#hear the queueing thunder

[arcanecovcn]

@lungsandlips gets a continuation from this post.

Well, Brandon now felt fucking ridiculous. Kade was right, the username displayed on the top-left corner of the screen was very much his: fleefromfleehan had been his username since middle school, how could he have missed it? He felt dumb, ridiculous and worst of all, embarrassed. He locked the phone, tapped it a couple times on his open palm then placed it on the counter separating him and Kade.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, eyes downcast for a second before he looked up and searched for Kade's eyes. "I should've given you a chance instead of... believing what they told me about your reputation. It was wrong, I'm sorry."

Gently, he pushed the phone towards Kade, inhaled deeply one last time and continued.

"For what it's worth, you have an awesome dick." An attempt to lighten the mood, even if he had screwed up massively. "I-I know I fucked up by violating your privacy and also know I just broke whatever trust you could have in me but Kade... let me start over. No going through your phone, no-- hanging on your reputation. Just us, getting to know each other so we can make this work, yeah? Please?"

[arcanecovcn]

Once the initial hurt passed, Brandon could not blame Chris for being hurt. Brandon had left, a quick apology as a means of explanation —and that wasn't an explanation, he had just kidded himself back then— and a departure kiss that broke his heart just like he could tell it broke Chris'.

At the very least, he owed his ex-lover an explanation.

"Technically, I'm not allowed to discuss this secret with anybody outside the Verbena Circle," Brandon explained, following in Chris' stead. "But fuck it. Fuck it, you deserve an explanation." A small pause floated between them as the mage pondered where to start and if he should make this a detailed story or a summarized one. He decided on the latter, he could always provide details in case Christopher asked. "I went abroad with four men who are the embodiment of nature's spirits; more specifically, the physical representations of the elements."

Brandon took a deep breath and let those words sink in. It was the first time he'd said them out loud and it was baffling, for sure. "As it turns out, I'm yet another spirit, the mundane representation of the storm. Surprise?" He twirled the glass between his fingers, adopting a pensive stare. "And yes. I will be staying for good. The businesses they needed me to attend were all taken care of. I'm staying, yeah."

He could tell some of his words had an effect on Brandon just by the way he shifted his weight. It had always been a problem of him, to be so blunt and tactless. As much as he had tried to become better at speaking assertively, the presence of his favorite mage was unexpected and it moved more heart strings than necessary.

But since throwing daggers would help no one, he tried to remain as calm and sensible as possible.

"No, that's not hard to understand at all," he shrugged, taking a small sip of his own drink. "But I'm a man who's always focused on the future... So I guess I'll put this bluntly. I have two questions that will determine how happy I allow myself to be about this..."

He made a small pause, looking at Brandon now and inviting him to sit down with him on the small couch he had on the balcony.

"First... Will you be staying for good this time? And second... Will you finally explain to me why you left?"

[zorkaya-moved]

𝘖𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘵.

PERSONALS DO NOT REBLOG. DO NOT REPOST. DO NOT REUSE. MUTUALS W/ ZARINA'S TAG ON THEIR BLOG ARE ALLOWED TO REBLOG.

[ofglories]

"i wish i were a watermelon..." caelus looking at jing yuan and his watermelon crushing techniques.

“Hmm?”

Jing Yuan paused, head tilted ever so slightly to the side in thought as he cast a curious glance towards Caelus. What an interesting comment! Admittedly quite odd, in his opinion, as well. Why would anyone wish to be a watermelon especially after the general had just demonstrated why with the right application of pressure and strength they could be easily crushed between someone’s thighs-

Oh.

Snorting, he turned away to focus on wiping stray bits of crushed melon from his pants.

Ah, the joys of youth! No wonder Fu Xuan and Yanqing asked him to find other methods of demonstrating combat techniques being used in every day life. Chuckling, Jing Yuan considered the watermelon for a moment before picking up the largest piece. This would make a good snack later, with some proper carving.

“Far be it from me to judge someone’s preferences but, Caelus, I wouldn’t recommend wanting to be a watermelon.” Slowly he turned to look over his shoulder, a teasing grin on the general’s face. “They’re usually eaten fairly quickly.”

[arcanecovcn]

@demonicescort continued from here.

"No shit, Captain Obvious," Brandon grumbled, his voice dripping with the annoyance he felt nesting in his chest. Deep shit didn't begin to cover it, especially when he refused to ask other organizations ‐actual superhero organizations, that is- for help. "A drug that grants you powers can only cause chaos and while I'm not the most-- let's say, orderly guy there is, it could be bad for humanity as a whole."

If he looked at it from a certain angle, it wasn't his problem either. He could very well leave it be, let things run their course, and deal with the outcome but his upbringing -as well as his selfishness of not wanting to deal with it after the chaos ensued- forced him to take action early on.

There was, however, one tiny problem.

"I'm not sure whether or not Lebelle is behind this. I'm at least an eighty-percent sure he is, but I can't go off chopping heads based on that measly percentage. I need more proof."

He was stressed. The tension in his muscles, the sleepless nights, the constant what-ifs plaguing his mind... truth was, Brandon was letting this case consume him, almost as if he were a novice. Maybe he needed to lay back, rest for a bit instead of obsessing with a solution that was clearly not coming to him anytime soon.

"Sorry for being a snarky little bitch," he grumbled his apology, leaning back into Patrick's touch. "I am stressed and overthinking. Normally this doesn't happen."

[arcanecovcn]

Without the added pressure of a classroom full of people locking their eyes on you, settling the whole weight of their expectations on your shoulders, Brandon realized it was easier to concentrate on one thing at a time. Sure, there were many factors added to this particular equation —like the fact that no bustling sounds were bombarding him from every direction or shiny things grabbing his attention— but, truly, he hated how many people were right about one thing in particular: if you set your mind to one task only, concentration won't be a problem. What they weren't right about was how Brandon's mind couldn't focus on one thing at a time for extended periods of time before it inevitably wandered, but he was working really hard now for Walter's sake.

Of course, the man had to go and put his determination to the test by pressing himself closer to Brandon, grabbing him by the wrists and basically kissing his ear. His concentration almost shattered the second he felt contact, but the younger man gritted his teeth and pushed through the distraction with difficulty. He could do this, right? He could focus on something that wasn't the warmth of Walter's skin or the sweetness of his smell. He could allow himself to be guided through the gentle dance the other was putting him through without breaking his concentration, without letting his rampant feelings get in the way, right? He swallowed hard, breathed through his nose, and pushed and pulled with the lull of Walter's movements. He even opened his eyes when instructed to and saw the slithering stream he had created.

"I-- I did that?" the question was rhetorical, of course. He could feel that tell-tale pull on his gut, right behind his belly button, that let him know it was his power controlling the elements. "Look, Walter--!" The younger man turned his head a small fraction of the way, momentarily forgetting how close the other was... and then everything stopped.

Their noses bumped. Brandon gasped and closed his fists. Instead of dropping back onto the stream, the small boa of water he'd manipulated froze mid-air, in time with the skipped beat of his heart. How he managed to do that, Brandon didn't know. As much a prodigy as he was, that had never happened before, but that was for a later analysis. Brandon stood still for a second or two, the tip of his nose still touching Walter's, and then he took a step forward, away from the man's embrace.

"Uh-- sorry. Sorry, I forgot how close you were. I uh--" but he trailed off. What exactly could he say in such a situation? "Thank you for helping me concentrate?" And yes, it was poised as a question because Brandon himself wasn't sure of what he wanted to say.

He remained close to Brandon in order to ensure that his presence would soothe him and help him block away any and all other external factors. He didn’t want for Brandon to feel pressured. They were not in a tight schedule that demanded students to master their abilities in record time. To master their gifts was not something that happened overnight. There were even some adults that had issues with their own powers, no matter how many tries they attempted to master them. That didn’t mean that they were broken - but it meant that there should be no pressure to achieve such a goal. Walter often liked to compare mastering their abilities with the flow of the water. It was a simple analogy really: if it was a small stream, one could direct the path by adjusting the flow. It was easy to make it bend or stop it on its tracks. But when one’s abilities were similar to the raging sea on a storm – there was no containment. There was no chance to push it away or make it cease. One simply had to ride it out. Way for it to pass.

“That’s it.” Walter kept his hands on Brandon’s shoulders, feeling his body relax as he slowly centered himself and became more attuned to his surroundings. Nothing else mattered now – just the sound of the water rushing down, the sensation of how the cold wetness would feel on their skin. “Keep breathing.” His hands slid down Brandon’s shoulders down to his arms, long fingers gently grasping at his student’s wrists as Walter did his best to guide Brandon’s movements. It was like a dance, really. There were no one, two steps but the elegant movements were incorporated. “Don’t lose focus on the water.” His lips brushed gently over the shell of Brandon’s ear as Walter guided both of the other man’s arms up and then down, left and then right. “Don’t resist. You are one with the water you now feel.” Again – up and down, left and right. Walter’s gaze turned to the stream – the water raising from its designated path to slither in the air like a snake enchanted by the musician’s flute. Up and down, left and right. The same pattern over and over again. “Don’t lose focus, Brandon…” Fingers gaze the other man’s wrists a gentle squeeze, reminding him that he was still there. Right behind him. “Open your eyes now – see what you accomplished.”

[anythrill]

tags

[pseudowho]

Yagi Toshinori/All Might x Reader

Fluff, suggestive

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

All Might was strong, and soft. You knew this before you started dating (which was an operation performed strictly in secret, so wildly publicised would it be, to be seen on his arm in public).

Candlelit dinners in Musutafu's finest, instead became quiet nights in, with faithful security guards ushering you to the Might Tower penthouse where Toshinori waited, fizzing with excitement.

Instead, Toshinori took delight in stealing your blushes through deliberately poorly-timed whispered compliments. His array of vintage pet names would sound corny, were he any less sincere. It hadn't taken Toshinori long to cotton on to the glee to be found in a secret love affair.

And it hadn't taken long for you to retaliate; which was how you found out how soft the powerful All Might really was.

"I set you free for the rest of the afternoon, young ones! Spend your study time wisely! Strive to be the best you, that you can be!" Toshinori boomed over the heads of the students, filing out before him.

He spun, turning and bending down to you with that familiar trademark grin...only, heartfelt and wicked now, instead of fixed. His voice lowered barely enough to escape the students' notice.

"Of course," he intoned, his breath grazing your ear, setting a shiver down your spine, "my honeybee is already the best she that she could be."

You slapped a handful of books down on the desk, a frisson of electric sending you erect as you turned to him with a warning look in your eye. The warning look quickly died, at his boyish smile and natural warmth, unable to fight a man that you knew absolutely meant it.

Later, you approached him in the busy corridor, schooling your expression to that of polite disinterest in greeting a passing colleague.

"Yagi-san--"

Toshinori jostled you, sending papers tumbling to the floor, and apologising profusely in a dramatic hush, bending with you to collect the scattered reports from the floor.

"I apologise-- I really am sorry-- gosh, what a mess!" As people channelled around you, Toshinori's fingers plaited briefly with yours, his voice lowering again. "Not that messy is something my pookie identifies with, though. Not yet."

You dropped the rest of your papers, stuttering as Toshinori scooped them up with a flourish, standing with you and bundling them back into your arms. You stumbled, blushing as he clapped an enormous hand onto your shoulder with a laugh, and a thunderous farewell, leaving you stranded and skittish in the corridor.

In the lunch queue, you felt a shadow darken your tray, and turned, looking up. This time, Toshinori barely even bothered to alter his tone, instead hiding behind the student and faculty's food-related distraction. He plucked a tiny steaming basket from the self-service window, dropping it onto your tray with a muted thmp.

"Dumplings...for my dumpling."

You snapped, grabbing his usual cold brew from the fridge, and popping it onto his tray, smiling sweetly up at him.

"I'm lucky to have such a cute guy choosing lunch with me."

A blush burned over Toshinori's cheeks like you had slapped it on him. You felt a roar of success as, when you were called forwards, you saw Toshinori fumble his tray with enormous hands, his coffee splatting to the floor to his stuttered apologies. You left with a flick of the skirt and a smirk on your lips.

Between lessons, in the stream of shouting students, you felt yourself scooped in one great palm and effortlessly shepherded aside, hearing Toshinori's gravelly tones announce your departure; "My dear, could I borrow a moment of your time to discuss a lesson plan?"

You loaded a bullet as Toshinori pulled you round the corner, sniping him before he could take his shot.

"Darling, I must say--"

"What's such a handsome bear needing with me, in a narrow little corridor?"

Toshinori gasped, a single broad palm pressed to his chest, staggered by the force of his b-dmp. His blush rose from the collar up. He reached one trembling hand out to you as you walked away, leaving him stunned in your wake.

As the day wound to a close, you entered the staffroom, to find Toshinori and Aizawa stood, talking at the window. Toshinori grinned, faltering just so as you approached him with a honeydew smile.

You looped your hand through the crook of his elbow as if you were in black and white, pecked his cheek in a chaste little kiss, and fired off the killshot.

"I've missed you," you chirped, "Hubby."

A strangled choke left Toshinori's throat, and he almost buckled, gripping the window frame hard enough to make it crack with another hand clutching his heart.

Aizawa shot you a look of despair as you walked away, looking between you and Toshinori, who had yet to regain his usual colour. Aizawa called after you as you left, sniggering.

"You can't just do that to him. Hey! Come back! You can't do that to an old man--"

"Aizawa-kun, please--"

You called back over your shoulder. "He had it coming, Shouta. Turns out he can dish it out, but he can't take it!"

[arcanecovcn]

"Brandon Fleehan." Even if his handshake was firm, almost curt, the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips served as proof to let Michael know it was merely a front. First impressions were important, his father had once told Brandon, and a firm handshake was as good an introduction as any. "The city can be a bit imposing at first but you'll get the hang of it. I could also play tourist guide if you'd rather explore these parts with a seasoned local." After letting go of Michael's hand, Brandon ran his fingers through his already messy hair. "Yes, please. Just- not too hot, I get scalded easily."

OPEN STARTER: ( click here for more details )

"I am Michael Schäfer. I'm... new to this area. I don't believe we've been introduced." Even in another universe, his newly chosen names had meaning, a deliberate and constant reminder of where he'd come from and the life he was trying to attain. All he had to do was play the part, be anyone but Magneto -- - it was easier said than done. "Hm... can I offer you a cup of tea?"

[delilahsturniolo]

emails i can’t send 💌

— m.s

summary: matt comforts you while your parents are arguing.

this story contains: arguing, toxic relationship with parents, fluff, crying, more. do not read if you aren’t comfy :)

written by @delilahsturniolo, do not copy or steal my works. do not take inspiration without permission. happy reading! :)

“it's times like these wish I had a time machine.”

“so I could see what you did october thirteenth.”

thunder erupted from the sky, the loud crashing sounds from the storm tuning out the yelling from downstairs.

you were currently locking yourself in your room, sitting against your wall as you hugged your knees to your chest, listening to your parents scream back and forth through the thin walls of your house.

you covered your ears, flinching every time one of your parents raised their voices. you didn’t grow up in a lovable home, so you were sensitive to yelling and arguing.

you breathed in and out, trying to calm yourself down as you could hear the muffled argument from upstairs, getting increasingly more heated.

you shakily reached for your headphones, trying to blast music into your ears as you pressed shuffle on your playlist. however, nothing worked. you couldn’t get it off your mind. your brain was filled with so many thoughts, it was hard just sitting there, not knowing how far this would escalate.

you threw your headphones across the room in frustration, grabbing your pillow and stuffing your face into it. tears soaked the fabric of your pillow as you silently cried into it.

all you wanted, more than anything else in the world was to have parents who loved each other. if you were offered the same type of love your parents had for each other, you would immediately deny it. you’d rather be alone.

eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore. you reached for your phone, tears falling onto the screen as you breathed unevenly. you went to your contacts, and dialed the number of the one person you knew could help. the one person who truly understood you, who truly cared. your boyfriend, matt.

your phone rung as you shut your eyes, silently praying he’d answer. as if on queue, matt answered the phone. “hi lovey, everything okay?” he asked you, his soothing voice coming through the phone.

the sound of his voice alone was all it took for your anxiety to be eased. he had no idea how much power he had over you, you immediately relaxed, knowing that he was here for you.

“m—matt..” was all you managed to choke out between your tears. you were scared, you were scared he would think you were pathetic for calling him about this.

“woah woah, what’s wrong baby? are you crying?” panic was present in matt’s voice, you could tell that he was extremely worried about you now.

“my parents are arguing again.” you sniffled, trying to wipe your tears with your sleeve. you heard matt sigh on the other end of the phone, as well his keys jingling.

“i’m on my way sweetheart, stay strong f’me okay? you’re doing so well.” matt quickly reassured. he stayed on the phone with you the entire time, telling you how everything was going to be okay and trying to calm you down.

matt practically sped over to your house, not caring how many red lights he ran. his only priority right now was you, he needed to make sure you were okay.

you jumped as you suddenly heard a knock on your window. it was matt, thank goodness. you gasped in happiness and relief, not hesitating one bit to open your window for him.

matt stepped into your room, his hair was soaked from the rain. he immediately engulfed you into a hug, wrapping his arms around you as tight as ever. you immediately clung onto him with your life, not caring how wet he was from the storm outside.

“sssh, shh, i’m here lovey..” matt cooed, his hand moving up to your hair. you both could still hear your parents going back and forth, it wasn’t as bad as before though. but at the same time, you didn’t know how much longer it was going to go on for.

“matt?” you hummed his name as your face was buried in his chest. “hm?” he replied back, rubbing your back soothingly.

“c—can we go back to your house? i can’t sleep here tonight.” you hesitantly asked. you couldn’t stay home tonight, you couldn’t deal with all the fighting anymore. it was all becoming too much.

“of course baby, let’s go mkay?” matt pulled away from the hug, you already had some stuff of yours at his house for when you slept over, so you didn’t need to pack anything.

matt took your hand, helping you step out your window and climb down the tree that stood next to it.

the rain had subsided as matt walked you to his car, helping you into the passenger seat. matt shut your door, getting into the other side and starting the car, beginning to drive off.

you turned your head, looking out the window as matt drove to his house. your eyes were exhausted, matt’s hand was placed on your thigh. he looked over at you every few seconds to make sure you were okay.

it was completely quiet in the car, the silence was comforting though. matt didn’t speak, knowing you probably wouldn’t want to right now.

your eyes began to shut as you rested your head on the back of your carseat, to say you were tired was an understatement.

matt looked over, seeing you fall asleep. he took your hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb to help you relax. he muttered a small “i love you.” as he looked at you.

you lazily hummed a response back, he smiled at your sleepy voice as he turned his head, putting his eyes back on the road.

he was glad he could be there for you, he was glad he could take care of you. because after all, you deserved it more than anything in the world. to matt, you were the most perfect girl. he saw the best in you even in your worst moments.

© delilahsturniolo

join the taglist here!!! 💌

[angelique-stoleurdiscord]

𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐚

(Lady Alcina Dimitrescu x F!Wife!Reader)

[Reader and Alcina comforting Daniela during a storm :D]

~Image credits to @/marblenxart on Twitter/X~

~Astraphobia (Fear of Thunder and Lightning)/Bit of angst/Fluff~

~Little use of Y/N, grammar may be poor, misspellings probably frequant, Reader is over 30 (roughly 36-38)~

~SFW~

~ ~

It was almost midnight and all that was heard was the soft pattering of rain on the windows of the castle, it was calming. These were one of the few nights that Bela, Cassandra and Daniela had actually gone to bed when asked, so the castle lacked the sound of cackling, giggling and screaming. The rain had been on and off for the past few hours. Heavy, then soft, heavy again, thunder, soft again. You found it quite relaxing, sitting in bed, maroon silk nightdress, long sleeves and long enough to trail behind you when you walk. You were sitting up against the back of the bed, reading quite a thick book with a cup of long forgotten tea sitting on the bedside table. Waiting for Alcina to finish working was pretty much a nightly thing now, which was a good thing, yet occasionally bad. Good, because you felt safe knowing your wife wasn't falling asleep in her study and leaving you to sleep alone, and bad, because sometimes you'd be up til past 3 waiting for her.

Either way, you were just glad when she finally joined you in bed. Currently, she was still in her study. You knew this A) because she wasn't with you, and B) because you could hear her pacing from a mile away. Eventually, some time around 1am, the footsteps got closer, and you smiled to yourself, prepared to see the doors to the chambers open, and your wife to duck into the room. Right on queue, the doors swung open, much faster then you were prepared, making you jump.

, , Dragă, I thought I told you to stop waiting for me."

The Countess spoke softly as she ducked into the room, holding onto the brim of her hat. She raised her eyebrow, frowning as she walked towards the bed. You slipped your bookmark between the pages and closed your book, placing it on the bedside table before looking up at your wife.

, , I'm sorry- I just don't like to sleep without you." You sigh, smoothing out the blankets covering your legs.

, , I'm flattered darling, but I don't like when you stay up so late, you're always so tired in the mornings. You almost fell asleep in your breakfast three days ago!" The mattress dipped down when she sat on the edge of the bed, her hand now resting on your thigh as her eyes met yours. They were full of concern but love.

You gave her a pleading look, holding yours hand together in your lap.

Silence filled the room for a moment before The Countess turned her head away with a sigh, a smile tugging at her lips.

, , You make it unbareabley hard to stay upset at you, darling."

, , I know!" You giggle before you pat your lap, with an expecting look on your face.

Something between a sigh and a chuckle escapes Alcina's lips, as she removes her hat, placing it on the corner of the bed as she leans back, her head laying on your lap. A wide smile spreads across your face as you begin to pull out the pins in your wife's soft raven hair.

Alcina closes her eyes, relaxing as you sort out her hair.

, , How was your day?" , , Painfully boring, once again." Alcina responds quietly. She was about to continue when she opened her eyes, quite suddenly. , , Oh dear-"

, , Hm?—" Suddenly, a loud bang rings through the castle, along with the bright flash of white light that was visible under the door. The sudden noise made you squeak.

, , Here she comes-" Right on queue, the chamber doors fly open, Daniela holding onto the doorway. She rushes into the room, closing the door behind her as she climbs onto the bed, immediately wrapping her arms around the vampiress.

, , My sweet girl, there's nothing to be afraid of." Alcina soothes as she wraps her arm around the girl, holding her close. Daniela burries her face into the crook of The Mistress's neck, lip trembling and all.

, , I don't want to take my chances, Mamă..." She whispered softly, cuddling closer.

You frown, reaching over and placing your hand on the girls arm, comfortingly. Alcina sits up, pulling Daniela to lay next to you on the bed. In response to this, Daniela grabs ahold of her mothers arm.

, , I have to go get changed, bug, I'll be back in a few minutes."

Alcina places a kiss on her daughters forehead, slipping out of Daniela's grasp and walking away. Daniela whines, but turns over, immediately latching onto your waist. She curls into you, while you run your fingers through her hair.

, , When will the storm be over..." She mumbles into your side, holding tighter when a quiet rumble is heard outside.

, , Soon, sweetheart. Soon." You brush a strand of hair away from her face, as you speak. Moving forward, you lay back on your pillow while you wrap your arm around Daniela.

By the time Alcina returned, Daniela had fallen asleep latched onto you. Alcina had wiped her face of her makeup, and had gotten changed into an identical nightdress as to what you were wearing. Instead it was a deep crimson, and was only held by straps and a deep V neckline. Thankfully, the bed was big enough for at least 5 people, so the three of you had no problem snuggling up to one another.

, , Goodnight my little bug. Sleep well." Alcina leaned down, kissing Daniela's cheek and forehead, receiving a content huff in return. She slipped into the bed, wrapping her arms around the both of you. She leaned over Daniela, kissing you softly goodnight before settling down into the blankets.

Soon enough, you fell asleep, Alcina not too far behind.

Yippee :D

It isn't much, but hey at least it's something

Lmk if you'd like some more, and if you have any requests, go off, I'm open to pretty much anything that isn't heavy smut :D (That'll probably change in the future)

Goodnight my loves <3

[zorkaya-moved]

𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 // 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘮𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘰𝘬𝘦 // 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘥-𝘪𝘴𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘪𝘵.

DO NOT REBLOG. DO NOT REPOST. DO NOT REUSE.

[bookshelf-dust]

when it's rainin'

billy hargrove x gn!reader

word count: 2,666 ;)

warnings: swearing, reader has a fear of thunderstorms, kinda newly established relationship, a few sexual innuendos, fluff

a/n: hi! this was very self-indulgent for me and i am decidedly dedicating this fic to all of my fellow thunderstorm fearers. i see you. i am you. i hope this isn't too bad. i revised it too many times and i'm still feeling a little fretful over it. also, the title is a fleetwood mac lyric. bite me. anyways, please let me know what you think! mwah mwah i love you <333

————

“Billy, I gotta get going.”

You squeeze the fat of his thigh where it’s draped over both of your legs. He takes hold of your wrist; his grip gentle, if not a little teasing. 

He turns to look at you, head lolling against the back of the couch. His hair is pushed up messily behind him on the cushion. You know that if he were to sit up, it’d be matted in the way that it gets when he lays on it for too long. 

Billy knows the cogs in your brain are at work. The beginnings of a cocky smirk play at the corners of his mouth. He furrows his brow, faux concern written all across his face, as if something’s wrong. 

“But it’s rainin’, baby.” He gives his head a little shake, like he can’t believe you’d leave in weather like this.

His smirk is in full bloom when he laces his fingers with yours and lifts your hand up to his mouth. You turn to look out the window and feel him press a kiss to your knuckles. 

He’s buttering you up and you know it. 

“It’s just rain, Hargrove. And I do know how to drive.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, the rain picks up, enough so that you can hear it pounding against the roof. 

Billy laughs, low and sweet. You glare at him.

“Fine. I’ll wait it out.”

“Mhm,” he grunts, peeling his leg off of yours and repositioning himself on the couch. He leans up against the arm, and holds his own out to you. You know what he’s doing, so you oblige. 

Billy loves to watch storms, and holding you this way makes for a better view out the window. You lean into him, back pressed to his chest. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and buries his face in your neck. 

There’s a crack of lightning and the rumble of thunder that follows seems to shake the earth itself. Your stomach drops. This is exactly what you hadn’t wanted to happen, and now you’re stuck here, with Billy, internally panicking over a thunderstorm. Admittedly, you do feel a bit safer than you would alone in your bedroom, but this fear isn’t exactly something you share with others. 

“You can’t drive home in that,” he argues. 

You grab hold of Billy’s forearms, his skin warm under your palms. “I said I’d wait it out,” you mumble. 

He kisses the side of your throat, and it’s the kind of kiss you might feel lingering there for the rest of the day. Like his lips have left a searing brand against your skin. 

“You could just stay,” he drawls. 

“Billy.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh and moves his face back from you. “Yeah, I know. You don’t love me.”

You let yourself slide further down the couch until your head rests on Billy’s tummy. He doesn’t let go of you though, hands rubbing over your collarbones. “That’s not fair.”

It thunders then, at a volume you couldn’t have expected. It rattles both you and the windows, making you jump. 

“You okay?” Billy’s tone is sincere. 

You sit back up a little bit, and he uses the leverage to pull you into him. He wraps his arms around you completely, enveloping you in warmth and the scent of his body wash. The gesture is protective. He can see the way you glance out the window, and he thinks you might be looking for that flash, that queue for another rumble. 

“‘M fine. Scared me is all.”

Your grip on Billy’s knee says otherwise. He thinks he understands.

“I’ve never been with you during a storm before. You don’t like ‘em?”

You glance back at him. The concern on his face is genuine this time, but you can still see that underlying tendency to tease, like he’s ready to use it when he feels necessary. 

“Rain is fine,” you start. “I love it, actually. It’s just when it gets like this, when you can’t see down the driveway anymore and it’s windy. I really don’t like the wind.”

It is pretty damn windy. Billy hadn’t noticed it until you pointed it out. It makes him glad he parked under the carport today, knowing this is the kind of storm that leaves a mess behind. 

You’re starting to panic, not only because you’ve just told Billy about your childish fear, but also because you don’t know what kind of weather they’re calling for. You live in Indiana, for fucks sake. You don’t like that all of this is out of your control, that there’s nothing you can do but wait it out. 

“Hey, look at me.” Billy says, voice low and enticing. It pulls you from your spiraling thoughts. Your fingers are cold where they press into his legs. You twist around to face him and his hands meet your cheeks. His eyes are boring into yours. 

He kisses you. It’s slow, measured. The kind of kiss that steals your breath and demands your full attention. 

You realize too late that it’s a distraction. You don’t jump when it thunders this time. 

Billy pulls away, pleased with the blissed out look on your face. With the fact that he’s seemingly calmed you down for the moment. 

“That sweatshirt you like is on my bed. Why don’t you go get it, huh?”

You nod and he steadies you when you climb off of him and the couch. Billy wants to look at the weather, but he also wants to take care of you. He’s not letting you drive home tonight. 

You slip down the hall and Billy uses the time to flip the channel, assuming the weather will be on. 

You find his sweatshirt where he told you it’d be and stop at the foot of his bed, pulling it on over your head. It smells like him. Not like his cologne or cigarettes, but like the Billy who took a shower and got cold, who fell asleep earlier than usual and slept in more clothes than he ever has—this sweatshirt included. 

You see the lightning this time and are able to brace yourself for the thunderclap that follows. You still scramble back to the living room, seeking refuge in Billy. 

Your footsteps are quiet despite your panic, and Billy only notices you’ve entered the room because he’d sat up firmly against the back of the couch. You’re chewing on your lip, staring at the warnings flying across the screen. “What’d it say?” 

Billy turns the tv off. “Nothing bad baby, promise.” He holds out his hands and scoots to the edge of his seat, pulling you to stand in between his legs. He closes them against your own, gently trapping you there. “Just that it was gonna be stormy the rest of the night.”

Your brow furrows. “It’s not gonna let up?”

“Doesn’t look like it.” This time you catch the way the corner of his mouth quirks up. Clearly he’s happy with himself and the weather. 

Billy’s always loved these kinds of storms, and he hates that you don’t, but if he can get rain and his baby to spend the night all in one go? He’ll be pretty damn content. 

You realize that you should’ve watched the weather report this morning, but it seems that when you know you’ll be spending time with Billy, he’s the only thing that occupies your brain. 

“Dammit,” you say. 

Billy squeezes at your hips, and it makes you look down at him. There’s a pout on his face: the crease between his brows deepening, his bottom lip jutting out just that little bit. He squeezes harder now that he’s got your attention. 

“Something wrong with staying here? You really wanna go home that bad?” 

Billy’s teasing and you know it. You know that he’d let you go if you actually wanted to, that he’d worry until you got home and called him to say you were okay. You also know that he wants you to stay, and you’ve known that since you got to his place and saw the relief on his face. Hell, he hasn’t stopped touching you since then either. He’s plenty needy today. 

You cup his face with your hands, swipe your thumb over the smattering of freckles under his eye. His fingers have made their way under the hem of your (his) shirt and are pressing into your skin. 

“I didn’t say that. I just told my parents that I wouldn’t be home too late.”

“So call and say you’re staying the night, that you don’t want to drive home in this weather.”

You decide then that maybe you don’t need to overthink this so much. That maybe you shouldn’t let your brain ruin what could be a nice night. 

“Okay.”

Billy blinks up at you.

You move away from him and then you’re picking up the phone from its place on the wall, punching in your home number. 

Billy can’t believe that worked. You never listen to him. And clearly you recognize this given that you’re hiding a grin with the back of your hand as you talk. The phone call is over quickly, and when you walk back over to him, Billy pulls you down into his lap. Your fingers find their way into his hair before you can even think about it. 

“Have I behaved better than I thought?” Billy asks, tentatively rubbing up and down your thighs. 

You grin at him and place a kiss on his cheek. It’s warmer than it should be, because somehow you’ve managed to fluster him. 

“You keep giving me your pitiful little looks, Billy.”

He scoffs. “No, I don’t.”

“Don’t lie to me, pretty boy.”

He blushes. Goddamnit, Billy thinks. You can read him much too easily now. He’s really fucked. 

Billy exhales. “I’ve wanted you to stay the night for weeks. But you always had to be home or somethin’. And the storm seems to be working in my favor tonight, y’know?” He gives you this look then, his eyes traveling across your face, down your neck and back up. He bats his lashes at you and you slap him on the shoulder. 

He acts as though he’s appalled, grabbing you by the waist and maneuvering you off of him and onto the couch. Billy braces himself against the cushions and hovers over top of you. “Now that was just rude.”

“You deserved it,” you bite back, leaning up to swipe the tip of your tongue across the end of his nose. “Hate it when you flirt with me.”

Billy rolls his eyes and lets his weight drop down on top of you, causing you to voice an audible oof. 

He props himself up on his elbows, face inches from yours. “Mhm. Hate it when your boyfriend flirts with you. I believe it.”

You start to say something, something he knows will be a smartass remark, so Billy presses his lips to yours, stealing the breath from your lungs. You make a noise of surprise and Billy starts to laugh against your mouth, a low chuckle that makes you want to both keep kissing him and shove him on the floor. 

Billy pulls away to press kisses to both of your cheeks and the center of your throat. You’re lost in his affection when it thunders again, making you jolt underneath him. He brings a hand up to cradle your cheek. “Hey. S’okay.”

You start to nod when the lights flicker, and you swear your heart falls out of your ass. Please don’t let the power go out, you think. He can read the panic on your face. 

“Okay,” Billy grunts, pushing himself to stand. “New plan.”

You sit up, and Billy quickly hooks one arm around your back, the other under your thighs. He hoists you up and over his shoulder, making you squeal with how swift the action is. But you don’t protest, and only hope that he won’t drop you on the way to his next destination.

Billy sets you down on his bed.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, running your hands down your face. You realize too quickly the opening you’ve given him.

He leans in to kiss your forehead, though he pulls away and lets his mouth linger over the shell of your ear. 

“You can ride anytime you want, baby.”

You fall back onto his mattress. “Billy, please.”

“Don’t gotta beg, honey. Whatever it is, I’ll give it to you.”

You hold back a groan at his antics. “I really should’ve gone home.” 

Billy laughs and lands a playful smack to the side of your thigh before moving towards his dresser. 

You push up on your elbows to watch him sort through his clothes. He grabs a couple things and brings them to you before pulling his own shirt off over his head. 

“Why are you stripping?” You question, looking over the shirt and shorts he’d handed you. 

“If you think that’s stripping, clearly I haven’t been good enough to you,” Billy snorts.

You grin up at him. “Are these for me?” you ask, holding onto the bundle of fabric in your hands. 

“Mhm. For you to sleep in.”

You nod hesitantly, having just seen a flash outside of Billy’s window. This time the rumble is just that, not a clap, not enough to rattle the windows in their frames. 

Billy moves towards his door, with the promise of getting more blankets, allowing you a moment to change. He comes back with water for you, too.

He kicks the door closed behind him, internally melting at the sight of you in his clothes. You’re so pretty, it physically hurts him. He’s never felt that way in his life. 

Billy gets you to drink some for him before you’re scooting further into his bed and he’s kicking off his sweats. 

You watch him move around the room, the way the muscles of his back move as he’s shutting blinds and pulling makeshift curtains closed. He turns off the overhead light, leaving only that coming from the lamps he has. 

You’re in awe of how easy it is for him to take care of you. How he didn’t pester you for being afraid of the storm but instead has comforted you and seems dedicated to keeping you safe. 

Billy finally slips into bed beside you. “What are we doing?” you ask, eyeing his torso while he settles in. He pretends not to notice. 

“I’m protecting you from the big bad storm, baby.” He kisses your hairline. 

You smile at him, one of pure joy that starts slow and grows brilliantly. The both of you are bundled up like it’s some big sleepover, or like you’ve stayed up hiding a book beneath the sheets. 

“Well, I’m not sleepy. So what’d you wanna do? Tell secrets?” 

Billy props his head up, palm cradling the base of his skull, elbow squishing his pillow. He laughs and squeezes at your hip. 

“Trivia? Talk about boys?” you continue. 

He shakes his head, his smile matching yours and making his eyes crinkle at the corners. Sometimes he can’t believe he landed you. “You got a boy you wanna talk about?”

You snort. “Mhm. There’s one I like. He’s pretty but super grumpy.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep.”

“I think trivia might be better since you’re just going to bully me.” 

Billy flops down on his back. You push up so you can hover over him. 

“Whatever you want, baby.” 

Billy rolls his eyes but kisses you again, pulling your face down to meet his, mouth warm against yours. The next round of thunder is louder than the last and your heart rate picks up, but with him here it feels okay.

It’s hard not to feel safe when he takes such good care of you, when he’s warm enough that everything feels protected, like you could weather any storm with him and his smart ass mouth.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

tagging: @clovermunson (for being such a gem and helping me)

[arcanecovcn]

@demonicescort continued from this starter.

So, based on Patrick's reaction, he looked worse than he initially thought. And okay, maybe he was playing it down in his mind so the adrenaline he felt wasn't replaced by panic or another emotion that would make him crash and burn into a tired, bloody mess... but it seemed like he'd gone too far with pretending he was okay. And if not okay, at least somewhat decent.

"Please don't yell," he begged, slumping a little further into the chair -that he ruined- and pressing a bloody hand to the most worrisome wound -that didn't stop bleeding. "I'm sorry for being such an imposition."

He did feel bad. Stumbling through his friend's window at an ungodly hour of the night was violating at least three state laws and the code of friendship he ruled himself by. 'Do not get your friends involved in your supernatural/vigilante-y activities' had been the number one rule... and now it was broken.

"I got trapped inside a warehouse packed with a stupidly large amount of guns. They all had guns, some of them had knives..." his words came out interrupted by heaving gasps. Even though he wasn't dying -technically-, everything hurt on at least six different levels, so even speaking -or breathing- was kind of a chore. "I made it out, but barely. Do you have-- hypoallergenic mycropore tape? That'll come in handy to help tape the wounds together--"

Had he done this before? Maybe. Had it been this bad? Not remotely. Did he have the scars to prove it? Yes, of course, he did, engraved in the skin of his thighs in the same manner Patrick's naked body was now engraved in his mind for the rest of eternity. Not a bad sight, not a bad sight at all...

"And- hydrogen peroxide can help clean the wound--"

[arcanecovcn]

One skill he had yet to master in this vigilante business was- to stop himself from being caught when sneaking. He was a little too clumsy to be sneaky, hence why he had a gauntlet aimed at his face. "Whoa, dude! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I'm Bran- Tempest. I go by Tempest and I would appreciate it if you put that thing away before it blows me to pieces." Slowly, Brandon took a step back and raised his hands in the universal 'I give up' sign. "I mean you no harm, promise!"

“And who are you supposed to be?” One of his hands is extended forward, the gauntlet of his armor ready to be used if necessary. Though Logan doesn’t actually plan to fire at the other person—not even as a warning—he keeps it ready, just in case. After all, he hadn’t expected a confrontation while heading home after a small mission, but here he was. “I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you around.”

@stormbringcr // liked for a starter !

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Clean Cut 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live with your tyrannical aunt and meet a man who can relate to your familial dejection.

Characters: Thor

This is a spinoff of Dirty Work

Note: I feel as if someone is crushing my uterus between two stones so needless to say today is gonna be the wooooorst. But hope y’all are well.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Thor loves thunder. Take care. 💖

The door of the bakery swings open before you can reach it. You stand back, given pause in the same moment by the ding of your phone. You keep the ringer on, knowing better than to miss a single message. You know who it is before you even look at the screen. There is only one person it could be. 

‘How long?’ Aunt Bonnie’s message is terse and to the point. You can hear her usual rigid tone through the text. 

You step back, out of the way of other pedestrians, and key in your reply. ‘At the bakery now.’ 

You don’t expect a response. She’d be disappointed if you were pulling into the driveway. The message alone tells you that you’re already late, even if you’re well ahead of schedule. 

You tuck your phone into your pocket and reach for the long bar across the bakery door. Before you can grip it, another hand wraps around the tarnished metal. You once more shy away as the tall man pulls open the door and stands back. 

“After you,” his deep timbre insists. 

You nod, chin straight, and thank him politely as you enter. You join the queue, your delay having you further back than you could’ve been. The bakery is even warmer than outside and adds to the sweat speckling along your nape. You tug at your high collar, not the best choice at the height of spring. Summer will be there soon and you don’t expect the stiff fabric will be any more forgiving. 

The man lines up behind you. Your mind reels with doubt. Should you offer him your spot? He did hold the door and technically would have been ahead of you. You sway in indecision; caught between what is proper and appeasing your aunt as quickly as you can. What’s a few more minutes? 

You turn and look up at the man as he rubs his eye socket and winces. You gasp at the sight of him, surprised by the purplish splotch that darkens nearly half his face. And the way he stands; as tall as he is, he hunches in one shoulder, his hand falling to cradle his ribs. 

“Oh my, what happened?” You ask before you can censor your curiosity. You pucker your lips guilty then flatten them to an apologetic smile, “sorry, I...” 

He clears his throat and shakes his head, “no matter, I am quite a mess.” He looks down at himself and shrugs, flinching as it no doubt pains his battered body. “I suppose you might chalk it up to a sibling rivalry.” 

You bat your lashes and nod, not sure of his meaning. You peer side to side, then back to him, recalling your original intent. You lift your chin to look up at him. He’s very big and blond and burly. 

“Um, I thought maybe... you were ahead of me,” you explain, “I’ve taken your spot, sir.” 

He considers you, eyes narrowing as his head tilts. He keeps his hand against his ribs and coughs, “nah, it is no issue. It’s only right to let a lady go first. My mother always said so.” 

“Oh, lady?” You echo in surprise, “I...” you look down at yourself. You’ve never been called a lady before, “thank you.” 

He hums and you turn back to move along with the queue. He shuffles behind you, looming. People don’t often notice you. It could be your clothing; plain, straight cut, muted, nothing special, just like you. As with anything in your life, you have only what Aunt Bonnie allows you to have. 

“The strawberry tarts are good,” the man suggests and you glance up over your shoulder at him, “pardon again, lady, I cannot read the specials board.” 

His left eye is swollen amid the blackened bruising. Another pang of sympathy tweaks in your chest. You look back to the count and read the small chalkboard by the till; “Earl Grey cookie, two for three, or apple blossoms, half off with a full pie or dozen muffins.” 

“Ah, think I’ll stick with the usual,” he mutters. “Do you have a favourite?” 

You’re surprised, and most unprepared, for his continued conversation. You dab your forehead with the back of your hand then drop it to tug at your stiff cuff. You push your shoulders up and rock back and forth, still facing the counter, “only here to grab an order for my aunt.” 

“Oh, that’s lovely. Very helpful of you. She must appreciate that,” he remarks. 

“Mm, yeah, I... try to help,” you answer and pick at your sleeve. 

“It is good to keep family close,” he exhales sonorously, “you never know...” he trails off and hisses. You peek back again as he daintily touches his cheek. “My mother loves this bakery but suppose she would throw anything I got her in my face these days.” 

You don’t know what to say. He looks worse for wear and sounds just as bad. Whatever happened can’t have been very nice. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, uncertain what other comfort you can offer the stranger. 

“Ah, but you know what they say,” he smiles bitterly, his cheek twitching, though you cannot tell if it is borne of pain or spite, “Walpurgisnacht is a new beginning. With it comes great change, eh?” 

“Walpurgisnacht?” You repeat, “yes, I... I suppose so...” 

“Did you not celebrate?” He wonders. 

You shake your head. You were not invited. That isn’t very unusual. You spent the night cleaning and when all was spotless, you hid in your room with a book. 

“Ah, I had it that everyone attended,” he says, “my mother did make sure to invite all within the county.” 

His mother? Your Aunt Bonnie mentioned that Frigga Odinson was sure to send an invitation to every household within a radius. She could not help but rant about the event, more envious than excited. You never went to any of the Odinson affairs, you were never included, though you never paid much mind to the fact. 

“Your mother is Frigga?” You ask as the customer ahead of you walks away with their order. 

“So she is, if she would still call herself as much,” he sniffs. 

“Pardon, sorry,” you apologise and scurry up to the counter, not wanting to make the clerk wait, “hi, er, I have an order number.”  

You unlock your phone, your notes app is already open with your list of to-dos. You read out the code and the man goes to retrieve the cake. You wait anxiously, bouncing on your heels. When he returns, you pay with the exact amount in cash as your aunt counted out and thank him. 

You take the box and turn, nearly colliding with the tall blond man. You move aside, penned in by those waiting for their order and the queue of new arrivals. He pays and sidles along close to you. 

“Party?” He asks as he looks at the box in your hands. 

“My cousin’s birthday,” you explain and look up at the clock on the wall, “I should go...” 

“Yes, you should. As I said, family is very important,” he insists glumly and looks around, “Oi, the lady needs through,” he says to the man crowding you from your other side, “move aside then.” 

The man looks over sharply but his glare dissolves quickly as he sees who bosses him around. He backs up enough for you to get through. The stranger, an Odinson as he claims, follows. 

“Before you go, lady,” he says, “might I have your name?” 

You turn back to him. You remember your aunt talking about Walpurgisnacht with your cousins. She said there was some trouble but you didn’t hear much more than that. She always caught you listening in so you do your best not to. 

You give your name as you connect the pieces, “and you’re Thor Odinson?” 

“You know me,” he smiles. 

“My cousins spoke of you. They were at Walpurgisnacht.” 

“Mm, a pity you were not,” he drawls as his lips curve slightly. 

“It was nice meeting you but I should go now,” you look over your shoulder, “my aunt is waiting on me.” 

“Better hurry then,” he says, “perhaps we might run into one another again.” 

“Er, maybe,” you agree thinly. It isn’t likely. You don’t go very many places, not without permission. “I hope things get better for you. Oh and I read that witch hazel works for bruises but I never tried it.” 

“Witch hazel?” He repeats and touches his split brow, “I shall try it. Thank you.” 

You turn to go and feel his gaze clinging to you. Thor Odinson. You’ve heard of him, as you’ve heard of the rest of his family. His mother has appeared at your aunt’s brunches on occasion and his father’s name is spoken often by your uncle. What you know is that they’re rich and that your aunt resents everything about them. You guess it’s why she tries so hard to be like them. 

All that doesn’t matter then. What matters is that you get home with the cake and everything else or you’ll spoil the whole party. Regardless, Aunt Bonnie will surely find some mistake to needle away at. 

🫧

You place the box on the counter as Aunt Bonnie orders around the chef. You don’t know why she didn’t have them also do the cake but you don’t dare ask. Before you can flee, she turns and catches you mid-step. She snaps her fingers and you stay. 

She goes to the deep box and lifts the lid. Her sigh fills you with dread. Her lashes flutter in exasperation and you frown. What is it now? 

“Are you serious right now? I asked for blush, not rose. Harriet will hate it.” She snarls and balls her fists as she tilts her face to the ceiling. “I told you to check. Have I not been working myself ragged to make today the absolute perfect day for my little girl? Hm, do you hate your cousin so much?” 

“No, Aunt Bonnie, I’m sorry. I did check. In the car. I thought--” 

“You have a poor eye. Or perhaps you are just like your mother. She always was jealous, she did all she could to sabotage me. She even pawned you off on me,” she sneers. 

You lower your eyes, “I can go back.” 

“And what do you think they would redo it for free? You left the store. I’ve dealt with those bakers before and they are a stingy lot. That Frigga swears by them and yet every time I go, I am disappointed.” She scoffs and wipes her hands. “Never to worry, I shall make sure at least that my part is adequate. Mm,” she pauses, “perhaps I am should not be disappointed in them. They’ve an excuse for their mistakes.” 

The look she gives you scalds. You stare at the shining tile floor. “Can I help--” 

“Yes, go set the table? Are you daft?” 

You acquiesce promptly. You take a tray to gather up the appropriate cutlery, you’ll be sure to fetch some of the monogrammed napkins as well to compliment the arrangement. The fine porcelain would be in order. 

“Make certain you polish it first,” Bonnie snips as you pass her by. 

“Yes, Aunt Bonnie,” you recite. 

“Yes, Aunt Bonnie,” she mocks derisively and waves you off as she turns to the chef. “Is that how you’re doing the lobster rolls? Those are going to fall apart.” 

That you are not the only one she reprimands hardly makes you feel better. You only feel bad for the chef. That’s the sixth chef she’s hired this year. The others have quit, along with several maids and even the gardener. You don’t have that choice. She’s family and you owe her. 

You rest the tray on a chair and go to grab a cloth to give a cursory wipe to the table. Then, you spread an ivory table cloth over the dark wood and smooth it out. With your canvas laid, you fetch the polish and a new cloth and polish each piece of silver before arranging it. 

As you make your way around the table, the smell of the polish making your head pound and your nose sting, your Aunt Bonnie stomps through the door. She has a vase of tall flowers in hand. She tuts and stops short, her nostrils rounding. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me? I said the blush cloth. To match the icing, thought it will not now. And--” 

She marches over and hugs the crystal vase to her side with one arm. She picks up a spoon, “there is a speck on this one. Are you so disrespectful? Are you doing this on purpose? Do you know who is coming to dinner?” 

“I’m sorry, Aunt--” 

“Your apologies mean nothing. Do better. I will not have you ending up like your mother. I wonder how we are even related,” she sniffs down her nose at you. “I want Frigga to see her reflection in each piece.” She throws the spoon at you and it hits your chin before you catch it. 

“Frigga? Odinson?” You sputter before you can censor yourself. 

“Huh? And what does it matter to you?” She plunks the vase down heavily so the water sloshes onto the cloth. “You won’t be meeting her. I can’t risk that humiliation.” 

She turns her chin up and struts away. You turn to look at the sodden fabric around the base of the crystal and frown. You should be happy to avoid the whole event. The few times you were included, it was only to pour the wine.