hundred emotions. “And all I could think about, was you.”

He holds out his hand. Nested there is a black velvet box. Carefully, he opens it, revealing a ring. It's made of two metals, platinum and rose gold, twisted around one another to form a very simple braid, and right there at the center is a stone in the exact same shade of blue as his spots.

“All  I thought about every day has been you,” he is saying when your ears start to work again. “And I don't want to ever have to worry again.”

You swallow twice before you can speak. “Are you proposing?”

You aren't sure if he's blushing, but his ears twitch. “Only if you're saying yes.”

“You have to ask,” you say. “You have to...ask.”

“Is it a spell? A human thing?” he says.

You shrug, because it kind of is, but mostly you just need to time to stop your thoughts from making such a commotion in your head. There are a hundred ways this could go wrong, a thousand even, but even so-

He says your name and you find that he's shifted yet again, down on one knee in front of you. “Will you marry me?”

[atlafan]

Take it Slow - Part Fifty

/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry.

Warnings: Smut and Fluff.

Masterpost (all previous parts can be found in the masterpost)

Wednesday after work you and Harry started packing up some things from the bedroom. You had clothes you knew could be packed away. He got under the bed to grab some boxes you had stored under there. You were grabbing more boxes from the living room when he opened a small box up. He herd some things rattling around. His eyes went wide and his cheeks flushed when he opened it. You stop short when you come back into the room.

“When was the last time you used these?” He places the box on the bed.

“I have no idea!” Your cheeks were red with embarrassment. “Put the lid back on!” He grabs one of the items and holds it up.

“I mean, this thing is fuckin’ huge.” He starts laughing.

“It was a gag gift! Please put it down.”

“But it’s been used, yeah?”

“I tried it out once, put it back.” He puts it back in the box and picks up a much smaller item.

“And what about this?”

“It’s a fucking vibrator.”

“I know what it is, you don’t use this?”

“Obviously not! I stopped using them a long time ago. After everything happened I only felt comfortable doing that with my own hand.”

“So you don’t want me to use either of these on you. That dildo is probably the same size as me, you know?”

“Harry, please stop, throw them out for all I care, I don’t need them.” You swallow hard. “Wouldn’t that be weird anyways?”

“What?”

“Using either of those on me?”

“Nah, it’s kinda hot actually.” He smirks. A scowl grows on your face. “Sorry.” He drops the vibrator back in the box. “Surprised you don’t keep this in the bedside table. That’s where your lube is.”

“Oh my god, this is so embarrassing!” You snatch the box and cover it.

“Don’t throw ‘em away might need ‘em when I’m in Florida.” He laughs.

“As if these things could make me feel half as good as you do.” You didn’t want to inflate his ego, so you retract. “Better yet, they actually could. In fact, maybe I will use them while you’re gone. I could replace you completely, we’d never have to have sex again, would we? I could just make myself come over and over.” You pack the box away inside a larger box.

“Very funny. If ya do that while I��m gone feel free to send me a video or somethin’, love to hear ya moanin’.” He kisses you on the cheek. “Better yet, we could just FaceTime while you’re doin’ it, you know, as a treat.”

“Not in a million years would I do that.”

“Same thing as phone sex, love.” He pulls some of his clothes out of the closet and puts them into a dress bag.

“What you’re talking about is straight up porn. I’m not recording myself using a vibrator.”

“Too bad, it’d be nice to have that in my pocket at the ready.” He winks at you and you roll your eyes. “So you really don’t use those?”

“No, I forgot they were even there to be honest.”

“Who got you the dildo?”

“Ummm, in college sex toy parties were like really popular. I’d never bought anything, they were just fun to go to. You could free samples and stuff. I think Kate got that for me actually.” You smirk. “I saw it and I was like who needs something like that? So she bought it for me as a joke. You’ll notice it had a couple of extra parts.”

“Yeah, for your bum.”

“Yeah.” You blush. He sits down on the bed and starts laughing. “What?”

“Please tell me you’ve used that to its fullest.”

“I got drunk one night and gave it a whirl yeah.”

“Did you like the way it felt?”

“It was weird, I don’t know. It was sort of like a tickle.” You shrug. “I used the vibrator much more than the dildo.”

“Why?”

“Vibrator is easier to clean up after.”

“Didn’t you want somethin’ inside?”

“I just used my fingers.” He takes a second to imagine you just fucking yourself out and it makes him smile. You swat a hand at him. “Stop thinking about it.”

“S’not what I was doin’.”

“Sure.” You smirk. “You’d really want to use it on me?”

“I don’t know, I think I’d get jealous of anythin’ else makin’ ya moan actually.” He laughs.

“Definitely going to use it then.” You kiss him on the cheek and go back to pulling things out of the closet. “Jesus, why do I have so many clothes?!” You groan.

“You really don’t know why?” He chuckles, pulling more of his clothes out. “You buy a new outfit every time you have an event to go to.”

“I rewear a lot of my clothes.”  

“Babe.”

“I’m allowed to buy new things.” You pout.

“True, but you could donate the things you don’t wear anymore.”

“But I wear all of this stuff. And some of it is nostalgic.” You pull out a lace, pink dress. “This is my favorite dress to wear in the spring. I’ve had it for years. I’m keeping it until it doesn’t fit. And my Nannie bought me this sweater, gotta keep that.”

“Didn’t say ya had to decide now.” He gets back under the bed to pull out another box.

“Careful with that!” He opens it after setting it on the bed.

“Oh, your blankies.”

You grab the one on top and just rub it against your cheek, closing your eyes for a second. You sigh and set it back closing the box. Harry gives you a funny look.

“They, um, still smell like the detergent my Papa used to use. Sorry, that was weird.”

“S’okay. It was cute. How long did you sleep with them for.”

“Way too long.” You giggle. “Brought them to college with me. I only put them away because they started falling apart and I didn’t want them getting worse. I’d be devastated if something ever happened to them.”

“I can load up my car tomorrow mornin’ and bring a bunch of these boxes over. Can’t believe we’re almost fully moved.”

“I know! When did you want to take care of your desk and everything?”

“Maybe Friday? Niall could come over and help again.”

“That works.”

“Where we goin’ Saturday night by the way?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would actually, do I need to leave a suit out?”

“Oh.” You giggle. “Yeah, leave a suit for yourself. We’re going somewhere nice.”

“I’m excited to have a fancy evenin’ with ya, feels like it’s been a while since we went on, like, a date.”

“Every day with you feels like a romantic date, babe.”

“Stop it.” He tackles you to the bed and you both giggle.

//

You and Harry had brought over a lot of stuff to the new place. Friday after work him and Niall brought his desk and sofa over. Your brother would help with your bed next weekend. You couldn’t believe how bare your place had gotten. It was bittersweet.

Saturday morning you decided to make breakfast in bed for Harry. You made him avocado toast, one of his favorites. You had gotten him his favorite coffee. You came in with it and he sat up with a smile.

“Was wonderin’ where ya went.”

“Made you breakfast babe.” You place the tray over his lap.

“Birthday’s not til tomorrow, love.” He gives you a kiss on the cheek as you get back in next to him.

“I know, but it’s your birthday weekend, so I wanted to pamper you today. Besides, we’re doing super bowl stuff tomorrow at Niall’s, remember?”

“Oh right. You makin’ that buffalo cauliflower dip?”

“You know it!”

“Mm, this avocado is perfect, thank you.” He finishes eating and sets the tray on his bedside table. He takes a sip of the coffee and smiles. “Bought the good stuff I see.”

“Only the best for my baby.”

He chuckles and grabs his phone to check any notifications he may have. You get under the blanket and shuffle between his legs. You tug his boxers down slightly.

“What are you doin’ under there?”

“Nothing, carry on with your phone and coffee.” He chuckles but does as you say. He was still trying to wake up.

You tug his hardening dick out of his boxers. You give his tip a light kiss while you cup his balls.

“Oi!” He sets his coffee and phone down, and lifts the blanket up to look at you.

“Birthday blowjob.” You smile. A large grin grows on his face. “May I?”

“Please, proceed.”

He rubs your head as you kiss his tip again. You run your thumb over his slit and pump him a few times. His breath hitches and he tugs on your hair slightly. He’ll never make the mistake of tugging too hard on you again though. He never wants to know the pain of you chomping down on him again. You start by suckling on just the tip while you pump his base. He spreads his thighs farther apart for you and you take a little more of him into your mouth. You were going to take your time this morning. It was more about making him feel really good all over than it was about just getting him to come.

His hips move up slightly, signaling that he wants you to take more. You happily oblige, taking as much as you can. You start to bob up and down slowly, spit and precome seeping down to your chin. Harry’s head and eyes roll back.

“Fuck, feels so good.” He moans.

He feels you groan against him, and looks down as you bob faster. You look up at him, and the eye contact alone was enough to make him nut. The way you looked up at him through your eyelashes was so innocent.

“Jesus, fuck.”

You smirk and close your eyes. You hollow your cheeks and go down on him farther, his tip hitting the back of your throat. You gag slightly, only for a moment, but you continue. Your eyes were starting to water and you could barely breathe, but you didn’t care. You feel one of his hands rake through your hair. He clutches the blanket with his other hand. You were so good at this. In a brief moment of jealousy his mind wanders to how many men you may have practiced on. And in a brief moment of arousal he wondered if you ever practiced on a dildo.

“Shit, shit, Y/N, I’m gonna come.”

You brace yourself. A moment later his hot come splurts into your mouth. It shoots out faster than you were expecting, and you start to choke. You pull off him quickly and try to keep as much of it in your mouth as you can. You turn from him to catch your breath as you sit up. You swallow what you can and wipe the corners of your mouth and chin with your shirt.

“Sorry.” You say out of breath.

“Was a great blow job, love. Thank you.” He pulls his boxers all the way off. “Now then, let me get into that tight cunt of yours.”

“Harry!” You squeal as he rips your shirt off, and pins you to the mattress. He reaches between your legs.

“Got this wet from suckin’ me off?” He says into your ear, nibbling at the lobe.

“You’re so sexy, of course I got turned on.” You feel him smile against your neck.

You spread your legs apart for him, and wrap your hand back around his dick. You pump him to get him hard again. He winces at first, just from the sensitivity, but he relaxes into your touch. Once he’s good to go he presses into you. You let out a moan from the back of your throat, loving the way he stretches you out.

“Best feeling in the world.” You grip his shoulders.

“Feel the same way.” He kisses you, practically shoving his tongue down your throat.

//

You spent most of the morning and early afternoon in bed having sex in various ways. He went down on you a couple time, and fingered you a few times, and came in you twice. His stamina was impressive. Who knew birthday weekend sex could be so great?

“I need to shower and attempt to walk, I don’t want to look stupid tonight.” You giggle. He was playing with your boobs as he laid on your chest.

“Let me just suck on these some more.” He shifts and takes one of your nipples into his mouth and you wince.

“Babe, I’m so tender.” You grip his hair to pull him off.

“I have a question.”

“I’m sure I’ll have an answer.”

“When you get pregnant, will you have to take these out? I can’t imagine you can leave these in to breastfeed. Do you think you’ll even want to breastfeed? Oh, and what about your naval? Don’t you have to take that out when you’re pregnant?” You found it interesting that he said when and not if.

“Um, they make pregnancy piercings for your belly button.” You nearly want to gag at the thought of your belly button stretching when being pregnant. Not something they really tell you in school. “As for the nipple piercings, I have no idea. I’d probably have to take them out. I’d probably just pump and let the baby drink from the bottle. I don’t know how much milk I’ll be able to produce, those are all things you figure out after the baby comes.”

“Hm, interesting.”

“What made you think of that?”

“Just popped into my head while twistin’ it with me teeth.” He moves to kiss it again. “I quite like them, I’ve never dated a girl with pierced nipples before.”

“Really? That’s surprising.”

“You’re pretty surprisin’.” You kiss the top of his head.

“Alright, let me get up, hm? I need to wash my hair and all that.”

“But we’re having such a nice cuddle.” He whines.

“You can come shower with me. I’ll wash your hair how you like.”

“Deal.”

You get up from the bed, but your legs feel like jello and you inevitably lose your balance, toppling to the floor.

“Babe!” Harry jumps off the bed to help you up. He starts chuckling. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just lost my balance, I’m good.” You smile and shuffle into the bathroom.

You take your shower together, and Harry makes a small lunch for the both of you so you can dry your hair. You throw some curls into your hair and brush them out. You put your robe on and meet him in the kitchen.

“Whatcha make?”

“Leftover soup.”

“Mmm, perfect.” You both sit at the island and eat.

“Crazy how barren it is in here.”

“I know. I can’t wait to get into our new place, what a lucky find.”

“Your hair looks nice by the way.”

“Thank you sweetie.”

“Where are we goin’ tonight?”

“You’ll find out when we get there.”

“You’ll need to tell me where to go.”

“Harry, I’ll be driving us. In fact, I may even blindfold you.” You get up and clean both of your bowls.

“We could try that out now.” He smirks. You turn to look at him.

“Think we need to cool it for a bit, I’m a little sore.”

“Is your mouth sore?” Your jaw drops. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“You want me to suck your dick blindfolded?”

“No, I want you to blindfold me while you suck my dick.”

“Race you!”

You both run to the bedroom. Harry sits up against the headboard while you grab a scarf to wrap around his head. You tug his boxers off, he was already hard.

“So what does this do for you exactly?”

“It sort of heightens the senses.”

“Lay all the way down, flat.”

He shifts and you get between his legs. You think for a second before you touch him.

“Oh wait! I have something kind of fun.”

“Only saw two things for you in that box of yours.”

“Oh shut up, I’m not talking about a toy.” You go over to your bed side table drawer and dig through it. “Ah ha! Knew I still had some.”

“Some what?”

“Flavored lube.”

“What flavor is it?”

“Cherry-vanilla. It tastes really good.” You dab a little on your finger. “Open your mouth.” He sticks his tongue out and sucks your finger in.

“Wow, that does taste good. Bet it would taste better on your-“

“I’m doing you, now be quiet.” You get back between his legs. “This is going to be cold at first, sorry.”

You squirt the lube right onto his dick, he shutters at first, but your hand starts to work up and down his shaft, your thumb rubbing over his slit. He takes a deep breath as he feels goosebumps raise all over his body. He wanted to see your small hand wrapped around him, but he also liked being blindfolded. He could picture anything. Right now, you both were on a sandy, private beach. You had a loose, string bikini on, and he was butt-ass naked on a large towel.

You start suckling on his tip and you moan at how good the lube tastes. You take more of him into your mouth and suck on him harder. Harry grips the sheets, careful not to grab at your hair because he knew you had just done it. His toes curl slightly when he hears you moan again. He thrusts up, hitting the back of your throat. Your hands grip his hips, and your nails dig into his skin.

“Takin’ me so well, angel.”

You look up at him. His mouth was parted and his chest was moving up and down rapidly. He looked so sexy. His chest was laced with sweat and he was white knuckling the sheets. His tip continued to hit the back of your throat but you didn’t care. Your tongue was too busy lapping around him.

“Shit, Y/N.” He groans. You don’t let up, you bob up and down on him with a quicker pace. “Baby, feels so good.”

He was starting to pant, you weren’t sure if he was ever like this before. Maybe being blindfolded really did heighten the senses. He sucks in a large breath as he comes into your mouth. You swallow all of it, and sit back on your heels. He lays there for a moment trying to catch his breath. He slowly removes the scarf from around his head and looks at you.

“That was incredible.” You both start laughing. “Let me get some of that on you.”

“Nope.”

“What do you mean nope, it’s my birthday weekend, let me do what I want.”

“Don’t want you to spoil your dinner.” You wink at him and get off the bed. “I certainly feel full.” You sit down at your desk and open your laptop. “Just need to finish up some homework babe.”

“Sure thing, might close my eyes for a bit.”

A couple of hours later Harry is woken up by the beautiful sound of your voice. You were already dressed. You had a tight black dress on, with a sweetheart neckline. You had Harry’s rose ring around your neck how you both liked. Your make up was done up as well. You did it similar to how it was at your work party.

“Wow.” He said cupping your cheek.

“Wanted to let you sleep as long as possible.”

“You look so beautiful.”

“Thank you sweetie.”

Harry gets up and puts his suit on. He looked so handsome, as always. You grab your purse and put your long jacket on. He sees you slip on black heels.

“Won’t your feet be cold, love?”

“We won’t be out for very long, it’s fine.” You smile at him and take his hand.

Harry half expected you to bring him to Niall’s for a surprise party, or a large bar, but he was genuinely surprised when you pulled up to the tapas place you went to on your first date. You hadn’t been back since. His heart was going to explode.

“We went here on our first date.”

“Mhm.” You smile big at him. “I know how much you like it here. We haven’t been since we met.”

When you get out of the car you run around and open his door for him, you both giggle. You give the hostess your name, and she shows you to your table just a couple minutes later.

“Do you remember what we ate that night?” You ask him.

“We had flatbread.” He smiles.

“Mhm, and you picked half the goat cheese off.” He puts his hand over yours and gives it a squeeze.

“The perfect date, wasn’t it?”

“I thought about you all night when I get home. When you texted me that night I had such butterflies.”

“Did you have a good feeling about me?”

“I did. I knew Niall wouldn’t set me up with a jerk. Of course, I didn’t imagine this all going so well.” You take a sip of water. “I honestly didn’t think I deserved someone as wonderful as you. I mean, you waited patiently for me for four months.”

“I waited for you longer than that, m’whole life actually.”

Before you can say anything a waiter comes over. You each order drinks and some plates to share. Another waiter comes over with your drinks, and you clink them.

“Happy almost twenty-sixth birthday, Harry.”

“Thanks babe.” You each take a sip of your drink. “This is so great, just a simple dinner with my girl.”

“I love being your girl.” You coo.

The food is delicious. The two of you reminisce more about the earlier days of your relationship. Many laughs were shared. You grip your bag and put it in your lap. The check comes and you put your credit card down.

“This is the only time I’m not gonna put up a fight about you payin’.”

“Good.”

You reach for something else in your bag, but you decide against it. You wanted to give Harry his present in private, maybe in the car. You could give him his card here though.

“Here.” You hand him the card. He smiles big as he takes it from you. You see his eyes start to water.

“That was lovely thank you. I love you too.”

“I was thinking we could go somewhere else for dessert, maybe grab another drink?”

“Sure, I’m up for that.”

“Great!”

You both leave and get back in your car. You rummage through your bag and you grip your gift for him.

“I wanna give you your present now, would that be alright?”

“You mean the incredible sex all day and dinner wasn’t it?”

“No, you goober.” You both laugh. “When we were in London, and we went to that jewelry store, you mentioned how you used to wear pearls, and how you had to sell your favorite necklace.” You pull out a box and he gasps.

“You didn’t.”

“I looked up the store online and they had an online shop available. I asked Niall to show me an older picture of you wearing the necklace. It’s not an exact replica, but it’s close.” You hand the box to him.

He looks at you then down to the box. He opens it slowly, and he smiles. Tears prick at his eyes. He holds up the pearl necklace, and looks at you.

“Would you, um, put it on me?”

“Of course.”

He turns slightly in the seat so you can clasp it for him. He adjusts it under his collar and looks in the mirror of the visor.

“It’s perfect, it’s better than perfect.” A few tears slip down his cheeks. “Thank you so much. This is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.” He cups your cheeks in his hands and brings you in for a passionate, deep kiss. “I love you so much.” He kisses you again.

“I love you too, Harry.” You kiss him back just as deeply. “It looks so nice on you.” You twist it gently in between your fingers.

“M’never takin’ it off.” He kisses you again. “Alright, enough of the blubberin’, where are we goin’ for dessert?”

“A bar not too far from here.”

You put the car in drive and head for it. You and Harry had never been here before. He kept an arm around your waist as you walked in. His jaw immediately dropped.

“SURPRISE!”

[softbiker]

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: mentions of character death, cursing, haunting, spooky stuff, angst

Word count: 7.1k

Summary: Steve Rogers is a man out of time. He knows more ghosts than people. One of his ghosts has come home. 

A/N: This is waaaay longer than I normally write, but I just wanted to do it justice. This is my submission for @barnesrogersvstheworld​ AYAOTD writing challenge! Sort of an Endgame AU, also features an appearance from a rather obscure Marvel comics character. The prompt I had was “Don’t look behind you.” - it’s highlighted in bold. This is also really sad. I’m sorry for that...but please let me know what you think! 

His tastes have changed.

Most people wouldn’t have known that - wouldn’t have seen anything abnormal about a 100+ year old man reaching for minute oatmeal and Folgers at the grocery store. There had been a few articles, before, in health or men’s interest magazines, about the ‘Super Soldier Diet’. They were much more colorful than this - full of sugary cereals and peanut butter and seasonal frappuccinos. The articles always ended with reminders that a normal human should reach for more nutritious foods.

Steve pulls his oats - plain, made with water, no sweetener - from the microwave, and stirs just a little. Not thick enough; he replaces the bowl and adds another 30 seconds to the microwave timer. On the counter, the Mr. Coffee drips away, slowly filling the pot.

He eats quietly, perched on a stool at the island; he never uses the table anymore. A few news highlights appear in the notifications on his phone, and he scrolls through them, eyes scanning as he spoons his tasteless breakfast into his mouth.

New York Nears Completion of Relocation Program he reads, letting his thumb swipe down to read more of the article.

“Almost three years after the globally devastating event in which Earth’s population was reduced by half, the people of New York City are finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel in their relocation efforts for residents whose homes were damaged or destroyed in the aftermath of the Decimation. The project, one of the last proposals by Tony Stark before his retirement from the Department of Damage Control, is expected to end-”

He closes his phone.

**********

There are three support group meetings that he attends each week - two as a leader, one as a participant.

“You should come, Nat.” He’s a broken record, but he just keeps spinning. Like the planet, like the solar system. If he falls out of orbit- “Just once. You might be surprised…”

“Some of us still have jobs, Steve.” She raises a still perfect eyebrow, now back to its natural red. He finds a little comfort in that.

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Maybe not. But don’t wait up for me.”

The Tuesday meeting is the hardest, though it was the first one he ever lead. It caters to a specific group, a group that looks to him because...well, because he lost what they lost. He wonders if they know, if they realize, that it’s all his fault.

“Jackie was...she was my rock, you know?” The new woman, Elsie, sniffs as she continues. “We went through a lot together, and I remember thinking all that time ‘God, what would I do without her?’ And now I know the answer - spiral and-and become an alcoholic.”

“You can’t blame yourself for all of that.” Steve shakes his head. “There was so much more going on - the world was practically in flames, and you were trying to cope. What matters is that you’re here now, trying to get better.”

Elsie is nodding, accepting a tissue from the man sitting next to her. She gives a shaky little smile and settles back in her chair, done sharing for now. Steve glances around the circle, waiting for someone else to speak up.

It was such an odd reversal for him, especially at first. When he first wandered into one of Sam’s support group meetings, he had felt out of place and alone - and that feeling was exactly why he belonged in a place like that. Sam could see it. It was one of his gifts; he was better at reading people than anyone Steve knew, except maybe Natasha. Even when Bucky came along, and Sam played the tough act, he could see all of that fear and pain, and knew exactly what to do with it. Over the years they were in hiding, Sam would secretly reach out to Bucky - during their visits in Wakanda, Steve found the two of them sitting at the lake behind Bucky’s hut and talking, low and intense.

“You know, sometimes-” It’s a man on the opposite side of the circle, dark-skinned with a greying beard. “I don’t know about all of you, but sometimes...I wonder if they can see us. If they know what we’re doing. Does that make any sense?”

He gets a few nods and murmurs from the group, so he goes on.

“I mean, after my old man died, my mom used to say he was watching over me.” He swallows thickly. “She was on her own, tucking a 9-year-old boy in at night, and telling me that Daddy could see me from heaven, that he was looking out for me. And I just think....well, I wanna know - where are they? Are they in heaven? Is that even possible?”

He turns to Steve, several of the people in the circle do. It’s always like this - whenever the sessions turn to specific questions or musings about what happened, they look to him. Because shouldn’t he know? He had lead them, he failed them, he was there when their lives went up in dust.

“Well, I don’t think I’m qualified to offer religious advice,” he starts with a rueful smile. “And, from everything I’ve seen, I don’t think we even know what’s possible. All I know is, we can’t live in the past...even if they see us, wherever they are, we have to accept that they’re really...gone.” He crossed his arms. “They’re not here with us anymore.”

The group has gone quiet, reflective. Most are staring at their hands rather than him, each lost in their own haze of memory and ashes. He wishes he could offer them more, but he knows grief like this, and Steve Rogers is honest to a fault - he won’t lie, even for the sake of comfort.

“We’re on our own now.”

**********

He goes for runs alone now.

No Bucky to keep up with him, pushing the pace and trying to trip him. No Sam to complain about his hamstrings and insist on coffee afterwards. Not even music on those weird tiny headphones she had gotten him. Just his sneakers and pavement and the sound of his own breath. Sometimes he hated that - how he never got winded anymore, never sounded hurt and tired, the way he would wheeze through his asthma attacks with Bucky holding him up and reminding him how to pull in air. The machine of his body was too efficient for that.

In his apartment, he takes short showers, cold and fast, like in the Army. The soap is blue, with a generic smell that is clean and reminds him of nothing. He turns and tilts his head back under the spray, allowing a few more seconds to rinse and-

He nearly jumps when a burst of heat runs down his back.

The water has suddenly turned hot, a steamy, balmy, sultry hot that turns his soft Irish skin pink. He had never had this problem with his showers before - never run out of cold water certainly. Maybe something was wrong with the…

When he turned around, he saw the hot water knob turning slowly clockwise, centimeter by centimeter, untouched.

He shut off the water and got out.

**********

“I’m gonna have to call a plumber sometime.”

“Oh yeah? I thought all you old guys were handymen.”

“Ha ha.” He watches Nat scoop some spaghetti into bowls for the two of them. “I was the artist type. Not really handy around the house.”

“Guess that means Barnes was wearing the pants?” She’s smirking, and he feels like he’s seeing the real Nat again, so he goes along with the joke.

“How could he not? Who’s gonna let a 90-pound asthmatic wear the pants?”

“So what’s wrong with your plumbing?” Nat peeks over the fridge door as she grabs some parmesan and a bottle of wine. Steve, under strict orders not to help, is watching from the kitchen table.

“It’s my shower, something happened the other day. The water turned hot while I was in the middle of showering, even though I had it turned cold.”

“Hm. Weird.”

Steve comes out here at least once a month, or as often as he can. He sees the way that Natasha would rather slip into her work, lose herself in the business of holding the pieces of the world together, let go of her own life. The pantry, open and visible from where he’s sitting, is stocked with the bare minimum dry goods and canned foods; the fridge isn’t much better. He’s seen her on missions, seen her at home in her mismatched socks; he knows that she’d barely feed herself, surviving on a sandwich a day, if the thought or the hunger struck her. So he comes and threatens to cook and she saves the compound from being burned down by making a meal for the two of them.

It’s a far cry from normal. From pizza nights with Sam and Wanda at the compound, the two of them taking turns introducing Steve to movies he missed - all the “classics” he hadn’t heard of. They were missing their monthly family dinners, too; Tony always made room in his schedule to attend, dragging Pepper along from the office, and Steve sat at the head of their long dining table watching this strange, funny little family he had share and eat and laugh with each other.

Now he sits across from Natasha at a table otherwise occupied by her scattered files and reports, a pair of pointe shoes laying in the chair next to her. He didn’t come often enough to expect her to clean for him. She had enough on her plate.

“You know, I was talking to Carol last week,” Nat says, twirling her pasta around her fork. “And she said she might make it to visit us next month. It’ll depend on that trafficking case she was working in the Pegasus galaxy.” She shrugs a little.

“That’s good.” Steve chews, sips his wine. “It would be nice to see her.”

They don’t talk much throughout their meal; there isn’t much new to share. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the wall of the compound, Steve watches the early sunset fall over the grounds, shadows reaching and reaching, as quiet as it was empty.

**********

Sometimes, sometimes, when he’s feeling more stupid than usual, he opens the drawer.

That drawer. The lower one in his bedside table. With her box inside.

The box isn’t really anything special - just plain black, with her name written on the top. He got it at the suggestion of the team’s - his - therapist, Dr. Rajan. She recommended that putting some things away, rather than leaving them around his room, might help him move on, realize that his life had changed. He thought about putting the compass in the box, too, but it felt wrong. She wouldn’t want that in there. Somehow it mostly ends up in his pocket, and he stares at it from time to time, at the picture inside, thinking about words like should have and what if.

He’s staring at the drawer now, remembering the night before, when he thought about getting the box after he shuffled in from support group. When he was halfway through his flask of that Asgardian shit he kept under the bed. Steve had shuffled out of his clothes and fallen asleep in his underwear instead, flask still clutched in his hand, just sober enough to turn down the bad idea.

So why was the drawer open?

**********

“Have you thought about getting back out there? Dating again?”

His laugh is humorless.

“Doc, come on. I think we both know I’m not the type.”

“All we know is that you’re a serial monogamist.” She smiles. “And a very eligible one.”

“Sure, but…” Steve pauses, rubbing his palms against his jeans. He looks around the office, trying to find something to focus on. “I feel lucky...really lucky, to have had the kind of love I got. I mean, I never really expected to have it, not after I woke up in this century. And then, with her, it just sort of happened so naturally...well, lightning never strikes twice, as the saying goes.”

“It seems like, for you at least, it did,” Dr. Rajan raises her brows. “Two great loves in one lifetime? More rare than lightning.”

He runs a hand through his hair, still long on the top.

“I-I guess so. But it won’t strike a third time.”

“Because you’re not going to give it a chance?”

“You know me too well, doc.” His smile is apologetic, kind.

**********

At night, he sweats through dreams of her. His legs tangle in sheets where they used to twist and curl around her. The pillows smell only of him, his blue generic soap, but in his mind, locked somewhere far and sweet, her scent fills the air. Fills him up until he tastes it.

He tastes her, too, in dreams; under him, around him, pressed close in that intimate haze only lovers can know. Her lips chase his and smile into his mouth, following the curve of his jaw as he tucks his own face into her neck. It’s in his veins now, her smell and taste, ripe and alive on his tongue and oh, he’s swimming in it. She sighs, blissful, and sinks her teeth into that spot at the base of his throat-

Bedsheets fly off him as he bolts upright in bed, chest heaving, the sweat rolling in little beads down his temple. The smell is fading, drifting away from the room even as he tries to hold on to it; she was here, right here, and it had all felt so real, having her in his arms again. But now he’s wading back to consciousness, unwillingly, the tide of his dream pulling away from the shore and tugging at his ankles, carrying her with it. He wants to drift out to sea on it, drown in it, never resurface in this half-empty world.

Always so dramatic, Rogers.

Something nags at the corner of his eye, and he turns to the bedside table. In the pre-dawn light of the window, he can see the second drawer open. Her box is pulled forward to the front of the drawer with its lid propped up, asking, begging to be seen. He feels himself almost chasing the tide, diving back in as he leans over the side of his bed…

He slams the drawer shut.

Steve blows a harsh breath past his lips and swings his legs out of bed, tugging the sheet from between his thighs. His bare feet brush the cold wood and he arches up on his toes, tight muscles protesting the stretch. Palms scrub at his heavy eyes, brushing away what he can of his sleep. He has no plans to go back to bed, not now. He’ll just get an early start on his run. Maybe put in a few extra miles. He runs a hand through his hair, fingernails scratching absently at his scalp.

Stumbling into the bathroom, he turns the cold water tap in the sink and splashes his face a few times, feeling the two-day stubble on his cheeks. The shave can wait until after his run, he thinks. He stands straighter and reaches for the towel next to the sink, patting his face dry - he leaves his eyes closed, buried in the cotton for a moment before meeting his own gaze in the mirror. Immediately his eyes are drawn down to - what the hell is that?

At the base of his neck, just where it meets his shoulder, is a small red mark. A love bite. He presses it with a finger and hisses at the tenderness of the skin. Unbidden, the wave of his dream crashes over him, rolling him under, and he can almost feel her lips again…

The hair on the back of his neck and arms is standing straight up, his body gone cold all over. He thinks, maybe, he should go back to bed after all. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he hears his own name. What if...what if she’s waiting for me? He almost turns around, almost looks at the rumpled bed, almost expects her to be in it, rolling over in that tangled mess and smiling past the curve of her shoulder…

He yanks on a hoodie and running pants, toeing into his sneakers without socks, and leaves the apartment unlocked. Hardly knowing it, he clocks 50 miles, the sun high overhead before he can force his legs to stop, even his enhanced muscles starting to twitch. His sweat is still cold.

**********

There’s a memorial. Lots of them, actually.

All the major cities have at least one, and New York has built theirs, unsurprisingly, in Memorial Park. It’s huge, a sprawling garden of sculpture installations covered overhead by a soft white canopy. A retaining wall, approximately 3 feet high, lines the garden beds and holds in the dark rubber mulch, its outer white brick etched with the names of the lost. Even Steve could admit that it was beautiful, and so different from the solemn obelisks and walls of names he had expected when the memorial was announced.

The city had commissioned a team of artists, led by the famous Chihuly, to create blown glass sculptures using...well, as much of the collected ashes of decimated people as they could. “Cremation glass” it was called. The concept was morbid; though symbolically beautiful, most hadn’t imagined a stunning art gallery, more suited to the Met than this mass grave of the unknown.

Steve was there when it was dedicated, as was Tony. He was asked to say a few words, and he did; he has no idea, now, what he read from those cards handed to him by the administrative team. A black suit stretched around his shoulders, no shield in sight, his tie more like a noose as he watched the somber faces of the attendees. Loved ones and friends of people he had failed. A living memorial. Tony stood next to him, year-old wedding band still shining as he crossed his hands in front of him and declined to speak.

There are a few locations he has memorized around the park, the Lost Garden, as it has been named. A blooming blue hydrangea bush, sculpted white flowers and leaves pressed between the green, with the name “James B. Barnes” carved a few inches below. Across from it, red and yellow globes hang from a white tree, the round shadows falling over “Samuel Wilson”. Two rows over, an exploding tower of tangled green and blue spirals, surrounded by bushes, guards the name “Wanda Maximoff”.

Hers is carved neatly - block letters, plain font - into the white brick near the entrance of the memorial. Above it, a cherry blossom tree blooms sweetly, the pink flowers joined by purple and pink glass stems sprouting up from the ground around the trunk of the tree. Soft green bushes hem in the sculpture, as though keeping the glass from growing too far. It’s whimsical, charming. Elegant.

He fucking hates it.

He hates how this is meant to honor her - the vibrancy of her memory, the slyness of her smile, the passion of her love, the ferocity of her anger. She was more solid and real and hard than the delicate stems of glass that stood for her now. It wasn’t even her ashes in there anyway - he knows that for certain. He knows because he felt her drift through his hands under a hot Wakandan sun. He had watched the dust float and settle and knew that all the parts of her he kissed and held were under his feet and in his mouth and Jesus God it made him want to scream.

He doesn’t know whose ashes are here, in the glass above her name. But he wants to smash it. Put a fist through it. Hear that tinkling glass shatter on the ground the way she did. It would only be right.

As he stands there, staring at the falling cherry blossoms scattered around the sculpture, he feels the air go cold around him. His whole body breaks out in goosebumps and the little hairs on the back of his neck start prickling. He shudders, looking around, but no one else is nearby. It’s a late spring day, warm and getting warmer, with the sun beaming through scattered clouds. He shouldn’t be shivering.

The wind picks up, light breeze growing stronger, and the long stalks of glass begin to vibrate. A low hum builds as the wind carves its way between the sculptures, a plaintive, lonely noise that he feels low in his belly.

Steve…

He whips his head around, looking up and down the row, but he’s alone - no one else is here. That whisper, his name, it was so close…

Steeeeve

He’s turning a full circle, looking for a microphone or a drone or something tiny like Scott’s suit.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

Stevie …

A cloud of cherry blossoms billows into his face, making him jump back. The chill sinks through his skin, slips down his spine bone by bone with each breath. His heart is hammering hard and fast. That name, that voice - it’s been three years. They’re gone. It’s not possible. He closes his eyes as he feels a presence close beside him, right at his shoulder, and he knows, he knows if he turns his head she’ll be-

“Captain Rogers? You alright?”

He jumps again, startled, and looks over to see a policeman watching him, eyes wary and concerned. The officer was young, like all of them now - mass recruiting in public services has been going on for a couple of years, with things nearly falling into chaos after...everything. The military, the police, trying to swell their numbers enough with what was left of the population to keep the world in check. Not like the Avengers were doing a very good job.

“Captain?” The young officer asks again, inching a half-step towards Steve. His hand, unconsciously, twitches towards his radio.

“I’m fine - really,” Steve shakes his head and offers a smile. “Everything’s fine. Just...remembering someone.”

The kid nods; Steve wonders if he himself ever looked so young in a uniform.

“I understand.” He’s tugging at his uniform jacket. “My, uh, parents - they’re over there.” He points at a patch of lilies, not far from Wanda. “And my brother.”

“I’m so sorry.”

That’s all he ever says these days. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Everyone pretends that it’s enough.

He walks the kid - the officer - back to his patrol car, shakes his hand; the boy has to crane his head back to look up at him, and he stares up at Steve like there’s still hope in this world. Steve doesn’t have the heart to tell him.

**********

The chill follows him into the summer. Even with the sun high and New York sweltering with heat, Steve shivers in his apartment, cold biting at him until he aches with it. He cranks the heat on his thermostat, yet still finds a harsh breeze blowing through his apartment somehow. He allows the shower faucet to continue turning hot - blistering hot, the way she liked it - now that this chill won’t let him go.

Despite that, he finds himself staying in more than ever. He was never exactly a social butterfly - Bucky could testify to that. It tumbles him into memory: Bucky, slicked-back hair and spit-shined shoes, a rose tucked into the lapel of his jacket; Bucky, chin thrown back and ready to laugh at the world, an arm around Steve’s shoulders as he drags them on yet another double date. “Ya gotta get out more, Rogers,” he’d say, cigarette tucked behind his ear. “I’m a piss-poor excuse for real company.”

The only people he sees now are Dr. Rajan and the members of his support groups. Occasionally Nat, but she’s been traveling more lately, following the crumbs of Clint’s trail. Their emails are few and far between, containing only the bare bones.

It’s a Friday night - or maybe it’s Saturday, Sunday. He sits on the edge of his bed, turning the little thing over in his hands. The compass stays in his pocket most days. He flips it open, stares at the portrait inside, the one he’s had memorized since ‘43. He could draw it with his eyes closed, probably.

Suddenly, the compass snaps shut, unbidden, in his hand. It shakes, the mechanisms inside rattling violently, and grows hot to the touch. He yelps and it falls from his palm, dropping to the floor between his feet. The skin of his hands is red, scalded, and he flexes his fingers, watching the trinket warily. It lies on the floor, perfectly still.

Behind him, he hears the second drawer of his dresser roll open.

**********

More dreams come to him, sweet ones, and he sinks into them without protest. He falls into his bed at night happily, searching for the smell of her somewhere behind his eyes. She’s always there, always smiling for him, reaching and pulling him further down into their own special hiding place. She’s there in her uniform, in her sweatpants, in his t-shirt, in nothing at all.

“C’mere, Stevie baby,” she nuzzles his nose, and he’s close to tears but he doesn’t know why. Then she’s tugging at his own clothes and he’s not thinking about it at all.

The ache in his throat returns when he wakes empty-handed and alone. Beneath his jaw, a line of hickeys leads down his neck and across his shoulder. His breath puffs in small clouds as he pants and tries not to cry.

**********

“You don’t look so good, Steve.” Nat’s tone is worried, her voice tight. She watches him stare at the wall with a cup of coffee in his massive hands. “Have you been sleeping?”

He nearly chuckles at that.

“A little too much, I think.” He goes quiet then, mouth turning back down, carved sadness in that larger-than-life face.

“I think...God, Nat,” Steve slumps forward, elbows on his knees. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

“Join the club.” She sits down next to him, sliding a soft hand across his back. Her voice is just above a whisper. “We’re all still struggling. You know that. You’ve seen it. Sometimes it feels...it feels like...you’re just holding on by a thread.”

He’s shaking his head before she finishes.

“Have you - do you dream about them? Ever?”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean…” Steve rubs his eyes. “I mean...do the dreams feel...when you wake up, does it feel like it really happened.”

Nat frowns.

“I’m not following you, Steve.”

He sighs, heavy and resigned.

“No, I know. I’m not making any sense.” He leans into her embrace a little. He likes the contact of it. Hasn’t had that in a long time.

“Listen, Nat. I know S.H.I.E.L.D. used to keep a lot of records of...enhanced individuals…”

“Sure. Everyone that pinged on their radar,” she nods. “So, pretty much anyone with abilities.”

“I need to have a look at them.”

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“Yes. But if I told you, you’d have me committed.”

“Yeah, that really makes me want to help you.” She leans her head against his shoulder, fingers squeezing his bicep. Her voice still soft and low. “Tell me what you need.”

**********

They meet in a public place. It’s not hard now, with the world half-dead, to go about their business as though they are two men with nothing to hide. A bright, hot July sun beats on their heads, and Steve adjusts his sunglasses as a bead of sweat slides down his neck. On the street, traffic grumbles along, bikers and street vendors and tourists darting between. The hard metal chair of the café presses into the soft underside of his knees, leaving little dents in his skin.

“It is nice to finally meet you, Captain,” the man across from him smiles. The white symbol on his forehead stands out starkly against his dark skin. “I understand we move in different circles.”

They’re sitting outside a small restaurant in Port-au-Prince, only coffee on the table in front of them. The heat is sweltering, oppressive, different from the New York heat that Steve knows. Part of him wishes they were near the beach, with the wind coming off the ocean. She would have begged him to go to the beach.

“That we do,” Steve raises his eyebrows. “Even with everything that’s happened, aliens, Thanos...things like magic are still...hard to believe.”

“Hm.” Jericho Drumm leans back in his chair, steeples his fingers. “I think you are here because...it’s not so hard anymore, yes?”

He grits his teeth. There are fingernail scratches on his back and they chafe against the sweaty cotton of his shirt.

“You’re a smart man, Jericho,” he sighs. “And I think you might be the only person who can help me.”

Jericho Drumm nods.

“Yes, I think so, too.”

According to the S.H.I.E.L.D. files Steve spent all his free time digging through, there were only a few enhanced individuals with supernatural abilities. And now half of them were gone. Some, like the sorcerer Tony told him about, had managed to stay under the radar for thousands of years. With precious little to go on besides an alias, Steve commandeered a quinjet and packed a bag for Haiti.

“What you are asking me...communication with the spirits…” Jericho shakes his head. “It’s not what you think. Or what it looks like in the movies.”

“Then tell me,” Steve presses, leaning his elbows on the table. His coffee is half full. He can see his reflection in the oily surface of it.

“I’ve served as a houngan for many years; I’ve served as Sorcerer Supreme. In fact, with Stephen Strange gone, they may ask me to serve again. But inviting spirits into this world is a dangerous practice - not white magic.”

“But it can be done?”

Jericho narrows his eyes. The white streak in his hair is bright in the noonday sun.

“When Thanos tore a rift in this world, in this universe,” he speaks slowly, choosing his words with careful consideration. “He tore through the other side as well. The things he’s done affect us all, the living and the dead. It is possible, the things you describe, are caused by this. A ripple effect, if you will. A door not closed.”

“A ripple.”

“Yes. However,” Drumm raises a finger, leaning forward to speak in a low voice. “I will say something else. I may have years of experience with the supernatural, but I studied psychology as well. My time in America was mostly in a university, studying the human mind, how it works…” He pauses for a moment, giving Steve a look that is on the suspicious side of apologetic. “Our minds are powerful. When a person wishes for things, even terrible things, the mind can give them what they seek.”

Steve closes his eyes, jaw tightening.

“Believe me, I know how I sound,” he sighs. “I know. My therapist says the same thing. But if anyone’s going to believe me, it’s you. This is not in my mind.” His fingers are shaking and he curls them into fists. “This is real. She’s...it’s real. It’s her.” Haunting me.

Dr. Drumm nods, sympathetic and quiet. He watches this captain, this legend, the age showing in his young man’s body. With the sunglasses propped up on his head, the dark circles beneath Steve’s puffy eyes are on full display. His shoulders curl in, posture defensive, small. His knee bounces under the table, and his jaw ticks every so often, teeth clicking in his mouth. There is a bruise visible at the base of his neck where the collar of his shirt has shifted to one side.

“Very well, Captain. I will do my best to help you.”

**********

He sits cross-legged on the tile floor of the bathroom, surveying the items in front of him. According to Dr. Drumm, he would need only a few candles, items that belonged to her, a circle of salt to protect himself. Incense, too, burning in the corner, the smell of sage and smoke floating around him. The lights are off, only the flickering candles illuminating the room.

He feels a little silly, setting all of this up. When he was a boy, vampires and werewolves and ghosts were all just stories - hiding under the covers with Bucky and scaring themselves silly. No real monsters hid under his bed. All of that came later.

Under his shirt, the amulet rests against his chest, growing warm with his own body heat.

“If you must do this alone as you insist,” Jericho had said, shaking his head. “Then wear this. Bene gris-gris. It is the best I can do to protect you from dark magic.” His steel grip closed around Steve’s arm. “And this may be a dark thing, Captain. Her coming back to you. It doesn’t feel like white magic.”

Steve had only nodded, his hand closing around the amulet. He was beyond light and dark now, beyond counting costs. He had chased ghosts for so long after he woke up. It’s only right for him to chase her, too.

Here, in the bathroom, toes pressed to cold tile, he digs two more items out of his pockets. Dr. Drumm said to bring something that would ground him to himself, something special. He turns the compass over in his hand, flicks it open, and sets it on the edge of the circle. From the other pocket, he fishes a black velvet box. His fingers twitch, feeling the soft fabric; he doesn’t want to open it. He hasn’t opened it, since he took the ring off their nightstand in Wakanda and put it back in the box. She hadn’t worn it - didn’t like wearing it on missions or in fights. Afraid of scratching it. She had wiggled it off her finger, smiling at him, leaving a kiss on his bearded jaw-

He leaves the box closed for now, and places it in the center next to the other tokens - a photo of her, a necklace with a small silver pendant she used to wear whenever they went on dinner dates, a little jar of seashells from a beach vacation she took in college. All the little things he had packed away in that nightstand drawer. Memories he had put into storage.

Safe inside his little circle, he reaches in his shirt and grabs the amulet tight in his fist. He closes his eyes. Breathes deep the incense and soft curling smoke from his candles.

He says her name softly in the dark.

In his mind, he shifts his awareness down the plane of his body, piece by piece. He learned meditation techniques during his therapy sessions; now he has another use for them. He says her name again.

“I want to speak to you.” He says, voice low, a lover’s intimacy. “I call on your spirit.”

Her name. Her name. Her name.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, curled on the floor, but the chant of her name lulls him into a trance. His eyes are half-open, the candles wavering in front of him, casting long shadows on the walls. He licks his lips, calls her name again.

One by one, the candles snuff out.

He goes quiet. Smoke curls up to his nose, but he can’t see - the only light is coming from underneath the bathroom door. That familiar chill trickles down the back of his neck, raising the hairs. His flesh is covered in goosebumps; his muscles tense up, coiled tight, ready to spring. His tongue lies dry and thick against his teeth.

“Hello?”

Steve?

He sighs her name. “Sweetheart, is that you?”

A cold breeze passes over his face, rumpling his shirt.

“Are you there?”

The compass flies up and smashes against the wall.

Steve…

Her voice is harsher. Sadder.

“Baby, please,” he’s begging now. He can feel how close she is, she’s in the room, he knows it like he knows his own body. Like he knew hers.

For the first 25 years of his life, he lived with asthma - any little trigger could set him aching for air, his lungs betraying their purpose and seizing up on him, his whole body trembling in relief when he managed to pull in oxygen. He feels that ache for her now - acute and sharp as it was the day he first lost her, a physical pain and its cure so close, so close, if she would only let him - let him breathe-

Oh, Steve.

“Honey, I’m here, I’m right here.” He stands in his little circle, spinning around, though he still sees nothing in the darkened bathroom. He feels the tip of his nose go numb in the frigid air, his body shivering slightly.

I’m here, too, Stevie.

“Where, baby? Where are you?” He’s desperate, so desperate. He’s going to cry if she doesn’t-

I’m here. Look.

He feels, thinks he feels, cold fingers brush down his cheek, and he turns. The mirror above the sink is frosted over, he can see it now that his eyes are adjusting to the pale dark, and he stumbles towards it. Pulls a sleeve down over his hand and wipes at the fog, the remains of his body heat melting it away in streaks.

“Oh...oh god.” He grips the edges of the sink.

Hi, baby.

There she is. There she is. Standing right behind him, over his shoulder. His eyes sweep over her face in the mirror, scanning the details he never forgot, not for a moment. Her lips quirk a sad little smile, tilting her head.

You don’t look so good, Rogers.

His laugh comes out as a sob, and he nods. Fingers curl tighter over the edge of the sink because it’s all that’s holding him up right now. In the reflection, he sees her take a step closer to him - feels her presence, her smell is right behind him and if he can just turn and take her in his arms then everything will be alright again…

NO DON’T!

The force of it is loud in his mind, sends him reeling forward against the sink. Her lips are trembling in a soft frown.

Don’t look behind you.

It sounds so soft. So sad. And he knows, knows in the marrow of his bones, that this is it, this is all they can have. This halfway, this inbetween, this ships in the night barely seen as they pass - it’s all he gets. All he has left.

He presses his hand to the cold glass of the mirror, tips of his fingers stroking the image of her face. His chin feels weak, jaw slack, his hip leaning against the sink. She’s crying, too, tears shining against her soft cheeks.

“Where are you? Do you know what’s happening?” He manages to ask. It’s the question, the question everyone would ask of their ghosts. She shakes her head a little.

I...I don’t really know. But I know I’m not with you.

He nods, tries to swallow around the thick lump in his throat.

Wherever I am, I’m not with you. And I miss you, Steve.

“I miss you - God, honey, I miss you so bad-” his breath hitches, and he wonders in the back of his mind if he’s going to have another asthma attack, his first in 70 years. “I-I need you, sweetheart. Jesus Christ, I miss you. I don’t know what I’m doing without you and-and-”

He’s hyperventilating, breaths stuttering in his chest. The hand that’s pressed to the mirror has gone numb with cold but he won’t move it, not if it’s the closest he comes to touching her face. He watches her come closer to him, behind him - her smell fills the room, no smoke, no incense, only her. His teeth are clattering in his mouth even as he tries to grit them together, lungs stuttering and he’s so so cold but he only half feels it; the muscles in his back jump and twitch as he feels her, really feels her, right behind him. And then-

I know, baby. I know.

Her forehead presses between his shaking shoulder blades. Icy hands creep up beneath his shirt, pressing right over his heart. Her arms lock around his ribs and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze - as if she could brand herself there. In the glass, Steve’s lips are blue and his sobbing breaths come out as little frozen clouds. The mirror is starting to frost over again; the goosebumps on his body won’t lie down. His eyes slip closed, tears chilling in their tracks on his cheeks, and he presses his hand over hers at his heart.

I’m right here.

The ache in his chest sharpens, then dulls, slow and familiar. Something he always carries. His breaths are slowing now, the trembling in his muscles calms a little. She traces a frozen circle over his heart.

I’m right here.

He sighs her name before he blacks out.

**********

Natasha watches Steve in his kitchen, her green eyes sharp and narrow. She hasn’t been to his apartment in a long time, but three days of no answered phone calls, texts, or emails and the Black Widow will investigate. He seems...fine. As fine as Steve has been since it all happened, when he went clean-shaven and cropped his hair, like girls do after a break-up. He smiles over his shoulder while stirring the pot in front of him.

“It’s the one thing my ma made sure I knew how to make for myself,” he says. “She knew I’d need this soup every time I got sick.”

“That’s sweet,” she says. And it is, though she’s never heard him mention it before.

They eat on barstools at the island, sharing little bits of conversation, small talk, mission updates. Sound bites of friendship. Still no explanation for his radio silence.

“Can I use your bathroom?” She sighs as he scoots back his stool, scooping up their bowls to take to the sink.

“Of course - you don’t have to ask, Nat.”

She slips down the hall. Doesn’t go to the bathroom - turns right instead.

On the floor of his bedroom, she sees the candles. The circle. The pictures. A little jar of seashells on his nightstand. While they were eating, she had seen something new - a little chain around his neck, the shape of something underneath, suspiciously like a ring.

Natasha leaves without saying a word, maybe hugs him a little tighter at the door.

She won’t begrudge him this.

[true-blue-megamind]

Daylight and Dark Ch. 1 - First Night

Photo by Joe Waranont

Read the full fan fiction HERE

This is an excerpt.  Due to Tumblr’s regulations, the second half of this chapter is only available on AO3.  The full fiction is not child-friendly!

Summary: Months after Titan's defeat, Roxanne faces concerns as she and Megamind's relationship grows more serious. Soon, however, she learns that may be the least of her problems. Metro City's new hero has a dangerous past, and loving him comes with as many perils as benefits. Mystery, drama, romance, and humor.  RATING: Explicit.  WARNINGS: violence, sex, language, references to prior domestic abuse, and rock n’ roll!

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f I should labor through daylight and dark, Consecrate, valorous, serious, true, Then on the world I may blazon my mark; And what if I don't, and what if I do?

                —Dorothy Parker

Roxanne Ritchi stared at her reflection without really seeing it.

Tonight. It was going to be tonight. She had waited, fretted, but no more. It had to be tonight.

Perhaps this moment had been too long in coming. It wasn't as if she didn't want it to—she adored him, she was undeniably attracted to him, and she was completely unbothered by their physical differences—but there was a part of Roxanne that had been affected more than she liked to admit by past disappointments.  She described her approach to relationships as "circumspect" and "judicious," but, if she was honest, she was, in reality, a coward.  Not that she was afraid of Megamind, of course; that would have been ridiculous.  Her concerns were harder to define than that.  What she feared was, she supposed, perfection, or rather the relentless feeling that anything this perfect had to be inevitably doomed.  After all, past experiences with men had all ended in disaster—she was either too aloof or too intense, depending on which of her exes you asked— and it seemed that the better relationships were in the beginning, the more spectacularly they failed in the end.  In fact, the reporter had already resigned herself to a single life, throwing herself completely into her work, when along came a certain blue alien.  Now, deep down, she was afraid that something would go wrong—especially when their relationship was already complicated by its very nature.  Perhaps that was the real heart of the issue: her love affair with Megamind was complex in so many ways, even more than the expected difficulties entailed in dating any Defender, and some of those issues revolved around things neither she nor her blue boyfriend could control.

Even so, she had made her decision, and she wasn't going to back down.  It was going to be tonight.

A knock snapped Roxanne's eyes back into focus, and she frowned at her incomplete makeup. Hurriedly finishing her mascara and applying some russet red, long-wear lipstick, she swept all her cosmetics back into a drawer.  An extra spray of perfume for good measure, and that would have to do. Fanning her mouth with her hands to dry the lip color, Roxanne walked briskly through the living room to her apartment's front door.

Megamind was standing in the hall, eyes fixed pensively off into the distance. It was a look she was growing to expect whenever she left him waiting too long; the double-edge sword of his massive intellect was that he was always thinking, always wondering, his thoughts never still. The sound of the door brought him back to attention, and he smiled. She threw her arms around him— their usual greeting— and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Nerves sang and sparked. She hated that she was as fidgety as a maiden bride.  While she believed that, like alcohol and tobacco, sex should be "enjoyed responsibly," Roxanne had slept with a respectable number of men.  It had been years since the idea of it had made her jittery.  Until now.  Maybe it was her long hiatus from the dating pool—very few men were willing to move on a woman supposedly dating someone with lasers in his eyes—or maybe it was Megamind's charm coupled with the intensity of her feelings for him, but, whatever the reason, something about the city's hero made her feel like she was in high school once more: heart fluttering and stomach slightly queasy.  If only that were the sole reason for the butterflies beneath her skin.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she smiled again, looking into eyes so green they glowed.

His expression was tender as he turned his gaze down to her's— something that, at only two inches taller than Roxanne, he only managed to do when they were this close. And when she was wearing flats. For a moment Roxanne silently praised the work-sore feet that had prompted her to opt for more comfortable shoes this evening.

Clearly, the blue alien had been on duty today as he was dressed in his familiar dark leathers. For a short time, Megamind had tried wearing white— had even gone as far as to build a new super suit that imitated Metro Man's powers— but thankfully Minion had convinced him that it was better to be his own brand of hero. And he'd been right. Not only did Roxanne prefer her boyfriend's bad boy look for reasons of her own, but even the most hardened criminals had grown to fear the black-clad Defender of Metro City while citizens had grown to accept Megamind for himself.

Will that continue after tonight, if people find out? Or will the same public that praises him today turn against him tomorrow?

"Don't worry, it's alright," the blue hero assured her. Roxanne startled for a moment— how did he know what she was thinking?— before she realized that he'd been referring to the wait. "I was just considering how I might turn one of your windows into a transparent glass monitor," he continued. "It would require some creative engineering, but I think it could be done. Then I could build you a smaller version of the supercomputer in my lair, and ta-da! It could function as a window until activated, and then you could use it to communicate with me in my workroom, or research, or to—" seeing her quizzically amused expression, he caught himself in mid-thought and cleared his throat. He and Roxanne had agreed to just have a normal, relaxing date, and it seemed to occur to him that this might not fit the description. "Erm, these are for you," he finished sheepishly, proffering a bouquet of yellow daisies, orange and gold cosmos, gardenias, and red and white roses.

He always brought her daisies, ever since she had mentioned once in passing how much she loved the ones in Hill Top Park.  Bouquets turned up at her office every Thursday like clockwork.  She didn't even mind that some of the interns got all girlish and giggly about it.

Roxanne accepted the flowers, inhaling the blossoms' sweet scents before saying: "They're beautiful. Come on inside." She pulled him in, leaning up to give him another kiss as she reached around him to shut the door. "I've always wondered: what are these?" she continued, touching tiny white clustered flowers with one hand. "It seems like they're in every single bouquet I've ever seen, but no one ever mentions what they're called."

"Ah, yes, that's Gypsophila, Baby's Breath. And you're right, it is a common addition to bouquets... I think for artistic reasons. What's wrong? Do you dislike it?"

"What? No, not at all..."

"What is it? You look like you just smelled something horrible. I can take the Gypsophila out."

"Oh, no, that's not necessary. It's nothing... just..."

Baby's breath.  Oh God.   Roxanne tried to ignore the skittering tightness in her heart.

What if she got pregnant?  What would the world say to the first half-human child?  She was a responsible adult, of course, and she wasn't rushing into this unprepared, but even so... Sex was designed to make babies, and no matter how careful a girl was, sometimes it did just that.  Her cousin Theresa, who had conceived her third child while she and her husband were using both pills and condoms, was living proof.

Realizing she'd been quiet too long, Roxanne thought quickly. "It's just that that's an odd name for a flower, isn't it? I mean, it doesn't really look like breath."

"No stranger than Forget-Me-Nots or Grandmother's Lace." He shrugged. "Flower names are just weird."

"At least Grandmother's Lace sort of looks like lace," she laughed, more at herself than anything else. "But you're probably right. Either way, these really are gorgeous," Roxanne smiled again. "I love them."

"I'm glad," he grinned. "I've been studying Floriography."

"Flori-what?"

"The language of flowers."

"I didn't know flowers talked," she joked.

"Very funny. You've read enough classic literature to know what I mean."

"I do, and you're very sweet," she answered, retrieving a vase from the small china hutch in her living room, and leading him into the kitchen. "Let's see… Roses are for love, right?"

"Love and affection, depending on the color."

"And these colors are?" She asked, setting the vase on the counter and turning to face him.

His cheeks flushed a little, the expression of shy pleasure at odds with his tough-guy persona. It was unreasonably adorable. "The red ones mean: 'my love for you is passionate,'" he explained. "And the white ones mean: 'my love for you is pure.'"

She felt her heart do a happy, ridiculous little flip, and turned her head to give him a smile that felt embarrassingly shy and girlish. "Oh."

This was always his way: thoughtful, charming, romantic, foolishly sentimental… Yet he never begrudged her her independence; never complained when she had to break a date for a hot news story or an overdue deadline. He just told her to stop by the Lair on the way home if she had the time, and sent over a packed dinner via brainbot with a note saying something like: "You won't forget to eat, will you? Love, MM." And then there was the way he fully embraced her for who she was, skipping typical dates in favor of afternoons in bookshops, long days in the park, weekends exploring quirky little-known museums, and dinners at hidden gems serving unexpectedly excellent cuisine or wonderfully authentic international dishes.

"Are you sure you're not telepathic?" she asked, only half in jest.  It was something she'd questioned him about before.

"I think I would notice if I were."  His expression turned teasing.  "Perhaps, Miss Ritchi, you are simply too... Predictable."

"Jerk," she laughed, trimming the edges of the flowers under the running tap.  

"Villain," he corrected, gesturing to himself.  "One of the good guys, now, but still a villain," he moved close.  "And a devilishly handsome one at that."

"Hmm.  I can't argue with the last part."

"That's because you have excellent taste."  God, why did his smirk have to look like dark secrets and wanton promises?  "Really, though, Sweetheart," he added, his smile gentling.  "I know you because I love you."

"I love you, too."

She truly did, and the fact that someone as brilliant and charming as Megamind loved her back sometimes still filled her with soft surprise.  More than that, however, he respected her.  He trusted her.  Following their defeat of Titan, Megamind had not only granted her nearly unfettered access to his secret Lair— something unheard of in the past— but, keenly aware that the sudden cessation of her regular kidnappings could affect her career, he had also allowed her to join him in some of his more noteworthy heroic battles.  While her blue beau insisted that she steer clear of the dangerous Doom Syndicate, together they had taken down two minor would-be villains: the first an ex-model with a scarred face and a terrible idea of revenge, the second a balding science teacher with an insane plan to make the pigeons in the park emulate Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds.  That last had been a monumental failure even by Megamind's standards.  The chemical compound the man had fed the birds had only succeeded in giving them explosive diarrhea.  It had been an incredible mess.

Thank God for brainbot cleanup crews!

"And just what are you snickering about?" Megamind asked her, cocking one eyebrow, green eyes shining with curious mirth.  "It's mean not to share," he added, adopting his best Hero-Giving-a-Life-Lesson voice.  Roxanne laughed harder.  That particular part of his new persona was definitely a work in progress.

"I was just thinking about the bird guy," she answered, turning to fill the vase from the faucet.

"The bird—Oh!  Ravenous!" he gave the word an odd inflection, putting an emphasis on "raven," just as the aspiring villain had.

"That was it!" she chortled.  "God, even his name sucked!  He got so mad at you for pronouncing it wrong, too."

"Excuse me," he grinned, leaning back against the counter to catch her eye. "I was pronouncing the word ravenous correctly.  It's not my fault he had an unnatural obsession with avians.  And, as I recall, it was you, my Dear Miss Ritchi, who insisted on pronouncing his name wrong—or rather right— on air, until you had the whole city doing it.

"Me?" she couldn't hide her smile.  "Look at this innocent face.  Would I do something like that?"

His laugh rang through the kitchen.  "Oh, yes, you would.  I always said you would have made an excellent Evil Queen!"

It was absurd how much her heart sped up when he said that.  "When did you decide to learn floriography?  I mean, it can't have been just for this," she asked, arranging the bouquet with more care and concentration than was really necessary.  "I can't imagine you taking an interest in it before."

"Yes and no.  I did learn for you, Roxanne, but," he seemed to swallow his sheepishness, "I've studied the language of flowers for years.  I... I used to imagine what I would say to you if I only had the courage to leave a tower of blossoms on your table after a kidnapping.  I never did.  I didn't want you to feel... uncomfortable, frightened, but...  Roxanne, I revolve around you.  Your smiles have been my drug for a long time."

She swallowed turned her head back quickly.  Her face felt like fire and she knew she was losing the battle for suave composure.  Damn it, I'm supposed to be the one seducing him!  

How could she not love him when he said things like that—said them and actually meant them?  Surely that was too much for any reasonable world to expect? And if others might not like it, well, so what?  She'd endured criticism of everything from her political stances to her hair, and God knew Megamind was no stranger to animosity.  Whatever storms this might brew, they would weather them together.

"The Gypsophila represent purity, too," Megamind informed her.  She could hear him grinning at her blush. "The cosmos are joy and harmony," he added, moving closer again. "Yellow daisies are for both true love, because each flower is actually two joined as one, and for new beginnings. Gardenias, now those are interesting. They represent feminine beauty, and can refer to a secret love, but," Roxanne nearly dropped the vase as he leaned against her back to breathe the last words against her ear. "Gardenias also mean: 'I will always protect you.'"

"Megamind," she breathed, gently setting the vase on the counter and turning to bury herself in him. He smelled like hot metal— he'd probably been welding something earlier— and expensive cologne, but beneath that was his familiar musk of leather, spices, and something warm and woody.

He began kissing along her ear and down toward her shoulder— something he had become extremely good at in the last few months. His goatee, warm breath, and gentle teeth were sweet torture against her sensitive skin. Clever fingers tickled up the nape of her neck and slid around to gently tangle in her short hair, making her shiver. She sighed his name again, tasting the syllables like a prayer.

Megamind. This was Megamind: fiercely loyal and endlessly affectionate. Of course, he would always protect her. Let the whole entire city, or even the entire planet, turn against them, and he would remain steadfastly at her side, determined and immovable as stone.  Certainly, they had had their share of arguments—what couple didn't?—but, in the end, he always had her back. He'd probably even do his best to shield her from the worst of people's biases.  Because that was the sort of man he was.

To hell with what people might think. I want this, now and always.

Roxanne leaned back just enough to kiss him with thorough passion, giving his mouth the full and undivided attention it deserved.  He matched her passion, tongue gliding past her lips to tempt and tumble against her own.  Almost of their own accord, her arms wrapped about his slender neck, pulling him closer, urging him on...

And her stupid phone timer went off, shattering the moment with an annoyingly jaunty little tune.

"I… um… I have dinner in the oven," she stumbled over her own words. "It should be... ready… almost... almost ready."

Mercifully, he took his cue. "Oh-ho!" he laughed, giving her one last peck on the lips. "Home cooking twice in one week! Just what are you up to, Miss Ritchi?"

Although Roxanne had learned to cook at her grandmother's elbow, she'd rarely felt it worth her time when she was single, preferring quick frozen meals she could leave in the crockpot or even pop into the microwave.  Since she had started dating Megamind, however, she'd dusted off the old cookbooks she'd inherited and started making meals from scratch once a week.  True, the hero had Minion to cook for him— and her skills were nowhere near the henchman's gourmet standards— but this was one of the ways she could show her affection, and it always seemed to please the blue alien.  Things like that had become important to the reporter as Megamind took up residence in her heart, which is why she found herself constantly making little gestures like buying him a blue teddy bear in a black leather jacket, or texting him funny pictures and thoughts she knew would make him smile.  So she had gotten into the habit of planning one special dinner each week.  But, up until now, it had always been only one.

I'd hoped he wouldn't notice.  I should have known better.  

She gave him her best calm reporter stare. It was ruined by the fact that her face still felt like it was glowing red. "Why should I be up to anything?" she asked coyly.

He lifted an eyebrow, his grin playful.  "Your wiles won't work on me."

That earned him a sultry look. "I was under the impression they were working pretty well just now."

"Wicked girl," he teased. Following Roxanne across the small kitchen, Megamind opened the oven and sniffed eagerly. "Mmmm... Lasag-na. My favorite. Now I'm definitely suspicious."

"It's lasagna, silly," Roxanne corrected fondly, moving past him to set her bouquet on the dinette table. "And can't a girl make her favorite hero a nice dinner without him getting into conspiracy theories?"

He only grinned at her again. "La. Sag. Na." That was one of the things Roxanne loved most about Megamind. He never let himself be embarrassed. Most people would have been mortified by constant mispronunciations, but he brushed them off with a smile.

Giggling, Roxanne swatted him playfully out of her way and found two oven mitts in a drawer before retrieving the dish from the oven. "Maybe I'll make you learn to say it correctly before I let you have any."

"Oh, you could never be so cruel!" he answered over his shoulder as he selected plates from the cabinet. "I should have brought a bottle of wine."

"I still have two from the last time you came over," laughed Roxanne. "I think we'll be okay."

"You make me sound like an alcoholic," Megamind complained, but he couldn't quite tame his playful expression as he began setting the table. "I simply couldn't decide what would compliment the dish best. Besides, I wanted to make sure I had something to eat my breakfast cereal with in the morning."

"Ewww!"

Roxanne loved Megamind's laugh. He was the city's hero now, but his rolling chortle still had a dark ring in it, and something about it sent delicious shivers down her spine.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding" he assured her.

"I know, but... Ewww!"

He laughed again and motioned her to her chair. "Alright, okay," he said, helping her into her seat. "Whenever I stay here overnight, I solemnly promise that I will not eat cereal and wine for breakfast."

Roxanne tried to giggle but found her throat suddenly tight. Funny how that comment brought the conversation to the matter at hand.

Come on, Roxanne.  For God's sake.  Just ask.

She looked up at him, his face still glowing with humor, and gently placed her hand on his.

"Megamind, I was thinking, what about tonight?"

He looked confused. "What about tonight?"

"For that. For you to stay over. I mean..." she sighed.  Ugh... Why is this so hard?   "Will you stay here with me tonight?"

"Of course!" his easy tone implied he still didn't get her meaning. It wasn't as if he had never stayed over, after all... It was simply that they had never done any more than cuddle.

"No, I mean, will you—" Oh, God, I'm going to have to be specific, aren't I?— "Will you sleep with me? Will you spend the night here as my lover?"

That finally did it. His eyes widened in surprise, and then he glanced quickly down, trying unsuccessfully to hide his little up-to-no-good grin.

When he lifted his gaze again, however, his expression turned serious. "Are you... sure? I want you to be sure, Roxanne. Absolutely certain." He lifted his free hand to push a strand of her short hair tenderly back from her face. "No regrets between us. Ever."

She smiled. Doesn't he understand that that's what makes me so certain?  He's always ready to put me first.

Yes, he was an alien. Yes, she was going to be the first known human to sleep with someone from a different planet. Yes, in a society where too many still objected to relationships between different races and same genders, sharing her bed with an extraterrestrial was sure to stir up trouble. But it didn't matter. She had given him her whole heart, and after five months of dating— more if you counted the dates with "Bernard"— she wanted to give him her body, too. The time had come. Their relationship couldn't continue in this state of limbo. Either she stopped holding back or she broke things off, and she couldn't bear the thought of the latter. No matter what happened, no matter who judged them, no matter how many snide comments she had to hear about Stockholm Syndrome and tentacle porn, she would not—could not—let him go.

Fully meeting his look, Roxanne let her emotions— love, desire, trust, longing— fill her blue eyes. Her hands caressed the sides of his face as she pulled him down for another slow-burn kiss.

"I'm sure," she breathed when they parted for air. "I'm very, very sure."

He smiled and leaned back in, kissing her again, letting years of contained passion spill over her.  The chair skittered back as she rose, tangling her arms around him.  Clutching her, Megamind ran eager hands over her back, cupped her hips, and pressed her close to feel the proof of his desire. His kisses were hot, desperate, as if he were drowning and her lips held his only salvation.

Panting and flushed, the hero was the first to pull back. "I'm sorry," he said, motioning to the cooling meal on the table. "I don't mean to let all your hard work go to waste, but—"

"I have a microwave. We can heat it up."

He grinned. "Well, in that case..." he purred. Scooping her up in his deceptively thin arms, Metro City's blue hero carried Roxanne to the bedroom.

Tonight. It was going to be tonight.

Click Here to Keep Reading

[anyu-blue]

~

Hey I'm rambling about stuff in my own head again. Trigger warnings apply- specifically those dealing with therapy, dysphoria, self harm, relationships, and stuff like that. :T

I don't really understand it... For quite a while there I was fine. Content even to just let things slide. I think it was because I felt secure where I was (with Lon) and blocked out a lot that doing therapy has brought screaming to the front of my mind... But I could be wrong and I feel confused and conflicted again.

At one point (before Lon) I had settled down when my previous therapist basically gave me permission to call myself androgynous. She told me it was okay- if that's what I felt, then I could use it.... I felt very relieved and much less ruffled. There was still a nag in the back of my head, but it was quiet enough I buried it... For the most part...

Getting with Lon brought quite a few forward and I insisted he understand I am/was not a girl. He also seemed content and sweet and more than accepting... Until he wasn't.. looking back.. Lon said a LOT of weird or off things he either never came through with or downright switched on.. especially near the end. EVERYONE in his family and friend group assumed and pushed the 'girl' thing... And that nag got a little louder..I pushed back (gently) reminding Lon with little things here and there that I wasn't... But still 'she' and overwhelming compliments on my feminity buried me under them. In the end... I know it was driving me crazy (literally) and probably Contributed more to the mess than I understood at the time.

But it also wasn't a push even.. just the assumption.. I believe that because right now my hackles are raised so high every time someone says 'she' to or about me I BRISTLE. I want to yell or (depending on who it is) quietly tell whomever is doing it to stop.. tell them they're wrong... Most aren't doing it maliciously, I know.. it's just what they see. I feel pressured or pushed. It's really weird and extremely uncomfortable. It's confusing too because.. I don't know... I can't see how they don't see me as different than 'girl'... Or heaven forbid 'WOMAN.'

*shudders*

My therapist and I are exploring the feelings around when these things are said to me... And she's proposed doing something about my anger and frustration like squeezing Something or something or just outright accepting it... Basically ANYTHING other than telling people my business... But the problem is, I've told her... I want to BREAK things.. I mean I don't... But I feel the urge to. To hit. To yell. To scream. To cry. To crush. To run. But I don't. In some ways I can't.... Squeezing Something when I'm angry hurts me. My grip is incredibly weak (always has been no matter what I've tried) and everything pops painfully. Or it pinches my skin and hurts... So I've developed a reflex to do the opposite of squeeze or hit things (which certainly hasn't helped the weakness issue lol)... And even if I do try to do those things.... It's never enough. I can't go and go and go like I want to. It just makes me madder. More frustrated. It's never satisfying or as releasing as People tell me it should feel. I just want more. And more and more and more. And in the end I'm usually left a sobbing mess that's completely spent, but still so mad and frustrated... Feeling those feelings even more. Sure I'm tired enough to pass out.. but I wake up.. and everything is still there.. usually coupled with depression because it's STILL THERE... And I couldn't get it out. I don't feel better or lighter or more free.. I feel heavier.. sadder... Worse. I used all that energy and nothing came of it.

And I don't understand!! I really don't. Why I'm never satisfied... Why I've always always been so angry... I was told I was an extremely cruel child.. I remember a little too.. I always wanted to act, but was pushed down.. and even when I did, it never felt good or like it was enough.. I swear I could tear an entire house down by myself with nothing but my own two hands and I STILL would want to do more.

...

And I'm feeling all of these things with gender...

Tevs said to me she thinks I 'want to be a boy because our mother always wanted a boy and [I] always wanted her approval.' ... I can't deny that MAYBE it had an influence on me. MAYBE...

But... I don't WANT that witch's approval anymore. I don't care about her distain either. I don't want her ANYWHERE NEAR my life, it's MINE not hers.. and I'm really pissed off no one can seem to take the damn hint I am 110% DONE with her and anything to do with her. She HAS a son to raise now. And a loving husband who had her adopt him. And good friends and whatever else she has in her life. I am OUT of it. And I want to be out of it forever.

.. it feels demeaning when Tevs says that it's all from that to me.. she's done it more than once, and of course I'm upset by it every time.

... I just want to be me... And every time someone looks at me and tells me I am beautiful.. or pretty.. or a wonderful woman... I just want to cry... To go hide.. I feel so ashamed.

...

Here's the thing.. I AM attractive. I AM beautiful, hot, resilient, kind... Just about everything you'd associate a woman with... I was walking to another area in my workplace just tonight and caught a glimpse of myself as I did so in our big windows... The way I walk. My silhouette. Everything about me... Is envious.

I'm not saying these things because I'm vain.. I'm saying them because if I compare my body and gait and everything to the People alongside me- even the guests I see coming in- I can see it as clearly as everyone else who tells me I'm this pretty thing does... I'm not sickeningly skinny and I'm not fat. I'm not super tall nor short. I'm right in the middle with an ass and legs People tell me they'd kill to have... If I were to wear proper bras, I have a chest they'd love too- not too heavy and not unnoticeably small... But I wear ones that squish my chest so it looks like I have less (and that might be why I have such glaring problems with my ribcage sliding out of place all the time. I'm crushing everything XP).. take a guess as to why I started doing that...

I can't hide my hips... Nor my legs... I've got cute feet too. And hands... So dainty and fine- just enough bone and plump in the right places... It's no wonder I am the envy of my poor (adopted) cousin desperate to be a model and a star.. poor girl. She's beautiful in her own right, but her genes have made it so hard for her to fully dive into her confidence... My dad told me we are rivals and have always been... And my heart breaks for her because I'm not even trying... I want her to succeed!! To be the one in the spotlight!! I want to stay in the background so she can shine... But I always get pulled forward and somehow she's in my shadow (despite being taller than me).. and she can't stand to be near me.. even when I am trying my hardest to let her lead or to say things kindly or in her favor.. I can't seem to win... So I don't really have a relationship with her at all.. Though I really wanted to.

When I don't hide.. when I do 'dress up'... There's so many compliments. If I run into ANYONE from school when I do... *Gags* the compliments, disbelief, and shock... I remember EVERY prom... People not knowing who I was... Or being shocked if they did recognize me straight out. All 4 years... And it made the ostracization worse. My class was AFRAID of me. I was this shy/frumpy (also angry) little thing.. but I still remember being stared at changing after gym whenever there wasn't a stall for me to hide in.. I personally at the time thought it was because I was so ugly/fat they couldn't help themselves... Going through everything in therapy.. I realize it was because I was so skinny under all my baggy clothes.. and really pretty under the acne/hood/ugly glasses. I wasn't bullied just because I was smart/loved to learn... I was a threat and didn't even know it. The envy of my peers. And it's so sad.

I did wish to be like them.. so confident. So able to fake it. To do my makeup and wear cute things and to feel right somehow... But I never did. I tried.. but couldn't stand the clothes.. or the comments about my ass... Or all the things they focused on whenever I came close to succeeding. I couldn't seem to get it right. I just wanted to hide whenever I stood out... It never felt right.

It got to the point I was AFRAID to wear dresses and skirts. Terrified. Everything felt wrong with the world when I did. I felt like I was faking Something. Like I was purposefully being awful... Lying..

I wear some now because I was cheered up by the idea of genderqueer people and some men finding comfort in wearing them and in some ways them becoming more acceptable by all genders... Plus they're reeeally comfy sometimes. And it's nice to just be able to throw on a dress with built in pads during the summer heat wave than to worry about all those damn layers XP ... And I recognize that no one is going to question me or think I'm lying when I wear any... They don't see what I have in my head.

I do recognize that some of this stuff has trauma tied to it... And I'm confused because I don't know where the trauma ends and I (my own genuine thoughts) begin... I was not treated kindly at home- even outright being called ugly in a derogatory manner.. granted I now know those comments mostly came from a pedophile disinterested in me and the pedophile's own manipulation of my mother and her family's opinions (gaslighting and twisting to where I really was the horrible child in all ways) AND I know that I am not neurotypical which caused some other unfortunate treatments in and around my home.

I don't know where to go with it... Or why I'm so viscously against being called a girl or a woman. Why it's setting me off so bad right now. I just know that it is... And for some reason every time I'm alone or not really thinking of it... I don't think of myself as one. Not at all. And when I'm reminded.. I'm often startled by it and confused and need to process the information for a second... Despite 'being' one for all of my life... I've continually had the problem I don't expect what I see in the mirror either.. especially since puberty.

If I could show you what I think/feel most of the time... I think this would be the closest I could get- just make the chest straighter/flatter... It bugged me to no end to add that detail in and still does to this day, but I was going off the model (me lol). I don't feel like Anything... But I want to be something.. and that Something is... Not this. Not this...

But where do I go? What do I do?

I'm terrified of surgeries... I don't want massive scars (not that I mind scars- in fact I LOVE them. They're so cool!! But I don't want people to KNOW you know? Not that. Not Something that is such a private matter... I don't want to believe or go after something for it to be wrong too... And I don't feel I can afford any of it anyway 😞 even if I did want to try or actually found the right one... I would be so depressed to never be able to reach my goal.. and I feel I've held myself back due to that fear too...

I know another reason I haven't tried anything or spoken up or anything is because I have this strange desire to pass on my genetic legacy. It is such a powerful urge I am TERRIFIED of losing the ability... People tell me about adoption all the time as a great option, and it IS a great option for the children... Because I would do ANYTHING for my own... But it's this terrible terrible feeling I wouldn't feel I could claim them as my own and it would leave something still empty inside of me and I wouldn't be as loving because of it and that kills me... It sounds terrible too!!

I would do almost anything to have my own child... When it comes to pain tolerance or body changes I know I would have the hardest time than most if I were to get knocked up.. but I have that thought that it would be worth it because they are MINE.

I've thought about egg donation.. because I feel it would make me feel better to know I succeeded in passing on the line to someone better off and worthy of having children... But I feel I have too many genetic issues or would be an undesirable candidate or I'd feel terrible if the child died and then I didn't succeed...

Lol I think of things oddly... And that makes me think I don't deserve to have children or donate too... Never mind the actual process XP boy... Complicated~

So I've never tried... I am also quite poor and know I would struggle to raise a child. Even just one. And if I were to have twins (as I'm the generation that is supposed to)... I have even more worries... And I don't want a child or children to grow up with the struggles I had or worse than I had like they likely would if I just went for it.

...

I knew I felt more sure when I was with Lon because he apparently wanted/wants kids too... And it was in the plan (Maybe. Maybe not. It's possible he was the one messing with my medication alarms and trying, but also possible he just wanted sex... Because he told me before he left that he thought he was infertile for a long time (and there's some pretty strong evidence to suggest he's got weak swimmers lol but I'm not going to divulge what that stuff is) so it may have been a lie all along... But I didn't know and felt assured and safe with that path at the time)...

*sigh*

Idk what to do... I know I'm messed up about it all.. and I know my knee jerks and feelings... But I don't exactly trust myself or my memory or my reasons... I am only human... And I feel so lost.

I know what I envy... Very much.. and what I would choose if I could... But... Life just doesn't work that way... And science is so stunted it likely won't in my lifetime.

*snort*

I feel the worst thing that my dad ever said to me was when I told him and his wife that I wasn't a girl... I don't remember if I told them I was neither or would prefer to be a guy... But I do remember my dad's response... He told me 'go ahead and you do you, but I want you to know that no matter what, you're always going to be my little girl. I just can't think of you any other way, because you are. You're my little girl.'

And I just... It struck me so badly (obviously, I still think about it)... And made my heart so heavy. I... Understand... To the extent I can... And I don't want to... Lose him because I can't accept that... But.. I feel like it's only pushed me to lose myself... To.. just stay. Take the 'easy' route. To 'accept' it (except we can see how well THAT'S going).

*sigh*

I don't know...

The only thing I do know right now is I have this fantasy about... Going away for a while. More or less disappearing for 5 to 10 years... And coming back... How I want to be/see myself... And seeing what everyone would think...

Tevs thinks I only want it because of trauma. Dad thinks I'm always going to be his daughter. Everyone else is so sure I am a woman...

And maybe they're right... (I mean TECHNICALLY lol I can't exactly argue with that 😂)... And I would be trying to let my 'good looks' and all that 'go to waste'...

...

If I could trade someone... 100%... I would. I'm a pretty/beautiful/attractive looking body... (My face is debatable lol but whatever)... I wonder how come am I not happy about it...