#the throwing and catching things issue may have had more to do with how people treated me as a kid | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dropsnectar · 2 months ago

Text

Pollen and Potions: Bee-men x afab!reader

PART THREE

This is a longer part than the rest, but its all necessary dialogue so it should be fine. More fluffy and romance than smut, BUT!! Their will be smut in the next section! I know I said this will only be 4 parts, but it may actually be more like 5 or 6. Anyway, hope you like!

So. You were starting to learn that using large batches of magic back to back weren't ideal for a young witch's health. It seemed like you might have overdone it, as when you woke you found you had been asleep for TWO WHOLE DAYS. So. If you were going to do magic, it looked like you were going to have to pace yourself, or perhaps use LESS magic.

You put yourself to learning more about witchcraft. The thing was, your grandmother's books didn't really go into the basics, and as witches were so rare, information was hard to find. Of course, the internet was full of supposed witch spells, or frameworks, but it was like throwing dice. Some spells didn't work. Some spells took up WAY too much energy. Some were just… fine? But not what you needed.

Next you checked out forum sites. Maybe you could find a community through that way? But all you found were psychics and tarot readers. Nice people, but not what you needed.

Whelp. Maybe you needed to look at the issue differently. The environment used to be a beautiful, thriving area. What had changed between now and then? In order to understand a magic ecosystem, you had to understand ecosystems. So, for the rest of the week you busied yourself with ecology study. It was turning out that this project you had adopted on a whim would need a lot more time and breadth of knowledge then you originally thought.

***

When you met with Rena, under Lyith’s friendly gaze, you found that the magic you had cast hadn't waned at all. The flowers had grown beautifully and continued to give magic nectar that created the best honey. Rena was beside herself. “The elders of the hive say they haven't had honey of this quality since they were children! You are really onto something here, little one.”

Rena had now gotten in the habit of calling you little one. Sure, as a Bee-man she was slightly taller than you, but not by much. Also the constant fluttering and floating didn't help.

“You've been given permission to test your magic on our other gardens as well. As long as we are careful and continue with caution!” Rena babbled. You gave her a small smile and felt Lyiths arm on your shoulder. He laid his head on your other shoulder, leaning his fuzzy head against yours.

“Whats wrong?”

You wiggled a little. “I'm just having a hard time brainstorming how to do this. I know I said I'd help you guys, but I might not be able to use as much magic as last time. To be honest, I don't really know much about my mana and my limits…” you explained your situation. Expecting there to be disappointment, you were surprised to find none.

“I can’t help but think… How long will this last? One spell isn’t going to cut it for that long. I want to create something that will last for you guys, but that might take a while… and doing just this took all the mana I had. I want to do better. But I don’t want to hurt myself either, especially when I don’t know how this could affect my health in the long run…” The bee-men seemed to be catching on.

“Of course, little one. We wouldn't want you to harm yourself.”

Lyith also popped up, his voice almost in your ear.

“Us Bee-men also have something like mana. Our magic is not never ending. We would have fixed this situation ourselves if it was.”

Rena reached forward and grabbed your hand, giving it a reassuring pat. “We don't have to do anything today. We can commence whenever you'd like. Our flowers have spread out beautifully and even this is enough.”

You frowned.

“I may have to do this every spring. Or even redo it in the summer…”

“You don’t owe us anything. You are trying your best to do us a kindness. And our hive knows and sees that. We are beyond grateful to you… Its… We’ve needed…We are truly grateful.” His expression fell at the mention of his hive, his antennas drooping. Rena moved forward and held Lyith, a sad expression on her own face.

There was a pause in conversation that grew somewhat awkward.

How do I make this better? You tried to brainstorm, but only one thing came to mind.

You went over and gave the both of them a big bear hug. It was a tense one, but you tried to adjust your emotions, instead concentrating on how fond you had grown of the two. You tried to shout it as loud as you could through your brain at them.

This seemed to break the spell, as Rena started to laugh. Lyith looked at you affectionately.

“I know we haven't known each other long, but I just want to say, you can count on me. If you ever need to talk about anything let me know. I'll listen.”

Rena and Lyith hummed in response, returning your group hug with a long squeeze.

Long hugs. The favorite actions of a Bee-men.

After some quiet reassurances, the two of you decided to idle while the two foraged on the edge of the Wood. You walked with them and asked them as many questions you could think of. How old were they? Were they able to do other magics? You had thought Bee-men to be isolated. How come they knew so much about human culture?

Lyith was the one who answered you most of the time. It seemed that bee-man typically lived double the life of a human, with Rena and Lyith being about 45, and 51, Lyith being the oldest. They were in the same season of life as you though!

Bee-man could do some other magics(they didn't go much into what), but they specialized in making their magical honey, which fortified the health and wellbeing of a Bee-men.

They didn’t say it outright but it seemed like the dip in magic had affected the nutrition of their food source. They kept their own bees and shared honey, but it still wasn't enough, so they had ventured out into human society to buy fruit when it was necessary. They also did trade with neighboring beast-men, the Wolfmen being happy to share their fruit for their Bee’s wax waste. I

“What exactly do you guys do for fun though?” You asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Lyith smiled. “Late night flying is fun.”

Rena snorted. “You mean late night spying. Lyith has a habit of looking through people's windows.”

Lyith wrinkled his nose at Rena. “If they did not want to be seen they would have drawn the curtains. It's not strange, I am just curious about human life is all.”

Rena reached forward and pinched Lyiths nose. “Poor thing. So bored he must make mischief.”

You looked at Lyith with surprise. His big eyes grew in concern and he pouted at you.

“You are not going to tease me too are you? I promise, I never see anything scandalous. I'm a good little bee.” He fluttered his eyes at you.

You giggled and pushed his shoulder.

“As long as you're not spying on me I guess it's harmless.”

Lyiths expression shifted to one of his dopey smiles. It always surprised you how innocent he could look despite his size. Was it maybe…

“So… I may have read that you guys are telepathic right?”

Renas face changed into a smirk.

“Yes, and?”

“ Well, have you guys ever… used your powers on me?”

Rena snorted. Lyith gave you an unreadable expression. “We Bee-man are very particular about sharing our heads outside of our hives. But no. We haven't done anything to you if that's what you meant…”

Oh. He was pouting now.

“No! Thats not what I meant! I just… i feel so comfortable around you guys it's almost supernatural. I just. Idk. Wanted to know. Please I didn't mean anything by it!”

Lyith wrinkled his nose at you and Rena continued to seem amused. You felt helpless and got a bit upset with yourself. You did your best to calm yourself down but you were upset. You had so few friends here and you were afraid you blew it. A wave of loneliness swept through you.

Lyith was watching you the whole time, before sighing. “All will be forgiven if you give us some of those fruit tarts you made yesterday.”

You looked at him, shocked.

“I thought you said you didn't spy on me!”

“I wasn't spying, I just happened to be foraging by the window, and smelled something amazing. It was all incidental.”

“There's sugar in the crust. Won’t your tummy get upset?”

He just smiled. Rena laughed. “He named his price. For offending us, we must get fruit tarts.”

Finally feeling better, the three of you walked(they let you walk!!!) Back to your home. You served them up your tarts, when finally the questions started coming about you. Why did you move here? Do you have any siblings? What were you like as a child?

This went on until dinner time, at which point you decided to shoo your new friends away. “ I'll be back to do the flowers tomorrow. We… we will see what I can do.” You admitted. The two of them smiled at you, hugging you tight for a good three minutes. They always lingered, nuzzling your face and hair, as if they were getting a whiff of you. You could smell their own perfume and tried not to think too much. Their goodbyes always felt so intimate.

Rena decided to pepper your face in kisses before they left. Lyith just rolled his eyes at her. When they drew apart you felt empty, like some piece of you was going with them.

***

As always, Lyith picked you up that morning. This time, you made sure to bring a scarf and hat, alongside emergency snacks in your bag. Where he was taking you next was a little longer of a trip, a whole ten minutes to the usual six. That was a long time when you were hurtling through the air.

You were surprised to drop into a small crowd. There were ten Bee-men present besides Rena, who seemed to be communicating silently with them. The air was full of bee noises; humming, purring, the fluttering of wings. The air smelled amazingly fresh, floral and syrupy. It was an odd smell, but it seemed to put you at ease somehow. And maybe a bit peckish.

A Beeman a whole foot and a half taller then Rena fluttered towards you. They bowed, of which you awkwardly returned before they reached forward and took your hand gently. Lyith started,

“This is Elder Bisou. He is the eldest of our hive. He is showing you respect.”

Elder Bisou smiled at you. “Little Witch, I welcome you to our territory. My human is a bit… unused. Please receive our thanks for your efforts.” He took your hand and leaned down so that it met his temple. You could feel the rush of his magic, like your mind was a fish bowl and he was putting a gentle hand on the glass. You could feel his warmth, his deep gratitude through it.

Your back straightened and you felt water prick your eyelids. You gave him a slow nod, becoming acutely aware just how serious this whole situation actually was. Rena and Lyith had been dancing around it, but the Bee-men must be slowly starving to death. That was the only explanation for the depths of what you had felt.

“I will do my best.” Was all you could reply.

Lyith, acting as your translator, took you to each Bee-men he could and introduced you. It seemed that some of the elders, as well as some of those who had free time had come to watch the “little witch” work. Most took your hand gently, and sent you a ghost of what their emotions were. There was a sort of film around the emotions, a barrier of sorts. Whether this was on purpose so you wouldn’t be overwhelmed, or just how their telepathy worked, you couldn't tell.

You did your best to not let your nerves get to you as you dissected the sections of the field where you would be doing your experiments. You didn’t know how these particular flowers would take to your spell, so it was still best to be cautious. The bee-men looked on with interest.

You did your chants in a loud booming fashion, and channeled in as elegant a fashion as you could. Like always, the magic came, and the spell did its work. These flowers were different, like rainbow colored lavender. Rather than letting the magic gush through you, you let it gently trickle out, pacing yourself. When the deeds were done, you still felt sore, and you still held a headache in your temple, but there was no nausea, so growth!

Once you were done with your work, there was a large excited buzzing throughout the forest. There was clapping, dancing, stomping of feet, pumping of many hands, whoops from Rena and Lyith. One Bee, a worker named Aidenn held a small wooden instrument in his hands and started to play. This triggered a chorus from the Bee-men. There was a harmonizing among the crowd and they started to circle each other, laughing and dancing. A circle of flying, spinning Bee-men formed.

Rena grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you onto her shoulder before joining in the circle of the dance. You giggled as you spun, feeling the giddiness in the air like it was laughing gas. That same pressure filled your mind and a part of your heart started to soar. It was intimate, but not stifling and you loved feeling so close to everyone.

You lifted your hands and, feeling in the spirit, decided to hum along. At some point Rena had taken you in her arms and held you close as they continued to fly in a circle, spinning and perrying, and switching. It was similar to square dancing, where there was a pattern to it.

At one point, the tune changed and Lyith swooped down from above and grabbed you out of Rena’s arms. She snorted at him but let it happen, joining hands with another passing Bee-men. When Lyith gathered you in his arms, he cradled you as close as possible, surprising you. One hand was gripping firmly around your waist and the other crushing you to him. He landed on the ground, and the rest of the bee-men followed, causing something of a ballroom dance.

“You did wonderfully today.” He breathed in your ear, causing them to redden. You pulled yourself back a bit to see his face and he was looking at you with such pride and affection it felt like a weight crushing your chest. You moved your hands from his shoulders to reach his own hands. You were shaky, but you wanted to return his feelings somehow. His palms were soft.

This caused him to laugh, a purring sort of trill coming from his throat. You couldn’t help a silly grin form on your face.

“I’m glad you came to my garden.” Was all you could think to say.

He looked at you, with those big black eyes, then reached forward and kissed you on the lips. It was only a peck, but you could feel his joy through it.

Something complex within you, a mix of happiness, excitement, hope, all of your feelings rose up into your throat. Unable to find the words to express yourself, you took all of those big heavy emotions, wrapped them all up together and kissed him back, right there, in the middle of your makeshift dance floor.

When you pulled away Lyith looked shocked, his bottom lip hanging open. Adorable as usual.

Rena hollered from the otherside of the gathering, sending out a big whoop. There was laughter, buzzing and an echoing whoop from some of the younger bee-men. Elder Bisou made some clicking sounds, but the sides of his mouth were slightly upturned.

It occurred to you then that you were in the middle of a group of very telepathic monster people. Your cheeks grew hot in embarrassment and you pulled away from Lyith a bit. Your shoes suddenly became very interesting.

Lyith eventually turned your chin back up to face him. He held a small peaceful smile, before bumping his forehead to yours. He didn’t share his emotions but the affection was still there.

After you grew too tired to dance, you took a seat under a tree, munching on a granola bar. Another one of the Bee-men, a younger drone named Haven, made his way to sit next to you.

“I don’t know if it was mentioned, but honey production has picked up enormously since you agreed to help us. I haven’t felt this great in… well ever! Thank you little witch!”

“I’m not little, but thank you for saying so.” You were starting to get a bit lightheaded now, and not from the dancing. It was possible that some of the symptoms of mana sickness were surfacing a little late.

“You are strong! That is true! Even elder Bisou has said he hasn’t met a human or beastman with mana like yours!” Haven turned his voice down to a whisper, as if he was sharing a secret, “Your magic smells so much like flowers, really, its a huge blessing! In fact, I would eat you up if I could!” He laughed as if he had made a joke. He sighed and looked up dreamily at the sky. “Alas, I am saving myself for when we find our queen.” He wrapped his arms around himself, as if to fend off imaginary suitors.

You wrinkled your nose. “Queen? You don’t have a queen? Isn’t that super bad for bees, I mean bee-men?”

Heaven tilted his head at you, reminding you of Lyith.

“Of course. That's why we are all so small and weak.” You stared at him in shock. He put up his hands. “We are doing well though! It's been 20 years since our queen died but we are still here! Oh! There is a hive up north! Any day now, one of their queens' daughters might descend and bless us! Or.. Or we--”

“Little One! You seem like you're getting sick!” Rena Descended from above and put a hand to your forehead.

“You are far too warm! Haven, mind if I take her out of your wings?”

Heaven looked up at Rena, his face a mask of confusion. He eventually gave in though and stood up.

“I should check on Elder Bisou! He might need something!” His voice was flat, obviously fake, but he ran away- flew away with gusto.

Rena took your face into her hands, tilting your head back and forth. Your lightheadedness turned full on dizzy. Rena’s face screwed up in an annoyed expression.

“You overdid it. And after that whole speech about not knowing your limits too..” She gently put a hand on your back and picked you up princess style. You would have been embarrassed, if your brain was functioning properly. Instead your gaze fixed on Rena’s beautiful iridescent wings. The lights were so lovely and they helped ground you. Honestly, everything about Rena was lovely. Well, maybe lovely wasn’t the right word. She was rough around the edges. A tease and a know it all. But she doted on you so, it made you feel a bit overwhelmed. Your gaze shifted from her wings to her lovely nose, pretty sharp for a bee-men.

Rena started conversing with Lyith about you, pointing her jaw and humming. Huh. Rena was actually incredibly attractive. You had known that before. Maybe it was something about how dizzy everything was. The last time you had felt this way she had been kissing you, her textured tongue pushing nectar down your thoat-

“Little One”

Your mind immediately focused. She was using a demanding tone.

“Lyith will take you home. Next time, we will only do one spell at a time.” She leaned forward and placed her cool lips to the side of your mouth. Making you blush. Well your face was already heated so you would have blushed. “I will see you again soon. Rest.” And she was off.

You were in Lyith’s arms again. A place you were starting to get comfortable in. He stared at you for a moment, his lips pursed, then sighed loudly. He held your gaze for a moment.

“I do not like this habit you are forming. You will not get sick again, understand?”

You nodded at him, mind hazy. Sleepy. You were sleepy.

You didn’t register the fly home, only that the coolness felt nice. You were carried from the porch, into the living room, up the stairs, and laid on your bed. You were covered in warm, delicious blankets.

You never saw Lyith leave before you passed out. Probably because he tucked himself in right beside you, the cool air washing over both of you from the open bedroom window.

Part Four

#monster fucker #monster lover #monster #monster x reader #terat0philliac #teratophillia #bee hybrid #bee hybrids #bee hybrid × reader #bee hybrids x reader #monster romance #bee monster #monster fluff #fluff

284 notes · View notes

gloomunson · 9 months ago

Text

Purely Transactional

First time really publishing anything I've written for Eddie. No stranger to smut. just to him. Go easy on me.

Eddie Munson smut. The one where you fake date. Picture the 90s. Slow build.

Word Count: 12,872

Picture this; you’re being forced to attend your sisters engagement party, it’s a weekend event a couple towns over. You’ve got a room booked for two, yourself and your boyfriend. Your family can’t wait to meet the man who’s stolen your heart at last. It’s actually the second biggest event in your family history for years. The issue: you don’t have a boyfriend. You haven’t had one since you were 16. You only said you did have a boyfriend because you thought you would have by now. You never saw life going this way at all. Now you either have to fess up to being a single mother of two beautiful little dogs or find a last minute lover to feel less alone. Yay.

You asked everyone you knew. The neighbour, the neighbour’s neighbour. His cousin from out of town, his cousin from out of town’s neighbour. Every single one of your friends and only one of them gave you something or more, someone to work with. “Why don’t you ask Eddie?” You’re slouching on his sofa, sinking into the leather as he strums away at his guitar a joint hanging dangerously from his mouth. “I don’t know him.” You say it like it’s obvious, kicking your feet up. “Which is exactly why you should.” You catch his drift, but you don’t want to. It wasn’t as ideal as he thought it was. “I’m gonna get asked questions.” You deadpan. “So, make some notecards.” You tug the joint from his mouth, bringing it to your own. “Yes you may have that.” You flick him. “Rude.” You take a drag before slotting it back gently between his lips, returning to your seat.

“He won’t do it.” Gareth doesn’t respond. “I know he won’t, he doesn’t like me.” He huffs. ‘You hadn’t given him a chance to’ is what he says in his mind. “Has he told you that?” He quit playing, giving you more of his attention. He really did want to help. “Not exactly, no.” He leaned over his guitar, placing the joint down in his hand painted ash tray on the coffee table. The one you made for him for Christmas the year before. The one that he loved and guarded with his life. “Ask him.” You shake your head. “Ask him.” He says again, the guitar now being rested carefully against the table alerting you that he meant business. “No. Way.” You continue. He moves over to you; you slot your legs across his lap, and he leans back into his seat comfortably under the weight of them. “I’m gonna ask him.” You think he’s joking. You hoped he was joking. He wasn’t joking.

“Edward, we don’t know each other that well so I thought you’d be perfect plus you’re kinda the only other single one left, so it had to be you.” There were no lies told. You were the only ones; it might have been the only thing you actually had in common in your little inner circle of friends. You weren’t close but you also weren’t complete strangers. You were a little more than acquaintances, but not really friends. He was your only shot at this, that much you did know. “I resent that.” You roll your eyes, ‘you would,’ you think. You’re running out of options, he was your last chance, you had a week to prepare, this had to be it. You considered throwing in the towel moments before he arrived at your place. Half an hour late. It should have been enough of a sign not to go through with it but then he did arrive. Meaning that somewhere deep down inside him, he was interested. You could work with interested.

“I’ll pay you.” You can’t imagine anything worse; you were desperate sure, not desperate enough to actually pay him but desperate all the same. He seemed reasonable enough though. He had more money now than he knew what to do with and he was close with Gareth. Gareth was good people; he’d turn your offer down; you were sure of it. “How much?” He perks up, stroking his chin now his attention was caught. “You weren’t actually supposed to want payment.” You panicked, feet shuffling, hands tapping your thighs relentlessly. He was smirking. “Isn’t that how this is supposed to work?” He steps in close, a couple feet between you, not enough. “Want me to act like an escort? You’re gonna have to pay me like one.” If you hadn’t ever had a conversation with him, you might have found that attractive. He was tall, dark, and handsome. His jawline so picturesque you may have thought about kissing it once or twice. You also liked his eyes, even if he was cold and callous beneath them, only out for himself. But he wasn’t that attractive, and he didn’t intimidate you like he thought he did. Much.

“Like you don’t have more money than my entire family combined.” You dig. His rock star era made a hell of a name for himself. This was never going to happen. You don’t know why he even entertained it this far. There wasn’t a single helpful bone in his body, no matter how much you wished there were. “How bad do you need a boyfriend sweetheart?” He shortens the space between you even more. Your chest feels tight, the confidence dripping from his tongue was actually working on you, you were out of your depth. The way he looked at you too. Eyes flicking down to your lips and back, head tilting slightly, almost robotically, like he was sizing you up. Seeing if he could make it work. Make you work for him. You felt a heat on the back of your neck. You felt gross.

“100 bucks if they believe it, 50 if they don’t.” You couldn’t believe you were even saying it. You’d have to make him forget you agreed to any of that. “For how long?” He quipped back. “You’re so greedy. I’m gonna have to make a note of that in our very public lovers spat.” You lace it with venom as well as humour, standing your ground. The corner of his lips begins to curl. He fights it. “How long?” He repeats again, just as steady in tone. “A weekend.” You breathe. “Like Saturday and Sunday.” He asks. “Like Friday to Monday,” you respond just as deadpan. “200.” He takes a dangerous step closer. You don’t flinch. “150 and no black eye.” His brows furrow, forehead creasing in confusion. He kind of reminded you of a neanderthal. Dumb little boy.

“Why would I have a black eye?” You raise your fist. “OKAY PUT YOUR FIST DOWN. Jesus woman, I’ll do it.” He admits defeat. “Perfect. I made some note cards, things about me you may get asked about, read them, memorise them, guard them with your life.” You tug the notes from your back pocket, pushing them into his chest abruptly. He looks down at them quizzically. “What if they ask about me?” You shrug your shoulders. “I’m sure you’re not that complex.” He doesn’t attempt to hide how insulted he is by that.

“When is it?” You point to the cards. “All the information you need is in the notes.” He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, “how are we-“ you go to open your front door, you’d had the entire conversation in the hallway, not wanting him to go any further into your home than that. “In the notes Edward.” He takes a look down at the cards in his hands, he hated reading other people’s handwriting, made him feel dumb when he couldn’t understand it as well as he’d liked. You joined your letters all curly too which didn’t help. He actually half expected you to dot the I’s with hearts, you seemed like that kind of girl. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed that you hadn’t.

You’re ushering him out the door, waving your hand to make him move faster. He pauses in your doorframe. You were so close. You could just kick him; he’d be off your property in no time. You wouldn’t have to think about him for another week then. You could pack your bags in peace. “You spelt my name wrong.” He points to the card; you’d done it on purpose. “No, I think your parents did.” He frowns. Before he can respond again you give him that much needed shove out the door. “BYE Eddie!” You slam it behind him, leaning your back against it as if that would prevent him from getting back inside and on top of your nerves again. He found the whole ordeal just as unpleasant as you had but he still finds himself on the other side of that door with a smile on his face. He read every single card you wrote for him. You were way more annoying than he thought.

“What part are you guys having trouble understanding?” You ask the table, leaning over, reaching for your cocktail to distract your mouth before you can step your foot in it. You were being tested way harder than you ever anticipated you would. You really never imagined they’d care let alone put you on trial for the crime of getting a boyfriend without their prior knowledge or approval. It’s nice to know how friendly and welcoming they really are when push comes to shove. You’d have to keep that in mind for the real thing, whenever that might be.

You’d laugh the nerves away, but you were afraid you might never stop laughing. You’d just manically laugh until you sank under the table, down into the ground, right to centre of the earth, burning up at the core before passing away painfully. You wished you could laugh. Instead, you just took the longest sip, looking to your left and right as subtly as you could muster under the immense pressure placed upon your shoulders by your sister and her fiancé. Deep breaths, it’ll all be over soon.

“I don’t buy it.” She states matter of factly. “You go from a single dog mom to suddenly in love with the perfect guy.” You open your mouth to speak but you daren't even try, she’s not finished yet. “It’s a little conveniently timed don’t you think?” She waves her hands to illustrate her point in that annoying fashion that only she could. Waving her fresh manicure right in your face, whether accidental or on purpose, still ridiculously annoying and yet another reminder that she had her life together and you didn’t. She turned to her fiancé before glancing towards the rest of the table for back up, all nodding along with her instantly as if she were a puppet master stringing them along. Cowards.

Your gaze remains steady and ice cold, colder than the slushy cocktail in your hands. The only thing that made the weekend worth it was the free bar and the adorable outdoor beer garden. You release the straw after a long sip with an “Ahh.” You try not to enjoy the twitch of your sister’s right eye at the sound. She’d always loathed when people did that. Anyone who made a noise of satisfaction after a drink no matter how delicious or refreshing it may be, was a colossal pain in her ass. You think she just despises other people’s enjoyment. She thinks it’s an unnecessary sound that people tend to use to exaggerate how nice something is as a performance for other people rather than for themselves. She also thinks it’s incredibly unladylike, which gives you a bigger kick to try it out every single time.

“Why would I lie?” You place your drink down harder than you intend to, wincing as the glass clangs on the table so hard you thought it may shatter. “You know I love you sis, but I don’t think I’d go to the length of faking a relationship just because you’re getting engaged.” Which would be such a wonderful sentence to throw out into the universe if that weren’t exactly what you were doing. “I just met the right guy.” You try not to grimace at the cheesiness of it all, that, and the fact you still hadn’t decided if you’d even liked him more than just a piece of eye candy. Because there was no denying that he was attractive, from the start he’d had that going at least. You’d only been admitting it because of the influence of alcohol too. It was just the rest of the package that gave you a headache.

“But he’s-“ You scowl before she continues that sentence, you almost will her to continue. “He’s what?” You push. If anyone were going to come for Eddie they had better make it good because that was an area you excelled in and would absolutely love to be a part of even if you did have to defend him right now. You could always use any good material at a later date when left to your own devices though, a pen and paper would be wonderful.

“He’s not your type.” You don’t believe that’s what she planned to say, it came out far too polite to be something she’d actually thought of. “What is my type then?” You probably shouldn’t have asked her this, but your curiosity trumps all reason. She flails her hand around in her lap, trying to think of the correct way to phrase it. You had no doubt your past relationships were displaying in her mind, enough horrendous options for her to choose from right out of a hat.

“Nerds,” she begins to list on her fingers, which is quite alarming because you really didn’t think you had that much of a track record. “Gamer boys,” which basically comes under ‘nerds.’ “Skinny guys,” that was absolutely not exclusive, “Gamer boy nerds.” She throws 3 fingers up. That’s if she was classing ‘boy’ as a type which you assume she was. You had to hand it to her, she wasn’t entirely wrong about your past dating pool, but Eddie wasn’t exactly far off that. Allegedly, back in his school days, he was the biggest nerd of them all, right before his band took off, he was participating in DnD tournaments and if that wasn’t the epitome of gamer boy nerd then what was? He just happened upon a glow up in his mid-twenties, something you still desperately waited for yourself. “Eddie just, doesn’t seem much of a nerd.” You’re certain that’s not what she intended to say, and you thought she might stop herself there, but she doesn’t, why would she? “He’s, well I hate to say it,” you bet she doesn’t though, “he’s out of your league.” Ahh, there it is. That’s more like it. She even says it with an apologetic expression to make you consider it for a millisecond. If only he were here. Oh, how he’d love this.

Eddie was the lucky one in this scenario, whether it was fake or not, you were a catch. One that no one had ever caught and kept hold of but a catch, nonetheless. Your mom would agree, probably not the best argument but it’s there and it counted. You reached for your drink once again and prayed he returned soon; you were drowning out here and you weren’t even out of the shallows. “Then lucky me.” You sip as aggressively as one can with a shitty paper straw wedged between their teeth. You were so glad the sea turtles were safer at the hands of recycled paper straws, but you so missed being able to drink a cocktail without the added ingredient of paper mache sinking at the bottom of each glass.

“Why are we in luck?” His voice swings in joining the conversation as he walks back over to your table, the chain on his jeans jingling as it swayed while he walked. You’d asked him to remove it, he swore he would, he didn’t. His hearing was impeccable, you wonder what else had slipped by him on his way over. You’d honestly never felt so relieved to hear his voice either, even if his steps closer bought the smell of cheap cigarettes and your early twenties. You’d have loved him back then. Back in college, your first taste of freedom, the option to date whoever you liked, to experiment a little. You’d have eaten up that bad boy, leather jacket, fingers coated in metal, cigarette smoking musician act he had going for him. Quiet and brooding too, oh yeah, your knickers would have never left the floor. Good thing you grew up since then.

He grabbed his chair, pushing it right next to yours, as close as he could get without sitting directly on top of you and for a second you ponder about why he bothered with his chair at all. His eyes burned into the side of your face, and you plastered a smile wide enough to match his as you leant into him. “What took you so long?” You whispered while maintaining that sickeningly sweet smile that hurt your face to pull. “You miss me that much?” He licked across his bottom lip, and you mentally scold yourself for looking at it. “I’m getting eaten alive out here.” He grinned wider. “Must be because you’re so damn delicious.” Your stomach fluttered. What the fuck?

He pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek. You felt yourself relax into him, like his lips had sucked all of the tension from your body. You may not like him very much but you sure were glad he was here right now. Even without the facade, it was hard being in environments where you had to face your entire family alone. It’s not that you weren’t close with them, or didn’t love them, it was just difficult standing your own ground sometimes. You needed that extra shield for the invasive questions and high expectations, the anchor to keep you firmly in place, sure of yourself. It was a tough act to balance.

He couldn’t deny that he’d gained some respect for you for how well you’d handled things. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d manage a family dynamic like this alone, even if he were part of it. He was kind of developing a soft spot for you, probably more than you were anyway. Okay, definitely more than you were. He wasn’t sure when it started. He’d had the message exchanges throughout the last week. He had the detailed notes about your life from start to finish to divulge. The 3 hour car journey where you refused to play music, instead forcing him to answer questions about you in preparation for the event. It was somewhere amongst there. Maybe even when you’d shared a room the past two nights without killing each other. In seeing a vulnerable side of you that made you appear a little more human. He’d also seen a larger portion of you without clothing, that certainly helped.

Yes. Perhaps somewhere around there he’d liked you. All he knew now was that in watching your interactions with your family, it made him want to stick to you like glue and support you the best he could for however long you would let him. You had it covered, and you’d tell him that too, afraid of showing any weaknesses, but that’s exactly why he felt like he should support you, he didn’t want you to feel so alone, you didn’t have to be so alone. He’d known all too well what that was like.

He didn’t even have to force himself to kiss your cheek that time, he’d just wanted to rid your face of the frown that threatened to grace it, even if he found it adorable. His issue now was that he had trouble moving away. His lips lingering, breath tickling your cheek, until you coughed under your breath for him to shift away. For a moment he’d wished it weren’t all play pretend. That he could stay there and have it not feel so strange. He couldn’t pin point when his eyes started to soften at the sight of you. All he knew was that they had. It was getting increasingly easier to act enamoured by you, because, well, he might have been.

“So, what did I miss?” He tilts his head towards the rest of the table, it felt like such a difficult task to withdraw his attention from you. You yourself took the opportunity to catch a much needed breath. You also needed to pat your stomach to hold off the swarm of butterflies scrambling around in there. There was this dizzying, uneasiness in the pit of your tummy, like you were fighting the emotions within yourself. Those damn love bugs were wasting their time going crazy for this situation. It wasn’t real, not worth the energy. Surely you didn’t need to be convinced of that, it was clear as day. You didn’t need this unnecessary nausea. “We were just talking about what a wonderful couple you are.” Your brother in law speaks, directing his attention towards the man at your side. You really thought you’d liked that man, he betrayed you. You kept a special scowl just for him. He felt hot under the collar when he felt the intensity of it. Good, you thought. Traitor.

Eddie bravely dipped his hand down onto your thigh where he’d noticed your hand was already resting, slipping his fingers between yours, resting atop your knuckles effortlessly for all to see. You’d felt your breath hitching in your throat. The simplicity of the action shouldn’t have caused such a stir, but it was just so easy for him. He was so touchy feely like it was the most natural thing in the world. He loved to touch, and you never expected it from him. It was one of the main reasons that made it so hard to remain sure that this was all an act. Was he like this with everyone? You’d half hoped he wasn’t, even if your other half screamed at you for that naivety. It wasn’t exactly your love language, but you’d wished it were, you wanted to touch him. Too many drinks maybe.

“Why do I feel like that’s sarcasm?” He threw back with nothing but charm, sweet like honey dripping from his tongue. If he weren’t in a band you could certainly picture him as an actor with some of the crap he pulled. Sometimes he even had you believing this whole thing, lines blurring like no other. Especially when nuzzled his nose into your neck eliciting a squeal from your lips. All before deciding to stay there, sitting with his chin resting on your shoulder happily. Like the most casual position in the world.

Your heart pounded against your chest. His arm slunk around your waist. His mouth opened for you, signalling you to bring his cocktail and straw between his lips to take a sip. A ridiculously over the top public display of affection you swore you’d never partake in. Yet for some reason your hands were ignoring every judgment your mind was making, allowing you to feed him his drink like some kind of mother to a parched child. It was interesting to you how fast you’d been able to communicate with him like that without it ever needing to be said or asked for. “You owe me.” You whisper. “Not how this transaction really works.” He says between sips rather impressively. It might even be considered cute if it wasn’t such a threat. Your cheeks burned.

“It just seems so sudden.” Your sister just can’t bite back her tongue for more than two seconds huh. You’re literally sat there with giant, red, beaming heart eyes for each other. So, close your personal space would never be described as such for as long as you shall live, ever again. Literally feeding each other. Squeezing each other’s hands. Hating every second you’re apart. Feeling like you may break without the other. Whispering sweet nothings (more like threats but no one else had spotted that) into each other’s ears. You’re both so over the top, overwhelmingly infatuated (although falsely) with each other you may as well claim this engagement party as your own and YET, no one believed you for a second. Hell, even you thought you might be falling. Thank you vodka.

“When you know, you know.” You say, lifting your hand to pat his cheek after putting his drink back on the table. He squeezes your other hand instinctively. He’d almost forgotten he was holding it in the first place, it felt so nice and soft, like it belonged in his. It could belong there. “What will it take to convince you?” He offers. You squeeze his hand even harder, this time hoping to pump the breaks on this one. As much as you appreciated him sticking up for the relationship. You weren’t up for a quick fire round of questions that you weren’t prepared in the slightest. Especially since he refused to learn the answers to any potential enquiries a day prior. Deeming the impromptu quiz session in the car ‘enough learning for a lifetime.’

“Ed,” is all you warn while you beg him to shut up with your mind instead. “No, no sweetie, we can answer all the questions they have.” He grinned at you so menacingly; you wanted to wipe that smirk right off his adorably smug little face. Woah. When did he become adorable? Scratch that. Shush. You’re so pissed you don’t even fawn over the pet name, much. You may as well pack your bags now and return home though, you were done for, the hoax was over. The end.

“What’s her favourite band?” Okay, we’re actually doing this. “Or singer, if that’s easier.” Ryan, your least favourite brother in law and your only brother in law, fires out. He only knew the answer himself because he tried to impress you one Christmas by buying you a limited edition vinyl. Of all the people at this table, you thought at least he wouldn’t be sceptical of you. Unbelievable.

“There isn’t just one, its multiple, depends what mood she’s in.” You’re intrigued already on where this is going. Your sister jeered at the response, already less than impressed. Eddie turns his head, lifting his hand to silence her before she can say anything. You almost pat him on the back for it. “But, if I had to choose.” Which he did. He really did. “Queen, Black Sabbath, and I’m going to add Corroded Coffin in there because she’s our number one groupie, aint that right babe?” You allow yourself to roll your eyes at the last part, even if you were dating you doubt you’d let him describe you as a groupie, dick.

“That’s easy, they’re pretty generic choices.” You had to give them that one, it wasn’t the most cut throat list of indie artists you could only associate with your taste and yours only. You’d been a bit of a basic music lover your whole life and there was no shame in that. You liked what you liked and that was okay. You were still impressed he knew any of your list though. Maybe he actually had read your notes, lying shit. Definitely not adorable. “Favourite food?” Okay, still going. You lean back, may as well get comfortable since you’re going to be here for a while.

He snorted before answering that one and you wondered what was so insanely funny that could make him move his hand away from your thigh to explain it properly. You missed his touch the second you were without it. Gag. “Bread.” He giggled just saying it, the kind of giggle where the creases beside his eyes really stood out and his cheeks bunched up all precious and pudgy underneath them. You can’t help but smile.

“But not just plain bread right,” he looked to you before continuing as if to say ‘hey, watch this, look at me.’ He thinks he has you down. You indulge him. “So, bread in its many forms,” he lifted his fingers to start listing, “sandwiches, toast, brioche, fried bread, french toast, pizza dough, the list goes on right but at the height of it all,” he really gestured above his head to signify the detailed tier system of bread options. He added a small and useless breather to gain anticipation, it wasn’t working. “Garlic bread.”

You snorted a laugh yourself this time. Not because he was wrong either, because he was 100% correct in fact. You were mortified that, that was your own answer. He locked eyes with you in a way that he hadn’t done before, with genuine affection, maybe even a glimmer of hope that he’d done you justice. He was captivated by you, your cheeks bursting with redness, your smile tight, starting to hurt you in fighting it. You looked so pretty right now. The glow of the lamps out in this beer garden just added to the radiance he already thought you had. He couldn’t believe a girl as pretty as you considered bread your favourite food.

He also found the noise you made to be one of the cutest things he’d ever heard, and he wished he could make you do it again someday. He really didn’t consider himself that funny though. He might have to get some drinks down you for another laugh like that. “I thought your favourite were sour patch kids?” Your sister argued, using her nails again to assist her point. Eddie quickly chimed in before you could go to correct her.

“Actually, that was her hyper fixation for a little while, ate every flavour except lemon. Which are my favourite, so it works out pretty well.” Your jaw may as well have hit the floor. He’d only known that from the car ride up here. You were about to throw the packet out before he stopped you, complaining you were wasting money and food since you left all the yellow ones. You were shocked he remembered. If you were impressed by him right now, surely everyone else had to be too, right? Wrong.

“Celebrity crush?” He answered this quicker than you or he would like to admit. You also just didn’t know how he came to the conclusion he did and how he was so correct with it, suspicious. “Harrison Ford hands down, can’t even knock it, he’s a handsome man.” The next question went swimmingly too. “Favourite hobby?” He gave it a thought for a second, glancing to you and back, “painting, she’ll say she’s no good at it but actually she’s got a gift. I’ve never seen anyone use colour the way she does. Actually, considered using some of your work for album art.” He turned to you towards the end, and you struggled to decipher whether it was bullshit or not. Your heart actually ached at the thought of it being true.

“Favourite movie?” Your brother in law’s turn to ask. You threw your head back in exasperation. “What is this, the Spanish inquisition? Is this really necessary?” You looked to your sister and her future husband. “Yes!” They admitted in unison. Eddie’s hand returned to your thigh, patting it softly, his thumb rubbing soothing shapes into your bare skin. It was working. God it was working. He was like ice against your fire, the way he cooled you.

“I’ve got this.” He assured you. “Yeah, you kind of do, that’s why it’s so fucking weird.” You admitted quietly but not enough as to hide it from anyone else, deeming it safe for public consumption. He smirked. “Scared I know too much about you?” You were. You were terrified. This time you do lower your voice. “Just didn’t know you could actually read. Guess my notes were a great help after all.” You stuck your tongue out. For a second he thought about taking it in his mouth, probably some other filthier thoughts floated around his brain too. It was something about the proximity and the cocktails you’d shared, you could always blame those.

“Anything Tim Burton but her favourite would have to be the one with Winona,” he knows he has it right, but he just can’t think of the name, turning to you momentarily for help, you mouthed “Edward Scissorhands” before he nodded and repeated it. Considering it featured his own name, you’d think he would remember it. He then paused, not for dramatic effect but so he could smile to himself as he thought about why that was your favourite. “It depicts the whole Frankenstein’s monster thing just finding his way into suburbia but we as the audience” he gestured to his chest, “see a lot more heart than that, an innocent kind of love, one we all want to make us feel worthy, naive really, but ultimately sweet and sacrificing.”

You leant in, your lips close to his ear. “If we were really dating, you’d be getting your dick sucked so hard tonight.” It took every bone in his body not shut the evening down and carry you back to your hotel room with that false promise in mind. He instead tried to ignore the now throbbing sensation in his trousers. Had you always done that to him?

“Ok those are fairly standard.” In what world was his last answer not specifically catered to you? “How about a random trivia round?…” The suggestions just kept going. If this were the only worthy form of entertainment they could find, married life was going to be abysmal. “Or.” He began and this is when you really, really started to panic, like exponentially. There was nothing that could have helped him out now. Your notes only consisted of the likes, dislikes, and the fake scenario in which you first met. There was nothing else. That was the end of the script. He couldn’t be that good at improvisation. You didn’t want the opportunity to find out either. You were no casting director. He no longer had to impress you or anyone else. If they were still at odds with the situation then so be it. You couldn’t please everyone. It really shouldn’t have taken you that long to realise it. Huh. The more you know.

“I can tell you about how she makes me feel.” You really, truly would rather you didn’t know. If it’s the truth, it would hurt. If it was a lie, well that might hurt even more. You begged the universe to keep him quiet. Whatever he had to say was going to blow your cover and throw this whole shit show up in flames. Your sister seemed so keen and intrigued enough to let him continue. You however, said your final goodbyes to any future you had where you weren’t a laughing stock for the entire family. A future where Eddie Munson couldn’t reject and discard you publicly. Now it was a very real possibility, you were far more upset than you ever thought you would be. Eddie glances at you briefly, bucking up the courage to put on the biggest and most detrimental show of his entire life.

He doesn’t face your sister when the words come tumbling from his mouth. He faced you, addressing you like he needed you to hear this and fuck, maybe he did. You actually felt touched about it until he opened his mouth. “You’re kind of a fucking weirdo.” You went to shut him up as the embarrassment crept in, but he spoke louder as he often did. “You are, you’re a freak- and it’s so, it’s refreshing.” Your mouth closed but oh, so slowly. You began to listen to him, decided to trust him. “You’re fucking nuts.” You rolled your eyes. How many ways were there, to describe you as crazy? Why did he feel the need to use all of them? “But I like it. I do. I feel like I can be myself around you.” He talked with his hands a lot as he scrambled the words, rings clinking against each other. You reached for them, settling them in your lap and he silently thanked you for it. Everything got a whole lot easier when you held his hand.

“You make it feel okay to be a bit crazy. You don’t have to be so straight or basic, you can just, be.” Just as you started to smile, you saw that you weren’t the only one. It was working, his little speech was actually working. “I like who I am around you. Even if sometimes you don’t. I like that you tell me when I piss you off. I like that you act like you hate me when you don’t. I like that you’re so fucking stubborn and headstrong you’d never rely on anyone else and that pisses me off.” You felt tingling racing across your chest. “I love that no moment with you feels forced. That, that smile, right there could make flowers bloom.” He gestured to your face with both of your hands linked together. “That your glare could cause a fucking storm or something.” You tried not to get swept up in the fact he’d stopped saying ‘like.’

“I love that everything feels okay when your hand is in mine, even when you try and say you don’t like holding hands, you’re too good at it to hate it. You know exactly the right moments.” He shook his head with a disbelief. It started to feel so real. “I think I’d miss you even if I’d never met you.” His hand tightened around yours when he said his last sentence. “And I’m glad I met you. I hope one day you’ll be glad you met me too.” The rest of his speech hadn’t mattered when he uttered those words. The words that knocked the breath out of you, leaving you fighting for your life in the seat next to him. You don’t think anyone had ever referred to you so kindly in your life, even if he did call you fucking mental at least 5 times throughout.

He couldn’t even breathe. He’d said it. He’d let it all out and now he just saw the look of shock on your face and couldn’t take a single breath, not knowing how you’d react. It was news to him too though. He could play it off as a lie, say he saw it in a movie, some chick flick or something. He’d copied it because of course he had. But then again, on the off chance you weren’t horrified, he wasn’t sure if he had any more guts left to tell you it was true. He just knew that he needed to do something. He had to fill this painful silence somehow and thankfully, he didn’t have to do it alone.

You kissed him. You scraped your jaw off the floor, and you kissed him. You’d not kissed him like this before. Like your life depended on it. Like he was the very air you needed to breathe. Like he’d meant every word he’d just said, and you’d believed it. God you might have even felt the same. You were also slightly ashamed to say, it had your panties soaking between your thighs. Not to mention your heart thundering in your chest.

Eddie kissed you as if he were tattooing his words across your lips for all of eternity. Because for the first time throughout this whole charade, he was actually allowed to mean every word he had said, whether he knew this was how he was feeling at the start of the evening or not. Neither of you could have predicted a confession like this. Even after giving one, he wasn’t quite believing it himself. But fuck, there was freedom in it. There was a lovely form of permanence. Him knowing his words were out there for the universe to take and make with what it will. He felt weightless. It wasn’t the cocktails. Something just clicked in his brain, and he knew it. You were everything.

You melted into each other when his lips found yours. It was sweet and slow but confident, with purpose. Each stroke of his lips against yours carefully considered and carried out like clockwork. You’d felt a rush from this kiss. It was hungrier than any other you’d shared. Quite frankly it was starved. You’d pressed up against him so hard and he’d done just the same to you. His hands coming up to tilt your chin up towards him for more. As if you hadn’t been close enough already. Its only when you gasped at his touch did he slip his tongue into your mouth. You knew he’d had so much practice kissing women like this, but you couldn’t care. You allowed him inside, welcomed the way he licked into your mouth delicately. Blissfully enjoying the taste of his last cigarette on his breath, shocked that it’s not even a put off for you right now.

His words had gotten you drunker than the cocktails you’d been knocking back all evening. You almost whined when he dragged himself away from you. It was way too premature for your liking. Your eyes remained on him and only him as your hands fell back from their place atop his shoulders. You weren’t even sure when they’d gotten there in the first place, just swept away with nothing but him to guide you.

He smiled at you; a smile you know he hadn’t been pretending. You were about to lean back in, sealing that gap between you, before you were reminded of exactly where you were. In public. Very much in public. You sank back into your seat sheepishly, heat rising to your cheeks, burning hot like lava ready to erupt. Eddie threw his arm around you, and you seized the opportunity to hide your face in the crook of his neck out of embarrassment. He thought it might be the cutest thing you could possibly have done. He even struggled to wipe the blush off his own cheeks. He felt like a school boy again. “Okay, fine, we believe you.” Your sister threw her hands up in defeat. You’d forgotten what you were even aiming to prove, your head was so flooded with hormones. It remained that way until you were back inside the hotel.

Back in the safety of your room, deep in the darkness, the only light being from the glowing orange streetlights outside, you found yourself nervous for what would come next. You needed a moment to think. “I’m going to take a shower.” You said softly. “Do you mind?” He shook his head, unable to speak. You’d think that after he’d already lay everything down on the table, that he’d find it easier to approach you, but he resorted back to silence. “Go ahead.” He offered. You wanted to ask him to join you. You didn’t. You just thought about it while you locked the bathroom door behind you. When you wiped off your makeup. When you turned the water on and waited for it to heat up before stripping and stepping inside. You thought about it even under the water, arm stretched out to reach you shampoo. You still didn’t.

He’s already tucked away under the sheets, while you’re in there. He thought about falling asleep, willing himself into a trance before you could return, he couldn’t. His mind was swimming with thoughts. He instead insured that the wall of cushions you’d built on night one, was as high as it ever was. There to wedge a distance between you once more. Which is what you wanted, right? It was your main housekeeping rule for sharing a bed.

“Hey." He breathed, as you returned from the bathroom, steam seeping out after you. He was nervous. You ignored it. He lay flat, facing the ceiling, his arms fastened at his sides above the covers. You shouldn’t let your eyes wander but the light had given you a clear path to follow, leading you to the tattooed arachnid of his chest. You wanted to touch it, you’re not sure why. You slipped silently into bed beside him, only you turned your back on him, willing the conversation to end. But you didn’t actually want it to be over.

He rolled over without so much as a creak being made on the old bed. He barely even tugged the cover from you. It’s like a move too sudden would spook you and send you running, it might have, he couldn’t be certain. “Do you think the great wall of prevention might be ready to come down?” He nudged it into your back for emphasis. He didn’t want the night to end. You didn’t either. And yet, your stomach twisted to think of an excuse, a reason for it to stay very much where it was. Only you didn’t find one. “Okay.” You spoke softly. “Okay.” He repeats just as low, just making sure. You hardly felt him moving them. It was so unlike him to be so gentle, so light handed, treading carefully. He was so cautious and calculated, you never thought he had it in him. The cushions were gone. Now what?

“I’m gonna ask you something, you don’t have to say yes, but I really need to ask it so please just hear me out.” There were a million different things he could have asked you; you’d never have enough time to predict it or rehearse the correct answer, you could only breathe as you anticipated it. “Can I hold you?” It felt good to say it, even if his breath was shaky and his heart felt like it might just pack in. He really wanted to touch you. That was before he even saw you there, lay in the warm glow of the light, hair still a little damp, loose over your shoulder, your t-shirt clinging to your body.

The sheets weren’t covering your lower half as well as you’d thought they were, not now the barrier between you was down. Now he could see the lace band of your panties peeking bellow your sleep shorts. He was about to abandon the whole ordeal. Just a peek shouldn’t have been enough to stir him between his legs and maybe it wasn’t, not on its own. But if he’d counted every other occasion tonight where you’d looked too pretty, sounded too sweet, it all added up and he guessed it contributed to the problem.

He started to worry when you didn’t answer him. You obviously weren’t asleep. You were clearly fiddling with the sheets, your fingers tugged at the material anxiously. He’d completely overstepped, he should have expected that. You weren’t together. You wouldn’t ever be together. That was all this entire weekend was supposed to be after all. Just an opportunity to fake it. How could he be so stupid? “Come here.” He looks down to see you half turned back to him, the duvet lifted, giving him even more of a view of your shorts, but he tried not to look at you too much. To just see the invitation, which was what mattered the most.

He wasn’t sure how to approach, you couldn’t help him either. You would spoon, that was a given, you hadn’t budged your position, left him no choice but to mould his body around yours. He shuffled closer, awkwardly trying to stretch his right arm underneath your pillow without lifting your head, hurting your neck. He curled around your back, leaving inches between you, like he couldn’t quite make himself grow any closer. His left arm rested on his own hip, too afraid to reach out and touch yours. He’d asked to hold you. Why can’t he hold you?

You took matters into your own hands. You blindly reached behind you, hands finding his. Your one superpower. You interlock your fingers with his and bring his arm around your waist, the heat of his body coming with it. You could probably feel his heart pounding chest now he allowed it to press against your back. You definitely felt the goosebumps climbing his arms when you pressed a feather light kiss to his knuckle. His heart leapt in his chest.

“What was that for?” He lifted his head, you don’t know it, but he can see enough of your face from this angle to catch the blush on your cheeks and the smile that crept onto it. He’s reassured by it. “Just felt like it.” You shrugged. Only he doesn’t buy it, but he won’t push his luck. His head hit the pillow, only this time, he’s closer to you. His nose is nearly buried in your apple scented locks. You were so sweet smelling at all times, but that apple was just so incredibly you. He knew you’d only used the stuff because it came in a green bottle too. Because only you would map your product selection on the colour alone. It was one of the first facts in your note cards, that your favourite colour was green.

Fuck. He thinks. He really fucking liked you. He wouldn’t even curse himself for it. You weren’t what he expected, and he liked that. He liked that this didn’t go to plan. He liked that he couldn’t pretend any longer. He was grinning to himself, chuckling even. He boldly buried his head in the crook of your neck like he’d done a couple of times that night but more invasively now there wasn’t much space between you.

“What’s so funny?” You shook his hand in yours. “Hmm?” You fought a laugh yourself; his laughter was infectious; it was just stupid and cute and stupid. “Gareth was right.” He said. You turned your head back slightly, unable to see anything really, before giving up and leaning into the pillow again. “Bout what?” He leaned his head on your shoulder, lips nearing your ear. “Told me this wouldn’t work.” Interesting really, since he ushered you into asking him into this at the start. You’re suitably confused. He’s holding you, giggling in your ear, body warm against yours in this stupidly large bed that he’d made feel tiny, after convincing your family how in love you are, and he said it wasn’t working. That Gareth, your biggest influencer, had also predicted it. Well, you’d have said the opposite.

“This isn’t working.” You have a questioning tone. “Didn’t seem like that downstairs.” You were defensive, rightly so. “No, not like that.” He started. Your grip on his hand loosened and he panicked. ‘Just say what you mean, say what you mean,’ he tells himself. “Turn over.” He leant himself up, still firmly on his side. “Why?” He rolled his eyes. “Please turn over.” He pleaded. “Whyy?” You say again. “Fuck, would you just-“ he shook his hand free from yours, placing it firmly on your hip and he twisted you, so you were flat on your back, facing up at him with surprise. He didn’t expect that to work as well as it did.

“You’re so fucking annoying.” He huffed. “Thanks.” Your arms crossed over your stomach, you tried to avoid his gaze, but he manoeuvred himself so that he was directly above you. He decided you couldn’t be trusted to keep you gaze anywhere but on him. You had to give him a shot. Your expression had softened at the sight of him. Just like he’d hoped. His stupid round cheeks. The dumb smile. Why was he always smiling?

“I wanna kiss you.” He said. You thought he was childish. “Is holding not enough?” He shook his head. “Never enough.” He leaned in close, but he doesn’t kiss you, not yet. His forehead just pressed against yours, his lips hovered, breath tickling your own mouth. “Can I?” He begged for it. “Yes.” You breathed. He does. His lips brush yours and it’s just as nice as every other kiss he’d given you. You’re not sure why you expected it to be different all of a sudden. You just had the idea that maybe it would be. Now that you, well now that you actually liked it.

But it wasn’t different, it was exactly the same. “Eddie.” You whined. “Yeah?” He was upset that you’d interrupted such a crucial moment. “It doesn’t feel like I thought it would.” Your fingers stroked over his cheek; he arched a brow to question you. “We have kissed before; you remember that right?” He teased. You couldn’t have been that drunk. “Yes. Shut up. That’s not what I meant.” He’s still not on the same page although relieved somewhat that you were in fact sober like he thought.

In his mind that kiss was perfect, electrifying, mind blowing, the best kiss yet, you’d have known it too if you didn’t stop him so quickly. “What’s it feel like?” He tried to understand. You thought for a moment. What did it feel like? Warm, soft, sweet, he was one of the sweetest tastes. Where most men would taste of mint, Eddie didn’t. He tasted like cigarettes and the kiwi and strawberry gum he chewed to mask the scent of them on his breath. It didn’t work completely, it more meshed together into its own unique flavour.

It felt nice. “Feels normal.” You said it like it was a bad thing and he can’t understand why. “What’s so wrong with that?” You tried to shake your head. Shake some sense into yourself. You were blowing it. “Kiss me again.” You didn’t have to ask him twice. He pushed his lips against yours, harder than the first time, much harder. Barely leaving a gap between you. Suffocating you with his kiss. He feels like this time he has to try harder; he needed to give you his all. There had to be more.

His lips glided over yours, his lips rough but still careful. His tongue poking out slowly, licking gently over your bottom lip. You part it instinctively and the second his tongue slithered across your teeth, you finally felt it. You don’t know why it took you till the second try. You’re so grateful you felt it at all, but you were panicking for a second, thinking you’d made this huge mistake because how could you let yourself fall for him after all this nonsense? Then you felt it, that spark kicking you to life. That fire in your belly, burning you up inside, begging for his coolness to dampen it down. You fucking needed him.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails tucking into them just a little. He’s feeling the heat radiating from you, your energy pouring into him. He’s smiling against your mouth as your tongue meets his briefly. He just knows that this time, he’s got you. “You had me worried there for a second.” He panted, not wanting to pull away but needing to say something. You kissed him over and over, distracting him. Now you’d started, you couldn’t stop. “I know, I’m so cruel.” He smirked, kissing you back just as vigorously, hand coming to your throat, resting gently on it before tilting your chin up towards him.

You captured his eyes, so dark, nearing black in the dim light. If it weren’t for the golden flecks you’d be convinced they really were that dark. “Had to be sure.” He pecked your lips. “Yeah?” You did the same. “Yeah.” He’s so close that every time his eyes closed and reopened, you felt his lashes fanning your cheeks. “And now?” He asked so hopefully, heart on the line as he waited on your answer. You wanted to make him wait, torture him a little, not tonight, tonight you were kind enough to put him out of his misery. “Now I want you.” You said. He could have punched the air with excitement.

You’re kissing again. Scrambling around, his body lowered on top of you, one hand resting on your cheek, the other grazing your hip bone. His body shuddered when you whimpered under the weight of him. You let your legs widen as he slipped between them, all before he lifted your thigh, depositing it safely around his waist. You prayed that he didn’t immediately feel the dampness in your shorts but you’re not the only one struggling.

His hard on rubbed into you, your lips parting with surprise. “Fuck.” He muttered, momentarily halting your make out session, the heat between your thighs overwhelming him. You sensed his embarrassment, his cheeks burning with it. “Me too.” You breathed. Lips pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose as your hand slipped between you, coming down to cup his bulge boldly through his shorts.

The groan he released is sinful, maybe even painful. He felt big. He felt impossibly big. He wouldn’t fit in your hand, maybe not even in the two of them. He thrust into your hand when he felt you touch him. It was his first instinct; he couldn’t fight it. “Shit, sorry.” You caught his lips, tugging his bottom one between your teeth, releasing it slowly. “Gonna move my hand, want you to do it again.” If he thought he was embarrassed at his neediness before, it was about to get a whole lot more mortifying.

Your hand moved away, he was grinding his hips down into you as you’d asked, and you felt the way his cock jumped into action. “Baby.” You panted. He’s sure his heart is going to explode, maybe his cock too, probably that first. “Say it again.” He needed it. “Baby.” You kissed him. He’s rocking his hips into you, you started rotating your own, rubbing yourself over his cock, hand moving out of the way. “Baby, baby, fuck.” He’s covered your lips with his, nose mashed up against you, you can’t breathe, you don’t even want to, you wouldn’t miss the feeling. All of this felt so much more important. “Feel so good.” You whine. He never would have thought you’d be so vocal. You didn’t seem like the type. Thought you’d be a bit of a brat maybe but not this, not confident and sexy and so sure of what you wanted. He could love that; he could love you.

“More, need more.” You’re eyes rolled back when he’s lifting your hips with both hands, pulling your core over him. His cock slipping through your folds through too many barriers of clothing. “Shit Ed.” You felt the sensation of fire burning into you, setting you alight. You’re dizzy and hot and you just felt so good against him. The friction of his shorts might have been frustrating, but it was also, so rewarding. It was such a good roughness against your clothed mound. “Are you?” He can’t even say it, too busy dragging you over his cock. “I’m, fuck, Eddie.” He doesn’t stop, not for a second, not for a beat. He makes you ride it out. He’s so stupidly proud of himself. He’d barely touched you and you’d come undone. You’d actually fucking came. “Fucking unreal for me.” He slowed himself down before he followed a similar path to destruction.

He’s pushing your hips back down, letting your body sink into the mattress, pulling away from you to catch a breath. “I can’t believe that.” Your hand floats through your hair combing it back. He’s resting back on his knees, still between your legs. “You’re so fucking hot.” His eyes don’t look anywhere but your face. Your shirt is half way up your chest, bare tits poking out for him to see and yet, he doesn’t look.

You can’t say you share the same sentiment. Your eyes raced to the outline of his erection in them grey basketball shorts. You drank in the sight before you and your teeth clamped down into your lower lip. He reached down to squeeze your thigh. “My eyes are up here.” He gestured with his index and middle finger. You smirked up at him. “Kind of wish they weren’t.” You didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah?” You nodded. Eyes falling back to his very, large problem that he now palmed through his clothing. Shit, even his own hand wouldn’t cover him.

“Gonna keep looking or do you feel like helping?” His voice was awfully steady for someone ready to come apart at the mere thought of your touch. “You want me to?” You’re not sure what you’re asking. “Need you to.” He said. You sat yourself up. “Gonna take this shirt off me first?” You looked up at him, eyes wider than he’d ever seen, somehow so innocent even though you were anything but. “Of course, I am.” His hands didn’t waste any time lifting the material off over your head. You felt the bite of a chill rush over you, your nipples hardening, perking up with it. “So, very, sexy.” He can’t believe his luck. You’re amazed that you don’t feel shy, being so exposed to him. Guess that was good, it felt natural, you felt safe.

“Gonna help you.” You warned, hands slipping down into his shorts. You gasped at the immediate contact with his bare skin. “No underwear.” He smirked down at you. “Fucking slut.” Your hand cupped him just like before, yeah, definitely needs more than one hand. “You love it.” He chanted “I do.” You confirmed, squeezing him hard. The rush of air that left his mouth, oh it made this all so worth it. You tried to be bolder, you took his length in your palm for the first time. You gripped him tight and moaned in unison. He moaned at the feeling of finding home in your soft touch. You moaned; at the way your hand can’t even wrap around him fully. He’s too thick, too girthy, there wasn’t enough of you to take it all.

“Do something.” He urged, forehead leaning on yours for stability more than anything else. “Ah right, that’s what I was doing.” You play as you sprang to action, your hand lifting to the throbbing head of his cock, letting the trickles of beaded cum roll into your palm before you can cover him in it using it whilst you twist your hand up and down his length. “Ohh, fuck.” It came out gravelly. He’d never thought much of hand jobs, said no to many throughout his life, never being worth the time, never feeling as good as his own hand. This though. You. Your hand. You touched him and he swore your hand was made to hold his cock. Even if that sounded ridiculous, there had to be some way of it being true because he felt so good. His cock was slick and hot, it glided through your grip with ease and your tightened fist on him, it was incredible.

You knew to tug him hard at the base, to loosen around his tip. To constantly use his pooling arousal to your advantage. You worked his cock better than anyone else could, maybe even better than him. You weren’t rushing, you didn’t wank him hard begging for it all to be over, getting bored of the feeling. No, you just touched him. Switching your pace. Listening to his hot little sounds. Paying attention to what made him twitch, what made him rut his hips into your palm. You loved touching him, you wanted to touch him forever, every which way you could.

He started fucking your hand. He’s not sure he can stop himself and you’re so turned on by it you actually moan. “What are you doing to me?“ He’d never felt like this before. You’d made him so weak. He was desperately thrusting into your fist like a pathetic little virgin, and you were moaning. He had to be making this up, you weren’t real, none of this could have been real. “Fuck Ed.” You’re soaked at the idea of it all, you even clenched down on fucking nothing, the thought of him inside you instead of just the palm of your hand, it’s too much to bear. “Need to fuck me.” You quicken your pace, your hand tugging at him desperately. “Fuck, fuck. Stop, you gotta stop.” He doesn’t want you to, God knows he doesn’t, but if you don’t, he’s gonna fucking bust all over your perfect little hand.

He forced your hand out of his shorts and you have the audacity to pout up at him when he does. “You’re something fucking else.” He pushed you back, your head drops happily onto your pillow. “Something good I hope.” You toyed with him, and he is about to lose it. “Take these off.” He tugged at your own shorts, and you didn’t budge. “Off.” He commands, climbing off the bed, feet hitting the cold wooden floor of the hotel room.

You shifted behind him, pulling your shorts and panties down your thighs, tossing the material to the general vicinity of your shirt. Your hands are once again in your hair, combing through it with nerves just eating away at you. You ached for him. Your thighs were squeezed so tightly shut you thought he might never pry them open again. You were on edge, literally dying there waiting. He’d dropped his shorts; they’d hit the ground quietly. He stepped out of them quickly, hand lifting to touch himself, he let out a quiet hiss when he did. He was so turned on, cock so tight and hot in his hand, he’d bury himself in you and never wish to leave.

He climbed back onto the bed, settling on his knees like he had before. His hand rolled delicately across his tip, soaking himself still, using his own arousal to ready himself for you. His cock had a wet sheen in the light. You thought it looked even more delicious now with a coating like that. Perhaps your legs would part after all. “You sure?” He thinks he knows your answer, but he’d hate himself if he didn’t check. This had all been so perfect, better than he could have ever imagined because God, his imagination wasn’t half as creative enough to make you up. You were far better than anyone he’d ever known. The more he knew you, the better you got. Each and every layer, prettier or wittier or more perfect. You must have been real. Real and a gift made just for him because you had him hook line and sinker. He was dumb to credit himself for thinking he imagined you a few moments ago.

“Fuck me.” You spoke. He shook his head. Leaning over you, tip throbbing hard when it breached your walls for the first time before making a heady retreat, running through your slick, wet, lips instead. “Can’t.” He said. Running his cock up and down, eyes flickering shut, throat drying with his pure fucking thirst for you. “Why not?” You furrowed your brow. He’s right there, all he had to do was enter you. You could just lift your hips and he’d slip his fat cock inside. “Can’t call this fucking, not when you feel this good.” You think you might have passed out when pushed inside of you. “Oh, fuck.” He covered your lips to catch your moan. He didn’t think about the fact he’d be sinking in further, bottoming out, pelvis to pelvis with you when he did.

Your legs wrapped around him so tightly your heels began to dig into his tasty, round backside. You fasten him in place intentionally. You needed to feel him. Needed to feel him in his entirety, pulsing inside you. He bit down on your shoulder till he tasted a metal zing of fresh blood, he’d apologise at a later date. For now, he needed it. You were sopping wet around him, engulfing his cock in a warm, tight sleeve. With each breath you took he slipped a little bit further inside. You felt so full you’d felt him bulging in your stomach, so far inside you it even hurt you.

“I need to move, gotta let me move.” He locked eyes with you before you nodded, loosening your legs, letting him withdraw his hips, pulling right back away from you, tip nearly leaving the crevice of your wetness. Then he pushed back in, all the way, hips against hips and you fucking moaned. You moaned so loud he thought he hurt you, ready to withdraw and panic at that thought. But then you lifted your hips to meet his. You meet his next thrust and then the next, and the next. You don’t let him do a damn thing without your involvement. You needed to be in this together because what’s the fucking point if you can’t give each other your all?

“You’re so wet, soaking me.” You can only sigh, you’re not sorry, he got you so damn good he ought to be proud. “So damn hot. Gonna need to change the fucking sheets.” He rambled on. His hands dig delicious bite marks into your hips. Yours place a similar attack atop his shoulders. “Feel unreal.” You captured his lips in a needy kiss, chest pushing up as your back arched involuntarily. “Very real, so fucking real.” You muttered. As your back arched further, Eddie found a place within you, a sensitive spot he angled into unexpectedly. A place you’d only ever touched yourself. You shook, and you clenched down on him, hard.

He’d be an idiot not to notice it. You were clamping down so much he worried he’d lose circulation all together. “You want me dead don’t you?” He slammed his hips down into you. “Won’t be happy till I’m not fit for anyone else, that it?” His chest flattened against yours, his cock reaching that angle even more intrusively than before and you’re about to scream for it.

He’s got so much pressure leaning against it you’re about to crumble and he doesn’t even know it. “Eddie.” You panicked, hands snaking into his hair, tugging his brown ringlets. He couldn’t get any closer to you and yet you needed it, wanted him covering you. “Fuck, you’re, fuck are you cumming?“ He leaned his head back, looking down into your eyes, you have tears brimming in them and he can’t believe it, he was so right. “Please, please don’t stop.” Your voice came out so weak, soft, precious, and broken and he thought you sounded like a needy little princess when you begged for him like that. “Anything, anything for you.” He meant it too.

His hand wrapped around your throat loosely and tenderly as he coaxed your second orgasm from you. Your scream caught in your throat. He kissed you hard, breathing life erratically back into you. The way you tightened around his cock has his eyes roll back into his skull, his teeth biting down hard on your plump, cherry lips. He’s so close to cumming himself, but he will not let himself go until you’ve done it first. He had to make it through. He had to feel the way you came around his dick for the first time. Needed it imbedded in his brain as the religious experience it certainly felt like it would be.

“Eddie, Eddie,” you’re not even aware you’re yelling his name out there. You just do it. That’s what gets him in the end. Your pretty little voice wrapping around his name, securing the idea that he was in fact the guy who’d made you crumble into a mess in these sheets, twice. It was all him. “Where, fuck, where do you-“ he can’t even say it, can’t get the words out. “In me, need it in me, please baby.”

He did as you asked, his hips pulsing into you, cock sputtering, leaking his hot cum inside you. You felt it all. Deep inside, covering you, damning you. You were claimed from the inside out. There wasn’t a single piece of you that wasn’t marked as his now. If you hadn’t felt full before, you certainly did now. His cum filling you entirely, anything his cock couldn’t previously reach was now pressured by him cum flooding inside you and it was so unbelievably good. You sighed heavily at the thought of it. “So, fucking good.” You muttered. Him filling you was just so erotic to you. He’d felt exactly the same because of course he did, he was made for you. He loved that you’d let him take you like that. It felt heavenly pouring himself into you, coating you in his colours. Pulling out might just be the hardest thing he’d ever have to do.

His body covered yours. He’s no strength to hold himself above you, but no way of pulling away just yet. You’d not minded his weight at all. You’d actually enjoyed it, felt comforted by it. Even if your bodies were sweat soaked and desperately in need of another shower, it felt nothing but perfect lying here a little longer. Your fingers massaged into his scalp, he hummed at the relief of your touch. His breathing slowed down, softly blowing over your chest where his head lay comfortably.

You decided you loved the sound of him breathing. You can’t explain exactly why that is, but it offered you some kind of comforting stimulation that you think you’d listen to happily for hours. The mere existence of him, being enough to soothe you. “So that, uh-“ he licked his bottom lip, wetting the dryness there. “That happened.” You heart leaped and you know he felt it. “Don’t make it weird.” You nearly begged. “I’m not making it weird.” You poked his head. “You’re making it weird.” You accused, poking him again. “Would you stop?”

He lifted his head this time to avoid another attack. Well fuck. If he thought you looked beautiful before, it had nothing on the way you looked now. You were flustered and tired, your eyes wet with tears and probably sweat and yet, gorgeous. “You’re staring.” He hated you. “I can’t stop.” He’s lying. He could, he just never wanted to. “What will people think?” You gasped. “How will we tell them?” He continued, following your train of thought like he’d conjured it himself.

“Well, what do we actually have to tell? You know, to get our story straight.” He knew that was your not-so-subtle way of asking what you were, after all of this, but he doesn’t mind it because he’d also liked to know. As cliché as it was. It really did happen that fast. “Well,” he rubbed your cheek with the back of his hand, watching as your face leaned into his touch. “Your family think we’re in love so, that’s kind of handled.” You laughed. “That you’re way of confessing your love for me?” You dig with a smile. “No.” Yes. But it was way too soon to verbalise that. Sure, you’d known him for a while, but this weekend was the closest you’d ever been. And yeah, he may have felt it in his bones, but he wasn’t crazy enough to admit it to you. Jesus Christ. “So, it’s just, everyone else.” He nodded, then repeated after you. “Everyone else.” Easier said than done.

“What if I uh, slip you another 200?” He rolled his eyes. Only you would ask that. “Oh, because I haven’t whored myself out enough?” You grinned. “Well, if the shoe fits baby.” He nudged your nose with his own. “No but seriously, what would 200 get me?” You tried to deadpan but the smile refused to leave you. “I’m refunding it by the way.” You feigned shock. “My money not good enough for you Munson?” He looked at you with a ‘you really asking me that?’ look on his face. Though technically, you hadn’t actually given the money to him yet. “Only asked for it because I knew it’d piss you off sweetheart.” That hadn’t surprised you at all. “I dragged my ass to the bank for nothing.” He thought he might howl with laughter.

“You got cash out?” There he goes, those chubby fucking cheeks, the crinkling eyes. “You actually withdrew 200 bucks for me?” You wanted the bed to swallow you whole. “I DON’T EXACTLY HAVE YOUR BANK DETAILS EDWARD!” You yelled and he laughed harder, nearly rolling off you all together until he remembered he was still very much inside of you. “I’m so fucking dumb.” You face palmed with the embarrassment of it all. “You kinda are.” He agreed. He knew you’d hate his lack of support. “I like em dumb though.” He also knew he deserved the flick you gave him. “We’ll get you to the bank tomorrow, don’t you worry babe.” This time you didn’t flick him. “Not going anywhere tomorrow.” You sighed, arms wrapping around him. His stomach fluttered when you held him like that. “Why, what you got planned?“ He nuzzled his face happily into your breast, his spare hand squishing the other nicely. “Gonna get my fucking money’s worth that’s what.”

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things smut

317 notes · View notes

taschamonnii · 1 year ago

Text

Enchanted

You x Wanda Maximoff (MCU WandaVision - Elizabeth Olsen)

Angst/Smut

Summary: Enchanted strap because Wanda wants babies. There is still a plot and big sad energy because I have many issues. You get a back story so that things matter more and hit harder. Yes I am ridiculously adding feelings to some weird smut.

TW: SMUT, 18+, Enchanted Strap, Impregnating, GP!

Here is the title song: Enchanted By Taylor Swift

AN: I don’t want to talk about it. We are all going to hell and I am just dragging you all along with me lol I just have been seeing a lot of GP! With Wanda but most of the time it is Wanda with the GP! & I thought about how much she craves a family and got a weird idea. What can I say? My brain is a strange place. I really hope you all like it I surprised myself and really enjoyed writing it. I may want to write more of it but I just don't know if anyone else wants to see it.

Before you say anything just look at her and tell me you wouldn't do anything she asked!

Word Count: 2,632

Imagine This:

You are married to Wanda Maximoff. You both escaped the hero and villain scene after a close call. Wanda refused to lose you like she had lost everyone else she loved. You live in a cabin in the woods that is at the edge of a small town. You live a normal life. Well as normal as you can be with a witch as a wife and your own powers of hypersensitivity and mind reading. You both were part of the Avengers for a while. You were there after she had already lost Pietro. But you witnessed first hand losing Vision.

You were friends, all the avengers cared for each other that is what made you a team. However, you had a crush on Wanda the instant you saw her but you were always on different missions and Natasha told you her and Vision were a thing so you pushed your crush aside. You didn’t have time for it anyway Natasha was training you on basically everything and she consumed most of your time. Nevertheless, you became close friends with Wanda and Vision because Nat really cared for Wanda.

You may or may not have had a fling with Nat but it was supposed to be strictly physical even though half the time it ended up being cuddling. Things all changed when that ugly purple asshole came to earth and fucked everything. You had arrived with Nat to try and help even though your powers are practically useless in the battle scenarios. You end up trapped with Nat as Thanos surrounds you both by the earth with a stone. You watch helplessly as everyone tries to fight the Barney looking bastard. Until there is no one left except Wanda who is falling apart as she slowly destroys Vision's mind stone and in turn Vision. You can feel her pain even from where you are trapped. Her thoughts are so loud, it is as if her soul is screaming and crying and it shatters your heart. You watch on as she has to fight off Thanos as she continues to destroy the stone. The flash and force of her destroying the stone blinds you for a moment and when you look again she is on the ground and Thanos is touching her head. You have to watch as he turns back the time and throws her aside as he takes Visions stone. Wanda’s soul only screams louder to you. You watch as people start to turn to dust all around you and you grab Natasha’s hand squeezing it for dear life. You watch Wanda fade into dust into nothing and hear her soul's last strangled cry; it sounds like relief.

Natascha squeezes your hand harder. You look at her and both fight to escape and manage to get free running right to where Wanda just was. Nat gasps and folds in on herself grabbing at her sister's vest. You catch her before she falls to the ground. You know her sister and all the lives just lost weigh heavy on her. Her soul cries and you hold her thankful you still have her. She is your best friend and honestly all you really have. Especially now.

You work with Nat and the others that remain to figure out a plan to fix this, to bring everyone back. The plan was good. The plan worked but not without great sacrifice. You didn’t get to time travel, you had your own part to play. You hugged Natasha before she left and you wish you had never let her go, not that you could have stopped her.

Your mission was to retrieve people who come back if it worked. You went and waited in Wakanda. You brought Wanda and the others back and you consoled her the best you could. You understood the grief you’d lost all your family long ago and this whole thing just brought all that pain back to the surface. Wanda’s grief was the most painful thing you’d ever felt. Well except for the pain and grief you both feel when you return and learn Natasha sacrificed herself.

You both fell to the floor in a pile holding each other like your lives depended on it because well they did. You stayed practically hooked together barely ever letting go of some kind of physical contact. You share Nats bed and fall asleep crying wrapped up in each other. The team builds on the original plan to destroy Thanos for good. You and Wanda are on autopilot. You both have no one left. Sure there is Clint and the others who care about you both but no one else understands. The night before the epic end-all fight you confess your fears even though you know Wanda can hear them and you can hear hers and they are the same. You are afraid you will lose each other. You decide to voice your locked away feelings and kiss her.

The kiss is everything, it is life altering and she feels it too. It slows down time. It makes you both gasp for air and cling to each other harder. Like finding the last piece of a puzzle everything suddenly fits and makes sense and you can see a future with her something you’ve both never had the chance to dream of let alone have.

The battle is epic. Wanda almost kills Thanos all on her own. You think she would have if he hadn’t sabotaged his own soldiers to escape her wrath. You’ve never seen her so angry. You were stationed on a ship with others that didn’t have battle powers. Unfortunately the ship wasn’t a safer place and it got hit. Wanda barely got to you in time as it went down. When she did get to you she didn’t let you go. The way her soul spoke to you refusing to lose you. You locked your gaze on hers and had to fight tears getting lost in her tear filled emerald eyes. A silent promise was made between you. Your souls promise to never let go and never leave the other.

The battle ended soon after. Tony’s self sacrifice overshadowed everyone else especially Natasha’s and it was the extra solidification for you and Wanda to finally leave this life to go live a peaceful one alone.

That is how you ended up here in this little cozy cabin in the woods on the outskirts of a precious small town you call home. Happily married to Wanda. It’s been a few years and you both have never known peace like this. She is so happy and you are determined to keep her as happy as possible for the rest of your lives. So when she starts to talk about this aching feeling of missing something you try your hardest to understand.

She wants a family, a real family with you. She wants babies. More specifically, she wants to be pregnant. Even more specifically she wants you to get her pregnant and that you thought was pretty impossible but you have learned not to underestimate her powers. She wants everything her comforting sitcoms have and she is determined to have it all with you.

And that is how you have found yourself in this situation.

You are laying on your shared bed naked and flat on your back. She is naked on her knees in-between your legs. Her gaze is focused and intense; her green eyes map out every inch of you.

She nibbles on her bottom lip, a nervous habit. "I trust you, Wanda."

She glances up and meets your gaze, you're confident in her and trust her with your life. She moves to lean over you and lowers her lips to yours, capturing them in a searing kiss. A promise shared to be cautious as you both proceed. She leans back and smiles down at you. "I love you, y/n."

"I love you too, Wanda."

Her gaze falls between your legs and red illuminates the room as she begins to manipulate reality. You hold yourself up on your elbows to watch completely in awe as a penis forms between your legs. You never thought this would be something you'd want. You admit you'd thought about what it would be like to be a man but never pictured you'd ever be like this.

Her magic fades and she slowly takes it in her soft hands and fuck her hands are softer than ever as she gently touches it. Touches you. You can feel everything. You can't help the soft sigh that leaves your lips and her gaze shoots up to your face.

"y/n, are you okay, my sweet girl?"

You nod "MMMM mmm hmm"

"Can you feel it?"

She runs her slender fingers up to the tip and slides her thumb softly over the slit there.

"Yes fuck Wanda that feels way too good. I don't know if I will be able to handle being inside you like this. It's so sensitive."

"I'll go slow."

You can feel it twitch and move on its own in her hands and as her deep raspy voice surrounds you. God you love her!

She leans down and you watch in awe as she just ghosts her lips against the tip. It feels like when she teases your clit with soft kisses only 100 times stronger! You can't help the whimper that leaves your lips.

She smirks and you can hear her thoughts. "I can't wait to taste you!"

"Fuck Wanda!"

She softly licks the tip and you throw your head back with a moan.

It feels so hard it's almost like it's pulsing like when your clit throbs begging for friction. She reads you and wraps her lips around the tip bringing it into her warm mouth.

"Fuck Wanda I can't! I'm gonna ah!"

She sucks gently and flicks her tongue and holds the rest of the shaft in her long slender fingers that you usually love inside of you. It's overwhelming, it's too much and you can't stop your hips from gently bucking. Your hands fist the sheets.

She sucks harder and squeezes you in her hands and that's it you erupt tumbling over the edge. A sort of plus runs up the shaft as you feel yourself cum and it's intense and weird to feel it shoot out the tip. It's short squirts pulsating. She moans and the vibrations have you whimpering. She sucks the tip dry with a pop and licks her lips. "You taste the same. Absolutely delicious!"

The way she talks and looks at you while she licks her lips has you twitching for more. You want her more than anything else. You run your hands through her hair and tug her up. You kiss her lips nipping softly at her lower lip. "Sit on my face. I need to taste you."

She whimpers as she kisses you harder. She moves effortlessly to hover over you and you can see how wet she is. You hold her hips and guide her closer. You latch onto her sucking and flicking your tongue. She moans breathlessly and you can feel yourself getting hard again. You can't get enough of her. You suck harder and she pulls your hair as she rocks her hips. Her legs squeeze around your head and you moan into her, sending her over the edge and making her crumple forward. She pulls away far too quickly but you can see it in her gaze as she slides her wet core against your abs. She leaves a trail down your body and you feel yourself twitch hard.

You groan as she lowers herself. She runs her slick heat against you and you twitch even more, getting harder she slicks your entire member and lifts herself up. Her gaze is locked on it so she can line herself up and your gaze is locked on her.

She glances up to check in and you nod before you both glance back down to watch her slick wet heat surround you. She goes slowly. She squeezes you tightly as she lowers herself all the way. You both sigh with relief.

She lifts back up halfway and slowly goes back down and you have to throw your head back as a moan escapes your throat. She's so wet and as she slowly moves she feels hotter. She bottoms out and just gyrates her hips for a bit and you can feel that you fit perfectly inside her fully. “You hit every spot baby. AH! You feel so good!”

She leans over you slowly coming down to kiss your lips. The position has you only half inside her and your body reacts needing to be inside her more. You bend your legs and move your hips sliding all the way in. You both moan into the kiss being able to feel so much pleasure with her whole body on top of you breasts pressed together and lips locked is fucking phenomenal! The angle also allows her to match your hips and soon you both find a rhythm that feels far too good. “I can’t do this for long. Wanda your so tigh-FUCK! You feel so GOOD!”

She hums happily against your neck and bites down sucking hard to leave her mark on your neck and it’s too much to have her all over you to feel her blazing skin and sweet sweat and hard nipples. Her hot breath against your skin, her tongue on your pulse all while being inside her tight soaking wet heat.

You buck your hips out of rhythm and she sits up putting her hands on your breasts as she looks down at you. She smirks and then you feel her tighten around you. You can’t stop the whimper that leaves your lips as she continues to purposely contract around you. You grab her hips hard. She sighs and moans and squeezes your boobs hard as she constricts you and slightly moves her hips up like she is trying to milk you and it works. You erupt even harder than before. Hot strings of your cum shoot inside her and have her coming hard pulsing and contracting around you even harder. She presses her hips down hard holding onto you making sure you fill her up as much as possible. It is a sight to see. Your hands grip her sides harder and she squeezes your breasts harder. Her own nipples are so hard you want them in your mouth desperately.

Her gaze finally meets yours after you both catch your breath “fuck that was so good baby I feel so full.”

She leans down and presses her lips to yours and moves her hands to tug your hair. Her hard nipples graze yours and you are so overwhelmingly sensitive that your body jolts and she bites your bottom lip. You whimper as she releases your lip from between her teeth. “Next time will be even better I want to fuck you so many different ways like this Wanda.”

“Mmm you have no idea baby girl I have so many ideas. I love coming with you!”

She sat up and bit her bottom lip before fidgeting with her fingers. You know she wants to ask something but she is blocking you from hearing her thoughts and she is hesitating. You sit up and suppress a groan at the feel of moving at all while still deep inside her. You caress her cheek softly with concern written on your face. “What is it, love?”

Her gaze locks on to you and your gaze softens. Her emerald eyes are so full of love.

“Would you let me get you pregnant? We could be pregnant together. We could create our family faster.”

AN: Who wants to see Wanda get the reader pregnant in the same way? Should I continue this or was this a horrible idea?

#wanda maximoff #elizabeth olsen #wlw #GP!#Enchanted strap #SMUT #Angst #Feels #Smut with Feels #Wanda deserves her lil happy family #we are all going to hell #idk where this came from I don't like dick

150 notes · View notes

huntinglove · 1 year ago

Text

How to get away from antiship spaces (mostly)

Warnings: Long post, antis mention, mentions of pedophilia, rape, self harm and gore (none show, not descriptive)

Have you recently learned that you align yourself with the proship label? Would you like to get away from antis as safely as you can? Here's what I've learned, as an ex anti:

1. It may be hard, but try to get rid of/abandon your accounts where you used to interact with antis.

This is one of the hardest steps because having a lot of followers can be discouraging, but it's the safest approach in this situation, because if antis see you following or interacting with proshippers they WILL question you about it and depending on how you tackle their asks they'll throw you to the wolves and publicly "warn" people about you so people can mass report your account/harass you

This applies to anything; Tumblr blogs, Twitter profiles, Discord servers, if you've interacted with antis block them and delete your account if you decide to adopt the proship label

Antis constantly claim that they don't harass people but as soon as someone drops the anti label they dogpile them and call them "traitors" as well as their usual buzzwords to catch people's attention, it's better to pull the plug directly than just rebrand your account

1.5. If you REALLY want to keep your account because you've used it for a long time or because it works as a portfolio, please create a different account to post about proship content

If you make a new account remember to block your anti mutuals/followers from your main account before you start posting, art styles can be very unique and easy to spot similarities in, as well as typing patterns and reoccurring emojis/symbols

If there's the option to, keep your profile private until you've built a steady environment for yourself, if you prefer to keep your profile private permanently that's also a good option!

Remember, your safety matters more than numbers on a screen!

2. This one should go without saying but, please don't share much of your trauma/mental health issues/triggers with people online in general, but especially not with antis

I used to talk about my struggles and vent publicly a lot, antis would stalk my accounts and send me all types of fucked up content.

I've had people send me rape videos and threats, people telling me I deserved the abuse I went through, people would send me gore and self harm images, as well as suicide tutorials.

They can and will use all of it to their advantage, they're restless and will dig up even decade old posts if they feel it'll be useful for them. It can and will take a toll on your mental health, so please save yourself the trouble and only open up with people you genuinely trust and feel safe talking to!

You're not alone, but please don't let dangerous people take advantage of you when you're at a bad spot

3. Keep an eye on your followers, especially if your profiles are public. There are always some things to look out for to make sure your followers aren't antis pretending to be proshippers

According to my personal experience, here's some red flags to look out for:

A.Antis think that the word proship means problematic ship, so they'll refer to pairings as "a proship"

Most proshippers dislike this terminology because it comes from an incorrect definition and usually avoid it

B. TikTok antis specifically come up and use a lot of emoji combos, creating meanings for them and usually adding one or two combos that are actually known to proshippers, along with some never seen before

A lot of the time they use it to identify themselves, a sign that means "I'm not actually a proshipper, just baiting"

I've also seen antis use the clover emoji in combos, inspired by the "clovergender/cloversexual" scam that 4channers came up with, to make it seem like the LGBTQ+ community was welcoming to offending pedophiles. Antis do this because they assimilate the proship label with problematic ships, mostly age gaps/underage content

C. Their account is brand new but they already follow a lot of proshippers. This is usually because they'll follow proshippers who've been posted on a blocklist, usually in the exact order that they've been listed too

If they're on Tumblr, they'll usually keep the people they follow public, so that other antis can find and harass those proshippers

D. Keep an eye on their follow list. Like stated above, they'll usually keep it public and 9 times out of 10 there will be an out of place antiship account, it's most likely their main profile/account/blog

E. They'll use their usual buzzwords on their own posts

For example, if they're trying to mimic a proselfship account they'll post pictures of underage characters and caption it things like "omg i'm such a pedo" and tag their post with proship related tags

Of course this doesn't apply to everyone, so it's always important to take context into consideration, as well as how many of these red flags may apply.

And lastly, please remember that the block button is your friend.

If someone's interacting with you and something about them seems/feels off, block and move on

319 notes · View notes

returnofnonya · 2 years ago

Text

From Thief to House Husband Part 2

In just 3 days I had grown attached to my new life. I had literally billions of dollars to spend, a mansion to explore, luxury cars to drive, and a wife who seemed to be gone quite often. Two of “my” sons were constantly out and about making friends and hanging out with them.

There was only one problem; Adam.

The eldest son of the Smith fortune. It appeared that he peaked in high school, and didn’t attend college. He spent his mornings in his gym and the rest of the day lazing about at home and inviting his so-called friends over. Rick may not have been able to see it, but as someone who used to rely on flirting with men who looked like they had more than $50 in their pockets, I knew a gold digger when I saw one.

Adam’s constant presence in the house meant I couldn’t have special company over, and I had to rely on the memory of sex with Ajax, a name I had learned a whole day after I let him fuck me. I kept wondering how I was supposed to work around this issue, then I remembered my special case of possession vials, and a good friend of mine who would enjoy the life of luxury.

So I got some cash and went to the local county jail, putting on my best remorseful face. I told the police that I was so regretful that my actions sent a shoplifter into cardiac arrest, causing his death. (I had learned soon after the hookup that my body passed away without anyone to inhabit it). I explained that the arresting officer had mentioned the hoodlum had a friend he often committed these crimes together with and wanted to help him find a better path in life, so I paid my friend Roy’s bail.

I waited outside of the entrance, sitting on the hood of my new Mercedes with a smirk on my face as Roy walked out, looking more puzzled than ever. “Look bro, I don’t need pity. Especially not from the guy who killed Mateo.” He stepped towards me angrily and I couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “Since when did the wealthy ever give a damn about us, Roy? Maybe those possession vials were worth something after all.” I winked and then walked around the car, getting into the driver’s side. I enjoyed the dumbfounded look on his face and smugly asked, “You getting in or did you want to hang around in that cell a bit more?” He scuffled into the car and we got going.

Before he could ask his barrage of questions I answered, “This basic looking bitch caught me shoplifting at Norm’s. I knew it would be my felony offense, so I panicked and pulled the vial out while concentrating on him. Next thing I knew, I was Rick Smith, multibillionaire and house husband. No more stares when I’m in any store but Dollar Tree, people worship the ground I walk on now! But I need your help.” He just grinned dumbly and nodded. “Anything for you, hermano. The billions are just a nice perk.” We both laughed a bit before I decided it was time to get serious again.

“He’s got three sons, all adults now. His oldest is Adam, about 24. The other two are social butterflies, rarely in the house except to sleep nowadays. Adam though, he treats the house like it’s his palace and invites a bunch of his fake friends over all the time. Total peaked in high school type guy. An easy mark in my old body, but now that he’s my son he’s preventing me from…enjoying this body to its fullest extent.” Roy raised an eyebrow at this. “And how am I supposed to help? Fake date him or something?” I rolled my eyes and chuckled. “Again, rich white kid who peaked in high school. He wouldn’t be caught dead with you, no. Fortunately I’ve still got a few vials, if you catch my drift.” A wide smirk crept across Roy’s face. “Yeah, yeah I do Dad.”

Soon enough, everything was in position. Roy was hiding in the kitchen pantry while Adam’s moocher friends were finally leaving. I pretended to be washing some dishes when Adam approached, throwing the plan off course a bit since I was just going to have Roy stealthily take over once the friends were gone. “Hey Dad, can we talk?” He asked, forcing me to put on Rick’s stupid smile. “Of course kiddo, what’s up?”

“You’ve been acting kind of…off lately?”

Oh boy…

“What do you mean?”

“You worship mom, but you forgot her name the other day. And you’re not as nice to my friends, or..us. You seem distant kind of. Plus, maybe I’m just paranoid, but I feel like your smile has been different lately.”

Fuck. I knew his dumb goody two shoes smile was important, so I practiced Rick’s smile based on his photos a lot. Guess I hasn’t gotten it down perfectly. Wait, why am I worried? Adam won’t exist in a few seconds.

“To be perfectly honest with you, loser, I’m not your Dad. I’m Mateo, the shoplifter who mysteriously died a few days ago.” I smirked, Adam’s eyes widening with fear as he backed away. “W-what? Dad, this is a weird joke.” I just laughed, stepping closer to him. “This isn’t a joke. I tried pretending to give a fuck about you, but your constant couch mooching has gotten on my last nerve. I’m trying to have some guys over to break your dad in, and I can’t do that with a witness! That’s why I bailed my hermano, or should I say, hijo, Roy out of prison today. He’s going to use the same serum I used to steal your dad’s body to steal yours. Then no one will know that you both are gone.”

Adam’s eyes darted all over the place, trying to find Roy. The cabinet creaked open and he saw Roy’s eyes for just a second before he faded to black. Roy had consumed the vial, and by the time Adam saw him it was too late, the possession was complete. He laughed and smiled widely, looking down at his new hands. “Holy shit! This body feels amazing! So fit and tight…” he started to grope Adam’s tits, moaning out in pleasure. “Heh, enjoy it son. I’ve got to get rid of the evidence, feel free to explore your new life in the meantime.”

I picked up Roy’s now vacant body, carrying it to a box we had designated out in the pool house in the backyard. It would stay there until we figured out a disposal method.

I came back in a few minutes later and found Roy standing in the living room, wearing Adam’s old football gear with a wide smirk.

“Hey, Dad.” He said seductively, walking to me now. “I wanted to thank you for all that you’ve done for me.” He said and grinned from ear to ear. I couldn’t help but find myself enamored with his getup. “How…where?” He just chuckled as he unbuttoned my shirt. “When you said he peaked in high school, my mind wandered to one thing. Thankfully, my assumption was right.” He said, kissing my neck and pulling my shirt open, slowly descending down my body, littering it with kisses and earning pleasured moans from me. “Fuck…I couldn’t be happier to have you for a son.” I chuckled, watching as he got down on his knees and pulled my cock out, wasting no time and sliding it into his mouth. “Fuck! Boy’s got a perfect set of lips~” I moaned out happily.

It was hard, but I tore my eyes away from Roy’s new ones to look at my surroundings. We were in the kitchen, which according to Rick’s photo album was likely his favorite spot to spend family time. He was quite the chef and apparently had made the candy the security guard was stuffing his face with the day of the possession. Now, his oldest son was blowing him off right there.

“God…tell me you stretched yourself while I was gone. I don’t want to wait to bust that pretty little straight hole open.” I said, looking back into Roy’s eyes. He just winked and then moaned on my cock, clouding my mind with the pleasure. “God fucking damn you’re such a slut…” I moaned out. Once he felt that I had enough spit he stood up, laying on his back on the kitchen table and pulling his compression pants down to reveal a white jockstrap, and a plug vibrating in his hole! “For one of his gold digger girls. A cheesy present from a straight fuck boy apparently, but we’re making it work for us.” Roy always cased every place we stole from. He could read people and environments very well, no one would know Adam was gone.

“Fuck, I could kiss you.” I growled, grabbing the base of the plug and pulling it out, earning a whimpery moan from him. “How about we do that first part first? Then we can kiss.” His smug expression looked perfect on Adam’s face. I wasted no time, pulling his legs over my shoulder and waist over the edge of the table. I slid into him with ease, leaning down and pressing my lips against his. He reciprocated with joy and I started to thrust the way I knew he loved it; hard and fast.

The sound of our skin slapping filled the kitchen and our tongues ravaged each other inside of his mouth, our moans muffled inside of them. It didn’t take long for sweat to build up, I was giving it my all and he was taking it like a pro, his body’s previous owner had built it for endurance. As we fucked the table wobbled underneath us, not built for the ferocity of our sex. Everything about this was so fucking hot that both of us were throbbing quickly.

I pulled back from the kiss, caressing his eyes and smirking. “We’ll have to work on these bodies’ sexual stamina. I think that’s a good way to spend father and son time together.” I chuckled as he nodded. “Couldn’t agree more. In the meantime, how about you show me the way you and mom made me?” He winked. God, seeing Adam’s face portray Roy’s demeanor drove me crazy. I thrusted one final time, roaring as I shot a load deep inside of him and the table gave out, collapsing underneath us as Roy shot his load high up into the air. As we reached the ground it arched, landing on the top of my head.

Once we had a second to gather our bearings and realize we just broke the dinner table and he had cum on the back of my head in a missionary position we started laughing. “Fuck, no more shoplifting, no more gold digging.” He said, panting as he looked around at the mansion.

“Life is perfect.” I said, smiling widely as I basked in the afterglow of our first father and son bonding session. “It’s all uphill from here.”

#male body possession #male possession #father son #revenge

470 notes · View notes

paperstarwriters · 1 year ago

Note

Hello hope your day is amazing

I was wondering if you could write a Muriel x florist reader where when Muriel is making his once in awhile trip into vesuvia he goes past the readers shop and she gives him tulips because he looks sad and he takes them but after he's gone they forget him obv but the next time he comes into town it happens again and again until he finally gives the reader myrrh and then they remember all those times and get really embarrassed

My first request!!! Wow!!! Now technically I haven’t had any explicit availability on requests because of classes but, well I may just open them up now! (Of course though not all requests will end up this long 😅)

Also, I just wanna mention, that when I first got this request my day had been a little bit of a mess but this certainly brightened it thanks so much!! 💕💕💕💕

By the way, Anon, I am SO sorry I took so long to write this. It ended up getting really long and then I ended up deleting everything and rewriting everything because I thought it could’ve been better lol—Not an excuse, but I kinda wanna be transparent about these things because it helps me acknowledge that no, I did not magically make a perfect fanfic on my first go, and other authors do not make perfect fanfics in one go.

Also I understand that this has since been requested to someone else now too because I was taking so long, and I really don’t mind, though I feel kinda bad to have been so slow. Unfortunately life just tends to interfere and all that.

Anyways,

A Flower a Day Keeps The Lonely At Bay

Pairing: Muriel x Flowershop!Reader

Warnings: Lack of communication (ie. Muriel being shy), awful & rich customers, who pay the cops to chase you down, Reader also Swears. Summary: A flower a day keeps the lonely at bay, but two to three more, and I’m here at your door, ever waiting, ever waiting, never sure never sure.

Muriel finds himself making visits outside of his hut a little more frequently than usual, accumulating a small bouquet of flowers made larger by a few flowers at a time with every trip he makes to the market.

The only issue is, he hasn’t exactly paid for these.

Masterlists | The Arcana Masterlist

Word Count: 14, 181

–––––––––✿・✿・✿–––––––––

Muriel watched as red washed down from the coliseum stands.

He should be grateful. The sight should uplift him—should release that tension tied deep in his chest. It should fill his chest with something other than dread.

After all, for once, it wasn’t blood.

Red roses drip down from above, their petals peeling away from the bright blooming flowers, cut in the peak of their beauty fluttering in the wind, catching in the sunlight, and falling onto the hot arena sands, still yellow, still free from blood, now stained with a new shade of red. The audience cheers instead of screams, clapping instead of booing. They throw flowers instead of stones.

All for his opponent.

A foreign fighter from a kingdom not too far away, his opponent bathed with open arms in the rain of flowers and roses, smiling and waving at the people above who cheered and wailed their name in rapt awe and delight.

If he were sitting in the stands, watching the battle from afar, he’s certain he would see how clunky and awkward he had been fighting. Lucio had told him that unlike his usual “criminal” opponents he was not to kill the foreign fighter lest he piss off the other kingdom, and wile he wasn’t sure exactly when Lucio had grown so conscious of other people’s feelings, Muriel had been grateful for the chance not to kill his opponent.

It was naïve of him to assume it was something he could simply stop doing.

With every swing of his massive axe, made to cleave heads from their shoulders, Muriel found himself faltering. With every attack, he wondered if this was the swing that would kill his opponent, if this was the swing that would start a war between kingdoms. His opponent, who had no such qualms, was able to slowly whittle away at his defenses until they knocked him to the sand and pressed a dagger to his throat.

When Muriel was shuffled out of the coliseum to be slotted away into the cold cell they called his room, he watched as the other fighter received a glory he never saw for himself. Armfuls of gifts, boxes of food or sweets, letters sealed with hearts and given with bright grins on their faces, and armfuls upon armfuls of flowers. Sitting in his cell, Muriel watched as his opponent passed by with many servants in tow, all needing to be led by Lucio, as they couldn’t see past the heaps of flowers that crowded their arms.

A flower slipped past someone’s grasp, drifting it’s way into his room. It was rose-like in it’s colour. A deep crimson hue, although the shape of it was a far cry from a rose. He could hope that it was something precious and expensive, from some bouquet of foreign flowers, but Muriel couldn’t help but doubt. Perhaps it was something cheaper, something carelessly held and carelessly dropped into the cell of this careless fighter. Its a thing to be admired regardless, something pretty and colourful to enter his drab cell. He plucks it off of the floor, to cradle it’s delicate petals appreciate the soft, sweet smell of it.

Something sweet something soft, and colourful and kind.

It’s not something that would last very long with him.

Lucio returns past him a few moments later, having led the servants to whatever lavish room he had prepared for the foreigner and their followers. The red flower dropped against the hallway floors catches his eye, and with two golden talons he plucks it from the floor, smiling as he appreciates it’s delicate, feeble beauty. He continues down the hall, not even sparing Muriel a glance, as his footsteps crack against the stone floors.

He’ll throw it away the moment he gets outside perhaps, or maybe even sooner than that. Or maybe, just maybe he’ll get some small little cup and let the flower live just a little longer. It’s doubtful though, considering how easy it would be for someone like him to get more flowers. People gift him things all the time, and whatever he doesn’t receive as a gift, it would be simple for him to purchase himself.

Muriel never received gifts in his life as a gladiator.

After all he’s done, he didn’t deserve them.

He did not deserve flowers.

–––––––––✿・✿・✿–––––––––

Muriel pulled his basket closer towards himself, shifting the strap that attached it to his back to rest more comfortably on his shoulder. Although he initially refused the offer, he’s grateful for Asra’s insistence, and even more grateful for the gift. It’s practical. With it, he can carry so much more materials than he ever had before. Flour, rice, fruits, he can place it all in his basket and leave his hands free to purchase smaller things, like bread or berries or herbs, or whatever else he might need. Most importantly, being able to carry so much at once, Muriel can limit his trips into the market as a once in a month or two journey.

Sure, the basket made him look bigger, only drawing more attention to his broad looming frame, and sure, perhaps it was a bit heavy to carry so much groceries all in one go, but if it meant he’d only have to endure the bustle and crowds of the market less, it was certainly a sacrifice he was willing and ready to make. Even the longer journey the basket imposed on him—since it would not fit into the smaller alleyways—was made more tolerable knowing that he would not have to return for a while.

It’s his saving grace amidst the crush of people yelling and hawking their wares, the inconsiderately placed shops of medicine right beside shops of food where delicious scents make the dizzying medicine smell stronger. The push and shove of impatient customers—all of it is made just a little more tolerable knowing it’d be over soon.

Soon. He assures himself. Just a little further, then I’m out of the market. Just past these next few shops, just a little more…

A blur of bright colours catch his eye. Though it was hardly enough to stop him from walking, he slowed at the sight, unable to help but stare at the little shop squished between and behind a few other stalls. For some other shops perhaps the size would be moderate enough, if only a little squishy to sit inside, but for that shop in particular, it seemed downright tiny, dwarfed by the flowers that seemed to burst from any and every opening it could get, starved for space and sunlight, and with the vivid colours and unruly growth—starved for attention.

He didn’t mean to stop in place, but he couldn’t help but stare at all the pretty flowers before him. Butterflies twitched from where they sat atop flowers, and bees bumbled lazily from flower to flower, all delighted at the sheer variety they had before them to enjoy. Like the many insects around him, Muriel found himself drawn into the little alcove the shop provided, drowned in the flowers and their soft and tender scents.

Setting his basket aside, Muriel let himself breathe. The crush and bustle of the crowds were still there, but a panel from another shop blocked him from their view. An alcove large enough for him to hide him—he never thought he’d find a place like that.

“Hello?”

The voice was by no means loud. It was a far, far cry from anything accusatory or cruel, and yet still, Muriel can’t help the urge to leap up in place and run, the thin branch of flowers reaching over his head, serving as the only thing to stop him from doing so. Careless movement could damage the pretty little things, and even if it would sting, damaging the beauty of something seemingly so abandoned, he’d hate to have to deal with the ire of the shopkeep should he damage their precious merchandise.

—Should he damage your precious merchandise.

Wearing mud-smeared clothing and a pair of gloves, it was clear you were the caregiver of these flowers and therefore, the owner of the shop.

Maybe he should have noticed it sooner—seen the vibrant colours and assumed nothing that bright and big could grow naturally, or maybe he should have looked closer to those openings and noted how clean the curtains of the window—the very one you now leaned out from—were.

“I’m sorry.” he mutters, scrambling to get his things while still taking care not to damage the flowers of your shop.

“No, no. It’s okay,” you tell him, smiling a little as you watch him pick up his basket once more. “You don’t have to go, I’m not gonna kick you out.”

“I’m out of money,” he blurts out in reply.

While technically a lie, there is some semblance of truth in it too. He’s already spent his limit of what he set out to buy today, and he really didn’t want to buy any more, just in case he needed the money for something else more important.

“That’s fine you don’t have to buy anything. It’s a nice place to relax here.”

Muriel nodded, but knowing he’s long since outstayed his welcome, he turns instead, fully ready to leave and let you forget. Hopefully he wouldn’t need to come by this side of the market place again any time soon.

“Hey! Wait!”

Oh no.

What did you want now? Did he break something? He might’ve hit or damaged some of those flowers with the basket, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to accept Asra’s gift. It made it so much harder to not bump into things. Automatically, he reaches for his pockets prepared to out himself for his earlier lie rather than have to deal with the accusations and demands for damaging merchandise.

Instead, he finds the flowers still intact, and a new one, bright yellow, and mere inches from his face.

“Here,” you say with a smile as you lean out—nearly tipping yourself out—form your shop’s little window. “Take it. Just a little something to brighten your day.”

It’s a simple little flower, with yellow petals like the sunshine that dappled through your flowers and their leaves.

He hesitates, unsure of whether or not to receive your little gift, what your ulterior motives might be, or what he needed to do for this gift, but you had been insistent, slipping the flower into his half open hand before he has a chance to back out. Satisfied with your gift, you smile with a brightness that matches the flower you’ve given him, warm like spring sunshine.

Despite the abruptness of the gift, he manages a small smile, nodding a little in thanks before he promptly turns to leave and finally be out of the market.

The simple yellow flower, with little else it could go, remained in his hand held to his chest as he weaved in between other market-goers. Listening for the sounds of shouting and screaming that never made it’s way to his ears. It’s not like you would remember. It’s not like you would even know.

Technically speaking, he didn’t have to keep it. Honestly, it’s probably nothing more than a ploy to get him to return and actually buy something from your shop, and it’s not like you’d remember him to ask what he’s done with the flower. Not like he could do anything with it anyways. Unlike Asra’s gift, it’s impractical, and Muriel finds himself wondering what you even expected him to do with it.

His fingers trail along the velveteen petals as he walks, appreciating the faint but pleasant smell that sits at the flower’s center. Whatever beauty he finds in it now is fleeting. It won’t last very long, especially since he has no vase to put it in.

It’s just a flower. He has no obligation to keep it.

It’s not like you would remember anyways.

–––––––––✿・✿・✿–––––––––

Shrugging the basket off his shoulders, Muriel makes quick work of putting away the items he’s bought. The bread flour gets tucked into the bottom shelf of the alcove of food he keeps in the house, and the fruits go in a bowl a little higher than that. Finally the bread is placed and covered in it’s own little box. Inanna runs around him welcoming home as he trundles around setting everything into it’s place, tail wagging like a dog. Even as she jumps up on her hind legs to greet him, she's just as careful as he is not to bump into his table, lest the cup at it’s center fall over and spill the yellow tulip it cradles onto the floor.

–––––––––✿・✿・✿–––––––––

Muriel returned to the market a bitter few days later. The basket had made him eager on his last trip, urging him to get everything done and over with so he wouldn't have to be there long, but he had forgotten that the chicken feed needed some extra restocking with the rain season lurking just around the corner. Muriel wasn't technically responsible for Bok-Bok and her friends. They could easily care for themselves as they, and all other chickens scattered in the forest, have been doing long before he had arrived. As a neighbor who occasionally borrowed eggs, however, Muriel had an obligation to lend a helping hand, and he knew full well how difficult the rainy season made it to find berries and seeds. There were of course plenty of worms, but robins and crows were quick to snatch those things up and some days there was just too much water for even the worms to enjoy. In those moments Bok-Bok and company would really need his help, and he was not about to let them down.

He hauls two bags of chicken feed in his basket, the bite of the straps onto his shoulders almost as bad as the bite of the cost into his limited pouch of coins. Technically he’d only really need one bag, but seeing as chicken feed was edible, Muriel was hoping to use at least some of it for his own meal within the coming days. There’d still be plenty for Bok-Bok and the others, but this would make things easier on him for a while as well.

The feed shifts side to side with every step he takes, the shift in weight feels almost hypnotizing, as he walks. It’s an imperfect distraction from the typical sounds and smells and feeling of the marketplace, but it’s a distraction nonetheless. People continue to press against him, and he feels the grains shift to his left. People continue to chatter and talk, the sound of it layered thickly over the sound of crashes and movement and moving creaky objects, and he feels the grains of the bag shift to his right. That awful smell of medicine entwined with fresh bread and he feels—

“Hey!! You!!”

Muriel freezes in place. When his head snaps to the sound of the scream, the rest of his body is already preparing to run away. And yet, when he sees that familiar face—your familiar face—he finds himself unable to move

For the second time within the few weeks he’s been here, he meets your eyes, and your own grow wide.

As if you recognized him.

Just as quickly it appears, it vanishes and you continue to yell.

“Watch your step!” you yell and point to a little spool of ribbon, sitting just where he would have stepped.

Muriel allows himself to relax, following your gaze downwards, taking a step backwards rather than forwards to find a spool of golden ribbon, lined with green that sat just beneath his feet. He’s about to apologize for almost crushing it when you promptly continue.

“I’m sorry, but yeah could you get that? I don’t want someone to step on it and trip like you almost did”

He nods as he bends over, freezing momentarily to shuck off the basket on his back when he feels the grains of feed slip forward. Taking the little spool in hand, he ducks back into the little alcove where your shop resides and hands it back to you, promptly rewarded with a smile flashed his way.

His face warms at the attention, but he doesn’t find it all too bad.

“Thank you. Oh, and here! As thanks.” You pull from behind you another flower—another tulip. It’s orange this time, tinted yellow around the edges. It’s the colour of a sunset, or his warm fireplace at night—the colour of even warmer smiles.

Although he hesitates, he takes this flower as well, bringing it to his nose to drown out the smell of medicine and food swirling together unpleasantly just a few stalls down.

It works better than the rice of his basket had managed at least.

Muriel manages a nod and soft grunt as thanks, trying to avoid the bright smile on your face as he slings his basket back onto his shoulders and trundles off once more. Another flower held carefully between his fingers.

He knows he doesn’t have to take it or keep it.

He knows he still will anyways.

–––––––––✿・✿・✿–––––––––

Asra visits a day or two later, and grins when Muriel is unable to give them their own cup for tea, especially since it was the one cup they had purchased themself. Still, they grin, and even snicker, as if unaware of the turmoil that brews at his inability to be a good friend and give them what’s theirs. Instead, they only fuel the fire of his anxiety and coyly remark that he should get another cup for whoever had given him his tiny bouquet of flowers.

It’s only then that Muriel realizes he could have, and should have argued back.

He still tries, though he knows it’s too late for that.

“How do you know I didn’t pick them myself?”

“Because you don’t tend to pick flowers for yourself,” Asra replies easily, grinning happy and easy, with that familiar glow of mischief in their eyes. “You should make a vase for them. It’d look nice, I think.”

Muriel can feel his face grow hot as he hesitates to refute Asra’s offer, which only makes their grin grow wider and wider in reply. Eventually he sighs, and though he doesn’t make any direct confirmation or denial, Asra laughs, knowing full well what that sigh entailed.

Despite it all, Muriel found himself smiling too.

–––––––––✿・✿・✿–––––––––

Muriel wanders through the marketplace a mere two days since his last visit. He’s without his basket, as he has been for the last handful of times he’s been there, but the journey is still overbearing. Visiting so often within such a short amount of time was quickly giving him a painful headache, and the temptation to just buy some spiced bread or some other delicious smelling food, to drown out the worst of the busy, busy, world around him, was only trumped by the fact that he did not bring any money with him.

Lately, on his last few trips to the marketplace, he neglected to bring any coins, knowing it’d be better for him to focus on saving up for when he really needed the money. Technically he didn’t need the money that much, being fully capable of living off of the forest, but difficult times such as the upcoming rainy season was made much easier when he could just buy the things he needed. For now, however, he’s simply content to wander through the marketplace and shop for inspiration; his only payment being his time, and the need to be there in the first place.

Carving a vase is easy. It should be easy, compared to the other things he’s carved. it’s a pretty simple wooden thing practically a deeper, wider cup with a little flare at the top like a plate. That was something he could carve, but he recalled seeing other vases around the marketplace, and despite himself, curiosity got the better of him and he stopped by to look at the vases other people had made. He’s been returning pretty often much to his dismay, as he kept on realizing or remembering the design of a vase he had only glimpsed at when he returned to the hut. Not to mention how his initial design might not even work anymore.

With every visit he’s made to the marketplace, he passed by or took shelter by your little flower shop on the way back home, and every time without fail, you called out to him. Even on days where he forgot to try and stop by, where he, fully engrossed in some other thing, or the dizzying feeling of the crowd around him, passed by the shop without a second glance. Even then, you still called out to him, with some excuse or other for you to offer him a flower. Some days he got a single tulip. Other times he’s received up to three different blooms. He gets a different flower each time, and each time he has to add the flower to his rapidly filling makeshift vase. It’s no longer a cup, but a rather sorry chunk of wood with a hole down the middle and water at the bottom. So busy with his visits to the market, he hadn’t had the time to really work on it.

If he was being truthful, he had been trying to avoid the task. What could he carve that could adequately hold such pretty flowers that you’ve given him? It’s the first bouquet he’s ever received, he wants to make something fitting for your gifts.

With how consistently you give him flowers, Muriel can’t help but forget that you don’t even remember him. He can’t help but forget you don’t really even know him. Not in the way that he knows you. Even if he knows you in sporadic fragments, he still knows you more than you know him.

Perhaps it’s made him cocky. Overconfident in his understanding of you.

Perhaps that’s why he didn’t expect to see you like this.

You are the sun, radiant and bright for your flowers, providing them warmth, providing them light before you give them away to others to illuminate their day or the day of whoever is lucky enough to receive that gift.

Somehow, he never anticipated the fact that maybe the sun couldn’t always be shining.

“I AM NOT PAYING THIS MUCH FOR THIS STUPID SHIT!!!”

Eyes shift away from Muriel towards the loud argument of some overzealous self-entitled noble who failed to recognize that the world doesn’t revolve around them. Selfishly, Muriel finds relief at the distraction bathing in how for once, in the crowd he was not the spectacle to be stared at instead it was—

Oh.

You stand under the barrage of cruelty raised against you and smile. It falters, it twists, but you do your best to maintain your smile, to appease your audience, someone who clearly did not deserve your grace.

“With the amount of money you had outlined—”

“YOU ARE LITERALLY JUST PICKING FLOWERS—CHILDREN COULD DO THAT!! WHY SHOULD I PAY SO MUCH FOR SOME DAISES YOU PICKED?!”

The stranger’s hand slammed on the small windowsill that you usually leaned on rattling the worn material below it. Bees and butterflies fled from their refuge in your flowers and even some weaker flowers toppled over under the stress. Even if he could not see it for himself, Muriel could tell you were trembling, every flower that so much as brushed against you vibrated in place, your fear bleeding into them, as you tried your best to smile despite it all.

If not for the flowers, he’d believe it too.

“WERE YOU NOT LISTENING WHEN I TOLD YOU THAT THESE WERE FOR AN IMPORTANT EVENT?!? YOU SHOULD BE GRATEFUL THAT I’M EVEN BUYING FROM YOUR PATHETIC LITTLE SHOP!!! IF YOU DON’T GIVE ME SOME BETTER FLOWERS I WILL—”

It’s hard to tell what compels him more, the barely restrained discomfort that you radiate, or the bitter anger that only rises with every wretched word that comes out from the noble’s poor excuse for a mouth. If he were a better person, perhaps he’d go to you first, but just like with any fight, it was foolish of him to assume violence was something he could simply stop doing.

It always came back to him one way or another.

He strode, unthinkingly with every intention to just get rid of the unpleasant nobleman. Whether he was going to punch them, shove them aside and away from you, or simply pick them up and throw them into the nearest canal, Muriel would never know, because thankfully the noble was more cowardly than they had seemed.

All it took was for him to stand behind them, his shadow swallowing them whole as he glared them down before they were scrambling backwards and sputtering threats about money and guards. A hard threat to follow through on considering the stranger won’t even remember him the next day.

He’s tempted to follow the noble as they run. Tempted to chase them down and force them to never do it again. To show them how strong they really were in the face of a cruel world. Greedy wretches like them wouldn’t survive a day in the coliseum.

But would he really be able to stomach dragging them there?

Red flickers in the corner of his eyes, and Muriel instinctively turns, bracing for the sight of blood. Instead he finds flowers, and you flinching with wide terrified eyes, and a smile barely there on your twisted lips.

“Hello,” you say, flatly, only loosely coloured with a false cheer, just barely covering your trembling voice.

“…Hi.” He manages to mutter back. “Are you…okay?”

You relax a little, no longer afraid, but a look of hurt still lingers in your expression, and Muriel doesn’t know if or how he should try to help. Still, you manage to nod, and smile, however sad it may be.

“I’m fine,” you sigh in a way that always preludes a “but”. “It’s just that, he still didn’t pay for the bouquet.”

You gesture to the bundle of flowers a beautiful splash of red all clustered beautifully together. There are a litany of different shades of red and even a few other colours amidst the bunch, each complimenting the other, looking much less like the chaotic spatter that he still had at home. He could see roses amidst the bunch, de-thorned and coloured in hues he’s never seen before. Taller more spindly flowers sit amidst the bunch as well, though he’s unable to tell them by their names unsure if they are true in colour or made to look similar to the rest through whatever magic you were using.

Despite it’s beauty, you glare at it, as if you hoped it could shrivel up and die.

“I used so many flowers for that thing, what am I supposed to do with it now?” another grumble escapes you, sounding almost like a bitter growl. He flinches when you grab a flower and it’s pot, something set out as a display, and snatch it into the confines of your shop. He almost expects to hear the pot shatter, but your hands snap back out to grab another without so much of a whisper of the first pot being set down.

“Don’t you give some of your flowers out for free?” Muriel blurts out, regretting the question as soon as he asked it. Did it sound suspicious? Insulting?

“Those are special situations,” you snap back. “Besides, I do NOT give full bouquets out for free. That shit is expensive you know?! I put a lot of time and effort into them!”

Muriel nods, but he doesn’t think you see, as you carefully yank another bundle of flowers back into your shop, angry footsteps making the remaining blooms tremble from the force of it.

“I put all my hard time and effort growing these flowers! Contrary to popular belief I am NOT just running around in a meadow, picking out little flowers to take back home and sell for cheap! I grow these things myself! I colour them! I mix them together! I’m not some nobleman with access to flower farms and flower farmers!!”

Muriel busies himself by picking up the flowers you have further out for display, and bringing them back towards your shop. He doesn’t know where the door is, burred under flowers and greenery somewhere, but he tucks the display into the nook where he had hid many times before, keeping the flowers from prying eyes and greedy hands.

It’s the only thing keeping him in place really. As you continue to stomp back and forth in your shop, ranting about rich customers trying to cheat their way out of paying for your flowers. Even if he knows it’s not directed his way, Muriel can’t help but feel a growing sense of guilt.

He did that too. He’s doing that right now.

You don’t remember it, and to you it probably seems like you’ve been giving various different strangers tulips, but he has a bouquet of them now—one even bigger than that noble failed to pay for.

He carefully tucks the last of the flower displays away, carefully arranging the flowers so that none stick out and reveal their location to onlookers, and prepares to run away, internally promising to never return and never steal flowers from you again.

What he intends as a final glance your way, hoping to leave while your back is turned, roots him in place instead.

You stand, hands over your eyes, furiously scrubbing as you try to both hide and stop your tears. Torn between running to help you and running away, Muriel stands and stares, as useless to help as the flowers that still surround you.

“I just… fuck,” you hiss, or at least you try to around the hiccups of your sobbing. “It’s just so hard. They demand money from me and then refuse to pay me for my hard fuckng work! What do they even get out of hoarding that much money?”

Why can’t he decide? The choice to help you is as obvious as it was when you were being threatened by the nobleman earlier. And yet, when faced with a problem that he can’t solve with violence he’s stuck.

It really is all he’s good for isn’t it?

You duck behind your window to hide your tears, but he can hear your back hit the wall and the hiss of fabric against stone as you slide down to your knees and succumb to sniffles and sobs.

With little else to say or do, Muriel turns and runs away.

–––––––––✿・✿・✿–––––––––

A moment of terror pulls you from your sorrow as you remember the flower stands you left outside the shop. You’ve already lost a lot of time and effort on the bouquet for the noble who never paid, you can’t afford to loose your display flowers as well.

About to bolt out from the shop to look for them, you glance to the shops beside you wondering if your neighbors decided to be cruel, or if you could see the escaping thief. Instead, you find your flower stands tucked away in a little alcove between your shop and one of the neighboring booths beside it. The flowers are carefully tucked beneath each other, to keep from springing up over the other shop’s crates, and remain hidden from any potential thieves.

It’s not anything grand enough to make you reconsider opening the shop back up for the day, nor does it quell the roll of anxiety in your chest, but it’s enough to make you smile again. Even if only a little.

It takes you a moment to recall that a stranger had been here only moments ago after the departure of the nobleman, but beyond their presence you can’t recall anything about them. You know they helped a little, but the how or why evades you.

Instead you return to work tucking your flowers away inside, before you finally close shop and head back to your garden.

You can’t recall what the stranger’s face looks like, but the fleeting memory of them still lingers in your mind. They remind you, strangely, of tulips.

Perhaps you could give them one next time you saw them. Hopefully you’d recognize them in the crowd.

–––––––––✿・✿・✿–––––––––

Muriel’s fingers sift through the flowers that sit in his little wooden makeshift vase. In a better world he’d be able to give back all the flowers he had taken from you—stolen from you—and you would be able to sell your flowers to people who could pay for and better deserved the beautiful blooms. Instead, Muriel finds many of the flowers already starting to wilt in the vase, petals growing crumpled and stems growing weak. The first flower you had given him was a husk of it’s former beauty.

He shouldn’t have gotten it in the first place. That fleeting beauty would have been better spent on someone better than him. Someone who could appreciate it better with a crystal vase—or even a simple painted clay vase to carry the flowers and show off how pretty they were.

Or just…someone with more money than him. Someone who could actually pay you for your flowers.

Someone…. Someone who would deserve them.

–––––––––✿・✿・✿–––––––––

Once more, Muriel makes his journey into the market, the dizzying smells and feelings and noises made all the more worse by the burden of his objective. Two pouches sat in his pockets both burning through fabric and skin to scorch him to his bones. Every passing jostle against his body had him scrambling to check if both bags were still there, panic flooding him when he forgot that he had moved one of the bags from one pocket to another.

Over and over again scenarios flashed through his mind. He tried to keep himself reasonable, tried to expect the worst so he wouldn’t be disappointed, but hope—ever stubborn, and ever cruel—slipped in regardless of his wishes. He hoped that you’d still like him afterwards, that you wouldn’t ask him to pay for all the flowers he had taken from you, that you’d be happy to be able to remember him, but the truth of the matter was, that he was just another customer. All he had been receiving was a placating smile in hopes that he’d buy from you.

If only he could hate you for that. It’d be so much easier if he could let himself feel like he had been cheated, or wronged, but you were just trying to make money for yourself, just like everyone else. Could he condemn you for that?

The sickening smell of some strong smelling meal with pungent medicine fills his chest once more, and the once familiar need to vomit at the smell grows stronger knowing your shop is only a little further away. His hands gravitate towards the two pouches in his pockets and he squeezes them, hoping that for once the universe would be kind to him and he wouldn’t make some awful mistake like mix them up and give you the wrong bag too soon.

With every step closer he gets to your shop, Muriel recites in his mind what he wants to tell you, his apology for what he’s done and his willingness to not bother you again.

Someone else is already shopping at your booth. Muriel watches from nearby, trying to remember what he needs to tell you while he waits his turn.

“If you don’t mind, I need a few flowers, not too many…”

He just needed to tell you that he was willing to leave you be.

“How many flowers will that be? Oh, and what kind?”

No, no, he needed to apologize first for taking all of your flowers.

“Any kind will do. I just need them for a… friend of mine. They’re ill, and I... I made a promise to them.”

He’d need to explain what had happened as well. Explain how he kept receiving flowers from you, and explain how he’d need to pay for it.

“Oh, I hope they’ll be okay soon, how about this?”

“Oh that looks gorgeous!”

He’d need to tell you about that magic, that kept others from remembering him, and he’d need to….

“…oh, I can’t… I’m sorry, I can’t pay that much.”

“…how much can you pay?”

Muriel watches the old man place a few coins onto the table. It really isn’t much, but telling by the clothes he wears and the stains that litter them, it’s clear that he’s been trying to save up for this. Your own eyes, grow dim at the sight of the meager amount he brings. Would it even pay for a few flowers? Would it even pay for a single flower?

Your eyes flutter closed and your hands grip the flowers as if you were going to yell at the old man, but you’re trembling as well, fighting against something before you look back up and smile.

No. No, no. You can’t be thinking—gossip travels fast in the marketplace, even faster when it’s something of concern or interest to a noble. If that person gets word that you’re giving out free flowers after that stunt you pulled yesterday…

“Alright. Take it.”

…What will happen to you?

“No—wait.” Muriel steps in, his own coin pouch in his trembling hands. “that…how much does that cost?”

It’s a smaller bouquet than what you’ve given him over his many many visits, but he still winces as you take the money. He’s now the one without enough funds to pay you back for your flowers. He’s now the one marring your reputation—making it seem like your prices are something fickle, that someone could just get a bouquet of tulips for free if they looked sad or sorry enough.

Was that why he had gotten all those flowers? You did say some were to brighten his day. Did he truly look so miserable?

The old man smiles up at him, and thanks him profusely as he leaves with his flowers. Muriel manages a smile, but a nagging feeling at the back of his head tells him it looks more like a grimace. When he turns back to look at you, you meet his half-smile half grimace with one of your own.

“Thank you so, so much for that—but you didn’t have to.”

“But yesterday—I saw—heard—” Muriel coughs, fighting the rising warmth in his face. “I heard about that… customer…yesterday. I just.... Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You smile, eyes falling closed as you recall something before you look up to him. “Yesterday, a kind stranger stepped in to protect me. It was…really sweet.”

Muriel forces himself to turn away from your fond expression. For all the preparation that he put in anticipating what he should do when you hate him, he never prepared for what he should do if you liked him.

While your attention is diverted, Muriel begins his attempt to scurry away from the situation before it grows too awkward, but not for the first time, you call out to him, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Before you go!” Once more he stops and turns. He knows his face is flushed, he know he looks ridiculous, but he turns out of habit to the sound of your voice, like a sunflower to the sun. “—here. Just as thanks.”

Muriel stares at the flower you give him his mind flying back to a small cell beneath a roaring crowd. A rose coloured tulip, the likes of which he’s never seen before, sits in his palm as another gift from you. He’s never seen a tulip this red before. Brighter than the colour of blood.

He tries to hand it back, but your hands sit atop of his and push back, insistent on giving your gift.

You smile when you tell him, “Please, it’s a gift.” But he feels nothing but dread.

Another flower stolen, another bloom he can no longer afford to pay for.

He does not deserve flowers.

He certainly did not deserve yours.

–––––––––✿・✿・✿–––––––––

Muriel doesn’t return to the market. He doesn’t—won’t—need to for a while. The basket Asra had given him really lived up to it’s practical uses. He savors the fresh cool air of the forest, untainted by headache-inducing smoke billowing from medicine shops or blacksmiths or bakeries of sleepy bakers. The hiss and hush of the trees, sounds soothing to his ears rather than the cacophony of chatter, of yelling and demanding from sellers and buyers.

He feels alive and safe in the forest.

At least, more than he had felt when he was in the city—when he was just a child.

A lifetime of struggling for money and food and running from guards called by over zealous nobles was not something that he expected would every leave him. In the same way the blood may never wash from his hands, the dirt and disgust he carried for being one of many strays in the South End would never leave him either. It’s something he could live with though. Something he could endure within the safety of the forest.

…He just never thought he’d be the one causing someone to struggle the way he did.

It’s not the same. He knows that it’s not the same. You have a shop that you are able to maintain—a viable way to make money. With all your flowers, you probably had a garden, you probably had the ability to grow fruits and vegetables that you could eat and rely on when times got tough. And most of all, you are an adult. You can fend for yourself, act for yourself. You don’t need help the way a child does. You can survive.

…but sometimes just surviving just made things worse.

He just made things worse.

What if you were struggling for food? What if you wouldn’t be able to maintain that shop for much longer? What if all those flowers you gave him were what lead that noble to think it was okay to get flowers from you for cheap?

Even if he couldn’t be remembered perhaps people remembered seeing you give flowers away for free to someone over and over again. A free flower every now and then would hardly be anything bad but Muriel had enough to consider it a bouquet.

He had to pay you back.

It might take some time, but hopefully his carvings were appraised better than they were when he was a child. Hopefully more people liked them. Hopefully he could make enough money to pay you back soon.

Wooden animals sit between Muriel’s legs as he carved away at another figurine from a block of wood. It was a little sloppy, as was the other figures, but seeing as he needed to make back the funds at least somewhat quickly, he needed a lot of figures in a short amount of time.

The knife slipped against the wood, and cut into his hand. Deep enough to draw blood, but not deep enough to garner worrry. Not for his hand at least. Blood stained the wood he carved, tainting the wooden flower with a bloody patch of red, soaking into the wood.

Muriel sighed, as the blood seeped deeper and deeper into the pale wood. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to carve the stain away to salvage the flower, he set it aside, and wiped the blood from his hand, and started again against a new block of wood.

–––––––––✿・✿・✿–––––––––

For all Muriel had planned and worried the location and use of a stall was not one of the things he had considered. The market was filled with vendors all squished against each other in an attempt to sell wares. Any of his old places for selling things as a child were either filled by new children, hawking trinkets and other odds and ends, or far too small for him to fit in and comfortably sell from now.

He tried to wander through the busier parts of the market, even amidst the crash and chatter of people around him, but earlier vendors had beat him to the stalls, and no one was willing to spare any space.

Eventually, though he tried to avoid it, he came down to your side of the market, where there were just a little less shops than before. Even here however there was no space that he could take that wasn’t a crushing squish against two other shops.

The familiarly grating smell of medicine and baked goods wafted past him and instinctually he glanced your way, even if he hoped not to see you and gain another flower he needed to pay back.

Only, you weren’t there at all.

Where there was once a little window surrounded on all sides by flowers that seemed to burst out from the room within, there was instead, a green door. Upon closer inspection a thin line divided the door in half so the top could be opened or the bottom could be opened, and he realized that this had been the window you once leaned out from to sell your flowers.

And now, flowerless it had been closed.

What happened to you? Did the noble come around and confiscate all your flowers for some crime you didn’t commit? Had he been too late to help you? Too late to fix his mistakes?

He didn’t know how long he had spent staring at the blank walls, taking in all the imperfections he had never seen and never wanted to see before, but it was long enough, that someone inevitably noticed him.

“Hello?”

Muriel nearly leapt up from his place and ran, if not for the person he turned to see.

Still smudged with dirt, with flower petals and leaves caught in your clothes, you stood before him, smiling but confused.

“I’m sorry, did you want something from the shop?”

The bag of coins burns in his pockets, both too heavy and too light for him to hold. He scrambles for an explanation, something feasible to explain away the situation, and allow him to go on his way once more, but his mouth dries with every attempt, and the urge to confess his crimes and get it over with builds high in his chest.

In the end, he abandons his words and shakes his head instead.

With an even more confused look on your face, you shake your head almost dismissively, but a smile still lingers on your lips. It reaches your eyes too, drawing lines across your face from the force of it all. He tries to convince himself that it’s genuine, but the doubt is hard to remove once planted.

After all, you always smile to your customers, even if they don’t deserve it.

“What are you doing here then?”

“I… Just…I’m passing by,” he manages, watching as your smile shifts for a moment. It softens, but it never leaves your face.

“Oh. Where are you off to?”

He glanced away, tempted to just give some non commital answer and just leave before you could ask something else, but he catches sight of your empty shop once more and finds his feet rooted in place.

“I…. I was looking for a space to set up a temporary shop.”

“Oh! What are you selling?”

Since it’d be easier than trying to explain, Muriel reaches into his basket, pushing aside the blanket covers to protect against the sun and the wooden support beams he was planning to use to hold the blanket up, to reveal the wooden carvings that sat beneath it all. He grabs the first one he feels pulling it free and offering it for your inspection.

“Oh! That’s so pretty!” He looks at it in your hands now, one of the flowers he had carved from wood. It’s no tulip, but he’s glad you seem to like it at the very least.

“You can keep it if you want.”

“Really?” you ask, your voice wrung with awe sounding almost almost breathless to his ears.

Despite knowing he wouldn’t be able to tell if you were actually pleased or just smiling, Muriel glances your way, finding that soft smile once more on your lips, as your fingers carefully trace around the center of the flower. He turns away from the sight of it.

“Sure.”

“Oh, hey, in exchange, how about…” Muriel braces himself for the flower you’d always give him. No matter how pretty or soft it’s petals looked he would not accept. He couldn’t, knowing that he’d have to add another flower considering how much he’d need to pay for it.

Instead, you gesture to the shop, and smile.

“Here! You said you wanted to look for a stall to sell your things at, you can use my shop.”

And though Muriel knows full well what your shop looks like, for the first time today he turns and actually looks.

Between two stalls sits the little window, where you once leaned out and smiled at him as he passed. Except, with it’s top “shutter” closed, he could now see it was a door, sitting listlessly against the off-white walls. Around it, where flowers once bloomed, cracks in the stone are so abundantly clear. Exposed for all to see without flowers covering the cracks. Sitting lifeless, colourless, and empty, he little shop seemed even smaller, crowded out by other people’s boxes. A hollow husk of what it had been before.

Or, perhaps it was hollow because you weren’t there anymore.

For all the questions he wanted to ask, all the distress and apologies he wanted to offer, all Muriel can stomach to ask, is a pathetic, strangled, “why?”

Why weren’t you using your shop anymore? Why did you remove all your flowers as if you were just moving out? Why were you letting him use that shop?

Why, even when you couldn’t remember him, did you still trust him?

Why were you kind to him?

Why—

Muriel turns to the sound before you do, the heavy footsteps of armored soldiers marching with that distinct rattle of their shiny armor that only ever meant they were here on purpose, rather than just on patrol.

You catch sight of them a moment later, the same time that they catch sight of you.

And all Muriel can do is stare.

It’s funny really, how, in the past it had almost been second nature for him to run and hide at the sound of clanking armor, grabbing any other children he’d see who had yet to notice lest they get taken by the soldiers seeking to “clean up” the marketplace. But maybe it was all that time he had to spend trying not to flinch and run from the soldiers in the coliseum lest the taunt and tease him while he was helpless to do anything else, or maybe it was the safety net that his gift provided, knowing they could never come for him.

It doesn’t matter anyways. He’s rooted to the ground, helpless to do anything to help you.

A familiar face grins behind their armored friends, looking as pleased as they looked punchable, as if tattling to the soldiers about whatever offense you didn’t commit was something they could be proud of doing. As if they weren’t just some massive coward hiding behind armor and gold.

As if they were really in the right.

He’d scowl if he could manage, but he feels far away from his body, bracing for cold impact of armored hands against mere flesh. Ready to drag him away somewhere cold and dark and alone. Ready to drag him back to the arena.

Instead, the hand that finds him is warm.

Warm fingers thread themselves between his, and suddenly he’s being pulled through the marketplace, just barely able to grab his bag before he’s running between stalls and down alleyways, as the soldiers clamor and shout clumsily crashing through booths and debris in their pursuit.

The both of you are fast, but the soldiers, trained as they are, are faster, and grow closer and closer as you stumble on each other’s feet trying to stick together. You seem to have a destination in mind, but running home with these soldiers on your tail is never, ever a good idea. You seem to know this, but you don’t seem to know how to loose them.

Muriel on the other hand does.

All it takes is a few strides and a squeeze of your hand before Muriel is leading you through the streets, diving down alleyways, and between shops and their carts, before he shoves you into a small dip between two buildings, crowded with boxes and goods from the stalls that sat on either side, and his basket set in front of him for good measure. The two shopkeepers glared his way, frustrated at his strange intrusion, but they fail to notice that he had someone with him, as they often do if that other person is hidden quickly enough. Though their eyes on him makes his skin prickle, they slide off as easily as water on oil, and soon they return to their own business, forgetting that Muriel had ever even existed as their attention drifts away, and they return to attending to their wares.

The crash of soldiers is audible in the distance, and behind him, hands pressed to his back, Muriel can feel you grow tense. Your hands ball up into fists on his cloak, and you press your face into his back as if it may be able to better help you hide from them. It lets him feel you breathe, trying to keep it slow, and deep, trying to relax yourself, but the tremors remain. It makes him want to hold you, take your hand in his to reassure you, tell you that everything will be okay, but when he still trembles at the growing sound of iron on stone and wood, all he can do is stand still and quiet, hoping to all hope that the shopkeepers beside him would not note his presence and, that what little magic he has won’t fail him,

Above all, if everything else fails, he hopes you remain safe.

Their armor glistens in the sunlight, blindingly bright, a distraction and protection he’s fallen victim to many times before. One turns his way, meeting his eyes, and for a moment, Muriel loses his breath. Behind him you tense as well, as if his tension passed onto you. As if you could somehow see through him, and met the guard’s eyes.

He wonders if you had poked your head out from behind him, wonders if the guard had somehow seen you—a scrap of your clothes perhaps, or some sliver of your skin. He hopes to all hope that you had not done so, but he tries to puff up his chest despite it all, use the width of his shoulders to truly make sure you were covered.

And no matter how much he wants to do otherwise, Muriel keeps his eyes open, and stares down not only the guard before him, but also the group behind him, watching and waiting for that moment of recognition, the moment when the guards eyes stopped slipping away, the moment when he’d have to shove the soldier away to let you escape.

To make sure no one was dragged to the coliseum again.

Someone yells behind the guard, loud and abrasive, and Muriel has to keep himself from flinching at the sound. For another moment the guard lingers, eyes still scanning the area, where Muriel stood, as if he wasn’t there at all, for a mere second perhaps, before they turn away eyes still slipping off of Muriel like water against oil. The soldiers continue on hollering and barking as they chase shadows down the street. It’s only when they fade out from earshot that Muriel finally relaxes, and behind him, he can feel you do the same.

It’s an awkward little shuffle around when he steps away to let you escape your confines. Your hand doesn’t quite leave his back so readily, trailing down before falling away, leaving phantom trails of pressure and warmth still lingering on his skin, even if you never actually touched him directly. He tries to distract himself amidst it, focus on getting his basket back on his back. Focus on the possibility of another patrol of soldiers passing by. He doesn’t notice that you had been waving for his attention until you fingers slip beneath the belts across his chest and you yank.

“Thank you,” you whisper-hiss, freeing his belt to capture his hand instead. “C’mon, follow me. I know a safe place we could lay low for awhile.

Your hand is warm in his. Sweaty from running, but warm, with callouses marking the inside of your knuckles. Your rough hands against his own, and yet cradling his carefully with your touch. In his earlier haste he didn’t get the chance to notice that.

You tug, he follows.

–––––––––✿・✿・✿–––––––––

For all that he’s known you, for all the times he’s visited, all he’s ever seen from you were smiles that bent your eyes with it’s fondness, soft as the flowers that surrounded you and vibrant as the sun that fed them.

But that hardly counted as knowing a person.

For all you had forgotten of him, he never really got to know you.

The city grows more glittery and sharp as you tug him towards the decrepit opulence of the flooded district, right along the edge of the temple district where old temples sat in ruin, flooded with water that bent their floorboards and made space frigid during the night. Yet those flaws hardly stopped children from scurrying into the upper levels through windows, standing in the frigid dust laden rooms, and pretending they had a better life.

He remembers doing the same himself, with vivid fondness, trying and failing to climb up the side of the building after soldiers broke all the available climbing structures, that could support his weight. Asra managed on the tiny ledges, and weak remains, but Muriel and many other children struggled to do the same.

Thick walls of ivy, and even a small tree grows there now, the ground having been cleared of tiles to make space for dirt and mud to allow for the growth.

He turns his attention back to you, as you continue to pull him past buildings, littered with new blooms that climbed the walls.

For all that you had forgotten of him, Muriel barely knew you.

–––––––––✿・✿・✿–––––––––

You stop before a fence that looms even above him, coated in greenery, with sharp, rusted metal spikes that jut out from the top of the bushes.

He can see thorns entwined with the green shrubbery, thin and clustered together to make it hard to avoid getting scratched or hurt by any attempt to climb up it, which perhaps, is why it was an area that seemed so abandoned. Unlike the well-maintained gardens of many nobles, what could a trespasser hope to find behind a fence so clearly bursting with nothing but plain shrubs and wayward thorns?

You, clearly, believed otherwise.

Muriel can’t help but wince when you jam your hand into the mess of thorns and bushes, rummaging around the plants in search for something within. He’s tempted to pull your arm out and try to get you to wear something to protect yourself, but you beat him to it, pulling back for a moment to reveal an untouched arm before you reach back in with more intent and care than you did before.

Something creaks, and the wall of ivy and bushes, reveals itself to be thinner than the foliage initially let on.

He doesn’t even need to slip through the greenery as you do to already glimpse the world within, but he does anyways, treating himself to the true magnificence of your domain. Hidden by plants and trees and bushes and thorns sits a world of flowers blooming en masse until they cover nearly every inch of the ground around it, some even spilling out from their designated places to uproot the stone tiles that made up the slim walkways between the spill of flowers.

Most strikingly, Muriel can see the tulips that line the far end of the garden, a splash of sporadic colours all clumped together in a mad swirl, spilling out from their allotted section to infiltrate pathways and the beds of their neighbors.

And amidst them, finally looking at ease, you stand, turning back to him with a smile.

“I’m sorry about that, but… we’ll be safer here for now.”

You close the door, with a gentle thud, and brush the roses around it back into place, slipping a rust-browned lock back into place, and locking the world outside far, far away.

Perhaps he should be worried that you had essentially locked the both of you inside here together, but despite being overcrowded with flowers, the garden seems so expansive he can hardly see it as being locked inside anything.

“Feel free to look around” you tell him. “Just… don’t pick anything, please.”

You flash him a smile, and as quickly as you had astounded him with the beauty of your garden, you turn away snapping your attention back to your flowers, and give him space to marvel in awe at your beautiful garden—to marvel in awe at your beautiful practice. Setting his basket aside, he watches as you crouch down, and procure a pair of shears from beneath a bush, and begin to snip away at the overgrown and wilted plants. The sun shines a halo around you as you hunch over plots of dirt, shuffling your way into the plants, and trying to pry flowers away from each other, to generate distance so one doesn’t starve the other.

It’s hard work, quick to smear you with dirt and mud, but he can see the tension fade from your back as you toil away, a means of relaxing yourself from the tension.

Though questions swirl around his stomach and chest, Muriel decides to give you your space. It’s the least he can do after all.

He wanders, carefully, between the patches of flowers, many intermingled with each other into beautiful messy arrays, some even curling around each other, to enough of an extent, that Muriel supposed you couldn’t separate them anymore. Of course, slow growing as flowers often were, Muriel wondered if you failed to notice how close they had gotten, or you simply allowed them to grow so close to each other.

He approaches your tulip patch. You have so many. Found in nearly every colour, with different patterns on the petals, and different shapes of petals themselves, all crowded into one large plot—and when that plot could not fit any more flowers, you intermingled the tulips amidst other plants, amidst other flowers that seemed to get along well with the shoots of colour.

Although he has never seen the foreign shaped and patterned flowers before, Muriel can’t help but note the abundance of red, orange, pink, and yellow tulips in your garden. A favourite, perhaps? Or perhaps they were in high demand, or perhaps they were just—

“They used to be my parents' favourite.” He turns to look at you, dirt smeared with leaves sticking to the fabric of your clothes. You turn to him and smile. “They liked to give them to each other, as a way to show how much they cared about each other.”

Something in Muriel’s chest flutters. Something else constricts. He really shouldn’t be hearing this—you don’t remember him, you don’t remember what you’ve done.

“I tend to give them out to my favourite customers as well.” Muriel scrambles for his bag. He shouldn’t be hearing this should he? No matter how much he wants to… he shouldn’t. It’s not fair to you. You don’t remember him, you might not even be harboring those kinds of feelings.

After all didn’t you say the flowers were supposed to just... cheer him up?

“Hey, do you want—” Muriel just barely manages to shove the bag into your hands, pressing further to get the bag closer to your face.

The sooner you remember the sooner you can kick him from your garden and be on your merry way, even though his stomach grows tight at the very idea of it. Your garden is beautiful. If he could stay here, or even just visit every so often he would be glad.

As it is, just seeing you smile was enough for him.

Just seeing you smile had been enough for him, but he’s taken too much from you, and he refused to take any more.

It takes you a moment, flustered as you try to protest the strange gift he’s given you, but the memories come soon enough, and rather than push, he finds you grabbing—not only the bag, but his hand as well—and pulling it closer to your face, to take a deep breath, and savor the memories.

It only lasts so long.

You stare at him now, eyes wide and mortified before your hands snap to your face trying and failing to hide you as you still cling to the bag of myrrh he had given you. Muriel closes his eyes and looks away, not wanting to see your enraged or sorrow filled face when you claimed you had been cheated or swindled of your precious, precious flowers.

Instead he hears you giggle.

It’s a nervous sort of giggle, the kind made when someone’s not actually happy, echoing in the hollow cup of your hand as you sink to the floor.

“Oh my gods. Oh gods.” The words slip between your fingers as you adjust and readjust your hands to hide your face. “Oh my gods I am so sorry.”

“What?”

“I gave you, so many flowers…”

The comment sounds like regret—that you regretted wasting so many flowers on him, but your voice doesn’t sound sad, you just sound… embarrassed.

“I am so sorry…”

“W-what?? What for?”

“Isn’t it embarrassing? I keep giving you flowers!” Your volume picks up, and though he doesn’t intend it, his own voice gets a little higher and a little louder in reply.

“Is that bad??” He really can’t focus on his volume when he’s trying to sort out all the questions you are not answering.

“ITS EMBARRASSING!”

“HOW?!”

You groan, half stifled and half agonized before you bury your face back into your knees, leaving Muriel’s mouth to snap shut with a soft clack, gritting his teeth as he silently vows to never open his mouth again—or at least refrain from doing so for a long while. He was too loud. Too close to yelling. He doesn’t blame you for being afraid.

He’s about to apologize, whisper something placating to fix his wrongdoings, but once again, you speak before he can even get a word in.

Or well, you don’t speak. You laugh.

It’s almost a mad cackle. Almost. If you didn’t peer up for a moment, looking so genuinely happy and pleased, he would have thought you had gone insane.

You’re breathless when your laughter bubbles down into hicuups and giggles, leaning your head on your arms as you peer up at him. Of course, he’s too tall for you to look without craning your neck, and that’s so much worse when you’re sitting down. He sits beside you in an attempt to keep your neck from aching, but that only seems to make you giggle more.

“So, how much to I have to explain?” You ask your question teasingly, but Muriel can’t help but notice the strain of sincerity or the way you shake ever so slightly as if scared. You’re still grinning, but he can’t help but take you seriously.

“It��. You spend so much time on your flowers…. Don’t you need the money?”

His question sobers you considerably, that smile falling away from your face. Again, he’s the one who has to tear that from you, who makes you frown instead of smile.

“I can afford to lose a few tulips.”

“It’s not a few.”

You huff, turning away from him, and again, he worries that he’s made you upset. “It’s fine. I have a lot of those ones anyways. Besides, it’s not like I give them out to everyone.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope.”

“What about that old man? You wanted to give those flowers to him for free…”

You roll your eyes, and shake your head a picture of exhaustion, if not for your smile. “Yeah, well, he’s a pretty common customer, and he’s a fellow merchant. I stop by his stall sometimes and I know he doesn’t always have much, but he still wants to give flowers to his friend and all that.” You turn away from him then, tucking your face back into your knees. “Besides, I wasn’t giving him tulips.”

His brows dip again, “Tulips…?”

You sigh, loud and drawn out, tucking your face deeper into your lap. “I… remember how I mentioned my parents?”

“I… I didn’t think I was supposed to hear it…”

“If not you then who?” you gawk, waving an arm to the garden that wraps itself around you. In the beat of silence that follows, the wind rustles through the flowers, and the sound of trickling water meets the melody of a birdsong. It’s so peaceful. It’s so… lonely. Another gust of wind, and though the walls sit thoroughly coated by shrubbery and plants outside, it’s far clearer to see the iron bars from within, a mere gust of wind doing enough to show the cage these flowers have been locked inside of. To show the cage that you...

“You’re the only other person here.”

“I didn’t… I thought you’d change your mind in letting me in here if you realized….”

Once more you tuck your face into your lap, and Muriel has to wonder what makes you so miserable every time he mentions it. “Why would I change my mind after remembering how many flowers I’ve given you?”

“I thought… I thought you’d think I’d stolen them.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “I gave them to you. As a gift.”

“Would you give me them if you knew it was me returning?”

You straighten yourself, turning to him with wide eyes as if he’s said something absurd or unthinkable. He’s about to retract his statement, make an apology for whatever he’s done to offend, but you look away before he does, and though muffled, in the quiet peace of your garden, you’re loud enough for him to hear you.

“Yes.” A pause. You fiddle with a worn patch over the knees of your pants, coated in dirt, and evidence of being repaired repeatedly, it’s a well loved set of gardening clothes. Well worn. Well cared for. “If I knew it was you, I’d give you even more flowers too.”

You huff the words out as if frustrated, and Muriel can’t help but look away.

“Why?” he blurts out the question, immediately regretting it when he hears you tuck your face back into your legs. You had said it was embarrassing. He still fails to understand… how.

“You heard the story about my parents.” This time it’s not a question. With your face now tucked behind your knees and safely guarded by an arm, you wave a free hand in the air, as if expecting him to connect whatever dots remains.

As if it was as easy as that.

“You said that they did so to show how much they cared about each other.” You bury your face deeper into your lap. “But you don’t… You don’t know me.”

At this point you’ve thrown your arm over top of your head now too. Trying to fold yourself up into a little human ball. Was this what was embarrassing? That you had been showing affection to someone you’ve never met before? To someone you didn’t know? But you haven’t known each other this entire time. What made it different now?

The glows over your garden, dappling you in it’s golden warmth. There are structures in place, some tall trees intermixed with the bushes outside, but sunbeams still sneak their way to reach you, as if eager to light you up, to amend the gloom that he’s cast over you. One beam streaks across your arms, and as you peek up at him, your eye glows in the golden light, and like magic, you slowly unfold yourself, to sit normally by his side.

“I… You’re right. I’m sorry.”

That was… “You’re apologizing again.” He means to ask it as a question but it doesn’t come out like it should. Hearing it fill the silence, he wonders if that would have been worse.

“I…” again, your hands come up to cover your face, dragging over your eyes, until they’re cupped around your mouth. You’re hiding again. Embarrassed you had said, but he still can’t figure out—“Look, I’m sorry for flirting with you okay?”

Muriel chokes. You don’t seem to notice.

“You don’t have to take it as flirting at all okay? It’s just… You just looked really pretty and I just wanted to give you flowers because I thought you were nice and you helped me out so many times with all those things, you were really brave and tough and yet so kind, and, augh no, look I’m not… I know I don’t know you okay, I’m not expecting you to fall in love with me over some…silly flowers, it’s fine. I… I’m really sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable, I’m really sorry if this is just…weird. I… look my garden is pretty much all I have! People like flowers but I understand if those were maybe just not your thing, and I know maybe roses would’ve been more fitting, but those are just so hard to take care of sometimes and they’re such an overused gift, I mean I kinda thought someone like you would end up tired of receiving those gifts all the time but that’s because I was assuming that you were interested in relationships like that and—”

You keep talking. And talking, and talking and talking. Circling back to the same statements over and over and over again in new contexts as you somehow say so much and very little at the exact same time. It’s nice though. He likes listening to you speak, even if this seems to make you more stressed out than ever, but most importantly, it gives him a moment to try to collect his own thoughts, to try to get his breathing in check. And when both attempts fail, to try and find a way to fold himself up into something tiny and unseeable.

He waits for a while, hoping that you’d trail off somewhere eventually, that he would eventually be able to interject and direct the conversation away, or just…. Ask if you were… serious…. but every glance his way seems to make you more stressed, and you burst out in another round of apologies and reassurances, and on top of it all another round of compliments, many of which keenly focused on…prettiness.

Particularly him… and… being… pretty.

He doesn’t mean to grab your wrist. Poke you maybe, but he doesn’t mean to grab.

It’s just… hard to tell when he’s trying to hide his warming face behind a hand.

There’s a long stretch of silence.

And of course, you try to amend whatever mistake you think that you’ve made. “I’m so sorry I didn’t—” he has to interrupt you this time.

“No… no… It’s…”

You’re really smart. Very, incredibly clever. Burying his face in his lap sounds more and more appealing by the minute, but as much as he wants to he can’t exactly make himself look as small as you managed beside him. Besides, he just… really wants to know.

“I… you think…. I’m….” He can’t. He just can’t. His mouth opens to try, but his throat falls dry each time. It’s a struggle to get the idea of it into his mind without growing furnace-hot at the thought alone. He is a rival to the sun, by mere heat alone.

Somehow, miraculously, you understand… or at least somewhat. “You’re kind, you’re brave… you’re pretty….” You have to look away as well, lips falling victim to the press of your teeth. “You’re pretty as flowers, really.”

Muriel could explode.

You take his embarrassment as distress, faltering and wincing as you try to amend what had never been damaged. If he could, he’d press a hand to your face to shut you up. But that would mean having to remove a hand from hiding his own face away.

“Sorry! Is that….? Is that insulting? I didn’t mean for it to be insulting like that or anything It’s just you know as a gardener and all constantly working with flowers and everything and—”

“No!” he wants to berate himself for yelling. To feel ashamed for raising his voice but the sound of it is so strangled and sounds more like a helpless yelp than anything, only really serving to make him feel more embarrassed.

It’s Embarrassing…

Have you been feeling this way the whole time?

“It’s just that…” many words want to spring their way out of his mouth all at once, and considering his tongue has yet to master the skill of saying two separate words at the same time, Muriel is just left to struggle. “I’ve never…. No one’s ever… It’s not bad it’s just….” He can’t speak. He’s as effective as if he were mute, eyes practically spinning in his skull, as he tries to look anywhere but you.

Still he manages a glance your way, and it gives him pause to find you staring intently at the ground, a little smile stuck upon your lips.

“Oh.”

You try to hide it behind your hand. And Muriel’s terrified to find his first instinct is to grab your wrist and keep you from hiding away, like some sort of greedy hypocrite. To deprive you of the chance to hide when all he would ever do—all he was ever going to do, would be the exact same thing. It’s greed isn’t it? First for your flowers, and your mild kindness towards him and now—! Now!!

What was he going to do now?!

“Do you want a flower?”

You blurt the words out, slamming your hand over your lips to hide away promptly after. You’re standing now, unable to tuck yourself back into your knees, but your hands are still a serviceable shield. It’s nothing to block the words that begin to pour from your lips, but maybe you aren’t trying to stop that. Maybe it’s just your expression. He wonders at what you look like so flustered….

How greedy.

“I mean It’s just—I don’t know if you want something other than a tulip—I’ve given you so many tulips—I haven’t even asked you about your favourite flower! You know! So I just thought! Just— Any flower you want!! Just one!!”

You scurry off somewhere, possibly off to tend to your flowers for something, trying to busy your hands, or just to get away from him. He understands both sentiments very well as his hands tangle themselves together twisting and pulling as he wearily gets up and looks around your pocket of paradise once more.

He doesn’t really want to take any of your flowers. At least… not pluck them straight off of the ground.

The tulip beds overflow with flowers, and like a moth about to be burnt by the flame he wanders towards it, unable to bite back his urges when he plucks a flower from it’s place.

It’s not something he wants it’s just…

It’s stupid….. But……

You return with an armful of various flowers, small simple little things, that fill your arms and get tangled in your clothes, some even worming your way to sit around your shoulders like little faeries peering over at him.

And you offer all that hasn’t attached itself to you, to him.

You don’t even speak, you just shove it all into his arms, like some last ditch effort for… something. As if this was a last ditch effort at all.

The flowers just barely all fit into the crook of his arm, and he’s grateful for once, for being so large. That he can hold so much in one arm alone, as it leaves his other arm free to offer your tulip back to you.

It’s a sign of affection you said. He hopes you understand, because he really can’t stomach speaking right now.

Surely, surely you do… right?

Your eyes go wide as if it was not your own flower he had been offering to you, gingerly taking the little bloom by it’s stem into your own hands.

And when you glance up at him, looking so happy, so giddy and yet trying and failing to hold it all back, he finds that same warm sunshine you’ve offered him when you leaned out your window the first time you met.

It’s so bright, it almost burns. At least, it certainly makes his face burn. He can’t stare at you for long, turning away sharply as he fights the urge to take more than he’s due, to sweep the dirt from your face, pluck the flower from your hand and tuck it behind your ear…. Or…. Something…..

He has to go. He has to leave. His face can’t take much more of this overwhelming warmth.

“I have to—” he begins his retreat muttering as he goes, but you grab him, your hand clinging to the slim portion of his wrist, fingers slipping beneath the cuff, to sensitive skin beneath, as if scared that he might try to tear your hand from his skin.

“Wait you….” Your smile faltered, growing into something sad as you stared at him. “Will…. Will I remember you?”

And for all he wanted to escape, he turns back to you to slip your fingers free from the uncomfortable hold they have on his wrist, to instead take your hand in his own and give what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze. “Yes. You…. Yes. You’ll remember me. So long as you have that pouch I gave you…”

He can see it in your eyes, in the furrow of your brow and how you lean closer to him. You want to know why. What had happened to him, how it happened. You want to ask about the spell that he asked for himself.

But you don’t.

That soft smile glows his way instead, and you squeeze your own hand against his once more.

“Okay,” you say hand already falling slack. “I’ll see you in the market then.” You’re just barely holding on to his fingers now, still squeezing, still trying to let go. “You’ll visit, right?”

He wants to say yes, but you’ll remember him now, and he’d hate to leave you waiting for him.

“The market isn’t really….”

“Ah right." You laugh, though a little awkwardly. "How about here then? Do… do you think you can come back here sometime?”

He nods, not trusting his voice to speak for him. Your fingers are nearly gone from his hand, but you curl them up against his anyways, giving one final squeeze before your hand falls away.

He turns, and with the loud creak of the metal gate marking his departure, he sends one final glance to you, finding you grinning from ear to ear, waving at him as he goes. “Come back soon! I really want to get to know you!”

Tongue tied, and the need to escape burning furiously through his body, Muriel smiles and nods, before he slips through the gate and through the foliage that hides it, already planning the fastest way to get back home, and the fastest way to return to your garden the next day.

–––––––––✿・✿・✿–––––––––

When Muriel gets home his hands are a trembling mess. He misses many times, trying to slip the many flowers he’s received back into the little cup along with the others. Perhaps it’s a bad decision to take up a knife when his hands are trembling this much, but just as much as he shakes with the overwhelming wave of anxiety from talking with you, he trembles just as much with an itch to create.

It’s hard work, and long work, and it’s very far from done when the sun finally sinks down into the sky, but the shape is at least there, and tomorrow he’ll work on scooping out the insides of it to make a vase.

His thumb sweeps over the patterns clumsily carved into the wood but he smiles as he follows the grooves of his work.

A little heart sitting amidst a garden of clumsily carved flowers.

It’s fitting, in a way.

It seems to be where he’s left his own after all.

……

…It…also seems to be where he’s left his basket.

Ah, well, looks like he’ll have to go there tomorrow then, right?

#answering asks #Anonymous #x reader #reader insert #Muriel x reader #Muriel the arcana #Muriel #the arcana muriel #the arcana muriel x reader #the arcana #Muriel the mountain man #Muriel the hermit #muriel of the kokkhuri #muriel arcana #muriel the hermit #Paper Tells Tales

64 notes · View notes

a-minke-whales-tale · 23 days ago

Text

The Path Forward is Fuzzy, but still, I see it

I had originally written this to Sonar plus a bit from a talk with a friend but I am feeling really positive and hopeful lately and I wanted to share because I do right now really have hope that we will return to the water, that things will be okay.

I will still CW this as Unreality and Delusion because that is what the humans think, even if it is something that does bring me a lot of joy.

When I look at what must be done, especially if we were to live in captivity, the problems to solve really do not seem very insurmountable at all. Most of the suit would be essentially silicone casts of various hardness and conductivity. The thermal loading isn't actually an issue for us and a package for use to see our environment could be as simple as some cameras and screens (though having directional hearing I think would be nice as well as something which could create a delay in sound for Sonar allowing a sort of echolocation). In the simplest form I think the greatest complication is how to make a blowhole that opens and closes passively, particularly for a odontecete style blowhole (toothed whales) since mystecete blowholes have a lot more available movement for making more effective seals. But even that I have ideas on how to do. There are ideas which would introduce greater complexity which I would very much like to be able to at some point and I think are doable so we could do things like catch food, especially things a trainer might throw to us like deboned fishy or gelatine. Even in the most complex of situations, if I could come up with an effective way to remove solid waste there are only a few aspects that seem particularly difficult and we could potentially exist without needing to come out to change things for near two months.

We also aren't the first to do something like this. There are various stories of people using prosthetics or costume to transform their bodies. They may not be like us in the same way, or not openly so, but others have made themselves much more as animals at least for a short bit like the story of the man who became a goat. And techniques among furries I think can allow us to make a really rather convincing whale and dolphin, fix our bodies as much as we can without whatever technology the humans used to render us like this.

I think even finding a place to go might not be so difficult even. There are so many places that have held cetaceans, and many seem to be phasing out various orca exhibits. What may have been a very small pool for a 6-7 meter orca might not be so small to a 3 meter minke that will never get bigger than a calf and hopefully their dolphin friend and maybe some place would find that appealing. Even beyond zoos and aquariums and marine parks, I think there are a lot of places that might be willing to take us just for the novelty of us. There are Orca that live in an amusement park in Chimelong Spaceship (and Sea World and a few others are essentially amusement parks themselves at this point). I think other places be it amusement/theme parks, or a resort, or some other form of attraction might like to have the strange little cetaceans we are and there are so many across the world. I imagine in those cases we would have to perform for the humans and they might have something with them touching or swimming with us, but at least we would do so as ourselves and the humans would give us fish and it would help break up some of the monotonous boredom of most days. Humans might even be interested in it for scientific reasons, could we reintegrate with other cetaceans, could we learn more, could we be used to learn about wild cetaceans we struggle to map. Or possibly the humans might let us for artistic reasons or even some argument about the ethics of captivity since we could speak more to the experience though I don't think that would make an actually useful experiment and I imagine in that last case they might not let us stay in the water forever, but it might at least be a way to get us into the water in the first place.

The path forward is fuzzy still, I cannot see my way fully through the murk, but when I spyhop above the waters I can see so many paths forward, so many possibilities that will grant us our freedom. I do not think the waters are unnavigable, they are a bit unknown, but our kind have been navigating changing waters for 50 million years, we are good navigators, and clever animals. I do really think that someday we will finally return to the water, escape this wretched nightmare, that we will swim free, and we will swim forever.

Those first nights sleeping in the water once the suits are made will no doubt be terrifying, and in truth living like that I very much doubt I would live to my natural lifespan of 55-60 years, cetaceans who haven't had done to them what we have do not live to their natural life in captivity and any number of things could probably fairly quickly end us. Still 25+ years if I could have that in a tank would give me an incredible joy. My memory span is somewhere between 12 and 18 months, and only longer if something specifically reminds me and even then it is often spotty. I know the place I am from, but I have no memory of it, it is a name and little more. I know I have only been here a few years, and yet this is the only home I know. After a year and a half I would remember almost nothing of human life, I would be a whale again, simple as that. I might remember I was once human, and I might still understand that the humans changed me and that is why I need to come out and the humans do things to me periodically. And since I would not have constant reminders of human life, much of that memory might fade in a month or two as I return to whale life. If I were in a tank 25 years, I would go through that cycle 16 times over, I would just be a whale, the nightmare of the human life maybe would have all but disappeared from me when I return to the current. Even in a shorter time, even after a few cycles I would remember nothing, gone into the murk behind me. Likely I would have a sense of boredom and lonliness and plenty of other captive cetaceans problems, but no longer would I remember or feel the horror of what was done to me, I would be free (which is an ironic thing to say for an animal that would be held in a relatively small pool and unable to leave but it is a different type of free). Even after just a few cycles I would be free, and I hope that we would swim together forever until it is time to return to the current.

~Kala

#therian #therianthropy #clinical zoanthropy #clinical lycanthropy #transspecies #species transition #whale suit

9 notes · View notes

wildsupernova · 1 year ago

Text

counting calories.

Summary: Since middle school, you’d been starving yourself in an effort to achieve the same body as all the other girls in your grade. When you start dating Steve, he’s the only one that seems to notice.

based on trauma comfort prompt 13 from the x reader prompts list: “when was the last time you ate?”

pairing: steve harrington x reader

Warnings: mentions of symptoms of eating disorders

Word count: 2.3k

a/n: hi everyone! i know it’s been a while, but i wanted to start trying to get back into writing again. this fic, while inspired by the prompt, pulls from the struggles i faced for a long time with body image and eating issues. what’s described in this fic comes largely from my own experiences with eating disorders, and may not look the same to the struggles of others also suffering. i’ve been lucky enough to have a support system around me to help me recover, but remember that recovery is not linear. to anyone else suffering, things can and will get better, and i know it can be hard, but don’t be afraid to ask for help! i hope this brings you some sort of comfort, and helps you know that people care about your recovery. <3

x reader prompts list | complete masterlist

You were trying. Not very hard, but you were trying. You told yourself that was all that mattered, that you were making some sort of effort, but in all reality you were just trying to make yourself feel better about giving up. The only thing you were trying to do was starve yourself and convince everyone around you, including your reflection, that you weren’t.

Your body image issues started young. Growing up, you didn’t look like the other girls, all sunkissed skin and long legs that they started to show off more the older they got. You didn’t get the middle school growth spurt that made so many other girls need a new bra two cup sizes bigger or a new dress with a longer skirt because their curves couldn’t be contained in their old ones anymore. You didn’t lose the baby fat everybody else seemed to know how to slim down, your face never seeming to look any older than a child. While everyone else around you grew into their bodies, yours never changed.

You saw how all the other girls drew attention from the boys in your grade. You’d heard plenty of the boys whisper to each other about whose ass looked best in their new jeans, or which girl had the best cleavage in her low cut t-shirt. At the public pool during the summer you watched as the teenage boys go googly eyed at the big chested lifeguard, and you watched silently as your friends garnered the attention of any boy you’d had any interest in. In your mind, the only thing holding back from gaining their attention was your pudgy stomach and lack of curves.

So, around the beginning of eighth grade, you stopped eating as much. Breakfast became nothing more than half a bowl of cereal dumped into the trash or a thin slice of buttered toast, never too many carbs or too much sugar. Lunch was a rarity, something you’d just rather not eat because you couldn’t count the calories. Dinner was shoveled in your mouth in a desperate need to quell the hunger that had been building ever since your missed lunch, guilt and regret taking root every time you cleaned a plate. You were much too scared to try and make yourself throw it all up, instead doing workouts in your room every night in the hope it would burn off the extra calories.

The cycle continued and never stopped, even when senior year began and you finally grew into the body you’d been vying for since middle school. Despite your body finally catching up to your age, you still saw something different when you looked in the mirror, a mess of extra fat and too many curves. Nothing ever looked right to you, shirts not hanging the right way, pants always too tight, despite being made to fit that way. So you continued your cycle of skipping meals and desperately trying to work off the few calories you did consume, forcing you to struggle with violent migraines and an overwhelming exhaustion.

Dating Steve Harrington didn’t help matters. You attributed his interest in you to your efforts of starving yourself, convinced that your system had finally worked in your favor. After extensive trial and error, your efforts had finally paid off, gaining the attention of the boy you’d been chasing after for months. He was everything you could have asked for; sweeter than any guy you’d ever met, always making time for you even when his schedule was full, calling every night to tell you how much he loved you and how he couldn’t wait to see you again tomorrow. For the first time, you were over the moon with happiness, intending to hold on to the relationship for as long as fate would allow. In your mind, keeping Steve interested in you boiled down to one thing. He’d surely leave if your body wasn’t perfect, so you did what you could in an effort to stay as slim as possible.

You’d been disappointed when you weighed yourself two mornings ago. You’d gained weight since the last time you’d checked, a disappointing step you felt led you in the wrong direction. For the past three days, you hadn’t eaten anything but a couple thin slices of toast and a few granola bars throughout the day, eating only enough for you to be able to stay awake and avoid passing out on your bedroom floor.

Steve had begun to notice something was off about you. It had been your usual Friday night date night at the diner, but instead of ordering your usual burger and fries, all you’d gotten was a small vanilla milkshake and a caesar salad. The next day, when he’d visited you on his lunch break to bring you lunch at work, he’d pretended not to notice you ball up the other half of your sandwich and throw it in the trash along with your unopened bag of chips.

It became hard to ignore when you visited him at work to drop off lunch, sandwich and chips stapled inside of a brown paper bag. The bell atop the Family Video door jingled as you pushed it open, skipping across the dingy gray carpet in your beat up and sharpie-vandalized Chuck Taylor’s. Steve flashed you a smile from behind the counter, one you couldn’t quite fully return due to the pounding headache caused by yet another day of granola bars and water.

He leaned over the counter to press a soft kiss to your lips as you handed him the bag, muttering a ‘thank you’ against your skin when his lips trailed to your cheek. You sat cross legged atop the counter as he opened the bag and looked inside, stuffing it under the counter to dig through on his lunch break.

You sat and talked for what felt like forever, the store empty aside from Robin and the occasional customer that stopped in and decided not to rent anything. Your watch beeped as the clock hit 1:30, signaling your coming shift at the arcade and the end of your conversation with Steve. By now, your head was pounding behind your eyes, as if someone was inside your head with a hundred tiny hammers and chisels. The nausea was beginning to kick in as your stomach swam, trying to digest food it couldn’t find, and your eyes were starting to droop from exhaustion. Hoping to leave the store before Steve noticed, you hopped off the counter a bit too fast, head spinning and causing you to lean your hand against the counter for support. The nausea in your stomach only got worse as did the pounding in your head, knees beginning to buckle under your weight. Steve rushed to your side, placing one of his arms around your waist to steady you.

“Woah, woah, it’s alright. I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” You looked down towards the ground in an effort to hide your reddening cheeks, embarrassment warming your ears and face. “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just stood up too fast, I guess. I have to get going so I’ll see you later okay?” You made a move to rush out of the store, but Steve’s hand around your wrist stopped you, his arm lightly tugging on yours to guide you back towards him.

“When was the last time you ate?” You didn’t fully register the question at first.

“What?”

“When was the last time you ate?” Steve repeated his words, firmer in tone this time, urging you to tell him the truth. The lie slipped off your tongue like it had with your parents and friends, floating into the air before you could pull them back.

“I ate lunch before I came, I had a sandwich and a-”

“A salad, yeah, you always have a sandwich and a salad. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, everything is always a sandwich and a salad. You need to come up with a better lie if you want to convince me you’re taking care of yourself properly.” “But I am.”

“No, you’re not. I’m not blind, Y/N. Every time I bring you lunch or we go for a picnic, you always toss half of your food back into the bag and throw it away. Whenever we go out to eat at the diner you only ever order that stupid salad that can’t be filling in any way because all it is is lettuce and some caesar dressing. You’re always popping pain killers because you always have a headache, you're always tired, you're always annoyed by the tiniest little thing. I know what happens when you don’t eat. Now be honest with me, when was the last time you ate?”

There was a moment of silence that floated between the two of you, Steve’s eyes staring down at you as if he were begging you to tell him the truth. You opened your mouth and shut it again, unsure of what to say, whether you should be truthful or tell yet another rehearsed lie that he’d likely see right through. Instead of making a choice, you said nothing, shifting on the balls of your feet and ringing your hands together as your eyes counted the stains on the carpet.

“Hey, look at me.” Steve put his hands on either side of your face, tilting your head up to look him in the eyes. “You can talk to me, okay? I want to help you, but you have to be honest with me.”

“I haven’t eaten anything since Monday.” The confession rolled off your tongue like bile, words tasting sour as they left your lips. Steve’s eyes widened, taking a small step back in shock.

“You haven’t eaten anything in three days?” You shook your head. “Why?”

“Steve, I gained three pounds since last week. I was worried that if I ate too much I’d keep gaining more weight and then I’d get fat and then you wouldn’t love me anymore.”

Saying it out loud, it all sounded completely irrational. You were an adult now; you should be worried about college applications and moving out of your house, not how many calories you ate in one day. It all sounded so stupid once you finally admitted it, and the shame began to manifest itself as shaky hands and tears.

“Who told you that you were going to get fat?” You shrugged, lacking a solid answer. “Sweetheart, gaining three pounds doesn’t mean you’re getting fat, it’s totally normal to gain a little bit of weight here and there.”

“But-”

“No, no buts. If you keep starving yourself like this, you’re gonna make yourself really sick. Even worse than you feel right now.”

“But if I eat too much then…”

“Then what? If you’re worried I won’t love you anymore when you get ‘fat’,” He held his fingers up by his face to make air quotes around the word. “Then you don’t have much going on in that brain of yours because you should know that I’ll love you no matter what you look like.”

“Really?” He laughed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yes, of course. It doesn’t matter what you look like or what you weigh. I love you because you’re you, not because you look like some magazine cover model.”

“I guess I always just kind of…assumed.”

“Well, now that your assumption has been proven wrong, will you please start taking care of yourself again?”

You hung your head, another flush of embarrassment tinting your cheeks.

“I…I can’t. I’ve tried to before but everything always falls back to what I’m used to.”

“Then let me help you, okay? Let's work through this together, starting with you eating a proper meal.” Steve went back behind the counter and pulled out the brown paper lunch bag, setting it on top of the counter and pulling out everything inside.

“Steve, I can’t eat your lunch, what about you?”

“I’ll walk a few blocks to the sandwich shop and get something later. Right now, you need to stop worrying about me and start worrying about yourself.”

Steve sat there and watched as you slowly ate the meal, holding a quiet conversation with you to distract from how hard it was to swallow, or how everything you put in your mouth tasted like it had no flavor. He didn’t let you leave until everything in the bag had been eaten, despite it making you late for your shift, promising to bring you lunch everyday and sit with you if that’s what it took for you to stay on the right track.

He kept his word, bringing you lunch every single day and holding conversation so you didn’t have to think about what it was you were eating. Each day, the food tasted better, and each day, you stopped thinking so much about what it was you were eating. Sure, there were the bad days, but recovery always had the bad days, the days where you would weigh yourself and cry about the result, or the days where you had no appetite and the simple idea of eating made you want to throw up. But Steve held your hand every step of the way, guiding you through the bad days and congratulating you on the good ones.

Getting yourself back to normal was something you never thought you’d be able to achieve. Turns out, all you had to do was ask for a little bit of help.

#steve harrington #stranger things #fanfic #steve harrington angst #steve x reader #stranger things angst #women writers #angst prompt #x reader #fic prompt

103 notes · View notes

onestepbackwards · 2 years ago

Note

(Chatting)

I know a lot of people love the Self-Aware Au.

But I can’t help imagining the Hisui residents being in another universe that playing PLA gives us access to. They are unable to see us but can feel us looking over the MC’s shoulder.

=================================

Most of them brushed it off during the first few days. There were enough things to worry about before Ward (and wasn’t that just the oddest name for a young girl) fell from the Rift... Until they started noticing something following the sky-faller. It seemed to have some control over the girl if all the inhuman feats she pulled off were any indication. Not to mention everyone could feel it looking at them from behind her.

The first few signs were hard to miss. Ward was able to stay up for several days and nights going on surveys. Except she started sleeping through entire days, getting up at specific times, went out to catch, and repeat. Her throw accuracy topped even that of Captain Cyllene, though according to the Professor she would occasionally break a ball on a tree. Secondly—Ward never seemed to get dirty despite being in the wilds for so long. How ironic dirtiness would be more normal than her spotless ness.

Pokemon caught by the corps member would rarely if not ever misbehave. She tamed them in some unseen ways but even too-powerful ones who ignored her commands never grew hostile. They were too frightened to tell her off for sending out Pokemon inside Jubilife Village.

(Marie seemed to be affected when she didn’t mind how peculiar the Pokemon were. How did a wooden fence stop them from rampaging???)

It could also predict what their requests were going to be. Ward spent many weeks religiously catching Buizel before taking Dorian’s request. His new Buizel was the exact size he had been looking for to aid his original one. Beauregard got three new Wurmples with the being saying something about Beautifly being impossible to get with one. And wasn’t that a shock! The non-human thing would make rare comments on issues—it seemed to have selective hearing...

A rather startling surprise came when it left Ward standing in place. She didn’t talk but they heard her hum, saw her fidget, even stretch.

Never did the being get truly mad. Frustrated over losing the chance to catch a rare Pokemon was the closest. But a poor Agriculture corps man was left shaking after Ward listened to him talk about his Cherrim request. Kichi described the absolute hate directed at him for half hour from it. First, he felt its gaze focus on him more intently than a casual glance over. Then he could feel the thing glaring at him and its voice complained so much about how stupid Cherrim was! He just wanted to see the complete entry!

It got mad enough to leave Ward stuck for a few minutes in front of Kichi. So. The entity didn’t like all Pokemon as its dedication to the Pokedex project indicated...............

========

Otherwise, us playing through Day and Night cycles. Sleeping at camp. Getting through requests as quickly as possible. And hearing about the dreaded Cherrim quest yet not knowing who exactly gave it to us.

I might write more of this. What do you think?

These ideas are very interesting, building off of that last ask 👀

Idk, just the idea of characters being wary of a ‘vessel’ is pretty neat.

To everyone, it’s just weird. No one really knows how to react to the hero, seeing as they are just… only somewhat there? Just a puppet to whoever is really in control. It makes conversations… tense.

And seeing everything they do… being able to sleep like a rock without moving a muscle, as much as needed, at any time. It has people on edge. Especially since despite how the hero may sleep in the weirdest places at the weirdest times, pokemon don’t attack the camp.

Sometimes the hero will just stare in the fields at nothing, standing there for hours. Sometimes even days.

If you watch them long enough, you start to notice how often they repeat thing. The same exact stretch, the same exact look around, the exact same hum.

It’s unnerving.

Sometimes the people think it’s better if they leave the hero alone…

Best not to poke the beast behind the hero. The one they cannot see.

#ask #hisuian-history-makers #pokemon #pla #zed.talks #self aware pokemon #self aware au #long post

146 notes · View notes

worstdisastermaster · 3 months ago

Text

Why is Freyr a solar god?

Author’s note or whatever:

So, a while back, I was curious. (Which honestly sounds like the reason i could claim for all my issues lol) Im an Apollo stan, right? So,, I kept seeing things hinting to Freyr and his connection with the sun. So, ofc, I was confused. Sol’s a thing- I know that myth. Sooo, why is freyr connected to the sun??? Naturally, I decided to do research about it instead of my homework at the time, meaning my notes for the class were mixed with my unfiltered thoughts about what I was learning about Freyr. (Honestly it was pretty hilarious going through it) I absorbed the knowledge and continued on with my life, never clearing up the notes or even trying to source where it all came from. You know, like an idiot.

Welll, i have been asked by an amazing person to share my thoughts, so you can imagine me scuttling away and click-clacking on my school computer to dig through old notes and try to find both old sources and new and throw this together. (I like to talk about things im interested in lol. Im so happy to share XD and infodump.) I apologize if this doesn't make sense or anything- I’ve never really done anything like this before lol, though im excited to start :D aaand the intro is far too long already. Okay MOVING ON.

Disclaimer: I cannot tell you the exact facts about the worship the Norse had for the heavens originally, because no one knows. All of this is speculations from people much smarter than i that i’m trying to piece together and condense. Take this all with an entire freaking pillar of salt XD

So. Want to know how many deities I’ve pieced together, as being associated with the sun/moon (seriously associated lol)? I’m sure you do, because im going to go over all of them. Lol.

six. Six entire deities. (... maybe even seven, or 9, or MORE)

Sol and Mani, of course. Freya and Freyr, the whole point of this. Baldr and Nanna. Probably more I forgot. And a gajillion other things associated- boars and horses and ships and shields and birds and- Loads and loads of different things.

SO. I’m going to explain them individually and then walk you all through what I understand about it all.

(also please note that this is all like. Paraphrased from the websites and organized and stuff. I dont want yall to read this then look at the sources and think ‘why r these so similar’ XD its ‘cause they are. This is more like my research + commentary then me being an expert or anything lol)

Sol and Mani

Like all the others I’m going to go over, there are a variety of versions about this- I’m only going to do some of them. Lol.

Sol and Mani are siblings. In one version, they were created with the cosmos, and had literally no purpose or anything. The gods saw, and created the different parts of the day and year and phases of the moon, then placed them under Sol and Mani’s care. And thus, Sol and Mani rode through the sky on chariots, and fled the wolves Skoll (Mockery) and Hati (Hate), which is the reason for their speed, and why they move across the sky at all. When ragnarok begins and everything goes to Hela in a handbasket, (...thats an absurd image XD) the wolves will finally manage to catch up to them and eat them, as they've literally always wanted to do. (Honestly, what dedication tho-)

In some versions of the above, there’s a guy named Svalinn who protects Midgard (earth) from the might of the sun with a shield. Which is great, since both land and sea would catch on fire and everything and everyone would die if he didn’t. (Everyone, say ‘thanks, Svalinn’!)

In another version, both Sol and Mani are children of a mortal man named Mundilferi. (His name might mean “The one moving according to particular times” which, yah know, vaguely implies the movement of celestial bodies in the sky. Then there's the thought that Mundil is derived from Mund, which means “period of time”- which may be a kenning [kind of a funny word I’ll explain again later. It references a thing thats like, a cross between an allusion and an epithet and metaphor and references and a whole bunch of other things. Basically, it means they say one thing but mean another- they just said the first because it sounded fancy. And you would be expected to puzzle it together because you already knew what they were referencing and everything] for the moon. Which is kind of interesting if we take it literally, since its another instance of the moon being male and the sun being female, which isnt as common as one might think. [norway’s also different in that they imagine the moon being born before the sun- so the day begins from the night, like the year from winter. Kudos to ancient norway for being original]) Etymology aside, this guy has two kids. Basically, they’re so wonderful and beautiful that he named them after the moon and sun, and gave Sol to be wedded to a guy named Glenr (which means ‘opening in the clouds’).

In this version, the sun came from a sperk in Muspelheim and was pulled through the sky in a driverless chariot. Unfortunately, the gods took the names personally, and were like, “Oh, you named your kids ‘sun’ and ‘moon’? Don’t worry, thats cool, they can be the sun and moon then! Wouldn’t that be nice? We’ll make sure their names are accurate, dont you worry your stupid little mortal ‘brain’” ‘cause they were offended or whatever. So, as punishment, they are stuck being the moon/sun forever- until Fenrir eats Sol (and mani, presumably) during ragnarok, that is. Then her daughter will take her place, which is funny since everyone will be dead, so noooot sure how that works, but I digress. Im not sure about mani’s heir- forgot to find a source for that lol XD I do know that he either kidnapped or adopted, depending on the variation, two kids to help him out.

Ive also heard of versions where the sun and moon are actually the very wolves chasing sol and mani, and they simply lead the wolves across the sky in an eternal loop. (that ones my favorite, because d o g g o)

Lots and lots of different versions of sol and mani- more than i’m putting here. This is enough to give you the general gist, though, and since this isn’t focused on them, weeeeee’re moving on.

Baldr and Nanna

These two are quite interesting to me. For one, I’m not actually certain if Nanna is, in fact, considered a moon deity- half of the sources on her say yes, at least kind of, and half dont mention it at all. She’s pretty mysterious- not much is known about her except that she’s baldr’s wife. Even her name has a ton of possible meanings- none of the sources i looked up in my half-hearted search had the same idea for her etymology. (read: i didnt look that hard lol) Her heritage is equally debatable. She’s maybe a daughter of Nepr, who might be Odin’s son- or she she’s possibly the daughter of mani (hmm)- or the sister to sygn, or- she’s not the focus, so i moved on lol.

Baldr, on the other hand…

He’s not always the sun, or even sunshine, but he is always light. And everyone loves him, and its not a huge secret that he’s basically Jesus-ified all throughout the myths we know.

He’s absolutely perfect in literally every single conceivable way- unlike his brother, who’s the god of darkness to his light, and grumpy and rude and generally unlikable, and possibly the freaking embodiment of sin according to some sources. Oh and, he’s also blind. (Love the way ancient representation worked 9-9) He basically exists to make Baldr look better, from what i understand, which is hardly cool at all. Especially ‘cause of how ableist that is. But I digress.

So, Baldr, who’s ‘white as a daisy’ (lol) with a ‘snowy’ brow that im assuming just means that he’s extremely white (its also continuously described as shining… im just gonna make a leap and say its probably not the ancients saying he’s just really greasy…), and has golden locks likened to sunshine. He’s innocence and beauty and light and purity and all that jazz.

Even though he’s so popular, he’s most known for his death, which is kiiiiiinda twisted if you think about it for a sec. Anyway, blah blah blah not the point of this blah blah blah, basically he was prophesied to die but eeeeeveryone loved him so much that frigga (his mom and queen of the gods- and possibly another form of Freya, or- aaand im sidetracked again XD) got literally every single thing to swear to never harm Baldr- except, of course, one tiny little plant. (some say she forgot, others that she thought the plant too young, etc) Loki was jealous of Baldr and, one way or another, found out about the plant- mistletoe, it was. Sooo, while everyone was chucking random things at baldr because they thought it was funny, he decided to be ‘helpful’ to Hodur (baldr’s twin mentioned above) and basically made Hodur kill Baldr- which didnt do what loki thought it would, ‘cause there was no doubt it was actually loki’s fault, not Hodur. (Wow, imagine being hated and mistrusted more than the actual [possible] embodiment of sin himself… snorri really has it out for this guy, doesnt he) Whoopee, Loki’s punished in a variety of different ways depending on the version. Yay.

I’ll be getting further in depth on that later, so thats all on baldr for now.

Freya and Freyr

Now, these two are (obviously_ where i spent the majority of my time looking, since they are, yah know, the entire point of this post. Get ready for a lot of vague things that point fingers at their connection to the sun and moon, because im about to condense a lot of sources on the mystery of their connection into this one.

So, in basic mythology, Freya and Freyr are the insanely beautiful of Njordr- and they’re sometimes twins. (and sometimes lovers, as in some versions Njordr got with his sister to have the two of them. How… interesting. [sometimes their mother is nerthus, sometimes skadi, possibly others, not the focus XD]) Freyr is a big freaking deal (and so is his sister). “He rules over the rain and the shining of the sun, and therewithal the fruit of the earth; and it is good to call on him for fruitful seasons and peace. He governs also the prosperity of men,” is Freyr according to one source. Frankly, they were leaving out quite a bit.

Freyr’s home was considered to be Alfheim, which was the home of the elves. (“The elves were collective gods who were also associated with burial mounds and the ancestors”. You’ll see why this is so interesting a detail in a bit- though its also interesting for a pretty blatant reason. Freya and Freyr are both considered the leaders of the light elves. Yah know, the light elves.) He had a ship that has a name that reminds me of a keyboard smash (because i dont speak norse, not because it is random letters obviously lol, im not funny) that was built by dwarves.

Now, this ship is pretty cool, since it sails on both land and sea, always has a tailwind, and on top of that it can be folded like a piece of cloth and tucked in a pocket. It also connects him with his dad. (Yes, this ship is important, and yes, i will get to it later, lolll) he also has this amazing boar (Gullinborsti) attached to his cart that also doesn’t discriminate between land and air and sea- he travels ‘em all. This boar illuminates everything with its golden bristles- almost like the sun, ahahaha. (The boar is also often depicted on warriors’ shields- and shields are also connected to the sun, as i’ll explain in a bit.) He also has a servant named ‘the bright one’.

“Freyr, like his sister and father, belonged to the vanir race, but lived with the aesir as a peace hostage after the war between the two groups of gods. The fact that his dwelling is also called alfheim suggests a connection between the vanir and the elves; both are also associated with fertility (which, btw, both freya and freyr are considered deities of). Just like odin and thor, Freyr was quite popular with the ancient norse cults. (pOpULar wiTH tHe LaDiEs-) Freyr is destroyed by the giant Surt during ragnarok with his flaming sword.” he’s constantly described as handsome, beautiful, powerful, kind, and all sorts of other nice things. He’s also, interestingly enough, called the ‘world god’ by snorri. (nah, that doesnt connect to anything in this, i literally just thought it was cool lol) He rules the weather and growth of the year, with the rain and sunshine for the crops of the field. He was the go-to god for people who wanted a good future, peace, prosperity, and progress. He was the god of habits (apparently? Kinda cool, that) and the god of years and the giver of wealth. (this is because, according to some, Freyr was originally a mortal king. His reign was so wonderful that he was worshiped beyond his death, and continued to watch over his people as a god. This is very much not true in all versions, however lol) He’s also got horses devoted to him, which is fun.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. He’s the god of lots of very important things and hes very cool and we should all love him lots, is basically the moral of the story lol.

So, why should he (and his sister) be connected to the sun?

Surface level answer is because Freya is considered as beautiful as the sun, and so is her necklace. Freyr is, because of his association with seasonal change and fertility and crops, and his boar.

Except, thats only the surface level. Buckle in guys, ‘cause we’re about to get real. (and real speculative. lol.)

First, we’re gonna look at what the sun even is, before we touch on who and why it has anything to do with Freyr and Freya.

So, the sun chariot is a pretty common thing in norse mythology- and others besides. It isn’t always, however. According to some sources, the sun is on a wagon during the day and on a ship below the sea at night- which might also relate to death and the underworld. (im coming back to that later, too) as one source says, “in prehistoric scandinavia, images of the sun being held by humans, set on a ship or wagon, appear on slabs inside graves, sun-like shields, (which is another huge association btw- the sun and war, specifically) belt plates and the famous 1400 BCE trundholm sun-chariot, where it is depicted as drawn by a horse on its eternal journey, both set on wheels suggesting a continuous motion”

Now, there’s also the connection between the sun and the underworld. There’s carvings with chariots and bird shapes put in graves- most likely to guide or protect the dead. (The sun and freya both were the protecter of dead people in prehistoric scandinavia_ the horse also was important, as it was considered a means of both communication and transportation between the two worlds- which ties back into the sun being drawn by horses. Horses connect earth and sky, life and death, and pull the sun- you know, the sun, which represents life and death in equal measure. (you can even look at it this way- the death of the sun and the rebirth of the day, caused by the sun)

The bird shapes and bird-shaped women are thought to be the valkyries taking one half of the dead warriors to valhalla, and the other half to- oh, how interesting, to freya’s hall. (*intense eyebrow wriggles*) which- odin is also known to shapeshift into an eagle, so theres that connection too- and he’s in charge of valhalla. Similarly, freya has a cloak that turns its wearer into a falcon, letting her fly. The shapes are also regarded by scholars as representation of the eagle, and are connected with battle and war- but also as a symbol of the sun. just like the wheels, the birds refer to the swift flight of the sun. (this is extra interesting, when we consider freya’s connection to the strife and death and etc- wherats freyr is the fruit of the earth and peace and fertile seasons, considered the guy that ‘makes love rather than war’ [ in reference to him giving away his sword for love {he also gave away his horse, which was known for being able to jump over the ‘ring of fire’ and protect the rider from it- or, the sun. curious, isn’t it? Especially if we continue on with the idea that surt is the personification of all things we dont want the sun to be- and freyr’s horse protects against that, and was given away. That, and his sword is summer… which is implied to be the very sword surt will wield to kill freyr} both he and his sister are worshiped as gods of marriage and love, albeit differently] and etc… almost like they are the dual natures of the sun personified…)

Back on the sun=ship thing, “the other image popular in the bronze age, that of the sun on ship, can easily parallel traditions elsewhere, such as the egyptian sun god ra or Apollo (!!!) from greek mythology who gave protection in navigation. This image is used to describe shields” in snorri’s poetic teachings the shield can be a ‘skipsol’, literally a ship-sun, or a hlyrtungl, prow-moon”

(Curiously, Freyr’s ship has been depicted with an image of the sun on it. See what im putting down, here?

…and if not, you will.)

(Also, njord and freyr and freya are all connected to ships and maritime, which is in turn connected to the sun.)

At the end of the world, freyr will battle the giant surt, which possibly means more than we think at first glance. Surt can be interpreted as the destructive side of the sun- which makes sense. The peaceful, gently, nurturing side of the sun in freyr, being defeated by the wantonly destructive side at the end of the world- which makes it extra interesting that surt kills freyr, and not sol.

In addition, there’s also evidence of someone named ‘Sunna’ who’s referenced in the context of invoking the gods to heal a foal’s foot. Which, if you look at Freyr’s association with healing, and horses… perhaps they are connected, perhaps not, but its interesting all the same.

(And again, horses are also connected to the underworld- like ships, and freya, and- basically, its kind of convoluted, but by association one could suggest that freyr has a cthonic connection- just like the sun might. Then, of course, with his association with life, he’s gonna have association with death- and harvest, and the changing of seasons, and rebirth, and- yeah, see what i mean?)

Switching topics!!!!! (Because now im focusing mostly on a specific source- my absolute favorite of the bunch, because of how much information is concisely stated. All the others are mashing together- this ones special)

I referenced njord and skadi and nerthus, right? Wellll, njord and nerthus and freya and freyr have some… interesting connections.

Allow me to lay the groundwork.

“Nerthus travels on her wagon and brings peace and good seasons to people, while njordr, the male counterpart of nerthus, was worshiped as the protector of maritime. Both of these two features could have been derived from the course of the sun through the sky during the day on the sun-chariot, and through the underworld at night, maybe on a ship, which can also be interpreted as a metaphor of the regeneration of plants and crops, and even connected with the journey from this world to the other world.

“As for freya and freyr, who are probably derived from nerthus-njordr (which in another part of this paper, is explained. I wont get into details, but nerthus and njordr can be argued as the same person- and freya and freyrs names mean ‘lord’ and ‘lady’, and can easily be implicated as simply being epithets for the above- which in simpler terms, means that njordr might have came first, then nerthus came from him [or vice-versa] and then the gods freya and freyr came from him/them over time, as they slowly began to be seen as separate deities instead of epithets. That, or nerthus came first, and then njord, and then freya took nerthus’ place while freyr shared njord’s as son and father), they share more similarities with the sun, which may allow them to be identified as nordic solar gods. For example, freya’s wagon is pulled by cats, which are worshiped by ancient egyptians as the representation of the sun (im also going to point out the metaphor of the sun as odin’s eye, and gesture broadly at all the myths referencing ra’s eye in association to the sun. in addition, the ancient egyptians called the sun “the cat” as “the pupil of the cat’s eye grows larger with the advance of day” as the sun does. They imagined a great cat standing behind the sun, as the sun is the pupil of the cat’s eye. Female cats belonged to bast [or bubastis] while male cats- which are the ones that draw freya’s charit- symbolize ra, the sun-god) (At this point, consider this- norse mythology: starring guest mythologies, from such wondrous places as egypt and greece!!!!!!) at the same time, her wagon associated her with both the sun and nerthus. Compared with freya, freyrs role as a solar god is more obvious, as he is the ruler of rains and shining in the sun.

“The similarities of functions between the sun, and freya-freyr, might indicate that the fertile functions represented by the sun in the bronze age, was first inherited by nerthus in the iron age, and then by freya and freyr in the viking and middle ages, even though the sun itself was no longer the key symbol of fertility in viking and medieval north.”

This is another interesting thing- originally, in fertility worship, there are artifacts with images of the sun on them- in all of the forms mentioned above. However, after 500 BC, the sun itself is replaced with freyr and freya- possibly as the personified sun.

In addition, the movement of the sun across the sky was treated as a symbol of seasonal changing and vegetation growing. “The sun comes back after the darkness of the winter, brings back not only the brightness, but also the fertility of earth and vegetation.” That’s interesting, since Freyr is kind of in charge of the changing of seasons and growing of vegetation and fertility and brightness. Funny, that.

Similarly, want to know the difference between the sun-wagon and the sun-ship? Wagons were connected with females, while ships are more connected with males. Hence Freya and Nerthus both owning a chariot, while freyr owns the golden ship ‘Skidbladnir’- and Njord is obviously connected to ships. This implies that there are two aspects of the sun- one connected with females, and the other with males. However, this also isn’t a hard and fast rule- remember Freyr’s boar, that pulls his wagon? Freya also just so happens to own a ship. (and a very similar boar!) So even though there is association with genders and wagons and ships, it’s not a hard and fast rule. Although, if Freyr and Freya are both connected to Nerthus, it might make sense that Freyr has a wagon. (Similarly, Thor has a connection with a wagon- but he also has dressed as Freya)

Nerthus also is known to travel around on her wagon in order to bring peace to her people and fertility to crops- just as Freyr does. (And Freya is also connected to good seasons and harvest!) Interestingly enough, Nerthus’ wagon can be considered to have been drawn by female cattle instead of horses. This is interesting because the sun’s rays are described as cow’s milk- and as us greek nerds know, the sun-cattle is definitely a thing in greek mythology.

(In a similar vein, the tale of Njord and Skadi has been compared to the myths of Hades and Persephone, and the story of Freya’s searching for her husband to Isis and Osiris- underworld and fertility and growth connections, again)

And then, there’s this. “In the thought of these early ages the sun was the child of night or darkness, the dawn came before he was born, and died as he rose in the heavens. He strangled the serpents of the night, (gonna point at egyptian mythology real quick- and also Python from greek mythology, because why not), he went forth like a bridegroom out of his chamber, and like a giant to run his course. He had to do battle with clouds and storms, sometimes his light grew dim under their gloomy veil, and the children of men shuddered at the wrath of the hidden sun. His course might be brilliant and beneficent, or gloomy, sullen, and capricious. He might be a warrior, a friend, or a destroyer. The rays of the sun were changed into golden hair, into spears and lances, and robes of light.” How many of the above points have been referenced in that?! Quite a few.

Then, (with the speakers of the conversation taken out ‘cause their unnecessary,) “The sun fares swiftly, and almost as if she were afraid: she could not hasten her course any more if she feared her destruction. It is no marvel that she hastens furiously: Close cometh he that seeks her and she has no escape save to run away. Who is he that causes her disquiet? It is two wolves; and he that runs after her is called Skoll; she fears him, and he shall take her. But he that leaps before her is called Hati Hrodvitnisson. He is eager to seize the moon; and so it must be.”

This obviously references Sol and Mani- and brings us back to the idea that the sun (and moon) are very, very fast.

Another fun little fact? There’s a few different names for the sun- and it’s associated with quite a few things, like gold and fire, which is shown in several things like freya’s gold necklace being named after the sun- and her tears. Gold is called ‘the shining’, which is often connected with the sun- but so are the names Sol, as ‘sun’, and sunna, as ‘sunshine’, ‘everglow’, ‘the lovely wheel’, ‘all-shining’, etc. In addition, I’m going to bring Freyr’s servant back to your memory- as his name means ‘the shining one’. (Speaking of- did you remember where you’ve seen ‘sunna’ before?) Gold is very much associated with Freya- even in the names of her daughters. She also is called “shining one over the sea”, which plays on this and her oceanic connections.

Who is Snorri and why should we care?

Aaaaaaand here is the reason I said to take all of the above with a grain of salt. All because of this guy named Snorri. If we have collective beef with the roman poets that are responsible for the majority of the ‘greek’ myths we know, i dont even know what we have with this guy.

Why? We have no idea how many myths he made up on the spot. He is single handedly responsible for the majority of norse mythology as we know it- which are quite different then how it was originally.

By the time he’d gotten his dirty fingers all over the myths, they’d already been quite tampered with- thanks to christians who had no patience for paganism, but enjoyed sharing gossip about ‘heathens’ anyway. (thanks, us. Really had to go and screw with history) So they were already moving away from the original myths. (hence Baldr being so blatantly symbolic of Christ) Then Snorri happened, and the original myths fled like they were being chased by some kinda giant, rabid wolf. (See what I did there? …Geeze, okay, fine, I’ll see myself out, calm down-)

(*please note that the majority of my griping is done with relative fondness. I do enjoy norse myths as they are, and I am in fact christian lol. I simply am whining because I want to know the truth, gosh darn it!!!!*)

So what, exactly, did Snorri do?

Allow me to set the scene. Snorri was both Icelandic and Christian, and he was absolutely obsessed with viking poetry. Like, seriously. Snorri was so obsessed with them he decided he wanted to be the king’s Skald- which was often Icelandic. (A skald was a highly honored post- it was a cross between chief counselor and court jester, and was an extremely influential position, with the freedom they had to even scold the king without consequences. [Skald=scold]) He was a 40 year old poet with big dreams. And he was a good poet too- he knew he was.

Unfortunately for him, the king wasn’t interested.

The issue? The king was a 14 year old boy who was much more interested in learning about King Arthur and the knights of the round table than his own history- which was kind of personally offensive to Snorry. The king thought that Snorri was terribly dry and boring- just like viking poetry.

Now, the main reason it was so dry and boring and confusing was the kennings I mentioned earlier- which might have even been named that by Snorri himself. Kennings are a mix between a riddle and a trivia quiz, as one source explains it. “No poet writing in Old Norse before about 1300 would say ‘mead’ when he or she could say ‘waves of honey,’ or ‘ship’ instead of ‘otter of the ocean,’ or ‘sword’ instead of ‘fire of the spear clash’. And those are the easy kennings to figure out. The harder ones refer to Norse myths. For example, what did a Viking poet mean by saying ‘Aegir’s fire,’ or ‘freya’s tears,’ or ‘sif’s hair’? The norse gods Aegir and Freya and Sif hadn’t been worshiped for over 200 years in Norway or Iceland. Few people remembered the old stories of gods and dwarfs and giants, and so the old poems hardly made sense.” So, of course the boy-king wasn’t interested in the poems, and sent him home.

Snorri took this as a challenge.

He had first, in 1220, wrote an elaborate poem in praise of the king and his regent. Said poem was 102 stanzas long, in 100 different styles- which was unprecedented. Snorri was literally amazing.

It wasn’t the best place to start, however.

Luckily for Snorri, he realized this and didn’t send it. Instead, he took the time to write a section explaining how skaldic poems worked- including kennings. Then he began to write myths that would explain the kennings- myths that he’d heard, stories he’d pierced together from old poems, and others that he himself simply made up- which is a great deal of the reason why the characters rarely gave the impression that they needed to be feared and worshiped. Like Thor- he’s quite the idiot in the myths that Snorri wrote. Snorri didn’t fear or worship these gods- he just liked poetry, man. (Thor was nowhere near the idiot Snorri portrayed him as- he was the favorite god. Everything was named after Thor- nothing was of Odin. In fact, Odin is rarely mentioned- and is, from what i understand, the least norse of the gods- only belatedly one of them at all. However, Odin was Snorri’s favorite- and thor was demoted to comic relief.)

Thats also likely the reason for alllllll the mentions of sex, and the insane results- like Sleipnir, or Jormungand. He was trying to keep a 14 year old boy interested- of course he’s going to fall back on dirty humor. Loki was often a main feature of his stories, and often the mischievous antagonist.

Heck, the tale of where poetry even came from can be blamed on- i mean claimed by Snorri. He really, really liked both mead and he liked poetry, and he was trying to convince the boy-king to get interested in Snorri and hire him, and to scold him at the same time. (Its also said that the myth perverts an ancient ceremony- from celtic sources) It says more about Snorri than it does genuine myths.

Snorri also had a mild obsession with connecting the gods to troy and each other and people in weird ways. Like how he was constantly making couples be ‘married’, when originally they were only lovers- maybe even one time lovers.

Like Odin and Skadi.

Or Freyr and Gerdr. Its said that Freyr fell in love with the giantess Gerdr and sent his servant to get her by whatever means necessary. “She refuses at first, but when Skirnir threatens her and curses her, she gives in, and agrees to meet the god, nine nights hence.”

However, according to snorri, they get married- which is never stated in the poem. He also made up an oc- i mean, gave them a son. (Why? Swedish kings claimed descent from Freyr and his son. He also said that Swedish kings were descended from Odin.) He also showed Freyr as lovesick and weakened by his love for Gerdr- and how Freyr gave up his magical sword to win the giantess, which meant that the giants had it. The original poem only said that he gave his servant the sword and horse for the journey- it didn’t say anything about them being gifts.

Thats a pretty mild example, but you can imagine how much worse the others are.

For instance, the beginning of the world. First, he claims the world begins in a volcanic eruption before freezing into ice. That can’t be an ancient myth, because Norway- and the rest of the scandinavian homelands- are not volcanic. Only Iceland was ‘geologically active’, as was discovered when Norse paganism already began to wane. Then, the idea that the world is created by the dismembered body of a giant can be attributed to the idea floating around philosophical treatises of the time, based on Plato. Even the cow can probably be attributed to Snorri, as no other source mentions a giant cow. “A cow, to Snorri, would have been the obvious source of monstrous sustenance. Like all wealthy Icelanders, Snorri was a dairyman. He was also, as I’ve said, a Christian. It fits with his wry sense of humor for the first pagan god to be born from a salt lick.” (Which, when said like that, is objectively hilarious)

Heck, the idea that Odin was the “All-father” who gave men immortal souls and welcomes the righteous to the halls of the dead is very christian-like. It would make it more… welcoming, perhaps, to a young christian king who’d been raised by bishops.

Heck, the valkyries- before Snorri, they were monstrous troll women of gigantic size who rode wolves and poured blood over the battlefield. They rowed a boat (hah!) across the sky, trailing a rain of blood. They were known for their ‘evil smell’ and put me in mind of evil vulture-harpies. Snorri, however, created the iconic valkyries we know and love today- beautiful, powerful warrioresses, who serve valiant men mead.

Now, I promised to go over the Baldr myth before I ended my self-debunk session.

You know the basics of the myth- i can go over it if someone wants me to, but rn the word count is already too high,, so we’re just gonna go over the FiShY parts.

First, the part where Baldr is killed by mistletoe. Snorri had no idea what mistletoe was, since it didn't grow in iceland and was rare in norway. Mistletoe is a parasitic vine found at the top of an oak tree- its not a tree itself. “The ‘golden bough’ of folklore, it was gathered in some cultures at the summer solstice; picking it caused the days to shorten. Originally, it seems, the death of Baldr was a drama of the agricultural year. Snorri did not see it that way. In his mythology, time is not cyclical. Baldr does not die off and come back each year like summer. Instead, Baldr’s death causes Ragnarok, in which the old gods are killed and the old earth destroyed in a fiery cataclysm.”

Mistletoe was, in fact, Baldrs bane- but not in the way Baldr interpreted it. He dramatized it because mistletoe was called ‘mistilsteinn’. Other icelandic words ending in ‘teinn’ referred to swords, and mist is the name of a valkyrie. Surely a plant named ‘valkyrie’s sword’ must be highly symbolic, and deadly.

No where before Snorri is there a version of the myth where Frigga forces an oath out of everything on earth to keep Baldr safe. It doesn’t say that Loki discovered the secret of mistletoe’s being overlooked and guiding Hod’s hand. In fact, Loki’s not mentioned in this context at all.

And only snorri continues the tale with Baldr being retrieved from Hel- in exchange for a ransom, brought by a volunteer named Hermod- who is a god in no other story. (You and your ocs, Snorri)

Theres the whole scene of Baldr’s funeral thats almost absurdly comical, including the gods’ strength being stolen by their grief until they had to get a giantess who rode a wilf with vipers as reins to launch the ship he was to be sent to the sea in, so fast that the earth quaked and fire spurted in its wake. Then, of course, Thor was personally offended that the giantess was stronger than him (??? why snorri) and wanted to bash out the giantess’ brains- and would have tried if the other gods hadnt stopped him. Baldr’s wife, Nanna, drops dead of grief and gets chucked onto the pyre with Baldr- which doesnt exsist in any other known version. Then, of course, they murdered Baldr’s horse, and after teh pyre was consecrated and all that crap and set aflame, thor trips over a dwarf. He kicked at the guy and then literally threw him into the fire of the pyre and he was burned. (???! wHy snorri)

Then we go to hel, and see how things are progressing. The journey itself is quite christian- based off of ‘Christ’s Harrowing of Hell’ from the Gospel of Nicodemus that was popular in iceland at the time. For example, Christ rode a great white horse into hell- so Hermod rode Sleipnir, who was also white. (And eight-legged, but thats neither here nor there) The journey continues, and Hermod finds Baldr sitting in the seat of honor, and Hermod stays the night. In the morning, he tells Hela that everyone was really upset and asks her to let Hermod take Baldr home. (Baldrs horse, burned on the pyre, was safe in Hel’s stables)

Hela was curious, so she set it all to a test. ‘“If all things in the world, alice or dead, weep for him,” she decreed, “Then he shall go back.” If anything refuses to weep, he stays in hel.’

So the gods sent messages everywhere to tell people they needed to cry for Baldr- and so does everyone and everything. (Which includes a fun little explanation for condensation- its merely objects weeping for Baldr, of course) Except, of course, a supremely ugly giantess that Snorri claims is Loki- which of course, isnt insinuated in other versions.

“With baldr’s death, chaos is unleashed. The gods have lost their luck, the end of the world is nigh: Ragnarok, when Loki and his horrible children, the wold Fenrir and the Midgard Serpent, will join forces with the giants to destroy the gods.”

And thats it. No rebirth or anything.

First, why was Baldr in Hel if he was so wonderful?? He definitely should not have been there. Furthermore- why is his horse in Hel, and not the dwarf, who was clearly viewed in an unfavorable light? And where is Baldr’s wife? Is she with him, and just wasn’t important enough to be mentioned? Did she go to one of the hall’s for warriors? (Though i never got the feeling that she was a warrior herself) Plot holes galore.

Honestly though, even though he messed up a crap ton of stuff, he’s kinda funny, and I genuinely love the idea of him in itself- in fact, I’m planning on using him as inspiration in my original novel lol. I mean, the idea of a poet, all vain and puffed up and convinced hes the absolute best, who deserved this incredibly high position in another country, throwing down his best work with extreme pride, only to be rejected out of hand by a literal child who had no desire to learn his own history? And then the poet, out of freaking spite, goes home and writes a crap ton of poetry ‘for dummies’, targeted specifically to be interesting to a child, and warping the stories any way he could to do so, that then become the most well-known source of the myths?

H i l a r i o u s.

A great inspiration to us all. Thanks, Snorri.

(Heh, he also was the inspiration for some Big writers- like Tolkein, who i love, and neil gaiman, who im less familiar with- lol. So i hate him but i also love him ig)

What the heck does this even mean, Regina??? (In other words: way too freaking long, shut up and just gimme the nutshell)

Basically? Believe what you want to believe! We’re going off of the scraps of relics we can’t hope to ever truly understand- assuming that the people who made them even put that much thought in them (‘cause I know I rarely do when im art-ing)- and the fanfictions- i mean, creative interpretations and fantastic retellings of a dude with a pretty clear agenda.

Every single one of these deities could have been a solar deity at one point in time- maybe even multiple times, with multiple combinations. Maybe different eras marked different interpretations of the sun(/moon), maybe it was just by area or personal choice. Maybe none of them were, and we have yet to discover the truth- if we ever will. And im certainly no expert. This all came from me doing a google search and spiraling down deeper and deeper- as im sure you all understand lol.

Either way, it literally cannot be argued that Freyr has zero(0) connection to the sun, so its entirely plausible that he’d show up to a multi-pantheon meeting of sun gods lol.

And bear in mind that I’ve barely scratched the surface here- every single thing ive touched on has sooooooooo much more than I put here XD And some of it remains on the websites of my sources, which imma list for y’all. Theres plenty more beyond those, however.

None of this really, truly matters in reference to how you take inspiration from norse myths. Play with it, have fun- pick and choose pieces you like and discard the rest. Its just here because I think its cool lol

Now, how I personally rationalized this all into the riordanverse previously? (Which you guys are totally welcome to take inspiration from- you dont have to ask if you dont want to! I only want to see your work, whatever it is, because its gonna be amazing and no way im gonna miss out on it lollllllll)

Way back when, when the universe came to be, so did Sol and Mani. Unfortunately, the two were never quite finished- and so they never woke up. Fast forward, and Njord and Nerthus are in charge of both the sun and the moon, with njord having made a fiery chariot from the light of the fire giants’ realm. Over time, they moved on, and Frey and Freya took over, having helped their father and mother and/or aunt for the entirety of their lives. By this time, they adopted 2 wolves, who they loved very very much. Freya and Freyr took the job equally, changing every day, their wolf-helpers changing with them. The wolves just so happened to be the actual sun/moon- far brighter than the earlier chariot. Eventually, Freyr and Freya were chosen to keep the peace between the aesir and vanir, with their dad so he could take care of his little godlings. Freya takes half of the underworld for heroes from Odin, which she had often visited in the ship that toted the sun when the moon rose into the sky (when it was her turn). She had taken great joy in bringing sunshine, light, and happiness to the dead, and eagerly accepted the chance to do so officially. This means that Freyr is now in charge of both chariots and wolves- which is kind of difficult, but he managed.

Then the giant came to build the wall for the gods, as the stories say, and he desired both Freya and Freyr- Freyr as both moon and sun. (I went on and on about how that was such a power move in my original notes, which was kinda hilarious to read XD not sure why i was so impressed with that lol) Afterwards, Loki gives Freyr a new, fancy-er boat, which Freyr uses to send the sun below the sea and into the underworld, visiting his sister and bringing the sun to the dead. He then would raise the moon while Freya took care of the sun, and then vice versa. (He raised them with the chariot and wolves, and lowered them with the ship) Freyr began to be worshiped for a great many things- few of which he had time for. (I never got the impression that norse gods had that ability lol) This was quite distressing, and concerning.

Meanwhile, Sol and Mani had been discovered by a mortal man. Its quite evident that they are gods- judging by their swift grow to intelligence, even if emotional maturity is at a normal pace, and physical growth somewhere in between. (yeah no sources for that dont question it) Beyond that, they were also very much divinely beautiful, and they also maybe kind of glowed sometimes. He was a greedy man, and took great pleasure in the knowledge that he had such clearly important gods for his obedient ‘children’. In his pride, he named them after the sun and moon- the greatest treasures of the heavens, that he has hidden away in his arms. In this time, he gave sol to her husband, and i figure its actually a fine relationship? Havent looked much into it lol.

In any case, the gods discover them, and punish the man and rescue the twins. And its wonderful, and they are all so happy- except that they have no role. Now, Freyr was pretty gosh darn tired by this point, and wanting to move on from sole command of the sun and moon both. He’d had Baldr helping him- such a good, helpful lad- but Baldr had his own responsibilities as well, and so did his wife, when she stepped in. He looked at their glowing skin and made some swift decisions. “Look,” he said. “They glow, just as their namesakes do- just as they should. Clearly, they are to take care of the moon and sun- and i will not contest them for it.” And so it was. Freyr focused on helping Sol, while Baldr (and Nanna) trained Mani. This is why Baldr and his wife were both connected to light- the moon in particular, although the sun as well. This is also why Freyr still has such control over the sunlight and how it effects earth. (Btw, the two wolves are still visited by Freyr and Freya, of course, but they are brought out every day/night by the twins, who take care of them and play with them. Neither wolf has plans to eat the twins- they are merely playing a game when they chase them.)

Then Baldr and Nanna are killed and the moon is suddenly so much weaker. Mani just cant keep up- until he adopts two kids, who take the jobs. Unfortunately, since they are/were mortals, they tire- and this is why the moon waxes and wanes.

(theres also the dude who holds the shield to protect the earth from the sun’s burning rays [thanks to surt being furious ab the light stolen from his realm]- maybe something to do with Freyr, or Sol’s husband??)

To start ragnarok, as it is in some versions, it is fenrir who will swallow the sun and the moon, rather than the adorable puppies- i mean, fierce and determined workers. Their children will take the role after, while Freyr fights Surt.

The end. ~Thank you and goodnight~

Aaaand thats a wrap, my lovelies!!!!! Im really tired and its past 10 here and i still need to do my math homework (also, ironically, im doing THIS instead of my ACTUAL mythology homework… tho tbf, im not sure if thats actually due tomorrow or not) and at least listen to the songs im going to be performing tomorrow, since im like. A veteran in our choir now, and i kinda hate it bc ewww responsibilityy. sO, if theres any plot holes or anything confusing in this, please please please please PLEASE lemme know. In case u cant tell, i love talking, im terrible at explaining things.

I really hope this answered your question, my friend XD

(I also have, like, a lot of things to post on tumblr XD and snippets of stories to wrap up and publish on ao3 and see if i can do more for the monthly prompts lollllll. And to catch up on discord XDXXDXDXD especially since my best friend has now joined, and i havent even hopped on 😅busy, busy, busy lol)

(Also does anyone know if there's a way to make things u copy and paste into tumblr to stay underlined, italicized, whatever????)

Love y’all soooooooooooooooooo much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <3<3<3

Sources (*note that i read a ton of others, these are just the ones i took enough from to credit them*):

https://www.duo.uio.no/bitstream/handle/10852/57994/Lan-Wang-thesis.pdf?sequence=1

https://www.worldhistory.org/article/1911/the-sun--the-moon-in-norse-myth/

https://norsespirit.com/blogs/mythology/freyr?srsltid=AfmBOop02PnTHoKx0QTZ93g_m5h637-_6P8PJJWngUnxjOnyl3mozpjz

https://web.archive.org/web/20100401223136/http://northvegr.org/lore/prose/037040.php

https://earthandstarryheaven.com/2015/06/17/politics-myth/b

https://odsmal.org/sol-sun-and-nanna-mani-baldur/

https://ydalir.ca/norsegods/nanna/

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/28497/28497-h/28497-h.htm#ch21 https://reactormag.com/seven-norse-myths-we-wouldnt-have-without-snorri/

https://medium.com/@nyxshadowhawk/how-christian-is-norse-mythology-b9e0a6a1a029

#ramblings with regina #mythology #norse mythology #sun gods #solar deities #debunking myths #piecing together myths #freyja #freyr #i think thats enough???#still not sure how this all works XD

8 notes · View notes