DO NOT REPOST MY STORIES | Masterlist to Mobile | The Library | Patreon | Twitter | Beca | Baby Millennial | I write, I sing, and I know some things. Using Tumblr isn't one of those things yet. Don't judge me. | Autistic | English is my second language. I may tell you the native one if you ask me politely | Sharing is caring, tell me about my mistakes, and I'll work on correcting them | Support Me on Ko-Fi
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A small warning: This page is a trans inclusive space. All Harry Potter stories were written and finished before the author made her transphobic views public. I don’t endorse them, nor Rowling, and make it a goal to donate to organisations that help trans people in need in my country at least every two months, and encourage you to do the same. I also don’t write about Harry Potter anymore, and don’t consume any media of the franchise (including fanfiction.) Thank you.
Like there is a difference between "My trauma creates impulsive urges and has changed my instinctive reactions to be irrational, I need to relearn shit." vs "I'm traumatized so I Can't Help It and you're not allowed to expect better of me"
I had a bit of a rough Friday. I ended up needing to go to the hospital for an asthma attack (I’m doing much better now and well on my way to 100%, thank you for asking!) and got an IV. Stressful, yes. But the silver lining is that I walked away with a bruise.
So, I thought… well, why not document it for when I need to write bruises? And I have a Tumblr, so… you are in the boat with me.
Let's study my IV bruise and how it changes every day for more accurate writing.
(Images and warnings under the cut)
Two warnings before we start:
This is NOT medical advice: I am not a doctor, and I am definitely not qualified to give medical advice. This is purely a personal documentation of an injury I happened to sustain. Please consult a professional if you have your own medical concerns!
Skin Tone Context: I’m not white. I am biracial and have fair skin, usually matching the 2nd or 3rd shade of a neutral to neutral-cool foundation, depending on the brand and how much sun I’ve been getting. I mention this because bruising colours show up quite differently on different skin tones, so keep that in mind when using this for your own character descriptions.
1) The IV Placement:
It hurt when it was inserted, but not terribly (but it was aching a bit the whole time it was in, which makes me suspect it poked something it shouldn’t have).
Yes, I have very juicy veins, you'll see it when my arm isn't covered up. I’m a vampire’s favourite dish and a nurse’s easier patient.
2) 8-10 or so later
This was about 10 to 12 hours after the poking. You can see it’s starting to bloom. I thought it was as bad as it would get and I was wrong.
It hurt quite a bit, especially right at the insertion point and a little lower, where I think the tip of the needle ended up. Because they insert it at an angle to follow the vein, it’s a very delicate spot.
One thing I noticed was how much it bled once the IV was removed. Even with the cotton and tape, it soaked through in a circle about 2cm wide. It closed up on its own eventually; I was able to remove the bandage in the shower (about 40 minutes after the IV was out), clean up the last bit of blood, and it was fine.
3) 24 Hours Later (Day 2 – Today)
It is very ugly, to be honest, it has darkened significantly. It is tender right at the insertion point, but even more so at the bottom, where it’s darker, where I think the needle wasn’t supposed to go.
I tested the surrounding area by poking my other elbow; it also hurt a little, so I’m attributing the “ouch” factor to the muscles themselves simply not liking being squeezed. They are entitled to that, they are just doing their jobs.
And that’s where we are! Since I’m still currently living through Day 2, we have yet to see the rest.
I’ll be back with another update eventually, so you’re welcome to stick around.
A dark dot has appeared a bit lower on the bruise. Looking back at the previous photos, I can actually see it was already there, but I did not notice it until now. I think it’s where the needle ended.
The colour is a bit blacker, and the pink bits are disappearing.
The spot is now sore even to small pressure. I’m not sure if this is a delayed response from my body, or if my autistic brain is only just now fully registering it when it was already there, but it’s definitely more sensitive today.
Yes, I could have applied ice or cold compresses, but how else would we document the progression of the healing process? Embrace the madness with me.
The little entry point isn’t raised anymore; it just has a little scab on top.
This is today’s update, not very exciting, but I guess that’s the human body for us.
Nothing has changed much from what I’m comparing between the photos, but you are all obviously free to compare as well.
The dark areas are starting to fade, and I see some warm pink mixing it, which I suppose it how it starts turning yellow. It means my body is starting to eat it up.
I can confirm with more certainty it isn’t growing anymore, which means it’s officially starting to fade. You can actually see it start to yellow right at the top (North?) of the bruise.
The spot is still tender compared to my other elbow, but always keep in mind it is a naturally sensitive spot (at least to me, from comparing to the other side).
I’m trying to take the photos on the exact same place in the room, in the exact same angle, under the exact same light, and the exact same phone setting, but because a phone’s camera is far less controlable than a DSLR, we might have variations. (But hey, I’m open to receiving gifts!)
For today, that’s it.
As for me, I’m coughing a bit more than before, but I’m doing my best to recover, and I’m glad to get to document this for the future.
I don't totaly feel like the photo is showing it enough, but the bruise has yellowed out a lot, and it looks way less angry.
If you look around the prickle point, the area has officially started to clear out to what looks quite a bit like my natural tone(?). Or maybe I'm tripping with that last bit.
It's obvious now that the upper part of the bruise will heal quicker than the lower part, so we can keep watching. I'll probably make a little graphic showing the first days side by side by the weekend.
Okay, I might have been caught on something and couldn't update before, but I took pictures of all the days. So...
Days 7 to 12
Honestly, days 7 and 8 look very similar to me. The bruise didn't change much apart from how it cleared up in the middle, compared to day six.
It was still a little tender then, but I didn't remind myself to test it after day 7.
Days 9 and 10
I feel like days 9 and 10 were very similar, except that the green-yellowing that had shown up was also staring to vanish, so the bruise started looking less uniform and some areas started entering that phase where you're all "is this... is this still yellow? is this zone still yellow or is the skin normal again?"
The south of the bruise is starting to clean up and it's just the little inverted C that is still actively dark.
Day 12
I forgot to photograph day 11, I had to do errands after work and arrived home exhausted.
On day twelve we barely have any angry colour, no extra pain at poking compared to the other arm, and the colour of the "circle" is now much clsoer to my skin tone.
If anyone wants to Rorschach Test theselves with it, this is the moment. I actually see a human figure holding something invisible.
Maybe it's holding my blood vessel?
Well, I feel like we're very close to the end of the journey, but we still got at least three days, so we'll see.
As for my health, I'm coughing up a lot, and I'm trying to find a pneumologist covered by insurance to see my this week because it is getting to the level of being painful, and I don't like the sound of that.
Life got in the way, but I'm returned! So lets do it.
Days 13 and 14
Day 13 was when all of the purple officially disappeared, and all that was left behind was the darker yellow/brown, and you can start actually seeing the skin underneath, and the juicy juicy veins I bragged about.
By then, there was no pain, so it really is just a little bit of an ugly sight.
Days 15 and 23
So, that is day 15, which I consered the last day, and day 23 is today.
Now, would someone after this fade different? Yes. But my personal experience with bruises is that the leftover bruises are considerably dark and take quite a bit of time to fade, if they fade completely. I suppose that is something my properly melanated ancestors pity-gifted me.
(Although, if someone thinks it is related to health issues, I'm all ears. I got a lot of them, I'm almost numb to finding new stuff out.)
(Also, I found a pneumologist and am now on medication. I have some exams to do, but it is all going well.)
Brazilians have this naionally runing dark joke that we absolutely adore.
Olavo de Carvalho was an astrologist, far-right influencer, old as fuck, conspiracy theorist. When the far-right started rising, he became the Chernobyl of Brazilian politics.
(You may call him a Charlie Kirk, except he didn't go to universities to debate people who are still learning using falacies and ignoring facts.)
And then he died in 2022, and something amazing happened to this country I absolutely adore.
You see a skull? "Oh, look, Olavo de Carvalho is here".
You're having a conversation about something significant? Someone will say "I wonder why Olavo de Carvalho hasn't said a thing about this?!"
And on and on. We bring this man's name out so much to mock his ghost.
Why aren't people doing this to Kirk?!
Why aren't you dragging that ghost into any situation where you can mock it?
You guys aren't hating to your full potential and that is so sad.
Chapter Summary: After realising he’ll have no answer from Ravenna, Dean helps the others with a plan.
WC: 2.8k words
Warnings: Regency AU. Tension. Angst.
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Read Chapter 1
Previous chapter: Chapter 52
It took Dean an entire day to send the letter.
And even then, he almost didn’t.
He wavered over it for hours, staring at the sealed envelope like it might bite him. He picked it up, turned it over in his hands, and then set it down again. More than once, he reached for it with purpose — only to stop short, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
He gave up on it several times.
He crumpled it, tossed it onto the desk, then changed his mind and smoothed it out again. He stuffed it in a drawer, only to pull it back out minutes later. At one point, Dean even broke the seal, fully intending to tear the letter to shreds and be done with it. But the moment he saw his own handwriting — the raw words he had poured onto the page — he hesitated.
Instead of destroying it, he melted more wax, carefully resealed the envelope, and sat there staring at it again.
She wouldn’t take it, Dean knew she wouldn’t take it.
He knew Ravenna. She was hurt. And she was proud.
She wouldn’t read a word he’d written, not if she could help it.
For a brief, reckless moment, he considered going to her in person. He could march up to her house, knock on the door, and force her to listen. Or better yet, he could climb her window, leave her no choice but to face him, no way to send him away.
It was a stupid idea, of course.
Cornering Ravenna would do nothing but make her dig her heels in deeper. She was stubborn, and he loved that about her, but right now, it worked against him.
Besides, it wasn’t just Ravenna he had to worry about.
Her family was furious with him. Rosetta might curse him out, but she wasn’t a real threat. Lord Pembroke and his son, though? Different story. He had no doubt they’d be waiting, ready to turn him away at best — or put a bullet in him at worst.
So he hesitated. Decided. Then hesitated again.
And after a long, agonising day of second, third and fourth-guessing himself — of pacing, of cursing under his breath, of running through every possible outcome, good or bad — Dean finally sent the letter.
And he waited.
He couldn’t sit. Couldn’t rest. Couldn’t do anything but pace the length of his office, back and forth, again and again, like a caged animal.
Walk and think. Think and walk.
She would burn it, he knew her.
Or worse — she would read it, tear it apart, and send him the pieces.
Dean sat for half a second before springing up again, pacing faster. His coat was too hot, suffocating. He shrugged it off, tossing it onto a chair. Even his waistcoat felt stifling, and he unbuttoned it with frantic hands, running his fingers through his hair.
What if she read it?
What if she replied?
What if she came?
Would she come to him?
…Perhaps.
But no. Ravenna was too proud. Even if she read every word, even if something in her softened, she wouldn’t come running to him. She would wait. Wait for him to prove himself. Wait for him to show up.
Should he?
Maybe… Somewhere neutral, where she wouldn’t feel cornered. In public, maybe?
He could ask Sammy. His brother was always smarter than him and always had some damn solution when he was too much of an idiot to figure things out.
But was there even a solution? Or was he just meant to be bracing himself for the inevitable?
What if she didn’t reply at all? What if she didn’t even acknowledge the letter?
Dean could handle her anger, her sharp tongue, her wrath.
But silence? Indifference? That would ruin him.
That was ruining him!
Maybe she wasn’t even the one to read it. Maybe Rosetta intercepted it, or Lady Pembroke. Maybe they tossed it aside before it even reached her hands, so she wouldn’t be reminded of him.
Or maybe Ravenna read it and laughed. Scoffed at his words. Shook her head, called him a foolish man, and went on with her day, unaffected.
His throat felt dry and he walked to his whiskey, pouring the drink onto the glass, but his hand was trembling when he tried to drink it.
Dean raked them through his hair instead, gripping the strands as if that could somehow ground him.
He should have just gone to her. Should have taken the damn letter himself, forced her to listen, to see that he meant it!
Or maybe that would have been worse. Maybe she would have slammed the door in his face. Maybe Lord Pembroke would have thrown him out, or worse. Maybe his son would have answered instead, and Dean would have been met with a fist before he could even get a word in!
If it was his sister, his niece, his granddaughter… he would do that. Any good man would do that.
Damn it.
Dean rubbed his hands over his face, groaning, slapping his forehead like he could knock some sense into himself. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window, eyes shut tight.
He wished he could just skip this part. Close his eyes, open them, and it would be done. Whatever was going to happen would have happened, and he wouldn’t be trapped in this unbearable purgatory of waiting and hoping and agonising.
He opened his eyes and froze at the sight.
A carriage, right outside of his house.
His heart slammed against his ribs, breath catching in his throat as he recognised it.
It was the Pembroke’s carriage.
Had she come?
Was Ravenna in his house?
Dean didn’t think — he just moved. Storming out of his office, his hands fumbled to button his waistcoat, just enough for the bare minimum of decency.
Because if she was here — if she had come — nothing else mattered.
His steps carried him past the drawing room, and that was when he saw it — a head of midnight-dark hair, pinned up with a blue ribbon.
Dean froze, and his breath hitched as anticipation grew in his chest.
But then she turned, and it wasn’t Ravenna, it was Rosetta.
Dean felt his shoulders sagging in disappointment before he realised what this could even mean — why she would be there, who’d come along.
Before he could voice any of the questions tumbling through his head, a voice cut through the air like a blade.
“Do come in, Lord Winchester,” he heard suddenly.
Dean’s gaze snapped downward.
Lady Pembroke was seated before him, her sharp eyes fixed on his face with a look so piercing it could rival Ravenna’s own.
“We are all here to help you, after all,” she said coldly, gesturing toward a chair. “You might as well join us in the thinking.”
He swallowed down, feeling his heart thundering in his chest as he followed her instructions, every muscle of his stiff as he complied. He wasn’t exactly brave enough to disobey someone like Lady Pembroke.
Slowly, he lowered himself into the seat, his mind still reeling. His eyes darted around the room — Sammy, Rosetta, Lady Pembroke — before landing on his brother.
What the hell?
Then Rosetta spoke, pulling his attention to her.
“Ravenna said to return your letter,” she said evenly.
Dean turned sharply toward her, his stomach twisting.
“We read it.”
His hands clenched into fists against his thighs as he braced for the inevitable.
She hadn’t read it, then.
She had turned it away without a second glance.
The realisation hit Dean like a blow to the chest, knocking the breath from his lungs.
“Did you mean it?” Lady Pembroke’s voice cut through his spiralling thoughts, pulling his attention to her.
Dean turned sharply again.
What?
What kind of question was that?
Why would he have sent the damn letter if he didn’t mean it? Why would he be in this state — pacing, sweating, unravelling — if he didn’t?!
“Of course!”
Lady Pembroke’s expression didn’t shift. If anything, her gaze sharpened.
“Every word?” she pressed.
“Every single one!” his spine snapped straight, his words just snaps. “I love Ravenna! I did something terribly stupid, and she doesn’t deserve how much I hurt her, but I… I needed to tell her everything.”
Didn’t they understand?
His blood pounded in his ears. He could hear Sammy inhale beside him, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from Lady Pembroke.
She had to understand.
She had to believe him.
“You spoke of rumours,” she pressed, leaning in slightly, her piercing eyes holding him captive. “What rumours?”
Dean swallowed, looking away in shame.
“I… don’t know,” he admitted, forcing himself not to mumble. His fingers curled into fists. “I thought of asking Crowley, but I…”
The memory came right back to his mind, his own fists slamming into Crowley’s face, the man bloody and bruised under him, still smirking. Still the one who won.
He beat him up.
He clenched his jaw.
“Lost control,” Dean decided, keeping the words proper. “We… had an altercation.”
The silence didn’t linger between them.
“I do,” Sammy spoke up.
Dean’s head snapped toward his brother, his eyebrows lifting.
He did?
Sammy pressed his lips together, clearly unhappy.
“There are two rumours going around about Ravenna and Rosetta lately,” he explained, his voice stiff as he rubbed Rosetta’s hand gently. “One is that you two are poor, that you barely have enough of a dowry between you.”
Dean shifted uncomfortably in his chair as Sammy’s gaze met his, pinning him in place.
“I…” he stared and cleared his throat. “I had heard that once. Passingly. Never believed it.”
He braced himself, waiting for Sammy to continue.
He was stupid. Obviously. But—
He needed the second rumour to be bad. He needed it to justify his reaction.
His mistake, his stupidity… it had to make sense, right?
Sammy exhaled, turning to Rosetta.
“They’re saying Ravenna sacrificed her dowry for you. So you would have something.”
Rosetta scoffed, her expression twisting with offence.
“As if we would ever need that,” she looked away sharply. “He’ll see who is poor at our party.”
Sam kissed her knuckles gently, his eyes full of adoration and protection.
Lady Pembroke huffed.
“That is stupid,” she straightened in her chair, expression full of disdain. “My daughter’s dowry alone could have kept her in luxury for a lifetime had she chosen not to marry, and my granddaughters’ fortunes far surpass that.”
Dean sunk into his chair. Crowley had mentioned that rumour before, hadn’t he? Dean had shut him down.
What else could he even know?
The fear churned in his gut. Had Crowley seen them? Seen him sneaking into the library, catching stolen moments with Ravenna in the corridor? Had someone from Charlie’s house whispered something?
Had Ravenna’s reputation been touched?
And if it had—
That would justify his reaction. His mistake. His stupidity.
Wouldn’t it?
Lady Pembroke, oblivious to the storm in his mind, just continued.
“Besides,” she scoffed. “What kind of grandmother would I be if I knew my granddaughters lacked dowries and didn’t personally provide them with an acceptable sum?”
Rosetta exhaled, tilting her head slightly.
“And the other rumour?” she asked softly.
Dean’s head snapped to them, and Sammy looked at him, his eyes exploring his face, his eyebrows joined together.
His little brother swallowed and Dean waited.
“The other rumour is that you’re wealthy in your own right,” Sammy told them, his voice much more careful and measured. “That your father sent you to England because of some tradition.”
Rosetta’s eyebrows tightened together, her lips parting in confusion before she closed her mouth, finally seeming to understand.
“That he’s still alive,” he finished softly.
Dean watched as the weight of those words settled on her shoulder. He saw the anger flash in her eyes, followed by something deeper. Grief, pain.
Ravenna and Rosetta adored their father. That much was obvious.
Different from Dean’s own father, he had been a good man and was remembered for it.
A good man wouldn’t leave his daughters to fend for themselves.
“It’s cruel,” Sammy exhaled, glancing at Lady Pembroke before focusing on Rosetta again. “Both of these rumours are.”
“Terribly,” Lady Pembroke agreed, her tone crisp. “But not dangerous. Let people gossip about financials if they must, it is none of their concern. The only man who should be considering Rosetta’s dowry is you, Mr Winchester. And as for Ravenna’s dowry…”
Lady Pembroke turned to look at him, critical, and he sunk in his chair.
His mind was just spinning.
“That was it?” he asked Sammy, his voice rough. “Those were the rumours?”
“Yes,” his brother confirmed. “Simple and plain.”
He had ruined everything. He had lost Ravenna over rumours about money?
The least relevant thing in the world to him?
If she was poor, then he would give her money!
Dean had money. More money than he knew what to do with. His businesses, his properties... he could give her whatever she needed, whatever she wanted. He would’ve given her half of it all, thousands of monthly pin money, anything.
And if she was wealthy? It didn’t matter either.
None of it mattered. Not to him.
And yet—
Dean had destroyed the only thing that did.
He’d ruined everything. Everything with the only woman he’d ever loved because of rumours about money.
“Fortunately for you,” Lady Pembroke’s voice broke through his spiral, pulling his focus back to her. “Your improper behaviour went unnoticed. You should be grateful.”
Grateful.
That word felt like a slap.
But even in his haze, Dean wasn’t foolish enough to argue.
“I am,” he mumbled, barely able to get the words out.
Her reputation was safe. That was something, at least.
Ravenna deserved her good name, he knew that more than anyone.
She was a woman of worth. A woman who lived for others, who had devoted herself entirely to her family. She had given everything for Rosetta, and Dean couldn’t help but think that, if Ravenna hadn’t been tied to her sister, she would have long ago left this place. She would have escaped this town, him...
But she stayed. For Rosetta.
She lived for Rosetta.
Dean swallowed down, the realisation falling heavily on him, filling up his stomach and his mind.
Ravenna lived for Rosetta.
If he wanted to fix this — if he wanted to speak to her, to somehow make things right — he needed to understand that. He needed to remember the woman she was.
From the very beginning, Ravenna had only ever wanted to protect her sister, to be there for her.
“I know what to do,” Dean breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes found Sammy’s, but his thoughts were miles away.
“If you’re still… willing.”
He didn’t deserve forgiveness, not even a glimmer of it. He was the stupidest man in all of Mayfair. He had let everything fall apart for nothing.
But God, he loved her. He loved her more than anything. He needed her to know that. He needed her to know that every word he had said — that every mistake — was nothing compared to the depth of his feelings for her.
Even if she hated him for it, even if she cursed him and walked away, he needed her to hear him. He needed her to understand that she was nothing like what the any rumours could said or not, that she was so much more than any label, any whisper about a spinster or whatever else people called her. She deserved to know the truth.
And if he had to beg, he would.
“What is it?” Sammy asked.
Dean exhaled, the weight of his decision sinking in. It would seem petty, perhaps even cruel, especially if it were done any other way. Hell, maybe even this way.
But not if they knew, if Sammy and Rosetta and Lady Pembroke knew the truth.
“Mum’s ring,” Dean said quietly, his eyes fixed on his brother.
They had made a pact, the two of them, and it that had been clear for as long as they could remember. Whoever married first, and Dean had always known that would be Sammy, would have their mother’s ring to give to their fiancée. It had always been fair, always had made sense.
The ring was being resized for Rosetta. Sammy was about to pick it up so she would have her official ring.
“Mum’s ring?” Sammy echoed, his confusion clear.
“She would never let her sister go without a ring,” Dean reminded them. “She lives for Miss Rosetta.”
Sammy’s frown deepened, and Dean felt the weight of the eyes watching him. Lady Pembroke, Rosetta, all of them processing what he was saying.
“If you agree,” Dean continued, his voice firm, “tell her I refuse to give you the ring unless she speaks to me and comes to take it herself.”
. . .
Next Chapter: Chapter 54 (Ravenna XVI): Rosetta, Lady Pembroke and Samuel set their plan into motion. (21st of July on Tumblr/AO3)
Chapter Summary: Thor apologises.
Warnings: Modern AU. Comfort.
Masterlist
Read chapter 1 now
Previous chapter: Chapter 17
Two slices of apple pie later, you ended up sitting on Thor’s porch while Dustin explored his rocks again with your belly still making strange flips and your mind a whole damn mess.
This was exactly why you shouldn’t have stepped inside in the first place. Your feelings were getting all tangled again.
“Hey,” you heard.
You turned your head quickly and raised your eyes as Thor stepped to your side.
“Hey,” you replied, slower this time.
He’d put on a jacket.
“Can I sit?” he asked gently, pointing to the seat by your side.
You glanced toward the yard, where Dustin was crouched again in the grass, fully immersed in his rock exploration, and you looked back at Thor and gave a small nod.
“It’s your porch,” you pointed out, trying to sound light.
He sat down by your side, quiet, and for a bit of time, the two of you just watched Duz moving around, perfectly happy with playing by himself.
“His imagination is remarkable,” Thor said eventually, his voice soft.
You looked back at him, raising your eyebrows a little.
“He can just… play,” he pointed to Duz. “Drop him in a yard and he’s alright for two hours straight.”
You chuckled.
“Well, I’ve never let him near a phone, and he only gets fifteen minutes of TV a day, so…”
A little extreme? Some parents thought so.
But his school didn’t allow electronics, and you were pretty sure you had the only five-year-old in the country who had never held a tablet. And that felt like something.
Thor smiled at that.
“Commendable,” he said. “He’s also an only child. I hear they can be extraordinary.”
Of course, there was that.
“They kind of have to be,” you smirked at him. “No one else to blame when something breaks.”
Thor laughed, that warm low sound that settled too nicely in your belly.
“Me and Loki blamed each other for everything,” he said, grinning. “They told us we were twins, can you believe that?”
You turned to him, surprised.
“Wait, really?”
They didn’t look like twins. Honestly, with their parents’ polished, golden looks, you wouldn’t have even guessed they were brothers at all if you hadn’t seen the family photos. Loki really stood out.
He nodded.
“I think Loki was born maybe two, three days after me. Same hospital, my mother got an extended stay. He didn’t have parents or relatives, they were going to place him in foster care. Father said he looked so much like our sister that he just... felt like it was right.”
You softened. That was sweet. Complicated, sure, especially with what you knew of their sister, but sweet all the same.
“I’m sure there’s more to it they never told us,” Thor added, giving you a faint, knowing smile. “They only told us the truth in college. Until then, we just figured Loki was a weird genetic fluke.”
You smiled back at him.
“I’m old enough to remember the twins coming home,” you told him. “It was just me for a while, so I soaked up all the attention I could.”
“Lucky,” he scoffed playfully.
“Then one day, they sat me down and said I was getting a little brother or sister. And then that turned into a little brother and a little sister,” you chuckled. “They came home, and that was it. My reign as an only child was officially over.”
Thor’s smile turned gentle.
“Sounds like you handled it better than I would’ve.”
“Depends on who you ask,” you scoffed a little. “I hated how much they cried. I once tried to convince a relative to adopt them. I was not handling it well.”
Thor let out a loud laugh.
“You?”
“Me,” you nodded and sighed. “But… you know. Time did its thing and now I can’t imagine a world they don’t exist in.”
Family.
“You think he would handle a sibling?” Thor asked.
The thought made your heart ache a bit.
Not like you could handle another baby, or had a way to make one without some serious research and planning.
“A baby sibling? He’d probably be obsessed,” you smiled. “But… that’s not something that’s going to happen.”
Thor scoffed, nudging your shoulder gently.
“You’re thirty. You’ve got plenty of time.”
You just shook your head at him.
“I do, but there’s only one me,” you reminded him, shrugging. “So… no siblings.”
Thor didn’t insist, nodding slowly.
“Fair,” he mumbled.
The two of you sat in silence, watching Dustin pile rocks in increasingly odd patterns. You squinted at him, head tilting a bit. He was mumbling to himself, clearly narrating something — but whatever the story was, only he understood it.
It was peaceful, if a little heavy in your chest.
It was a bit of time before Thor cleared his throat again.
“Are you well?” he asked.
You turned to him, frowning.
He cleared his throat again, voice quieter this time.
“I mean… are you well? We haven’t really talked in a while.”
There wasn’t pressure in the question, just something calm and an honest worry.
You paused for a moment, not sure of what to say. It wasn’t that simple.
“Yeah,” you nodded. “Just… you know, same old.”
“And the house?” he asked.
“No more leaks,” you told him. “Or floodings. Or holes.”
Which was as good as it went with a house like yours, honestly.
“Good,” Thor exhaled. “Good, good.”
You fell into more silence again, and he turned to look at you again.
“I’m sorry.”
You let out a slow breath, looking away as his words settled in you.
“Thor….”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, firmer now. “I need to say that. I am.”
You didn’t answer right away, and just sat there, feeling your heart thundering against your ribs.
“I was damn stupid,” he said with a weak huff. “Loki will back me up on that, I’ve got a real talent for it.”
You shook your head a little but didn’t speak.
“I was reckless,” he continued, quieter now. “And disrespectful to you. That was never my intention, but it doesn’t change what I did. Or how it made you feel.”
You exhaled, eyes on Dustin still as your insides flipped and twisted in your belly.
“I fucked it up,” Thor whispered, voice rough. “I know I did. And I was wrong.”
He paused, the air between the two of you so thick you imagined you could touch the mix of feelings with your hand.
“I don’t expect an apology to fix it or to make you trust me again, but I need you to know I regret what happened. Deeply.”
You turned to look at him, and his eyes were just full of honesty and sadness., and you couldn't answer right away, swallowing down around the knot in your throat, breathing through it.
“He really likes you,” you told him. “Dustin…”
You closed your eyes, shaking your head, the mix of ache and anger in your belly.
“He fucking adores you,” you practically spat.
Did he understand how much that meant? How serious that was? How big it was for a kid to love someone like that?
“I fucking adore him,” Thor said quietly, without missing a beat.
You stared at him, because what the hell were you supposed to say to that?
“I wouldn’t want him to think what I did was any kind of right,” Thor continued. “Or to think not listening to you is a good idea. Or that jumping in without thinking it through, without assessing anything, is something to admire.”
He paused, turning to look at Dustin as your boy ran around with his arms spread out like wings, running like he was an aeroplane.
“I want to be someone who's good for him to be around,” Thor affirmed, his eyes full of fondness as he watched him, shining. “Someone who shows him what respect looks like. Someone who adds good things to his life. Who makes him feel safe.”
Your throat tightened as you looked down, trying to swallow around the knot building there.
“And someone who makes you feel safe, too,” he added quietly.
You closed your eyes for a moment, because, god damn it, you believed him
That was the worst part.
Thor was a good person, kind and honest. He didn’t say things he didn’t mean, and that made it so much harder to stay angry.
“So I’m sorry,” he said again, softer this time. “For what I did. For ruining what we had.”
You let out a long breath.
“We never really…” you tried to argue, but you couldn’t really finish it.
There was the dinner, the basement, the door, and so much time together.
“We did,” Thor said gently. “At least… I did. I felt it. And I think you did too.”
You had one dinner. A lot of days of life things. Time together.
You didn’t reply. Just watched Dustin circle back, pretending to land.
Because it was easy to be angry and decide it was over.
But then he was right by your side, with that voice and those eyes, making your heart just flip and dance and do all possible movements behind your ribs.
“I should’ve done it properly,” Thor said softly. “Asked you on a date. Shown up at your door like a grown man. Not climbed your roof like a goddamn idiot.”
You let out a long breath, trying to blink the sting in your eyes away.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you admitted. “You scared the shit out of me, Thor.”
“I know.”
“You could’ve died. I could’ve had to explain that to him.”
Dustin had already lost his father, did he need to lose someone else? Someone he already loved?
“I know,” Thor said again, quieter. “And that’s what I regret most.”
You looked at him, finally, and his jaw was tight, eyes right on yours like he was waiting to be told to leave.
Like he’d stay if you asked, and go if you didn’t.
It would’ve been so fucking easy if he were cruel. But he wasn’t.
Thor was kind. And stupid. And sincere. And safe.
And, damn him…
He was trying.
You blinked, but one of the tears slipped from your eyes anyway, trailing down your cheek and Thor reached out without waiting a beat, his thumb brushing it away right away.
His skin was warm against your face, and you inhaled at the touch, surprised by how much you missed it, being touched so tenderly.
“I’m sorry I made you cry,” he whispered.
And, God, that almost broke you open all over again.
Another tear slipped down before you could stop it, and Thor’s fingers brushed it again, drying your cheek. You closed your eyes, trying to breathe through the ache in your chest.
“I’m not asking for anything,” he said gently. “Not now. Not more than this moment. I just… I wanted to tell you the truth. That I’m sorry. That I care about him. About you.”
He pulled back slowly, giving you space, his hand falling to his lap as you looked up at him.
“Okay,” you decided, then took in another breath, and exhaled. “Okay.”
…
Next Chapter: Chapter 19: You start letting Thor back into your life slowly. (20th of July on Tumblr/AO3)
# my favourite part about this post # is that nowhere does it say to reblog this # but we’re all reblogging it # because if we have to suffer # so do other writers
I just saw an anon come into a gif-maker’s ask box and start with the phrase: “I’m trying not to spam your inbox with reblogs, but” and then go on to say how much they love the gifs.
But I’m still stuck on that opening phrase because…what? I am so confused by how people view interactions on tumblr & AO3 these days. Let me make it very clear for anyone who is unsure:
CREATORS WANT YOU TO INTERACT WITH THEIR WORK.
The limit does not exist on how many of their works you can interact with in a certain period.
If you like every fic they’ve ever written? Then feel free to give them all kudos and even leave a comment on every single one if you feel inclined! If you’re going through someone’s blog and you vibe with every post, like/reblog to your heart’s content!
As long as you’re not expecting something back from them or adding a ton of irrelevant comments, it’s not spam! It’s what this is all about!! I’m not even much of a creator and I still feel a huge sense of pride when I see a ton of notifications in a row from a person, as it clearly shows they thought my blog was worth spending time on.
And if for some reason a creator is annoyed by this (unlikely), they can manage their own experience (turn off notifs, not look at their notes, delete the fic, etc) -- so don’t deprive the majority of creators because of some imagined annoyed person. Fandom is a collaborative effort and we all must participate!
I had a bit of a rough Friday. I ended up needing to go to the hospital for an asthma attack (I’m doing much better now and well on my way to 100%, thank you for asking!) and got an IV. Stressful, yes. But the silver lining is that I walked away with a bruise.
So, I thought… well, why not document it for when I need to write bruises? And I have a Tumblr, so… you are in the boat with me.
Let's study my IV bruise and how it changes every day for more accurate writing.
(Images and warnings under the cut)
Two warnings before we start:
This is NOT medical advice: I am not a doctor, and I am definitely not qualified to give medical advice. This is purely a personal documentation of an injury I happened to sustain. Please consult a professional if you have your own medical concerns!
Skin Tone Context: I’m not white. I am biracial and have fair skin, usually matching the 2nd or 3rd shade of a neutral to neutral-cool foundation, depending on the brand and how much sun I’ve been getting. I mention this because bruising colours show up quite differently on different skin tones, so keep that in mind when using this for your own character descriptions.
1) The IV Placement:
It hurt when it was inserted, but not terribly (but it was aching a bit the whole time it was in, which makes me suspect it poked something it shouldn’t have).
Yes, I have very juicy veins, you'll see it when my arm isn't covered up. I’m a vampire’s favourite dish and a nurse’s easier patient.
2) 8-10 or so later
This was about 10 to 12 hours after the poking. You can see it’s starting to bloom. I thought it was as bad as it would get and I was wrong.
It hurt quite a bit, especially right at the insertion point and a little lower, where I think the tip of the needle ended up. Because they insert it at an angle to follow the vein, it’s a very delicate spot.
One thing I noticed was how much it bled once the IV was removed. Even with the cotton and tape, it soaked through in a circle about 2cm wide. It closed up on its own eventually; I was able to remove the bandage in the shower (about 40 minutes after the IV was out), clean up the last bit of blood, and it was fine.
3) 24 Hours Later (Day 2 – Today)
It is very ugly, to be honest, it has darkened significantly. It is tender right at the insertion point, but even more so at the bottom, where it’s darker, where I think the needle wasn’t supposed to go.
I tested the surrounding area by poking my other elbow; it also hurt a little, so I’m attributing the “ouch” factor to the muscles themselves simply not liking being squeezed. They are entitled to that, they are just doing their jobs.
And that’s where we are! Since I’m still currently living through Day 2, we have yet to see the rest.
I’ll be back with another update eventually, so you’re welcome to stick around.
A dark dot has appeared a bit lower on the bruise. Looking back at the previous photos, I can actually see it was already there, but I did not notice it until now. I think it’s where the needle ended.
The colour is a bit blacker, and the pink bits are disappearing.
The spot is now sore even to small pressure. I’m not sure if this is a delayed response from my body, or if my autistic brain is only just now fully registering it when it was already there, but it’s definitely more sensitive today.
Yes, I could have applied ice or cold compresses, but how else would we document the progression of the healing process? Embrace the madness with me.
The little entry point isn’t raised anymore; it just has a little scab on top.
This is today’s update, not very exciting, but I guess that’s the human body for us.
Nothing has changed much from what I’m comparing between the photos, but you are all obviously free to compare as well.
The dark areas are starting to fade, and I see some warm pink mixing it, which I suppose it how it starts turning yellow. It means my body is starting to eat it up.
I can confirm with more certainty it isn’t growing anymore, which means it’s officially starting to fade. You can actually see it start to yellow right at the top (North?) of the bruise.
The spot is still tender compared to my other elbow, but always keep in mind it is a naturally sensitive spot (at least to me, from comparing to the other side).
I’m trying to take the photos on the exact same place in the room, in the exact same angle, under the exact same light, and the exact same phone setting, but because a phone’s camera is far less controlable than a DSLR, we might have variations. (But hey, I’m open to receiving gifts!)
For today, that’s it.
As for me, I’m coughing a bit more than before, but I’m doing my best to recover, and I’m glad to get to document this for the future.
I don't totaly feel like the photo is showing it enough, but the bruise has yellowed out a lot, and it looks way less angry.
If you look around the prickle point, the area has officially started to clear out to what looks quite a bit like my natural tone(?). Or maybe I'm tripping with that last bit.
It's obvious now that the upper part of the bruise will heal quicker than the lower part, so we can keep watching. I'll probably make a little graphic showing the first days side by side by the weekend.
Okay, I might have been caught on something and couldn't update before, but I took pictures of all the days. So...
Days 7 to 12
Honestly, days 7 and 8 look very similar to me. The bruise didn't change much apart from how it cleared up in the middle, compared to day six.
It was still a little tender then, but I didn't remind myself to test it after day 7.
Days 9 and 10
I feel like days 9 and 10 were very similar, except that the green-yellowing that had shown up was also staring to vanish, so the bruise started looking less uniform and some areas started entering that phase where you're all "is this... is this still yellow? is this zone still yellow or is the skin normal again?"
The south of the bruise is starting to clean up and it's just the little inverted C that is still actively dark.
Day 12
I forgot to photograph day 11, I had to do errands after work and arrived home exhausted.
On day twelve we barely have any angry colour, no extra pain at poking compared to the other arm, and the colour of the "circle" is now much clsoer to my skin tone.
If anyone wants to Rorschach Test theselves with it, this is the moment. I actually see a human figure holding something invisible.
Maybe it's holding my blood vessel?
Well, I feel like we're very close to the end of the journey, but we still got at least three days, so we'll see.
As for my health, I'm coughing up a lot, and I'm trying to find a pneumologist covered by insurance to see my this week because it is getting to the level of being painful, and I don't like the sound of that.
there’s very few things that drive me up the wall in fandom as much as this weird new assumption that fandom is primarily a space for younger people that older folks are only accepted into in a trial basis if they promise to centralize and accommodate younger fans, and further, anything else is creepy and predatory. IT’S OKAY FOR ADULTS TO PRODUCE CONTENT FOR OTHER ADULTS.
if I have to read “women in their 30s” used as an insult one more time I swear I’ll - step away from that user and just hang out with the other grownups who consistently create good content because I’m also an adult and too busy comparing car insurance to fight with teenagers on the internet, but goddAMMIT I’ll be annoyed
WC: 2.5k words
Warnings: Modern AU. A bit of awkwardness. Fluff. A bit of sadness.
Masterlist
Read chapter 1 now
Previous chapter: Chapter 16
Loki, apparently, wasn’t just visiting for the night — clearly settling in for a longer stay with Thor.
He was jogging down your street when you drove Dustin to school the next morning, and you crossed paths with him a few more times after that too.
Thankfully, he seemed to have dialled things down. Less invasive, and more of a mischievous grinner than anything else.
Thor, for his part, just kept to himself as he’d been doing before.
Of course, eventually, Dustin started asking questions — because of course he would.
Why wasn't he coming over? How long would it be until his arm was healed?
You were dodging those questions as best as you could.
You were sitting on the porch, watching him run around your yard while half-reading emails on your phone, eyes flicking up every now and then just to make sure he didn’t launch himself off something. He was giggling to himself, cheeks pink from the sun, until your attention was drawn to movement next door, and you straightened up when you caught Loki’s dark mope of hair approaching the fence.
“Neighbour!” he greeted, waving to you. “Good afternoon.”
Dustin saw him before you but rushed right to your side instead of anywhere near him.
You raised an eyebrow, eyes moving back to Loki.
“Didn’t know you were moving in,” you quipped, giving him an up-and-down. “Good afternoon.”
Loki just grinned more.
“You see, my brother is a little useless on his own with that arm,” he said at first, all smirk and charm. “So I’m trying to watch over him. You know how it is, with siblings and all.”
Dustin, curious as ever, perked right up and ran to the edge of the porch, looking at him with wide eyes.
“You’re Mr Thor’s brother?”
“I am!” he confirmed.
“Is that why he can’t play? His broken arm?”
You raised your eyebrows to Loki, giving him a glare.
Thor must have spoken to him about what had happened.
He caught it, and his grin wavered, his shoulders squaring as his tone shifted a bit.
“Yes,” he said gently, nodding. “Thor’s struggling a bit with his broken arm. It’s hard to do a lot of things right now.”
Dustin looked at the grass, pouting, then turned to you.
“Can we make him a card, mama?”
You blinked for a moment, and Loki cleared his throat behind the fence.
“You know,” he said, voice gentler now, “I think he’d really like that. He’s… very fond of you, Dustin.”
“Of course,” you agreed softly. “We can take it to him tomorrow.”
“I’m gonna ask Juju to get my art stuff!” Dustin declared, already halfway to the door.
“Don’t run on the stairs,” you called after him.
The sound of his footsteps slowed — slightly — and you exhaled, brushing your hand over your hair.
Oh, well.
“You know,” Loki started again.
You turned to look at him, raising your eyebrows, and he cleared his throat.
“He… does,” he affirmed, less dramatic before. “He really likes you two.”
You stared at him for a beat too long.
“It’s not your business.”
Loki pressed his lips into a line and nodded.
“You’re right,” he said simply. “It’s not.”
He lingered another second, then gave a half-smile and took a step back.
“I’ll… go make sure he’s not trying to butter toast one-handed again. Last time, I swear he nearly lost a thumb.”
You replied with a noncommittal hum, watching as he turned and headed back to the house.
The next day, after school and a much-needed shower to rinse off the remains of a very fun dodgeball game, you and your boy made your way to Thor’s door, with Dustin clutching a card so enormous and glitter-covered you were certain you'd be finding sparkles on your floor and clothes for the next year.
“The neighbour and the child!” Loki exclaimed the moment the door swung open. “Hello!”
“Hi!” Dustin beamed. “I have a card!”
You chuckled under your breath, and Loki grinned down at him like it was the best thing he’d ever seen the whole week.
“You have a card,” he repeated with full ceremony.
“Good afternoon,” you greeted, quieter.
“Good afternoon,” Loki echoed, looking up to you. “Come in, come in. I’ll fetch Thor.”
You opened your mouth to protest — you’d only meant to deliver the card and head right back out — but Dustin had already bolted past the threshold.
Children.
You sighed and stepped in after him, wiping your feet and trying not to be too obvious as you glanced around. Just curious. Not nosy.
… Alright, maybe you were a little nosy.
Thor’s house was surprisingly nice. Big, with tall ceilings, but nothing showy. Everything looked like it was made to be lived in — comfortable, practical, even family-friendly in a way.
Well. Except for a giant square hammer and an even larger axe on his wall, both displayed behind locked glass
So not that family-friendly. But he was a man without children.
“Mr Thor!” Dustin shouted just as you caught up to him. “I brought you a card!”
“Dustin!” you hissed, tugging him back before he could take off into the house. “No yelling!”
But by the time you raised your head, Thor was already walking in, looking surprised — his arm still in the sling, and in a soft tee that barely fit over his chest.
“Hey,” he exhaled, a little breathless.
“Hi,” you replied, quieter.
Dustin was already bouncing on his toes, holding the enormous glittery card up in both hands.
“Look, Mr Thor! I made it myself! Mama helped me spell your name.”
Thor’s expression melted into a smile as he crouched a little, bringing himself to eye level despite the sling.
“You did?” he asked, clearly moved. “I must see this masterpiece.”
Dustin handed it over proudly, watching like a hawk as Thor carefully opened it one-handed. It was no surprise that glitter just flaked everywhere when Thor did, but he didn’t seem to mind. He took his time, reading the rainbow-coloured scrawl of Dustin’s words, surrounded by as many hearts and wonky little doodles as he could fit on the paper.
You cleared your throat, shifting on your feet, awkward.
“We just stopped by to drop it off,” you told him polite. “He worked really hard on it.”
Thor looked up, his eyes catching yours and holding for a second longer than necessary.
“Thank you,” he said simply. Honestly. “I love it.”
You just nodded, rubbing Dustin’s shoulder.
“You’re welcome.”
There was a small beat of quiet before he looked back at Dustin, smiling wide again.
“This is beautiful,” Thor said warmly. “I’ll have to put it somewhere everyone can see. Thank you so much.”
“You’re very welcome!” Dustin grinned, but his little face turned serious, and he squinted at him. “And you’re not allowed to climb roofs anymore!”
Thor chuckled.
“I promise,” he said, placing a hand over his heart. “No more roofs.”
You chuckled softly as Thor stood in front of the two of you.
“Let’s see if I can find a frame for this,” he decided. “Will you help me?”
Dustin immediately turned to you, wide blue eyes shining with hope, clearly already invested in the mission, and you sighed.
So much for only planning to make it to the porch.
“Sure,” you relented. “But be careful.”
Before you could say anything else, Loki spoke up.
“May I offer you some Earl Grey?” he asked, already halfway to the kitchen. “Oh, we just got a pie, actually. I can cut you both a slice.”
“What kind?” Dustin asked immediately, hopeful.
You winced. Dammit.
“Apple,” Loki declared, with a proud little nod. “Homemade.”
“By someone,” Thor added under his breath as he passed by. “I’ll check my office for a frame. Then we can put it inside together, alright?”
Dustin nodded quickly, eyes glowing with excitement as he took the card back.
You sighed and moved to the nearest couch, sitting a little stiffly as he climbed up by your side, and your son wiggled in place, barely able to contain himself.
It wasn’t long before Thor returned, one arm holding a large, empty picture frame, and he joined the two of you on the couch.
“Here it is,” he said, presenting the frame. “Have you ever put anything in one of these before?”
Dustin shook his head, wide-eyed, and Thor smiled and shifted the frame over his knee.
“Alright, I’ll need your help to steady it, okay? I only have one good hand.”
Your boy nodded solemnly, moving in beside him, and Thor guided him with care.
“You see these little metal tabs?” he pointed gently to the back of the frame. “They hold everything in place. We’ll bend them back, put your card inside, then close it all up again.”
Dustin leaned in, fascinated, his small fingers hovering just above the frame.
You just watched — quiet, still —, feeling something soft pressing into your chest.
The way Thor looked at your son like he was worth every second of his attention, the way he explained things slowly, never talking down…
Oh, and how Duz looked back at him, just… so full of trust, so sweet.
There was something about it that made you want to look away, but also not even blink, all at once.
Thor pried the tabs open with his good hand, slow and careful, showing Dustin how they bent.
“Now we take the back off,” he explained, lifting the cardboard and setting it aside. “And then… we lay the card right here.”
Dustin nearly vibrated with excitement as he placed his glittery card inside the frame, carefully adjusting it until it sat right in the centre. It was a bit small for the space and tilted, but Thor didn’t correct it. He just smiled like it was perfect.
“We’ll just press it down like this,” he said softly, replacing the cardboard backing, “and now you hold it steady for me while I close the tabs.”
Your son nodded seriously, steadying the frame with both little hands as Thor worked slowly, securing each little piece of metal one by one.
“There,” Thor finally said, flipping the frame upright so they could see the result. “One framed masterpiece.”
Dustin’s whole face lit up.
“It looks so cool!”
“It is cool,” Thor agreed. “And now I get to keep it on my wall forever.”
“Where are you gonna put it?” Dustin asked, practically bouncing again.
He squinted playfully at Dustin, and then looked around the room.
“How about… you help me pick a spot?” he offered. “Somewhere good.”
Dustin nodded firmly, and you watched them go around Thor’s walls, looking for the perfect place for it, stopping by the hammer and the axe.
“There!” Dustin pointed, eyes wide. “It’ll look as cool as the… the things!”
You chuckled, and Thor did the same.
“Of course. Right between Mjolnir and Stormbreaker,” he agreed. “Let’s grab the wall tape.”
He handed the frame to Dustin, who clutched it proudly to his chest as Thor walked over to a drawer. Just as he pulled it open, Dustin gasped and turned to you with wide eyes.
“Mama! Can you help us with the scissors?”
“Oh, yes, very important,” Thor realised, looking back at you. “No scissors in little hands.”
You couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at your mouth as you stood from the couch and moved to them.
“Very wise,” you couldn’t help yourself. “You’re learning.”
Thor gave you a sheepish look as he returned with the roll of thick double-sided tape in his hand.
“Takes time, apparently.”
You took the scissors and cut a few clean pieces of tape while Dustin held the frame carefully against his chest.
“You want to help me place the tape, baby?” you offered.
“Yes, please,” he nodded, serious.
You showed him where the tape would go, and he pressed each strip down with extra care, and Thor watched quietly until you were done.
“Lift me up so I can put it, Mama,” Dustin said, very eager. “It’s too high.”
You looked at him, softening, already seeing how this would end — crooked and lopsided, for sure.
“Maybe I should place it?” you offered gently.
“Oh, but here’s the artist,” Thor intervened. “Part of the job is choosing where it goes.”
You raised your eyebrows at him, but he only mirrored the look, like he was tossing the ball back into your court.
“Alright,” you sighed, turning to Dustin. “Let’s do it.”
It was his wall anyway.
The three of you got to the spot again, and you picked Dustin up, watching as he put the picture frame between the hammer and the axe, doing his very best to make it look straight.
“Here?” he asked, tilting it slightly to the left.
“What do you think?” you asked him. “You’re the artist.”
That seemed to be enough of an answer, and he pressed the frame to the wall with both hands. You held your breath, watching it stick — obviously crooked, undeniably off-centre, but… very Dustin.
“There,” he announced proudly. “Perfect.”
You smiled at it, then glanced at Thor.
“Perfect,” he echoed.
“Perfect,” you agreed.
You set Dustin down, and for a moment, the room settled into a kind of silence — not awkward, but not quite comfortable either. You found yourself looking at Thor, searching his expression for… something. And he looked right back at you.
“Who is this?” Dustin asked suddenly, breaking the quiet as he scampered toward a different part of the room.
You snapped your head in his direction.
“Dustin,” you hissed, half-scolding, half-exasperated. “You can’t just—”
But Thor didn’t seem to mind.
“Our parents,” Loki replied from the other end of the room.
“Our parents,” Loki announced.
You turned, surprised — you hadn’t realised he was still nearby. He moved past you with a tray, setting the pie down on the coffee table.
You followed Dustin to the wall he’d wandered to, pausing in front of a cluster of framed photographs. He tugged at your pants until you bent down and lifted him into your arms.
Thor and Loki’s parents looked exactly like you imagined them to, a tall and striking pair, both golden-haired and movie-star beautiful in that old-money, royal-family kind of way. They looked like the kind of people who only ever wore handmade clothes and had never stepped into the supermarket in their lives.
“She looks like a princess,” Dustin whispered, eyes wide.
Thor and Loki both let out soft sounds of not-quite laughter. When you glanced at them, their expressions had gone distant, familiar in a way that made your chest ache.
Grief.
“This is our mother, Frigga,” Thor said quietly, pointing to the larger photo.
It was of all four of them in some sort of celebration you couldn’t quite identify, but they looked happy anyway.
“And our father, Odin,” he added, gesturing to the man beside her, broad and bearded.
He looked a bit like Thor, except quite older.
“She does,” Loki said, and when you turned to look at him, he still had his eyes on the photo. “She looks like a Princess. Always did.”
You all quieted as you rubbed Dustin’s back, no words being worthy enough of being said now.
Then Loki cleared his throat, and that familiar charm slipped right back into his voice.
romaincrisis
dailybridgerton
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andulkaphoto
titsay
prguitarman
jacobvanloon
