#why does every conversation about this start with them going ''oh you REALLY need blood tests

[myrtaceaae]

Me: I have a phobia that stops me from doing [X]

Psychiatrist: well we're all a bit scared of some things, so you just have to be brave

Me: ????? Do You Fucking Know What A Phobia Is???

[cubeshapedlemon]

Hellooo, could you please write cooper Howard x trans!male reader? Ftm, so he/him, maybe like a bit of smut and I’d like to think that it would catch him off guard because reader passes pretty well, thanks! 🫶🏼

hey! i really apologize for how long this took my excuse is definitely something that i definitely am saying and definitely not some bs that really just means i was lazy. i hope you like it! im sorry its definitely not my best but enjoy if you can!

Way Back Home

A grody bar isn't usually where you expect to find worthwhile company, it is where you would expect to find one murderous gunslinger, turns out they can be one in the same.

☆ ☆ ☆

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Trans Masc Reader

3.4k words

cw/tags: trans male reader, cannon typical violence, improper binding techniques (mentioned), bottom growth, oral sex (tm receiving), piv, unprotected sex, pet names, implied childhood abuse, implied transphobia if you really squint (not by the ghoul), alcohol, smoking

☆ ☆ ☆

authors note: hey! again i apologize for everything stated under the ask but yeah! please lmk if i made any spelling or grammar mistakes or if i missed something in the tags. Also don't translate repost or copy this fanfic anywhere without my permission. thank you for requesting and thank you for reading!

The poor excuse for a bar you've found yourself in certainly has an interesting vibe. Tension between groups is so thick it chokes anyone that enters. Ghouls and other mutants aren't exactly popular around these parts, so when the bar owner decided to start letting them in to increase profits, the local population wasn't exactly thrilled.

Though you could care less, just passing through for a drink and whatever interactions come your way. There's no shame in that, just because the world is a blistering hellscape of barbarians, bullets, and blood doesn't mean a guy can't blow off some steam every once and a while. Though tonight, no one seemed particularly interesting.

That is of course until he roamed in. You had heard about him, the fearless gun-slinging ghoul. Wandering the wasteland and making more caps in a month than most people see in a lifetime. He certainly had a reputation. It was very clear that he knew.

Narrow hips swinging lazily as he walks in, eyes roving over the crowd of patrons, all of whom now had quieted down their conversations by at least one notch. His scarred lips pull back into a cocky smirk, tongue tip curling to lick his time and tobacco-stained teeth. Huffing out what looked to be a chuckle, he refocuses, walking towards the bar.

His gaze fixates on you, challenging you almost, it doesn't falter once, only breaking to give you a curt nod, turning to wave over the bartender to order. If you were honest, you would admit what the intensity of that eye contact did to you. The waves of desire shooting downwards. But there is no place for honesty in the wasteland.

Taking a sip of your drink, attempting to still your nerves through the burn of it, you hear an over exaggerated sigh next to you. “Now, I'd love to chit chat, but we both know why I'm here. Don't we?” Of course, it really was only a matter of time. “I believe we do,” you say non-committedly, turning to look at the bounty hunter.

“Well that certainly saves us some time now,” he declares, turning his head only slightly, eyes still straight ahead. “Your dear ol’ boss ain't too happy with you, put a pretty penny on your head in fact.” Straightening your posture, your hand discreetly slides to your holster, ready to go at a moment's notice. “So I've heard,” you acknowledge, tone flat and untrusting. The ghoul certainly was no angel. It would be foolish to not be prepared for the worst.

“See now, I don't have any interest in killin’ you,” he clarifies, “For now at least.” Finally turning to meet your gaze once again. Surprise befalls your face, which he notices, but does not comment on. “I need ya’ for somethin’ else.” Oh. “While I can think of plenty a’ reasons to keep a pretty boy like you in my company,” He comments, hazel eyes running up and down your body. “You're particularly useful to me in terms of your former boss.”

Clearing your throat, you decide to engage with him, anything you could do to not get on his bad side at this point would be to your advantage. Though it's not time to show our cards. He doesn't need to know everything. “And how is that? I was never anything but a grunt with a gun for that asshole,” You say, the lie sounding pretty convincing if you were to say so.

A small smirk falls on his face, like he knows. It's so small you almost missed it. “Asshole is right,” he says, pulling a pack of cigarettes and matches out of a pocket in his duster. “That piece of shit owes me ‘bout 600 caps.” he grits out, striking a match against his boot and lighting the cigarette that is now delicately clenched between his lips.

“Anyhow,” he begins, inhaling. “He wants you back alive, so you get the pleasure of bein’ a ‘bargaining’ chip and pack mule,” he laughs out, flicking the ash onto the bartop. Wow this guy is confident, “Yeah? What's in it for me?” Taking another puff from his cigarette he grins, “What's in it for you huh?” he barks out a short laugh, “Well Casanova, you get to stay alive.” I mean what could you really expect?

☆ ☆ ☆

By about the 6th day on the road he had gotten decently comfortable, allowing you to have your hands unbinded, and even chatting a little bit. Not that you exactly learned anything from those interactions, anything important that is. Pretty much the only things you managed to deduce was he was a fan of old movies, chems, and alcohol. The old movies thing might be a stretch though, while he did reference them he never gave a true opinion.

Now, the end of the 7th day, setting down for the night, you search through your pack, hoping that there was a crushed can of something or other at the bottom. It was unusual for you to be so low on food. Usually replenishing supplies every 4 days. But of course, you haven't gotten to do that. Ghoul's clearly don't need as much food and water as smoothskins. At least this one didn't. You had only seen him eat and drink a few times over the past week. Even then, it was small and he didn't seem to enjoy it very much. Anyway, he clearly was in no hurry to stock up on food.

Which ultimately is the reason your rummage had left you empty handed. Releasing a frustrated groan, you drop your pack on the ground again. The hollow thud of fabric accompanying your discontented huff. “What are you bitchin’ about now?” The ghoul asks, you could almost hear the eyeroll in his question. Looking up at him, you don't feel the need to dignify him with an answer. Leaning back on the rock behind you, you look at him half lidded. Clearly not understanding your intent to be frustrated and nonchalant, your stomach growls, spelling out his answer.

“I forget how often you smoothies have to eat,” he says, almost to himself. Rolling your eyes, you focus on what he is doing. Hand gripping his knife, he places it over the fire, a piece of what looks to be rad rat meat speared on it. Turning it over steadily, he roasts it. The once raw, gamey meat slowly becoming edible. Not that he particularly cares about that, usually he'll just eat it fresh and bloody. Must have just felt like something different.

His usually piercing gaze is at a soft focus, intent on the task of cooking, but almost peaceful. The swirls of gold in his eyes become more pronounced in the firelight. Now that you can focus on him, as far as ghouls go, he's pretty handsome. Well, actually as far as people go, he is. You never really fancied yourself a ghoul fucker, but he just had something about him.

After a few minutes, he pulls his knife away from the fire. Plopping the hunk of meat onto a handkerchief on the ground in front of him, he begins slicing it up. Chopping up the more undesirable bits off and setting them aside, as well as slicing the bulk into strips. Bunching the handkerchief portion in one hand, and the undesirables in the other, he walks over to you. Popping what seems to be a limb into his mouth, crunching as he bites down. “Here,” he says, dropping the handkerchief onto your lap, walking back to his original spot and sitting.

You must have made a sound of surprise, or at least you must have looked surprised. Either way the ghoul feels the need to make a reasoning for his decision. His mouth full, he speaks again. “What? Can't have you goin’ ‘round passin’ out on me.” Responding with a small hum, you pluck a slice from your lap, placing it in your mouth. While sustenance was sustenance, it didn't mean it was the best. The tough meat forcing you to rip it with your teeth to make it more manageable.

Out of your peripheral you notice him staring, gaze locked onto your face, and more specifically your mouth. Running his tongue across his teeth, his gaze roves down your body before removing itself entirely. Tipping his hat down to cover his eyes, he leans back, getting comfortable.

He sure is interesting.

☆ ☆ ☆

About halfway into the next day you finally get to the all-too familiar settlement. Rusted chain link fence and scrap-built home looking all the same. A spike of anxiety pulls at your throat in seeing it again. Memories flooding back of the cuts and bruises sustained in that house. For as long as you could remember.

The freshest of them, now only a memory. Scar tissue thick against your fingertips as you rub against them absentmindedly. A push on the back pulls you from your haze, “Come on now’ we ain't got all day,” The ghoul reminds, his tone is gruff, like he wants to get this over with already. Before your brain gets the message, your legs do. Walking to the door, two grunts standing guard. With a nod from the ghoul they open the door.

Walking a few paces inside, you quickly come face to face with him. A dangerous sneer pulls over his face as he sees you. Dark, beady eyes locking onto yours. “Hello, son,” he says, gritting out the last word like a mockery. “It’s about time you came home.” In your peripherals you see the ghoul subtlety raise a brow at that, but makes no other indication he noticed. Your ‘father’ slowly moves his gaze from you to the ghoul.

“So you don't just kill everything in your path,” he laughs out, “You actually followed my instructions to keep him alive, that's certainly a first for you.” His words attempt to pierce the thick skin of the ghoul, but they easily fall flat as the ghoul just gives him a grin. “While this back n’ forth we have is real cute n’ all I think it's ‘bout time you pay your dues.” Stepping closer to him, the ghoul places a heavy hand on the back of your neck, gripping the slightly grown-out hair at the nape. His grasp tightens to an almost painful level, the pressure releasing slightly when he pulls your head back, neck bearing towards him.

“See, I've grown a little attached to this one. I really was wonderin’ if I should bring him back at all.” As the last sentence ends his gaze is pulled to your exposed neck, before flicking back to your father with a deeper intensity than you have ever seen. “You haven't been very good at paying your bills,” he laughs out, releasing your neck with a push forward. Lazily waltzing forward he comes to what seems to be about a 5 foot gap between himself, and your father. “You give me, double, you get to keep on breathin’,” As the ghoul's words sink in, you see your fathers fists tighten, the guards in the room readying themselves for his signal.

Without a second thought, your father gives the signal. Before you can even blink, shots ring out in the room. It takes you a moment to even process what happened, but once you do, you don't know what to do. About ten feet ahead of you your father, or what used to be him, has slumped to the ground in a pathetic lump. Next to him, his top two men. When your ears stop ringing, you hear the ghoul. “Come on now, move your ass! I ain't got all day,” he says to one of the other guards in the room, gun pointed to his head. “Unless you wanna join spaghetti bolognese over there, I would suggest you get me what I'm owed.”

Clearly not wanting to risk it, the guard quickly collects a bag of caps, placing it in his hand. Snatching the bag, the ghoul walks back to you, grabbing you by the neck again to force you out the door with him. “Come on now pretty boy, I got better shit to do then wait around here all day.”

☆ ☆ ☆

It has now been a few months since you had started traveling with the ghoul. It had surprised you originally when he made you travel with him still, instead of just dropping you and going on his way. But at this point you could not imagine a different life. While you guys aren't exactly close, you certainly trusted each other to an extent. At this point you had been through many things together, and you had truly proved your usefulness to earn your keep.

But even through this, that one lingering feeling always stuck. The ache that had been there since the first time he had looked at you. He must have felt it to, with the way that he looked at you. It truly could only be described as erotic in some contexts. But of course, with the good came the bad. He made you angry like no other, his stubbornness could break even the most hard-headed opponent. Right now was a great example of that in fact.

A rad storm raging on outside the rickety walls of the shelter you had found yourself in, he still found it a great time to try and win the gold metal in bitching and complaining. “That storm ain't shit, we coulda’ out run it if you weren't so goddamn slow.” he said, his words having a familiar sharpness but, at this point, no real bite. “I wouldn't be so slow if we weren't walking for the past 3 days straight!” you half-yell back, he laughs at that, head tossed back slightly. “You smoothies are so goddamn weak, I could be the next town over if I finally got rid of your ass.” His tone is low and mocking.

“Weak huh? You wanna say that to my fucking face? You can't work without me.” you say back, frustration truly spilling over into your tone. “Oh would I ever,” the ghoul says, walking over to you. His gaze locks onto yours with an intensity that pins you to the wall. As he closes in on you, frame practically pinning you to the wall, he leans in even closer, his face inches from yours. Before either of you can tell who initiated, your lips attach. A groan falling from his scarred lips, he works his heavy grasp up your body, eventually ending on your jaw. Forcing you even closer somehow, his tongue works its way into your mouth, the metallic sting of blood and tobacco invading your senses, not that you could manage to care.

Using his other hand, he drags it down your front, undoing your belt, and slipping his hand down your pants. He pulls his lips from you in surprise at what he finds. His fingers drag across your folds collecting moisture. Moving upwards again, his fingers trail across your bottom growth before pulling out of your pants. You breath in shakily, knowing that's not what he was expecting, you wait very impatiently for him to say something.

With a small grin he looks at his fingers, your wetness dripping from them, and then back to you. “Well cowpoke, I certainly wasn't expecting that. But I'm sure you'll taste just as good drippin’ on my tongue as you woulda’ felt down my throat.” With that last word, he slips his fingers into his mouth, releasing an honest, and gratuitous moan at your taste. Removing his fingers, he swiftly drops to a knee, tugging your boots, pants, and boxers down. Placing one leg on his raised knee, he opens you up for him. His gaze running from your eyes all the way down to your center. After taking you in for a moment, he hungrily attaches himself to your core.

Flattening his tongue he collects your wetness, once again moaning at the flavor. After a few more licks, he suctions his lips around your bottom growth. With light suction he luxuriously wraps his tongue around it, his usual ferocity, somehow not present. While his gaze locks onto yours, you see his eyelids flutter slightly. In the time that you have known him, you had never known the ghoul to be a patient man, but in this moment, he wanted to take his time. And oh gods above, he was.

Rolling his tongue over your core again, he slips the pink muscle inside, pressing against that perfect spot inside of you, but he removes it quickly, much to your dismay. releasing a frustrated groan, you grab the back of his neck, his hat tipping off and falling to the ground in the process. He seems to get a kick out of that frustration, now retreating entirely from your core in favor of nipping at your thighs. Your frustration growing, you push his head back. Looking at him now he truly looks better than ever, his face seems to be something akin to flushed, the lower half of it covered in you. “Come on now, I don't have all day.”

He chuckles at your use of the phrase, echoing the many times he has said it over the past months. Giving one last teasing nip to your thigh, his fingers now running across your wetness, slipping two in at once. The sudden fullness catching you off guard, you steady yourself against him. Giving you only a moment, he quickly sets a brutal pace. The tips of his middle and ring fingers brushing against your g-spot with every thrust. The waves of pleasure begin hitting harder and harder, the sensation building in your lower half.

With this increase, your moans only grow, echoing throughout the shelter, the sounds of the rad storm now unimportant. Noticing this uptick, he reattaches his lips to your bottom growth, the soft kitten licks from earlier now replaced by firmer, more desperate pressure. With this addition the waves soon become sparks, the edge coming into sight. “Fuck- Im gonna-” you sob. He only nods in acknowledgement, continuing his ministrations. Finally allowing yourself, you fall off the edge. Pleasure bursting forth in a way it never has before. Your legs quaking and clenching as his motions stay consistent throughout, working you through it. He only stops once you push him away.

Pulling his fingers out, he laps at the residual wetness, giving you a moment to gather yourself. As he does so, his other hand presses against the front of his pants, which you now notice are significantly tighter than before. His hips buck forward into his own hand. Without warning he gets up, wrapping your legs around his torso he walks you to a countertop a few feet away, placing you on it. His lips connect themselves with yours again, his dominating presence becoming even more clear as he tears your shirt down the center, buttons ripped off, the sound of them hitting the floor only distant background noise.

His hands drag their way up your torso, taking a moment to appreciate everywhere they find themselves, the patch of hair leading to your core, the raised scarring on your waist. His fingers even taking a moment to run the gauze that binds your chest. Tearing his lips away from yours, they move down your neck leaving bite marks and deep bruises in their wake. With his other hand he releases himself from his pants.

He gives himself a few pumps, yet quite impatiently, he leads himself to your core, pressing inside. The wetness allows this to happen with little to no resistance. He fills you completely, setting a harsh pace. His hips slamming into yours as he steadies himself, wrapping an arm around your waist for leverage. Releasing a groan of his own, he tilts his head back, taking everything in. His eyes are half lidded, and focused on where your bodies connect. Still being sensitive from your last orgasm, you feel the pressure build sooner, clenching around his length he grips onto you even harder. “Fuck- I ain't gonna last long if you keep doin’ that.”

Smiling to yourself you do just that, one hand going to your center, pushing yourself closer and closer with each stroke. Purposely clenching more than normal, teasing him closer as well. “I'm serious doll, I won't,” he warns, though he doesn't change his pace. “I know, I won't last either,” you gasp out, reassuring him. With a few more thrusts, the waves come crashing down. He soon follows after you, releasing inside of you. He steadies himself on the counter top before removing himself from you, and tucking himself back into his pants, grabbing a clean rag and tossing it to you to clean yourself up with.

Lets hope this shelter has some RadAway somewhere…

[mcflymemes]

SPY / ESPIONAGE PROMPTS *  assorted lines from popular spy & action films

how many times has the government betrayed you?

what the hell are you doing?

you were shot.

you're going to ruin this mission.

where'd you get a suit?

you're my bodyguard, not my business partner. just focus on guarding my body.

thanks for the ride.

tell me where the bomb is.

you're the person who caught him, aren't you?

please don't make me go through you.

the blood is on your hands.

if you were in your office right now, we'd be having this conversation face to face.

i don't trust anybody outside of this room.

hold on! how did you get in the helicopter?

i'm gonna get the detonator!

if you ever feel like you've been poisoned, chew one of these.

jesus, you're intense.

they'll kill you for giving me this.

people do all kinds of weird and amazing stuff when they are scared.

what's your source?

who paid you off?

everything you need is in there.

we prefer to keep a low profile.

did you ever choose not to?

how close are we?

my argument is not with you.

you're really good at staying alive.

stay put and secure the premises.

i told you to send me in there instead.

this is a bad idea.

why don't you come with me?

so now you're going to kill me.

how long do i have?

that is how you survive.

by the way, i can see your gun.

i pulled up my file.

i need you to untie me now.

you have no idea what you're into here.

i don't want to do this anymore.

this is where it started for me. this is where it ends.

do you know what? you play it too safe.

they found a body.

you really think you're ready for the field?

it's just a job. no hard feelings.

ten seconds or you're dead.

i think one day you will understand.

how do you like my english accent?

why won't you just die?

i'll figure it out.

he drove off the roof.

he killed our man.

we're in the middle of an operation.

i sent you to be invisible.

these people will kill you if they have to.

i'm a motherfucking spy.

thanks for your weapon.

look at this. look at what they make you give.

so what's the plan? who are we meeting?

we have to stop the sale of a nuclear bomb.

sorry, the other wire.

i told you to come alone.

you haven't slept for a long time now.

there's a body in the streets.

i'm working on it!

all of the systems are state of the art.

this whole operation was a mole hunt.

nobody does the right thing.

oh, stop screaming. you loved it.

i'm jumping out a window!

you do not have the authority.

we have to find the other bomb.

why are you helping me?

everything i found out, i want to forget.

how could i forget about you?

kill everyone? that's your plan?

you start down this path, where does it end?

how long was i out?

the only person allowed in that room has to pass through a series of security checks.

i got enough trouble, okay?

put the gun down.

i knew it was going to end this way.

they knew we were coming.

if i ever feel somebody behind me, there is no measure to how fast and how hard i will bring this fight to your doorstep.

what's going on at the CIA?

i think we lost enough agents for one night.

you're a total goddamn catastrophe.

someone started this, and i'm going to find them.

you're only alive today because he didn't have the guts to kill you.

you don't understand what you're involved in.

every now and then, send up a signal. let me know you're safe.

the greater the suffering, the greater the peace.

we have to evacuate these people!

you move, you die.

i saved your ass again.

my team! my team is dead!

i tried to protect you.

perhaps we can arrange a meet.

he went out the window. why would someone do that?

i work alone, like you.

i don't think that's a decision you can make.

accept it. you've lost this one.

i heard you talking.

why do you have to make things so fucking complicated?

[imagine-knowing-a-name]

Til Death Do Us Part

Summary: Natasha is falling in love with someone she can’t be with, someone who might not even exist.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1829

Warnings: Death, mentions of blood, talk of depression, Nat is not really taking the best care of herself.

A/N: I don’t know how this one will go down. It’s a bit different to my usual style, but 3rd person and present tense felt better for this, so that’s what I’ve gone with. Please leave a comment/reblog and let me know what you think! :) (oh also the Russian is from google translate, so it may be wrong)

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Natasha had been little more than a toddler when she first heard it. The voice that comforted her on her deathbed, a figure that ebbed and flowed between invisibility, but whose presence she had always felt. They had tended to her, comforted her with the first gentle touch she had ever known, and treated her with a care the Red Room had never shown. 

Natasha assumed the figure was her nurse, pulling her from the verge of death just to send her back to the torture of her training. But she saw them again, over and over through her youth, had conversations and shared jokes, talked through her days, and lived to make her friend laugh. Looking back she knew the friend, the figure whose care and comfort lured her back into life, had been no older than a child themself, just a friend that no others could see.

These days, Natasha was too old for imaginary friends. If she admitted that she still heard hers, she would be taken out of the field immediately and sent for a psych eval, which is why she didn't tell anyone. She's fine. She'll manage. She doesn't need a psychologist.

"Maybe you do," the voice says. Natasha groans, she doesn't need an imaginary voice to judge her too. "You're talking out loud," it continues, "and you're bleeding out. Again." 

"And I don't need judgement when I'm at my weakest."

 "That's the only time I can offer you judgement. It took a lot of energy to keep you living past 5, you know, so stop courting death."

"Maybe death wants a girlfriend," Natasha smirks, before doubling over in pain, her hand shooting to grasp the knife slash in her side. But blood still poured through her fingers, dyeing her hand the shade of crimson she was all too familiar with. 

"Alright," the voice says, irritation bleeding through, "alright, fine." Before her, the figure started to form, not quite the same as in her childhood, this was someone her own age, and yet, as she studies their face, the similarities emerge. The same concerned eyes, the same teeth just visible through the same parted lips, the same gentle touch.

"You grew up," Natasha smiles, reaching out with a weak hand to grasp her friend's arm. Their greyish skin flickers at her touch, seeming more opaque the longer her hand brushes it. 

"So did you," they smile back. Swiftly, they reach behind them and pull the bed sheets from their place; Natasha's hand falls to the floor and her head falls back against the wall. The figure hurries, offering Natasha a section of the sheet to bite down on, which she compliantly does, before the rest of the sheet is wrapped tightly around her waist. Natasha's pained groan is muted by the bedding, but she's been through worse, both people in the room know it. "Grow up a little more before your date with death, alright? They don't need you so young." 

"We'll see how today goes before I can make that promise." 

"Your friends are on their way, life isn't done with you yet."

"What about you? Are you going to go again?" 

"I can never stay here long, but you hear me in your dreams, don't you? You'll find me there." 

"Will you stay until they come?" Natasha pleads, but the figure before her is already fading; she can make out every detail of the cabinet that their body previously obscured. "Do you even have a name? What do I call you?" 

"You may call me whatever you wish. You'll learn my true name one day." 

"жизнь. Life. Because you've been saving me since I was born, and because you're not done with me yet. I won't let you be." Natasha sees Life smile, the expression seeming to linger one moment longer than the vanishing body. 

The door bursts open and Natasha blinks, wiping away the last trace of her saviour from her sight. But then Clint is rushing in, and he's talking to her, asking her questions, but she's not listening. Natasha's gaze never wavers from where Life once was. Clint finally gives up and carries his friend to the jet outside, she can be treated there, her wound mended. She will live.

————————————————————————————————–  

Late nights soon became the highlight of Natasha's day. She hurries to bed each night and drags herself lethargically away from it each morning. Her saviour had confirmed it, that the voice was more than just her imagination, it was her childhood friend, her guardian, her Life. 

She sees them in her sleep each night, talking about things beyond her future and her past. Natasha talks about her day, her thoughts and dreams, her aspirations. Her companion says little, never telling her their name or what they are, but constantly engaging her in teasing conversations, with jokes that only come from a lifetime of friendship. 

Natasha never wants to wake up. Her teammates notice this. The Black Widow, once renowned for taking any mission without complaint and finishing it no matter what, now grumbling if a mission cut into the night or, even worse, was scheduled all through the night. A lack of sleep never used to bother Natasha, but now she couldn't go a day without it. 

She acts differently, but Natasha remains a spy. She hears what the others whisper about her when they think she's not around. They talk of depression and trauma, of fear and regret. They place bets on who can take her to therapy. 

But Clint disagrees. "He should know," Natasha thinks. He'd seen her at her worst, when she'd just been freed from the Red Room. It should have been her happiest time, but that institute was all she'd known. Without it she had no purpose, no expectations of life, and, worst of all, she'd lost the voice of her nurse, that first saviour who taught her what it was to be kind. Natasha had fought the therapist then. She knows Clint won't try to bring her back, he already knows she doesn't need it, and she won't take it if she does. 

He disagrees with the others. "No," he says, "don't you see her excitement in the evenings? That's not a lack of energy, that's love. And I'm going to find out who to." True to his word, a few days later Clint confronts Natasha, but what could she say?

"Yes, I fear I'm slowly falling in love with the disembodied voice in my head. No, I'm certain they're real because otherwise you would have entered that cabin and found me dead, not wrapped up in a bedsheet."

Nothing Natasha could say would make that sound believable, and even Clint would force her into therapy for expressing that.

"I'm falling in love," Natasha says instead, talking slowly to stop herself from slipping up on her words, "with somebody I can't have."

Clint's expression morphs into sympathy, and he opens his mouth to speak before Natasha cuts him off. "That is the last I want to speak of it, so go tell the others you were right, and forget the rest of what I said."

Clint nods, then walks off, leaving Natasha alone with her thoughts. She's not sure she enjoys it anymore, Clint's pestering would have been annoying, but now she has to face her own acceptance. She said she was falling in love, but that wasn't true. Natasha knows she is already in love, and there is nothing more she can do but continue to talk to her жизнь.

————————————————————————————————–  

The sky is foreboding, and the rock ahead of them looks deadly, but the return of half the population depends on Natasha and Clint climbing to the top. So climb they did. "Natasha," your voice says. The assassin startles, muttering "жизнь?" before she can catch herself. Clint turns to her and his eyes soften as he watches. Unbeknownst to Natasha, he had heard her midnight conversations, and the nickname she had given her love: ‘Life’. 

"Are they here?" he asks her. Natasha nods. "No wonder you couldn't track them down. They project their voice into your head and follow us to Space's version of the middle of nowhere. That's not normal, Nat, what are they if they're capable of that?"

"You tried to find me?" The voice teases in Natasha's mind. The assassin blushes, a rare sight that has Clint turning away in fear of accidentally intruding. 

"You don't speak about yourself, жизнь. I don't know what you are, I hardly remember what you look like, and you think I wouldn't try to find out more on my own?"

 "The day you know will not be a good day, but I fear it is coming soon." 

"It will be worth it all, anything that happens." 

"Not for me," the voice says gravely, "I don't want the day to come." 

Any reply Natasha could form was cut off when a spectral figure approached. The assassin's heart soars high, to begin with, convinced it is the figure she so rarely sees. It explains why their voice is so much louder on this planet after all. But the hood lowers, and a red-stained skull comes into view. It reminds Natasha of her own blood, the sight of it painting her saviour's sickly grey skin a lively shade of crimson red. One of them must jump, the spectre explains. A sacrifice. Natasha and Clint wouldn't be getting out of this together, as they had been for so many years. This time, one of them had to die.

————————————————————————————————–  

"You're here," Natasha concludes out loud. This wasn't a coincidence, her saviour rarely appeared while Natasha was fully conscious, only at sleep or near death. And this time, they were louder than they had ever been. 

"Yes," the voice answers, slowly, as if they don’t want to speak the rest, "and I wait at the bottom. But don't rush to meet me." 

Finally, it clicks. The appearances weren't random, they followed a distinct pattern. In only one scenario was her "Life" always present, and if luck went her way, the scenario would re-enact for the final time. At that moment, she knows who they are, who she has been in love with all this time. Natasha doesn't falter, nor does she heed her saviour's advice. Natasha jumps. She falls. And she dies. 

Clint sobs from above, knowing that losing in combat has cost him his best friend. But below, a whole different scene plays out. Natasha stands up, eyes instantly locking on the cloaked spectre before her. Beneath the hood, Natasha makes out a skeleton face, and boney hands peek out from the cloak's billowing sleeves. Looking closer, Natasha sees past the outfit, past the skeletal structure, and looks into your eyes, finding in them the ever-present concern that had saved her so many years ago. 

“So you see me again.” They sigh, but to Natasha, their voice is a familiar comfort. “Hello, Natasha… My name is Death.”

[heartilywrites]

hiii i hope you’re having a good day! could you do a korra x insecure reader fic and korra just comforts her? thank you!

⠀⠀⠀⠀،، 𝓑ad Habit ; Korra

request guide | masterlist

resume: Korra wants to assure you from bad thoughts.

content warning: fluff ; if you squint there's angst too ; Korra x fem!reader ; established relationship ; self-doubt ; slight description of self-harm and blood (r bites her nails) ; r is a bender, but I didn’t specify her nation ; no use of y/n

wc: 1.1k

a/n: hello love <33 im sorry i took too long with your request, i was trying to think of a situation since you didn’t specify one,, but i hope i met your expectations!!! THANK U FOR REQUESTING, ENJOY :D

“ Might be so sad, might leave my nose running... I just hope she don't wanna leave me.

Sounds of clipping filled the room, your thumb nail fighting for its life against your teeth while you were zoned out on your thoughts.

How does one has to act after such mean comments? All and every single one of them talking about you and your relationship with Korra; 'she's clingy' 'the avatar deserves better' 'she's the worst bender I've ever seen, why is she in the group?' 'she's not even that pretty' echoed in your head since coming back home. You weren't even supposed to hear that conversation, but somehow ended up doing so at a fruit stand after going shopping to bake Korra a fruit cake.

Were you really that clingy with her? It's not even like you were on top of her 24/7... right? She would've say something if she didn’t like it, right? Why were you doubting her? She's the best partner you could've ask for, there's no reason for you to doubt her, why were you? why? wasn't your relationship based on communication? You don't need to doubt her, stop doubting her, they maybe caught something you hadn't, a flaw, was it your bending style? Were you too weak? Were you—

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Hey, darling, I'm home!” the southerner's voice pulled you out of such destructive thoughts. You took your finger out of your mouth.

A slight metal taste was recognized in your tongue and looking down to your nail it was starting to make way for a thread of dark crimson. You were quick to hide it behind your back when the girl opened the bedroom door, such a small smile painted your face.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Hi, love, how was your day?” you asked, eyes following the brunette while she dropped to your side on the bed and hugged your waist, sighing really loudly.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Shitty, work, avatar problems, you know.” Korra snuggled better and left a tiny kiss on your cheek. “But now I'm here with you, that's all I needed.”

There you had it, she could never think badly of you. How could you ever do that to her? Maybe they were right, maybe you didn't deserve her in the first place, maybe—

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Hey... Did you hear me?” a hand was shaken in front of your eyes after zoning out once more, you shook your head.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Sorry, what did you say?” you asked a bit embarrassed, your face feeling warmer.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I said if you wanted to eat out tonight so we don't have to wash dishes.” she repeated, seating back up now facing you.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Oh! Yeah! I would love to, choose wherever you want.” another weak smile, Korra frowned and narrowed her eyes after.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “What happened while I was gone?” she directly asked, her arms crossed on top of her chest.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Nothing!” you were a little too fast to answer, after clearing your throat you continued. “Nothing happened, all is well, I'm okay, you are okay, we are okay, let's go eat dinner!”

You tried to get up with such hurry, but Korra was quicker to take your wrist before crossing the door and pulling you back with her. While grunting you sat right in front of her at the edge of the bed, blue ocean eyes tried to read through yours like that was all she needed to do to understand what was wrong.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “What happened?” she asked again. Her voice wasn't mad or annoyed, her tone was between worried and confused. Both her hands looked to hold yours.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I told you, it was nothing...” after her eyes moved to your hands, she pointed at your thumb and gave it a couple of touches. You sighed defeated. “It's stupid, you don't have to worry.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “It's not stupid if it's bothering you.” she moved closer. “You know you can trust me, in hell and worse, remember?”

Her eyes looked glossy, those gorgeous deep eyes that you fell in love with, the same ones you couldn't hide anything from as they knew you a little too well.

You were weak, not even a minute after you exploded with the whole context and arguments of what you heard at the fruit stand and apologized afterwards.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Stop, no, you don't have to apologize for shit.” darker orbs looked at you; even if she sounded mad, you knew it wasn’t at you. “Those idiots don't know what they're are talking about.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “No, but–” you tried to argue back, but were cut off by her.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Don't you ever doubt yourself, ever, you're my girlfriend you do deserve me and even if you're not my girlfriend you're this wonderful and intelligent woman anyone would be so lucky to have or even be.” a mix of blushing and teary-eyed painted your face. “Dumb people are everywhere and jealous people too, they live off spreading rumors or making fun of someone who is successful, who had the courage to do what they never were able to. You are not insufficient nor a failure, you're someone that is still working on her path and it's taking her time to do so. There's no time limit for it, you can take all the time you want, is your life, you decide and if they want to judge so bad let them. Don't allow their words affect you, they will win if you do so, but I know you enough to say that you're strong and will find a way to ignore them.”

With tears making their way down your cheeks and such an affectionate smile, you threw yourself at her for a hug and started to leave tiny kisses all over her face while sobbing, she just giggled while holding you tight.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I love you so much, like you don't have an idea, it hurts me when you doubt yourself like that.” she whispered, stopping your actions by cupping your face in her hands. “Please promise me you'll try to not let stupid comments like those bring you down. You're so loved and so amazing.”

Your head nodded slightly while a smile began to creep on your face. “I promise.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Great.” Korra smiled back at you big before standing up and taking your hand to make you stand up too. “Now let's go, love of my life, I am starving and I think our favorite restaurant has promotions tonight.”

[ghostinthegallery]

Re-reading Twice Dead King, the character I was most struck by on a second viewing was Mentep. Now there’s a tragic figure. Simultaneously a mentor, an ally, an antagonist, someone so terribly understandable who I want to smack upside the head for being a lying liar who lies.

Ultimately, Mentep is a penitent. He has committed terrible acts (that we only get scant details of) and he wants to redeem himself. Thanks to his tampering with his own memories, he doesn't fully know what he is repenting for, which puts him in a bind. However, he knows that he played a role in creating the flayer curse/longing sickness, so he goes to a planet where a high concentration of them have gathered and works on his cure. He's respected, he's able to do his work with only occasional interruptions from the local angsty youth. Things are good-ish (until the armada shows up.)

Mentep and Oltyx have a weird relationship. Despite being his normal asshole-teenager self, Oltyx does respect Mentep more than most. Trusts Mentep enough to let the guy perform experimental brain surgery on him. Twice. And Mentep is able to be much more candid with Oltyx in return. He's one of the few consistently calling Oltyx out for his bullshit. On the surface, it is a standard mentor relationship, but what got me on a second reading is that there is hardly a single conversation Mentep has with Oltyx where he isn’t lying to and/or manipulating him.

It starts early with Yenekh. Mentep knows Yenekh has been suffering from the curse, he hasn’t told Oltyx, and when he finally has to tell him, he conveniently does so right before distracting everyone with the “oh btw, we’re all gonna die to a giant human armada” news. This is done with the best of intentions. Mentep wants to protect Yenekh (and Oltyx, in his way), so he delivers the news this way to get the bad news out of the way and then both of them on the same side. But it is the start of a pattern.

Which we get again when Mentep fails to mention a that Antikef is a flayer den ruled by a “We have Illuminor Szeras at home” Vizier, and boy does that end badly for Oltyx (see the last 60% of Ruin). Naturally, Mentep has a good explanation:

But it is another lie, one that costs Oltyx dearly (put a pin in this, I am coming back to it.)

There's some little fibs and ommissions along the way as they go to Carnotite, but it all builds up to The Big Lie. The one that sends Oltyx spiraling and gets Mentep killed. Because you know what really helps with paranoia? Finding out your mentor and your best friend have been hiding a secret blood pit in your basement! Again, it makes sense why Mentep is lying about this! He has every reason to believe Oltyx would have rejected the flayed ones he and Yenekh were sheltering (he in fact does exactly this), and Mentep's entire goal is to cure the curse to atone for his role in its creation. However...

I think Oltyx is correct to call Mentep out here (Oltyx is wrong about most things, but not this). Somewhere a long the way he became a means to an end for Mentep. Mentep was focused on The Curse and not the person in front of him who was cursed. He used Oltyx's friendship with Yenekh, his need to save his kingdom, his trust, his fears, all in service of admirable goals, but he was using Oltyx. Is it any wonder this is where it ended?

The lies were Mentep's undoing from the start. Remember the lie about Antikef? The one that led to all the events of Ruin? Yes, Oltyx and Djoseras did talk and avoid a civil war, but Oltyx also went through hell. He saw his home turned into an abbattoir, his father reduced to barely more than an animal. Oltyx was literally vivisected and almost consumed by his own dysphoria. And then committed regicide after leaving his brother behind to die. Antikef is where Oltyx truly learned that compassion was weakness and saw how horrific the flayer curse could become. So how was he ever going to accept the flayed ones as Mentep wanted him to? Oltyx experienced the comically perfect combination of traumas to ensure that would never happen, thanks in part to Mentep's manipulations.

I cannot stress enough that Mentep's individual lies all made sense at the time. May have even been the best option, at the time. But the consequences piled up, and even as he is dying he still refuses to give Oltyx even a scrap of the truth. That is the core of his tragedy for me. Well, that and this:

He bases all of his manipulations on his understanding of people's psyche's, which are usually accurate, but it also traps them. It gives them no room to grow or surprise him or for outside factors to come in and intervene. Contrast this with Zultanekh, who is upfront to a fault. He gives Oltyx advice and resources, but what Oltyx does with those things is up to him. Even when he is screwing up royally, he's allowed to make those mistakes. Mentep causes ones of Oltyx's darkest hours (the secret blood pit), while Zultanekh lifts him out of another (the Blood Angel's attack). In the end, Zultanekh is the one who sees Oltyx's true growth and witnesses the birth of his kingdom. A birth that comes not from curing the curse but embracing it.

There was never a sickness to be fixed, which means Mentep never would have achieved his redemption because he was focused on the wrong things. Which does make his death and rebirth as Xott a bit of a reflection of Oltyx. He was too burdened in his first life, but in his second he (or at least a version of him) was able to witness the people he hurt reaching a place of peace.

[laundrypause]

All I can think about lately is Logan getting hanahaki so here's a vague outline of a fic I'll never write. *Edited because good God there were so many spelling mistakes+tw of mentions of blood and dying

Being head over heels over your best friend isn't the best thing in the world. Even if you spend 23 hours with them it still won't be enough. Logan knows he should just man up and tell Oscar but like...no. Why should he tell Oscar when he could just suffer in silence?

When both him and Oscar gets into F1, Logan thinks it's high time he confesses but Oscar hasn't been around much lately. He chalks it up to having to get to know your teammate better and other team related stuff. But when you see Lewis Hamilton more than your best friend, he knows that he's basically lost Oscar to his papaya-clad counterpart. Surprise, surprise he gets hanahaki because when has the universe ever taken pity on him? It starts small at first with a few petals per day but then they start getting bigger and sometimes he throws up full-on flowers. He has two choices, well three but the third one is obviously out of the question, 1. Get the surgery to remove the flowers but he has to lose all memories and feelings he has of Oscar or 2. Not do anything. Of course, he chooses the latter because he's so whipped that he'd rather die than lose all the years of memories he has of Oscar. So he does that and suffers through races upon races of trying to stuff petals back into his mouth when he's not alone.

For some reason, Oscar finds out and he...he LIKES HIM TOO???? Like no cap, fr??? Wtf, so you're telling him that he could have confessed and wouldn't have had to be laying in a pool of flower petals and his own blood every other week? Damn, well, it may not have been the chosen path but at least they got there.

Logan's walking through the paddock, trying to find Oscar when he overhears a part of his conversation UNINTENTIONALLY okay, and if someone says that he moved closer to hear better, they're lying. And oh. Oh, it's really bad. Like 'I'm only with Logan because he's my best friend and I don't want him to die bad'. At that moment, at that instant, the hanahaki comes back full force. He's choking on petals, blood and saliva. He's grasping his throat, at a loss on how to get some well needed oxygen into his lungs when Oscar comes out to find him convulsing on the paddock ground. Oscar doesn't know what to do other than shout at someone to call an ambulance as he runs his fingers through Logan's hair, begging Logan to hold out a little longer.

Oscar's being presented with two options when they get to the hospital. Either consent to the surgery or let Logan die. It's a no-brainer, he consents to it even if that means Logan won't remember him. When Logan wakes up after the surgery, he sees a man clad in a mind numbing orange sat next to his hospital bed. Oscar, the name of the orange man, says he had to have an emergency surgery because his appendix burst. Weird, Logan thinks, because he doesn't see any scar at where his appendix should be.

It's the Abu Dhabi GP. Oscar's in his car, trying not to hack his lungs out. He doesn't feel sick but he can't stop coughing for some reason. He looks in his rearview mirror and sees the number 2 of a Williams car. His chest constricts for half a second which was odd. Whatever, he refocuses on the lights in front of him. He's not going to let some coughing fit affect his racing when McLaren's so close to getting third in the constructor's championship.

Finally, finally, he finishes the race with more than a couple close calls when he was having coughing fits in his car. He mutters a soft prayer as he cruises around the track one last time before returning to his garage. His legs are shaky as he starts the walk back with his helmet under his arm. He sees Logan's garage. Not too far from his own. He coughs. Just once. He coughs once and he sees it. A flower petal floating delicately onto the asphalt ground. A blue rose petal.

Shit.

[freckledjoes]

So just watched the last episode of Fargo and I am so sad for gator 😭 and Roy is a piece of shit for leaving him there. God I hate him so much. Also this is the season for women and I am loving it!!

Oh anon I went so off track here but I hadn't put my thoughts down about this all completely just yet so... bear with me? 😭 Just know that I agree with you if it's too long lmao. It was very sad to watch indeed. They set up his character to be one easy to dislike/hate and it's been interesting to watch how the strongest haters went from "How can you like Gator, you can pick any character of his to find hot why do you pick him." to "Fuck Gator but hello to Joe saying daddy." As if that's not the most performative fucking thing I've ever heard. Make up your mind or something. I think Gator has said shit that should make your blood boil, but the charm of characters like these is that they can also show that it's not all there's to them. Does that excuse their actions? No. But are they completely doomed and irredeemable? Also no, if you ask me. I find it kind of off-putting how people are so happy to see him get hurt. Like, if you really dwell on that for a bit. Roy is a scumbag and has done and continues to do terrible things, has some twisted belief that he has the right to do them. Gator grew up watching that man treat the women in his life horribly and has probably received abuse himself as well. Every safe haven he might have had, left him. His mom first, then Dot. The only 'reliable', 'stable' person was his dad. The only ways he got to see were his. He lacked a person in his life who could show him differently. When you look at the show, you wouldn't guess he's 27 due to his behavior. He's stuck at a point where he wants to be seen as worthy by the one person in his life that stuck around, as toxic as their relationship is. Throughout the show we see how he puts up this scumbag persona, but with the conversation between him and Dot you can quickly see how fragile he really is. He went out of his way to prove himself worthy by going after Munch, which, as stupid as it was, made a lot of sense from his perspective. And then, he fails, and he gets punished in a way that he, in my opinion, doesn't deserve. I don't think Munch would have treated him differently if he knew it was an accident either. He was doomed from the start being the son of Roy, who is really the one deserving of every punishment he's got coming to him. The fact that he literally just walked away from his blinded son, who is scared for good reason, who needs support now more than ever, is unsurprising but incredibly cruel. I think he may have a hand in (accidentally) killing Roy. Not by his own hands, but maybe simply by being 'in the way'. So yeah, long story short, I'm sad for him too and I despise Roy :) OFF TO THE POSITIVE: THE WOMEN. Love them all. Dot, Indira, Lorraine. Love them working together, it's about time. It's been so nice to watch them all stand up against men one way or another honestly <3

[dootznbootz]

hello hi hello i am here to hold out my little bowl and ask for a 'penelope abducted' snippet please

*coughs up blood and places strange, radioactive goop in your bowl* 🙃

I wouldn't say it's a snippet but it's more of a

SCRIPT

with some "writing" slapped in between. (there's a reason why I take forever to write things :'D Or then they end up like this)

I don't have a reason for Paris kidnapping Penelope, this is more to just explore characters and their emotions as I LOVE THAT SHIT. Honestly, this whole thing doesn't make too much sense plotwise lol. Don't think about the logical shit, JUST SIT BACK AND FEEL THINGS. This unedited af and it's basically first draft, so while I think the concepts are okay, the writing is sloppy.

This is a younger Hector, why he's a lil bit more unsure. Odysseus and Penelope are around 25-26. Telemachus isn't here yet. Realistically, Hector would be dead, but I REALLY want a certain conversation between them >:)

Honestly, writing this made me weirdly learn I write more/better when the text is smaller :P BUT I'm sorry anon, I'm sending out what I got when I didn't do that. as..you sent this a while back and I should get on it. I also tried not to "headhop" as I know that's "not a good writing habit" but oh my fuck. Take me outside and shoot me in the backyard. It's AGONY and feels so fucking BORINNNG to write. What's the point if I don't know every single DETAIL?!?!? kljhuytdfuyghk

ANYWAYS

Warnings: Miscarriage mention, violence.

Andromache whimpered as the man, Aethon of Same, he had called himself, pulled the knife closer to her throat. Smoke and screams sounded from outside as whatever godlike blasts went off once more as King Odysseus ran through Troy.

Hector felt anger and despair surge through him. For every blast, another sibling of the fifteen taken hostage dies. His throat burned.

(More stuff. Don’t wanna do now. Aethon pulls a "whoops. I missed." and cuts Andromache's collarbone to get Hector to comply.)

“I am without weapons, let her go now.”

Aethon nodded, only to push her into the arms of the other two men with him, held once more.

“You said you would-”

“Let her go? I did. She’s simply no longer held by me. You will guide us, and if you try to lead us astray, my soldiers here will not miss Lady Andromache’s throat like I did.”

“You are without honor! There is no reason to do this. I will show you to where Lady Penelope is, you didn’t need to take my wife-”

His words were cut off when a large hand cut off his words by grabbing his neck, the sounds becoming a squeak as it left his mouth.

Gray eyes burned into him as they got closer to his face. “There is no honor in kidnapping a queen while she recovers from a great pain either! Barely back on her feet and taken from her home.” Aethon hissed, trembling with a barely restrained rage. He breathed slowly, before letting go. “Simply repaying the favor...I will not repeat myself; You will show us where she is.”

Hector started to walk forward, restrained as he was. He remembers how Penelope spoke with such warmth for her husband. “Does your King approve of your methods?”

Aethon chuckled darkly, flicking the dagger between his fingers before tossing it to one of the men who held Hector. “Why do you think he sent me? Move along, Prince of Troy.”

(Stuff happens. Cassandra is muttering to everyone that no one will be hurt as long as they did as told, (no one believes her).One of Hector's brothers tries to step in only for Aethon to pull a one-punch-knock-out like he does with the Irus in the Odyssey as a beggar. One of Hector's sister-in-laws is naiad-born, he gives her a look, not realizing Aethon noticed her ears as well and is letting this happen. Aethon knows about Naiads just as much.)

Hector lifted his head as much as he could with how he was restrained, and gathered strength in his voice. “Lady Penelope! A man by the name of Aethon of Same is here to escort you!”

No reply. All that could be heard is more screams outside as another blast as loud as thunder went off. Another sibling is now dead. He tried to focus on the task.

The door was somehow blocked from the inside, despite how much she raged at being blocked in there by Paris himself. 

Hector started to shift his shoulders a bit. Fear gripped him as he glanced over to Andromache once more, still crying and bleeding from the wound on her collarbone. Her dress now sticking with red as blood seeped through. 

He looked forward again. “Lady Penelope,” Louder this time. “Are you in there?”

No reply. There seemed to be shuffling but he could not truly tell with how his ears were ringing.

Hector turned his head around to look at Aethon, the brutal man, hoping to make him understand that he was trying. That she should be here. 

From under one of his brother’s helm, sharp gray eyes flicked from the door back to Hector. His strong arms were tense as they crossed over his chest. It disturbed Hector how it fit him as if it were his own. A flash of light went across his hard face as another blast happened close by. He was unfazed

Hector was about to plead again, for the man to let Andromache go and take him if he felt the need before Aethon lifted a hand for him to be silent.

Aethon stood in front of the door then, eyes looking down towards the crack at the bottom of the doorway as he watched for movement. He frowned when there was nothing. He took a deep breath and leaned forward a slight bit, “Queen Penelope! We are here to take you home!”

A quick “Oh!” and a crash of pots sounded. 

Aethon’s eyes blazed and teeth gritted as he grabbed and rattled the door handle. “Penelope!”

He panted hard, the door handle now bent from his strength. He began to frantically throw his shoulder into the door, ramming himself and charging like that of an angered boar. 

“Penelope! Are you hurt?” His voice strained. Hector wonders if this man was related to Penelope in that he was so informal.

Another blast sounded and another shuffle and crash sounded from inside the room. Aethon swallowed a breath and he growled as he savagely rammed again. One hand going to undo the strap of the helm he wore, he pulled it off his head, revealing a tight braid of auburn curls on his head. Aethon began slamming the helm into the hinges of the door until one came off. The dented helmet in his hand, he once more barreled into the door. This time it worked. 

Aethon frantically looked around the room before an “Odysseus!” sounded from his left to which he turned swiftly to. 

The fear on Aethon's face turned to joy as he called her name back, lifting his arms to wherever she came from to pull her to him. Her bare feet dangled a short bit as she rested her chin on his shoulder and clung to him, before he sank to the ground. His knees barely missing the shattered pottery. A sob of relief escaped his lips as the lady kissed his face between comforting words.

It suddenly clicked into place. This wasn’t just a devoted captain to a king, this was a devoted husband. 

King Odysseus.

Hector could only watch in confused awe at the scene that unfolded. This man, this king, was weeping. To any outsider, it would look as though it was he who was being rescued. The strong shoulders that burst through the oaken door now shook with sobs. His fingers, ones that had bruised his own neck, were now caressing Penelope’s back, trembling as they combed through her hair. For her or his comfort, Hector did not know. 

Penelope soothed, a tearful smile on her face as she scratched at his scalp in small circles as he cradled her. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m not hurt. He didn’t touch me”

A whimper escaped him. He lifted his head from her bosom and tears hung from his lashes. A hand, blood already dried from the broken jaw of Thoon, gingerly touched her abdomen.

Penelope’s face twisted up and more tears fell from her silver eyes as she told her husband something Hector couldn’t hear.

Hector realized that it had be begun to rain, what had soft pattering became a downpour, as though the couple’s tears had been what filled the clouds themselves. It put out the fires. 

“Andromache!” Penelope gave her husband a knowing yet disappointed look, a few surprised blinks from red rimmed eyes as a response. She took some raindrops on her fingertips from outside. “Let her go. Now.”

The men released Hector’s wife, who immediately went to touch the wound on her collarbone, wincing as she pressed her hand to it. Hector lunged from the men holding him only to be restrained further.

Penelope started to stand, only to be stopped by the shards that still littered the ground. Odysseus, his eyes and hands never leaving her, lifted her up as he walked across the room. The sandals on his feet protecting him.

Andromache shied away a bit before Penelope grabbed her hand as water went to her wound, sealing it as though it had never been there. 

Hector felt sharp eyes upon him and looked back at Odysseus. It…truly was hard seeing him as the same man who had cut Andromache. Once hard as flint gray eyes were now red from tears, calm and calculating. Two trails went down his ashen cheeks and revealed freckles Hector didn’t notice before.

Odysseus took Penelope’s hand and placed it on the collar of his armor for her to pull away. It now being pulled away, he easily reached in and grabbed a damp parchment. Sweat smudged it but it was clearly a map of Troy. Some circles on the map made Penelope shift and give her husband a questioning look only for him to shrug. She gave a glare, he responded with a smirk.

“Your siblings are still alive,” he started quietly. “I swear upon Almighty Zeus that your siblings are still alive upon the ship. At most some have a headache.” He gestured with his head towards the window, a curl that had been tucked by his wife fell from behind his ear with the movement. "If you want your siblings back, my men, my queen, and I will be treated as guests until we leave…after this storm ends, hopefully.”

Hector was about to yell, to call him a liar, before Penelope interrupted. “They are alive, Hector.”

Striking silver eyes were now piercing through him, though not cold, they didn’t hold the same warmth as before. Her cheeks still damp from tears yet her mouth set in a fine line. One hand reached up and held her husband’s face, who gazed at Hector with the same expression. 

Was this what Paris meant when he said that Lady Penelope should be nobody’s wife? The cruelty he spoke of...?

“The rain started as soon as we were reunited. The fires are put out by Lord Zeus... Hector, I would prefer if your siblings joined us with a feast.”

(More bickering talk shit. blahblahblah. Hector realizes that while Penelope was "nice" while in Troy, She does so many tricks that no one realizes, as she's trying to stay alive while waiting and Paris is scared of her as Aphrodite isn't here. Hector realizes that she's just as cold and that Odysseus is "just a guy" in way. Realistic? No. But I want Hector alive so then a certain convo can happen >:)

(Again, this is unedited. :'D so yeah. it's not great right now)

She sat up to look back at him, his eyes already looking watery still but she would let him decide if he would share with her or not. 

Penelope didn’t have to wait long as he relaxed his shoulders and took a deep breath, once more shoving his head under her neck, like how Anthos would shove her little body against Penelope’s for pets. 

Odysseus took peace in this silence, her chilled body against his own once more. Her being taken from him was a fear he had never experienced before. (more stuff)

“I hate that we're trapped here until...Whatever it is the gods want us here for is done."

"I know. We should be in our palace, in our nest...But we're together... And we have their favor as of now...They didn't even notice what we've taken yet."

Odysseus smirked, reassuring Penelope a little bit. She waited more for what was really bothering him. (more stuff)

"The Timing of everything…It frightens me.”

“Timing?” 

He nodded. “First, our…Our loss,” His voice cracking at the end, his warm palm pressed against her lower belly. She swallowed the lump in her throat, pushing her own pain down in hopes he would continue. 

“Then the Pirates, and then among them that…Paris, taking you away. I couldn’t hear the gods. I-” Tears started to spill now, finally flowing from the dam he had put up. “I am always so afraid of losing you after each loss. I never thought…I never thought I could ever possibly lose you like this. That the gods decided that I’ve caused enough pain and that you’d be best with another husband…”

(more sappy crying. When am I not making shit sappy and weepy?)

She chuckled, “You came with so few men and thought you had the gods against you and you still come to get me? You really are a silly man.”

Hector is alive for a conversation that will be better than this.

Hector watched as King Odysseus’ smile shined as he watched Lady Penelope race across the pasture; a request she had before they would leave.

Hector knew she had good horsemanship, remembering the day she first tried to leave for the shores only to be returned. But he was surprised the King of Ithaca agreed, even more that he wasn’t with her as well, as he has been woven to her side since he came. 

And Hector couldn’t help but be angry once more. 

How was this smiling, doting man the same man who terrorized his city?

“Spit it out.”

Odysseus still watched Penelope as she laughed as she rode one of Hector’s large dapple grays. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know what you’re thinking about. Spit it out.” 

Hector huffed and shook his head at the king. How could he even start?

“Even if the messenger you apparently sent did get to us, and we were too late, as you thought…Why was your first plan of action to terrorise us?”

Odysseus twisted a ring he had on his finger, seemingly amused by Hector’s question. “Prince Hector, I had to make sure you wouldn’t say no when I asked again.”

“Would you have even asked?” Hector hissed, bracing his shoulders a bit.

Odysseus chuckled. “You got me there.”

Hector seethed. “I will admit that Troy did the first offense and I am very grateful that everything went peacefully, but to retaliate to such extreme-”

“To even compare what your brother did to what I did is stupid,” His hands gripped the fencepost, knuckles white. “Be thankful Troy still stands, Son of Priam.”

Hector was taken aback by the venom in Odysseus’ voice, having not heard that since the very same white knuckled hands had held his throat…

Hector keeps forgetting Aethon and Odysseus are the same man.

Odysseus turned his head back around towards the pasture as he heard Penelope’s laughter, his shoulders easing as she raced by. 

“What would it take for you to do what I did, Prince Hector?”

“What?” 

Odysseus stood up straight, waiting until Hector looked back at him before he continued. “Maybe you wouldn’t be able to come up with the same plan,” -he ignored Hector’s rolling eyes- “But what would have to happen for you to ‘go mad’ as you said? I held back and you still think so lowly of me…Do you think you’re above it?”

Odysseus stood right in front of him, those flint eyes seeming to pry him open. “Or…Do you even know what would make you do that? Do you think you have something so important to you that you’d defy gods just to make things right again?” 

More (hopefully) quality stuff will replace this. But I LOVE the thought of Hector (and many of the Trojans) falling for the two's charms only to suddenly remember. "Wait...You guys are violent as fuck". Also How "Odysseus would sacrifice all of Ithaca for Penelope and Telemachus but I don't think Hector would do the same for Andromache and Astyanax" which klsjdf dklsjf kl FUCK YEAH. I SO BADLY WANNA COOK WITH THAT!!! I JUST NEED to get more good ingredients :'D

Notes/reasons/just more stuff

While I don't have a reason as to why Paris kidnapped her, I desperately didn't want Paris to TOUCH her as holy shit, I'm tired. So I had to think of something that was realistic that would make it so that he couldn't and well, Odypen already experience some miscarriages over the years and with the potential angst??? Yeah. :'D Also she scares Paris. He USED to have long hair. (Penelope doesn't have a goddess making her be nice)

Odysseus' plan is supposed to be sloppy kind of. I'm also not a fucking battle strategist. I'm making this up. He doesn't have a huge army and is so so terrified and angry. He basically rushes out (despite being told not to) on one of the pirates boats (undercover in a way). They DID send a messenger but we know he's violent. Basically a few of his men snuck into Troy and quickly stole some armor and snuck around using the fires (idk olive oil) as a distraction. Honestly he's fucking lucky. He's not the experienced and calm(ish) man he is in the Iliad and the Odyssey. His plan is relying mostly on fear.

Penelope did try to sneak out once on horseback and that's why she's like "I wanna do that again. I can't on Ithaca. I wanna have one more chance to do it"

I kind of plan for Penelope to kind of be seen as "kinder" and they use that to their advantage.

I kind of want Penelope and Hector/Andromache to bond over fertility problems as idk, drama and why she cares for them, AND they're barely at 2 years into their marriage and get SO MUCH more shit for it because... Priam is a fucking RABBIT of a man (no hate against him but Idk how tf he can MOVE. He is trying to create his own army)

I so desperately wanted to switch to Andromache's POV so often as I kind of want to compare the two couples and how they relate to one another. but that's the headhopping in me :'D O: We'll be leaving now. P: Not without compensation. Later on P: "YOu didn't see that amazing cauldron they have?!" O: "Penelope, I was a bit preoccupied and freaking out. Besides you were the treasure I needed to bring back home- OH MY GODS" P: I KNOW?!?! You're such a sweetie. 😘

Also Penelope, pulling some jewelry out: I grabbed these. I think this one will fit your middle finger. Odysseus, 🥹: Penelope, you are what it means to adore.

Anon, I'm sorry it's not really a snippet but I hope you still enjoyed :'D Sorry about the radiation I put in your bowl 😅

[loverboyjamespotter]

he's more myself than i am

rating: T

pairing: james potter/sirius black

warnings: blood, injury, general weirdness that permeates their relationship

author's note: this is just the first in a long series of thoughts i've had about how insane james and sirius are about each other. they're like cathy and heathcliff to me. yes this fic is really weird, please take caution. none of my work is for terfs, fuck off right now.

summary: a moment in the forbidden forest

*

They’re in the Forbidden Forest, trailing reluctantly back to the castle. 

‘I can’t believe I put off that History of Magic essay,’ James says long sufferingly, kicking out at the tree roots. 

Sirius snorts. ‘I can. You’ve had a week to do it and every single time you sit down to do it you get distracted planning out plays for the Quidditch match this weekend.’ 

James scowls at him and shoves his shoulder. ‘Oh and you’re just the picture of the diligent student, are you? You haven’t finished that essay either.’

Sirius grins smugly at him. 

‘Actually, I think you’ll find I finished it in the Common Room when you were too busy talking to Marlene about the match.’ 

James pushes him again, ‘Oi! Traitor! You did that on purpose to annoy me!’

Sirius raises a single eyebrow at him. ‘You think I made up an elaborate plan to do my homework on time specifically to irritate you? Don’t know why they call you conceited, mate. A puzzle, really.’ 

‘Oh, fuck off,’ James says companionably and tries to clamber over the gnarled, protruding base of a tree. Only it’s covered in moss and it had rained yesterday so James slips, loses his balance and promptly falls face first into the opening bordered by the tree. 

After Sirius spends about ten minutes laughing at James to the chorus of his offended noises and loud curses, he elegantly steps into the opening himself. 

James glares up at him and gives him a dirty look. ‘You’re awful and I hate you forever.’ 

Sirius rolls his eyes and bends down next to him where James has started dusting off his trousers again. 

That’s when Sirius sees the flash of  scarlet on James’ palm. 

‘Hey look, you cut your hand open,’ Sirius says, pointing. 

‘Huh?’ James looks down at his left hand, shrugging, ‘Oh, that’s so weird. I didn’t even feel it.’ 

Sirius reaches out to inspect the cut. It’s actually quite a nasty gash. It’s not particularly deep, Sirius determines after squinting at it for a second. But it is bleeding rather freely. The blood pools in James’ cupped palm, like some horribly twisted take on dipping your hand under the stream of water in the sink when you want a drink but aren’t bothered to go get a glass. 

The way they’re sitting on the ground, facing each other, with James holding out his hand easily for Sirius to look at, held in both of his own is … Sirius looks up at James briefly and then back down to his bleeding hand. It looks like an offering. An invitation to drink deeply. 

A thought Sirius is used to around James. He often feels like he can’t get enough of him. 

Neither Sirius nor James says anything. They stare at each other. Like always they’re suspended in some complicated conversation only they can hear. 

The woods are still and ancient and wet around them; it feels like Sirius and James could stay in exactly this position forever. But then again, Sirius always feels like that around James. He always looks at him like that. He sees him sitting bored in class, laughing with his head thrown back, sneering at a fourth year, grinning conspiratorially and feels such an old, wild feeling of passion that he’s sure he must have known James for a thousand years. 

Suddenly, that familiar impulsiveness courses through him - he needs James to know. He needs to know whether James understands. 

Without even turning around, looking directly at James, Sirius slices his palm open on the same sharp rock that James split his own hand on. He doesn’t even flinch and to his immense satisfaction, neither does James. 

Letting James’ hand go, Sirius brings up his upturned palm between them instead. 

Sirius feels desperate, scared, horrified. He has to know James gets it. He leaves his palm like that: an offering in turn. 

James breathes out slowly through his mouth. Deliberately, looking straight at Sirius, he puts his injured palm on Sirius’. He joins the cuts up. He presses their hands together, linking their fingers until they’re squeezing the gashes into each other. Their blood pools between their hands and drips down their wrists into the sleeves of their robes. 

Relief like the first flash of dawn, like the first day of school, like the first autumn leaf in August, bursts through Sirius so hard that he can hardly breathe from it. James gets it, James understands what they are. 

They both hold each others hands so hard that the bones stand out in their knuckles, the blood dripping steadily into their clothes, onto the moss covered ground. 

Eventually, as the sunset casts lazy golden shadows over the woods, they let go. Sirius’ hand is almost numb from how hard James was holding it. When James shakes out his own hand, he can tell he feels the same. 

Suddenly, in just the most typical James way ever, James grins at him. His special, just-for-Sirius one. 

‘It’s like that for me too, you know?’ He says. 

Sirius looks at him, really really looks at him. He breathes another sigh of relief. 

‘Yeah. I know.’ 

James’ grin softens into a small, secret smile and he stands, holding out his uninjured hand to help Sirius up. 

‘Come on. I’ve got that History of Magic essay due and you’re going to spend the evening helping me.’ 

Sirius smirks at him playfully. ‘Not if I beat you back to the castle.’ 

James laughs at him, already gearing up for a mad sprint back to the Common Room. ‘You’re on!’ 

[clarajohnson]

the magicians s2e4

i would apologize for being this late on this but one this is for funsies and two i was just in hell (two weeks of law school finals) so i'm catching up

close up on q's nasty fucking wound to start things is like... it's such a choice

i know we're being serious right now but that surgeon has the biggest dick.

ah it's so nice to see the start of responsible monarchs el and margo

ABIGAIL APPEARANCE !!!!!!

"blow all our cash on sappy nonsense" and "since when are you fillory quentin? SINCE I'M ME" are both really gonna get me. margo is so interesting AS ALWAYS but also you ever think about how we don't really delve into her backstory that much? she is pure characterization it's so fucking good. not that i don't want to know more about her backstory because dude i really fucking do but i find it impressive what they can do for her even without it.

aw "i don't belong here" el is so soon going to be "fillory is my home" el

the best bitches era begins

i love how much of this show, The Magicians, is about how hard it is for them to get and use magic

reallllllly good look on margo here in the classroom

i think it's interesting that they characterize niffining out as dying. this world would have a field day with vampires. wait are there vampires in this show? am i forgetting?

what the fuck is el wearing in bed

oh fen i'm sorry your husband is hung but also gay

YOU FREEZE-DRIED HER CORPSE?

i love q's wooden shoulder i wish we talked about it more

frankly i am extremely intrigued by the nurse who was so grateful for the centaurs' help that she swore fealty to them and their healing project. and kind of q should have done that. like immediately after waking up.

your benevolent overlord high king eliot

q is so defensive and territorial he's such a little terrier

sawbones ?????

"doing your clone is more like ap-level masturbation" fascinating take from eliot and that is exactly what i would have expected from him

BEST BITCHES !!!!!!! absolutely my favorite little piece of magic in this show for functionality and for darling sentimentality

party king todd it's what you deserve

your actual kingdom is actually at stake!

i guess idk how niffins work because why did they bury alice

i'm sorry... white lady?

not to be surprised every time this show is great with characterization but penny calling them bronies... yeah

who loves blood? woman standing emoji

q chopping penny's hands off is such a funny scene this show man

javier you little minx

god the el/javier el/fen scene is so good. also i want to know how el does his eye makeup because it's so sexy.

i have to say q and penny's relationship is one of the most intriguing in this show i wish they'd had more time

plover was constantly naming fillory things different things like a settler on native lands this dude SUX

q and penny going on a quest in their little footy pajamas

WHERE ARE MY STUFF TOUCHERS !!!!!!

just to circle back it's insane that julia is just hiding out in brakebills copying an entire fucking book

not enough said about the tragedy of el being tethered to fillory... having nothing left on earth but never getting the chance to resolve what hurt him there, a man whose greatest fear is that he's unapproachable and unlovable and he has to perform to get people to stay and now he has to pray that people come to him. you know. like. ahhhhhhhhh.

"they more, like, gave it to us" common colonizer sentiment sorry el i love you BUT

you have no one and you deserve no one is so raw. i love julia and i love margo and i hate when they fight because they should be kissing but frankly? margo is right on this. NOT on her having no one just on the julia why did you do all that.

god i love the fucking books.

ooh. it's a girl's.

you know this show is good because everybody wants everybody. or at least you can imagine they do. yes penny just told q he needs him.

margo leaving her conversation with julia to develop the position of "we owe it to her because we weren't her friends"

god this is so dumb but using the book as an ingredient in spellwork is so fun what a fun little thought

MARINA I'M SO SORRY WAAAHHHHHHH I'M SO SORRY MARINA

also really good piece of acting from kacey rohl talk about having a whole character inside you like whew

yeah calling it "rebuilding" q is a fascinating through-line that gets dropped

god these people and wanting to bring people back to life. the magicians never ever lets things go. it's soooooooo. there are walls that technology and talent and ability will always butt up against and they aren't surmountable and you just have to accept it. but you can't. because what's the point of those things if they can't do that.

i'd like to be happy can you do that :-(

jason ralph's read of "well that's comforting" is gonna get to me

[izzy-b-hands]

Rewatching Metalocalypse in between episodes of OFMD and had the most haunting/stupid idea for a conversation between Toki and Ed

Because, in this musician's au I've got going on (there's a whole post I didn't get finished last night about a new fic draft for this I'm working on, with Dethklok and Ed's band (it's just him, Izzy, Fang, Ivan, and anyone else who occasionally circles through but doesn't stick around lol.) ) there are a lot of nice weird little pockets to fit in conversations that flit v quickly between serious to funny to oh that shouldn't be funny probably but it is a bit

And this is one of them that I just love so much. They've both got issues re: parents and dads, and had a hand in their father's deaths like. There's no easy fic intro into a conversation that in every iteration in my head goes something like:

"So," Toki flops on the couch by Ed. "I killeds my dads."

Ed frowns, and sets aside the magazine Pickles insisted he take right when he walked in, as 'a guest in their home.' "Okay. That's one way to start a conversation. I'm gonna counter with what the actual fuck? Why would you ask me that?"

Toki's eyes go wide. "You toos? I thoughts I was the only ones!"

Ed stares at the wall ahead of them, noting the flecks of dried blood as Toki hugs him tight enough to hurt. "Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I did. Not really the sort of thing I like to...we should go find Izzy and Pickles and see how the kitchen tour is going. We're here to write a song with you guys anyway, so maybe if we just get up to go do that and never talk about our dads or anyone's dads ever again-"

"You gets me," Toki interrupts softly, giving his torso another squeeze. "How does you feel abouts cats?"

---

And so on and so forth of Toki and Ed getting to know each other better on a surprisingly sweet and vulnerable level (legit I think Ed would fucking love Toki's models. They could make model ships together!)then scene cutting into whatever the kitchen tour entails and whether or not I'd want to take a stab at creating actual lyrics for a fic (spoiler alert, probably not, because I usually wimp out on doing that out of fear they'll be The Worst lmao.)

However, aside from writing it in the necessary way to try and match similar beats of a scene for OFMD and Metalocalypse, there's just. So much underneath there if I were to dip more ooc and write it just. Full breakdown (or rather, not so much ooc as the 'what would it take for him to say that' version of things) of Ed admitting yeah, he did kill his dad, Toki turning into a velcro guitarist hugging him to death, but instead of a few lighter but still personal shared details in dialogue then scene cut to Pickles and Izzy and the kitchen tour (aka Pickles uses the microwave and the oven to make homemade edibles on rare occasions, so they're just discussing how best to decarb different forms of weed for edibles. The kitchen staff aren't allowed to start working until they leave, and would badly like them to fuck off anywhere else), we just. Have the conversation. As painful and awkward as it might be for two dudes who really only kind of know each other on a business/work level that's edging towards 'actual interest in the other person'/friends level.

Ed can tell how he strangled his abusive father to save himself and his mum from having to live under his thumb any longer; Toki can tell about slipping and sending his cancer-ridden abusive dad to an icy watery grave after having literally just said he was forgiving him for everything he had done. Insert a bit there from Toki about his conflicted feelings re: did his dad even register that Toki was forgiving him before he was frozen and dead? And does it matter either way, now that he'll never know how his dad would have reacted to that forgiveness?

Does it fix every issue they have with their dads? Absolutely not, it's one conversation, not years of much needed therapy. But they have a cry over it and admit that it's incredibly lonely to be in their specific situations with their parents like that, whether the killing was an out of necessity on purpose (Ed) or more accidental (Toki, though he murmurs to Ed, almost whispers, that he knew how slippery it would get as he climbed higher up that mountain with his father in his arms. He could have slowed down, tried to be mindful of the snow and ice packing the treads of his boots. And he just wanted it all to be over with, but not like that. Not how it actually happened.)

I know the ppl interested in this part of the au are minimal but I just. have so much that keeps randomly hitting me that I'm dying to share on the off chance anyone else is interested fdsakjfl

[intrusive-thoughtz]

I need better friends that I can talk to and they engage versus me just talking. I would also love a therapist but economically financially that isn't happening. I also feel like I could check myself into the psychiatric ward for about a week as a vacation it's terrible that I would see a psychiatric ward as a vacation.

I can't talk to my mom because she's a narcissist so every time I talk to her everything's about her. She will start talking to me about groceries when I'm talking to her about wanting to die. My dad he lives with me but he's a stranger in this home so basically he passes by me 50 times a day does not address my existence does not answer me when I'm talking to him me and holding a grudge from 20 years ago for his bad behavior as a parent because he can't reflect and heal his trauma.

I have over a hundred cousins and I don't talk to any of them. I had one who is my pride my joy the love of my life and my mother and his mother do not get along and they started fighting and pushed us apart and now they want us to be friends again but this ship has sailed it is gone and then it sank like the Titanic I know better than to get my hand burned twice especially by family I trust no one.

I've also had a terrible fucking day at work the other day some man was purchasing a parakeet and a gecko and I gave him paperwork to sign checked his ID to make sure he was of age and he just signed the bottom without filling out any of the information and I said oh no I'm going to have to have you fill out the rest of that and then he called my job and complained today and said that I am the worst employee he has ever met and every time he sees me I am nasty. Homie I have never even met you before and no one else was around while I was taking care of you so what the fuck are you talking about. And when I'm talking to some customers I see them three times a week for the last year we're on a friendly basis to joke around laugh and maybe say a few inappropriate jokes to each other why don't you just mind your business and leave a review about how I treated you because no one else was complaining just you.

my manager decided to take me aside and have a conversation with me and all it did was make me cry frustrated and have anxiety. Got to mention that I do think that I'm about a year or two away from having a fucking heart attack and dropping dead which sounds fucking glorious by the way but in the meantime it's kind of fucking shaky and weird and I have problems breathing and my blood pressure is off but nobody can find anything I'm going to have a heart attack. And I'm fine with that just fucking cremate me or I will be pissed off. I feel like I've lived a hundred lives and I've been hung shot and buried more than I would like to admit to so can we just fucking cremate me. The thing is my parents are Jehovah witnesses so they probably won't do it because if they're religion even though that has nothing to do with me because I'm not religious.

if you've even read this and got this far thank you I'm just ranting to empty space so I don't fucking die of this heart attack or go mentally insane and end up in that psychiatric ward that I really don't want to go to because no one's going to take care of my animals if I do.

[izzysarchivedblogs]

That was the understatement, calling today as one hell of a bad day. A quiet protest despite her own answer, some vagueness that today had been a really bad day. BLOOD ⸻ a lot of blood and her first instinct had been to say that it had been someone else's but she's back aboard the Enterprise looking at Leonard Mccoy, and what a sight he was in.

Worried lines, every part of his face that could worry. He was a book left open, with the page left in big text that she couldn't miss, he was concerned and she wonders if he's even trying to school that expression. It calls to question what state she had been in, there's a dullness to her side and abdomen, a pieced together memory with haze that the blood wasn't her patient's her own.

Why would she have been bleeding ⸻ SHHH SSHHHH, her lip purse together tightly and does quiet her thought, her worry about the rest of the away team as well as the SOMEONE SHE HAD BEEN HELPING. His voice bears a stressed tone, feelings that she doesn't think she is just wanting to hear. It's not unknown to her that they care for each other to great degrees; their friendship one of the most cherished things and that, at least, is known to be mutual.

have you told them lately? ⸺ WHAT? ⸺ that you love them? ⸺ ACTUALLY I HAVEN'T TOLD HIM

Handlin' the person you were lookin' after ⸻ That's not right, is it? Things are starting to come to her, and she can't actually remember a single reading during her exam. There should be stats, something coming up unless she really had suffered a massive enough trauma that she's experiencing dissociative amnesia but that doesn't feel right. Her hand squeezes against Leonard's, grasping as Linda pushes herself to process.

ONLY YOU CAN APOLOGIZE FOR GETTING HURT ⸻ There is some relief that she watches release, slacking of his shoulders and she breathes herself. Reaching with her other hand, to grasp his hand already in her other. Stroking her thumb over his knuckles, and she keeps up with just breathing; trying to soothe his worries more than her own. ❝ I am so sorry for scaring you. ❞ She adds once more, looking up to his eyes and trying to offer a smile. SEE, SHE WAS OKAY NOW.

what was his name? ⸺ LEONARD MCCOY ⸺ i will make sure someone apologizes to him

OH, it's coming together to her now. The conversation she had been having with the man, in the room, and the two women knew what was going to happen. Linda start to recall the compulsion to set down the instruments used for examination. ❝ The Captain and Commander, uh, they figured it out right? ⸺ I, uh, I don't think there actually was a patient, it was all just a ruse, we all were- I was the distraction, and, uh, they had suggestive or telepathic capa ⸺ ❞ She trails off, not to worry him with trying to stress herself out of the details.

It was her blood, no one had been hurt until she had been hurt first. Linda nods her head, and they both know that she could rest in quarters. Only one hand releases from holding his, the other staying firmly grasped Leonard's, so she can press her fingers to her abdomen. Apply pressure and feel through the gown, there's a soft wince but she was sure that Leonard did everything that needed to be done to repair what memory now serves as multiple stab wound; cold, sharp, it was metal but what and that's where the the pieces were being worked out; the compulsion sensation to forget what happened to her.

SO I CAN MAKE SURE ⸻ ❝ Okay, and you'll be sure to try to rest some tonight at least? ❞ He seemed really concerned this whole ordeal, and it's more than him being a doctor that stood out past most; he's her friend and she won't argue with him about her getting additional care or monitoring, if it soothes his worry.

"One HELL of a bad day I'll say..." Leonard was PATIENT as she slowly regained consciousness and got her BEARINGS. Green eyes would flicker between her own, and the monitors above her head. (SHE WAS FINE, but he couldn't stop himself from double & triple checking.) All the while he was never really able to get the WORRIED look off his face, it was the exact OPPOSITE of professional, but he couldn't really bring himself to care much.

But this was Lin..

He wasn't even remotely surprised that she managed to start FRETTIN' over others before even beginning to really think about HERSELF. ( It was one of the reasons he loved her.) "Shhh Shhhh.. Everyone is okay, and they are HANDLIN' the person you were lookin' after." He really did try to keep his own FEELINGS out of his voice, but someone had gotten DANGEROUSLY close to taking someone who mattered a whole hell of a lot away from him.

A deep breath..

"Only you can apologize for getting hurt.." he chuckled softly, some of the tension releasing just a little from his shoulders. SHE WAS OKAY. Leonard instinctively squeezed the and he had still been holding, just taking a moment to BREATHE for the first time in what felt like DAYS. ( It had only been a couple hours, but what was Dr. McCoy if not a little dramatic? )

"Yes.. it was, but we got ya all patched up, but I still wanna keep ya here overnight anyways so i can make sure it all HEALS right. " He knew damn well that she could just as easily rest in her quarters, but he couldn't really stop himself from being a LITTLE selfish and wanting to keep her close, he NEEDED to really make sure that she was in fact okay.

[kaijime]

watch your mouth

includes. osamu miya x f!reader

cw. corruption kink, virgin reader/first time, osamu wants to breed u <33, dubcon, kitchen sex? [it’s in his shop so?], fingering, pierced dick [prince albert piercing], vaginal penetration, size kink, praise kink, tummy bulge, breeding kink, slight dumbification, creampie, thigh slapping?

wc. 3k

a/n. my piece for @seita’s corrupt-a-virgin collab, thank you for letting me join!!

osamu miya likes to think he follows a strict routine. he wakes up early, shows up for his job, works, and goes home, waiting for tomorrow to arrive and the cycle to repeat itself.

but ever since you've entered his restaurant, you've become a part of his routine.

he sits behind the kitchen counter, watching in admiration how you tend to the customers. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't staring at your ass, but it’s not a lie if he doesn't say it right?

"samu?" there's that nickname again, the one you deemed him ever since that interview for the part time job. "this customer says you forgot to give her a part of her order"

"no i didn't"

"yeah, look" you approach him with the receipt in hand, pointing to a small part of the inked writing. "see?"

he can't see. or at least he can't see the receipt. he's too focused on you, pressing up against him. he knows you're not at fault, but you couldn't be that innocent.

you couldn't be innocent enough to not know the things you were doing to him, the things you were making him feel, the urges that blossomed with every lingering look and longing touch you left on his body. you just couldn't be.

right?

yet, even when his idiotic brother dropped by his shop and shamelessly started flirting with you, you, it seemed like you didn't catch onto what he was doing.

"what's the freakiest place you've ever had sex in?" the fake blond asked, and osamu would've stopped him, if he wasn't curious to hear the answer for himself. still, he doesn't drive his full attention away from the counters he's been wiping, seemingly focused on the simple task.

you chuckled awkwardly under your breath. "that's inappropriate, tsu-"

"c'mon, tell me" he bumps his elbow against yours "can't be that bad"

"no i-... i've never uhm..." osamu can tell you're stumbling and stuttering to find an answer, so he lends you a few helping words.

"'tsumu” he calls "will ya stop harrassin' my employees?"

"'m just talkin' to her samu, no need to make a big fuss" he downs the last of his food and leaves, supposedly in a sudden rush.

it doesn't seem like it’s been hours since then, but the moon hangs low, and the crickets sing outside the window in spite of the late hour. despite the passing of time, not a single word has been said between you and your boss about the conversation you had with his brother, and every minute that passes only seems to thicken the tension between the two of you.

"shit" you mumble, mostly to yourself. you didn’t expect him to shoot up from his place, bent down searching through the lower cabinets.

"watch yer mouth" he says, an evident frown on his face, where he would once smile at you and nod in greeting.

"sorry" you reply, lip pouting slightly while you cleaned off your finger with a paper towel "just got a papercut" the blood tints the paper red and you wince at the stinging sensation.

"here" he holds out his hand to examine yours, even though you already cleaned most of it off, there's still a slight trickle of blood. he wipes it out with the towel he always hangs on his shoulder.

as he cleans your hand, he can't help but think about how it'd look so pretty wrapped around his cock. it would certainly bring more relief than his fist after all this time he's spent thinking about you while stroking himself late at night.

it’s not the first time thoughts like these cloud osamu's mind, but this time he's a little less discreet about it. he stares at your hand like he wants to devour it, and you'd be a fool not to notice it.

"samu?" you call out to his faraway mind, and he snaps out of his thoughs, loosening his grip around your hand.

"right" he mumbles, clearing his throat "sorry"

"thank you" you almost whisper, if he wasn't so close to you, he probably wouldn't have heard it.

he turns and goes back to the cabinets, thinking about what you answered earlier. you'd never what? had sex? were you that uncorrupted?

it would make sense to him, and it would help ease the pain of seeing you let his brother flirt with you like he wasn't even there, but those are all selfish reasons he wants to believe, and he's too scared to ask.

apparently not scared enough.

“what were ya talkin’ about with my brother” he asks, nonchalant as ever, making your breath hitch as you turned around hesitantly.

“we were just chatting” you say, the slightest purse on your lips that tried to relieve the nervousness of the conversation.

“sorry about that” he apologizes. “he can be annoyin’ sometimes”

“oh no, he wasn’t” you lie, clenching around the table cloth you held in your hands. even if the talk had been going smoothly, you still felt on edge after the question his brother left you thinking about. “he was really friendly”

“really?” his hands find comfort in his pockets, and if you’d looked close enough, you would’ve seen the slight smirk in his lip, one that indicates how eager he is to hear what you had to say. “then why didn’ you answer his question?”

if only you knew how much it mattered to him, to know if you were a pretty untouched virgin or not. osamu miya likes to go for girls like you, college girls who look for a quick cashgrab as a part time employee, innocent little girls who unknowingly fall for his charms and next thing you know he’s ruining them with his cock.

but you feel different, you feel delicate. like a pretty piece of porcelain he might break if he continues to toy with you under his calloused hands. yet, he can’t help but think about how perfect he finds your body. perfectly ripe and ready to be filled to the brim with his seed, the perfect age to be plump and round with a child. his child.

“does it matter?”

oh, it does, especially when he pins you against the counter and grips your cheeks between his thumb and his index finger. “samu?” you ask, displaying that innocent look on your face he’d grown to hate.

“i told ya to watch yer mouth” his hands roam down your body until they grab at the back of your thighs. “now jump”

“samu i- i’ve never done anything like-“

“i said jump” hesitant with your actions, you jump and wrap your legs around his waist as he settles you on the shop counter, where he takes off your pants and runs a finger over your clothes slit.

“please” you grip his wrist and beg in hopes for him to stop, but he slaps it away, pinning them behind you with his other hand. he slides your panties down your legs and plays with your clit, circling the nub with his fingertips and watching as your expression changes from one of fear to pleasure.

“please what?” his breath shudders against your neck, where he nuzzles his head and finds comfort in your scent. he slowly inserts a finger into your hole, scanning your face and searching for any signs of discomfort, despite him practically forcing you into this position.

you’re not strong enough to answer him, too lost in the way his fingers feel inside you. you’d been too afraid to do anything by yourself, but god did it feel so good when you gave yourself up to him, slightly bucking your hips into his thrusting fingers and arching your back into his frame.

he’s fond of every little expression you make, the bite of your lips, the clench of your thighs around his hand, and the tilt of your head, willingly granting him access to the skin, all for him to mark, bite and suck. all for him to claim as his.

“d’ya like it?” he asks, putting another one of his fingers to use inside your tight walls, feeling them clench and suck his fingers back inside every time he was close to taking them out.

“yes! yes! i-i... mmh!” you can’t even finish the sentence, not only because you’re sobbing and clenching around his digits uncontrollably at the foreign yet pleasurable sensation, but also because his lips suddenly enclosed yours in a hungry kiss.

he didn’t even have to put up a fight with you, pleased to find you let him do whatever he wanted with your mouth. his tongue tangles with yours in a passionate clash of lips, until he pulls away at the feeling of your hips wildly bucking against his hand, a sign of your inevitable orgasm approaching.

“feels weird ‘samu! ‘s-‘samu please!” the implication of your sensations being new to you made his cock strained against his pants, threatening the thick fabric of his jeans to snap if he grew even harder. the tight knot in your stomach finally snaps when he curls his fingers, sending you into ecstasy as your vision blocked out and you moaned uncontrollably loud.

still, after everything, osamu hasn’t forgotten where he is, and he knows his shop isn’t a decent place to lose your virginity. so he puts you down with shaky legs and slips up your panties, catching you before your trembling thighs can treason you and make you fall.

“do ya have a car here?” he says, grabbing his keys from the counter and puts a hand on your hip, guiding you over to the door which he locks before he continues to walk to his car. the dim lighting of the parking made this the perfect spot, if he were to fuck you in his car, no one would see it. but he has self control, or at least he tells himself that.

“no, my friend usually picks me up” he hums an answer and opens the passenger door to his car.

“i live a few minutes from here” he explains “wanna come over?” he asks, fully aware that he’s taking a leap of faith and you could just refuse him. but that’s not the case, and he’s more than happy to see you hesitantly get in his car and put your bag in your lap, covering yourself as much as you can since he ‘forgot’ to give you back your shorts.

the short ride to his house is awkwardly silent, and terribly torturous. his hand had found home in your thigh, and it had only sent an ache between your legs like you’d never felt before, prompting a clench from your thighs every so often.

he wasn’t lying, he only lived ten minutes away from his shop, but the distance seemed so much longer when his lingering touch would leave you high with the need for more.

“you ready?” he asks, holding the door open for you again as he waits for you to take his hand and get out of his car. he’s quick with hoisting you up and wrapping your thighs against his hips, carrying you to his doorway and leading the way to his room. there, he gently placed you on the bed and stripped off his clothing, taking off the apron he should’ve taken off at the shop, his shirt, his pants and—

“eager?” he can see the wanting look in your eyes, he’d be a fool not to notice it. his voice only startles you out of your thoughts, enough to make you stand up and take off your shirt as well, now fully exposed to him if it weren’t for the bra covering up your tits. there’s only so much he can hold back, but right now, with those pretty puppy eyes you unintentionally give him, he just can’t help it when he takes off your bra and slightly suckles at your nipple, circling his tongue around your perky nub and watching your face warm up in embarrassment.

he takes you to his bed again, this time while he plants kisses all over your neck. he’s hungry with the way he nips and bites at the skin, leaving a trail of teeth marks that would need to be covered up in the morning. in the morning, because right now, you couldn’t be bothered to care about anything else other than the way he rutted against you.

his cock already seemed big when he hadn’t taken off his briefs, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he slipped them off and rubbed his tip against your clit, right?

he was huge, thick tip dripping precum, with a girth that looked too big to be real, pulsing against your pussy. he positions it against your drooling hole, using your slick to lube up his tip and feeling— metal?

you sit up, leaning against your elbows to see the prince albert piercing that runs along his tip, metal jewelry threatening to slip into your pussy, but you put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“i-it won’t fit!” you kick and shake your thighs around him, only for him to put your ankles together and fold your legs over his shoulder, pinning you down and slipping in the pierced head of his cock. you wince and gasp at the sudden stretch, silenced by his mouth clashing against yours, eagerly nipping at your bottom lip, desperate to drink in all your saccharine moans.

“good girl” he praises, slipping in inch by inch of his cock into your tight virgin walls “fuck- this tight little cunt is suckin’ me in, want ma cock princess? yeah? gonna stuff ya full of me ‘til ya can’t even speak, you’ll just be a dumb baby for me”

“hurts!” your words only drive him closer to shoving himself in one smooth thrust, but he holds back, he sees how much you struggle to take barely half of him, he wants to make this good for you to. he wants to make your first time your best time, the one you’ll remember and think about if you ever fuck another man. he wants to mold your insides to fit his cock perfectly, he wants to train you to be his perfect little girl who won’t find another way to get off if she doesn’t have his cock, he wants you to depend on him to always make you feel good.

“‘s ok princess” he leans down, folding you into a mating press as he kisses your neck and slips in the last of his cock, covered in a thin layer of white sheen. “my good girl, creamin’ around me” he mumbles against your ear while he starts a slow pace into your pussy, carefully rutting his hips into you, almost afraid he would break you. “so pretty”

“please!” you sob, tears stream down your face despite his carefulness, it would break his heart, but he can feel the way your own body betrays you, clenching around him and pulling him in for more of the delicious sensation of his cock dragging against your walls. “so big! c-can’t take it!”

“sure ya can, look” he puts a hand to your tummy, guiding you to do the same as he puts his hand over yours. there’s a small bulge, that appears and disappears whenever he thrusts in and out. “you’re takin’ it so well princess, keep yer hand right there” his other hand starts working tight circles against your clit, making you throw back your head at the sudden sensation.

“no! if you do that i-!”

“what are ya gonna do? cum? clench around my cock like yer doin’ right now every time i praise ya?” you fist the sheets to your sides, anything to relieve the aching between your legs and the tight knot that keeps forming in your stomach again.

“please don’t!” you desperately paw at his wrist, only to be slapped away and for him to increase the speed of his cock, rutting into your with more force. suddenly, the head of his piercing hits a different spot, one that left you gasping for air and arching your back against the mattress. “ah! right there- right there ‘samu!”

“yeah? you like it when i fuck ya right there?” he parrots, angling his hips at the same spot over and over, abusing it until he’s sloppily thrusting into you, on the verge of cumming and spilling all his load into you. “my pretty girl, moanin’ like a bitch in heat, all because i’m makin’ ya feel good”

“yes ‘samu! please please, please m-make me feel good! wanna cum, please!” fresh tears roll down your cheeks as you scream and beg for him, unwillingly rutting your hips against him as you cum around his cock, your high too much for your sensitive body as you whine uncontrollably when he doesn’t stop. you’re too overstimulated to say a word, gone too dumb on his cock to even realize that you’re babbling little nonsense words about how good you feel, and how much you want him.

“dumb lil’ thing” he says, giving one sharp, final thrust before he empties his load between your legs, deep inside you, careful not to move you too much in fear of his cum spilling out of your clenching hole.

he’s right, you are a dumb little thing, because as soon as he pulls out you’re desperately bucking your hips, blindly searching for him in hope he would fill up the sudden emptiness in your pussy, unintentionally spilling all his hard work between your thighs.

“no!” he grunts, slapping your thigh and grounding you to the mattress as you wince in pain, dark color blossoming at the skin where he’d placed the spank. “look what you’ve done, bad fuckin’ girl” he says, the sudden tone shift sends a tinge of fear all over your body, and you’re reduced to nothing but a kin to a stray puppy, a terrible look of guilt in your eyes, even if you don’t realize what you’ve done wrong.

“look at the mess you made” he mumbles, flipping you over and placing ass up “now i’m gonna have to fill ya up all over again”

©️ kaijime 2021 | all content belongs to kaijime, do not modify or repost

[heliads]

Hello can i request you something ? since you have took your first pjo request can I request one when the reader is in love with Grover and he found that ( thank Percy) so she try to avoid him and it’s very funny because her hiding place is not very hidden at all so every body was like « HEY SHE IS THERE » and he catch her and tell her he feel the same :)

Again if you don’t understand tell me,

Good day/night/afternoon

oh i adore writing for pjo

masterlist

“If I were you, I would start running.”

Never a good thing to hear as a demigod, certainly. Even though you’re well within the protective bounds of Camp Half-Blood, the words still make you shiver. You make a point of looking your favorite half sibling, your sister from the same godly parent, dead in the eyes to make sure she knows that she’s just set your heart rate spiking for what’s probably no good reason at all.

“Why is that, Frances?” You ask carefully.

Frances looks around quickly as if to make sure there aren’t any eavesdroppers, then fixes you with a devilish grin. “I just overheard a conversation between Percy Jackson and Grover Underwood.”

She pauses for dramatic effect, but you’re not really in the mood to humor her, so you gesture for her to get on with it.

“They do that all the time,” you say, not without a touch of irritation, “I think it comes with the fact that they’re, you know, best friends.”

Frances rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I know that. Obviously. The point is, they were talking about you. Specifically, Percy was talking about the fact that you have a crush on Grover.”

Your stomach drops. “No,” you manage to choke out.

“Yes,” Frances confirms, “It’s true. I mean, I get it, Grover’s pretty cute, and I’ve definitely been calling this for the past three months, but it’s true. I heard him. I don’t think Percy meant to say it, but he definitely did. Grover knows.”

You clap a hand over your mouth as if you can shut Percy up by association alone. “No, he can’t. He promised me that he wouldn’t say a word.”

Frances shakes her head glumly. “Well, it’s a good thing he just promised for fun and not on the River Styx, because he’s said many words, all of them about you. I don’t know how long you have until Grover tries to do something about it, but it can’t be that much time. I raced here as soon as I heard, figured you needed a warning. Say, how did Percy find out in the first place? You’re usually good about only telling me your crushes.”

Even in the midst of your panic, you still find time to swat Frances on the arm. “I barely tell you about my crushes. You tell me your crushes about ten times more often. Anyway, Percy wasn’t supposed to know. We were on an accidental quest last month and he found out.”

Frances frowns. “That doesn’t clear anything up. How were you on an accidental quest?”

You grimace. “Have you ever been minding your own business in the mortal world when some god opens up a portal to dump another demigod in front of you and basically commands the two of you to go solve their problems because they can’t be bothered to do it themselves?”

Frances grins nervously. “Obviously not, but please go on.”

You laugh in spite of yourself. “Yeah, it was something like that. Hephaestus was having marital problems with Aphrodite again and he wanted Percy and I to go retrieve one of his godly pieces of scrap metal from a long-buried temple to her. We managed to get his stuff, but while we were there Aphrodite’s residual magic revealed the person we romantically loved the most, so Percy saw that I had a crush on Grover.”

Frances nods, contemplative. “Does that mean you saw who Percy likes? You could have used that against him as blackmail.”

You wave a hand dismissively. “All I learned is that he’s head over heels for Annabeth Chase, but that’s hardly surprising news. Everyone knows that.”

“I suppose so,” Frances says wistfully, “although I do love some good blackmail.”

“I don’t like how casually you said that,” you frown, “but I get your point. Regardless, there’s nothing I can do now. Percy knows, you know, Grover knows, and my secret is done for.”

Frances smiles sympathetically. “Hey, at least he’s a nice guy, right? He probably won’t do anything about it, just to spare you from feeling bad.” Her face pales. “Actually, I take that back. He’s headed this way now.”

You freeze, looking about wildly for some sight of him. “What? Where is he?”

Frances jerks her chin in the direction of the infirmary. “Over there. He was just talking to Will Solace a moment or two ago.”

You follow her line of sight and curse under your breath. “Oh my gods, I can’t do this. If he comes over here, tell him that you don’t know where I am, alright?”

Frances flashes you a thumbs up. “Already on it. What are you going to do?”

You set your jaw grimly. “I’m going to do what you told me. I’m running.”

With that, you head as fast as you can in the opposite direction, hoping against hope that Frances will be able to stall Grover long enough for you to get away without being seen. The satyrs of Camp Half-Blood are typically busy this time of year, the summer months are always hard on them. With luck, you’ll be able to avoid Grover for a week or two at most, and then he’ll be pulled away on another mission to rescue yet another hapless demigod and you’ll be safe. He’ll forget all about you.

At the same time, you don’t want Grover to forget about you, not in the slightest. What Percy said is true, you do like Grover. You like him a lot. Ever since the first moment you saw him, you knew he would be important. He was one of your best friends when you were still living as a mortal, and then he saved your life by guiding you to Camp Half-Blood.

Some part of you was terrified that your friendship was all a ruse, that he’d drop you the second he got you safely to the camp, but everything ended up being fine. It turns out that Grover wasn’t faking a thing, he genuinely likes spending time with you. You talk with him all the time, and he always heads to you first after he comes back from delivering yet another demigod so he can tell you about everything that went right and wrong on his latest venture outside the camp borders.

It wasn’t hard to fall for Grover. No one else has ever made you feel quite the way he does, like you truly are someone worth saving. He looks at you and sees something spectacular. When you’re with him, you feel like everything a demigod should be: strong, half immortal, brave, all of it. It’s easy to think less of yourself when you’re confronted with the fact that one of your parents is a literal Greek god and you’re just you, but you forget all of your fears when you’re with Grover.

The only problem is that he’d never feel the same way. That’s why you’d made Percy promise that he would never say a thing about your crush to Grover, but it looks like he’s forgotten all about that. You torture yourself thinking about how Grover might have responded to Percy telling him about your feelings. Would he have laughed it off, or worse, been disgusted that someone he thought of as only a friend liked him in that way?

You shake your head to rid yourself of the loathsome thoughts and keep moving. The bright sunshine fades away as you head further away from the center of camp, towards the trees. Usually, campers aren’t supposed to go in the forest unless they’re engaging in the usual mock battles or accompanied by someone else, but you really need to be alone right now. Besides, you’re armed as always with your celestial bronze weapon of choice, so even if a monster decided to try you right now, you’re running on enough despair and pure anguish that you’d easily take it down.

You’re fully committed to staying in this forest until the day you die if need be, but you’ve barely been wandering between the trees for ten minutes or so before you hear footsteps. You whip around and find yourself face to face with Grover.

He scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

You briefly consider just sprinting away as fast as you can, but decide that it’s worthless. He’s already found you, and this conversation was going to have to happen anyway, right?

So, you sigh, and try to prepare yourself for the worst. “It’s fine. How did you know I was here?”

Grover actually smiles at that. “A few people saw you go and told me. Also, ever since the whole Pan thing I’ve been more in touch with nature. I can tell when people go to more rural areas, especially people I want to remember.”

You cock your head to the side, curious. “People you want to remember?”

He nods. “People who matter the most to me, they tend to stand out more in my mind. Percy, for one. A few of the first friends I made as a satyr. You.”

You frown. “But I haven’t known you for nearly as long as the others. Why–”

He cuts you off with a gentle smile. “You matter a lot to me, Y/N. About as much as I matter to you, from what I hear.”

You grimace, dragging a hand over your mouth. “Percy told you, right? Listen, I’m sorry about that. He wasn’t supposed to say a word. You weren’t supposed to find out. I really don’t want to ruin the friendship, can we just pretend that nothing ever happened?”

Grover inclines his head. “And what if I don’t want to pretend nothing ever happened?”

You feel your confidence falter. “What?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t want to pretend nothing happens,” he repeats, “because I like you too, Y/N. That’s why Percy told me in the first place, he said he was getting bored of me never doing anything. He made me realize that the thing that scared me most was never telling you how I felt, so he broke his promise to not say a word because he knew it would convince me to finally confess my feelings to you. He thought it was worth it, and so do I.”

You shake your head, laughing quietly. “You actually like me back?”

“Of course I do,” he says simply, “you’re the only one who’s ever really mattered. Usually, it’s hard to find ways to connect to new demigods when I’m trying to get them to camp. I never had to pretend with you, not once. You were the most real thing I’d ever been a part of, and I’d never want to lose that, not if I had to. I’m used to the unusual, it comes with the job, but you made me feel extraordinary.”

You feel lighter than air. For once, your brow is smooth and unwrinkled, free of every burden that has weighed it down for what feels like centuries. “It was the same for me. You made me feel wanted, Grover. More so even than the rest of the camp. If it was up to me, we could have stayed that way forever. Just the two of us trying to survive on our own, adventure after adventure.”

He smiles at that. “Maybe we can have that, too. Send me an Iris Message the next time you’re out in the mortal world. We could get dinner somewhere, pretend to be normal people.”

You laugh. “Picture us, normal people.”

For once, you don’t want that sort of normalcy. Ever since finding out that you were a demigod, some secret part of you has always secretly longed for the time in your past in which your life wasn’t constantly in danger. You could have gone to school and gotten a job just like everyone else, but now? You don’t want that life in the slightest. It would be something to pretend with Grover, but you’d sacrifice a normal life a thousand times over if it meant you would still have him by your side.

Grover’s laughing too. “Alright, maybe it wouldn’t last long. Still, it would be fun.” He squints at you. “I’m glad this worked out, but does this mean you’re still upset with Percy? Because I definitely need a front row seat if you want to kick his ass for breaking his promise.”

You grin. “Oh, I am. You wouldn’t happen to be able to tell me where he is, would you? He may have helped us get together at last, but Percy has consequences to face.”

Grover chuckles. “I couldn’t be happier to help you out with that.”

It’s simply what the boy deserves. After that, you’ll have your happiness with Grover for quite some time. You couldn’t feel more free.

requested by @hope92100, i hope you enjoy!