#where olive trees grow

[auspexsims]

Volume 1: Paper, Cotton, Leather

[winter-jay-official]

Also, list of things im growing/trying to grow-

-4 avocado pits (not sprouted yet (only been a day))

-green onions (sitting in water, need to plant.)

-grape tomatoes (plant doing well, producing blooms but its too hot and they keep dying. keep watering.)

-purple heart (keep splitting it, ppl keep buying it. doing well)

-various succulents (perfectly fine, love the summer heat)

-lots of other various plants (not all mine) that I have been watering drastically because it's 110°F and they aren't a fan

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the butchery of the beloved, the boulder, the bimbo and the brilliant

kinktober, day twenty-five

a/n: ahhh, it's finally time to share the kinktober fic you all helped shape!! it turned out so fucking unhinged and i love it. happy halloween, folks!

polls for this fic: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

summary: “they–… they were right…” the warnings your now deceased friends had given you since the moment you got involved with the frat boy buzzed in your mind, though when they’d light-heartedly called him a psycho, you never in your wildest dreams thought that they would have been correct in their choice of words, “I can’t believe they were right…”

warnings: dark!rafe cameron x innocent!reader, smut, dark content, noncon/dubcon, slasher au, final girl!reader, 00’s slutty horror movie vibes, found family, nonverbal, murder, violence, blood, gore, crying, alcohol consumption, smoking, possessiveness, jealousy, mask kink, kissing, size kink, belly bulge, manhandling, dirty talk, just the tip, pussyjob, oral, spit kink, impact play, pain kink, choking, bondage, dacryphilia, orgasm denial, overstimulation, squirting, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, references to anal/painal

word count: 7400

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2024

It all started at a lunch table, as so many friendships do. 

The first one to sit was Hana, the nurturing soul of the group who had been a genius even back then. The next to join was Brian, the blonde bombshell whose smile brightened any room he entered. Then came Oliver, the guy who at twelve years old had stood up to the bully you couldn’t face yourself and swore from that day on he’d do so for each and every one of you till the end of your days. And lastly, there was you, in many ways the glue of the little pack. 

To say that the four of you were thick as thieves didn’t even begin to cover it, as you’d been there for each other in every up and down in each of your lives since adolescence. Even when your mother passed, especially when your mom passed, that’s when you truly knew that they weren’t just your pals, but your family. 

“Oh wow,” you breathed as you gazed out the window to the destination you’d finally reached, “is this really your dad’s cabin?” you glanced over your shoulder at the man behind the wheel, a proud smirk ever on his lips.

“Yep,” Rafe nodded and reached down to put the car in park. 

You’d met him at the beginning of this semester and it hadn’t taken you very long at all to fall embarrassingly and completely head over heels for the guy. 

Though he wasn’t the first boyfriend to grow to be a part of the tight-knit clique, he hadn’t been welcomed with open arms as you remembered Jerome, Brian’s partner, had two years ago. The gentle giant of few words had melted into your dynamic so naturally that none of you remembered any longer a time before him. But it wasn’t like that this time, not with Rafe. For some reason, your friends just couldn’t warm up to the frat guy you loved so dearly. 

As you heard the other car roll to a stop behind you, the vehicle where the four remaining resisted, your fingers dipped down into your pocket and fished out your phone to snap a photo of the luxurious lake house and its breathtaking views, though that’s when you noticed the lack of bars up in the upper corner of the screen.

“Oh, damn it…” you squinted down at your phone, “is there seriously no service out here?” 

“Yeah, sorry I forgot to tell you,” Rafe snatched out the keys, “this place is pretty off-grid, you have to probably walk half an hour or something to get any signal.”

The dry leaves on the forest floor crunched beneath your shoes as you stepped out of the car and tipped your head back to glance up at how high the surrounding pine trees stretched up towards the cloudy sky. 

As Rafe hopped up onto the wide porch and fiddled with a bundle of keys to unlock the place, your gaze kept finding him as you hung back a while and helped your friends unload their car.

“Can you all please promise to play nice this weekend?” you quietly asked them. 

“Yeah,” Oliver huffed, yanking out a heavy duffle bag, “I’ll play nice if he does, which I sincerely doubt since I haven’t yet discovered one kind bone in his body.” 

“Oh, come on,” you defended your beau, “he’s the one who suggested this trip so that you could all finally discover what a sweet guy he actually is,” before you all ascended the short steps and filtered into the abode. 

Not soon after you all crossed the threshold, Rafe’s arms seized your waist and drew you back against him, whispering in your ear that he wanted to give you the grand tour of the house. 

However, when you reached the room that was to belong to the two of you for the rest of the weekend, his ulterior motives for the journey around the cabin became crystal clear. 

At first, when he wrapped his arms around you from behind as you gazed out the tall windows at the foot of the bed, a giggle bubbled in your belly as you felt his desire poke the small of your back. Though it was already during his palm’s swift voyage under the hem of your shirt and up towards your boobs that he let slip what crucial item he’d neglected to pack. 

“You didn’t bring any condoms?” you twisted around to glare at the persistence that still sparkled in his eyes.

“Oh, come on, don’t let that fact spoil our fun,” he pulled you back into his arms, “don’t you want me to dick you down this weekend, huh?” he murmured in your ear.

“Well, I don’t wanna get pregnant,” you slowly pushed him back, “so it’ll just have to be another weekend.”  

But then he seized your hand and brought it down to the palpable tent in his jeans, “babe, come on. Just feel how hard I am. You can’t just leave me like this, not when it’s your fault to begin with.”

Your mouth then fell open as a shy scoff rolled off your tongue, “I literally haven’t done a thing, how is it my fault?”

“Come on, don’t act like a prude,” his grip around your wrist shifted and it slid down to rub your palm against his hardness, “be a good girl and at the very least get down on your knees.”

“No,” you chuckled lightly and pushed yourself off of him enough to stumble closer towards the bedroom’s exit, “if you’re so desperate, then take care of it yourself.” 

Even though winter was creeping ever nearer, each one of you still dared to go down to the lake’s small pier and soak up the mild rays of autumn sun that peeked out behind the clouds. Both Hana and Oliver even gathered enough courage to take a dip in the cool water, though weren’t successful in any of their attempts at talking the rest of you into the same. 

Though when your friends in the water began to splash at one another, Oliver teasingly let some splatter upon Brian as he sat on the edge, eyes closed and face turned up towards the sky as he relaxed back against his boyfriend. 

“Oh my god! Don’t!” he tensely straightened up, his tone startling Jerome enough that his palm that rested on Brian’s waist tightened, “stop! You’re giving me flashbacks to summer camp!” 

As you heard your grinning friend in the lake apologise, you opened your mouth to note, “that’s right, I forgot you went to camp when we were kids.”

“Yeah, it was honestly revolting,” Brian recoiled slightly at the recollection, “mosquitoes, terrible food, even worse people. Had a big old lake just like this one,” he gestured to the surrounding landscape. 

“Actually,” Rafe then spoke up, his voice booming to your ears as he sat directly behind you, his legs slotted on either side of your frame as his chin rested atop your shoulder, “this place used to be a summer camp too back when my dad bought it.”

“Really?” Hana glanced up from the water, their childish game now halted. 

“Yeah, I mean,” Rafe cast a glance over his shoulder at the structures on the bank just behind him, “it had been abandoned and completely deserted for a long time, but a lot of the buildings, the main house and the shed and stuff, they’re the original cabins just renovated.”

“Your dad bought an abandoned camp?” Oliver scrunched up his face, “okay, creepy…”

“Oh, hell no, I’m out,” Brain began to unravel, “babe, if we wake up in the middle of the night to a ghost child standing at the foot of our bed, it’s your job to take care of it,” he glanced over his shoulder at Jerome, “I’m too delicate and pretty to deal with the paranormal, especially if it’s kids,” to which his boyfriend simply hummed in agreement and soothingly let his palm run down his partner’s arm.

“Oh, this place isn’t haunted,” Hana said after she’d swam up to clutch against the side of the pier, “calm down.”

“Well, you don’t know that, it might be,” the blonde man behind you shrugged, “especially with what apparently happened here back in the day…”

“What are you talking about?” you looked back at him. 

“Well, back like forty years ago or something, when this was still a camp, there was this one counsellor who one day just went nuts, like snapped and murdered every single person there,” Rafe told, purposely making his tone more ominous the further into the story he got, “that’s why the place was shut down and abandoned, why no one ever wanted to return it to its former glory. It’s one of the most gruesome unsolved cases in this entire corner of the country.”

“Wait, unsolved?” Brian clutched his imaginary pearls. 

“Yeah, the guy was never caught, supposably never even left these woods…” he then leaned in and attempted to truly spook you all, “at night if you listen closely, you can still hear him sharpening his blade, getting ready to hunt his next prey…”

Hana, assuming that he was only joking, let out a dry laugh to cut the tense silence that had fallen over you all, “okay, very funny, ha-ha.” 

“Yeah,” you gently rubbed your boyfriend’s arm as you tried to shake the tale off of you, “let’s maybe not joke about psychopaths running around a rural area when we actually are in a rural area,” though goosebumps still pricked and tingled every inch of your skin. 

“Wait, how did it go?” your giggle mingled with Oliver’s as you both leaned against the kitchen counter, nearly bumping your foreheads together from how hard you were laughing, “was it…” and you began to hum a faint melody. 

“No because, remember, at the end it went,” your friend cut you off and then made his own attempt, though much more accurate than your own, causing your eyes to promptly light up with recognition before they crinkled together in laughter as he tried to hit the high note at the end. 

Once the woods surrounding the cabin had succumbed to darkness, the group of you all decided to wrap the day up in a bit of merriment, going through Rafe’s father’s liquor stash and turning up the music. 

During your and Oliver’s secluded moment in the kitchen away from the rest, your laughter caused you to sway even closer to one another, your palm naturally planting itself on his chest as your faces nearly touched. 

Though just as the pair of you were doubled over, a figure appeared in the doorway.

“Oh,” your grin continued as you spotted your boyfriend, “hey baby,” though your laughter finally began to fade. 

Staring daggers at the man beside you, Rafe then uttered coldly, “hey,” before his feet carried him straight towards you, seized your waist and twisted you away from your friend and towards himself to capture your lips. 

“Okay, right,” Oliver exhaled as Rafe kept marking his territory, kissing you way more passionately than he needed to, “I’ll just see you guys back in the living room then…”

You tried to tilt away enough to utter your friend a reply, though your boyfriend didn’t allow you, only let you go once Oliver was long gone and Rafe returned to his original plan of cracking open the fridge to get a cold beer for himself. 

Walking back out into the living room while your boyfriend scavenged for a bottle opener, you plopped yourself back down on the couch, on the opposite side to where Brian and Jerome were snuggled up. Next to where the lit fireplace crackled sat Oliver in a chair and not far from his feet on the fuzzy carpet rested Hana, legs crisscrossed as she held up her wine glass to stare through it. 

When Rafe rejoined you all, a freshly glowing cigarette trapped between his lips as he sauntered out of the kitchen, he situated himself right beside you, making space for himself where there hadn’t really been previously. In his hand, he didn’t just balance his own drink, but also a stout glass filled with an amber liquid, one he swiftly handed off to you even though you hadn’t asked for it, yet that had still been the routine of the evening, and after the first one was sloshing on your belly, the others became harder to deny and not accidentally sip absentmindedly, especially when he’d playfully help you along by tilting the glass the remaining distance up towards your lips. 

“Sweetie,” Hana soon leaned closer to utter for your ears only, “don’t you want a glass of water instead?” 

Though your boyfriend beside you unfortunately overheard and grasped his cigarette between two of his longer fingers, a puff of smoke accompanying his words as he answered before you got the chance to, “she’s fine.”

From across the couch, as Hana scooted back to her spot on the carpet, having not caught the quiet interaction, Brian then suggested, “why don’t we play a game or something?” 

“What, like truth or dare?” Hana leaned back against an unoccupied armchair. 

“No, this isn’t a slumber party. Isn’t there like board games here?”

Brian’s glance then drifted to Rafe as he smothered his cigarette in the nearby ashtray and, without warning, pulled you into his lap and caught Oliver’s eye from across the room as he shamelessly let his hands wander across your frame.  

“Uh, yeah. There should be some in the cabinet over there,” Rafe vaguely gestured before his lips began to nip at the side of your neck, making your eyes flutter and only half watched along as Brian then got up to skim through the aforementioned cupboard. 

“Okay,” he glanced through the options, “there are cards, so we could play poker or something,”

“No way,” Oliver swiftly shook his head and shot a glance at Jerome’s bulky form, comfortably slumped on the couch, “I’m not repeating that fiasco again.” 

“Aw,” Brian glanced back at his friend, “but it was so cute seeing my boyfriend fucking demolish you,” and Jerome, the quiet man he was, just let out a grunt in agreement.

“No, pick something else,” Oliver waved a hand. 

“Well, we’ve got monopoly, scrabble, cards against humanity–, uh! There’s clue!” he excitedly picked up the box and spun around, “oh, work! Let’s play that!” 

With his kisses still dancing along your skin, they then suddenly ceased as Rafe announced, “you guys go ahead, I think Y/n is ready for bed.” 

Shooting a concerned glance at how your intoxicated form wobbled slightly as your boyfriend helped you up on your feet, Hana uttered, “oh, are you sure?” 

“She is,” Rafe’s touch clung to you, “aren’t you babe?” 

“Oh, uhm…” you hadn’t really noticed it before, but now that he mentioned it, as if he himself planted the thought in your hazy mind, all of the alcohol had in fact made you pretty sleepy, “yeah, I guess so.” 

“Alright, well then,” Hana’s voice stayed slightly hesitant, “sleep tight.”

“I love you guys,” you blew the group kisses as Rafe helped you over towards the stairs. 

His kisses made you even more dizzy than you already were, so when you stumbled over the threshold into your shared room, you flopped down onto the mattress, though you weren’t quite sure if you’d just fallen or if Rafe had manhandled your intoxicated and pliant frame, giving you a push before his form was atop of yours. 

Though now that you were horizontal and with the weight of a frat boy squishing you further down into the bed, that was when you truly noticed just how much you’d had to drink that evening. 

The room was spinning as Rafe made out with you, his palms raking across your body like a wild storm, squeezing every soft curve he could get his hands on. As one hand disappeared up your skirt, his kisses wandered down and over your throat to the bit of your chest that was exposed in the neckline of your top. Wasting no time at all, he then yanked down the hem, catching one of the cups of your bra as well as he unwrapped your tit like a present. 

As his face was buried in your boobs, surely giving you hickeys from the way that he sucked at your pebbly nipple and the surrounding sensitive skin, a breathless attempt at halting his affections left your lungs, “baby–” 

Though he didn’t take the whimper as you’d intended it and simply continued, “shit, you’re so fucking hot,” he yanked down the other sliver of mesh fabric covering your other boob, “god, these tits are just insane.” 

Weakly, you ran your fingers through his buzzed hair and gasped as you felt his hardness grind into your covered core, “Rafe, I–” 

“Yeah?” his lips began to flutter back up to your own as he let himself rock against you with more intent, “you want this big dick, huh?” 

“No, we can’t, we don’t have a–”

“Oh come on, baby,” he shifted, slipping a hand down under the waistband of your skirt and into your underwear, not hesitating to sweep his fingers through your wetness and bully your little button, “I know you want to…” 

“Stop, that feels too good,” you tried, but couldn’t yank his strong hand away, “you can’t–, I have to get up and brush my teeth.” 

“You know, all my exes let me tap it raw,” he purred in your ear and attempted to guilt you, “why won’t you? Don’t you trust me?” his touch then suddenly disappeared, but only to tug down the zipper on the side of your short skirt.

“Of course I do, I just–”

“Then why won’t you let me make you feel good, huh?” he yanked both your skirt and panties down your legs, so fast it nearly gave you whiplash. Crawling off of your jelly-like form, he stood tall and loomed at the foot of the bed. Wasting no time, he yanked your core closer to the edge before he desperately freed his fat cock. The taps he then offered your glistening cunt, letting you reel in the weight of his length, “doesn’t that feel nice, baby?” he smirked at the way your mouth fell open, “because it sure seems like your little pussy thinks so, just look,” you followed his command and glanced down to spot how his intimidating girth nudged at your weepy petals. 

Even after months of dating, you still hadn’t gotten used to the daunting size of him. 

“Oh, fuck…” your brows knitted together. 

“Just listen to that,” he flicked the bulbous tip through your slick folds with more vigour, causing the melody of your want to echo even louder throughout the bedroom, “you’re so fucking wet. You want it so bad…”

You then felt yourself fade away into the intoxicating sensation, letting him continue to fuck your fold and make your pussy drool even further till your eyes fluttered shut. 

However, it didn’t take very long at all, through all of the hazy motions, before the very tip of him caught your entrance and slipped inside. 

“Rafe!” you gasped, eyes snapping back open as your spine lurched off the mattress just an inch. 

“Fuck,” he let out a loud groan, “sorry, babe. You’re just too soaked, it slipped in,” though didn’t move at all to pull it back out, since it had secretly been completely on purpose, “christ, you’re so tight…”

As he slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side, you pleaded once more, “Rafe…” quietly begging for him to take it out through the conflicting haze as the familiar sensation of him stuffing you full always shut your brain completely off.

“This doesn’t count,” he claimed as he began to move, pumping just the bulbous head of himself in and out of your little hole, “not really. I can fuck you with just the tip, right?” a few of his fingers then lowered to strum your clit and summon a loud moan from deep within your soul, “yeah, that’s what I thought…”

As he removed his fingers from your clit, he then stuffed them in your mouth, muffling your soft whimpers and letting you suck them clean of your juices. As the taste of yourself coated your tongue, your own hands came up to clutch his, holding it near as you soon let your pecks wander across his palm and even down to plant a soft kiss to the gold ring that never left his finger.

“Oh–,” a gasp then left your lungs as he suddenly pushed in a bit more of his length, “Rafe, that’s too deep,” selfishly letting himself feel more of your warmth. 

“No, that’s not too deep,” he began to fuck you properly, making you lose your breath, “you wanna know what is too deep?” a purposefully harsh thrust then buried itself so far inside of you that a tingle of pain joined the pleasure, “that’s too deep,” he then retracted just a tad, though still filled you up completely with each long stroke, “this is just right.” 

“We can’t–,” you foggily tried to shake your head. 

“Yes, we can. Just look how good you’re taking me, baby,” the palm you’d been clutching then escaped your grasp and scooped behind your head to tilt your neck and lock it there, directing your glance down between your bodies and forcing you to spot the faint bulge that appeared at each one of his mind-melting thrusts, “you don’t wanna stop…”

Feeling that all too familiar high begin to fuzz up your periphery, you trembled, “o-oh, fuck…” 

“You feel so fucking good…” he grunted as your pussy began to clench around his fat girth, “just let me use you for a bit, yeah?” 

“I–, I–,” gasps of air expanded your lungs as his pace then thrust you over the edge, “holy shit…” and your cunt helplessly clambered around him. 

In your orgasmic haze, Rafe then abruptly flipped you around for you to lay on your stomach, and you barely managed to process it before you felt the weight of him settle atop of you, smooshing you down into the mattress as he slid back in. 

“Ah!” you yelped at the way he didn’t hold back, “Rafe, it’s too much,” not even bothering to grant you a chance to recover, but simply fucked through your soreness, “I can’t–”

“Oh, shut up, you can take it,” he growled in your ear, his feet hooking your ankles and spreading your shaky legs further for him, “take it like the good little slut you are.”

It was strange how he’d taught your body to love the pain he inflicted. Even if the source was just his god-given gift of a girth, or curse, all depending on your point of view, and not the roughness he occasionally let slip out of the dark depths he tried to hide his jagged sides in for you and you alone.  

“Fuck,” you soon heard him groan as his heavy sack slapped against your cunt at each one of his furious rocks, “I’m gonna cum!” 

“Pull out–,” you managed to mumble into the sheets.

“What?” he kept on pounding your poor pussy. 

“Not inside,” you tilted your head a bit to beg, “please!”

“Oh my god, fine,” he then begrudgingly pulled out and with one hand flipped you back onto your stomach as the other wrapped around his cock and he began to fuck his fist. Pushing himself up onto his knees, he crawled further up your body till his thighs caged you in, denting the mattress on either side of your face. He didn’t even wait for your lips to part before he shoved his dick down your throat, making you gag as he groaned loudly above you, “fuck…” and fed you his load.  

When he soon flopped down on the bed beside you, the both of you catching your breaths, you instinctively gulped down what he’d given you before you curled your frame into his side. 

As he wrapped an arm beneath your head, his glance then flickered down to you as he caught your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting you up to him before he asked, “did you swallow it?” digging his digit slightly into your skin and making you open your mouth for him, letting him discover the answer him himself, “fuck… that’s my girl…” he groaned before dipping down to kiss you. 

The peck however didn’t carry on for long as his warmth then suddenly disappeared. 

“Where are you going?” you watched as he got up, reaching out your arms to him in a silent plea for cuddles. 

“I’m thirsty,” he zipped his pants back up, though didn’t bother with his shirt, “you just try and fall asleep, I’ll be right back.” 

Flashing him a drowsy smile, “okay,” you then tug the duvet over your form and let your gaze shadow him as he made his way out of the room. 

You thought you hadn’t managed to fall asleep, but evidently, you had as when the door to the room suddenly burst open, you were jolted awake, Rafe as well stirring as he was now settled behind you with an arm draped over your frame. 

As three of your friends rushed to slam the door behind them, Rafe propped himself up and mumbled, “hey, what the fuck–”

But Hana then cut him off, a downright terrified look plastered not only all over her own face, but the rest as well.

“Oliver’s dead,” she uttered through the tears that thickened up her voice. 

Still groggy, you slowly sat up and murmured, “what?”

Snapping her bloodshot eyes to lock with yours, she bellowed, “Oliver is fucking dead!” 

As your gaze flickered over the group in search of any sign that what she claimed wasn’t true, you heard Rafe behind you exhale, “okay, this isn’t funny.”

“Oh shut up, you dick!” Brian shot back, doubled over in the corner, hyperventilating as Jerome kneeled before him, trying to calm him down. 

“Hey, hey,” you gently raised up a hand, “don’t talk to him like that. What the hell do you mean Oliver is dead?”

“I mean that he’s dead as in dead, dead,” Hana explained, her words causing the world to suddenly crumble all around you, “Jerome went outside to get something from the car and found him on the porch, not moving and with his head stuck under the water in the hot tub.” 

With tears now stinging the corners of your eyes, you struggled to suck in a breath of air, “what?”

“It’s that fucking ghost story you told us,” Brian panicked in the corner, “it’s real, isn’t it?” 

“Okay,” Rafe uttered as the both of you leapt out of bed and scrambled to get some clothes on, “let’s all just calm down.”

“We gotta call the police,” Hana said, to which Jerome swiftly pulled out his phone, only to then curse quietly as he discovered what Brian too noticed when he glanced over his shoulder. 

“Fuck, we can’t, there’s no signal!”

Hana then glanced around at everyone, “well then one of us has gotta drive and find some, right?” 

“Hell no,” Brian shuttered, “if there’s some psycho out in these woods, then I’m not staying behind to get murdered. We’re all going.”

So that’s how, after you’d all scurried downstairs and filtered out through the sliding door to the porch, that you saw the truth with your own eyes. 

Even though his head was obscured beneath water, the unmoving corpse of your dear friend still caught your eyes and stopped you in your tracks.

“Oh my god…” you sobbed, your blood running cold. 

But before you could let your feet carry you closer to the scene of the crime, Rafe seized your arm and uttered, “baby, come on,” before pulling you along the last short distance towards the cars, “I’m sorry, but we gotta go.”

Though when you did reach the vehicles and attempted to start them, neither one of them would as they’d seemingly been tampered with, forcing the panicked lot of you all to run back inside. 

“Shit…” Brian clutched onto the back of the couch in the living room for support, “what do we do now?”

“We can’t go on foot, not in the dark through this forest,” Rafe spoke, “so we gotta stay here till morning.”

Glancing around the space, Hana uttered, “then we gotta make this place safe. Lock all the doors and windows, find somewhere to hide.” 

“Yeah, good idea,” your boyfriend nodded before suggesting, “let’s split up, it’ll be faster that way. Y/n with me, we’ll take that side of the house, and the rest of you stay over here.” 

And before anyone could protest, he’d yanked you down a dark hallway.

You nearly stumbled twice as Rafe dragged your shaking visage through the lake house, only stopping once you’d reached a large closet. 

“In here, baby,” he shoved you inside, though began to shut the door before he nuzzled himself in as well. 

“No, what are you doing?” tears streaming down your face, you attempted to stop him. 

Though he only halted his efforts a second, grasping your face as he uttered, “please, just stay here.”

“No, it’s too dangerous,” you clutched onto his dark t-shirt, “you can’t–”

“Babe, I can’t let anything happen to you. I can’t lose you,” he then collided his lips with your own, a sob escaping your lungs as he briefly kissed you, “please, just stay right here, hide, for me.” 

Slowly, you loosened your trembling grip on his shirt and cried, “I love you.” 

“I’ll be right back!” he promised before shutting the closet door and bathing you in darkness. 

You had no idea how much time passed, if it was only a few seconds or hours that you stayed in the dusty and dim abyss of that closet, but then when a loud crash and a shrill scream suddenly found your ears, your shaky hand pushed the door back open.

You’d never in your life been as terrified as you were when you found yourself tip-toeing down that long, dark hallway. Though, as you sneaked past the ajar door to the study, your entire body suddenly froze up at the massacre that met you within. 

Unmoving and slumped over the threshold, there lied Jerome, his face beaten to a pulp, rendering it nearly unrecognisable as blood slowly trickled into the tight curls on the top of his head. 

Past where Hana was lying in the middle of the room, battered and coughing, in the corner you saw as a tall figure, masked by a dark motorcycle helmet, crouched over the still form of Brian and landed the last few blows to claim his life. 

“Please,” Hana’s words were gurgled by blood as the killer slowly straightened back up. Twisting ever so slightly, the assailant plucked out one of the clubs from the gold bag that leaned against one of the tall bookcases, “just let me go,” your last living friend begged as you watched the murderer wrap his long fingers around the handle and take the few steps to where Hana lied, “just let me–” 

As he took a wide swing and hit your friend right in her temple, the loud crack that echoed throughout the cabin made you shutter in terror and let out an uncontrollable scream, causing the killer’s head to snap up to spot you in the dark hallway. 

For a second you both just stood there, frozen and staring at one another, like two deer in headlights. But then, as he began to move, taking his time as he stepped over the bodies littering his path, you stumbled back and collided with the wall directly behind you. 

You tried to run, but even though you managed to slip out the wide glass doors and escape a good distance into the dark forest surrounding the house, the masked man still caught up to you and flung you against a tree. As he had you cornered, you felt him drag the cold tip of the golf club up your right leg and over your shuttering skin, drawing a crimson line of your beloved’s blood across your goosebump-ridden flesh. 

“P-please don’t kill me, please–,” you cried, but just then, the moonlight that streamed through the dense treetops caught in a glint of gold that adorned the hand that clutched the club, a recognizable ring that caused your heart to drop. 

As your eyes then flickered up to the dark helmet, that too seemed oddly familiar now that you truly looked at it. 

In some sick and twisted way, you hoped that the killer had just stolen the jewellery from your boyfriend as a trophy of the night’s conquest and not the horrifying alternative. 

But when you then tried to slip away and the man pushed you back, your hands defensively shot up, though only managed to knock the helmet off his head and let it tumble to the dark forest floor below, unveiling the earth-shattering truth. 

“Oh my god…” you gasped, eyes wide as you now stood face to face with your boyfriend. 

“Shh,” he took a step closer to you, caging you in even further, “calm down, baby. Don’t do anything stupid now.” 

“They–… they were right…” the warnings your now deceased friends had given you since the moment you got involved with the frat boy buzzed in your mind, though when they’d light-heartedly called him a psycho, you never in your wildest dreams thought that they would have been correct in their choice of words, “I can’t believe they were right…”

A low sigh then escaped Rafe’s lungs. 

“You really should have just stayed hidden like I told you to… I didn’t want you to find out this way… it would have been so much simpler if you’d just bought into the story I made up…” 

“You killed my friends…” your chest ached with every painful gasp of air, “how–… how could you?” 

“Oh, honey…” his head tilted slightly as the corners of his lips twitched, “do you really think this is my first time?” 

Staring back at him in horror, you sputtered, “w-why?”

“Because of you,” he uttered as if it was obvious, “it was all for you,” his feet shifted him even closer to you, “they were a bad influence, so this was the only way.”

“They were my family!” 

“They were like a poison, all of them, trying to control you, trying to take you away from me,” he inched in even closer, making you wish the harsh bark that scratched up your spine would simply open up like a portal and let you escape, “I know Hana was trying to get you to break up with me… Oliver always followed you around like a lost puppy, just hoping you’d one day spread your legs for him… and Jerome and Brian? They were just plain annoying,” his hot breath fanned across your skin as he petted the edges of your features with a knuckle of the hand clutching the golf club, “I did it all for you, for us, because I love you… fuck, you have no idea how much I fucking love you, baby…” he uttered before bringing the bud of the improvised weapon down upon the side of your head and knocking you clean out. 

When you came to, the flicking light from a lit fireplace was the only source of light in the dim room you found yourself in. Arms folded up behind your head, a long rope was tangled around them and stretched up to a beam in the ceiling above. Your legs too were tied, keeping your naked frame upright and locked in place in the middle of the room. 

“Fucking finally,” a low voice echoed from the chair across the chamber, causing you to wince as the tone pierced your soul and worsened your splitting headache, “you really took your sweet time waking up.” 

Blinking back at your boyfriend as he leaned back in the seat, pants undone and his hard length tight in his fist, a murmur escaped your lips, “…you knocked me out…”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” he got up and walked towards your suspended form, “but you didn’t give me any other choice.” 

As he slowly neared you, your glossy eyes flickered up to meet his.

“Rafe, please,” you heard your voice break as you tried to keep your tone soft, “you don’t have to do this. Just untie me, I promise I won’t be mad at you.”

“Oh yeah?” a small scoff slipped through his smirk. 

“Yes. I’ll do whatever you want, just please let me go,” you begged, “please don’t hurt me.” 

“Shh, shh,” his palm rose up to stroke your hair before letting it rush down and over the curves of your exposed body, “but you’ve been such a bad girl. I think you deserve a lesson that hurts a little bit,” his palm then slapped your pussy, still soaked and sore from earlier, rendering you to let out a shrill yelp, “it’s okay, you can cry…” he briefly leaned in to kiss your cheek before he shifted, though still staying so close that his nose ghosted along your skin as he made his way around to stand directly behind you, “you look so pretty when you do…”

You then squirmed as he reached down to grasp his cock and nudge at your sensitive entrance, “Rafe, please–, ah!” a cry then left your form as he ruthlessly rammed his way inside, plugging you up so completely that his balls nuzzled against your slick skin. 

“Fuck!” his moan tickled the shell of your ear as he tangled his arms around your torso, “you’re so perfect…” he began to move, finding a selfish pace to wreck you with, “so perfect and all mine…” 

As his thrusts caused your tits to jiggle, one of his wide hands soared up to grasp one while the other one snaked up to wrap around your throat. He then squeezed it fiercely enough that all your noises eventually faded away and he kept you completely quiet for a good moment before his hold slackened and he once again granted you the privilege of gasping for air. 

“This is all you need, just me, only me,” he grunted, “just like this, using your pretty little hole for exactly what it was made for… you were made for me and nobody else… no one…”

His grip then drifted down to dent your hips before he lifted them, raising your bound frame till your tip toes were barely grazing the cold floor. Your back arched slightly as he repeatedly brought your hips back to him, his balls sloppily slapping against your swollen clit each time he manoeuvred your body and treated you like a toy. 

When he then hooked an arm around your front to keep moving your body greedily against him, it granted the other one the grace to roam your frame freely. 

As his fingers found one of your nipples in a harsh pinch, he let out a groan at the way you began to clamper down around his fat girth, “are you gonna cum, baby? Huh?” his palm then slapped your tit, “because it sure fucking feels like you’re close,” before he suddenly retracted completely, slipping out of your drooling cunt and causing a shy whimper to slip from your lips, one he swiftly cut off when he smacked your cheek, “too bad. You’re not allowed to.” 

As you shakily struggled to stay on your unsteady feet, you panted, “Rafe, my legs, I can’t–”

“Oh yeah?” he mockingly pouted at you as he sauntered around to your front, “do they hurt? Are you tired?” and as you offered him a nod, his fingers grasped your chin, “well,” his thumb slowly stretched up to trace your bottom lip, “if you promise that you’ll be a good girl for me, then I’ll give you a little break.”

“Yes, I will,” a tear rolled down your still stinging cheek. 

“You will what?” his palm briefly slapped the side of your face once again before returning to the same hold. 

“I’ll be your good girl, I’ll do whatever you want,” you begged and as he then sank down to his knees, grabbed a pocketknife resting on a nearby table and held up his end of the bargain, slicing through the ropes at your legs and cutting them loose. A new wave of sobs tumbled out of your form, “thank you! Oh, thank you so much!”

Tossing the blade far away before he rose back up, “you’re fucking welcome, baby,” he then caught you off guard as he suddenly plucked your lower half up into his arms. 

“W-wait, I thought you’d give me a break!” your legs trembled in his grasp as he slide you back onto his fat cock. 

“Yeah, your legs were tired, so I’m being nice and giving them a break,” the wet claps of your skin roughly colliding once again filled the dark room, “your pussy doesn’t deserve one yet… unless of course, this is you begging me to fuck your ass…” a wicked wish that he’d been begging you for ever since the very first time he banged you. 

“No! No, not there, please, I’ve never–”

“Oh, I know you haven’t,” he smirked, “that’s what makes it so much more fun…”

“Please, Rafe,” you blinked back at him, “don’t.”

“You told me I could do whatever I want…” he angled his bucks right against that spot that caused your teeth to dig into your lower lip, “you promised to be a good girl for me and just take whatever I give you…” 

“I will,” your eyes couldn’t help but flutter, “just please not that.”

He then let a dollop of his spit splatter directly against your face, “alright, but only because I love you,” before he dipped down to plant a feverish kiss against your lips, “tell me that you love me too.”

“I love you,” you murmured against his mouth. 

“Huh?” one of his hands let go of you and he shifted to balance you with only one, letting the other instead drift down between your forms to bully your puffy pearl, “what was that?”

“I lo–, a-ah!” you suddenly whined as he pressed one of his fingers inside your pussy, not caring in the slightest that you were already completely filled up as he forced his digit in alongside his fat cock. 

“Come on, baby,” he stared down at you, “tell me you love me,” and kept up his ruthless pace as he hooked the finger inside of you, “tell your soulmate just how much you love and adore him, how you want nothing more than to worship him at his feet.” 

“I–, I–, Rafe,” you gasped, feeling as if he was splitting you in half, “it’s too much–”

“No, it’s not too much, it’s exactly right, you can take it, baby.” 

“I can’t–”

“I don’t fucking care,” he continued to fuck you without remorse, slamming his intimidating length so deep inside of you that you nearly couldn’t breathe, “I wanna feel you cum, just like this.”

“Rafe–”

“Do it or I’ll get a lot meaner,” he warned you before he finally got what he wanted. Your squirt drizzled down on the floor as the intensity caused a scream to erupt from your form, “there you go, fuck,” he groaned as he watched your pussy gush around his girth, “that’s it,” before the way your cunt clambered down around him caused him to let go as well, “shit,” and pump you full of his cum. 

Rafe pressed a peck to your forehead before he pulled out of your warmth and you breathlessly glanced down to watch as his hot load began to leak out of your quivering hole. 

“Alright, baby,” he exhaled and then uttered words that caused a shiver to trickle down your spine, “foreplay’s over. I think you’re ready for your punishment now.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[fading-event-608]

A fig tree for pixel dailies.

"Figs are planted in most Palestinian cities. However, it is most common in two districts, Nablus — especially in the village of Tell — and Ramallah — namely in Silwad, which became known as Im-Qutteen (mother of dried figs). Other villages also have names relating to the fig, such as Teeneh (fig). There are also flat areas called masateeh referring to the places where figs are dried to produce qutteen.

The fig has long been linked to Palestinian cultural heritage because it is nutritious and filling, and thus a staple of the Palestinian diet. It was known in Palestine as far back as the Canaanites. Palestinians have their own terms for the fig: while it is forming, the fruit is taqsh, then faj and then ‘ajr. Other used terms are nafal and thbeel.

Old traditional sayings reflect the importance of figs in Palestine. For example: ‘I tasted the first fruit, I hope my life has a long route’; ‘Eat the figs from the early season and the grapes from the late season’;* and ‘If we have qutteen (dried figs), we are safe from hunger.'"

-from The Palestinian Museum which took that info from 'A Garden Among the Hills: The Floral Heritage of Palestine'

Trees, would it be olive trees (which I also have a drawing of) or fig ones are important in Palestine. Just like in other countries, they provide shade, fresh air and produce. But in Palestine, they are also a symbol of resistance - as long as family's tree is growing, they are growing too; as long as the tree is alive, they are alive too.

When Israeli occupiers takes Palestinian's homes that they've built over multiple generations, they take their trees that they groomed too. When IOF drops bombs on civilians, they take trees with them. They uproot the trees, they burn them - because those trees remind them of people they've killed and whose land they have taken.

It seems like the world is slowly growing numb to cries for help; it seems like people are closing their eyes and covering their ears to not see the Palestinian blood on their screens, to not hear them scream. And Israel sees that and continues it's aggression on Lebanon. After all, if they can get away with a year (76 years) of genocide, why not start another one?

Please take any action you can. Protest, boycott, keep your eyes on Palestine and please, please, please donate to Palestinian fundraisers. I have spotlighted one fundraiser, for Falastin's family evacuation funds from Gaza that she organized in late June - it is still very far away from it's goal.

There are 24 family members that depend on that fundraiser. They need not only evacuation funds but also money to buy basic necessities like food and medicine that are very expensive in Gaza right now. Recently Falastin started hearing them talk about waiting for their fate because the funds this campaign gets daily are not enough to ease their suffering and cover evacuation.

Please, do not let it happen. Please, donate and check conversion rates before you do as:

10$ = 103 SEK

25$ = 257 SEK

50$ = 515 SEK

100$ = 1,030 SEK

I've talked about this fundraiser before numerous times, a lot of info can be found on this post [here] or [here].

Vetting info: #282 in El-Shab-Hussein and Nabulsi's spreadsheet [here], #957 in the Butterfly Project spreadsheet [here]

I do semi-regular art updates (last one [here]) and accept commissions for proof of donations, please dm me for info as my art blog was terminated recenty.

[ccstiles]

I had originally posted this through a reblog of the art, but decided it would be easier to just make a post with it, but anyways

Fic inspired by this art and the trans!Penelope AU by @bigidiotenergytm , go check it out!!

(in the AU, Penelope's preferred name is Vasileios, just so you know!)

Could you love me again?

"Penelope..."

Odysseus said to himself, scared to open the oh so familiar doors in front of him.

He didn't know how she would react to him, to what he had become. Last she saw of him, he was simply a man going off to war, to help his brotherin, but now... He was caked in blood, and looked like he hadn't seen a bath in years.

He took a deep breath, gathering as much courage as he could, and he pushed the doors open.

His eyes were stuck to the floor, unable to look up at his wife that he knew was standing there.

"Is it you?"

Odysseus was expecting a soft voice to greet him, not knowing if it was going to be filled with hurt, anger, or love.

"Have my prayers been answered?"

But as he heard who was speaking to him, his eyes widened, not expecting the voice he was greeted with.

"Is it really you standing there? Or am I dreaming once more?"

Odysseus began to look up as the deeper voice registered in his mind.

"You look different. Your eyes look tired, your frame is lighter, your smile torn."

Finally, as his eyes landed on the person that was speaking, he felt his heart drop.

"Is it really you my love?"

It wasn't her.

Where was she?

"Who... Who are you?" Odysseus asked the person, the man, in front of him, his anger growing as he continued to speak, "what have you done to my wife?"

"Ody," the man began to take a step towards Odysseus, but he was quick to draw the sword at his hip.

"Where is Penelope?!" He all but yelled, staring down the man in front of him, threatening him with his sword.

"Odysseus, it's me," the man in front of him stepped back, figuring it best to reason with the angered king at a distance.

Odysseus stared for a moment at the man, his face seeming familiar yet not at the same time, his voice, deep but still light as he talked, and his eyes...

The eyes he saw every time he closed his own to sleep. Eyes that both haunted and eased him any time he thought of them during his 20 year long journey.

Her eyes.

His eyes?

Odysseus lowered his sword as these thoughts raced through his mind.

"....Penny?" His voice was quiet, confused and curious as the pieces started to click into place in his head.

The man nodded, still uncertain as he brought his hands to his chest in comfort, something she- he? Would always do when upset.

"Vasileios," he corrected quietly, scared at how Odysseus would react to the name. "I... I know I am different," Vasileios continued, "I am not the woman you fell in love with, the woman you were looking to be with when you returned."

Odysseus' shoulders began to lower as Penelope- Vasileios? talked. He took the other in, everything that was the same and everything that was different.

"...neither am I" Odysseus stated, "I am not the man you fell for under the olive tree all those years ago. I've done so much..."

As the two lovers looked at each other, at what they had become, fear struck them both that all this waiting was for nothing, that they couldn't love each other as they had 20 years ago.

"... What have you done?" Vasileios asked, curious.

"So much," Odysseus breathed, like the weight of his actions suffocated him, "killed, betrayed, hurt, crossed, everyone I saw. Gods, mortals, giants and monsters, none escaped the bloodshed."

Vasileios looked at him with sympathy in his eyes, listening as Odysseus laid his sins out for the other to see.

"Would... Would you ever fall in love with me again?" Odysseus braced himself as he asked the question that rattled around in his brain. After everything he'd done, after the monster he had become, would he love him the same?

"...I knew that those years at war and years disappeared would leave you with blood on your hands. I was prepared to see you with horrors of war painted across your thoughts and dreams." Vasileios' face softened as he spilled his own heart out for Odysseus, "You are still the man I fell for, the man I married, even if you have crossed those that once trusted you, I still love you. I never stopped."

Odysseus was shocked at his words, his eyes filling with tears and his heart filling with love knowing that even after the horrors he had committed, they didn't matter to him.

"But..." Vasileios looked down as he fidgeted with his hands, "could you ever love me again?"

Odysseus felt his heart break, hearing the sadness and fear in the other's voice.

"Pen- Vasileios," Odysseus corrected himself as he slowly walked towards the other, letting his sword drop onto a nearby table, "my love. No matter how you change, no matter if your voice deepens, if you grow hair on your chin and cheeks, if your muscles tone, if anything, you are still you. You are still the mind that interested and intrigued me, the soul I connected with, the person I love and married. No matter how your physical body changes, you are still you; the person I love."

Odysseus' vision blurred with tears as Vasileios ran to embrace him, feeling tears on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around his lover, never wanting to let go ever again.

They stood there in a tight embrace, scared that if they let go that the other would disappear.

Vasileios slowly pulled away to look up at Odysseus, cupping his cheek in his hand.

"How long has it been?" Vasileios asked, tears still falling.

"20 years..." Odysseus sighed, bringing his forehead to rest on Vasileios'.

"I love you"

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 26 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇I can’t tell if I should stop it after they get married or make the continuing chapters about them early marriage, also this one’s a long chapter.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The week had passed with an uneasy calm. Telemachus and Y/N were lounging under the shade of an olive tree near the palace gardens, her head resting on his lap as he absentmindedly played with her hair. She was smiling softly, feeling the warmth of his hand as he combed through her locks. “You know,” she said, breaking the silence, “for a guy who fought off suitors and snuck around secret passageways, you’re surprisingly calm now.”

Telemachus chuckled. “I have you to thank for that. You’ve been my calm in the storm.”

Before she could respond, a palace servant appeared, bowing respectfully. “My lord Telemachus, the king and queen have requested your presence in the main hall. Alone.”

She immediately sat up, glancing at Telemachus with curiosity and slight worry. “What do they want with you?”

Telemachus shrugged but felt a knot of anxiety twist in his stomach. “I don’t know, but I’d better not keep them waiting.”

He kissed her forehead quickly before standing, brushing off his tunic. “Don’t go getting into trouble while I’m gone.”

She smirked. “Trouble? Me? Never.” With a grin, Telemachus followed the servant into the palace, his nerves growing with each step. When he entered the hall, Odysseus and Penelope were seated side by side, their faces serious but not unkind.

“Son,” Odysseus began, his deep voice echoing in the room, “we have something important to discuss.”

Penelope offered a soft smile, her tone gentler. “Telemachus, it’s about Y/N.”

Telemachus blinked, his heart pounding. “Y/N? What about her?”

Odysseus leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You’ve proven your loyalty to her. Your love for her is clear. And after much deliberation, your mother and I agree that it’s time to solidify this bond—for the good of Ithaca and for your future.”

Penelope reached out, placing a comforting hand on her son’s arm. “We want you to marry her, Telemachus. In a month’s time.”

Telemachus froze. “A month?” he stammered.

“Yes,” Penelope said with a smile. “We believe it’s best for both of you to have this union sooner rather than later. The people will see it as a new chapter for Ithaca, a symbol of peace after the chaos.”

Odysseus, however, narrowed his eyes at his son. “You do intend to marry her, don’t you?”

“Of course I do!” Telemachus blurted out, his face heating. “I love her, I want to marry her, I just… a month? That’s so soon.”

Penelope chuckled softly, patting his hand. “Trust me, Telemachus, time will fly. You’ll see. Besides, I think she will be more than thrilled.”

Telemachus scratched the back of his neck, his nerves bubbling to the surface. “I just… I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Odysseus let out a bark of laughter. “Ready? You fought suitors, braved the seas, and stood against me without knowing who I was. If you can do that, you can handle a wedding.”

Telemachus sighed, his head spinning. “I guess there’s no point in arguing with either of you.”

Penelope leaned over and kissed his forehead. “That’s my boy. You’ll be fine, Telemachus. Just think about how happy you’ll make her.”

Telemachus nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah… I guess I’d better start practicing my vows.”As he left the hall, his mind reeled. A month. He loved y/n more than anything, but the thought of standing before the entire kingdom, of stepping into a new life as her husband, sent a wave of nervous excitement through him.

He made his way back to the gardens, already rehearsing how he’d break the news to y/n without tripping over his words. Telemachus found her exactly where he’d left her, sitting under the olive tree, her fingers idly plucking at the grass. She looked up as he approached, her lips curving into a soft smile. “Back so soon?” she teased, noticing the anxious look on his face. “What’s wrong? Did your parents scold you for sneaking around with me again?”

He chuckled nervously and sat beside her, fiddling with the hem of his tunic. “No, nothing like that… well, not exactly. They, uh, had something to tell me.”

She tilted her head, curious. “And what’s that?”

Telemachus hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “They, uh, want us to get married… in a month.”

She blinked at him, her expression calm and even. “That’s it?”

Telemachus gawked at her. “That’s it? Y/N, it’s in a month! That’s practically tomorrow!”

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “Honestly, I thought it would’ve happened sooner. You’re royalty, after all. Isn’t this kind of thing expected?”

“You thought—wait, you expected this?” Telemachus asked, utterly baffled.

“Of course,” she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I thought your parents would demand it the moment they found out about us. A month? That’s practically generous.”

Telemachus groaned, falling back onto the grass. “Great, so you’re perfectly fine while I’m over here losing my mind.”

She leaned over him, a teasing smile on her lips. “You’re overthinking, Telemachus. We’ve been through so much already—sneaking around, hiding from suitors, fighting for our lives. A wedding? That’s the easy part.”

He stared up at her, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to worry about messing up your vows in front of the entire kingdom.”

“Who says I’m not worried about tripping over my dress?” She shot back, poking his chest playfully. “We’ll survive it, just like we’ve survived everything else.”

Telemachus sighed, letting her words sink in. “You’re right. As always.”

“Of course I am,” she said with a smirk, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Now stop stressing and start thinking about what you’re going to wear. A month will pass before you know it.”

He groaned again, but her reassurance softened the tension in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, this whole marriage thing wouldn’t be so terrifying after all—especially with Y/N by his side. her lips curled into a mischievous grin as she sat back on the grass, watching Telemachus recover from his earlier nerves. She let the silence linger for a moment, letting him think he was safe, before dropping the bombshell.

“You know,” she started casually, plucking at a blade of grass, “once we’re married, that would technically make Antinous your brother-in-law.”

Telemachus froze. His eye twitched. Then, slowly, he sat up, his face twisting in utter horror. “Brother-in-law? Antinous?!”

She bit her lip, trying and failing to hold back her laughter as Telemachus threw his hands in the air and began pacing in frantic circles. “No, no, no! Absolutely not!” he ranted, pointing a finger at her as if accusing her of some heinous crime. “Do you realize what you’ve just said? Antinous, the Antinous—smug, arrogant, insufferable—would be family! My family!”

“Technically, he’s already my family,” she pointed out with a shrug, her tone innocent but her eyes dancing with amusement.

“That’s different!” Telemachus snapped, running his hands through his hair as though he were on the brink of losing his mind. “You’re stuck with him. I’m choosing this, and nowhere in that choice did I agree to him being involved!”

She chuckled, leaning back on her hands. “Come on, Telemachus. It’s not like you’ll have to sit around bonding with him. Though…” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “It might be fun to see you two try. Imagine the heartfelt brotherly talks.”

Telemachus whirled around, his face a mixture of disbelief and outrage. “Heartfelt talks?! Y/N, the man tried to kill me! He literally plotted to have me ambushed and thrown into the ocean! What am I supposed to say to him—‘Hey, thanks for the warm welcome, bro’?! No! Absolutely not!”

She couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst out laughing, clutching her stomach as Telemachus continued his tirade. “And another thing!” he ranted, gesturing wildly. “He’s always got that smug, punchable look on his face! How am I supposed to sit at a family dinner without wanting to throw the nearest plate at him?”

“Family dinners will be so fun,” she teased, wiping a tear from her eye as her laughter died down. “Just think, you and Antinous, side by side, passing bread rolls like civilized men.”

Telemachus groaned, dropping dramatically to his knees. “Y/N, I’m begging you. Don’t make me do this. There has to be a loophole, right? Maybe we can disown him? Or—”

“Telemachus,” she interrupted, leaning over to cup his face in her hands, her smile soft but still teasing. “You’re going to survive this. I promise. And if you behave, I might even make sure Antinous doesn’t tease you too much at the wedding.”

He groaned again, letting his forehead fall onto her shoulder. “I’ve fought monsters, Y/N. Literal monsters. But this? This might actually be the thing that breaks me.”

She just laughed, wrapping her arms around him. “You’ll be fine, brother-in-law.”Telemachus let out a strangled noise, and she couldn’t help but laugh even harder.

———

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, biting her fingernails—a habit she had long outgrown but couldn’t help revisiting. Her heart felt heavy, torn between guilt and anxiety as she thought about the dark, damp dungeon where her brother was being kept. It had been a week since everything went down—the suitors’ deaths, Odysseus’s dramatic return, and Antinous’s imprisonment. She hadn’t visited him once.

Her stomach twisted. What if he’s angry with me? What if he thinks I’ve abandoned him? She loved her brother, despite everything. Antinous had always been complicated—harsh, arrogant, and difficult to read—but she couldn’t shake the memories of the boy who used to protect her, the brother who shielded her from everything.

“Are you still thinking about him?” Telemachus’s voice broke her train of thought.

She looked up to see him leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed but his expression soft. She nodded slowly. “I can’t help it. It’s been a week, Telemachus. He’s my brother… I can’t stop thinking about how he must be feeling. Alone. Abandoned. I should’ve gone to see him by now.”

Telemachus walked over, sitting beside her on the bed. His jaw clenched briefly, but he forced a smile, hiding the venom he felt toward Antinous. “Y/N, listen. I know you care about him. I get it. But… don’t guilt yourself too much over this. He’s the one who made the choices that put him in that dungeon.”

“I know,” she whispered, looking down at her hands. “But he’s still my brother. And what if he thinks I’ve just forgotten about him? What if he thinks I hate him?” Telemachus sighed, resting a hand on her shoulder. He didn’t know how to navigate this. The thought of Antinous rotting in the dungeon brought him satisfaction, but seeing her this distraught? That wasn’t what he wanted.

“You’re overthinking it,” he said, his tone as soothing as he could manage. “He’s probably… fine.” He hesitated, not wanting to lie but also not wanting to encourage her to go. “You know Antinous. He’s too stubborn to sit down there worrying about whether or not you’re thinking about him. He’s probably spent the whole week plotting some clever insult to throw your way when you show up.”

She laughed softly, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely,” Telemachus said, leaning back on his hands. “It’s Antinous. He’s too proud to let a dungeon get the better of him.”

Her anxiety didn’t ease entirely, but she appreciated the effort Telemachus was making. She glanced over at him, noticing the faintest twitch in his jaw—he was trying hard to keep his dislike for Antinous under control. “You don’t have to pretend to like him, you know,” she said quietly.

Telemachus blinked, caught off guard, and then laughed awkwardly. “I’m not pretending to like him. I’m… tolerating him. For you.” He reached over to take her hand, squeezing it. “And because I know he’s important to you. That’s enough for me to—” He caught himself, searching for a word that didn’t betray his true feelings. “—put up with him.”

She smiled faintly, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Thank you, Telemachus. I know this isn’t easy for you.”

“It’s not,” he admitted with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “But I’ll survive. As long as you don’t start calling him my brother-in-law again.”That drew a real laugh from her, and Telemachus relaxed slightly. For now, at least, he could handle this. Even if it meant biting his tongue whenever Antinous came up.

——

The stone steps leading down to the dungeon were cold and damp, and each one felt heavier than the last as she descended into the dimly lit space. The faint drip of water echoed through the halls, and the air smelled of mildew and stale despair. She wrapped her arms around herself as if it would shield her from the oppressive atmosphere.

Her heart pounded in her chest. She hadn’t seen Antinous in a week—not since Odysseus had declared his punishment. The last memory she had of him was the look in his eyes as the guards dragged him away, his usual bravado shattered into something raw and bitter. Finally, she reached the cell where he was being held. A guard gave her a cautious look but didn’t stop her as she approached the iron bars. “Five minutes,” he muttered before stepping back to give them space.

Antinous sat on the floor, leaning against the wall with his arms resting on his knees. His once-pristine clothes were now torn and dirty, and his hair was disheveled. He looked thinner, weaker—but his sharp eyes flicked up to meet hers, and that familiar edge of defiance was still there. “Well, well,” he drawled, his voice rough from disuse. “Look who decided to grace me with her presence. I thought you’d forgotten all about me, dear sister.”

She flinched at the venom in his tone but held her ground. “I didn’t forget,” she said softly, gripping the bars. “I’ve been… I’ve been trying to figure out how to face you after everything that happened.”

Antinous raised an eyebrow, pushing himself to his feet. He stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “Face me? What exactly do you think I’m going to do from in here, Y/N? Lecture you to death?”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I just… I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to fix this.”

His jaw tightened, and he leaned against the bars, his face inches from hers. “Fix it? There’s nothing to fix, Y/N. You’re on their side now. Odysseus’s little pet, Telemachus’s future wife—congratulations, by the way.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“That’s not fair,” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. “You know I didn’t choose any of this. I didn’t choose to have to pick between my brother and the man I love. I—”

“The man you love?” Antinous cut her off, his voice rising. “You love him so much you’d let his father throw me into this pit like an animal? You love him so much that you’d just stand by while I rot down here?”

She recoiled, tears spilling down her cheeks. “That’s not true! I begged him to spare you! You’re still alive because of me!”

Antinous’s gaze softened for a brief moment, but he quickly masked it with a sneer. “And what a mercy this is,” he said bitterly, gesturing to his cell. “You really went above and beyond for me, Y/N.”

She shook her head, gripping the bars tighter. “I don’t know how to make you understand… I’m trying, Antinous. I’m trying to keep what little family I have left, but you make it so hard. You’re so angry all the time, and you can’t see past your hate for them to realize that I’m still here. I still love you!”

His eyes widened slightly at her words, but he quickly turned away, running a hand through his messy hair. “You shouldn’t,” he muttered.

She blinked, her breath catching. “What?”

Antinous faced the wall, his voice quieter now. “You shouldn’t love me. I’m a bastard, Y/N. I’ve done things you wouldn’t forgive me for if you knew. And now? Now I’m just a failure. A prisoner. A disgrace.”

She stepped as close to the bars as she could, her voice trembling but resolute. “You’re my brother. I don’t care what you’ve done, Antinous. I don’t care about any of it. You’re still my family, and I will never stop loving you.” He turned to her then, his face unreadable but his eyes glistening with something unspoken. For a moment, he seemed like the boy she used to know.

“You’re a fool,” he said finally, but his voice lacked its usual bite.

She smiled faintly through her tears. “Maybe. But I’m your fool.”

Antinous let out a quiet, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Go, y/n. You’ve done your duty as the good little sister. Go back to your prince.” She hesitated, wanting to say more, but the guard’s shadow loomed over her, signaling that her time was up. With a heavy heart, she stepped back, her eyes lingering on her brother one last time before she turned and walked away.

Antinous watched her go, his expression hardening again. But as soon as she was out of sight, he sat back down against the wall, running a hand over his face and letting out a shaky breath.

——

Y/N climbed the stairs from the dungeon slowly, her legs feeling like lead. Her encounter with Antinous replayed in her mind, the bitterness in his voice, the pain in his words. She wiped her eyes quickly as she reached Telemachus’s room, not wanting to let him see how deeply it had affected her.

Pushing open the door, she found Telemachus seated on the edge of his bed, flipping absently through a scroll. His brow furrowed when he noticed her face, streaked with remnants of tears, and he immediately set the scroll aside. “Y/N,” he said, standing up and walking toward her, concern etched into his features. “What happened? Did something go wrong?”

Without a word, she stepped into his arms, burying her face against his chest as her arms encircled his waist. She clung to him tightly, her body trembling slightly. Telemachus froze for a moment, startled by the intensity of her embrace, before wrapping his arms around her protectively.“You went to see him, didn’t you?” he asked softly, though his tone darkened with suspicion.

She nodded against his chest but didn’t lift her head to meet his eyes. “I had to,” she whispered. “I couldn’t just leave him down there without… without saying something.”

Telemachus tensed, his jaw clenching. “And what did he say to you?”

She hesitated, pulling back just enough to look up at him. Her eyes were glassy, and her lip quivered. “He’s angry. He thinks I’ve abandoned him… that I’ve chosen you over him.”

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Telemachus snapped, his frustration boiling to the surface. “You should choose me. He’s done nothing but bring chaos and ruin to this house, to you, and to my family!”

“Telemachus…” her voice was soft but pleading.

“No!” he barked, stepping away from her slightly, though his hands still rested on her shoulders. “I’ve been more than patient, Y/N. I’ve tried to understand your bond with him, but every time you cry over that bastard, I swear—” His voice dropped, cold and furious. “If he so much as says one more word to hurt you, I’ll march down there myself and have his head on a spike.”

Her breath hitched, and she reached up to cup his face with both hands. “Don’t say that,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Please, don’t. He’s still my brother, Telemachus. I love him, even if he’s broken and cruel. He’s still a part of me.”

Telemachus looked down at her, his stormy expression softening as he took in her tear-streaked face. He let out a slow breath, his hands moving to her waist as he pulled her close again. “I don’t want to lose you, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice gentler now. “But I can’t stand the thought of him hurting you anymore. It’s like… he doesn’t deserve to have someone like you care for him.”

She rested her forehead against his chest, her fingers gripping the fabric of his tunic. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t mean to hurt you. I just… I don’t know how to let go of him. He’s all I had for so long.”

Telemachus kissed the top of her head, his anger simmering down as he held her close. “I’ll protect you, no matter what,” he promised. “Even if it’s from him. But if he crosses a line, Y/N, I won’t hesitate. I love you too much to let him ruin you.”

She nodded, her tears soaking into his tunic. She didn’t want to think about what might happen if Antinous tested Telemachus’s patience, but for now, she let herself sink into his embrace, finding solace in his steady heartbeat.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

@f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy

@0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl

@dazedemery @tsmaruchan

@holywizardprincess @galaxygurlll @xo-cuteplosion-xo

[mattatouilletkachuk]

Can you write for Quinn with the “Can I sleep with you?” Prompt pls

Oliver The Orca || Quinn Hughes

Part of The Hockey Babies AU

Prompt: 29. “Can I sleep with you?”

Warnings: anxiety, fear of the future

WC: 6.8k

A/N: This was meant to be short and sweet jfc lol. I decided because it’s so long that I’d make this the origin for them in my Hockey Babies Au.

Summary: Since moving to Michigan as a child, you’ve been annoyed by the eldest child that lived next door. Neither of your parents care and insist on a camping trip before every school year.

Camping trips were not for you. You were meant for the city or at least a relatively mid-sized town. Not trees, bugs, and a tent that you had to put together yourself. Well, that last part was only somewhat true because after failing to put your tent together three times and watching it collapse Quinn had come over to help you. By help, it meant that you stood back and made sure not to touch anything, per his request. 

It happens every year. With your parents being friends with Ellen and Jim Hughes there was always a Summer camping trip before school started. When you asked your mother why she insisted that you go she simply told you that as you grow up life moves by fast and that close friends you once had growing up may not be around when you get older. Hence, the camping trip. 

You didn’t know much about your mom before your family moved to Michigan. In your defense, how much was a six-year-old supposed to know about their parents? 

Even when you were young, your mom liked to talk about her childhood and the one thing and person that was always a constant in her stories was a woman named Ellen. According to your mom, she and Ellen had gone to high school and college together. When they parted ways after graduation their communication slowly died out that was until you moved into your brand new house in Michigan. 

As your dad drove the van down the suburban streets filled with large houses, you couldn’t help but think that Michigan didn’t seem all that much different from anywhere else you had lived in your short six years. Your younger brother was excited enough for both of you. You weren’t easily annoyed by your brother but his nonsensical 4-year-old ramblings about everything he saw made you roll your eyes. He didn’t get it. He wasn’t leaving behind any friends or starting at a new school. If your family stayed here this is all he would ever remember, not the home or neighborhood you lived in before. 

Your dad seemed to notice your sour mood and tried to point things out that would usually catch your attention. He talked about how there would be more room for you to play, and that there was a lake nearby where you could swim in the summer. Your mom even suggested that you could learn how to ice skate during the winter when the lake froze over. None of it interested you until your dad told you that you would finally have your own bedroom. 

That made you perk up. At some point, you were sure that you had to have had your own bedroom at some point. You didn’t remember it because for as long as you could remember you shared a bedroom with your brother. For the rest of the drive, you sat back in your booster seat, thinking about how you would decorate it and if you could somehow convince your parents to let you have your own television. When you started school you could have sleepovers whenever you wanted!

That sounded nice. You’ve been trying to tell them since the few months since your birthday that you were a big girl now and six-year-olds are too old to share a bedroom with their brothers, especially a snot-nosed tattle tale like your brother.

The rest of your family chatted merrily, talking about all the great things living in this neighborhood would have, and how your dad’s new job would be great for the family because he’d be around a lot more. Your parents didn’t try to pull you back into the conversation, knowing that a neutral mood from you would be better than a grumpy one. 

Finally, when you pulled up to what was to be your new house, you couldn’t help but let out a gasp. It was large and white and there was even a porch. It was like one of those houses you saw in movies or on the covers of the magazines your mom read while waiting in line to buy her groceries. 

You refused to let yourself feel too excited about it, though. Your parents had to know that you didn’t approve of this move and that you were still upset about leaving your friends behind and your old home, and the fact that you had to get rid of half of your stuffed animals to make room in the van for a move you didn’t even want! 

You flinched when suddenly you heard your mother shriek and nearly jump out of the car, even though your dad had yet to put it into park. You watched in confusion as your mother waved her arms about to get some other woman’s attention. It seemed to work because the other woman turned away from what you presumed were her three sons, who had to be around the same age as you and your brother and embraced your mother in a tight hug. 

Finally pulling into the driveway slowly and parking the car, your dad went over to unbuckle your brother from his seat and just like your mother he scrambled out of the car to meet the children who were standing behind the woman mom was talking animatedly to. You watch from your seat as your mom introduces your brother to this strange new woman - you wonder if it’s Ellen, the one whom your mom has pictures of from when they were young. She looks similar, taller than your mom, leaner, and with the build of an athlete, and her blonde hair is a stark contrast to your own mom’s darker shade.

Even her smile is the same. You were told you were moving to be closer to your dad’s new job but now you can’t help but wonder if your mom knew that she would somehow be neighbors with her old friend. 

When your dad comes around to help unbuckle your booster seat, you sit back and let him, now eyeing the three boys in roller skates and hockey sticks. It’s the middle one you think that your brother is mainly talking to. Mainly because the youngest, either still a toddler or just a little bit older is holding onto his mom’s leg as he takes in the new people. The other one has to be the oldest, you think, with the way his face is set into a serious mask, and is the only one that has seemed to notice you. 

You don’t like that he’s watching you. You don’t know him but at that same time, that’s why you don’t put up resistance to being unbuckled, where normally you would have. You didn’t want to seem like a loser so quickly after moving here. You haven’t even stepped foot into your new house yet. 

When your dad helps you clamber out of the car, you make sure to grab your favorite stuffed animal that you were allowed to bring on the trip. When your parents had brought you to Build-a-Bear, they probably thought you’d get a regular bear or an expensive dog but instead, you picked an orca. An orca that you named Oliver who never once left your side. 

“Do I have to meet them?” you pulled on your dad’s shirt so that you could be face-to-face with him. You could see that he was trying to hold back a laugh but a light smile still found its way onto his lips. He wasn’t fooling you, though. With as much seriousness as you could muster on your small round face, you continued, “Can’t we see the house first and see these people tomorrow?”

Your dad sighed and replied, “Your mom and brother are already over there. Your mom is catching up with an old friend and your brother, it looks like is making a new friend himself.”

You grumbled something under your breath but your dad ignored it.

“We won’t stay out here for long and it’s nice to get to know you’re neighbors.” He added. “If you get too nervous or you want to leave squeeze your stuffed animal or hand him to me and I’ll get the message that it’s time to go.”

“Oliver,” you muttered. “His name is Oliver.”

He patted down your hair which had gotten more messy as the day went on and hummed apologetically, “I’m sorry, will you tell Oliver that?”

You nodded and with Oliver tucked under one arm, you grabbed your dad’s hand with the other and walked over to the others. You dropped his hand but remained close by, even when he moved closer to your mom and threw his arm around her.

When your mom finally noticed you she introduced you to everyone, “This is my daughter,” your mom announced. 

After telling them all your names, the other woman laughed. It was bright and kind. “You always did say if you had a daughter one day, that’s what you would name her.”

They shared one more laugh before your mom continued, “Darling, this is Luke,” he was still holding onto his mom’s leg and you noticed his hair was the brightest. Up close you realized that your original guess of four was wrong. He was barely three years old. You waved shyly at the younger boy and smiled, “This is Jack, he claims to like hockey more than his brothers,” which made the tallest one huff a breathy laugh. “He’s the same age as your brother, isn’t that nice?”

You weren’t sure what to say to that so you just nodded.

“This one, right here,” your mom said with a smile and a twinkle in her eyes that you couldn’t decipher, “is Quinn. He’s the oldest and just so happens to be around your age.”

You took him all in now that you were only standing a few feet away. His hair was much darker and his complexion was pale, you couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like in the winter. He didn’t smile but his eyes weren’t unkind. 

He broke the silence well by holding up his hand for you to shake.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he politely said. You replied, saying the same thing and holding Oliver closer to you. 

You wouldn’t consider yourself a shy child but it was the way that everyone was so engrossed in the conversation the adults were having while Quinn kept his eyes on you the whole time. You couldn’t pinpoint how it made you feel. You were annoyed that you were singled out but at the same time, a warm buzzing feeling hummed through you as you were the sole focus of someone’s attention. 

It all felt like too much, though, and eventually, you handed your stuffed animal to your dad. He was a man of his word and in less than five minutes your mom was wrapping up her conversation with Ellen.

You thought the interaction was over but as you had turned to walk away Ellen shouted one last thing that made your mom’s ears perk up. She turned around and Ellen said, “Every summer before school begins we go on a camping trip. We go for about three days. We leave in a week, I’d love it if you could all come.”  

Without looking at your brother or you, or your father for that matter, your mother agreed happily. You know that meant that before you were even unpacked she would drag everyone to the store to buy camping gear. 

This time you truly thought you were done because now your parents had started to walk out of earshot and Ellen had started to help Luke take off his roller skates. 

However, loud enough for you to hear but quiet enough for everyone else not to, you heard Quinn utter the words, “Don’t forget to bring your orca on the trip.”

You didn’t stop, exactly. You tripped on an uneven part of the sidewalk and managed to catch yourself before falling flat on your face. You looked back at the oldest Hughes and saw that he was gone. 

You weren’t a drama queen, no matter how many relatives tried to tell you you were. You were picky and you knew what you liked but you never expected others to understand, that would have been rude. However, how had Quinn known that Oliver was an Orca? Nobody knew, especially children your age. You only knew because one day your dad fell asleep watching a documentary about sea life. Every time someone would guess what your stuffed animal was they often guess a whale, which was a common misconception. One time you heard someone call it a narwhal. You were offended on Oliver’s behalf but secretly found it a little funny. 

You stopped letting it bother you but the surprise and shock you felt when someone knew what Oliver was made you radiate happiness. It probably seemed ridiculous to most people but Oliver was important to you. All the grumpiness in the car from earlier had disappeared. That didn’t mean you actually liked the eldest of the three brothers. He was quiet and seemed sort of grumpy and acted like he wanted nothing to do with you. 

Your first family camping trip was filled with highs and lows. Jim Hughes taught you how to fish, and you soon realized that you hated it but he seemed to enjoy it so you went along with it. You taught Luke how to make a flower crown. Your mom and Ellen gossiped about their time in school and all the time in between that they missed. 

Quinn on the other hand, barely spoke to you. It wasn’t subtle either, everyone was aware and thought the two of you would work it out by the end of the trip. It’s not like you were avoiding him. Maybe a little but not as much as he was trying to avoid you. 

All of it made any little spark inside you that wanted to be his friend die. So you vowed for the rest of the trip to ignore him. It felt better to be the one doing the ignoring and not the one being ignored. 

When school started you were put into different classes so thankfully the only time you had to see Quinn was lunch time and even then the two of you would sit across the cafeteria to sit with your friends.

For years it had worked. You were cordial as neighbors and put on pleasant smiles for your parents when they decided to have a dinner night with both families. At school you didn’t talk, sometimes you would catch him glancing over at you but you never brought it up. If he had a staring problem that would have to be something he would have to deal with on his own.

The camping trips usually went smoothly. At least up until this last year. There was always so much to do that it was easy to shrug off any attempts anyone made for you to hang out with Quinn. You were nineteen and he was turning the same age in a month. 

This could very well be the last camping trip you spent with everyone and sometimes, late at night, the feeling of not seeing Quinn again hurt but then you remembered his judgemental stares and how pretty, skinny, blonde girls would fawn over him once he became a hockey player in the NHL.

Your own thoughts startle you. What do you care if a bunch of girls threw themselves at Quinn while you were away? You especially didn’t care if he took an interest in any of them. He already went to and played hockey at the University of Michigan. You couldn’t think of one instance where he didn’t have several different options for who he spent the night with. When he goes to play for the NHL, nothing will have changed. 

(Other than everything. In Michigan, you knew you would see him again. When he moved he wouldn’t be there when you came to visit.)

This was one of the reasons you couldn’t stand Quinn most of the time. He jumbled up your thoughts and you didn’t know what to do with them. With Jack and Luke, it was different,

they had become like a second set of brothers with how often they were over at your house. Quinn, even though the offer was extended to him by every one of your family members, he still never came over. 

From the get-go, it was clear that ignoring Quinn for the entire trip wasn’t going to happen.

On the first night, you followed the routine that you had developed over the several years of camping. There was one problem, though, and that was since your first camping trip to now, you had never gotten the hang of putting your tent together. You tried! But someone would always have to help you in the end. You looked around for your brother or your dad but when you turned back to the pile of what was meant to be your tent on the ground, Quinn had come over and silently helped to put it together.

Few words were exchanged, such as, “Can you stand over there?”“Don’t touch that.” and “Hold onto that for a second.”

When your tent was all propped up and ready for you, you went to say ‘thank you’ but Quinn was already walking off to help your dad unload bags from his car. 

By the time you had everything all laid out, your sleeping bag, an extra blanket, a flashlight, and of course Oliver the Orca, the sun had begun to set. Jim called for everyone to come gather around the campfire. You pulled a hoodie over your t-shirt and claimed a spot on the log near the fire. You weren’t the last to arrive, as you waited for Jack, your brother, and Quinn to arrive you stared into the crackling campfire. 

The camping trip had been pushed back this year so now it was late September and there was a little chill in the air and the warmth from the fire was enough to warm you up. 

Luckily for you, in a week you would be heading back to school for your second year at the University of Oregon. It wasn’t your first choice and you knew it would get cold there too, but when you toured the school before your first year, you fell in love with the area. It was lush and green and had everything you wanted. 

Quinn gave you what had to have been a sarcastic smile when he finally plopped down on the log on the other side of the fire. You made a show of rolling your eyes at him in return. The little grin that wanted to come up was swallowed back down when you realized that you would miss this. The playfulness that snuck in between both of your two soured your mood.

Looking at Quinn brought back another thought that you’ve recently been thinking about. It was something that would nag at you as you packed up your room and took late-night walks around the neighborhood. You were afraid of getting homesick. You got homesick the first year you went away to college but you were expecting that. It was different, though, you were aching for some type of freedom. You loved your friends and family, and for the first time in your life, you would be free to do whatever you wanted without someone hovering over you. 

This year felt different. Your friends from home had started to settle in the cities and towns that they chose to move to. Your little brother was looking at colleges on the East Coast and even Jack was going into the NHL draft this year. With Quinn going to Vancouver to play for the Canucks, he would be the one that you would be the closest to but Vancouver was still a distance from Eugene, Oregon. There was no chance that you would ever just accidentally cross paths with him. 

For a second, you felt of pang of sadness. You’ve known Quinn since you were six and it won’t be like last year when you left for school and you would FaceTime or Skype your friends and family and Quinn would be in the background. Quinn was such a fixture in your life and now he was going to be gone too. Quinn loved Michigan, so you would probably see him in the Summers but what if after you graduate you get a job somewhere else? Somewhere where you know no one. 

You're jolted out of your spiraling emotions when Jack and your brother plop down on the log next to you, fighting over a bag of unopened marshmallows. You could thank the heavens for their timing because it feels like you’ve been having more and more thoughts about Quinn, your future, and Quinn being a part of your future.

The bag that Jack and your brother were fighting over tears in half, just like anyone could have predicted. The marshmallows go flying everywhere. Some land in the fire and melt quickly but mostly they land amongst the forest floor.

What you weren’t expecting was Jack jumping up from the log and hopping around screaming in a pitch that could rival a little girl’s. 

“Oh shit! Oh shit! OH SHI-!”

No one can hold back their laughter as they watch him frantically move about. Your brother nearly falls off of his log in a fit of laughter and you think you hear Quinn snort. 

“Jack Rowden Hughes!” Ellen scolds but when you look at her you can see the laughter she was trying her hardest to suppress. 

“Sorry, mom,” Jack mumbles but still doesn’t stop hopping around looking for the marshmallows.

“What the hell are you even doing?” Quinn asks, and unlike his mother, he’s not trying to hide his amusement. 

When he laughs you feel your chest get tight. You look briefly at him when he speaks and see that he’s already looking at you. He’s not smirking or glaring. No, he’s just smiling at you. There doesn’t seem to be any hidden meaning or mocking in his eyes. He’s happy and you’re the one he’s showing it to unabashedly. 

“Don’t you read?” Jack snaps, his hands overflowing with the marshmallows he’s grabbed from the floor, your mom kindly hands him a bag of garbage for him to throw away the dirt-covered sticky treat.  “Bears love Marshmallows!”

“Wasn’t that a SpongeBob episode?” You inquire with a laugh, shortly followed by Luke and Quinn. 

“Dear, we’ve been camping here for thirteen years.” Your mom tries to soothe Jack but everyone, including her, knows it’s futile. “No one has ever seen a bear around here.”

“That doesn’t mean they aren’t lurking around waiting to pounce,” Jack argues but he slowly calms down. Well, as calm as Jack can manage. 

“What does “waiting to pounce” even mean? Do you think Winnie The Pooh is hiding behind that tree over there?”

“Shut up, Quinn,” Jack grumbles and is shoved down to sit back on the log by his dad.

After everyone is calmed or close enough to calm your dad pulls out another bag of marshmallows and chocolate from a bag while Ellen grabs graham crackers. Jim finds the sticks for you all to toast the s’mores with all while your mom sits back in her chair, drinking out of a thermal cup, and by her lazy smile and pink cheeks, you’re starting to think that perhaps it’s not coffee or hot chocolate. 

Everyone quickly falls into the easy chatter that only forms after years of knowing one another. You hold your s’more over the fire as you sit quietly, listening to all the conversations happening around you. 

You're pretty sure that whatever is in your mom’s mug she shared with Ellen because the two of them are quietly giggling after every other word. Jim and your dad are talking to Jack about his future and what the draft might be like when it comes around soon. You feel bad for the kid. You’ve heard almost every adult close to Jack give him the same speech. It’s not like he won’t have a future. You’ve seen him play hockey, both for fun and for competition, and know that he’s better than good. Every team is looking at him right now and with his charisma and the way he moves on the ice, he’s guaranteed to become a star almost immediately after being drafted. 

Luke and your brother have given up on eating the s’mores altogether and are taking turns throwing marshmallows back and forth to see who can catch the most with only their mouths. After a minute of watching, you can safely say they’re both terrible and that ‘the bear’ coming out to eat the marshmallows is more likely than one of them catching one of them in their mouths.

You stayed quiet, not feeling like participating in any of the conversations. It wouldn’t raise any suspicions, since this annual trip began you were always worn out by the end of the day. Not talking to anyone, eating whatever your dad decides to barbecue, and falling asleep on your mom’s lap. So no one questioned you as you tried to not set your campfire snack on fire and thought about how everything was about to change after you all left the camping grounds and how you weren’t ready for it. 

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you hadn’t even noticed that Quinn was quiet himself. Not staring down his burnt marshmallow like you put sneaking curious glances your way and silently hoping you would catch him. 

With a loud slap on his knee and a groan that only fathers seemed to know how to make your dad stood from his lawn chair. 

“It’s been a long day, I think I’ll try to get some sleep so I can wake up early to catch some fish.”

Jim nodded enthusiastically at the prospect of fishing in the morning and stood up as well. Both of the men helped their wives up from their seats, you smiled as they made it difficult for their husbands to walk them to their tents. The swaying a giggling never died down, even when they were inside and the tent was zipped. 

You were never one for fishing and why people liked to do it so early in the day perplexed you. You had attempted fishing twice in your life, once with your dad and brother which resulted in you being pushed into the lake by your brother and the other time was on a camping trip where Jim was convinced he could change your mind about fishing. It didn’t work. So now your plans for tomorrow are to lay down a beach blanket near the water and read one of the books you brought with you. 

The next ones to stray towards their tents for the night were Luke and your brother. You knew they were going to be next. They enjoyed fishing and spending time with their respective dads. 

“Maybe I’ll even catch dinner for us tomorrow!” your brother exclaimed. 

You wanted to gag at the idea but you saw the excited look on his face and decided against it. Instead, you gave him a thumbs up and mustered up a, “I’ll wish you luck!”

Jack didn’t say goodnight to anyone but you all saw him run behind one of the trees to vomit all of the sugar he consumed. By now he was most likely in his tent groaning or trying to get a signal on his phone. Probably both. 

It didn’t take long for Quinn to stand and bid you goodnight after the other boys left. Your eyes followed him as he walked with his head down to his tent. He had no real reason for leaving. You had watched him sporadically throughout the night and he didn’t seem tired. Perhaps he just didn’t want to stay out here alone with you. You murmur a quiet goodnight back, not sure if he heard it or not but not wanting to say it again. 

You weren’t ready for sleep yet. Your mind was still racing and when your thoughts came back to coming home for the holidays and everyone not being there a knot formed in your throat. You had made friends in Oregon and this upcoming year you would likely start networking, which meant meeting new people, and even though you haven’t met them yet, you knew they weren’t going to be better than the people sleeping in the tents less than ten feet away from you. 

If it hadn’t been for the chilly early September breeze you probably wouldn’t have noticed the tears on your cheeks. You wiped them away quickly. Everyone had already gone to sleep so you could cry as much as you wanted to and no one would know. No one but you, and you didn’t want to deal with all of those emotions right now. You were only feeling like this because it had been a long day and what you needed was a good night's rest. 

You watched the fire die down and when it was only embers left you sprinkled some sand on it to make sure it wouldn’t set the forest ablaze as you all slept. When you were done with that you crawled into your tent and tried to get comfortable in your sleeping bag. 

It was futile. The extra blanket didn’t warm you up and the sleeping bag was old and had small holes in it that you didn’t notice when you had packed it. Not even pulling Oliver close to your chest made you feel better. 

The tent was cold and hard and despite the rustling leaves and wind outside, it felt silent. You weren’t built to be alone and with your recurring thoughts of everyone leaving and not coming back once school starts up again, you couldn’t find it in yourself to stay in your tent tonight. 

You grabbed your extra blanket and Oliver and paused when you were outside. Who could you share a tent with without them making a big deal of it? Your brother and Jack were immediately scratched off that list. They had the biggest mouths known to man. You could seek out the comfort of your parents, similar to when you were little and afraid and you would crawl into their much bigger bed and cuddle between the two of them. They would worry if you did that now and you didn’t want to worry them on the first night of the trip they had come to love.

There was nothing wrong with going to Luke but your body itched to turn the other way and go to Quinn’s tent. He wouldn’t tell anyone and even if he wasn’t sharing the same thoughts out loud, perhaps he was thinking them silently, after all, he was in the same predicament.

Before you could stop yourself you tapped gently on the tent and whispered his name. 

Nothing happened, so you continued just a little louder and perhaps with a slight whine. “Quinn! Quinn, open your tent. Quinn, are you asleep?”

Finally, the zipper was tugged down and a disheveled Quinn appeared. Despite his look of annoyance, you could tell that he wasn’t really upset with you. If he was he would have told you to go away by now or never opened the tent.

“What’s wrong?” His words slurred from sleep but his tone was serious. 

With a weak smile, you replied, “I think there’s a bear outside my tent that thinks I’m a marshmallow. Can I sleep with you?”

To your surprise, Quinn shuffled to the side of his sleeping bag to make room for you. When you continued to look at him dumbstruck he sighed and waved at the tent flap and said, “Can you come in here already? Also make sure you zip that up. I’m pretty sure that any bear with a sweet tooth will be dissuaded by a zipper.” 

You did as he asked and once you did you climbed into the sleeping bag with him. He grunted when you accidentally elbowed him in the stomach and when you kept trying to readjust in the small sleeping area that was only really meant for one Quinn grabbed your waist and rolled you so that your back was against his front. You felt breathless being so close to Quinn, no that wasn’t it, being held so close to him. The two of you grew up together so it didn’t feel strange to sleep in the same area. Sometimes you had to share a bed because your brother and Jack wanted to share one instead. One time when you were sharing an air mattress, it popped and you both had to sleep on the floor after that. You still held firm that the popping was Quinn’s fault. 

This was different, though. Out of all the times you had to sleep near Quinn, he never seemed like a cuddler and yet, here you were with his arm slung tightly around you, with his forehead pressed against your neck. Slowly and without saying anything you grabbed his hand that was on your waist, holding you to him, and intertwined your fingers. It felt grounding. How could you spiral when he was so solidly here? 

“So are you sticking with the bear story or are you actually going to tell me why you're in my tent?” Quinn said into the quiet darkness. 

You didn’t want to answer his question. You wanted to lay here and be held and take up all of his warmth and fall asleep. You also knew that if you didn’t vocalize your fears they would only get bigger and bigger until one day you would simply combust and find yourself living in a cardboard box outside of your childhood home.

You squeezed Oliver with the hand that wasn’t holding Quinn’s and whispered shyly, “I’m afraid of what happens after this. I’m afraid that once I go back to school everything will change and I’ll come home and nothing will be how it was.”

You let out a breath of relief. Even though you couldn’t help but still fret over everything it still felt nice to get all of that off of your chest. 

Quinn had remained quiet the whole time and for a moment you thought he was falling asleep until he squeezed your hand and moved his arm under your head to grab Oliver. Quinn wasn’t taking him from you but he held him gently. Almost stroking the worn fuzz on the stuffed orca.

“Things are gonna change,” he finally said. “All of our parents will still be in Michigan and so will your brother and when he goes to college I’m sure he’ll call to annoy you every day.”

You smiled sadly, it was true. Your little brother was like you. He aches for space but needs to know that the people he loves will still be there. 

“Doesn’t it scare you?” It’s a whisper, you can barely hear yourself over the pounding of your heart and the blood rushing in your ears. 

You didn’t know why you felt scared right now, this was Quinn, the same boy you’ve known nearly all your life. On the other side, though, this is Quinn, the same guy that annoys you more often than not. Who on most days you think he might hate you and you might hate him. Your thumb rubs circles on the hand that’s holding yours. What was it that your mom always said? There’s a thin line between love and hate.

It takes a minute and then two before you think he might not answer. Had his lips not been so close to your neck you wouldn’t have heard him. His words would have been lost with the wind outside. 

“Of course I’m scared.” He finally says and before you can cut in he continues. “I’m scared that I won’t be as good as people are hoping I will be when I finally get to play. I’m afraid to be so far away from my family.” He paused again but kept quiet, there was a tension in the air and you knew he wanted to say more. “I know my family will always be there, though. I also know that my friends will be too. I just don’t know about you.”

You went to turn around so that you could see his face and hear his words when he says them. His arms around your waist stop you, though.

“Whether or not I like it, you know everything about me.” You reply, the next part you look at your stuffed Orca so it feels like you're talking to it rather than him. “I think you might be the only person who knows everything about me. You’re always paying attention.”

“Of course, I’ve been paying attention.” 

You don’t hesitate and you don’t let yourself think before saying what you want to.

“Why?”

Quinn sighs your name and it sounds like a prayer. It sounds like he’s begging you to just know. Quinn is a man of few words and you want him to say it. 

“When I was six a stubborn girl with a stuffed Orca moved in next door to me. You watched me, you saw me, first before you finally looked at my family. For as long as I can remember I’ve been an afterthought to everybody.” Quinn says and his words make you hurt. “I did things to annoy you just so you would notice me because I wanted /your/ attention.”

“That’s very playground of you.” You say lightly, trying to ease the suffocating air in the tent. 

Quinn laughs lightly and it tickles your neck. “Then, and here’s the kicker, I get drafted to the Vancouver Canucks, and team far away from everything I know and then I remember that this girl that I’ve been annoying on purpose for years has what can only be described as an emotional support Orca. People have stuffed bears, ducks, or literally anything else. I’ve never seen someone with an Orca and for the first time everything I had and everything I’ve ever wanted became so clear.”

“And what is it that you want?” 

He lets go of your hand and sits up on his elbows just so he can look at you when says, “You. Since you got out of that car gripping that stuffed animal in one hand and your dad’s hand in the other all while giving the meanest glare I think I’ve ever seen from a kindergartner.”

“I thought you hated me.”  

“I thought you hated me.”

A small smile tugs at the side of your lip, “I thought I did too. If I’m being honest, though, I don’t think I could ever actually hate you.”

The kiss is a surprise. It’s not on your lips or your neck, Quinn simply leans down and places his lips to your forehead. After that, he lays back down behind you and wraps his arm around your torso. You waste no time grabbing his hand and sinking into his embrace. 

He’s solid and warm and for the first time in months, your mind doesn’t feel like it’s running a mile a minute. 

“Do you believe in fate?” 

The question catches you off guard. Fate? Quinn was so practical it seemed like a weird thing for him to ask. Did you believe in it though? If you were asked ten years ago, you would have said yes. If you were asked four years ago you would have said no, but lying in Quinn’s tent and in his arms, you can’t but wonder if maybe you do?

“I don’t know.” You say honestly. “Do you?” 

Quinn is quick to answer, “Oh yeah, how else can I explain that the girl I fell for at six would have a favorite stuffed animal that is an Orca, while I’m about to play for Vancouver whose mascot is an orca?” 

You smile at that. It did seem rather fate-like if you thought about it like that. 

“Well, when you put it like that,” you laugh, as does Quinn. “When you’re off being a hotshot hockey player in Canada you have to promise me something.”

“Hmm, depends on what it is that I have to promise.”

You bit your lip and let your eyes slide down to Oliver. You hoped that Quinn would hear the true meaning of your words when you said them because you doubted you could say them out loud yet. “Just remember that Oliver is your favorite Orca when you’re out there.”

You waited with bated breath. Quinn’s breathing had slowed and for a moment you wondered if he had fallen asleep. 

That was until he pulled you closer to himnand said directly in your ear, “Oliver will always be my favorite no matter where I go.”

[penvisions]

by the grit of sandpaper {chapter 3}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Chapter Summary: With the overnight patrol behind you, it's now time for your annual leave from the roster altogether. But Joel doesn't know that and you're hesitant to tell him, feeling like it would be the best for you two to get some distance. But as with all things involving the man, it was hard to keep the distance.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, illusions to past death, illusions to past trauma, blood, hurtful language, town gossip, rumors, negative feelings, pining, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, slight angst, hurt and comfort, joel miller's hands need their own warning, two (2} instances of joel miller gently touching reader, intentional flirting, unintentional flirting, talk of pregnancy, casual intimacy, urges to kiss joel miller get their own warning, sexual content, masturbation (f and m), yearning, protective joel, tommy is a scheming lil brother and we love him for it, fluff, this is so unbelievably soft, reader is described as smaller than joel (bc c'mon), reader has a commonly used nickname but no assigned name, joel and reader pov

A/N: i'm not really back in wake of some bad comments and confrontational haters, but love y'all ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

A knock on your door the next morning caught you bundled up and out in the backyard, the sound echoing throughout your empty house. It was small: a simple one with a larger than average kitchen, a living room, one bathroom across the hall from the bedroom, and a laundry / mudroom with a deep utility sink and a few cabinets of storage. It’s where you kept the tools for the garden, where you washed and prepped everything you managed to grow before moving it into the kitchen space. But you were on the modest back porch, a cup of steaming coffee cooling in the early morning air as you looked out at the trees that took up a good chunk of the large area.

Dragging your eyes from the one that looked like it was about at the end of its life, a large crack running down through the trunk, you heeded the knock at the early hour. Knowing it could only be one of four people.

“Was worried I woke you for a moment, you sleep okay?” Maria greeted you as she waddled past you and moved into the kitchen. She spied the other cups worth of contents in the coffee maker and sighed in longing. The scent of it heavy in the air, mixed with cinnamon you were apt to put in with the grounds before brewing. But her sigh turned into a delighted hum as she shifted her attention to the cooling pan atop the stove and moved closer to inspect the baked goods settled on it.

“Probably not much better than you, momma. How you feelin’?” You slid a plate to her as she began to pick pieces off from one of the flaky breakfast hand pies you had made. She placed the one she had begun eating along with another before following you to the large table that ran through the middle of the room. Setting it down and pulling out the chair for her, you helped her to lower into it. With a caressing touch to her swollen belly, permission given from her months ago, you began to set up a kettle for some tea.

“Big.” She stuffed a large bite into her mouth, eyes fluttering at the taste of the filling. Crumbs of the flaky crust sticking to the front of her shirt, jacket having been shrugged off. “Olive, these are fantastic. Is there anything in here I shouldn’t be eating?”

“I wouldn’t have let ya get your hands on it if that were the case. Just bacon and onion jam, eggs, a little bit of milk, and a whole bunch of thyme. Nothing too bad.”

“Nothing too bad, my ass. You should totally make these for the mess hall on your next shift.”

Another knock on the front door stole the words from your mouth and you looked to the woman who all of a sudden had great interest in picking the crumbs from where they had fallen.

“Maria, what is this?”

“Can’t I call on a fellow morning bird without ulterior motives?”

“You could, but you didn’t this time around. I don’t get many visitors so I wonder who you- Oh! Good mor-morning, Joel.” Surprise overtook you as you were suddenly face to face with the man over the threshold of your front door. He was bundled up as well, though his hair was wet, slicked back and shining in the early morning sun peeking over the mountains.

“I just figured we could all chat about the Teton route.” Maria’s voice carried from the kitchen. But it didn’t break the stare you could feel as Joel’s eyes took in the apron you had thrown on earlier.

“Mornin’.” He rumbled, a hand reaching out from within his jacket pocket to swipe at your cheek. His touch burned, but you were frozen in place at such a forward action so early in the day. Lips parting as you tried to pull in a breath but you were sure all you managed to do was huff out what air was already in your lungs. “You got a lil flour or somethin’.”

“O-oh, um, thank you.” His hand lingered, the back of his knuckle dragged down your cheek and then the finger curled around the neckline, tugging slightly. Nerves sparkling as you felt the warmth from his hand so close to your neck, you could only swallow as his eyes finally met yours with a playful grin displaying that damned, endearing dimple normally hidden in his scruff.

“Never seen you so homey before, it’s a good look on you.” His voice was tipped low, just for you and you felt your stomach lurch.  When you didn’t say anything, just continued to stand there caught like a fly in his trap, he chuckled and asked if you were going to let him inside. It was then you realized he had inched closer, crowding you in the doorway, with his hand still around the strap of fabric over your neck.

“Oh! Of cour-course, I’m so sorry. It must be the early hour taking my manners.” But you knew he wouldn’t believe that for a second, he knew you were a morning person. Something you had revealed to him on patrol. Just like he had revealed to you that he took any opportunity to sleep in, apt to hit snooze an embarrassing about of times if the sound even reached him. You had both laughed at the polarizing tendencies, ribbing each other about it throughout the day. It had been a good one, free of the underlying…tension of whatever had shifted when you had pressed your lips to his injuries. Something you would take back if it meant cutting the undercurrent of whatever had befallen your interactions.

“There’s, um, breakfast hand pies and one last serving of coffee,” You spoke as you turned your back on him and went to retrieve your own mug from the porch.

After the shuffle of greetings, of ushering Joel to take a seat at the table. You plated up two of the hand pies and poured the last of the coffee for him, setting it down in front of him with a small smile before fetching the whistling kettle and preparing a cup of tea for Maria who was already a bite into her second pastry.

“Now, the horse you two lost.”

Joel made a surprised sound, mouth biting into one of the pastries on his plate.

“It was my fault.” You rushed out before Joel could even respond around his mouthful. His eyes flicked to you across the table where you had finally taken a seat, watching as you willingly took the blame for the unfortunate event. “I wasn’t quick enough taking down the Infected that were coming at us. Two of them had set their sights on her, with all the noise she was making while another went after Joel on the ground.”

“And there was no use of anything other than the shotgun?”

“That’s correct.”

“Joel, do you agree with her synopsis?”

“Yes. She acted fast, but there was no way Kiana was gonna make it back, she had been freaking out the second they came outta the tree line, most likely would’ve run off.”

“She always was easy to spook, that’s why she was designated as your horse, calmed her down and got her to focus.” It made sense, Joel was a very level headed person, capable of gently focusing someone should their minds or attention wander.

“I wish every incident discussion was this lovely. No arguing, good food, people who don’t want to go around in circles. You two are truly one of the best pairs we have on the roster.” Maria stirred in a bit more honey into her tea, taking a sip as she looked you both over.

A nervous laugh bubbled up from you as you dug into your own pastry, unaware of them sharing a look.

“This is amazing,” Joel offered, reaching for the kitchen towel folded atop the table to clean his hands off. “You should make these your next shift at the mess hall.”

“I just told her that, imagine the buzz they would cause.”

“They’re not all that special.” You muttered, shoulders rising as you felt rather put on the spot.

“This filling, these onions? It had to have taken a lot of concentration to reduce them down so soft but not mushy. Take the credit where it’s due.” Joel hummed his agreement as he reached for his mug.

“You’re off patrol this week and next, to do your annual thing.” Tommy announced as he sat beside you, his tray thudding against the top of the table, laden down with food from this mornings offerings.

“I can still patrol and get what I have to done.” You didn’t look up from the notebook you were writing in, trying to map out the way you were going to turn the harvest of the olive trees in your backyard into. If you were being honest, patrol twice a week wasn’t so bad with the added allure of Joel Miller. But it would be hard to juggle it paired with the time of year. Every autumn you took out your dirtiest, most ratty pair of overalls and got to work picking the fruit from the trees. Taking your time to sort them, wash them, turn them into oil and pickle some of the others. It was just you, hands aching at the end of the day from spending it all at your kitchen table with various tools. But you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

The kitchen was your happy place. Even after the end of the world. Or maybe in spite of it.

But this year, you didn’t want to miss out on patrol, normally taking the two weeks off to sort everything out and give all your attention to the gift of fruiting trees. Even if…you felt like it would be good for you to get some space from the man you felt in every other thought. The past two weeks had yielded quiet patrols, just the passing of a thermos between hands. You were sure you had overstepped a line by pressing your lips to his face, lost in the moment of adrenaline and want after those Infected had tried to turn you both.

His eyes were heavy on you when he thought you weren’t looking, but searching for what you didn’t have the faintest clue. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to bring it up and let you down gently. Tell you that he hadn’t appreciated your affections that way. Whatever went on behind that handsome, rugged face you hadn’t a clue.

“We both know that’s a mighty lie,” He stuffed an overfull spoon of grits into his mouth, humming around it as he pointed the utensil at you. “Didn’t you say this would be the last year for one of them?”

Sighing, you set the pencil you had been writing with down. Trading it for the cup of coffee in front of you.

“Unfortunately, the trunk spilt when we had those winds come through in February. I’m surprised it bloomed any fruit to be honest.”

“It’s a fighter, like it’s caretaker.”

“Oh hush, tryna flatter me.”

“Don’t you know it.” He winked, cheeky smile growing wider underneath his mustache as his eyes caught sight of something over your shoulder. You were about to turn to see what had him so delighted when a pair of hands placed a tray right next to you. The burly form of Joel huffed as he settled into the seat beside you.

“Mornin’.” He greeted, placing plate of toast in front of you, his hand momentarily brushing against yours before he dug into his own food. You felt heat bloom up your neck and across your cheeks as Tommy feigned a cough to cover up a snicker. Joel leveled an unimpressed stare at the man, an eyebrow cocked and a warning in his eyes. You pretended not to see it, busy slathering a piece of the gifted toast with some butter left out on the tables for the breakfast service.

“Good mornin’, brother.” Tommy lilted, face lit up with something you were hesitant of. Scheming, the man was scheming, up to absolutely no good. And you had a hunch it involved not only you but the man beside you. Taking a bite of the toast, you noticed the way his face twitched before he started whatever he was up to. “How are you today?”

“Fuck off, Tommy.” The older man didn’t even look up from his plate, knowing from years of experience that his brother was aiming a mischievous look his way. “I gotta list a mile long of stuff to do this week and next, don’t have time for whatever else you’ve taken on.”

“That’s a shame,” He took another heaping bite, chewing it thoughtfully as he looked between you both, taking in the way neither of you were willing to look at the other. “Sorry, Olive. Looks like you’ve gotta fell that tree on your own.”

“That’s okay. I’m a big girl, did it the year before last and I’ll do it again this time around.” You downed the last two gulps of your coffee. Gathering up your notebook, you shoved out of your chair and stood, preparing to walk away. But he scrambled, quick on his feet and determined. Joel glanced at you, a parting nod the only indication from him.

“Well, seeing as you’ll be off patrol the next two weeks, that should give you enough time to take care of it.”

“Tommy!” You whirled around on your heel, eyes wide. You hadn’t wanted Joel find out this way, from his trouble making little brother with you right beside him.

“What’s he talkin’ about?” Joel turned with a loaded fork halfway to his mouth. Forgotten in wake of the sudden news. He looked taken off guard, shock coloring his features as he looked to you for answers.

“Didn’t she tell you, brother?” Tommy set his own fork down, tray nearly empty now. “Olive always takes this time of year off to tend to the trees. Harvest and make that lovely oil you see everywhere around town.”

“That’s yours?” His eyes danced around the mess hall, taking in the incriminating glass jars atop every other table. The light green contents revealing the literal fruits of your labor. The hours you would spend hunched over your own kitchen table working away on ensuring everything was perfect. He looked down to the warm plate of food in front of him, the roasted potato hash and scrambled eggs. “You’re the reason the town has cooking oil?”

“Yes, it is.” Feeling pleasure flutter at his impressed tone, you knew your voice had taken on a breathy quality. If Tommy’s growing grin was any indication, his teeth sparkling as he watched the two of you across from him. Joel had turned completely in his chair to face you, while you had pivoted your body in his direction. Both of you undoubtedly drawn to each other even in the most casual of ways.

“What are you gonna do with the wood? Didn’t you burn it and mix the ashes into the soil last time?”

“Yes, I did.” You gripped the notebook tight, fingers aching from the pressure. “It helped to reduce the acidity of the soil and ward off slugs from targeting the blooms once spring came around.”

“Well, uh, I can come by and lend a hand. If you needed it, but I don’t want to intrude if you’ve got it all under control.” Joel ran a wide palm over the back of his head, fingers brushing through the curls as he offered his help in a round about way. Something you suspected Tommy had anticipated. It took you a second to process his words, remembering the feel of his hair tangled around your own fingers. It had been soft despite a days’ worth of travel and an overnight stint atop a dusty mattress. You wondered how he cared for it, what it looked like slicked back fresh from the shower, water dripping from the ends of it and-

“Oh, that’s okay!” You shuffled on your feet, shaking the rather intrusive thoughts and not wanting to burden the man with another task. “You just said you’ve got a lot to do, don’t want to add to it.”

“I could shuffle a few things around, clear up an afternoon to come help ya out.” He insisted, something smoldering in his dark eyes. His tongue ran over his bottom lip as he regarded you carefully, as if he had noticed the lingering gaze on his movement. He shifted to pull that damned little note pad of his own from his back pocket and flipped it open. Looking over the long list penciled on the page.

“No, no, it’s okay, really. You don’t have to do that, Joel.” You waved your own notebook at him, hoping he realized you kind of wanted the space from him. Kind of needed it, actually. To get the image of his softened face out of your head and the ability to look at him without feeling a jolt of desire strike through your body. Space would probably be good, would allow you to reign everything in and be better equipped to ride alongside him once again. The lines had begun to blur and they needed to be defined.

“It’s no problem, I can-“

“It’s really okay, I can handle it. But uh- th-thanks for the offer.” You scurried away before he could add your name to the list among his other tasks. “More important stuff to tend to than a me-measly tree.”

“I really don’t’-“

“I’ve got it.” You called over your shoulder, leaving the two men to their breakfast.

The second you were walking through the door, Joel rounded on the younger man. The shit-eating smirk was securely in place among his brother’s features across the table. Irking Joel further.

“Shut up.”

“Oh brother, you got it bad.”

“Shut up, Tommy.”

“C’mon, she could really use the help. It’s just her.”

“No one offers to pitch in? The other women with personal gardens all help each other out.”

“It’s the age gap. Olive’s about a decade or so younger than them.”

Joel contemplated his brother’s words, thinking back on the thinly veiled disdain Marsha had voiced to him the last time he had been tending to the woman’s home. He knew you were younger, but he hadn’t anticipated it causing any problems with the rest of the settlements occupants just how it wasn’t the cause of any between you and him. At least, not any real problems. Age was just a number nowadays, if you were alive, you were alive. If you weren’t well, you weren’t. Friendships and connections blooming between people regardless of age and backgrounds in abundance as people clung to what they could in order to survive.

“Does anybody ever…talk about her to you?”

Shifting from annoying little brother to something more serious, Tommy looked over his brother as he chewed the bite he had just taken.

“What do you mean?”

“Marsha seemed to insinuate that Olive is common topic of discussion.”

“Marsha doesn’t like Olive. Never has.” Tommy scowled, stabbing at a chunk of potato rather harshly.

“Does it have to do with the patrol you won’t tell me about?”

“…yeah.” Tommy was suddenly very interested in the rest of his food, ignoring the look he could feel Joel pinning him with from across the table.

“Tommy.”

“Her old patrol partner was someone she showed up with, when we first brought her here. He and Marsha’s daughter got on quickly, were engaged within a year and planning on havin’ a kid or two.”

Joel was silent as he picked at his food. Marsha’s daughter, Millie, didn’t have any kids or a husband that he knew of. The two women sharing a home close to his.

“They blame her for what happened.”

“What did happen?”

“Joel, you’ve gotta ask your girl that. It’s not my place to give details.”

“She’s not my girl.”

“But you want her to be, c’mon, I can see it plain as day.”

“We are not talking about this.”

“I think she likes you back. But it’s hard to tell since she doesn’t get a lot of interaction around town aside from when she’s trading or cookin’.”

“She don’t like me like that. We’re just…friendly.”

It wasn’t friendly the way Joel took advantage of any reason to touch you. From soothing minor injuries, to brushing his fingers over yours as he passed you something, to brushing things you tended to smear along your cheek. Just to hear the hitch of your breath and to witness the way your eyes widened. It wasn’t friendly the way you were the last thing he thought of at night and the first thing he thought of when he woke up. It wasn’t friendly the way his gaze lingered on you while out on patrol or when he caught sight of you around town.

It wasn’t friendly the way he spent hours in his workspace sketching out designs and carving into wood in the hopes that you would enjoy what he was creating.

It wasn’t friendly the way he didn’t engage with you for worry of making you nervous, like he noticed he had begun to do. Stuttering every other word around him and others in a habit he couldn’t figure out was his fault or something you were just prone to do. It wasn’t friendly how he wanted to see if it was just him that caused it, wanted to see how quickly words would fail you completely if he were to focus his attention on you in a more than friendly way…

But his brother didn’t know anything about that.

Never one to miss out on the chance for a slow morning, you allowed yourself to wake up naturally.

The sun was just beginning its descent from the highest point in the sky, peeking in through the drawn blinds of your bedroom.

Your body was warm underneath the covers, sleep making your mind take the sensation and let it influence your dreams.

A large body hovered over you, looming like the mountains around the settlement. Protective, a sight to behold at any time of day, as steady as the day turns to night. But the body was so much closer, pressing your back down into the mattress, making your head spin with the heady feel of it.

Thump, thump, thump.

Heart beating hard as pleasure coursed through your veins, brought to life by the feeling of fingers smoothing over your skin. Trailing down over your belly button and through course hair to find your slick folds. Delving between them, parting them, caressing over your fluttering core and then in, producing an obscene sound as they filled you up. Another set of fingers gentle nudging that little bundle of nerves to light your body up even further, heat encompassing you, suffocating you as they quickened their pace.

Thump, thump, thump.

Your heartbeat was harsh in your ears, roaring loud and with a jolt, you realized it wasn’t your heart. It was the sound of someone knocking on your front door.

Eyes flying open, the phantom sensations of being pinned down, of thick fingers caressing the most intimate parts of your body, of the rasped-out nickname in a voice that wasn’t real were ripped from you. You were alone in your bed, your hands the only ones bringing you pleasure.

“Olive?” The faint call of that deep voice your mind had tried to convince you was whispering sweet nothings in your ear was down the hall and on the other side of your front door.

What was Joel Miller doing calling on you in the middle of the day, effectively splashing a bucket of cold water over you as you realized you had been fantasizing about him as you touched yourself.

Embarrassment and guilt squashed the pleasure that had been consuming you, lingering tingles making it hard to clear the fog of your sleep hazed mind. Throwing on the robe hanging on the back of your bedroom door, you took a deep breath to steady yourself before approaching the door he knocked on again.

He must’ve been preparing to walk off when you swung your door open, his back to you and a hand on rubbing on the back of his neck. He turned back at the sound, eyes taking in the disheveled form you were sure you made in your doorway. It was the afternoon, and here you were in a robe and hardly anything else, being pulled from your bed.

“Oh, hey- you were sleeping.” His eyes quickly averted, a hand waving at you as a blush crept up along the apples of his cheeks. You wondered what had him so flustered, his hands clenching and unclenching just below the sleeves of his jacket.

“I should’ve been up already, it’s okay.” You said quietly, taking in the bulk of him on your small stoop. It was a little disorienting, mind imagining him and now being faced with him so close. “D-did you need-“

“Was coming by to see if you needed any help with taking down that tree Tommy mentioned.”

You fell silent at the way he cut you off, his words low like your own, as if he was frustrated.

“Cause if you did all you had to do was ask.”

“I-I didn’t want to add to your list, that little notepad is always so full of-“

“I offered too and you said no. But you’re not even doing what you took the time off for.”

“Excuse me?” You leaned back from him, worry and your own annoyance flaring. Just because you took one morning to yourself didn’t mean you were shirking your responsibilities. His words hitting too close to the wound that everyone else’s had dug close to your heart.

“You take the time off every year, which you didn’t tell me about. Tommy blurted it out to get some sort of satisfaction out of your miscommunication and you’re not even taking care of the trees.”

“Joel-“

“You know what, just, never mind. I’m heading around back to take care of it for you. Go back to bed.”

And then he was stomping down the steps and rounding the side of your house. The gate creaking open to signal his entrance to your backyard.

“Well, excuse the fuck outta me, Mr. Miller.” You mumbled as you shut the front door and moved back to the bedroom. Dressing in a ratty pair of jeans and a long-stained t-shirt in a rush. Putting up your hair as you walked into the back room to retrieve the axe he would need for the work he took it upon himself to do.

It was hard not to stare, your eyes glued to the man as he expertly wielded the axe and chopped down the damaged olive tree. He had shrugged off his flannel after trimming it of the few branches that stretched from the trunk, leaving him in just the t-shirt he donned underneath. A crisp white that displayed the sweat on the small of his back and between his broad shoulders. A crisp white that displayed the bulge of his biceps as he worked. A crisp white that fell just over his waist and billowed up to catch on the spiral top of his notepad peeking out from his back pocket. A crip white that now displayed his rather toned backside to you free from obstruction…

Shaking your head, you continued to pick the fruit from the others. There were three rows of about ten trees, the one you were worried about in the middle of it all. Your movements made you feel like you were slowly circling around him, honing in on the man taking out whatever frustrations he had on the plant. Until everything was gathered, and you retired back inside as the sun beat down what little warmth it still had this late in the season.

The fruit was already washed in the utility sink, resting in strainers set over ratty towels to dry atop the long table in the middle of the room. A record played in the living room, soft guitar and brass filling the space.

Sighing, you poured yourself a few fingers of whisky and then a few into a second glass as you heard the thud of the axe being set against the wall in the back room and steps heading your way.

“Joel, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how.” You offered one of the glasses to him, taking in the way he swiped at his sweating forehead with the back of his arm.

“I know…I’m-I shouldn’t have come at you like that. I’m sorry too.” His fingers brushed yours as he took the peace offering. But he didn’t drink until you lifted your own glass and clinked it to his. “Just…wanted there to be a reason why you weren’t by my side for a little bit.”

Stepping forward to run a hand down from his shoulder to elbow in a comforting move, you motioned him to follow you.

Through the hours of the afternoon and into the evening, you explained the difference between the colors of the fruit. The flavor profiles of each, of how you always sorted even portions of the harvest out for oil, for pickling, for the raw fruit to be shared with the town. You walked him through the process of turning a small batch into a paste, straining it over and over again to produce the oil. Two pairs of hands slick with it as he helped you after he had asked how you managed to do it.

He had asked of your knowledge, prompting you to admit that it was all learned since arriving here and being assigned to the house with the trees in the backyard. That it hadn’t been something you carried with you beforehand. You asked after his woodworking, how it had turned into crafting small figurines.

And he answered much the same as you. Learned skills to help deal with and adapt to the slower way of life Jackson allowed you both to lead.

“You left one on the table.” His voice was right behind you, having followed you into the backroom. You turned to look at him over your shoulder before going back to placing the jars in your hand into a battered plastic crate. One was for the pickled and general olives, while another was for the oil you would make once the distraction of Joel Miller was gone from your kitchen. The only evidence of such from today’s activities in his hand.

“Oh, that one’s for you.”

“I couldn’t, you need it for trade. Everythin’ helps.”

“I insist, it’ll be good to have in your kitchen.”

“It’s just gonna sit there on the counter beside the stove.”

“Well, take it. Just in case.” You whispered. Noticing how close he had gotten in an attempt to hand the jar to you. He was close enough to smell the way the olive leaves had permeated his clothing. The perfume of the freshly chopped wood stained his skin in a heady way. You felt the counter dig into your hips, having unconsciously backed into it beside the deep sink.

“In case of what, sweetheart?” He lowered his voice to a raspy whisper, tongue peeking between his lips as he took in the way you had a smudge of dirt under your eye in the warm light of your kitchen bleeding into the backroom. His gaze snapped to his hand as you bravely tangled your fingers with his own. Feeling your lips curl into a playful smile, you leaned up and whispered into his ear. 

“The food critic decides to play personal chef.”

Oh, he liked that. If the widening of his pupils was any indication, the way his breath caught in his throat and he swallowed as he pulled back a little to look over your face.

He leaned in to press a cautious kiss to your cheek, knowing there was no bruise or cut to disguise his move as anything other than the blatant want for it. The soft scratch of his mustache lighting you up.

Your breath fanned out across his face, skin prickling along his body at the warmth of it bouncing back to you. A small huff the only noise coming from you. His eyes flicked up to capture yours, and you felt your heart lurch. He was so handsome, his lips looked so plush and pink this close. There was no way he could’ve missed the way you had glanced down at them, how you were thinking of feeling them pressed to your skin in other places, of the way you pulled your own bottom one between your teeth at the thought.

He leaned in, sharing breath with you, his nose brushing against yours before-

The needle of the record player scratching across vinyl startled you both, jolting in response to the harsh noise breaking the bubble of tension surrounding you both. Your hands had flown up to grip his shoulders tight while his arms had wrapped around your back and pulled you to him. Heart thundering for a completely different reason now, you cast your eyes over his shoulder toward to the record player.

With nervous laughter you stepped away from the man and set about lifting it from the still spinning record. His eyes are on you as you replace the record with another, setting it up to play and then turning back around to him. Your heart still thumping in your chest as you watch him hold tight to the jar in his hand and dip his head to you in a departing bow.

He made sure it was well into the evening before enlisting Tommy’s help. The forlorn way you had looked at the pieces of the tree once it was no longer standing proud among the others had stirred an idea in his mind. He was going to take the thickest part of the trunk, because he wasn’t stealing it away. No. He was going to return it to you once he had cut it into slabs and let it dry. He was going to return it to you in the form of a cutting board, crafted from the beloved trees in your care and in honor of the namesake you’d adapted.

But it had to be perfect. He would practice on other planks and cuts of wood until he was able to craft one that would be good enough for you. Setting his mind and heart on the endeavor.

Once he was back home with the trunk set in room set up as his workspace, stepping out of the shower and collapsing into the bed, he let a lazy smile overtake him.

He may be tired, exhausted beyond his limits. But he wouldn’t have traded his afternoon with you for all the restful sleep in the world.

He couldn’t get the feeling of your lips against his skin out of his mind. The gentle pressure of them grazing over his injuries, the gentle pressure against the patch in his beard he had never been fond of until that moment.

“Fuck,” He groaned out, palm tight around his aching cock. He had woken up thinking of your lips on more of his body, trailing over his skin in sucking kisses, tongue laving at every inch. He had been leaking and hard, his hand around himself before he had even come to complete consciousness.

The very real image of you stood in your doorway clad in nothing but your robe, the way the swell of your breasts was visible with the way you must’ve thrown it on to answer his knocking. The way your eyes were cloudy, slowly clearing and your face slightly flushed, as if you had just been- he groaned deep from within his chest. It had looked like you had just been deep in the throes of pleasure, body overwhelmed with it and torn away by his calling on you. Hair mused and breath a little too quick, he wondered what you sounded like. Would you whimper softly or moan out loudly, would you be shy and cover your face with your arms or would you scramble for any purchase as it raced through your body, swelling up to consume you.

He pumped his hand slowly now, reveling in the feeling stirring low in his gut. The strikes of pleasure moving through him as he recalled the way you had felt against him as you both rode back on your horse.

The way your hip had felt in his hands as he had tried to steady himself. His mind taking the thought and running with it, the imagining the way he would grip you from behind. You down on your hands and knees, legs parted to make room for him to fit between them, thrust against you as deep as he could, your keening-

He choked on his own breath as the sheer force of his release hit him, sudden and overwhelming. Spurts of pearlescent cum coating his hand and dripping over his knuckles.

Euphoria filling him up with satisfaction, his body humming with it until the guilt slammed into him.

He just fucked his fist to the thought of you. His patrol partner. His…friend. The woman he couldn’t get out of his mind even if his life depended on it.

Catching his breath, he looked out the window across from his bed. Stars glittering at him through the curtains as if they know all the dirty things that had just run through his mind, sharing in his secrets.

The only small blessing of his complete lack of self-control and oversight is that he doesn’t have to ride alongside you today on patrol.

“I’ve got the first batch of the season,” You announced as you walked through the doors of the small makeshift market. It was right along the main street, a few fronts down from the mess hall and the Tipsy Bison.

“Oh, lovely!” The man at the back counter praised, clearing a space atop it for you to put down the delivery.

“Marsha.” You nodded toward her in greeting, uncomfortable with the way her eyes had followed you through the few aisles after letting the man go over the contents of the crate. Another nod to her daughter, standing right beside her with a small wicker basket full of root vegetables. “I’ve got a jar in there for you, with the garlic you managed to salvage from the garden.”

She didn’t say anything, looking for all the world like her voice had been stolen from her. A small nudge from her daughter jostled her and she seemed to find it.

“Thank you, Olive. That was…very sweet of you to think of me.”

“Of course, anything to be of help.”

“Yes, of course.” She repeated your words, trailing off as she noticed a figure across the street. Her eyes tracked their movement but when you turned to see what had caught her attention there was no one there. Suddenly she was speaking your actual name and it roused your nerves to life. “You…do so much for the town, I just wanted you to know that we all appreciate the time you take each year to handle the harvest.”

“O-oh, well, um, thank you, Marsha. That’s very k-kind of you to say.”

“Momma,” Millie whispered, taking ahold of the older woman’s arm. Something in her voice you couldn’t quite get a read on. Taking that as your queue to cut off the rather awkward interaction, you waved at them and began to head back up to the counter to collect the items you had requested in exchange for the crate of jars. Your ears were strained, trying to catch the hushed words the women shared behind your back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I realized how…unfairly we speak about her. Someone convinced me to apologize to her.”

“She doesn’t deserve apologies, she’s the reason-“

“Millie, we need to work on moving past that. It’s been five years now. We can all live alongside each other with the understanding of what happened.”

“No, momma, you may be ready to forgive her but I’m not. She got my Aiden and I’m not going to let her drag down Joel too.”

“He was the one who told me to be nicer to her, just trying to appease the lovely man.”

Any good feelings of a successful harvest and two weeks of working countless hours to jar, pickle, and transform the fruit from your trees vanished. The awkward yet positive sentiment from one of your more…complicated social connections going down with it at Millie’s angered words. You tried to muster up a smile for the man at the counter, taking the crate back from him with the trade items but you weren’t sure if you were able to. Not turning to look at the women, you exited the shop and made your way straight back home despite the list of errands in your pocket.

Of course Joel had caught wind of the way people spoke of you.

Heard it from Marsha herself, the source of all your troubles despite having done everything in your power to counteract the bad you had brought down on the town with your incompetence. He had put his own reputation at stake by sticking up for you and you only hoped it didn’t affect the way he was received. He was so important to the town, achieving far more than you in what he provided and brought in his skill set.

You didn’t want him to feel even a fraction of what you did as you navigated life here in the settlement. The pitying looks cast your way, the whispered words of what people felt entitled enough to voice, the way you seemed to only be good for one thing and it was the crop in the backyard of the house you had been assigned by pure circumstance.

The crate thudded atop the table where you thrust it harshly, frustration controlling your movements as you moved through the small house back to your room. Shucking off and resisting the urge to hurl your boots toward the closet you sighed as you felt tears prickle your eyes. They rolled hot down your cheeks as you curled up in the covers and gave up on what was supposed to be a good day.

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dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

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[inbabylontheywept]

Hi there! I just read through a few of your long form posts -- the one about the boss and the glue traps and the lizards, the one about the friend and the radishes and the cop, and the one about the breakup and the car and the neighbor's car and your dad -- and I'm just really blown away by your writing. And I'm just curious, are they actual experiences or are they fiction? They read like actual experiences, and the writing is so naturalistic and...idk, low key sweet, stream of consciousness without the major sidetracking that often happens in stream of consciousness writing and also more...more poetical in a way, I guess. I don't know. Are you published or wanting to? I mean I couldn't help with that or anything but if you've got a book out I'd love to read it.

Patrick McManus was kind of THE legendary writer to my family. When my dad was a kid, he'd sit on the porch the door that the monthly copy of Outdoor Life was going to arrive, and as soon as he got it, he'd run in with it and take it to his dad, who would gather all his kids around and read the stories out loud.

My dad loved it because his dad would make a whole performance out of the readings: He'd do voices, pantomimes, dramatic sound effects, the works. The stories are amazing, but the out-of-character behavior from his dad was half the selling point. Grandpa Hank was, to his core, a good man. But he was gruff, and socially, pretty stiff, and he didn't often show emotion. I think my dad said he saw him tear up one time growing up, and it was when he got dropped off at the MTC. My mom was married to my dad for three years before Grandpa Hank was comfortable enough to sit down in their house, and he liked her. That's just how he was.

(You just praised me for not getting sidetracked, but I'm letting myself wander down those memories a bit. He died last year. I miss him terribly.)

Anyway: Those stories were how I first started learning how to spin a yarn. I got older and I got more influence than just cowboys and Westerns, but the soul of my style is still just The American Tall Tale.

Which is to say that they're not outright fabrications. When I say that I cut all the worms up in my backyard and had a panic attack and hid in a tree until my mom got me, that happened. But I only remember the vaguest outlines of the words that were said. When there's a line in that story about my mom telling me that she's sure the worms will forgive me because they got six hearts to love and no bones to pick, that's not how she talks. That's how I talk.

Other stories, they're far less fuzzy than that, but I can still point out things I don't know. Wrestling story was from middle school, and a lot of those "crisp details" are just me painting by vibe. I've had some people that did wrestling through highschool point out things like refs not actually counting to three, or how double-legs are not actually super effective for tall wrestlers. I don't actually know how much the woman I wrestled weighed, nor do I remember how much I weighed, except that I was more than two weight classes smaller than her. Car incident, I got broke up with, went to her parents door, waited on the lawn, and was given some olives to go with a wireless phone. But exact wording of a lot of the people involved fails me. As a rule, the weirder an event is, the more likely I am to be distinctly remembering it and not just filling in the background. Except for dialogue, which often turns out weird because when I have to make up things for other characters to say, it carries too much of my own speaking style in it, and that's always been weird.

There are even points where things do come right off the rails. In the stories about J post, J himself became a sort of mythic figure after he moved, and lot of the stories about him, I don't even know I'm remembering them first hand or second hand from a story someone else shared with me.

I know it would be easier to just go, yeah, they're true, or no, they're not, but I did a weird thing and mixed them up and now even I'm a little confused.

Regarding publishing: I'm not published, and the thought of trying to get published scares the shit out of me. I

I don't know. If anyone has advice, I'd be interested.

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Your baby’s first summer 🥺 exploring the beach, sand in her feet for the first time, Harry helping her walk down to the water

Sun, Sea, And Sandy Footprints.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here!!

authors note - to celebrate the end of summer, here’s this cute little blurb ☺️

word count - 2.4k

in which, it’s your daughters first time at the beach, the sun is shining, the sea is cooling and this is where you realise there’s no place you’d rather be.

The sun is warm on your skin, the kind of warmth that seeps into your bones and makes you feel like you could stay here forever. The narrow cobblestone streets of the small Italian town lead you toward the beach, the sound of the waves growing louder with each step.

It’s late afternoon, the perfect time when the crowds have thinned and the golden light makes everything look like it’s part of a painting.

Harry walks beside you, holding the baby bag in one hand and a beach bag in the other, his fingers wrapped securely around the straps as if to say,

I’ve got us covered.

You glance over at him, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair, which is messy from the breeze that has been blowing gently all day. There’s a relaxed smile playing on his lips, the kind of smile that comes from being exactly where you want to be, with exactly who you want to be with.

He catches you looking at him and grins, a little wider now, as if he’s reading your thoughts and thinking the same thing.

In the stroller, your ten month old daughter Quinn babbles happily, her tiny feet kicking excitedly.

She’s the spitting image of her father—same curls, same green eyes, same dimpled smile that lights up her whole face.

You can’t help but laugh softly as you watch her, her chubby hands gripping onto the sides of the stroller as if she’s trying to push herself even faster toward the beach.

“Someone’s excited,” Harry speaks, his voice soft and full of affection as he leans over to look at his daughter. He reaches out to smooth a curl away from her forehead, and she looks up at him with a wide grin, her eyes crinkling at the corners just like his do.

Such a daddy’s girl.

“She gets that from you,” you say, your voice tinged with the warmth of nostalgia.

You can’t help but think of all the times you’ve walked this very path together, before Quinn, before marriage, just the two of you, hands intertwined, the world at your feet.

“Maybe,” he replies, giving you a playful wink.

You chuckle, the sound blending with the rustle of the sea breeze through the olive trees lining the path. “She’ll be surfing before we know it.”

Harry laughs, the deep, melodic sound that always sends a shiver of happiness through you. “She’ll be better than me at it, too.”

As you finally reach the beach, the familiar sight of the turquoise waves lapping gently at the shore fills you with a sense of peace. It’s the same beach where you and Harry spent countless summer days, where you first taught him how to surf, where you shared late-night kisses under the stars, and where you promised each other a lifetime of adventures.

The beach is quiet now, just a few scattered families and couples, the perfect setting for an afternoon with your own little family.

You find a spot near the water, close enough that the sound of the waves fills the air, but far enough that Quinn can play without getting wet.

Harry stops and carefully places the beach bag down, then turns to unclip Quinn from her stroller.

There’s a tenderness in his movements, a carefulness that shows how much he cherishes these moments with her.

You reach into the baby bag, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric of Quinn’s favorite blanket before you find your phone. You pull it out, your heart already swelling with anticipation as you aim the camera at Harry and Quinn.

“Ready, M’love?” Harry asks, glancing at you with a smile that makes your heart skip a beat. He cradles Quinn against his chest for a moment, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before slowly lowering her down to the sand.

You nod, unable to suppress the excitement in your voice as you hit record. “Ready.”

Harry gently places Quinn’s tiny feet on the sand, his hands steady as he holds her under her arms. For a moment, Quinn just stands there, her little toes curling and uncurling as she experiences the strange, grainy texture beneath her.

She looks up at her father, wide-eyed and uncertain, her expression a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“What do you think, Quinnie-girl?” Harry asks softly, his voice full of encouragement. “S’a bit different, isn’t it?”

Quinn’s lips part in a small ‘o,’ and for a second, she seems unsure. Her toes dig into the sand, and she lets out a little squeak, as if trying to decide whether she likes this new sensation or not.

Harry chuckles, his grip on her steady and reassuring. He nudges her forward ever so slightly, guiding her tiny feet to take a step.

“Go on, sweetheart,” you say, your voice barely containing your joy as you watch through the screen.

With a little help from her dad, Quinn takes a wobbly step forward. Then another. Her initial hesitation begins to melt away, replaced by a look of pure delight as she starts to move her feet through the soft, warm sand.

She lets out a joyful squeal, her eyes lighting up as she realizes she likes the feeling after all.

“There you go,” Harry says, his own face beaming as he encourages her. “That’s m’girl.”

You can’t help the huge smile that spreads across your lips, your heart swelling with pride and love as you watch your daughter discover the world around her.

Quinn looks up at you, her green eyes sparkling with happiness, the same dimpled smile that always makes your heart flutter now spread across her tiny face.

“She loves it,” you whisper, more to yourself than to Harry, but he hears you and glances over, his smile matching yours.

“Of course she does,” he replies, his voice warm with affection.

“I think we’ve got a beach lover on our hands,” you say, your voice full of pride.

Harry nods, his eyes never leaving Quinn as she continues to explore. “Just like her mama.”

You smile at that, capturing every moment, every smile, every step, knowing that this is one of those memories you’ll hold onto forever. Quinn’s laughter fills the air, blending with the sound of the waves and the seagulls overhead, and for a moment, the world feels perfectly in sync.

Harry walks over to you, leaving Quinn happily investigating the sand, her little feet kicking up tiny clouds as she explores her new surroundings.

You watch him as he sits down beside you, his movements easy and relaxed, the sun casting a warm glow on his skin.

He leans back on his hands for a moment, taking in the view of the beach, before turning his attention back to you with that familiar, playful glint in his eye.

“Think she’ll stay entertained for a bit?” he asks, nodding toward Quinn, who’s currently fascinated by the sand slipping through her fingers.

You reach into the baby bag and pull out a few toys—a colorful stacking cup, a soft plushie, and a small shovel and bucket.

“She’s got her toys, so we should be safe for now,” you say with a smile, handing the toys to Harry, who places them in front of Quinn.

Quinn’s face lights up when she sees her toys, and she immediately reaches for the stacking cup, babbling happily to herself as she tries to figure out how it works. You can’t help but smile at her curiosity, the way she’s so focused on figuring things out in her own little world.

As you watch her, Harry reaches into the beach bag and pulls out the bottle of sunscreen.

“Don’t want you getting burned,” he says, giving you a knowing look as he shakes the bottle. “Shall I?”

You nod, your lips curving into a playful smile as you turn your back to him. “Sure, but don’t try anything funny. Quinn’s right there, you know.”

Harry places a hand on his heart, feigning innocence with a mock-serious expression. “As if I would! m’nothing if not a gentleman.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head at his antics, but there’s a warmth in your chest that only grows as he moves closer.

He squeezes some sunscreen into his hands, rubbing them together before gently placing his hands on your shoulders. His touch is warm and soothing as he starts to massage the lotion into your skin, his fingers working in slow, circular motions.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice low and comforting as his hands move down your back. “M’just taking care of m’girl.”

You close your eyes, letting out a contented sigh as he continues, his touch tender and caring. The sound of the waves, Quinn’s soft babbling, and the warmth of Harry’s hands create a sense of calm that makes you feel completely at peace.

“You’ve got the magic touch, you know that?” you say softly, tilting your head slightly to give him better access as he works the sunscreen into your skin.

“Years of practice,” he replies with a chuckle, his hands moving lower, across your shoulder blades, then down the length of your spine. “Besides, I have to keep y‘looking this good. Can’t have you getting sunburned.”

You roll your eyes, though he can’t see it, and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “You’re just saying that because you want something.”

Harry leans in a little closer, his breath warm against your ear.

“Maybe I do,” he teases, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But f’now, m’just being the responsible husband.”

You laugh, shaking your head at his words. “Quinn’s going to figure out your tricks one day, you know. And then you’ll be outnumbered.”

“Until then,” he says, his tone light and full of mischief, “I’ll just have to keep charming you both.”

Harry’s hand is warm in yours, his fingers interlaced with yours as you walk together, Quinn nestled comfortably in his other arm. The rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the shore creates a serene backdrop to the moment, and for a while, everything feels peaceful and perfect.

Quinn’s tiny hand is curled around one of Harry’s fingers, her chubby cheek pressed against his chest as she watches the water with wide eyes. You give her a soft smile, gently squeezing Harry’s hand as you both step into the cool, refreshing water.

The sea swirls around your ankles, a soothing contrast to the warmth of the day, and you glance up at Harry, who’s watching you with a smile that makes your heart flutter.

“Ready to give it a go, little one?” Harry murmurs to Quinn, his voice full of love and encouragement. He bends down slightly, holding her securely as he lowers her feet toward the water.

The moment Quinn’s tiny toes touch the cool water, her reaction is immediate.

She lets out a loud, startled cry, her legs kicking frantically as she tries to pull away from the unfamiliar sensation. Her little face crumples into a frown, and within seconds, tears are streaming down her cheeks.

“Oh, Quinnie,” you say softly, your heart twisting with sympathy as you watch her. Harry instantly lifts her back into his arms, cradling her close to his chest as she continues to cry, her face buried against his neck. He rocks her gently, his expression full of concern as he whispers soothing words into her ear.

“It’s okay, sunshine,” Harry says softly, his voice full of tenderness as he rubs her back. “Daddy’s got you. S’all right.”

Quinn’s small fingers grip onto the peach fuzz at the base of his neck, clinging to him as if he’s her safe haven. Her cries are quieter now, but she’s still clearly upset, her tiny body trembling against him. You step closer, reaching out to gently stroke her back, your hand brushing against Harry’s as you both try to comfort her.

“Oh angel,” you say, your voice filled with sympathy as you watch her bury her face deeper into Harry’s neck.

Harry shakes his head, his brow furrowed with concern as he continues to rock her gently.

You give him a reassuring smile, placing a hand on his arm.

He sighs, his gaze softening as he looks down at his daughter. “We’ll take it slow next time, yeah? Maybe when the water’s a bit warmer.”

Quinn’s cries have quieted down to soft whimpers now, her little body still pressed tightly against Harry’s. You watch as he presses a gentle kiss to her temple, murmuring sweet nothings to her as he continues to sway back and forth.

The sight of them together, Quinn’s tiny form held securely in Harry’s arms, fills you with an overwhelming sense of love and protectiveness.

“Do you want to head back to the blanket?” you suggest softly, your eyes full of understanding as you look at Harry. “Maybe she needs a little break.”

He nods, his expression tender as he meets your gaze. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

The three of you slowly make your way back up the beach, the sound of the waves receding as you step onto the warm sand. Harry holds Quinn close the entire way, his thumb gently stroking the back of her head as her cries finally start to fade into soft sniffles.

When you reach the blanket, Harry carefully sits down with Quinn still in his arms, cradling her as if she’s the most precious thing in the world. You kneel beside them, reaching out to gently brush a stray curl away from Quinn’s damp cheek.

“She’s okay,” you say softly, more for Harry’s reassurance than anything.

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and love. “I just want to make sure she’s happy, you know?”

You smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “She is. She’s got you, after all.”

Quinn stirs slightly in his arms, her big, tear-filled eyes peeking up at you both. Harry gives her a gentle smile, his voice soft and soothing as he says, “See? Mama’s right here, and Daddy’s not going anywhere. We’re safe and sound.”

Quinn lets out a tiny, contented sigh, her little fingers still clutching Harry’s shirt as she finally starts to relax. You reach out to gently pat her back, your heart swelling with love for your little family.

Together, the three of you sit there on the beach, the sun beginning to set in the distance, casting a warm, golden glow over everything. In this moment, despite the tears and the unexpected hiccups, everything feels exactly as it should be.

Soaking up the sun, surrounded by the people you love.

There’s no place you’d rather be.

[auspexsims]

[sahrii]

7EVEN DAYS OF WINNING YOU | Iwaizumi x fem!reader

synopsis; in which, he finally realises his feelings, and it takes him seven days to make her his.

wc; 1.1k + 10 smau pictures

warnings; high school iwaizumi, karasuno!fem!reader, they’ve known each other for a while, slight hurt to comfort? down bad iwa like always, not proofread and maybe not as good as i wanted it to be.

DAY 1, 05.06.2012

He was always there.

The second she’d step foot out of the house, his figure gracefully flooded her vision. A white jacket decorated with cyan strips hugging his torso a bit too tightly. Chocolate brown hair that perpetually defied gravity in the best way possible. Soft green eyes that might have been plucked from olive trees. And the signature loving frown etched into his lips.

This morning ritual has become as familiar as sunrise. Him against a stray streetlight outside her house. Him leaning in closer to listen to the hum of her voice as they walk to their schools. Him offering to hold her bag for her. Little things that made their world.

“y’know, you look like you haven’t slept a twink” he said, her bag slung over his shoulder in a lazy manner that did something to her heart.

“why thank you, iwa, that’s very reassuring,” she rolled her eyes.

“you can always text me if you can’t sleep,” he muttered, a sudden blush taking over his cheeks. They’ve now reached the street in which they part their way.

she looked up to him, a smile decorating her face. “you’re gonna regret offering that,”

“sure I will,” he grinned, handing her the bag.

DAY 2, 06.06.2012

DAY 3, 07.06.2012

DAY 4, 08.06.2012

“I’ve never seen an in love iwa,” sighed oikawa dreamily. “You’re growing up,” he teased, earning a snicker from Mattsun, who had his pockets stuffed in his hands. Iwaizumi was pulling his sleeves upwards, in preparation for a life threatening kick targeted at oikawa, a vein popping out of his head.

“I think you should ask her out,” he heard makki say, but every other sound dissipated into the air when he set eyes on her figure. It felt like he’d ran a marathon. His heart was getting a bit louder, and his palms became sweatier.

It was almost unreal, the effect she had on him. Almost unhealthy. He gulps, his eyes her figure in a distance. His friends thought he almost grew heart eyes. It might have been true, his eyes almost changed colour from this soft, light green to a darker one, pigmented with a soft emerald of a spring meadow.

A hand pushed his shoulder forward, and he snapped his head to the culprit. Mattsun.

“Go,”

Iwaizumi cocked an eyebrow.

“Go walk her home,” he added. The rest muttered in some sort of agreement and began walking away, leaving iwaizumi standing alone. His eyes snapped back to her figure, she was finally closer.

The moment she set her eyes on him, shooting stars bloomed through her, her eyes obtaining a sparkle of some sorts. She ran to where he was standing.

“iwa!” she exclaimed, standing right beside him, shoulders almost touching.

“hey,” he mumbled, almost stuttered.

“I thought you’re gonna be late today?”

“practice was cancelled,”

She hummed in response as they began walking once again. Her mouth kept moving, words about her day spilling out. But the only thing he could focus on was the electrocuting sensation he got with every occasional shoulder bump he received from her. He thought he’d gone deaf, blood rushing to the tips of his ears.

It was that day. The 8th of June, 2012. The day he realised he was in love with her.

DAY 5, 09.06.2012

DAY 6, 10.06.2012

It started getting a bit out of hand.

The way his heart raced. The way he yearned to see her every second of the day. He started getting off practice early, sometimes even skipping practice. Meeting her everyday with his hands curling into nervous fists hidden in the pockets of his jacket.

He told her he’s going to be late today. He lied. He couldn’t wait, so he excused himself from practice.

But today, she wasn’t alone. His mouth went dry and he felt a pang of dread and a stab of unease send direct blows to his beating heart.

A grey haired figure stood beside her. Her bag flung on his shoulder. Her breathes in sync with his. Her eyes crinkling into a happy smile. He wished he stayed in practice.

His feet grew a mind of their own, and started walking in hurried steps. He hoped she didn’t see him. Maybe he’s lying. He hoped she saw him. And maybe ran to him. And maybe flung her hands around his neck. And maybe, just maybe, kissed his lips with her sweet ones.

He went home and forced himself into sleep, not wanting his mind to recall a single memory from today.

DAY 7, 11.06.2012

He wasn’t able to sleep last night.

His brain treacherously betrayed him, replaying the way her eyes crinkled and a soft laugh escaped her lips like a broken record player.

A bouquet of flowers hid behind his back, palms sweaty and sticky. He didn’t want to think about what’s going to happen if she said no. His heart was in a state of turmoil. The adrenaline of the unknown clashing with crippling anxiety creating a mixture of naked disorder sheltering in the chambers of his heart.

He was sat on a bench. It’s rich brown colour were faded into a sad shade of beige. His leg was bouncing with anxiety and a series of what if’s. What if she doesn’t like him. What if she’s dating the grey haired guy. What if what if what if. It was the domino’s effect. One question bloomed another till his mind was flooded and his heart nowhere to be seen.

“Haji,” he heard a melodious, almost angelic voice call. It was hers. He abruptly stood up, knees weakening a little in the process. He turned so that he’s facing her, his hand behind his back.

She cocked an eyebrow. “Is everything okay?”

Iwaizumi didn’t bother responding. He just shoved the flowers with trembling fingers, the flowers practically exploding into her face. His cheeks were decorated by a slight burn of embarrassment and nervousness.

“Huh-“

“Go out with me,” he interrupted.

She blinked at him, arms cradling the flowers. One blink. Two blinks. His heart was out of this world, ears on fire. His mind spiralled into a never ending stream of doubt.

“Okay…” she replied, stretching the O and the Kay, and adding a tone of questioning at the end.

“Okay?” he repeated.

“I’ll go out with you,”

Now he blinked. Three times, to be exact. “Oh,”

“What, did you want me to say no?”

He shook his head. “No—I’m just…you like me?”

“Did you hit your head?”

Maybe he did, he wanted to say. “Shut up,” he mumbled, head turning away from her to hide the flush tattooed on his cheeks.

The flowers he’s gotten her were red tulips. Velvet petals kissed by sunlight at the dawn of day. A hopeful reminder of the passion to be blooming between them, creating red strings of fate that’ll follow both their figures even if they ended up on opposite sides of the world.

[the-bramble--patch]

"I had a professor called Oliver Rackham, an ecologist and historian, who studied the ways that ecosystems have shaped--and been shaped by--human cultures for thousands of years. He took us to nearby forests and told us about the history of these places and their human inhabitants by reading the twists and splits in the branches of old oak trees, by observing where nettles thrived, by noting which plants did or didn't grow in a hedgerow. Under Rackham's influence, the clean line I had imagined dividing nature and culture started to blur."

-Merlin Sheldrake, Entangled Life

[fading-event-608]

Hey everyone! A huge thank you for your generous donations—we’ve raised $176 (1.813 kr) since our last update! We still need to gather $827 (8506 kr) this week to reach the short-term goal of $2,500, which breaks down to just 414 people contributing $2 each or 165 individuals giving $5. On average, my updates about Falastin's fundraiser get around 500 reblogs, so I know we can do this together! Let’s keep it going!

"Wait… Hold on for a moment! What is happening here? Why is it that I’m being asked to contribute my hard-earned money to this fundraiser?" you may ask.

Well, this fundraiser is set up to get Falastin's family out of Gaza, which is 24 family members including their children. Her family is desperately fighting for survival, caught in a nightmare where every day is a struggle. They need our help to escape this awful situation; it costs between $8,000 and $11,000 for each person to evacuate. Beyond that, they are in dire need of funds for basic necessities — food, water, and medicine. Their lives depend on us; every little bit we can offer could mean the world to them.

I'm excited to keep you in the loop by illustrating this olive tree that grows with each donation Falastin's gofundme receives. And who knows? You might see something special when we hit that $2500 milestone!

Conversion ratios:

5$ = 51.27 kr

10$ = 102.55 kr

25$ = 256.37 kr

50$ = 512.75 kr

100$ = 1,025.50 kr

DONATION LINK

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Vetted by 90-ghost and shared HERE

This campaign is number 282 in The Vetted Gaza Evacuation List

Shared with the permission of Falastin herself.

FIRST POST with base information about the campaign.

LAST UPDATE

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[nyxthedeity]

𝔾𝕒𝕫𝕖

Synopsis: She never liked loud noises, it drives her crazy. That's also a reason why she'll never go to quidditch matches and just have her friends tell her all about it in the comfort of their quiet dorms. But with her love growing in her heart for the Gryffindor's Keeper, she found herself in the stands after all. That's not what's weird though, it's how the noise dulled when their eyes met.

Pairing: Oliver Wood x Gryffindor!femreader

Word Count: 1,147

🏆❤️‍🔥🧹🧣

Y/n always found comfort in silence. It's where she can hear her thoughts, where she can hum her favorite tune. That's the reason why she's always missing in action in the stands of the Gryffindor house in quidditch matches, the celebratory parties, or in the circle of students when somebody's fighting. Just not her thing, despite being sorted into the roaring crowd of Gryffindors.

That's one of the cons of into being such loud house when all you want is peace you'd typically get from sneaking out past curfew and sitting by the great lake, the sound of splashing water, the soft rustle of trees, and the occasional hum of birds. The pros is that she get to see a beautiful sight of her fancied Keeper. Oliver Wood.

Having him as her crush is quite easy, just had to pretend that she can't faint from a mere glimpse of him, all sweaty, either a frown or a big smile depending on how the match or their training concluded. Either way, she just needs to stop her heart from jumping out of her chest to run to Oliver like a puppy. She just needs to keep her gaze to herself, which was hard, considering how he looks so great flying in the air with the golden sunlight hitting him. She likes how his eyes squint in an attempt of pushing out the blinding light in his perfect brown eyes. She swears that sight brings her somewhere.

The smile that was lost in the midst of a bad day could easily be restored by just the silhouette of him. Or that Scottish accent of his whenever him and his friends walk past her table in the library. They once shared a glance, a simple glance that may or may not have sent her brain circuit haywire. Maybe his eyes does sent her somewhere. ---

Oliver wasn't so different or oblivious to the occurances Y/n was going through.

Oliver was now used to himself being the source of noise, taken that every training, he'd always have his voice raised up to bark commands or advices to his team. But whenever he's flying high up above the ground, his eyes always knows when Y/n passes by as his gaze immediately goes down to her. His mind immediately tries to find a face in the stands during matches unbeknownst to him. It's like looking for someone but doesn't have any idea who it is, then being disappointed when not seeing it. Something's definitely wrong.

Sharing a class with Y/n, he sat a few seat before her. It was weird how his eyes found her figure scribbling in her parchment before looking at anything else. She must've felt a pair of eyes burning through the back of her skull and turned around, landing her gaze to Oliver. He, instead of looking away, can't seem to tear his gaze off. He sent a nod before turning to his friends.

That nod was enough motivation for Y/n for like a year. An acknowledgement? An interaction? Please give her more. The butterflies in her stomach was palpable, unrivaled, blissful. A smile suddenly appeared in her face and never left despite the obvious bore of the subject, feeling more motivated than ever before. ---

Days passed by had left him in daze from how his thoughts were flooded with confusion on how a single girl made his world turn upside-down

Now this is getting weird on Oliver's part. Why in the world does he recognize her face everywhere? Why does he find himself intruigued? You were just a quiet Gryffindor he never sees in the stands to support any matches of his. A normal student living a normal life. Yet why?

He found her in the library again, scanning though some textbooks about Ancient Runes, he sat quietly in a safe distance, eyes drifting to her every now and then. He thinks he's sick in the head because why is he ogling like some sort of a stalker? And why does he like that frown on her face. Why in the Merlin's beard is he having butterflies in his stomach? No words nor sounds is proof of how the butterflies in his stomach evolved to a whole circus as he continued to stare like some lovesick puppy to it's owner. This is not him at all.

Even if his words do fail him, he's pretty sure it won't even be a bother. His eyes would surely give him away… Emotion easily spills out of the eyes the moment you feel it, and if this goes on, he won't be any better. He doesn't feel like himself, but he doesn't mind it. He feels different, but only when she's near. He wants to be closer, yet the burn of his desire was slow. He's seriously setting up his own slow burn novel. Despite that, he finds himself completely going with it's flow. Completely letting his world slowly circulate in a random girl named Y/n that was living a peaceful life that he may or may not just ruin.

Similar thoughts flooded his mind now that they're about to make their appearance for the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff match. That's not good as when he's giving his original and rough pep talk, he often pause to push the though of her possibly be there for absolutely no resolute reason in the back of his mind.

Y/n was not having fun, too. Her bestfriend, Nicole, a huge Gryffindor supporter in these times, mananged to somehow drag her in this very chaotic and loud crowd. The game haven't even started and their cheers is already so deafening. Her mind was throbbing and she was a centimeter close to punching this random guy beside her who was shouting so hard that the only thing left for him to do is to swallow a microphone. Definitely pushing her at the edge.

The Gryffindor quidditch team now flew into the air and into their position, her eyes immediately settled on his. She was taken by surprised when his eyes are already looking at her.

And it was weird. Not because of the fact that his eyes looked like it was just finding hers, too, but the fact that everything seemed to fade away. The guy beside her suddenly quieted down, the boos of the opposing house also faded away. All she can hear is her heartbeat and the wind passing through. Is this some wandless magic of his? To severely make her hooked on him for so long? For her to not see nor hear anyone but him? She imagined them so suddenly, dancing in the middle of the hall, dancing in circles with their hands intertwined. That delusion suddenly feels so real. He gave a smile that she thinks is a step in making that fantasy real.

Oliver never felt so eager to win. 🏆❤️‍🔥🧹🧣 Alright! Second fic is here! I am so happy with how my first fanfic turned out that I had to make another one. Though I think this can be better so you can message me if you have advices or suggestions, I'll be so happy to receive them! I hope I some how satisfy your imagination, sweeting! Feel free to request similar things or for a whole different character! Your dearest Author, NyxTheDeity

[readychilledwine]

A Burden To Carry

Villain's Week - Day 2 - Weakness

Summary - He had given her everything, loved her through all her ages, just to have one fight tear his whole world down

Warnings - abuse, infidelity, twisted family situations, love from an abuser's mind

A/n - Happy @sjmvillainweek day 2! For weakness, I decided to do something I've gotten a lot asks about: Lyria and Beron pre him learning she is Helion's daughter and not his. I firmly believe Beron would be a sucker for a daughter in a twisted sense and in a healing sense. If you have not joined Lyria's world, she is my Vanserra OC who put her magic into healing through touch, mainly massage therapy. She is, per Vanserra sister oc Tradition, mated to Azriel. If you are into different forms of poly relationships, acts of service, and smut, peep her masterlist. Otherwise, I did set this to where it can be read alone 💕

I have a pattern this week of drabble and longer fics just due to planning so much content. This is today's drabble.

✨️Lyria’s World✨️

🗡Villain's Week Masterlist🗡Master Masterlist🗡

Beron had never known love like what he felt for his daughter as she bounced over to him. Her hair was in soft curls, her smile bright. Beron held love for so few things, but Lyria? Lyria was his light.

She was a small thing at the tender age of 6, still so curious about how the world worked, how how night became day, where the river went if it left to lands where she could not follow. He picked her up, holding her slightly above him before settling her on his lap.

“Daddy, if the leaves here are red, why are the leaves at Tamtam’s flowers?”

“Different seasons, my love.”

Lyria glared at the simplicity of his answer, “I think Tamtam's leaves are wrong.”

He could only chuckled at her standing with her in his arms, “And how do you suggest we fix them?” Beron had a running list of Lyria’s ideas and mis-speakings. From demanding her crown be more spark-y to stating she felt the solution to court disagreements was a slumber party where she'd play guard and smack high Lord's with her feathered pillow if they were being mean, he cherished that list. Cherished her.

“We take them from him,” she glared, her little voice far too innocent to realize she was implying going to war over trees being different. “Oh! Look what I can do!”

Lyria held her little hand to him, a fire coming to life on her palm.

A fire that looked far too much like a sun spark. Not like a raging hearth.

The image of her small display of magic haunted Beron as they ate that night. 4 sons. 1 daughter. 3 empty chairs.

He would be a fool to pretend the son that sat on one of those chairs was ever his. The skin tanned too easily in the sun, the hair in tighter curls and a deeper shade of red than he had ever seen. The eyes a slightly darker shade than predicted.

Lucien was never Beron's but Beron had played the part until the embarrassment could no longer be ignored. Since that fateful night, Beron had been under the impression his wife, the wife he thought he loved so much, wanted to have another child as an olive branch, an apology.

Now as he looked at that little girl, so glued to Eris's every word, he felt that same rage simmering deep within him.

“Daddy,” a little voice cut him from the thoughts he was having, “can I go play with Eris's puppies tonight?”

“Hounds,” Eris sighed, slightly annoyed. “They are hounds, sister.”

“No,” the answer made the whole table pause. Lyria had never heard no in her short life. “You were already out playing past curfew and conned me into skipping lessons today. You will go to bed early.”

Seeing her soft pout, her eyes watering, it broke his heart. It broke him as he continued looking at her, truly looking at her. Nothing physically indicated she was not his. She was the carbon copy of her mother. Same nose, same eyes, same chin.

Lyria's 16th birthday came in a flash of light and Beron kept his growing suspicious to himself as she sat at the vanity being forced to look the part he truly didn't know if she should have been given. In the past several years, he'd passed her off to Eris. Sighting her brother needing to be more involved with her as the reason. Beron loved her, he loved her more than he'd ever allow anyone to know, but he was not blind to the possibility that somehow she was not his.

“Daddy?”

“Lyria,” he tried to show no emotion in his voice as she stood, the red velvet dress hugging her torso before going to a full skirt, “stunning.” He moved to her, hand on her cheek. “Do you remember the rules?”

She nodded as she nuzzled into the rare contact from her father. A handmaiden forced her head straight, adding a simple tiara in, “No dancing with one suitor for too long. Honor each high lord with their own dance. Keep near Eris and his partner.”

“And,” he gripped her chin lightly.

“No running off with anyone. Male or female. I am to maintain my image.”

He nodded, satisfied, “Who is your first dance?”

“Eris, in place of you, to allow you to continue taking bids for my hand.”

The rules were simple as a hand went to her lower back, escorting her out the dressing room doors and into the hallway where the royal family stood waiting. Lyria was their star tonight. The red velvet dress had a straight neckline with stones leading to long sleeves. They, too, had been adorned with a rotation of diamonds in various sized.

Beron had spared no expense on this gown, not 100% thrilled it was different from traditional fashion, but her face as she had tried it on made it worth it. Eris quickly made the corset slightly tighter before looking her over and adjusting a few pieces of hair. “Aren't you just perfect,” her oldest brother murmured. “Excellent choice in gown father. Suitors will be aching to dance with her.”

His wife was the only one who seemed uncomfortable, “She is 16.” Her voice was soft in Beron's ear. “Perhaps we could wait and present her when-”

“She's of courting age,” Beron cut sharply the room falling silent like it had all those years ago when he first told Lyria no. “Her duty to is provide us with an alliance and grandchildren. She is my daughter. I see this as fit.”

Beron watched from his throne as Lyria charmed her way through every High Lord. She had glanced at him while dancing with Rhysand, a code they'd made to silently indicate when she'd found interest in a male. “Rumor has it that he likes them young,” Eris said bored. “Helion will be next, in place of his father. Prepare yourself, High Lord.” The exchange from Rhysand to Helion killed off that last shred of doubt in Beron's mind.

Where Helion touched Lyria. Lyria's skin faintly began to glow.

The same as it had when Helion's filthy hands touched Lucien.

Beron looked at his wife, what little gentleness he held gone, “Is she mine?” The question had his sons leaving the dais, suddenly very interested in several females in the room. “Is. She. Mine.”

All Lyria could hear from her room that night was screaming and fighting. Eris laid next her, whispering in her ear that none of this was her fault, that she was loved. He kept her behind him as Beron stormed into her room, trying to protect her.

The signs of what happened showed on Lyria's face, her body. Beron would not outright end her life, but there were times in the following years where he made her wish he had. Beron had hoped his love for her would die off, but by her 18th birthday, it was still there.

The affair was quiet, only suitors from Autumn, only males Beron deemed barely worthy. The light that burned so brightly in Lyria had died, diminished by her father as the last pieces of light in him died as well.

They say the best way to kill off a weakness is to stop caring about it.

And Beron, as he looked at the red haired girl going through the motions as she danced herself into exhaustion, realized he would never stop caring. No matter how much he wished he would.

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