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randombush3 · 1 month

Text

a sense of coming home

ona batlle x reader

summary: part two of this! ona and you are (frustratingly) still just friends

words: 6.5k (i have NO idea why i waffle so much but lets pls allow it)

warnings: there's like five secs of smut at the end

notes: this has been the most self-indulgent fic i've written because this is how i met my gf and so i am glad to show you a nice happy ending

again, the quote is from 'this side of paradise' (said gf's fav book - i don't recommend however because the protagonist is a twat)

also i didn't proofread bc i am exhausted and i am hungover and i am very ready to go to sleep (#globetrotting is not for the weak) x

There is something difficult about forcing oneself back to their toxic roots. Ona discovers as such as she presses her body into a temple of meaningless sex, but she does so because she is a driven person. Ona is determined to get over you, once and for all, except she’d quite like to stay friends (hence why she agreed when asked). She also thinks it would expose her to fall out because her feelings shouldn’t have existed anyway, so she technically shouldn’t be heartbroken?

Anyway, Ona rampages through Manchester! They appreciate her accent – some even ask her to speak to them in Spanish when she is three fingers deep inside of them, to which she obliges with little fanfare – and it isn’t like the city lacks queer women. It is a super solid way to keep her busy, to tear her attention from hungrily checking your Instagram whenever possible.

It’s also what lands her with coronavirus. She’s embarrassed to admit just how many people she has come into contact with when the club doctors ask her questions over the phone.

You send her a lovely message after hearing she is yet another fallen soldier.

Ona is at home, isolating, and you are apparently trapped in Spain, unable to get into Italy. You haven’t quite made it to your parents’ house since your flight was supposed to depart from Madrid. “How come you’re not on the phone to one of your ‘connections’?” Ona asks suspiciously, wondering why this call has lasted longer than ten minutes. “Surely someone knows someone else and they can get you back home.”

“I’m hardly out of my depth in my own country,” you remind her with a twinging sigh, pained that she has suppressed all memories of your childhood. “It’s not like I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Didn’t you get rid of it in your head to make space for Italian and English? Oh, and French too, right? That’s where the fashion weeks are.”

You laugh at her pride for knowing something about your job, but it is not to ridicule her. “I am speaking to you, aren’t I?”

“In Catalan,” she points out. “Forget Spanish, but don’t forget Catalan.”

“I can’t. It’s the language everyone uses to tell me about how fucked you’ve been lately.” You take in a deep breath, uncomfortable with Ona’s silence but knowing your piece needs to be said. “Are you aware of what happened a few months ago? Why I missed the wedding?” One of your friends met her dream man and he whisked her off to Menorca for a small ceremony. Only the people she loved the most were invited, which included your childhood friend group. “We were in New York, a whole bunch of us. It was late but the show had been a big deal so we went out to celebrate, and… these ‘friends’, these people, they aren’t the same as you and me. Most of them are English, you know, and they come from very fancy schools where addiction is normal. Two of them ended up in the hospital that night – the bag hadn’t even made it round to me by the time they’d dropped. I know it seems far-fetched, but all I’m trying to say is that addiction has consequences. Bad consequences.”

“So you’re not on my side?” Ona isn’t taking this too seriously. A few people have joked about her questionable new hobby, but no one has made it seem so dire that they have needed to get you involved. You who, of course, Ona will listen to.

“I am always on your side.”

That is her main take-away from the conversation, Ona chooses, when it ends an hour later. She swoons, meaning the last twenty women have been a waste of time, but she also tortures herself into ignoring the potential problem. Being a sex addict would be embarrassing, so she won’t be.

Though your subtle shaming for her abundance of quick-fix flings is hypocritical, Ona would also hate for you to see her that way. You can avoid commitment all you like, but she is determined to be different to prove to you that she is a viable candidate, should you wish to stop stringing her along. It’s probably toxic; it probably means that you are both clinging onto a friendship that should either end or be labelled something else. It probably is the push and pull that has kept you interested, Ona thinks, because she knows that you like the chase.

However, as much as she’d like to be freed of whatever game she is caught up in, she can’t seem to let you go like that.

…

The next time Ona and you have a proper conversation about something other than how your love lives have been stunted or how people back home are not as successful as the two of you is when most of the restrictions have been lifted.

You waited out the pandemic in Vilassar de Mar, much to your annoyance, but now that you can travel again, the first person on your mind to visit is your childhood best friend. You’re not as close as you used to be, having drifted further during even more years apart, but it does not dull your love for her, nor hers for you.

Ona has changed her mind about Manchester and is forcing herself to like it. It works enough for a visit from you to be the last thing on her mind, and so she slows her response time down until the next arranged date to see each other in person is all set for the summer before the Euros in England.

You’re not quite home but you are in the country, and, with the pre-Euros camp in two days, Ona is spending the final few hours of calm left before the storm in the comforting presence of her mum and dad.

And… you, apparently.

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet,” is Ona’s greeting when she opens the front door.

Your smile is wide and genuine, and you are holding a gift bag in one hand. There is a nice bottle of wine in the other. “Not even an ‘hola’?” When no reply comes, you swallow the emotions that have arisen; the ones that are maybe, just a little bit to do with how soft Ona looks with her hair down. And the slope of her jaw. And the ghosts of defined biceps that bulge even when she isn’t flexing her arms. “I’m dropping by to see your parents. I thought you were in Barcelona with your footballer friends.”

“You visit my parents?” asks Ona curiously.

“Of course.”

With that, you side-step her and call out to her mother, announcing both your arrival and your desire to hand them their gifts. Dinner is just about to be served, and Ona is soon tasked with setting another place at the table for you as though the last ten years had never happened and your friendship hadn’t lost its innocence.

Maybe it would be better for Ona to not know what it feels like to kiss you, to touch you, to – dare she think it – love you. It would certainly make things less painful, and would have saved her from catching at least one illness and spending a good amount of money on Ubers to escape from random apartments. It would make it easier to listen to you talk about your life in Milan, where you seem to exist in a bubble of incredibly attractive people who are desperate to hold hands and form a raft.

“Modelling can be brutal,” you agree, nodding at Ona’s father as you follow on from his concerns about your career. He voices them regularly; whenever you see him. Ona realises you have spent a lot of time with her parents without her. “It gets quite competitive between the girls so I’ve been somewhat avoiding them. They’ve brought in someone new, scouted from Germany, I think, and I’m a little worried that I’ll have to switch agencies if they start prioritising her.” You glance at Ona, wanting to know if she is listening, hoping she is. You wish that she were as good at suppressing her feelings as you are. You wish she didn’t look at you like you hung the moon, because you know that you have to tell her you have hung it for someone else. “I’d move tomorrow, to be honest, but I’ve started seeing this guy and he’s convincing me to stay in Milan.”

“The minute he is your boyfriend, you bring him here,” commands Ona’s mother in a tone she hasn’t yet used on her actual daughter (said daughter has never mentioned anyone before). “Show us a picture of him! Is he a model like you?”

He is, and if Ona holds her fork tighter after she sees the photo you pull up, that is her business. You secretly take in her clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows, and this might be the worst thing you have ever had to do. To see her so defeated, so hopeless, is upsetting, especially since you are harbouring the same feelings. However, you are able to admit when it is time to throw the towel in, and you can no longer live like this.

Ona is too perfect for you. She is driven, hard-working, and funny. She likes to nutmeg little children on the street, and she likes to buy them an ice-cream if they slip a goal past her, slotting the flat footballs into imaginary nets and celebrating as though they have just won the Champions League. She knows a lot, more than she thinks she does. She cares about people, but sometimes it manifests in anger, in frustration.

Any aspect of her is an aspect that you could love, and that is reason enough not to. Because how can you allow yourself to taint such perfection?

But, in this unspoken rejection, the compliment is obscured from the recipient’s view. All Ona sees when you gush about how he buys you flowers and takes you out to dinner, is a burning, bright question. It flashes red and yellow, both as a warning and cry for attention. How can she compete if you don’t even recognise her as a competitor?

…

“--And then they proceeded to finish a film they were halfway through as if it were the most normal thing ever,” Ona rants the minute she hits the concrete of Las Rozas, walking into the facility with Aitana and the other girls who travelled with her from Barcelona. Only the midfielder has been gracious enough to listen to the entire monologue, but the others joke that that is because Ona’s emotional state has led her to spiral in her native language. It is forbidden for them to openly speak Catalan in the Spanish camp, according to Jorge Vilda, who loves to hurl a ‘we can send you back to where you came from in an instant’ their way if he so much as hears a ‘bon dia’. Naturally, Aitana doesn’t give a fuck about the rule, although Ona chooses to believe that she is listening because she cares.

“Are you done?” Aitana asks thoughtfully, sucking on her bottom lip as she tries to absorb her friend’s crisis and formulate a valid, sensible response. The two have known each other for a while now, and Aitana remembers a time when Ona was relentlessly teased by their older teammates for being in love with her best friend. It is clear to her that those feelings never ceased, though she has heard through the grapevine (Leila Ouahabi) that you are now a model and you live somewhere in Italy. You’re part Italian, is what Leila also claims, having professed your ethnicity to a small huddle of fellow gossipers one day in the gym at the Barça training facility.

“No! Nothing is ever done with her. It’s viscous and it continues in a horrid cycle that has me flapping around in circles like some idiot. I am one of her boys.” Ona groans dramatically, the sound perhaps a little too loud. A few of the girls in front of them turn around to see why a cat seems to have been strangled, but they quickly lose interest when they see it is just Ona and her disastrous situation. “Do you know how fucking humiliating it is to be one of her guys? I am a professional footballer! I play for Manchester United, one of the most historic clubs in the world, and I am about to represent my country in a major tournament. I am successful, Aita, and yet I am still not enough for her.”

“Maybe she only likes men.”

“A man has never made her scream like I have,” she bites back. Aitana blushes, but Ona is too far gone in her rage to hear her crudeness nor preserve her friend’s sanity. “She’s been like this since she decided she was gay! Isn’t that hilarious? ‘Ona, I think I’m gay’, she said. I know lesbian breakups can be hard, but there is no way my cousin fucked her up to this extent.”

“I can’t help you with this, Oni,” Aitana laments, sorry to have to confess this to her friend. “I think you need to talk to her about it. A proper conversation to fix long-term issues, not like the ones you obviously had when agreeing to stop having sex and things like that. Only she knows what she’s thinking.” It is definitely not the advice Ona wants to hear, but she cannot deny the midfielder’s wisdom. “But for now, we focus on winning.”

…

You are more than a little confused.

To start from the beginning, Ona’s cousin fucked you up. She broke your heart, and that first impression of dating girls was incredibly traumatising. With girls, you don’t just kiss and sleep with them, you get close – really close – and then when you break up, it is like you have lost both a girlfriend and a best friend.

Men are a lot simpler. Men like you and they aren’t shy about it. They can sometimes be just as cruel, but you have never felt invested enough to care too much.

Some nights, you don’t fall asleep, tossing and turning between your sexual identity, aware that you don’t need to label it but desperate to… discover yourself. If you don’t understand that part of you, how will someone else? How can you be loved? How do you even know who you want to love you?

For as much as Milan is great, it definitely doesn’t help you with your crisis. Girls in Milan like to do what they want. It is not uncommon for the models to kiss each other in clubs, in front of appreciative male gazes or not, and then reveal their engagement to their future husband the very next day. It’s easy to be drawn into such a bubble, but the minute you step out of it, you are hit with the real world.

It’s what makes the pandemic so distressing for you personally, because you are forced to live like normal people for some time. Your eyes are held open and the question is shoved down your throat, and it really doesn’t help that Ona’s cousin never moved out of Vilassar de Mar.

She sees you one day, saying hello from a suitable distance as you pick up milk as per your mother’s request. “I heard you’re modelling?” she asks with no agenda, no seductive glint in her eye. You notice the ring on her finger, and she feels the heaviness of your staring. “Oh, I got married a year ago. Did Ona not tell you?”

You realise that you and Ona try to avoid talking about anything other than the love interests you have. “No, she didn’t. Congratulations, though. She’s a lucky woman.”

“You don’t have to pretend you’re happy for me,” laughs the woman opposite you, amused and somewhat apologetic. “Look, I’m really sorry for how I acted when we were younger. I was definitely not the most mature person out there, and I know I hurt you.”

“I cried for months.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. You suck in a deep breath, trying to hold the memories of your pain at bay. “The first breakup is usually the worst but at least it gets better, as you probably know.”

She looks at you expectantly, awaiting your confirmation. It never comes.

“I haven’t dated another girl since,” you tell her, sounding rather detached from yourself.

Her eyebrows furrow and she is clearly frowning behind her facemask. “What about Ona? I thought you were together when you lived in Madrid. It takes more than a friendship to do what you did.”

You were originally going to go to university in England. It was your dream, and Ona wasn’t entirely aware of the situation because you hadn’t wanted to tell her you were leaving. Then she was sent out on a professional contract to Madrid, and it wasn’t like you were the only one leaving.

Ona’s cousin, years ago, had suggested that you go to Madrid if you wanted to get away from Vilassar de Mar. “You’ll be close enough to come home when you’d like, but not so close that you’ll feel as though nothing has changed,” she had said.

No one had known about your offers in England aside from your parents. And Ona’s cousin, who’d only found out because you had called her, drunk on celebratory champagne, because you had to tell someone.

“You gave up a dream for her because you didn’t want her to be alone.”

“I moved to Milan. In the end, she was alone.”

“You sound like you regret it,” she replies, nodding once at you to bid you farewell and then heading over to a woman who is standing with a puppy in her arms. You watch as she pulls down her mask and kisses her wife, her eyes shining with love and happiness, and your blood runs green with jealousy.

You hate Ona’s cousin for devastating you once more.

Do you regret it?

It’s unclear.

You try to make sense of it when you don’t hesitate to fly back to Italy the minute you can, going home to lick your wounds at Ona’s non-committal response to meeting you when you are in London the next month. It hurts that she is no longer at your beck-and-call, but you are somewhat happy for her. You know that lines have been crossed and that she has suffered for it. You know that you are probably the one at fault here.

This time in Milan, you don’t fight it as much. You kiss other girls and let them go home to their boyfriends; you submit to the thing you had convinced yourself you would never become.

As you drive yourself deeper and deeper into your stereotype, the thought of Ona gets pushed away and newer, more culturally-acceptable fantasies come to mind.

It takes a photoshoot for him to ask you out on a date.

It takes returning home and gaining the approval of Ona’s parents (who are far more open than your own) for you to agree to be official.

You don’t ask Ona what she thinks. She’s busy, you reason, because she is representing Spain at the Euros. She won’t care who you are dating and she certainly doesn’t need it rubbed in her face.

There are many reasons why you go out with him.

One is that you do like him; he’s nice, he’s funny, he treats you well. (He’s not Ona.) Another is that rent is going up and him sharing the load is helpful. (He’s not Ona.) There is also that he is very popular within the agency, and your chemistry on camera is enough to keep your jobs rolling in and casting directors satisfied.

He’s not Ona. You know that.

That's the whole point.

If he were Ona, you’d be deeply in love with him. If he were Ona, you would never leave the house, never leave his embrace, never leave the little bubble created when it is just the two of you and no one else. If he were Ona, you would be excited about the conversations he gently guides you into; marriage, children, where you are going to live one day. You’d miss him more when he isn’t here. You’d care.

But you just… don’t.

Another year passes, more Ona-less than the last, and then she is suddenly coming back home to Barcelona, a medal around her neck and word of a relationship floating above her head.

You could ask her about it if you wanted to because she is still one of your closest friends, but the truth is, you really, desperately don’t want to hear it. While Ona has been falling in love with someone else, you have been proving your stupid feelings to yourself.

The act (your current relationship) lowers enough for you to go home for Christmas. You leave Milan as though fleeing from a hurricane, and you refuse to control the damage until you have entered the new year. Your parents aren’t entirely sure they want you moping about the house, confused how someone so successful can revert to a moody teenager the minute they are back in safe territory, and they heavily encourage you to accept an invite that was extended out to you a few months ago.

Your friends are going skiing in Andorra, and they’d like for you to come with them.

“Ona won’t be there,” one of them regretfully informs you. “She said she doesn’t want to make things weird. She has a girlfriend – or, I don’t know, a talking stage. She wants you to have fun.”

“But Ona and I are friends,” you try to explain, feeling exposed by the look of pity she gives you; the same look someone receives when they find out their ex has gotten married or something similar. As a defensive mechanism, you hastily pull out your phone and dial her number. Everyone watches you, now uninterested in their food as you dine and plan your holiday.

Ona picks up on the third ring, escaping her dinner with Lucy and rushing into the cool, nighttime air of Barcelona.

“Hi?” she says – asks – with raised eyebrows, wondering if you’re in danger.

“You’re coming skiing with us, aren’t you?”

Your friends hide their laughs behind their hands, surprised by how firm your tone is. You do not need it for Ona, because she does anything you say regardless, but they enjoy seeing this side of you. This is someone who has had to fend for herself in a foreign country.

Removing the phone from her ear for a moment, Ona sighs, disappointed in herself.

“Yeah, of course. I’ve missed you, you know.”

…

Skiing is not something Ona is really allowed to do. As a footballer, her legs are what pay her wage. Career-destroying planks of metal are not the best way to spend the dying embers of the year. She knows that. She does, she swears, but she is so eager to go that Jonatan cannot crush her dreams. He tells her, “if you get injured your contract will be reviewed, Ona Batlle,” and she promises him that it won’t happen. Nothing bad is going to happen.

It will be the first time she has spent more than a day with her childhood friends, and she is unbelievably excited.

Lucy finds it adorable and makes it known, helping her pack for her trip, versed in what to bring because her sister skis or something like that (Ona can’t really focus on her almost-girlfriend's monologue). Lucy likes Ona a lot, and it makes her stomach flutter when she thinks about Ona and her friends talking about them. She’s sure her feelings are reciprocated, and she cannot wait for Ona to return to her in the new year, all smiles and lingering hangovers, and ask her to be her girlfriend. Officially.

Your friends convene in the centre of Vilassar de Mar with two cars between you. There are ten people coming.

Someone, most-likely trying to keep the peace, instructs Ona into one vehicle and you into the other. The drive isn’t too long, but you suppose that the tension is uncomfortable for those who aren’t accustomed to maintaining a friendship despite the weight of it.

It’s five days, and you are determined to have fun.

Ona is naturally good at this, although she claims it is her first time. You, living in Milan, are just as advanced.

By the third day, the both of you agree that going off together to do some of the harder runs will be harmless. Spending the day together won’t feel like a date or a romantic holiday. Watching Ona glide over the compacted snow won’t be attractive, watching her cocky smirk as she scales the bumps along the side of the piste won’t do anything.

It won’t. (It does.)

And it just has to be the third day that someone pulls out two bottles of tequila and a drinking game that is going to ensure every single one of you is off your face by midnight.

In rooms opposite one another, you and Ona call your respective partners and tell them about how great a time you are having, actively avoiding telling them about who you spent the day with as though it counts as cheating. It doesn’t, technically. Nothing has happened. But, still, it feels intimate and secret; forbidden.

Then, there is a shout that rings through the house. Everyone comes to the table; the party has begun.

Ona finds out that she is absolutely terrible at drinking games, and loses in every way possible.

You find out that she is still just as touchy when she is drunk.

Your friends try not to comment on it, all having agreed upon yet another passive role in such an irritating situation. Their non-interference almost ceases by the time Ona climbs onto your lap, head turning as she whispers something into your drunk ears, making you laugh privately. In fact, someone has to hold someone else back before they shout at the two of you to make out or break up.

But it’s not really necessary, their prompting, because it hits a certain hour and… nothing else matters anymore.

Ona has been touching you the whole night and you have finally reached your limit.

Boyfriend be damned, you lead her to your bedroom.

She asks you many times if you still want this, and you cannot think of anything to say other than ‘yes’.

You’re not as drunk as she is, and you both know that, but everything feels so perfect and right.

When you wake up the next morning, your anger is more at yourself than the sleeping woman beside you, but she is an outward target for such a boiling emotion and it just makes things easier.

“Ona.” You shake her awake, not caring for her hangover. “Ona, I can’t believe we’ve done this.” She rubs her eyes, dazed and confused for a moment but coming to her senses soon enough. “I have a boyfriend, Ona, and… I don’t like you like that.”

It’s not true.

It’s really, really, really not true, but the fact that you have said it is enough for Ona to leave your room with the intention of never seeing you again.

She gets the train back to Barcelona, turning up at Lucy’s flat in floods of tears, and barrels straight into those strong arms with the intention of never mentioning what she has done.

…

You break up with your boyfriend a month later. Or rather, he breaks up with you, tired of being messed around, tired of your hesitation to fully commit.

The break-up is not the most upsetting thing you’ve been through, but your ego is a little bruised.

You try to make it look like you are having a great time in Milan, even though the agency has once again discarded your file and overlooked you for shoots you used to book in an instant. You try to seem like things aren’t falling apart, but it’s of no use when your father calls you and tells you that your mother is ill.

It isn’t cancer but it’s similar, and you know that you need to come home.

You pack your bags and leave without a second thought, because maybe Madrid was far enough. Maybe there is a reason Ona signed for her home club again and most of your friends still live relatively close to their parents.

Maybe you are not meant to be separated from those you love, because running away is futile if you are always going to end up together again.

In Barcelona, a modelling agency eagerly draws up a contract with you. Although you are from there, your career being based in Milan previously creates an international allure about you (or so they say), and you are assured that work is going to rush towards you as though someone has just knocked down a dam.

Your job is secured, your mother begins treatment, but there is something you cannot shake off.

It hurts to think of Ona, to think of how you left things, but it helps, too. Seeing her face in your mind is comforting. You hear her voice as you drift off to sleep, and you let it soothe you in your dreams.

“Ona has a girlfriend,” her mother tells you when you next visit them. Her frown is unexpected because all she has ever wanted is for her children to be happy and loved. “It’s not right, it doesn’t feel right.” You begin to shrug your shoulders and crawl into your shell, but she interrupts your thought process; “I think you should go see her.”

“Why?”

The woman rolls her eyes. “Just do what I say.”

You nod because she is so scarily sure about it, and you… It’s hard to believe, but you call Ona.

She picks up.

“I was sorry to hear about your mum.”

“Don’t worry. She’s fine.”

“Are you back at home?”

“Yeah, I am.” You pause. “Well, not quite. I’m living in Barcelona.”

Something fizzes in the air; pops, crackles.

“Need me to show you around the city?”

And it’s Ona, so how could you say no?

…

Your visit goes very well.

She takes you out to dinner and shows you around her neighbourhood. She introduces you when she runs into people she knows, and she is insistent about dragging you to her football match on the weekend.

Everything is seemingly forgiven and Ona is intent on integrating you back into her life.

She wants you to feel at home, though she knows you should already, and she wants to lessen the stress of hospital appointments and death and, if not death, then a difficult recovery.

You are sitting in her apartment – now devoid of all signs of Lucy – on her comfortable sofa, watching something together after a day of walking around and sealing up the cracks that formed in Andorra.

Sitting leads into cuddling and then into wandering hands that eagerly roam underneath layers of fabric.

Ona’s breath hitches as you brush the hard lines of her abs, your hands particularly drawn to them and just how strong she has become. “You must have only felt them on men,” she offers as an explanation. “How many have you slept with in comparison to–?”

And your hands stop.

“Sorry,” Ona mumbles, seemingly upset at her outburst. “I’m just curious. I can’t work you out.” She can’t quite look you in the eye, mainly due to the logistics of your position, but she isn’t sure she wants to see the truth attached to her statement.

You question if that’s a good thing, the fact she needs to ask; the fact that she has no choice but to communicate. It was going to happen sooner or later. “A few,” is what you settle on. Ona leaves it at that, carefully pulling the hair tie from your plait, unravelling it with one hand as the other rests against your stomach in an embrace. You smile. “You’re not going to ask who?”

Her fingers stop for a moment. “No.” She speaks so quietly, her voice almost a whisper in your ear. “I don’t care about them.” You relax into her more, feeling her against your back, feeling the softness of the blanket against your feet as it hangs at the edge of the sofa.

“Who do you care about, then?”

“You.”

Carefully, both her hands hold your hips and she sits you up, smiling as she does. You tell her she’s showing off, she replies that you are always showing off. To that, you brush those hands from your sides and lean down to kiss her, more decidedly for once; more in control. It’s a surprising feeling for both of you, the forcefulness. Urgency. Not unfamiliar, but unexpected for this time on this day.

The last time you kissed Ona, you had a boyfriend.

Your mouth goes to her neck as soon as she decides that she wants her hands back on your hips, pushing you down into her lap. It’s now a competition, you think. She’s quickly coming completely undone by your kissing and biting, but you are not ignoring the feeling as she makes you grind down, makes you need that friction. “Fuck,” you moan in her ear. She grips you tighter.

You start to pull off her shirt having had enough of the grey between you, asking if it’s okay, if she’s sure she isn’t too tired. Her reply is, “take it off, god,” and then the removal of your clothes that get thrown just shy of the wine glasses set out on her coffee table. Leggings aren’t the most practical for impromptu sex, but she’s quick and smooth and someone who has definitely done that before.

With your bare chest on display and almost nothing between Ona and you, she lifts you up for a moment with the intention of flipping the two of you, getting you on your back. You pause for a moment, trying to decide if she’s doing it because she wants to or because she thinks that’s the only way to do it, but her hands are moving now, up your sides, round the front of your chest and you relax. She laughs quietly, amused, because the tension dissipates, dissolving like sweet, sweet sugar in hot coffee as soon as your legs wrap around her back.

Ona asks before she does it, picking you up and laying you back down without needing to part her lips from your own. You watch her as she sits up, body in between your thighs. “You’re going to just stay there?” She shakes her head. “I can top,” you tease, a stark contrast from how it was the last time you did this. Ona doesn’t like being told she can’t do something. However indirectly.

“Yeah?” You nod, biting the smirk out of your lips. “I don’t care.”

You are in the process of rolling your eyes when her cocky mouth is put to good use. Your underwear was taken off at some point earlier — you hadn’t realised. Ona’s head moves between your legs, up and down, your hand that isn’t holding onto the sofa in her hair, the soft waves lacing between your fingers.

She’s good at it; thorough, practised. Her tongue circles your clit for a moment before dipping into your entrance. Something about the cockiness of her movements, her tongue, her hand rubbing between her own legs, makes everything more surreal, more blissful. She moans softly, lips kissing their way up your body, hands no longer focused on herself. Instead, they take the place of her mouth, two fingers inside you as quickly as it takes for her to ask if you are okay to carry on. Your reply (“yes”) is cut off quickly by her mouth on yours, tongue swiping at your bottom lip in another question of permission. You can taste yourself on her.

At her command, you sit up, letting her pull you back onto her lap as she sucks at your neck. “Don’t leave any marks,” you warn as her teeth pull a whimper from your supposed stoicness. “I don’t want the makeup artists asking questions.” It comes out too late, because you feel her teeth graze your collarbone quickly, not painful, no, but something that feels so, so good. “Ona.” She sighs in disappointment and adjusts where you are in her lap, so your legs are either side of her thigh.

You find yourself rocking slowly, letting her savour your breasts between her hands and her mouth. She whispers that she wants to see you come, that you don’t need to hold back – not with her, not ever – so you start grinding down, harder, faster. Her hands drop back to your hips, guiding your movements, forcing you to slow down when she feels everything building up. Each time, you let out a “fuck” and attempt to go against her grip to get that friction. “Not just yet,” she mutters, no longer touching you anywhere other than where her hands meet your hips and her thigh presses between your legs.

“Fuck off, Ona,” you breathe, frustrated. “When, then?”

She slows the pace even more. “Can you last a little longer?” You look at her face, brushing away the strands of hair that have fallen over her eyes, ghosting your fingers along her cheek, running your thumb along her lips. She smiles again, eyes creasing slightly.

As her hands drop to cup your face, you say, “you’re beautiful.”

Ona blushes.

You look down at her exposed cleavage, nipples pebbled against the sports bra that is unusually low-cut. It might border on intense staring as you begin to grind against her with the intention of actually getting off now. She laughs, saying her eyes are higher up than that, but going back to her trail of kisses along your jaw nevertheless.

For what seems like longer than a few seconds, the build up finally stops, the tower toppling over in a rush of pleasure. Ona’s hands move your hips as your head drops to rest on her shoulder. She talks you through it, telling you that you look so pretty, telling you that she’s so turned on.

And that’s when she whispers it.

It has taken years to get to this moment, many of them filled with unnecessary suffering.

It has taken years but it does not matter.

Ona tells you that she loves you and that is when you have finally come home.

#woso x reader #woso #randombush3 #barca femeni #woso imagines #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #ona batlle smut

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ladyfocalors · 5 months

Note

Good morning, Focalors-sama, I'm here with my second? request. Please kindly consider this Lyney (yes, I'm also down hard for this Pyro man) request: Your former best friend always had the habit of stealing your boyfriends. Now, she has her eyes set on destroying your relationship with Lyney.

Please also kindly take as long as you need with this request; I have no qualms in waiting. Furthermore, by no means feel obligated to prioritize this request over your other requests.

pairing: lyney x fem!reader

warning: homewrecking behaviour by ex-bestie, liar (ex-bestie), ooc, not proofread!

note: protective reader agenda, she is mad and lyney thinks it's hot, fluff, ex-bestie stands no chance, lyney is sweet,

Thank you @sailorstar9 for the request! This time this writing is not a product of my sleep deprivation. So hopefully it's better than the last one and I hope it's up to your standards. Take care :D

word count: 1.4k

On stage Lyney is referred to as the Greatest Magician, rightfully so as well. You have said that to him many times and so has others. Off stage, he is described as a caring brother, reliable friend and a loyal and charming boyfriend. Of course this description was again, by you as well. He seems to hold your words very dear to his heart.

Lynette had once commented, They are both lovesick, that’s why I don’t watch them, gesturing to both of you. Lyney had found himself agreeing with her comment. Although he was the more forward one with his advances and words, you were loud with your small actions, not words. He had no doubt that you loved him as much as he loved you.

So, never would he even imagine to be disloyal to you. Never.

“Do I know you?” he asked the girl who was clearly throwing advances at him.

The girl, with a smile that barely reached her eyes, responded, "Oh, has [Y/n] not told you, Lyney? I am her dearest friend!”

Lyney furrowed his brows in confusion. This encounter felt like an unexpected disruption to the routine he was accustomed to. He tried to dismiss the girl with his smile and a subtle step backward.

The girl wasn’t deterred, her eyes gleamed and her moves looked calculated.

“Well, she probably forgot to mention me. You know how it is, she and her secrets. Shame she still hides things from you as well,” she continued, her voice laced with sugary-sweetness and it almost seemed rehearsed. “I am Marianne. Your lovely girlfriend and I used to be best friends.”

Lyney felt uneasy but didn’t show it. He recalled the name Marianne from your previous conversations — all the vague mentions of that name always tinged with a hint of anger and sadness. Something must have gone wrong between you two but he never pushed you despite his curiosity.

Something about her felt off as well and she seemed awfully too close to him. It was also a odd place to meet at as well, nobody was allowed in to the backstage.

“I just wanted to say, even if she is my dear friend she has her problems and I wouldn’t want a charming man like you to suffer,” she said with a seemingly upset expression. “Let’s just say, she has a interesting dating history.”

Lyney quickly caught on to what exactly was going on. This girl didn’t care about you, no, she was here to try and sabotage his relationship with you. But he was intrigued, he was curious on how long would she act this out.

"Interesting dating history, you say?" he replied, his voice carrying a subtle edge. "Well, we all have our pasts. What's your point here?"

Marianne chuckled, her eyes narrowing as she sized him up. "Oh, Lyney, don't be so naive. I'm just looking out for you. After all, I've seen [Y/n] ruin relationships before, and I wouldn't want you to become her latest victim.”

“Her previous relationships have crumbled due to her overly ambitious dreams and prioritise her career over her love. Also, I shouldn’t be telling you this but she has a history of playing around with people’s feelings.”

Lyney's jaw tightened, sensing the toxicity behind her words. He couldn't let this continue, not when it threatened the trust he and you had built. He would never understand why someone would go out their way to sabotage someone’s relationship by spreading such vile misinformation, but he didn’t need to understand, he just had to stand up for you.

"I appreciate your concern, but I trust [Y/n]," he cut her off, his tone unwavering. "If there are issues, we'll work through them together. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a show to prepare for."

But her determination didn’t waver, she tried to stop him from leaving. “I just thought you should know the truth. Please hear me out”

Meanwhile, you were preparing for the show. A technician handed you a prop, and as you turned around, you caught a glimpse of Lyney engaged in conversation with a girl that looked familiar. You had to double take to make sure that what you were seeing was right. Your mood soured in an instant and anger bubbled over you.

What is she doing here? How does she even know about Lyney?

Hastily and somewhat aggressively putting the prop back into the hands of the confused technician, you walked towards them.

“What are you doing here?” your tone was low and cold. You put on a blank face, staring into her eyes, well more like into her soul from her perspective. Lyney and her were surprised by your sudden appearance.

“Oh, [Y/n]! My bestie,” her smile faltered a bit but she still continued with her act. “It’s good to-”

“Don’t ‘bestie’ me,” you cut her off with a frown. “You don’t get to refer me as that.”

This was truly a sight to behold. Lyney has never in his life saw you this upset and he swooned the way you immediately held his hand and stood in front of him as if like a shield protecting him. But now was not the time for that. He can save the swooning for later.

“What are you doing here, Marianne? Trying to play one of your games again?” you sighed this time, dropped your sharp gaze.

Marianne's smile wavered further, and she glanced nervously at Lyney, who was busy looking at you, not at her. She tried to regain control of the situation.

"[Y/n], I just wanted to warn Lyney. You have a history, and I didn't want him to be blindsided and heartbroken," she said, feigning innocence, as if she wasn’t responsible for your previous failed relationships.

You scoffed, your disbelief very evident. "Warn him? More like try to poison his mind against me. We're perfectly fine, and we don't need your interference."

Marianne's eyes flickered with annoyance, dropping her act, and she took a step closer, lowering her voice. "You always had a way of making things about you, didn't you? But fine, play the victim. Just remember, I tried to help."

She threw the last words towards Lyney who didn’t look amused at all, his expression different than what he would put up for his shows. She looked a bit unnerved seeing his expression.

You were visibly irritated and frustrated, ready to throw some insults at her but thankfully Lyney stepped in to diffuse the atmosphere.

“I believe we have heard enough from you,” he said stepping in. “I believe you are not part of the backstage crew, so I would advise you to leave as soon as possible.”

Marianne opened her mouth to retort, but Lyney swiftly cut in, "If you have any complaints about the magic show, kindly direct them to the complaint box. Otherwise, please leave. Your presence is causing distress to my girlfriend, and that's not something I take lightly.”

Marianne, was reluctant, glanced once more at Lyney and then at you. The intensity of your gaze seemed to convey a string of colourful words you wished to say loudly. And then, with a huff, she turned on her heel, making her way out of the backstage area.

“Who does she think she is?” you scoff after she leaves. “Waltzing in as if she owns the place and then trying to take you from me. The audacity!”

“All she said was nonsense, okay?" you continued. "I mean, talking about my 'interesting dating history' and trying to paint me as the villain? She's got some nerve considering her history. And did you see her trying to play the concerned friend act? It's like she's reading from a terribly written script."

Lyney chuckled, thoroughly amused by your rant, but he knew it was time to bring a halt to it otherwise you won’t stop. So, he decided to stop with a gesture that spoke louder than words. He quickly pressed his lips onto yours, a gentle yet firm kiss that silenced the flow of words from your frustration. The warmth of the kiss felt nice, erasing the bitter words from your mouth.

“Easy there,” Lyney said. “She was just trying to get on your nerves. I personally think you should be focused on me more. I need some kisses to make up for the torture of having to listen to her ridiculous plot.”

You rolled your eyes but a smile threatened to form on your face. “And you are back to normal again,” you huffed. “I don’t want to hear about your kisses for therapy agenda again.”

“Oh, come on-”

“Oh, shush! Save your charm for the stage,” you said placing your palm against his mouth. “Let’s focus on the show, idiot. I can’t stall around anymore.”

Lyney grinned at your words. He was satisfied knowing that he successfully got you to smile again. He gently kissed your hand and let it go. He was satisfied with this.

#𐙚 : genshin boys #genshin x reader #lyney x reader #genshin impact #fontaine #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact lyney #genshin lyney

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cobragardens · 7 months

Text

Holy Kittens, Y'all: My Favorite Good Omens Moment Has Gotten EVEN MORE ROMANTIC

Okay so I wrote this post about my favorite moment in Good Omens, and the stuff people are pointing out in the reblogs and comments is blowing my freaking mind, and I HAVE to show you how beautifully this all fits together, like I am flailing at my desk about this.

@vidavalor points out this gif from @soft-ange-aziraphale [Source]:

Here it is in sequence (gifs 1-4 from Fuck Yeah Good Omens):

I can't stop laughing over Aziraphale's smile, which shows, as @quoththemaiden says, that he's "utterly delighted with himself" and knows perfectly well that he's minxing Crowley; and this tiny extension of the moment convinces me even more that Crowley is desperately fighting a smile himself here.

Actually there's a lot in @quoththemaiden's comment that's insightful and well-put:

Totes agree with all of this.

And then. AND THEN!

I knew Crowley was trying to communicate something with this Shakespeare line, but I didn't know what until @paperbunny and @musingsofmaisie put it out there: Crowley is complimenting Aziraphale here, telling him he's enjoying being in Aziraphale's company, telling him his humor worked.

Remember how I keep banging on about how much equivocation Crowley does? This is more equivocation. In 1601, Richard Burbage was 34 years old, so age hasn't had the chance to wither his infinite variety yet. The stupidity of demons and the ignorance of angels regarding the human aging process prevent surveillance from noticing the poor applicability of this line to Burbage, but since the first half of the line fits Aziraphale (who does not age at all) more than Burbage (who is merely not yet old) it stands a chance of indicating to Aziraphale that Crowley is speaking about him. And the underlying true meaning of this equivocal statement would be A DIRECT RESPONSE TO MY FAVORITE MOMENT: Even though I have known you so long, you still surprise and delight me.

(Crowley's Antony & Cleopatra line also accomplishes something else important: it gets William Shakespeare to go away so they can speak privately, because Shakespeare doesn't want them to see him writing it down.)

A Dip Into Speculation

I don't think the evidence for it is binding enough to say for sure, because the evidence is really just that it fits together so nicely and lines up so well with A&C's coded romantic messages in 1793; the (pretty overt, actually, I mean damn) romance in 1827; the size and nature of the fight in 1867; the yeah, really overt romance in 1941; and in 1967; and yes okay now that I'm thinking about it the whole series, but I have this View about how the rest of the 1601 scene goes.

And in fact there is Word of Gods that could be interpreted as evidence against this little pet headcanon I have, though it doesn't necessarily have to be:

Here's my assertion: Aziraphale volunteers to go to Edinburgh for Crowley. Crowley cheats the coin toss to accept Aziraphale's offer and to keep up appearances as a demon. Rather than making a deal with (or asking a favor of) an angel, he's 'cheating' him (without the angel's knowledge, but with his consent), which "moves the dials" of evil a bit and would also make Aziraphale appear less at fault if this instance of the Arrangement is ever discovered by Heaven.

This can coexist with Gaiman's statement, above, that it doesn't even occur to Aziraphale that Crowley cheats the toss. THEE ongoing leitmotif of Aziraphale's view of Crowley is that he thinks of Crowley as much more genuinely evil and much less in need of ways to create cover as evil than Crowley actually is.

(Which is interesting, given that he also clearly thinks that Crowley is not as evil as he pretends to be, that he is and wants to do good, and that he deserves to be an angel again. [There is a whoooole nother essay slowly curdling in the churn in my head about how Aziraphale is obliged to practice doublethink and how that stunts his personal development because that's what happens when people aren't free.])

Here's what I mean when I say Aziraphale volunteers.

Does Aziraphale ask in this tone because he is actually feeling suspicious and curt, or because he has to sound suspicious and curt? He could be perfectly willing to do Crowley a favor and would still need to sound the way he does. It's difficult for me to believe this guy--

--or this guy--

--are really all that bothered by the idea that Crowley might want something from him.

Crowley's response sounds like a(n unconvincing) protest of innocence. Maybe it is. But he doesn't disagree with the premise on which Aziraphale based his question, which means Aziraphale now has confirmation: Crowley called the meeting because he wants to ask Aziraphale to do him a favor.

Close your eyes and listen to Sheen's delivery of this line. The way he says it is so soft it's got no judgy angelic sting to it at all. Is this really a prissy answer to Crowley's semi-rhetorical question? Or is Aziraphale using the cover of a prissy answer to ask Crowley, Is what you want related to the no-good you're up to, i.e., demon work?

Either way, Crowley answers:

Is Crowley making a demonic jibe at Aziraphale in return to "You're up to no good," or is he telling Aziraphale, Yes, what I want from you is related to my work, and to your work, esp. what you've got on right now?

Aziraphale volunteers some information about his schedule and what it is he's got on right now.

--he says, and the velvety way Crowley says "Ohhh," tells us--and could tell Aziraphale--that Crowley already knows this. In this coded communication I'm suggesting, Crowley's tone on "Oh" confirms to Aziraphale that the thing he wants help with does indeed have to do with Aziraphale's trip to Edinburgh.

So Aziraphale gives Crowley his travel details: Yeah, I have a couple of blessings and a minor miracle to perform. It's going to suck; I have to ride a horse.

Crowley's like, yeah, riding horses does suck. You have my sympathies. (Phrasing it as an insult to God: "Major design flaw if you ask me.") And then he says, I have to go to Edinburgh too this week. Tempt a clan leader into stealing some cattle.

And here's where I think Aziraphale volunteers to do Crowley's Edinburgh job for him:

If, as I propose, Aziraphale understands already at this point that Crowley is asking him to take Crowley's Edinburgh temptation, then this response tells Crowley he's willing to do so.

And then they have a little bit of kayfabe theater and a little bit of miscommunication between themselves. Crowley suggests Aziraphale take Crowley's Edinburgh job. Aziraphale protests "You cannot actually be suggesting what I infer you're implying," even though, as Crowley immediately points, out, they've now done this dozens of times.

Now, obviously Aziraphale is pretending innocence here with "You cannot actually be suggesting," etc. But he's not pretending innocence to Crowley. He can't be: Crowley knows about the dozens of other times just like Aziraphale does. So the protest of innocence is for surveillance; it's the spirit, not the letter, of the protest itself that's genuine: I am reluctant about this.

And Crowley misses it.

He reads the surface layer of the equivocation, the Heavenly pearl-clutching; and the surface layer is where he argues. "We've done it before," he points out. "Dozens of times now. The Arrangement--"

But Aziraphale, visibly frightened and looking around, cuts him off. "Don't say that." Getting caught in an Arrangement would be much, much worse than getting caught in a one-off deal.

Why is this suddenly a problem? says Crowley. You know we've been getting away with this; you know they don't check up.

It's not pearl-clutching at all; Aziraphale is worried for Crowley's safety.

When Crowley says--

--is his tone half wheedling and half impatient because that's how he feels, or because it must sound like that? Is it soft only out of courtesy to the other people in the Globe?

There's no difference to the outcome of this scene or the story as a whole whether this romantic interpretation of the Edinburgh bickering is correct, because we've already got a solid base of evidence that the characters have romantic feelings for each other and show each other affection and care in this scene. In my opinion this interpretation fits the tone of the rest of the Globe scene better than only the face-value interpretation. What Gaiman and Mackinnon say about Crowley cheating the coin toss and Aziraphale not being aware of it can still easily apply.

While these three statements together aren't enough evidence to convict, so to speak, if my initial argument about the interpretation of "Buck up!" and Crowley's reaction is correct--and the cool stuff other people have found and pointed out suggests it is AND explains Crowley's Antony & Cleopatra line--this reading of the Edinburgh bickering is, if not ironclad, at least valid.

And holy shit, people, that makes this scene romantic af from beginning to end. I could not have asked for a better little gift from my fellow humans. 🤯I have such a better understanding of the entire 1601 scene because people from anywhere with an Internet connection sat down and spent their time sharing their ideas, and it just makes the lit-nerd lobe of my brain so happy. I love you all, you romantics and nerds and perverts.

#good omens #good omens 1601 #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #it turns out my favorite good omens moment keeps going for the rest of the scene #good omens equivocation #crowley equivocation #aziraphale equivocation #good omens meta

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dyns33 · 9 months

Text

A Silly Dream

Another idiots in love with Morpheus and female reader.

"… What did you just say ?"

Sometimes Y/N forgot that Dream of the Endless wasn't human, and therefore didn't think like a human. He had great difficulty communicating and understanding that there were things he shouldn't say or do if he didn't want to hurt people.

The problem was that even when she remembered that, she also remembered that he was an old being, so normally experienced and wise, the prince of stories and words, who yet kept behaving like a selfish, spoiled child who never learned from his mistakes.

"I just said I couldn't stay long for our meeting."

"No, after that. And, what 'meeting' ? We didn't have an meeting, it was you who came to my place."

"As with Hob Gabling every hundred years, I meet with you once a year, for you to give me your impression of the new dreams and nightmares, and in exchange I let you read an unfinished book from my library. But I am very busy and it will be difficult for me to stay more than an hour today."

He was really telling her that for all this time, more than a hundred years, their relationship was not at all friendly, but hardly professional, a simple obligation, which annoyed him but that he had the kindness to fill in each time ? Oh, Y/N felt really honored at that moment.

"… You're a jerk."

"I beg your pardon ?" wondered Morpheus, visibly very offended.

"I said you're a jerk. It's because of the kiss, right ? It's your way of telling me that I shouldn't have, and that I'm very lucky that you keep coming to see me instead of punishing me ?"

"You know I have to come see you."

"You're a real jerk. Go away, since you're so busy."

His face still impassive, Morpheus stared at her for a long time, as if he still didn't know what he should do, before standing up without saying anything and leaving.

The kiss had been stupid, Y/N agreed to admit it.

It had happened two years ago now, when she had just finished her review of the last nightmare he had created, and Dream was trying to explain to her why she was wrong in her reasoning.

It could have happened much sooner, because her heart had been beating for him and only for him for decades already, but before that day, she had always known how to keep her feelings buried deep inside her.

But this time, without her being able to explain why, while she admired his eyes deep as the ocean, his skin pale as the moon, listening to his lulling voice, Y/N had not thought, and she had kissed him.

Dream of the endless went silent. He had looked at her as if she had just stabbed him, and of course he had left without listening to her excuses, not finishing his sentence, but leaving her a book, because he had only one word.

She had strange dreams after that, where she was in a labyrinth, then in a castle, then in corridors, and always she had the feeling that she was looking for something without really knowing what.

Sometimes she saw Dream, sometimes a cat, and she began to follow him, never being able to catch up with him.

The following year he came back, they didn't talk about what happened, and everything seemed to be back to normal.

It hurt to think that all of this was actually just an obligation for him. Y/N had met Hob several times. She knew that Morpheus was really bad with people, since it had taken him more than half a millennium to admit he had a friend, but she had also heard of his lovers, and so she knew that he was not incapable of feelings.

There had been the secret hope then that he liked her, at least a little. It was over now.

The next year, when he showed up on her doorstep with a book, Y/N wondered if he was more mean than stupid, or the other way around.

"I thought I told you to leave. I know you're terribly busy."

"The competition is indeed quite exhausting, but everyone else has given up for the day."

"Oh, you have a moment for me in your schedule ? Too kind. No, wait, we have a meeting, I forgot. Well, I'm busy. Goodbye."

"You do not want…"

"Bye." she repeated, closing the door in his face without taking the book.

It was the first time she hadn't taken the book. If he wanted to, Dream could have appeared in her apartment, or in her dreams, to scold her and throw the book at her, but he didn't.

Y/N didn't know if she was happy or disappointed.

Meanwhile, the bizarre dreams continued.

This time, she was in the gardens of his castle, in the Dreaming. She knew it, because she had already been there. It was because of this stuff that she felt she was more than an obligation.

There were a lot of people in the gardens, some looking human, some not, and they were all looking for something.

Tired, Y/N decided that this time she didn't feel like running, and she sat down on a bench. A wing sound told her that a little spy had decided to join her.

"They all look ridiculous, don't you think ?"

"I don't know who they are or what they do, but I guess."

"They participate in the competition, of course." Matthew said with a desperate tone. "It's been so long now, what's it been, four years ? Five ? I don't know. Some like you have a point, others are starting to despair a bit. I wish they all despair and stop. The boss is tired."

"… What do you mean by 'I have a point' ?"

"The rules are simple, one kiss, one point. Two kisses, two points. Three kisses, the hand of the Master of dreams. None of them asked for his consent, wicked ones. Neither do you, I'm a bit disappointed, young lady. You're the least bad, but still. He was hurt, that was not good manners."

"Matthew… Matthew, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

The raven looked at her like she was stupid. Then he realized she must be really stupid.

"No… That can't be true ! You two are really the same. Two idiots, you deserve each other ! Idiots ! He was hurt, but happy ! He was waiting for the other kisses during your little dates in the Waking !"

"You're talking about our more or less professional and obligatory meetings that he doesn't have time to go to ?"

"What ? What do you mean by… He said something stupid, right ? Of course he said something stupid. You do stupid things, he says stupid things, when you could just kiss. God damn it ! He was grumpy last year, and sad this year, because he thinks you don't want to compete anymore. But you don't know there's a competition ! And you don't want to see him anymore, not because you don't like him, but because you think he doesn't like you ! Boss ! Boss, you really kill me sometimes !"

Y/N woke up not sure if she had dreamed or not. Of course, she had dreamed, and all dreams were real, but she didn't know if she had talked to Matthew, or if she had dreamed that she was talking to Matthew, which was not the same thing.

In one case, she could continue to hope stupidly. In the other, she was just plain stupid.

She got her answer when she came home from work one evening and found Morpheus on her couch. He looked smaller and more fragile than usual. Tired, as his raven said.

"I thought we already had our meeting this year." she said taking out her jacket, not knowing what she should do, or what he was going to do.

"We didn't. You were busy."

"Ah, yes. That's right. Tea ?"

"No, thank you."

Usually things were very simple. They greeted each other, talked quickly about the past year, then Y/N talked about her dreams and nightmares, saying why she liked them or not.

This time, they said nothing, sitting next to each other. Of course, he had brought a book, placed between them. She didn't know if she should talk about those weird dreams.

It was a new surprise when he spoke first.

"You're near my sister's realm lately."

"Which one ?"

"Despair."

"Oh. How is she ?"

"What do you think ?"

"I don't know, you are not really dreamy yourself. I mean, you are, just when you are not talking. The talking you is a real nightmare. But I meant, how is she, as in is she alright ?"

"I must say that I don't know."

"You should call her to ask, she's your sister. Except if she's a bad sister. I guess it's not my business. How are you ?"

"You never kissed me again. Why ?"

He was back, the child with his big deep eyes, his innocent look and his dangerous words. How could he say such important things without the slightest hesitation ?

Y/N found the courage to meet his gaze after taking a deep breath.

"I don't know. Maybe because you have to come see me, and you clearly didn't like the first time I kissed you."

"I appreciated that. I would have fully appreciated it under other circumstances, but at that moment I thought you were acting like the others, in order to win the competition."

Matthew wasn't wrong, they were both a bit stupid, and mostly unlucky. All of this was mainly a problem of bad timing, and communication. If Y/N had acted sooner, and if Morpheus had known how to talk, there would never have been any problems.

"Following your entry into the competition, I am obliged to join you, in order to give you a chance to steal two more kisses from me, under the same conditions as the first. All the others who succeeded having it done in the Dreaming, I do not have to meet them elsewhere."

"… So you've been obliged for two years. But before too, since you impose one meeting per year."

"I told you, I'm very busy. I wanted to make sure I can see you at least once, as much as possible, so it seemed safer to set a specific date."

Damn, he was a jerk. A lovely jerk, a sweet idiot, a pleasant fool.

"And so… You want to kiss me ?"

"I'm not allowed to give kisses, you have to take them. It's the rule."

"I don't like that rule. I didn't kiss you for that, I should have asked your permission, and I'm not going to do it again, that's wrong."

"So you don't want to kiss me." he whispered, looking disappointed.

"I don't wish to force you. I won't steal another kiss."

"You could ask me."

"And would that change anything ?"

"I can't give kisses, but I can give you permission."

During their little conversation, Matthew had been very clear, clear as he always was and much more than his boss who gave him a headache. Silently, for three years, Morpheus had been patiently waiting for Y/N to kiss him again, silently giving her his consent.

He had been too proud or too stupid to understand that he had to verbalize such things.

"Morpheus, I love you very much and I don't care about this competition, can I kiss you ?"

"You can." he sighed with relief and what looked like a smile.

This kiss was much nicer than the first. Probably because it had been desired for more than two years now. Y/N would have liked it to last forever.

"And… For the third one ? Do I have to wait until next year ?" she asked nervously, keeping her hands on his shoulders, thinking he would leave as soon as she let go.

"You can take as many kisses as you want, my love. You can take everything you want."

"Dream… My Dream…"

It was difficult to know what happened in the Dreaming at this moment. No doubt that Lucienne and Matthew announced to the other participants that they could leave because they had lost. Then the wedding planning began.

Y/N hadn't thought about marriage. She had only thought about Morpheus, silly Morpheus, and all the love she had for him. They would need to discuss all of this. But right now, she was too busy kissing him again and again, and him not devouring her with his endless passion.

"I'm glad it's you." he whispered against her lips. "I have to go now. We'll see each other tonight, I'll wait for you."

Being a man of his word, he left a book on the sofa before disappearing. A love story with a happy ending, maybe because he knew they would be fine, or just because he hoped they would.

Y/N read it before going to sleep to join her future kingdom, and her stupid prince of dreams.

#the sandman #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless fanfiction #morpheus #morpheus x reader #morpheus imagine #morpheus fanfiction

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motheatenscarf · 6 months

Text

Amidst all the James Somerton fallout, I think it's important to remember not to moralize whether or not you or others fell for his grift.

Obviously, if you were rallied into being one of his attack dogs on social media when he put some pretty heinous hits out on people, uh. You might have other problems and should probably evaluate how you spend your time online and how you treat other people before you start caring about the rest of the points I'm about to make. Priorities, etc.

But for the rest of us, it's surprisingly easy to miss just how awful a creator can be.

If you only watched his videos that caught your interest, if you don't really follow creators on social media, if you skip livestreams because watching Some Guy talk unfiltered into a bad camera angle with shitty lighting for hours on end sounds like a fucking nightmare to you, you're not really gonna catch most of this shit. At least, you're not gonna catch most of it from any perspective but the one he tries to spin.

This is a reminder to be skeptical and to trust your gut and check sources if something sounds wrong, but also. Uh. That's still the creator's responsibility not to plagiarize and to fact check their work. You're not morally obligated to be as thorough in curating your experience as someone who is making sure they take every ethical precaution before absolutely destroying a "creator's" credibility in a video like H-Bomb's or Todd in the Shadows'. You're literally just some guy. Most people, myself included, watch these videos as background noise while doing at minimum one other task, you're not gonna google every damn thing he says, especially not on media analysis, where the POINT is to have one's own opinion. THEY'RE the ones trying to be "influencers," or, laughably, "creators." The standards are on them.

And for the isms, phobias, and misogyny, well. Frankly, for my own perspective, I gaslight myself all the damn time when I see red flags. Good Allyship™ has been telling me for years to ignore my own discomfort when someone criticizes a privileged group, especially one I'm a part of. I'm a cis asexual white-passing and probably neuroatypical woman, I am constantly trying to be aware of my own relative privilege while simultaneously doubting my own reaction to things. Despite this, I'd still liked to think I'm a skeptical person, but nobody's immune to everything. Everybody has weak spots.

If you got duped or fell for James' scam, that sucks. I feel ya. I fell for it too, I've seen probably 40% of his catalog over the last couple years and really liked what I'd seen. I recommended his channel and videos to people even if I didn't always agree with every point he made, but it felt important to at least consider what to me seemed like a unique perspective that had value or added to a conversation. There are red flags within his content, his analysis, his rate of publishing, his weird diatribes, that in retrospect, really all added up into things I should have known better than to ignore. But, for reasons I'm interrogating and am adding to my list of things to be aware of about myself, I didn't ignore them, and got grifted. I donated to his patreon a few times, probably gave him like $20 grand total over the years, about as much as I've given H Bomb. The important take away here isn't to be ashamed of the fact that you were fooled, it's to remember that you're fallible.

And it's good to recognize that about yourself. Everyone is, and the ones who say they aren't are lying. They're either gonna be the next person to feel really stupid and foolish when they fall for a scam, or are themselves the grifter.

No one is immune.

#James Somerton

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blessedwithabadomen · 2 months

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in love with the mess - day eight

summary : Aubrey is going on tour and, for once, she's decided to focus on having as much fun as possible. Oli can be a little shit but he does nothing short of adore Audrey and... well, maybe Noah a little, too. Noah likes the flirting, as long as no one gets too close, emotionally. But what will happen when the three of them take it too far?

content : smut (oral m & f receiving), angst, drinking, little bit of fluff

length : 5.6k

tags (let me know if you want to be tagged!) : @veronicaphoenix @cookiesupplier @lma1986 @jilliemiw86 @bngurngheart @lacktoesandtoddlerants @narcissisticbehavior81 @flowery-mess @shilohrosechicken @justeli6 @starvingarsyn @floatinglikeaswan @somebodyels3 @kageyasma @spikeisdaddy

a/n : It's @spikeisdaddy's birthday today! Hope you enjoy the chapter 😉

•••

day eight

We spent the night away from each other and even though we’d all just agreed to only focus on having some fun, it felt like the loneliest night yet. I found myself tossing and turning and reaching out for people who weren’t there. It seemed stupid, really. We’d only done the whole sleepover endeavour once, yet I missed it as if it was the norm. I was tired and restless when my alarm went off. At least today involved no travelling. As much as I enjoyed getting around, I needed a restful day.

If the universe decided to be gentle with me and allow me one.

I was in the middle of trying to decide whether I should call Lia or finally get back at my roommate and whatever bad news I assumed she had to tell me, when my phone displayed a new, private message from Noah.

Noah How did you realise you enjoyed giving blowjobs

I was still in shock at the words I was reading when another text came in.

Noah Okay maybe it was rude to assume you enjoyed giving blowjobs, dismiss that part Aubrey Noah, my love, I’m going to need a lot more context for this question Noah Absolutely not Aubrey Give me your room number, I’m coming over Noah Folio’s here Aubrey FINE come to mine then No more excuses

Noah, luckily, obliged. I didn’t have to kick Oli’s arse into gear for another two hours, really, so there was more than enough time to deal with whatever Noah needed to discuss. Not that I didn’t have an idea what was on his mind. But I wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily. He’d have to say it out loud to get any help from me.

When I opened the door to Noah, he was blushing deeper than I’d ever seen him and I couldn’t help pulling him down for a quick kiss just for the sheer adorableness. Then I pushed him into the room, walking him backwards until he sat down on the edge of my bed and mustered him from above.

“So?” I asked, eyebrows raised. “What possessed you to get up this morning and type that exact message into our chat?”

“Nothing, it was just a question!” Noah exclaimed as if I would believe it.

“Sure. You just happen to wonder, out of nowhere, about giving blowjobs.”

“What if I am?”

“You’re not though.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

He tried to look stern, but the lingering red colour on his cheeks didn’t do him any favours. We were at a stalemate, staring at each other, trying to force the other to budge through the sheer pressure of silence. But he had no idea how stubborn I could be.

He broke sooner than anticipated.

“Fine, Folio made a stupid comment about when I was going to suck Oli’s dick and then it wouldn’t leave my head.”

“Because you’re interested in it?” I asked, carefully, stroking his head as I stepped a little closer. He immediately spread his thighs so I could move between them, looking up at me with wide eyes.

“I don’t know,” he answered, honestly. I could see the torment in his eyes, the question of whether he dared to go further, of what he wanted, of what Oli would let him do.

“Well, I guess you won’t know unless you try. But…” I sank down on my knees in front of him. “I could always show you how it’s done, if you're nervous about that.”

Noah’s laboured breathing was answer enough and when my hands reached for his belt, he leaned back instinctively, giving me more space to work with. I made quick work of undoing his belt, opening the button and fly of his trousers. He willingly lifted his hips so I could push the fabric down, immediately removing his boxers along with it.

Noah was hard. My mouth salivated just from looking at it.

“Thinking about doing this to Oli got you all excited, hm? He’s gorgeous, you know. I got to see it once, up close, just as hard as you are now.” My hand softly grabbed onto his dick, giving him a few teasing strokes. He sighed in relief. “He came all over my chest. But you? You get to come in my mouth. If you want to.”

I fluttered my eyes at him. Noah couldn’t nod fast enough, holding eye contact with me as I lowered my head and gave him a long lick, tasting all of him from his base to his tip.

“You want to start slow, you know?” I mused, before repeating my action. “Tease him a little. Get him all hot and bothered.” My hand was moving when my tongue wasn’t on him. “See what he’s into.”

I let my tongue twirl around his head a little and then, almost unexpectedly, engulfed it in my mouth. Noah groaned beautifully, a hand now holding the back of my head, I wasn’t even sure if he was aware of it. I tasted the precum already dripping, savouring the slightly bitter taste just because it was him before moving away again.

“Putting your mouth on him is when it gets really good. Don’t aim for too much if you’re not used to it.” I took him a bit farther into my mouth, just for a moment, then I withdrew. “Try to figure out what he's into. I think Oli can be pretty loud so that wouldn’t be a problem.” I grinned up at him, but he didn’t manage to look back at me for long.

As soon as my mouth was on him again, he threw his head back, eyes closed in pleasure. It was straining to look up at him from my position but I couldn’t help trying to see every now and then, trying desperately to commit the image to mind.

Noah was turning into a moaning, trembling mess, quickly. I was rhythmically moving my mouth over his dick now, taking him as far as I comfortably could, my hand covering the rest of his length. He was heavy on my tongue, slightly thick, perfect. His hand was fully grasping my hair now, bordering on painful, but I enjoyed it all the same. I knew he was going to come soon.

Going a little faster still, working my mouth and hand in tandem, it didn’t take much more for him to fall apart. His deep groan vibrated somewhere deep inside me as he came, keeping me in place as I swallowed it all, just as I had promised.

When I finally pulled off, Noah bonelessly fell backwards, breathing hard and I had to chuckle at how my efforts had worked out.

“So, what do you say?” I asked, even though I was unsure he was hearing me just yet. “Want to give it a try? I could shoot Oli a text right now.”

I didn’t expect him to agree.

“Text him,” he murmured. “But stay.”

I wasn’t one to refuse. My underwear was already uncomfortably wet. Now I was getting to see Noah give Oli his first ever blowjob? It was going to be the most delicious torture.

Still, I crawled up onto the bed quickly, taking Noah’s face between my hands and making him look at me. His eyes were glazed, but his mind seemed clear.

“Sure?”

He pulled me down for a kiss, not caring where I’d literally just had my mouth.

“So sure.”

Aubrey Come over. Noah wants to blow you.

Noah had barely come back to life and managed to get properly dressed again when a knock sounded through the room. Of course, Oli would waste no time at all after getting that message. I opened the door to a very flustered and out-of-breath singer, even though the way from his room to mind hadn’t even been remotely long enough to get so worked up. Apparently the idea was more than appealing to him.

“Is this for real?” he asked the second he entered the room, moving past me just to check if Noah was really there. “Because if not I got a boner for nothing.”

I didn’t know what, exactly, I had been expecting. But it surely wasn’t Noah all but flying off the bed, pressing Oli against the wall and falling to his knees.

“Someone's eager,” Oli chuckled, lifting Noah's head with two fingers under his chin to force him to look at him. “Let's see what you got then.”

I found my place on the singular armchair in the room, right next to them, seating myself on the arm rest to assure I would have the best view of it all. Noah deftly pulled down Oli's sweatpants, revealing both the fact that he wasn't wearing any underwear and that he was growing considerably harder with every passing second. For a moment, Noah hesitated, hands resting on Oli's tattooed thighs, before looking up at me. I gave him a quick nod. It was all the reassurance he needed.

If Noah had indeed not touched a single dick that wasn't his own, he did a mighty fine job of hiding it. I watched in awe as he teased Oli with his hands, then his tongue, quickly reducing the other to a man made of nothing but groans and desire. The heat between my legs was becoming almost unbearable at the sight in front of me, two absolutely gorgeous men completely lost in their lust, but touching myself wasn't an option. I couldn't risk missing a single moment of what was happening.

“Fuck, Noah,” Oli moaned. “Don't…” How voice wavered a little as Noah wrapped his lips around his cock. “Don't take me too deep, you gotta sing tonight.”

With a hand in Noah's hair, Oli tried desperately to control the other man's sloppy but eager actions. Noah's nails were clawing into Oli's thighs, desperate for something to hold onto. My hands balled into fists at my sides, my thighs clenched. I hadn't entertained the idea that watching a man I was attracted to give a blowjob to another, equally attractive man could be a major turn on, but my bodily reactions were impossible to ignore.

Abruptly, Noah took Oli deeper, much deeper, leaving him to fall apart in an instant. Under chants filled with more profanity than I had ever heard, Oli came in Noah's mouth, back arching away from the wall, eyes squeezed shut. As soon as the feeling started to subside, Oli let go of Noah's hair and sunk down into his knees in front of him.

“Fucking hell, I told you not to do that.” His voice was harsh as he scolded Noah, but his fingers were soft as he wiped Noah's mouth clean. “You better rest your voice for the rest of the day.” Oli's eyes flickered up to me. “But I think there's some more work for your mouth to do.”

Suddenly, both pairs of eyes were on me. Oli’s face showed a grin, while there was nothing but hunger to be found in Noah’s glance. If it hadn’t been so fucking hot, it almost would have been intimidating.

In a few short steps, Noah was stood in front of me, heavily grasping my wrists to study the way I was still forming fists with my hands.

“On the bed. Now.”

“Voice rest, Noah!” Oli called from where he still sat on the floor. I studied him for a moment, looking utterly fucked out, eyes still half-lidded, pants still shoved down, not even bothering to tuck his dick back in. It shouldn’t have looked so tempting, really. Then I remembered Noah’s stern voice and when I looked up at him, I knew I better do as told.

He let go of me as I stood up, letting me crawl onto the bed until I was laying on my back in the middle of it, knees propped up and slightly spread to let my skirt fall open just that little bit. It wasn’t even close to being enough for Noah. With a predatory groan he came to kneel in between my legs, roughly pushing the fabric upwards and my thighs further apart and -

“Fuck,” he mumbled, hands tightly holding onto my legs, but his eyes were fully fixated on my left thigh.

I knew he had seen a hint of the tattoo before, as had Oli, but none of them had had the chance to admire it from the position it was meant to be looked at. The snake curled around my upper thigh, its tail end right in front in the middle, going around it once and then ending on my inner thigh, the snake’s tongue out, just mere moments away from my panties, as if ready to pounce any minute. Noah traced it, all the way, fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. I gasped when they reached the sensitive skin on the inside of my thigh, so close to where I wanted him. But before I could even think about begging, pleading, crying for more, his mouth descended on my flesh, leaving a bite on the head of the snake that bordered on pain. I moaned all the same, the pure satisfaction of the sensation overpowering any possible negative feelings.

“You’re fucking naughty, you know that?”

I wasn’t sure if I had ever heard Noah talk like that but combined with his low voice it left me trembling. His fingers were now at the edges of my underwear between my legs and then, without any warning, brushed my clothed centre.

“And so wet. Did you get off on blowing me or watching me suck Oli off? Probably both. Probably doesn’t take much to get you in this state.”

It didn’t. Not when it came to those two. Every look, every touch, every kiss constantly threatened to soak my panties. In fact, it routinely did. I was twitching under him now, unable to keep my reactions under control at the proximity of his face to my pussy. He finally took pity on me, roughly wrecking the panties from my legs, pulling them down and throwing them some place I couldn’t see, before grabbing and spreading my thighs again. I didn’t have it in me to feel self-conscious at the way he mustered me, committing my naked form to memory, I just needed his hands or his mouth or anything.

“Stop moving,” he grumbled before finally putting his mouth on me and I couldn't hold back a shout, the nerve endings firing through my whole body, and raising my hips up to meet him. “I said. Don't. Move.”

Suddenly, an arm was draped over me. Opening my eyes, unaware they had shut in pleasure, I saw Oli, kneeling on the bed next to me with a smirk and holding me down. “Better listen to the man. You want to be a good girl for Noah, don't you?”

I simply moaned in return, letting Oli hold me down as Noah’s tongue licked my wetness, teased my clit, somehow feeling like he was everywhere at once. I was already so impossible turned on that any playing he did with me was solely for his own pleasure - I was moments away from falling apart. Especially when he decided I was more than ready for two of his fingers inside of me, lean and long and hitting my spot so perfectly. I mewled and trashed against it all, only kept down by Oli’s strong grip.

“Such a whore for a little action, aren’t you? You’d be begging and pleading if your brain was working enough to let you speak.” Oli’ voice was so low, drenched in his accent as if it was coming out thicker than ever when he was turned on. His free hand travelled to my neck, testing my reaction if he squeezed its side a little and all I could do was arch further into it, taking it all, whatever either of them would be willing to give me.

Noah’s fingers were moving faster, the noises seemingly echoing through the room from how drenched I was and then, finally, finally, he started flicking my clit with his tongue in exactly the way I needed, hard and fast.

“You couldn’t be loud on the bus,” Oli said, “but you better be as loud as you can now.”

Staying quiet wasn’t even an option. Not when my orgasm washed over me, still rising and rising with Noah’s face between my legs, my hips buckling so violently even Oli couldn’t hold them down completely. I came with a scream, all tension releasing into the feelings of overpowering lust paired with utter trust as I was surrounded by the two men I couldn’t stop thinking about.

Comin down happened gradually, my mind a haze. I whined when Noah removed his fingers but couldn’t help but moan when I saw my wetness clinging to his face, cheeks flushed red but looking so content. Oli was softly petting my hair, all dominating features about him vanishing as checked up on my, making sure I was okay.

When Noah crawled up onto the bed with us, curling up next to me, effectively caging me in between them once again, I knew I was more than okay. I couldn’t even dream of being anything else.

•••

Noah ended up pretending he had woken up with a sore throat which caused everyone to accept his choice to be on vocal rest immediately as long as it meant he could do the set tonight. Oli and I had trouble keeping our giggles to ourselves every time someone around us mentioned it though. Only after giving Noah another stern talking to about being more careful when sucking someone off next time he was on tour. He hadn’t fought back, but the rolling of his eyes had said it all.

By early afternoon, Bring Me The Horizon had completed their soundcheck and left for food somewhere else, citing to be sick of catering at venues. I declined the invitation to come along and instead grabbed a plate of whatever the location had deemed “Mexican food” and retired to Oli’s dressing room. As nice as the peace and quiet was, I was aware I didn’t have all that much time to relax. And I desperately needed to call my roommate. I’d left her waiting for long enough.

“Would you mind moving out for next month?”

The question hit me like a ton of bricks. And not just because it was the first thing she said to me instead of greeting me like, you know, a normal person.

“I’m sorry?”

I tried recalling the current date but came up short. End of January though, surely. She couldn't seriously expect me to find somewhere new in a matter of days, right?

Right?

“My boyfriend got kicked out of his place so he’s moving in here.”

“I… I have nowhere to go,” I stammered.

“Okay.”

Well, she surely wasn’t going to be any help.

“What if I say no?” I asked. Maybe I would manage to find something for March. Mid-February if I got really lucky.

“Well, l already talked to our landlord and I’m the main renter on the contract so I was able to change your name to his.”

“So you already kicked me out, basically? What the fuck?” I didn’t even bother to keep my voice down. Asking me to move out was one thing, admitting that the decision had already been made without informing me at all was very much another.

“Yeah, sorry,” she replied without much remorse at all. “You can pick up your stuff before the first right?”

I hung up. I knew that if I attempted to say anything else, I’d turn mean and cruel and as much as I felt like she deserved it in that moment, that simply wasn’t who I wanted to be.

Sitting in the dressing room, silence engulfing me, it was like my body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to let me get into a rage or break out into tears. Either way, I was restless, panicky, unable to process what I’d just been told. I stood up so abruptly, the forgotten about plate on my lap clattered to the floor loudly. At least I’d already finished my meal - I doubt I could stomach any food right now.

I needed something to do, though. The band was still gone but the time suggested that Bad Omens would start soundchecking right about now, so I ventured into the main room of the arena. Anything not to be alone. Noah stood at the sound desk, chatting with Becky, the rest of the band already on stage and fine-tuning their instruments. I joined the two of them, ready to scold Noah for talking, but he turned to me and, in the quietest voice imaginable, told me he was only whispering. Promise.

“Don’t overdo yourself at soundcheck,” I warned him still. “Oli’s going to kill you if you can’t sing.”

He simply shook his head with a smile and brushed his hand against mine as he made his way to the stage.

“Anything I can do?” I asked Becky. “Oli’s gone, so…”

“Actually, yes!” she beamed. “One of our techs is running late after visiting family yesterday so if you’d like to be the hands to my brain and don’t mind me ordering you around a little bit, you’re more than welcome to help out.”

“Believe me, you can’t be worse than Oli,” I laughed. The heaviness of my phone call was still weighing me down, but Becky’s sunny being made me feel lighter immediately. It was far from the worst way to spend my time.

***

Noah made it through his set and with the help of a lot of shutting up and taking care of his throat, I was sure the absolute majority of people never even noticed his struggles. It was still decided he’d sit out on Antivist once more, so while Bad Omen’s packed up and left, I did my best to keep busy. I was basically begging people for jobs, double-checking if Becky really didn’t need anything more from me (I was torn between believing she could handle it and wondering if I’d maybe done so badly she simply didn’t trust me around her equipment anymore), even Oli was annoyed when he couldn’t find anything else for me to do. My frantic attempts not to let a single thought occur were intermittently interrupted by Noah texting me.

Noah You’re a right worker’s bee tonight, aren’t you? Aubrey Cutest bee you’ll ever see

I cringed the very second I sent the message. Why would I even text something like that? My mind was clearly driving me insane. I was still trying to figure out if there was a way to delete my message and pretend he’d never seen it when his reply came in.

Noah You’re the bee’s knees I don’t actually know what that saying means Do bees have knees? Aubrey You’d think I’d know all about the birds and the bees but unfortunately not in the literary way

I put my phone away as Bring Me The Horizon were about to take the stage, lending my hands to a few of the workers in the most menial ways to make sure the show would be perfect. It mostly involved me holding things or carrying them from one place to another. It sort of felt like they were humouring me, but I appreciated it nonetheless.

About half an hour later, they saw me off, thanking me for my work and telling me to enjoy the rest of my night off. It wasn’t really what I wanted, but there was nothing to do. So I set out to find a vacated seat somewhere high up in the arena where I wouldn’t bother anyone and pulled my phone back out. It seemed Noah had been providing me with a string of consciousness. I scrolled through his messages with a smile until I reached the end.

Noah Wish you were here with me

What followed was a picture of his face, half of it under the water of the bathtub he had apparently gotten into, wet hair proving he’d already dunked his head all the way before, big, brown eyes staring back at me. The soft, relaxed expression on his face made me want to throw my phone away and run to him.

Aubrey I’m surprised you’re fitting into the bathtub Did you even get your feet in? Noah Very spacious bathtub

Another photo, now facing away from him, most of his body hidden under a thin layer of bubbles, showed that he did, indeed, fit quite well.

Noah Definitely place for you here too Aubrey I feel like that heavily depends on what you aim to do with me in there

I knew what I expected. Flirts. Inappropriate comments that I would give back twice fold. Dirty thoughts, dirty words. Possibly a picture or two than promised more. But none of that appeared.

Noah Make you sit between my legs so I can embrace you A little massage for those hard working muscles Definitely enough space to wash your hair Hold you close until the water turns cold Wrap you up in one of those fluffy towels Fall asleep with you

It didn’t matter that I was sitting in a massive, 11,000-capacity arena. It didn’t matter that Shadow Moses was currently making the whole place shake. That I was surrounded by people focused on nothing but shouting out the lyrics so loud they would drown Oli out. All I knew was that I was staring at Noah’s words and I couldn’t breathe.

Was this the same man that suggested all of us only being in this for a bit of fun? Who didn’t want anyone to get too close to him? Who was so convinced of his own shortcomings that he wouldn’t even dare try? It didn't make sense.

I pulled up the last photo again, just for something to do, for something to look at, while I tried to make my mind up about what to do. About whether I should let myself fall and allow this… sweetness that didn’t have anything to do with hooking up in my life. Or if I should push back, call him out on it, stay strong, keep our resolution.

I found myself zooming in on the picture. A bottle of wine. Empty. Another one reflecting in the mirror, half full.

Aubrey Are you drunk? Noah Would you mind?

There was an anger rising up in me, a bitter taste that suddenly has a clear origin. So it wasn’t real. The clarification that sounded through his text hit me in the face with force. It wasn’t him changing his mind, it wasn’t him opening up and actually wanting more. It was simply him being wine-drunk, needy and alone. I didn’t care how soft his words were. Not when I was sure he wouldn’t have typed them quite the same sober.

Noah I miss you, angel Already Come over when the show is done

I stared at the words. My heart wanted to jump at the chance, tell him yes, yes I’ll come to you, take whatever he would give me, indulge in the brief idea of this being more, him being serious, him wanting me for real. But I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t. I’d fucked up before, back in Manchester, in a different way. I wouldn’t let us go down that path again. I couldn’t let him change his mind on a whim, again, and again, and allow myself to believe.

Aubrey I’ll see you tomorrow

•••

The tears started pooling in the corners of my eyes before I’d even properly shut the door to my room behind me. Everything I’d been trying to push away caught up with me all at once. Noah being unpredictable in his actions and his words. My roommate all but kicking me out. No job lined up once this tour ended.

I dragged myself under the shower, trying to wash away the bad feeling, thinking I could hide my tears if only I stayed under the stream of water for long enough, but my hair had been washed and conditioned, my body shaved and scrubbed and taken care of and I still couldn’t stop crying. It felt pathetic and weak. I should be able to handle this better. I’d always been able to handle myself.

But it was all too much, this time around. I’d never had to deal with the loss of a place to stay, no job prospects and the reality that I was catching feelings for people who didn’t reciprocate them all at the same time.

That was a lie. I wasn’t catching feelings. I was deep, deep into them already. There was no way to deny it anymore, not even to myself. The way my belly fluttered when I saw Noah or Oli wasn’t pure sexual attraction. Wanting to hold their hands, fall asleep next to them, sharing everything I could with them wasn’t platonic. Needing to get my hands on them, have their hands on me, feel them all over and inside wasn’t a friendship.

A sob wrecked from my mouth as I desperately tried to go through the motions. Drying my hair. Putting on a shirt to sleep in. Brushing my teeth. Yet I couldn’t stop. Every time I thought I had a chance of calming down, another wave of despair came over me and held me under.

A knock on the door made me jump, then freeze in the middle of my motions. Surely no one would come around this late? Maybe someone had the wrong room. I’d simply ignore it.

Another knock. I put my hand over my mouth to keep the sobbing at bay, trying not to let the person know I was even there. Angrily, I wiped a tear away that had slipped between my fingers and tickled my lips.

“Aubrey.” Oli’s voice was unmistakable. “Aubrey, I know you’re there. I can hear you crying.”

Fuck. There was no way I’d be able to get rid of Oli, no matter how much I hated the idea of letting him in and letting him see me like this. But my feet carried me even before I’d actively made the decision and when I saw him standing in front of me, all soft and worried, remnants of make-up lingering on his face, I all but fell into his arms. I only realised that there was something in his hand when he struggled to hug me back.

“Alright, on the bed you go, I’ve got you a hot chocolate and there’s a few pieces of chocolates in the pocket of my hoodie unless you’ve just crushed them.”

And just like that, I broke out into tears once again.

Oli ushered me on the bed, making sure I was tucked in nicely as I sat against the headboard before sliding under the blanket himself, his warmth immediately transferring to me. He handed me the mug, which felt like pure love between my fingers, and then scattered a few individually wrapped chocolates in front of us. When I leaned into him, his arm wrapped around my shoulders as if it had always meant to.

“Talk to me, love,” Oli whispered into your hair and it was all it took for my worries to pour out of me. Well, most of them. The mess in my head about Noah and him stayed hidden, tucked away in the fathers corners of my brain.

Oli held me close, letting me talk and talk and drop tears on his hoodie until I’m all cried out.

“How long have you known?”

“About the roommate situation? This afternoon. The job thing… well, it’s been an ongoing problem.”

He squeezed my body against his and for a moment it felt like he squeezed at least some of the pain away. I didn’t tell him that, but I buried my face a little deeper into his neck.

“Have you talked to your parents? Moving back home and asking for help is probably the last thing you want to do, but, you know…”

The question is enough to let tears well up again. So much for being cried out.

“I…” I swallowed, trying to force the lump in my throat to disappear. “I don’t speak to them anymore.”

Oli pushed me away a little bit, just enough to see my face, but still holding onto me.

“What happened?”

Somehow, the fact that he sounded genuinely shocked made it worse.

“It turns out, dating a girl was enough for my father to assume the devil had gotten into me. And my mother just follows whatever he says. So now the only contact I have with them is my father sending my mails about how to return to the good side of life and renounce the evilness that is being queer and me deleting them unseen.”

“Fuck, Aubrey, why didn’t you tell me?”

Why didn’t I tell him? I wasn’t so sure anymore, now. I knew we had drifted apart a little over the past year, keeping in contact but never actually seeing each other. I should have trusted him more.

Oli’s hand was gentle on my face as he moved my head toward him and pressed a short kiss to my lips. “Fuck them. We’re in this together, yeah? We’ll figure it out. Promise.”

And somehow, I believed him.

#Noah Sebastian fic #Noah Sebastian #Oli Sykes fic #Oli Sykes #Noah Sebastian x reader #Oli Sykes x reader #in love with the mess

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bucky-fricking-barnes · 9 months

Text

Reckless

Title: Reckless

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Fluff

Summary: Y/N goes on a date with Steve Rogers and, unbeknownst to him, comes to the conclusion that he’s a very gentlemanly, albeit very boring, person. However, she decides to give him a second chance before she forms her final opinion of him.

A/N: Thank you for reading and supporting me! I hope you enjoy this quick little story about our lovely Steve. Dividers are by @firefly-graphics

“So how did the date go?”

You have your head propped up with a hand under your chin, so you simply sigh and try to keep your expression neutral as you search for the words. If this were a video or phone call, your friend wouldn’t be able to read you so easily, but you know that she’s caught on already when she winces across the table from you.

“That bad, huh?” Sophia asks.

Shaking your head, you sigh again and gesture vaguely with your free hand. “It was fine. It was good, I guess. I didn’t have a bad time. It’s just…”

“What? He wasn’t a creep, was he? I thought you said he was nice!” She leans in, almost knocking her drink over as she reaches across the table for one of your fries.

“No, no, he was nice. That’s just it, though. He was just nice.”

She chews, humming around the fries as you drop your arm and finish off the rest of your drink to occupy yourself. You don’t want to say anything too specific since you know his life is already so public, so you pick up your fork again and move some of the food around on your plate. At that, Sophia raises an eyebrow, then swallows and takes a sip.

“So… Are you gonna go out with him again?”

The waitress comes by to refill your water and you both offer her polite smiles and murmur thank yous, which gives you time to consider your answer. Steve had been a nice date—an almost perfect one, at that—but that was all you could say about your time with him. Sure, he checked all the boxes. On paper, he was the perfect match for you, but in reality, there was no spark, and you’d found him fairly boring. You feel a little bad calling Steve Rogers boring, of all people, but you can’t lie to yourself about it, no matter how great a person he is.

“I don’t know. Maybe? It feels rude to judge whether I like someone or not after only one date, since everyone’s nervous on first dates, and he was really nice…” You trail off, tilting your head from side to side with a grimace. “I don’t know.”

Sophia arranges her dishes so they’re easy to collect. “Well, you don’t have to make a decision right away. I mean, it’s not like he’s asked you out again so soon already, right?” Her smile fades into a gasp of disbelief when you don’t agree, and she smacks her hand on the table. “Already? Man, this guy moves fast!”

You nod. You’d been just as surprised as she is. You hadn’t known what to say when Steve had texted you this morning, so you’d just left the message on read. Thankfully, the dating app would never tell him that, but you still felt bad about not responding right away. Hopefully, he just thought you were busy at work.

“Already. He wants to go out again tonight,” you tell her. You wince again and fall back against the booth, crossing your arms. “Am I crazy if I tell him no?”

“No! Absolutely not, you can totally tell him no. You don’t have to go out with him if you don’t want to. You’re not obligated to go on a second date with him either,” Sophia reminds you.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you dig it out, glancing briefly at the screen to make sure it’s not important. And it’s not, really, because it’s a message from Steve telling you that he won’t be offended if you decline his offer to take you out for dinner. The twinge of guilt you felt earlier is more like a stab now.

“How can someone so boring be so sweet?” you whine, more rhetorically than anything, but Sophia jumps on the question.

“Is that Steve?”

Nodding, you shove the phone back into your pocket. “Yeah. I don’t know, I’ll probably tell him yes. One more perfectly boring date can’t hurt..” You shake your head a little. “I’ll let you know what I decide to do.”

Your friend smiles and slides out of the booth, taking her bag with her. You do the same and wait for her to be ready before you walk beside her to the diner’s exit. After a quick hug, the two of you part ways and you head back to your apartment.

That night, there’s a knock at your door precisely at six o’clock, exactly when Steve said he’d be there. You sigh a little, expecting just as much, and you smooth out your dress. It’s one you haven’t worn in a long while, but you’re hoping it will inspire a reaction from him. At this point, any reaction besides the politest one would be a welcome change.

You open the door and smile when Steve meets your eyes. He smiles back, small and polite. He’s dressed well, in jeans and a white shirt, with a navy jacket over his shoulders. It’s infinitely more casual than the button-up and khakis he’d worn to your first date earlier this week, and it’s a good sign.

“Hi, Y/N. I hope I’m not early?” he asks, though you both know he’s not.

“No, it’s alright. I just need to get my shoes on. Come on in?” You step out of the doorway and gesture for him to enter. Once he’s inside, you shut the door and turn, only to find him inches closer than he was before. You inhale sharply and meet his gaze, then look down at the singular flower in his hand.

“For you,” he says. “I was afraid a bouquet would get damaged on the ride here.” He glances down at your dress and clears his throat. “I think it would probably be better if you changed into pants, too.”

You blink. “Pants? Why? What’s wrong with my dress?” This wasn’t the response or reaction you’d been hoping for. You step back a little, suddenly self-conscious about your choice in outfit.

Steve looks a bit sheepish as he hands you the flower and steps back to give you more space to breathe. “Yes. I rode my… bike.”

Raising your eyebrows, you glance over at your closed curtains. The window faces out into the street, where you know from experience most people park if they’re only staying for a short time.

“Your bike,” you repeat. He nods, and you carefully step around him to go look out the window. There is, in fact, a motorcycle parked in one of the spots. The light from the lamps reflects off the shining black and silver metal, and you let the curtain fall back into place with a quiet laugh. It seems that Steve Rogers could truly be the daredevil that some of the internet prospects him to be.

When you turn, Steve is still standing by your front door. The golden glow from the lamp by your couch casts a shadow behind him, making him seem taller and darker, but he watches you with such trepidation that he doesn’t seem as intimidating as you know he does to some.

“It’s a Harley,” he tells you.

You smile a little. “Gotcha. I guess I’ll go change, then. Just give me a minute?”

Steve nods and you hurry to your room to change into a different outfit. In a moment of panic, you drop the flower into a half-finished glass of water on your nightstand. You don’t want to make Steve stand awkwardly in your living room any longer than you have to.

With very little time to spare, you quickly change into jeans and one of your favorite tops, then head back into the living room. Steve has moved to look at your shelves, inspecting your photos, books, and knick-knacks in silence. He’s got his hands in his pockets and you watch for a second as he stands so relaxed in a foreign space.

“I’m ready if you are,” you finally say, stepping further into the room.

He turns and nods, then glances back at one of the photos. “Where was this taken?”

Frowning, you move closer so you can see, and then you smile a little. “That was back in college, at some restaurant near campus. It was this little local place that my friends and I used to go to. I think that was after one of their trivia nights.”

“You like trivia?” he asks, and you shrug.

“I’m not very great at it. Probably not as good as you—you’ve had a lot more time to study up.” Inwardly, you cringe. Steve probably doesn’t like to be reminded of his past.

There’s a beat where you and Steve stare at each other, and then he smiles at you. “That’s what Clint keeps telling me. He’s been trying to convince me to join his team. Maybe I’ll take him up on it the next time he offers.”

“That sounds like it would be fun,” you reply, nodding.

“Are you ready to go?”

You nod again and grab your things, sticking your phone into your pocket before following him out. He opens the door for you and pauses so you can check that it’s locked once you’re in the hallway, and then you let him lead you down to the motorcycle parked out front.

It’s even bigger than you’d thought. You hesitate at the curb, and Steve smiles encouragingly when he holds out the helmet he’s clearly brought for you.

“I promise to drive safely,” he says.

“Do you not normally?”

He ducks his head at that, smiling a little more. “Some of my friends tend to say I’m a little reckless.”

“Reckless?” you scoff. “I wouldn’t have pinned you as someone who’s reckless after the other night. I figured you’d be the exact opposite.”

You take the helmet and carefully fit it onto your head, then drop your hands when Steve steps closer to check that it’s secure. He buckles the strap underneath your chin.

“Well, I’m not great at first impressions. I was nervous. I don’t spend a lot of time eating dinner with pretty girls.”

Cheeks warm at the compliment, you laugh and follow him over to the bike. He climbs on first. You straddle the bike behind him once he’s holding it straight, then carefully slip your arms around his waist.

“Is this okay?” you ask.

“It’s great. You’re doing great, Y/N. Make sure you hold on tight, okay?”

“Can I ask where we’re going?”

He glances over his shoulder as he starts the bike. “Brooklyn!”

The engine is too loud for you to ask any more questions, so you simply tighten your grip around his (very firm) waist and tuck your head against his shoulder as he backs the bike out of the spot and then onto the street. There’s little traffic and not a single red light, but as he maneuvers you to wherever in Brooklyn you’re headed, he still swerves around and between the cars and trucks. It’s exhilarating, and a little wild, and by the time you arrive, your heart is pumping and you’re smiling from ear to ear. Once he’s parked, Steve looks back over his shoulder at you, then laughs as you detach yourself from him.

“That was fun!” you tell him as you carefully climb off. Your legs are a little unsteady, and he quickly holds out a hand to help you regain your balance.

“Good, I’m glad. We have to walk a little from here, is that okay?” Steve asks. He climbs off the bike, but you don’t fail to notice that he doesn’t release you from his grip. Not that you mind. His hair is ruffled from the wind, and though you’re sure that yours is too, you can’t bring yourself to fix it. You’re not so worried about being so perfect when he’s relaxed like this, unlike last time.

“That’s fine, yeah. Where exactly are we going? Besides Brooklyn, that is.”

You and Steve start walking, with him on the outside. He keeps hold of your hand as he explains, “It’s an old diner. It’s not one that I grew up going to, but it’s authentic enough that it feels like it.” He pauses and glances over at you. “I know it’s kinda cheesy to go to a retro diner for a date, but—”

“I love it,” you interrupt before he can say anything otherwise. “It sounds like fun. Do they have a jukebox? I don’t think I’ve used one of those in forever!”

Your hands swing between you slightly as you walk, and Steve glances over, smiling. “If they don’t, I’ll keep that in mind for our next date. If you want to go out again, that is,” he quickly adds, the smile faltering.

Unabashed, you squeeze his hand with a grin. “So far, so good, Steve.”

The rest of the walk to the dinner is filled with conversation, and though you still talk at the table, you realize that he’s more comfortable talking when he’s moving. His hands are constantly fidgeting, as if he has too much energy for his body, and when you’re finally done eating and the bill has been paid, you glance out the diner’s windows.

“Is there a place we can go for a walk around here? It’s nice out, and I don’t think I’m ready to go home yet,” you say.

Steve seems a little surprised, but pleased, and he nods as he slides out of the booth. You do the same, waving at the employees behind the long painted counter as you leave.

“There’s a park about a block that way,” Steve says. He points further down the street. “It’s got a trail that goes around it. I’ve run there a few times.”

“Wanna race?” you ask, grinning. You’re full from the meal, but you’ve been wondering just how fast and strong he really is since you first started talking. He certainly eats like an athlete, and you’ve seen pictures and videos of some of the things he’s done. You just want to know what it’s like when he uses his abilities for fun instead of work.

“Really?”

You take off without another word. Behind you, Steve laughs. Your shoes aren’t made for running, and neither is the rest of your outfit, but you give it your best effort. It’s not a surprise when Steve passes you only seconds later. His figure quickly becomes miniature, but you see him stop at the corner to wait for you before crossing the street.

“You weren’t even going full speed, were you?” you pant once you reach the park. He’s grinning wide in the light from the lamps, standing tall while you’re bent over with your hands on your knees. “And you stopped!”

Steve laughs. He’s not even slightly winded. “You wanted to race!”

“What happened to polite, chivalrous Steve from the first date? Would you have let me win if I’d asked then?”

He laughs again, nodding, and leans against the lamp as you swallow thickly and try to catch your breath. “Probably. Like I said, you made me nervous.”

“Do I still make you nervous?” you ask. You start walking again, heading down the paved trail that loops around the park.

Steve falls into step beside you, his hands in his pockets. “A little. I don’t normally go out on dates. I only had the app because I lost a bet with Natasha.”

You raise an eyebrow and glance at him as the two of you move out of a biker’s way. “Natasha? Like, Black Widow?”

“That’s the one.”

“What was the bet?” you ask him. You’re nearing a playground, and it’s dark enough that it’s empty except for a couple pigeons, but there’s a mother walking with a stroller up ahead.

He ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck with one hand, smiling sheepishly. “I bet her that I could do more handsprings in a row than her.”

You stop and gape at him, and there’s a definite pink tint to his cheeks, even in the dim park lighting. “You’re kidding me. Are you serious, Steve? She’s like, the queen of gymnastics. She could probably go to the Olympics!”

“Probably,” he agrees, laughing. “It was a stupid bet.”

The two of you resume walking again, weaving around the stroller mom, and Steve puts his arm out to block you when you almost walk into a biker you don’t see. You give him a grateful smile and fall into comfortable silence as you walk, but there’s a question nagging at you from the back of your mind, so much so that you can’t ignore it.

“So how many handsprings did you end up doing?” you finally blurt out.

He chuckles. “Not as many as her.”

“What a political answer,” you tease. “Really, how many?”

There’s silence, and you nudge his arm with yours, stopping beside a tree. He looks at you and you raise your eyebrows expectantly.

“Two,” he sighs, and you have to cover your mouth when you snort. He gives you a scathing look, but it’s only a farce because his smile peeks through a minute later.

“I’m sorry, but I was expecting something a little more… heroic than two,” you tell him.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m better at other things,” he says.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

He starts walking and you catch up, taking a few extra steps until you’re beside him again. His hand bumps against yours and you look down, then smile as you lace your fingers with his.

“Pull ups, push ups,” he lists. “Painting, piano.”

You glance over at him, surprised. You hadn’t suspected something so artistic.

“You paint and play piano?” you ask. He nods and you smile wider. “That’s so cool. Maybe you can show me one of your paintings sometime? Or hear you play?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

The rest of your walk around the park and back to his motorcycle is easy and comfortable, and you hold hands the entire time. You talk about everything, from work and your family to the practical jokes he and Bucky had pulled on Bucky’s younger sister back in the 30’s and 40’s. He gives you his jacket when you’re heading back in the direction of the diner, after you shiver. You protest, but he insists, and the jacket wrapped around you is much too warm and comforting for you to truly argue. By the time you reach his Harley, it’s been an hour and you still feel like you could keep going.

Steve’s driving is a bit tamer on the way back to your apartment. There are more stop lights, too, and you take those moments to rest your chin on his shoulder and ask him questions or point out things you see. You have to yell, but he nods and smiles along, and when you’re finally parked outside your apartment building again, he recaps his comments and thoughts for you as he helps you off the bike once more. Your balance is better the second time, but Steve still holds your hand until you’re steady, and you hope he doesn’t notice how giddy it makes you.

“I had a really good time tonight,” you say as you arrive at your door. Carefully, you pull your arms from the sleeves of his jacket and hand it to him, then dig out your keys. You fiddle with them as he slips on the jacket again, shrugging his shoulders until it’s firmly in place.

“Me too. I’d like to see you again, if that’s okay,” Steve replies, and you smile wide.

“I’d like that too.”

There’s a moment of silence where you stare at each other, and you look away first. You want to kiss him, but you know that as much as he’d surprised you tonight, Steve was still raised in a different time. He might not be comfortable kissing you so quickly, and you don’t want to push him.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, so suddenly that you jump a little.

You blink, looking up from your keys. “What?”

He seems to take that as a sign of disinterest because he smiles politely and steps back a half step, the tips of his ears rosy in the dim hallway light. “Never mind. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Wait, no,” you quickly say, stepping forward to regain his attention. “You just surprised me. Yes, you can kiss me.”

He smiles a little wider and closes the distance between you even more. His hand rests on your side, warm and solid as he leans in to press a chaste kiss against your lips. It’s sweet, and he somehow tastes like peppermint, though you’re sure he hasn’t been chewing gum.

A bit bashful, you rest your hand on his chest for a second after you pull away. You’re smiling like a fool but you can’t help it—Steve has proven himself over and over tonight, and he makes you feel like nothing could ever go wrong while he’s around. You’re close enough that you can smell his cologne, and you close your eyes for a second as you take a deep breath. Whatever it is, it’s warm and sweet, like coffee with cinnamon, and it makes you want to curl up against him forever.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he murmurs.

You meet his gaze and slide your hand down, then away. “Goodnight, Steve. Let me know when you get home, okay?”

He nods and watches as you unlock your apartment, then open the door and step inside. You give him one last look and one last smile before closing the door. Silently, you stand in the entry area and listen as he heads back down the stairs. Once you’re certain he’s far enough away that he won’t hear, you let out a little laugh before darting across your living room to peek out the window. He’s climbing onto his bike when you pull the curtains back, and after the bike roars to life, he tilts his head back and gives you a little salute, a small smile curling on his lips. You wave back, grinning, and then Steve is pulling away, racing down the street towards his home.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

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Forever: @aya-fay

Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium @delicatecapnerd

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maniculum · 5 months

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Bestiaryposting Results -- Gligglae

Sorry this is later than usual; traveling for the holidays makes it difficult to keep up with this sort of thing. The smart move would have been to write it up a couple days ahead of time, then on Monday just update it with anything new that had been posted since, but see, what happened was that I did not do that. Instead, I tried to type this up Monday evening in between various family obligations, realized I didn't have time to do it properly, and just shoved it in my drafts. Then all of Tuesday was taken up with the long drive back home from where my family lives, and now you're getting it on Wednesday.

(Also, don't worry, I followed all CDC guidelines appropriate for someone who had recently had covid, and wouldn't have traveled for the holidays at all if I hadn't been without a fever for 48 hours prior to departing. Plus I drove instead of flying, didn't visit anyone but immediate family, and had a mask the whole time, so even if I am still contagious somehow, exposure was pretty minimal.)

Anyway, the entry that our artists are working from is here:

And, of course, all previous material on this matter can be found at https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting.

I think a larger number of people than usual identified the animal in question right off the proverbial bat, because this one has some pretty blatant tells, but as always I appreciate everyone trying to put it out of their minds.

So, anyway, in rough chronological order:

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) (thank you for providing your own alt text, I really appreciate it) brings us her usual impeccably medieval-stylized rendition -- the swirls and curves in this one give it a really interesting vibe, I think. We can see the Gligglae in full-body profile on the left there, and a group of them doing their cluster behavior on the right. The, like, griffin/cockatrice/vampire look is pretty great, also. I enjoy the overall design, which you can find some discussion of in the linked post. Gold foil also a nice touch.

Coolest-capybara also notes that the entry is very interested in the ways in which the creature is "almost, but not quite, entirely unlike a bird," and I can explain why that is. It is because this entry is in the Bird section of the bestiary, so officially this is a bird -- I mean, it flies, what else can it be -- but it's sufficiently un-bird-like that it really sticks out to the authors, so they need to explain the ways in which it's Doing Bird Wrong. Everything else in this section does X, so we need to point out that this one does Y, kind of thing.

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) has drawn an absolutely adorable little Gligglae. (Adorable if you have my sense of aesthetics, that is -- I suspect if you're among the portion of the population that finds aye-ayes more creepy-looking than cute, that might apply here as well.) There's an explanation of design decisions in the linked post, including a number of references to real animals that provided inspiration. I like the decision to play up the "lowly" and "mean" part of the description by making it small and kind of scruffy. And the general concept of blending "gliding rodent" with "nocturnal primate" to make an arboreal mammal with elements of both really worked out well here, in my opinion.

@aethereaii (link to post here) has done this beautiful piece in a style that kind of gives "19th-century naturalist" vibes. (Actually, it makes me think of James Gurney, but I suspect that association says more about my childhood reading habits than anything else.) This is a great design in my opinion, and you can find some brief discussion on design decisions as well as an earlier version of the Gligglae in the linked post. The earlier design is also very good, but I agree with Aethereaii that this one is a step up, particularly with the Anomalocaris-inspired faux-wings. I also really like the inclusion of the juvenile Gligglae (Gligglings?) clinging to their parent's back in the corner there.

@karthara (link to post here) decided to go in a reptilian direction with this one, which (a) works well and (b) caused me to spend a chunk of time reading about flying snakes on Wikipedia just now. So in this version, the "rowing motion with its skin" is a description of the Gligglae flaring its ribs and undulating through the air -- which I genuinely think really makes sense. The entry seems to legitimately disagree with itself about whether this critter has wings (or, taking it entirely literally, it has wings but flies through a completely separate method that specifically does not involve said wings, which I think we're justified in deciding is Wrong), so I think going with such a non-wing-like flight method works here. Also like the concept of making these very cuddly (and apparently loving, according to our bestiary author) creatures into a type of animal that usually isn't seen that way. The linked post also contains some brief notes on design decisions.

@strixcattus (link to post here) has, as per usual, provided a really excellent modern-naturalistic description of the creature they've designed in the linked post, and you should definitely go check it out right now. I'll wait.

... back? Okay good. I particularly like their interpretation of the "grape-cluster" behavior as a social group that's specifically not a kin group; and also the fact that said group is officially referred to as a "cuddle". The choice to make it a whole genus and show us several different wild and domesticated species, also very good, love it. As with several of these drawings, Strixcattus's Gligglae (Gligglaes?) are extremely cute -- which, really, does also fit the description provided in the entry. They're like tadpoles crossed with sugar gliders.

@cheapsweets (link to post here) credits Ken Sugimori's Pokemon illustrations as a stylistic inspiration, which I suppose explains why the Gligglae cluster seems to be hanging from a Sudowoodo. The linked post also draws certain parallels between medieval bestiaries and the Pokedex, which I think is actually pretty insightful. There's also a breakdown of their design decisions there, go read it. I think this is a pretty good rendering of something that is like a flying squirrel but distinctly not a flying squirrel, and I like the shaggy look of the fur.

Also, thank you for providing your own alt text.

@pomrania (link to post here) is, I think, the only person to take the bestiary author at their word that this animal has wings but flies through some other, non-wing-related method. You can see the tiny useless wings at the shoulder there. I really think that's fascinating as a concept: what evolutionary pressures would produce an animal that (a) has wings and (b) flies but (c) those two things are unrelated? Although this many appendages on a fur-bearing creature puts us firmly in the "alien biology" territory, so maybe it's silly to expect it to make sense by the standards of terrestrial biology. Regardless, I like it, and I think the decision to run with the "rowing" description by giving it those oar-shaped appendages is a good & creative one. The post linked above contains a fair bit of information on design decisions and the drawing process here -- there are sketches and everything.

@vindikat (link to post here) has interpreted this in a way I find really charming. The art is of course excellent, very well drawn, and I appreciate the effort that went into doing these different poses. However, I really like it from a worldbuilding perspective: this gives me the impression of a small species of griffin that's adapted to urban living, more pigeon/cat than eagle/lion. (Come to think, both pigeons and cats are examples of feral populations finding a successful niche, rather than wild ones that adapt to a city, so maybe we can speculate that these guys are also descended from domestic ancestors.) Also the Gligglae under the eaves there remind me of pictures of chimney swifts that have made the rounds on Tumblr.

The design is also generally very appealing; I think the extra wings and the long tail really work here. The linked post includes an explanation of the design decisions that I think is worth taking a look at.

@moustawott (link to post here) has given us another very cuddly version of the Gligglae. I particularly like the wing design here, how it's kind of a mammalian version of a pterosaur -- Moustawott indicates that they were specifically trying not to draw the animal that they're sure this is, and I think the pterosaur-squirrel design here is a great way to make something that could fill kind of the same niche while being an unmistakably distinct creature. The little round head and eye markings remind me of a chipmunk, also, which is cute.

@rautavaara (link to post here) continues to do interesting stylistic stuff with their contributions. I like how the limited color palette here makes this look kind of like a single-block woodcut or similar relief printing. Like, you could plausibly see this as a design someone's carved into a wood block, then printed on mustard-yellow paper with purple ink. (I'm actually not 100% sure that's not what it is; I would just be surprised if someone actually went the extra mile of breaking out the engraving tools for my little bestiaryposting thing.) Very dynamic scene, also, and a charming creature design; love the huge mouths with pointy little fangs.

All right, these are all the ones that come up on the search; if I missed yours, let me know please.

(I have to apologize here for another delay that's absolutely my fault -- I would have had this out a few hours ago, but I got derailed by impulsively deciding to check out that Hbomberguy plagiarism video everyone's talking out, and... yeah.)

Anyway, as a number of this week's artists indicated, this one was really easy to guess, so the reveal seems a little pointless, but we have a format, so:

Obviously, this was the sheep.

What? Look, you can't make assumptions with these things. Some of these medieval bestiary entries are really counterintuitive. Medieval Europeans believed there was a species of small, highly-social, flying nocturnal sheep native to Ethiopia.

Really, it's in Pliny the Elder.

...

Yes, fine, I'm just lying to you for fun. It's the animal you all think it is, there are no flying sheep to my knowledge. Here's the Aberdeen Bestiary illustration.

Yep, it's the bat. Oddly human face on that one, and generally I don't think this was drawn from life, but it's definitely a bat.

I do kind of find the way it's described in this entry kind of interesting, though. The confusion about whether bats count as having wings (even after having been placed in the "bird" category) is kind of odd, and the "rowing" description is not one I would have ever thought of. I very much like the declaration that the way bats huddle together is "an act of love of a sort which is difficult to find among men"; it's a sweet way to talk about a creature with a generally negative reputation, which contrasts interestingly with the fact that the author also thinks of them as "lowly" and "mean". You kind of get the idea of a creature that's a bit wretched but in a sympathetic way. "Scrungly", one might say.

#maniculum bestiaryposting #gligglae

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musings-of-a-rose · 1 year

Text

I Never Stopped Loving You

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC “Catie”

Word Count: 7700+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: @theewokingdead is such an enabler and I love her for it! This is 100% her idea (I’ll post it at the end). I’m just doing the words!

And yes, this is my first OFC character!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

Main Masterlist

Joel Miller Masterlist

I Never Stopped Loving You Part 2>>

September 26th, 2013

2 pink lines.

2 little pink lines that will change the entire course of my life from here on out. Not just my life, but his life too.

Joel.

It’s not like we just started dating. It’s been a couple of years, but we hadn’t really brought up the idea of adding another child alongside his Sarah. And yet, here I am, staring down in disbelief at these 2 little pink lines, memories of the night that caused this from a couple weeks ago flashing before my eyes briefly before my brain starts to spiral.

Would he be happy? Mad? Leave me? Feel obligated to marry me? How will Sarah feel?

Before I can spiral more, my phone springs to life, it’s ring loud in my tiny bathroom as it vibrates across the counter. I knew from the ring it was him, but what I didn’t expect was Joel to sound so tired and frustrated.

“Hey baby.”

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Is that contractor being a dick again?”

He chuckles, low and deep. “How’d you guess?”

“He’s been giving you shit for weeks. I don’t know how you deal with it.”

“Because I need the money. But I’m starting to think it may not be worth it to keep my mouth shut.”

He launches into a story about his day from hell, how the contractor is making everything take 10 times as long as it should. When he finishes, he takes a deep sigh before speaking again.

“You able to check on Sarah?”

“Yeah. She’s doing fine. Ordered a pizza. Sorry I couldn’t hang with her.”

“It’s alright. You feelin’ any better, sweetheart?”

I could tell him now, tell him that my secret suspicion of my nausea over the last several days has been confirmed, but I don’t want to tell him like this. Not over the phone, not when he’s exhausted and frustrated. I’ll tell him when I see him next.

“A little.”

A beep sounds and Joel pauses. “That’s Tommy. I’ll call him back later.”

“No, no. It’s ok, answer it. Just go home and get some sleep.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. See you tomorrow?”

“Definitely, sweetheart. Feel better.”

I feel guilty for not telling him right away, but the timing just isn’t right. Besides, this gives me some time to wrap my own head around it and figure out exactly how to tell him.

—----

Waiting was not a great idea.

I had fallen asleep at some point, but I was woken up by…is that screaming? Something is happening outside and it doesn’t sound good.

Creeping up to the window, I pull the curtains back just enough to peek outside. People are moving about the street, but something isn’t right. They’re all running from Mr. Stevens, my neighbor from several houses down. He’s running after them, but it’s not normal. No…not human. He leaps forward, jumping onto the nearest person and…shit!

I run back to my nightstand and grab my phone. The first few times I try to get a call out, it’s a busy signal. Whether the lines are cut or busy is beyond me, but I have to keep trying. My fingers tremble as I use speed dial to try to get Joel. The phone slips from my hand and clatters to the floor.

“Shit!”

I bend down and pick it up, hitting the green call button and miraculously, the call goes through. My breathing speeds up, I feel like my heart is about to pound out of my chest. I’ve never needed a call to go through more than now-

“Catie?”

“Joel?”

“Thank God. Listen, somethin’ is happening. Something with the people-”

“I know. I saw the neighbor-”

“Stay away from them-.....not right-....Sarah and I-.....”

“Joel?” The line keeps breaking up, static cutting out more than half of whatever he was trying to tell me.

“....just stay put….no lights….there soon…”

“I- ok. I’ll stay here.”

“Love you, sweethea-”

The phone cuts off and the connection dies with it. I pull the phone away from my ear and look down at the screen. My phone still has battery but over the service bars is an X. Guess they either cut the service or something happened at a tower. Either way, it’s not good.

I stay there a moment longer until more screams and glass breaking from across the street somewhere bring me harshly back to reality. I click my lamp off and head into my closet, finding the new hiking backpack I’d bought a couple weeks ago with Joel, who planned to take Sarah and I hiking soon. Be smart, Catie. It’s just like camping. What do I need realistically?

I’m no stranger to traveling, so I roll all my clothes, putting on a 3rd pair of jeans and a shirt, making sure to pack and wear thicker socks that will last longer. I also toss in a bar of soap, my waterproof matches and firestarter, some salves I had just finished making last week, and some other random items. The pack isn’t too heavy, which I’m grateful for. I grab one of Joel’s flannels and throw it on over my clothes before hoisting the backpack over one shoulder.

Quietly, I creep downstairs, ears straining to hear anything out of place. I hear nothing - well, nothing aside from the ominous noises from outside. I’m so glad that I have curtains all around my house, never wanting people to see in, especially at night. I fill my canteen with water and grab a bunch of high protein, portable snacks, tossing them in my bag and strapping the water to the side. I make up another canteen to add to the other side to balance the weight. Plus, having extra water wasn’t a bad thing. Right?

I kept my phone on me in case Joel managed to get through again. I pull it out to see if anything had changed, but nothing. It’s been at least 20 minutes since I spoke to him, but even if he had left his home right at that moment, it would still be another 5 or so minutes before he’d get here. And I’m sure he’s running into obstacles outside.

When it hits the hour mark, I become officially worried.

I know he told me to stay put, but the screams outside are lessening, which can only mean one thing. I’m not waiting around for it to be my turn.

Grabbing a pen, I scribble a quick note telling Joel to meet me at the cabin, my parent’s cabin that they had given me to use with Joel and Sarah. It’s out in the middle of nowhere but it’s self sustainable and the perfect place to hideout from…whatever is happening.

I leave the note in a conspicuous place, hoping that he’ll be able to see it. I check the knives I stored in my boot and one in a leg strap on my thigh. Initially a gag gift from my brother when I started hiking more, I learned how to use them a little, just in case. Otherwise, I have my bow-my bow!

Quickly, I head into my office closet and grab my bow and quiver of arrows, making sure I have the proper attachments for attaching them to my backpack. I pick up my keys, fingers trembling and I nearly drop them.

Then my sliding door crashes open, glass shattering everywhere, inhuman noises coming from whatever fell through it.

I don’t even bother to look, throwing open the front door and slamming it behind me, eyes scanning the yard for any threats. Thank God I have a keyless entry, the car unlocking for me and I throw my bag and bow in as I slide in the seat of my suv, slamming the door shut behind me. I fumble with the keys, trying to jam them in the ignition when I hear my front door slam against the ground. I manage to jam the key in and the engine turns over. I backup quickly out of my driveway and peel off down the street as Mr. Stevens comes out of my house, moving towards my car but quickly giving up as I drive away.

I make it about 10 blocks when I see her. My neighborhood friend Lucia, running for her life from…something who used to be a someone. No hesitation, I turn my suv, slamming into the something and sending it flying. Lucia turns and sees me, eyes wide with fear as she runs towards me as I beckon her to get in. She throws open the passenger door and screams at me to go before she even closes it behind her. I do, speeding off down the road and somehow managing to get out of the nieghborhood without road blocks or hitting anything else.

For now, I’m ignoring what I see and focusing on getting us out.

Lucia says nothing, eyes scanning the road and looking behind us to make sure everything is clear. By the grace of a higher power, we manage to make it to the back highway that will eventually bring us to my parent’s cabin. Or my cabin now, I guess.

“Luce, are you ok?”

Lucia is breathing heavy but she nods, turning her head towards me as she starts to relax slightly. “Thank you for stopping. I..I wouldn’t have made it otherwise.”

“I’m just glad I could help.”

A few moments of silence pass between us before I speak again.

“Are you hurt or..or bit? I don’t..I don’t know what-”

“No. I don’t know how but no.”

“What are they?”

Lucia takes a shaking breath and I can hear her trying to hold back tears. “I..I don’t know. They aren’t…they were people but now?”

“Yeah that’s pretty much all I saw too…oh is there anywhere I need to go or drive by for you?”

She looks away from me quickly. “I uh…no.”

“Where’s your brother?”

She was quiet for a moment. “He left on his business trip a day ago.”

Right. Japan or something.

I reach over and squeeze her hand, feeling us both shaking. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

More silence.

“What about Joel? And Sarah?”

“I uh…I was waiting for them but… I left a note telling them where to meet me.”

“Oh. I’m sure they’re fine.”

We drive for a little bit longer, Lucia messing with the radio to try and find anything that was playing. It was all just static. I take the exit I need and clear my throat.

“I’m pregnant.”

Lucia’s head snaps towards me. “You’re what?”

I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Great timing, huh?”

“Does Joel know?”

A sob jumps out of my throat, one I didn’t know I had. “No. I..he had a hard day at work and I figured I’d tell him tomorrow…”

“Oh, Cat. It’s ok. He…he’ll find you for sure. I know it. Buuut…until then, you have me! Wait, did you pick me up just because I’m a midwife?” I can hear the smile in her words, but she’s still not 100% certain.

“I picked you up because you needed help. And you didn’t look injured.” She laughs at my admission.

“I love your honesty, Cat.”

We chat about the pregnancy the entire way, only quieting when we reach the long, hidden drive to my cabin. We do a quick perimeter check, inside and out. Nothing and no one. The closest neighbors we have are literally miles away. We have more chances of seeing a bear than another person.

Lucia helps me unload the few things I have in the car and heads inside. We take a quick stock of all pantry items and I’m thankful that Sarah and I did so much canning the last time we were here. She had gotten slightly obsessed with the idea and was looking forward to eating it when they were ready. Water wouldn’t be an issue either as we have our own private well, no need for electricity. Which is good because that doesn’t work without the generator and we are not turning that on. It’s too noisy and would attract trouble.

Lucia and I have a low key dinner of beef sticks and some dried vegetables, chatting with each other to try and lighten the dark cloud that has crept over the world. She heads off to one of the bedrooms and I head off to mine, the one I share with Joel. Once I’m finally able to collapse in the bed, I allow myself a moment to cry, worrying about Joel and Sarah and the baby that’s currently growing inside of me. I still have hope they’ll make their way here. I have to or I’ll crumble into bits and float away on the wind.

—----

20 years later…

Lucia and I stayed in the cabin for nearly 10 years. She helped me safely bring my daughter Penelope, or “Poppy”, earthside. We raised her in the cabin, teaching her everything she needed to know about survival and life, despite her young age. This is how life is now. She’s still allowed to have kid time of course, which is why there are murals painted on nearly every corner of the cabin.

About 10 years in, Lucia, who had never given up on finding someone or a transmission on either the radio or the ham radio, finally found one talking about a settlement in Jackson, Wyoming. It would take us nearly a month to get there, let alone the danger we’d be in. The suv would never make it, having given out years ago, but luckily we had managed to make a small farm for us and that included a few horses and a couple that could pull a wagon or 2. After gathering up all the information we could on Jackson, we determined it must be a real place and put it to a vote with all of us. After the winter snows melted, we left for Jackson, packing up our entire lives, or what we could anyway, and plotting out the safest route possible. It would take us about a month, especially with the detours we were taking, but they were necessary to avoid the areas that would most likely have bandits. Or worse.

The last thing I did before I closed the door was to write a letter to Joel and Sarah, telling them where we were going. Even 10 years later, I had not given up on them.

—----

A month later, we arrived in Jackson, a few more scrapes and bruises to our name, but luckily, we hadn’t run into too much trouble.

Lucia got work right away, considering her background as an official midwife. I was hired to help with the gardening because of my immensely green thumb and knowledge of herbs, and Poppy was allowed to help with the livestock we brought, after school was done for the day. Poppy was beside herself with the idea of going to actual school, even though she knew most of what they were teaching anyway.

We all settled nicely, Lucia falling in love with a nice man on the other side of town, eventually moving in with him and starting a family of their own. Poppy made a ton of friends, finally allowed the freedom to be a kid for more than a couple of hours.

As for me?

I never really dated anyone, my heart given to Joel a long time ago. I know the likelihood of seeing him again is extremely slim, but I still have a tiny sliver of hope that he’s around. And maybe he’s heard about Jackson and will head this way. Which didn’t impact my decision to come here. Nope. Not at all.

But the biggest surprise that Jackson held for us was Tommy, Joel’s brother. He was married to Maria, the woman who started this community with her father, and lived on the farm where they kept the horses. Poppy and he got along right away, her begging for more stories about her dad and he would pretend to be annoyed but would give in every single time. She continued this ritual as she grew, eventually bringing her boyfriends with her, searching for Tommy’s approval, just like a father.

One beautiful fall day, I’m walking through the market, trading for new produce and supplies when I hear some people gossiping over lemonade at the small eatery in town. I tend to ignore gossip, never having been one for it, until the phrase “Tommy Miller’s brother” reaches my ear. I freeze, listening intently on their words, but I’m only able to make out that he was here in town.

Joel was here. In Jackson. Joel.

I turn, marching towards the small group of people that were doing the gossiping when I heart the alert - bandits were attempting to attack the dam. Growling out in frustration, I turn to run towards that side of town, slinging the rifle from around my back once I assumed my nearly hidden position on the wall. We make quick work of the bandits, especially since we are heavily fortified and secured. That doesn’t stop them from trying, though.

Once the attack is over, I search the throngs of people for Tommy, just spotting him getting on his horse and heading home. Cursing, I turn, heading towards Tommy’s house on foot, my mind now completely on Joel since the bandit attack was over. Was he still in town? Does he know I’m here? Does he know he has a daughter?

I arrive at the farm and immediately head for the barn, knowing Tommy would still be tending to his horse. Sure enough, he had just finished putting her away, locking the gate behind him.

“Tommy!”

He sighs and doesn’t look at me right away. Which tells me he knows exactly why I’m here.

“Hey, Catie.”

“Is he here?” I’m standing just a couple feet from him, arms crossed and my foot tapping slightly with nerves.

“Who?”

“Fuck you, Tommy. You know who.”

“I-”

“Tell me the truth.”

He meets my gaze for a moment before nodding. “He was.”

He was here. Joel was here, in Jackson, alive and I didn’t- wait. Did he say was?

I swallow hard, willing my tears to just wait until I’m by myself. “Is he ok?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean as much ok as we all are.”

I let out a breath of relief. He was ok. Probably a little worse for wear but he was ok.

“Did…did you tell him I’m here?”

Tommy studies me for several moments, his dark eyes bouncing between mine, as if he’s debating with himself. “I…did.”

He knows I’m here. Joel knows I’m here, alive and well and he just-

Oh.

Of course. It’s been nearly 20 years and it would be ridiculous to think the man still loved me after all this time. He didn’t even know I was still alive. He’d never even met his daughter. If he no longer cared about me, fine. But why wouldn’t he want to meet his daughter? Unless…

“Did you tell him about Poppy?”

Tommy’s entire stance is apologetic and I know his reply before his lips even part. “No.”

“What the fuck, Tommy?”

He puts his hands up in a calming manner. “It shouldn’t come from me.”

“Fuck you, Tommy! He doesn’t even know he has another daughter. He deserves to know-”

“You’re right, he does. But not from me-”

“I can’t fucking believe this. It’s been 20 years, Tommy. 20 years and he didn’t even stop to say hi? Maybe if you’d have told him about Poppy, he’d at least stayed long enough to see her.”

I poke him in the chest as hard as I can. “It’s your fault he left!”

Tommy grabs my wrist and pulls me closer, his voice lowering to just above a whisper. “He had other things to take care of.”

“What could be more important than family?”

“All of humanity.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“He had a girl with him. Maybe…14? 15?”

My heart sinks. Did he have another daughter after the clickers came? As if he could read my mind, Tommy shakes his head.

“Not his. Her name is Ellie and she’s….special.”

“That’s disgusting, Tommy.”

He gives me a look. “She was bit.”

“Bit? And you let her into Jackson?”

“And she hadn’t turned.”

I could feel my eyes grow wide. Bit? Without turning? That’s impossible.

“How do you -”

“Saw the bite myself. I’ve seen enough of ‘em to know what they look like. It’s legit.”

“Fuck,” I whisper. This is huge. Definitely bigger than me.

“Yeah… anyway, he was takin’ Ellie to the Fireflies because they can supposedly make a cure out of her blood. Or that’s the hope anyway.”

“A cure?”

“Yup. This whole mess could be put behind us.”

This…this is life changing. World changing. My 20 year long devotion to a man I was deeply in love with paled in comparison to a cure for the clickers. Tommy told me Joel still had a long way to go, but if anyone could make it, he could.

“ ‘m sorry, Cat. I wish he could’ve stayed to say hi.”

“Did…did he say anything about me?” I hate how needy I sound.

“Honestly, we didn’t really talk about you other than me mentioning you were here. The focus was Ellie.”

I nod. The focus was on the right thing.

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I doubt it. It’s a long trek and pretty dangerous. He’d be smart to just stay put, especially to take care of Ellie.”

I left the barn and headed straight home. Poppy was out with her boyfriend so I had the whole place to myself. Which gave me plenty of alone time to cry and, for the first time in 20 years, try to move on from the dream I had about starting a little family with a man I never stopped loving.

—----

Spring in Jackson is always beautiful. The colors come alive, blooming from every surface they can for miles in greeting the season change. It’s also the perfect time to start planting certain crops so they’ll be ready when it comes harvest season.

I’ve finished planting in the community garden, dirt crusted under my fingernails despite my scrubbing at the garden sink. I’ll be able to use a brush at home, but for now, I smile at the grime on my clothes. It means Jackson will have food and enough to last through winter.

Taking off my apron, I toss it into the laundry basket to be cleaned and head towards the home I share with Poppy. She doesn’t spend as much time there these days, but I can hardly blame her. She is 20 and in a pretty serious relationship. I would not be surprised if the boy popped the question any day now.

I turn onto Main Street and Mrs. NoseyPants stops me. I know it’s not her real name but it fits her better.

“Catie! How are the crops going? Jackson going to survive?”

“Mmhhmm. We should be great.” I try to step around her, but she blocks my path.

“How’s that daughter of yours? Still getting on with the Miller boy?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I hope he makes an honest woman of her before something happens.”

“Something happens?”

She looks around, as if she expects anyone to actually give a fuck about what we’re saying. “Yes. Like an out of wedlock child.”

I plaster on a fake smile. “Oh yeah. That would be terrible, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t like your tone, Catie.”

I open my mouth to offer some sarcastic retort about not really giving a rat’s ass what she thought of my tone, but my gaze moves over her shoulder and the crowd parts just enough for me to see him.

Joel.

Unmistakably him, despite what the last 20 years has put on his shoulders. His back is to me, but his head is turned to the side, looking at all of the houses and buildings that line Main Street. Fuck he’s still handsome.

“Are you listening to me, Catie?”

I blink but don’t take my eyes off Joel, afraid he’d disappear if I did. “Full offense Mrs. Bennett, but I don’t have time to listen to your outdated and hateful words. Have a nice day.”

I know her jaw has dropped as I scoot around her, and I know I’ll probably pay for that later, but I couldn’t care less. My eyes are fixed on him as he walks slowly, eyes still moving from house to to house, taking it all in. I’m only several feet away before someone literally walks into him, dropping the giant stack of boxes they had been carrying.

“I am so sorry sir!”

The young man stoops to try and gather up the boxes and Joel turns to face him, bending to help him gather them up and reassemble them in his arms. “Don’t worry about it.”

The boy nods and takes off. Joel’s eyes follow him, making sure he doesn’t drop them again when his gaze meets mine. Those dark eyes move right into recognition and shock, blowing wide as it finally sets in who he’s looking at.

I hesitate only a moment before I move towards him, nearly running and shoving a few people out of my way. And suddenly, I’m standing in front of him, all 5’11 and broad shouldered, just as he had been 20 years ago. More lines adorn his face, and several scars, his hair is speckled and streaked with greys, but somehow it makes him all the more attractive. My breath catches in my throat and I find myself speechless in front of the man I would’ve given anything to speak to for 20 years.

“Catie?” He chokes out my name, eyes scanning mine as if he was waiting for me to say he was mistaken. That I wasn’t who he thought I was.

A quick sob escapes me as I nod frantically. “It’s me.”

His hand, large and warm just as it always has been, comes up to cup my face, his thumb tracing my cheek, as if touching me was proving to him that I was real. And then he pulls me into his chest, hugging on to me tight, like I would disappear from his grip if he didn’t. I hug him back, crying into his broad chest, unable to believe that I was finally, finally, holding onto him.

He pushes me back slightly, only to look at my face. “You’re…you’re alive.”

I chuckle through my tears. “And so are you. I thought Tommy told you I was here?”

He nods, his dark eyes still on my face. “I thought he was makin’ shit up to try and keep me here.”

“Well that does sound like Tommy.”

Joel chuckles deeply and it sends a jolt through my body. God how I missed that sound.

“He told me you lived down this way.”

I cock my head to the side. “Were..were you looking for me?”

Pink blooms across his cheeks as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I had to see if he was full of shit.”

“Fair point.”

We stand there, in the middle of the street just staring at each other for several minutes before I blink back to reality.

“Are you hungry? I was heading home to make something to eat and shower. I…if you want to join me?”

His eyes darken briefly and I realize too late what I said.

“I’d love to. But…”

He’s struggling with words.

“..but… what?”

He clears his throat, looking away from me for the first time. “Wouldn’t your uh…husband or boy friend or whatever be upset?”

Smiling up at him, I shake my head. “I don’t have either of those.”

His shoulder seem to slacken in relief. “Oh. ‘m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

The corners of his mouth tick upwards in a small grin and I feel like my insides are melting through my skin. How can this man still get me going after 20 years?

“Lead the way.”

I gesture down the street in the direction we’d have to go to get to my place. We don’t say much, Joel still taking in Jackson but always having one eye on me. I know we’re about to have a difficult conversation. How will he feel about Poppy? About how our life turned out? Or his? Tommy had told me about Sarah when I first came to Jackson. The hardness behind his eyes shows that he’s still dealing with the grief and I imagine he always will. It’s no easy thing to lose a child.

We arrive at my house and I unlock the door, heading inside and flipping on a light.

“You have power?” He asks.

“Mmhmm. Tommy was able to hook up a generator of sorts to the power grid. It’s heavily guarded and taken care of so no one has messed with it. He’s been talking about trying to use water or wind energy, but we need someone who knows that.”

I kick off my boots and Joel copies me, setting his down next to mine.

“Poppy? You home?” I call out, not wanting her to walk in the middle of whatever was about to take place. When I receive no reply after a few calls of her name, I shrug my shoulders in a ‘guess she’s not home’ way.

“Who’s Poppy?”

“You thirsty?” I head towards the kitchen and Joel follows, watching as I take out a pitcher of lemonade. “I also have beer. It’s…not the greatest but it’s something.”

“You make the best lemonade. I’ve been dreaming of it for years.”

I smile, turning to grab 2 glasses and putting some ice in each of them before adding the lemonade. I hand Joel his glass and his fingers briefly brush against mine. They’re rougher than before but not by much, and the jolt this light touch sends through is just as strong as it was 20 years ago.

I head back to the living area and sit on the couch, taking a sip while I motion for him to sit as well. He does, taking his own sip and I catch a nearly imperceivable moan at the back of his throat when he tastes the lemonade. I quickly shove my legs together, hoping he doesn’t notice. I try to cover by setting my glass on the coffee table and he copies me, wiping his hand on his jeans as he settles back, his body slightly shifted towards mine.

“Is Poppy your uh…girlfriend?”

I laugh this time, not at the idea of me having a girlfriend but at the look on his face while saying it. “No. No she’s-” time to tell him what you should have all those years ago “- my daughter.”

Joel nods, his eyes looking down at his hands and his shoulder slump slightly as if sad. “You- you said you didn’t have anyone.”

“I don’t.”

A knowing look passes over his eyes. “Oh. ‘m sorry for your loss.”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. “My loss? No, Joel. Poppy is 20.”

“20…what?”

“20 years old.”

It’s his turn to look confused, as if math was passing over his vision. “She’s…20?”

“Yes.”

“So…that…that would mean when…you…” He shifts nervously in his spot on the couch, another swipe of his palms across his jean clad legs.

“Is…is she…”

“Do you remember that night? You had called me, telling me about that pain in the ass contractor you had to work with?”

Joel nods, his eyes glazed over in memory. “Yeah. I called to check on you because you couldn’t stop throwing…up…” His eyes snap to mine, and to my surprise, they were full of hope.

“I told myself it wasn’t the right time to tell you. But how the fuck would I have known that the world would end?” I chuckle nervously, fumbling as I reach got my glass to try and cover my nerves.

He lets out a puff of air. “So I have a daughter?”

My face feels warm under his intense gaze. “Yes.”

He lets out a half sob half laugh of joy, tears welling in his eyes before he tries to wipe them away with the back of his hand. “All these years I had a kid and I didn’t know. I didn’t know, Catie. I-” Another half sob half laugh escapes him and he takes a moment to compose himself, his body not used to such displays of emotion. Not anymore.

“Why didn’t you just tell me that night?”

Why didn’t I? “You sounded so stressed and worried and I didn’t want to add onto that. I was going to tell you the next time I saw you but…” but indeed.

“How long had you known?”

“That day. I had suspected for a couple of days but I had to wait until I was sure I had missed my period to test and I didn’t want to tell you and be wrong.”

“You should’ve told me, sweetheart. We could’ve done the test together.”

I chuckle darkly. “Yeah I probably should’ve done that.”

“Tommy never told me.”

“What?”

“When I was here before. He told me you were here but not that I…that I have…why the fuck wouldn’t he tell me?” Joel pushes himself up from the couch in anger, pacing back and forth across the hardwood floor. “He should’ve told me!”

“Joel, he did what he thought was right.”

He looks at me, anger flashing in his eyes. “He had no right to keep that from me. If I had known, I would’ve-”

“Not brought Ellie to the Fireflies for a chance to save humanity?”

He stops pacing, turning towards me with shock on his face. “He told you about Ellie?”

I nod, sighing. “He did.”

“And he didn’t tell me I had-have a fucking daughter? And that she was here?”

“In all fairness to Tommy, he only told me after I got pissed he didn’t mention her to you.”

Joel scoffs. “What an asshole.”

“I…I thought maybe if you knew, you would’ve…maybe you would’ve at least stayed to meet her.”

Anger leaves his body and he sits next to me on the couch, hesitantly placing his hand on my thigh. “I definitely would’ve. When he told me you were here…I was intent on seeing you. Or seeing if he was pulling shit out of his ass. But he reminded me how important my cause was and since it was time sensitive, I couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t at least have simply said hi?”

“Sweetheart, there is no ‘simply’ between us. If I’d have seen you, I wouldn’t have been able to leave.”

Tears fall from my eyes and I wipe at them furiously. “Did it work out at least?”

“Did what work out?”

“Ellie. And the Fireflies.”

Joel grows quiet for several moments. “Turns out they didn’t need her after all. Found others and couldn’t use the blood.”

He’s lying. I know he’s lying but now’s not the time to press him for more information.

“She come here with you?”

Joel nods. “I wasn’t just gonna leave her there.”

“No, no. I think that’s great. There’s a good community here. I’m sure she’ll fit right in.”

“She was already makin’ friends the moment we walked in the gate.”

A long pause passes between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s a processing silence, both of us trying to categorize and file the information we both learned from the other. When I look at him, I can tell he’s far off, thinking and brooding on things, which isn’t always a good thing.

“I wish you’d have told me that night.”

Ah.

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“It would’ve changed everything! I would’ve grabbed Sarah and headed straight over to your place, bringing you…I don’t know, ginger ale and crackers? Whatever you wanted. We’d have stayed with you, started our family. Sarah so wanted a sibling. Especially a sister. Shit, she’d be so happy right now if she were….”

His voice tapers off but I know what he was going to say.

If she were alive.

I place my hand on his and squeeze it. “Tommy told me. I know nothing I say can make up for it, but I am so sorry Joel. I miss her terribly. I can’t imagine how it is for you.”

His mouth sets in a line, his jaw clenching, hand squeezing a little tighter on my thigh as if he’s trying to prevent himself from losing it.

“Maybe if I had known you were pregnant, and we came over, she’d still be alive.”

“Oh, Joel, no. You can’t think like that-”

“I failed her.”

He spoke so quietly I almost didn’t hear him. The guilt in his words, however, was loud enough to hear from space. I bring my other hand to the side of his face, cupping his cheek, his patchy greyish stubble poking at my fingers, and gently turn his face upwards to mine.

“You are a great man, Joel. And a hell of a father. There is no way that Sarah would ever think that you failed her in any way. She loved you so much and idolized you.”

The tears come this time, unable to hold them back any longer. I pull him to me and hug him, cradling the back of his head as he cries into my shoulder, mourning the loss of his daughter anew as he attempts to put aside the intense load of guilt he’s carried around for the last 2 decades. We stay like this for a while, my own tears mixing with his, as the light from the setting sun streaks through the curtains.

Eventually, Joel pulls back, wiping at his face with the back of his hand before he finally looks at me, his beautiful eyes puffy from tears. I’m sure mine don’t look any better.

“Sorry about that.”

“Sorry for what? Being human?”

He smiles and the room lights up with it. “You were always so good at that.”

“At what?”

“Letting me feel things. And makin’ me feel like I wasn’t a complete fuck up.”

“That’s because you aren’t.”

He scoffs, smirking at me in disbelief. “I’ve had to do some shady shit to survive, sweetheart.”

“Who hasn’t?”

“You got me there. I’m still a fuck up though. Don’t know how you didn’t see it.”

“Hhmm…” I put my finger to my chin in mock thinking. “It’s probably because I’m in love with you then.”

Joel cocks his head slightly to the side, questioning my statement. I’m not sure why, as my love for him is no secret to me.

“In love? Not was in love?”

Oh.

“I-”

The front door opens and Poppy walks in. I nearly jump out of my skin, having been completely absorbed in our conversation. Or was it more of a confession?

“Hey Mom! I’m only home to grab some clothes. Then I’m heading to Lyra’s. There’s this new girl in town, Ellie? She’s only 15 but she’s pretty cool. Oh.” Poppy had walked into the living room, her eyes, exactly like her father’s, shifting from me to Joel. I stand and Joel copies me, staying put while I walk around the couch towards Poppy.

“Mom..I didn’t know you had company. You never have company.” She thinks she’s speaking quietly but it’s not quiet enough.

“Poppy-”

“I mean, I think it’s great, but….but…” Her eyes fully take in Joel, landing on his face as she stares, her eyes slowly widening in realization. She had only seen him in the photos I was able to share with her, a few printed ones and then some on the cell phone I had refused to toss away, carting it across the country along with a charger in hopes of finding power to charge it.

“Dad?” Poppy whispers in disbelief.

Joel looks nervous, his weight shifting from foot to foot. This man has faced countless clickers, bandits, and worse, but meeting his 20 year old daughter is the thing that does him in?

God I love this man.

His hand comes up and does a little wave as he stares back at her, clearing his throat. “Hi. I’m uh… I’m Joel.”

“Dad!” Poppy drops her bag and runs, launching herself over the couch and straight into his arms, wrapping herself around him as she cries. It takes Joel a moment to recover from the intense reaction, but he wraps his arms around her and holds her, hugging her just as tight. Tears obstruct my vision and I blink quickly, trying to wipe them away so I don’t miss a moment of this meeting.

Her feet back on the floor, Poppy pulls back, her eyes raking over Joel’s face. “Was I too much?”

Joel laughs, smiling down at his daughter. “Not enough.”

She laughs and he brings his hand to her face, wiping away her tears. “I’m sorry, Poppy.”

“For what?”

“I didn’t…I didn’t know-”

She waves her hand. “Mom told me everything. You never knew I existed and then the world went to shit. It’s ok. You’re here now and that’s what matters! Wait - you are staying right?”

Joel’s eyes shift from Poppy’s to mine and I look back at him waiting for an answer myself. I want him to stay, desperately need him to stay, but I understand if he wants to leave. I never asked if he had someone waiting for him somewhere.

“I don’t wanna step on you or your mom’s toes-”

Poppy blows a raspberry. “Step away! I know mom is thrilled you’re here. And I want to get to know my dad….dad… I can finally say that! ‘Hey, this is my dad!’ ‘Have you met my dad?’ I just…I can’t believe you’re here and not….not here.”

Clever way of saying dead.

“Me too, Poppy.”

“Mom, I know I said I would meet my friends, but-” she glances back at me and then smiles, giving me a knowing wink “-but I..will be going…to meet up with…Benny. Yeah, he’s uh probably waiting. For me. So I’ll just…grab my things and leave you two…alone…”

She is so not slick, but I love her so much.

She gives me another wink before fully turning to Joel. “We can hangout and talk more?”

“I look forward to it.”

She squeals and gives him one more hug before bounding across the hall to her room and reemerging only a handful of minutes later with a backpack.

“Poppy?”

“Mom?”

“Stay for dinner at least. Then you can meet up with your friends.”

“Ugh, mom. You’re smothering me.” She has a smile while she says it, casually tossing her bag down before sitting next to Joel.

I make dinner while they talk, Poppy telling him about her life and asking him a zillion questions about his. He seems to be able to talk about Sarah now, at least a little before Poppy tactfully changes the topic. They talk throughout dinner, laughing and joking, sounds I never thought I’d hear together. Eventually, Poppy leaves to hang out with her friends, excited to tell them about her dad. As soon as the door closes, Joel turns to me.

“Who’s Benny?”

Protective dad mode activated I see. Smiling, I tell him about Benny and how he’s a good guy and about he and Poppy. He seems more relaxed after but still in protective dad mode.

“I’ll have to meet him.”

“I’m sure you won’t have the choice not to.”

Dishes cleaned up, I offer Joel a glass of whiskey and he takes it, tasting a sip before setting it down on the coffee table as he relaxes back into the couch again.

“You and Ellie have a place to stay?”

“Yeah. Tommy and Maria gave us a house. Actually, it’s not too far from here I don’t think.”

“That’s great. I’m sure Ellie will be happy to have a more permanent place to live.”

“And her own room that she can slam the door to.”

We chat for a few minutes about parenting teenage daughters and the challenges it can bring. He takes another sip of his whiskey after telling me a bit about Ellie, or what he learned about her on their long trek anyway. It’s quiet between us again, but this time, I’m warmed by the whiskey and given a slight bit of confidence.

“In love.”

“What?” Joel asks, setting his glass down.

“From before. In love. Not was.”

He turns to me fully, his eyes raking across my face trying to detect a lie and finding none.

“It’s been 20 years, sweetheart. I don’t expect anythin’-”

“It’s always been you, Joel.”

His large hand cups the back of my head and pulls me to him, his lips crashing against mine and it’s like no time has passed, my lips immediately parting for him like they were created for just this purpose. His other hand comes up to cradle the other side of my head as my fingers cling to his shirt, trying to find purchase on literally anything. I feel like I’m falling but in the most glorious way possible. While I never gave up hope that he was alive, having him here, now, 20 years later, how we both defied odds to just end up in the same community, after the world had been torn apart…

He pulls back, his nose brushing against mine. “I never stopped loving you either, sweetheart.”

My hands slide up his chest and around his neck, gripping the curls at the back of his neck and feeling him groan as he slips his tongue in my mouth again, kissing me harder than before. I feel his fingers gently brush against the exposed skin at my hips, his hands having settled there and I can’t help the moan that escapes me. Joel’s touch has always sent electricity through me, but not having had it for 20 years is a whole new level.

“I don’t mean to be presumptuous, sweetheart, but-”

“My bedroom is down the hall, second door on the right.”

He smiles against my lips, chuckling darkly. “We have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

—----

>>I Never Stopped Living You Part 2>>

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

Original Idea from @theewokingdead:

"I have had this idea for a long-lost love refound fic with Joel Miller swimming around in my head for a while, but I don't think I'll ever get in the headspace to write it. So enjoy what I wish I could write and hope someone will steal. Warning: mention of pregnancy in the beginning.

Imagine it's September 26, 2013. You've been dating Joel for a while and, oops, you're pregnant. You're a flurry of emotions and have no idea how or when you're going to tell him. He calls you late that night, on his way home from a hellish day at the jobsite, telling you about the prick of a contractor he's been dealing with and can't risk losing his job. When he asks if you've checked in on Sarah you tell him that she's fine and you're sorry you were feeling too ill to stay with her today. When he inquires further about your illness, you opt not to say anything, not like this, not when he's had a shit day, and instead feign that everything is okay and you'll be fine. The call is interrupted by Tommy, and you insist Joel answer his call. He offers to call you back, but you tell him to go home and get some rest, that you'll hopefully see him tomorrow.

Of course, several hours later, all hell breaks loose. You manage to get a call through to Joel, telling you to stay put, that he'll come for you, then you lose connection. Joel never finds you, but you never lose hope.

Two decades later, you're living in Jackson, having crossed paths with Tommy a year earlier when he returned to Texas, where you never strayed far from. You overhear the talk - that Tommy Miller's brother is in town - but bandits attack before you can find the source of the rumor. Later, you find Tommy as he puts a horse away in the stable, and you question if it's true, that Joel is here, and he reluctantly tells you he was. You ask if he told Joel that you're here and he says that he did. Your heart sinks - of course he wouldn't still love you after all these years, but why wouldn't he at least want to see you before he left? You ask if he told Joel about your daughter - his daughter - and Tommy says no, that it shouldn't come from his mouth. You're furious, thinking maybe Joel would've stayed in town if he had known that he has a daughter. You let Tommy have it, and eventually he tells you why Joel was in town and why he left, about Ellie and the hope to find a cure. Finally, you come to your senses, realizing there are far more important matters, and try to move on from dreaming about having a little family with a man you never stopped loving.

Months later, you're walking around town when you run into Joel. There are a million different ways the reunion could go. How would you tell him about your shared daughter? How would he feel? Would he be pissed at Tommy for knowing and not telling him when he first came to Jackson? Would he be angry you didn't tell him that night when he called, before the Outbreak? Would he have done anything differently that night had he known - things that could've changed the trajectory of his entire life? Would he wonder if it would have kept you guys together as a family? Would he wonder if it would have even kept Sarah from suffering the fate she suffered? Would he blame you for it? I just imagine it would be one big emotional reunion. How would it end? I don't know. I just love a good re-found love fic - be it happy or sad. I love angst. I love an emotional Joel. It could be fun. But I'll never get around to writing it so let's just pretend I did 😭"

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @Hauntedmama @giuliarogers-blog @icanbeyourjedi @diaryofkali @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @jadore-andor @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed @ladykatakuri @marrianena @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #tlou #tlou fanfic #tlouff #The last of us #the last of us fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character ff #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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darkbluekies · 1 year

Text

King Edmund asks #2

Previous one

Concept: I've put multiple asks into one post to avoid too much loose posts on my account! This way, you have more to read too<3

Warnings: yandere

Hey there^^ I wanted to say that I’m sooo in love with your blog🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ Thanks for the hard work^^ I had a question about king Edmund. What if Edmund took darling to the meeting and he tried to convince the other king to give him recourses. But that king refuses and Edmund’s about to loose. And that’s the moment when darling joins the conversation and after some time the other king agrees(basically his darling knows politics and really smart).

[Thank you so much<3]

To be fair, this is a time where it isn't appropriate for women to be interested in politics, so he'd be shocked that you know so much. He'd also be a bit worried. If you're smart, that means that you'll stand against him easier. He'd rather have you cute and dumb.

"My love ... what are you doing? I mean ... thank you for saving me, but what the hell? How do you ...? Why do you ...?"

i was listening to music today and i realised that the song ‘The masochism tango’ by Tom Lehre reminds me sm of Edmund

I listened to it, I can see Edmund listening to it!!

What would yandere king do if he woke up in the morning to us gone again. He might panic and be mad again but it just turns out the reader was in the restroom

"Ah, you son of a bitch, Y/N, giving me a fucking heart attack at eight am! You better come back into bed and make up for that! What if my heart would have stopped, hm? The king could have died!"

It's no secret that Edmund is now.....not a favorite among the people, especially after the conflagration he arranged in the village. And for sure, some relatives of his devoted guardians ended their lives in the most painful way, this circumstance was the last cup of patience, but what darling takes advantage of this and plays the cards so that the hated king falls off the throne into the slums, thereby bringing justice to the people and yourself?

He will never let that happen. He refuses to let anyone take the power away from him. But if it does happen, he will get his revenge on you. You won't be leaving him whatever happens. So, would you rather be locked in him in a big castle where all of your needs are met ... or chained together with him in a ditch somewhere?

I would enjoy living in lavish paradise with Edmund but wouldn't want kids unless there furbabys/dogs/cats would Edmund be fine with this?

I mean ... he wouldn't have too much of a problem with it, but the country would. You need an heir. Edmund would try to convince you to have one ... even if you've made up your mind.

"We don't have to care for it", he says. "We can just birthed it and let maids take care of it. My parents did that to me and it worked."

You take one look at him and shake your head. "Over my dead body. I don't need another one of you."

"And what's that supposed to mean-"

When I think of the Edmund five I think of a Marie Antoinette vibe I really liked that time period.Most likely because of the indie movie I really liked that movie what do you think?

Hm, interesting thinking, i can see what you mean. For me it's more of a fairytale thing, like medeveal (?) but not at the same time? His timeline is quite timeless.

hi i want to tell you about this random thought I had, but what if edmund's darling was a noble and his fiance right from the start? what would change between their relationship?? and would it make a difference if the fiance only feel obligated and complied to care about him cuz of the arranged marriage?? thank you and have a great day/night‼️‼️‼️

He'd be more than thrilled because he wouldn't have to create that blood bath he planned, but his violence wouldn't end. He is a young man needing that spark in his life. For him, it wouldn't really matter why you were nice to him, as long as you were.

What would Edmund do if we don't like being pampered? As in like we don't want to wear jewelry or fancy clothes we just want to wear comfy clothes also we'd start crying and begging not to wear fancy clothes if he forced us

He'll try to pursuade you since his reputation is a big deal for him, but when your eyes become so red and puffy with tears and you can barely breathe, he'll give up. He'll embrace you, whispering that you won't have to wear the clothes often. Only on important events. His heart will ache at the feeling of your trembling body in his arms, but he knows that he can't give in too much, he's still a king who has his rules.

"Don't cry, my queen, everything has a solution. We just have to compromise. Wipe those tears and sit down in my lap so we can talk."

Edmund - *kills hundreds* Reader - >:( Edmund - I Uh- I love you? Reader - >:( *angrily happy*

aww haha itll be like that sometimes

——————————————————

Edmunds (or however you spell it) better gimme attention now or I'ma throw a tantrum.

Oh, don't you worry, his eyes are all on you. You have all the attention he can give a person. Now spin around and dance with him.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere drabbles #yandere imagines #yandere fics #yandere oc x you #yandere stories #yandere king #yandere royal #yandere scenarios

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odinsblog · 7 months

Note

Hey! Just wanted to clarify something so you don’t spread misinformation. You’re right that the president of Israel did comment that the citizens of Gaza are responsible (or something like that) when a reporter asked if that meant that all citizens of Gaza were reasonable targets, he immediately walked it back and said of course not. What he said initially was terrible, but your post indicated that the Israeli government would not be considering civilians non-combatants and that isn’t true

[re: this post, or maybe this one, Idk]

Yeah, sorry, anon, but it doesn’t work that way. That’s not “misinformation,” it’s literally what he said. Literally. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

If a racist publicly announced they thought all Black people were subhuman, or if a homophobe proclaimed they believe that all LGBTQ people are are groomers, and then tried to walk it back, but I posted about what they said, that isn’t “misinformation.”

Misogynist: I hate all women.

Reporter: Really? You hate ALL women?

Misogynist: No, of course not. Sometimes dem hoes be aight.

Anon: It’s misinformation if Odin doesn’t tell everyone that the misogynist said he doesn’t really hate ALL women.

Oversimplified, but hopefully you get my point.

It doesn’t matter if they “walked it back”. They still said what they said, and I am under no obligation to update my post to reflect them trying to put the mask back on after they just went full mask-off.

I’m not their public relations manager.

Here’s something Maya Angelou once said, and I fully agree with her:

And the Israeli government is currently bombing the fuck out of noncombatant civilians in Gaza, and they have a history of bombing noncombatant civilians, so try to imagine my complete lack of trust when they say they aren’t doing what they ARE doing, and have a long and very well documented history of doing.

Every time the IDF says they suspected Hamas of being in UN schools and apartment buildings, I don’t have to just take them at their extremely worthless word.

Rhetorical question here, anon: if Hamas is coercing civilians for human shields, then which is worse — the terrorist who uses human shields, or the army that bombs the human shields anyway?

Think about it.

Look, I’m a Black man living in America so please believe me when I say that I’ve seen racist politicians, police, and government officials try to “walk back” their racist words my entire life. It doesn’t mean I’m legally required to believe them. What I believe in is actions, not the tepid, strategically timed “walk backs” of an apartheid state.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure I know who this is (you’ve sent me similarly toned asks before), and it’s fairly obvious that we are not going to agree on this, and that’s okay, I guess, but please don’t ask or dm me on this topic again. I’m also not required to respond to every random anon with a keyboard and an internet connection. I have an inbox full of unanswered asks, and I’m doing this whole blogging thing for funsies; I’m not getting paid to answer a long line of asks, and I don’t have the time.

I only just recently turned the anon feature back on. Please don’t make me regret it.

#anon #ask #answered #palestine #israel #gaza

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greenhikingboots · 1 year

Text

Jon’s Pre-Canon Crush

Okay, Jonsa fam. I’ve seen a lot of great posts, especially in the last few months, about Jon’s reactions to Val. Among them, there’s one particular vein I like to assume everyone loves as much as I do. That is, when Jon thinks of Val’s hair as silver vs. when he thinks of it as the color of dark honey. You’ve seen those metas, right? They explain the likelihood of Jon’s future connection to Dany being negative — The air tastes cold. / My tongue is too numb to tell. All I taste is cold. — while his future connection to Sansa will be positive — It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

Well, in this post I want to expand on the angle of Val-is-sometimes-a-stand-in-for-Sansa. Only, I don’t want to speculate on what will happen between Jon and Sansa in the future, if we ever get GRRM’s last two books. Enough people have already done that, and they’ve done it so wonderfully that I have little to add. Instead, as the title of this post says, I want to focus on Jon’s pre-canon crush. More specifically: I want to focus on what Jon’s thoughts and feelings about Val say about his thoughts and feelings about Sansa.

But let me lay some groundwork first, okay? Until a few weeks ago, I went back and forth on pre-canon crush theories. I agreed they held a lot of potential and were a lot of fun to daydream about — a great premise for a one-shot, to be sure! Oh, and I’ve always loved it when people said things like, “Hey, Jon, your Targaryen is showing.” That’s classic stuff. But did I really think GRRM meant to hint at prior feelings rather than just laying a foundation for future feelings? Again, until a few weeks ago, I wasn’t totally convinced either way. But now I am fully committed to the Pre-Canon Crush Camp, assigned to cabin Jon-Had-Feelings-for-Sansa. [Did Sansa have feelings for Jon too? Ummm maybe? I think there’s some evidence to support that, but not as much. But, hey, that’s not the point of this post. Sorry. Moving on.] So what changed? Well, basically some ideas I’d previously had sunk in on a deeper level. It started with this post from @sherlokiness. It talks about GRRM commenting on a discrepancy in the books, two occasions where Jeyne Westerling’s physical descriptions do not match up. GRRM said the discrepancies were a mistake, a really unfortunate one because it distracts from the times when he intentionally included discrepancies of physical appearances. And basically us Jonsas loved it. Like, “Yep! Make sense! We assumed as much already, Mr. Martin.” And that’s because of the canon line mentioned earlier, right? You know the whole thing, don’t you? Oh, but you want me to quote it here anyway? Okay, fine, I’ll oblige.

They [Ghost and Val] look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white [bleh, bleh, bleh] …but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

Direwolf. Lots of white. Suspicious ellipses. Blue eyes. Long braid the color of dark honey. Right, okay, got it. [BTW. Did you know there’s also a point, early on, where Val’s described as having high cheekbones? You know, a feature Sansa has as well!?!?] Anyway, when I saw sherlokiness’s post about GRRM’s comments and the Jonsas relating it to that canon scene with Ghost and Val, I reblogged it. Naturally. And in the tags I said something like, “I’ll have to double check but I’m pretty sure the willowy creature line comes after this line. As in, maybe Jon knew exactly who Val reminded him in that moment and he was trying to talk himself out of his pre-canon crush coming back to the surface.” I’m paraphrasing here. My tags were probably not as clear as that. Also, I was being a bit facetious. It was a thought I’d had before, but just a passing one. Again (AGAIN! Do I say that too much?), I’d been going back and forth about pre-canon crush theories for a long time. But @agentrouka-blog saw my tags and was like, “You might be onto something there.” And then @zimshan saw my tags too and did the double check for me. Thanks! And guess what? GUESS WHAT, JONSA FAM!? I was right about the order. First, Jon sees Ghost and Val, thinks her eyes are blue and her hair is like dark honey, and it is a lovely sight. Second, this line:

Val looked the part [of a princess] and rode as if she had been born on horseback. A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her.

But guess what else? The order isn’t even the most striking thing. The most striking thing is how closely these two lines appear to one another — within just a few pages!!! That's what zimshan said. So I went back to read it myself. Not just the two lines to check the order, but a little before, and a little after, and everything in between. If you want, you can do the same. It’s ADWD Jon XI.

Want to know what stuck out to me most? The willowy creature line actually seems… so odd, and out of place, and unnecessary. I swear to you. Let me try to explain.

Basically, by that point in the chapter, Jon has already clearly established his take on Val. She’s beautiful, everyone knows it, but she’s more than that. She’s strong and capable. She found Tormund and brought him back to Castle Black when Jon’s Night’s Watch Rangers couldn’t manage it. Like, Jon’s thankful for Val, okay?

Oh, and he also seems aware that he holds her in higher regard than the rest of the men who keep calling her a princess even though she’s not one. I think he feels smug about it, to be honest. Like, he wouldn’t use these words because it’s ASOIAF, but he knows he’s a budding feminist and he’s proud of himself for it. Like, “I’m so much better than these asshats who don’t respect women and think all Val has to offer is her pretty face.”

How great is that? I love book Jon so much.

Where was I, though? Oh! Oh, oh, oh! This next part is key. Up until the willowy creature line, Jon has not had a single disparaging thought about Val. Val being cruel about Shireen’s greyscale hasn’t happened yet. But for some reason — *Getting too executed. Brain malfunctioning!*

AH! I SWEAR JONSA FAM! If you read the willowy creature in fuller context, it comes across as if Jon’s correcting himself for having a disparaging thought about Val, like he’s reminding himself of who she truly is. She’s a warrior princess, not a willowy creature. But like, why? Why does Jon feel the need to do this? He hasn’t had a disparaging thought about Val, so why correct himself as if he has?

Just because she’s beautiful? Just because he’s tired of other men calling her a princess? I mean, I guess that could be the whole story. That’s certainly how we’re supposed to take it, if we’re taking it at face value. But I’m not convinced. Go read it again, and I think you’ll see that when the willowy creature line happens, it actually feels like a weird logic leap.

The dots aren’t connecting because one dot is missing!!!! Let me put a pin in that for a moment while I turn to other mini metas in our Jonsa fandom. Antis like to say, “Jon doesn’t like girls like Sansa. He doesn't like willowy creatures, he said so himself.” But we know that’s crap, right? The boy who liked Ygritte’s gentle side? The boy who helps Alys Karstark by marrying her to Sigorn? The boy who dreamed his mother was a highborn lady with kind eyes? The boy who wanted to show his hypothetical wife Winterfell’s glass gardens and bath with her in the hot pools?

Yeah, that boy is a budding feminist, like I said.

So again I ask (AGAIN!) why would Jon — who is not especially critical of women in general and has not been critical of Val at all up to this point — feel the need to correct himself by thinking this critical thing about willowy creatures? In other words, why does he lift up Val by putting down some vague idea of other women he’s never had a problem with before?

Well, obviously it turns out that I believe my facetious, tongue in cheek tags more than I realized when I wrote them. My position is that somewhere in the two pages between ...a long while since Jon had seen a sight so lovely… and ...not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair… Jon realized Val reminded him of Sansa, he felt guilty and ashamed about it, and then felt the need to do damage control. And because guilt and shame are icky, confusing feelings, his damage control took the form of being critical of Sansa even though he isn’t normally critical of such women.

Am I making sense? How do I explain myself further? Like, why am I so stuck on this idea Jon’s willowy creature line being two pages after the Ghost and Val looking lovely together line must mean Jon had a pre-canon crush?

I think the crux is what I said about the willowy creature line feeling like a weird logic leap — like the dots aren’t connecting because one is missing. The missing dot is Jon being aware that he’s mentally swapped Val with Sansa. He just doesn’t acknowledge this on the page.

Let me be extra clear. I’m now differing from several others who have written about pre-canon crush theories in that I think Jon was aware of his crush. I’ve seen many say it’s all subconscious. But this stuff with Val makes me think otherwise.

I mean, I know Jon has a pattern of dissociation. For him, thinking, and speaking, and acting from his subconsciousness is a common occurrence. So, yes, he could have subconsciously thought Val looked like Sansa and subconsciously felt guilty and ashamed and therefore subconsciously decided to do damage control by subconsciously reminding himself Val is a warrior princess and therefore not a willowy creature.

But I think GRRM was hinting at an exception to Jon’s pattern with these canon lines. Because if the first part is happening subconsciously — Jon thinking Val looks like Sansa and that it’s a lovely sight — then he wouldn’t feel the need to do damage control afterwards? If he wasn’t aware of thinking of Sansa in that moment, isn’t it more likely he’d just carry on with taking Val to meet Selyse, and the odd, out of place, unnecessary line about a willowy creature wouldn’t have been included? What else, what else?

I said earlier that I think Jon’s crush is an innocent, not sexual thing. Let me expand on that. And uuuuuhhhhh... let me clarify that I think that might be changing some over time. My guess is when Jon was younger, his thoughts were more along these lines: “Sansa is pretty, and a proper lady, and everything men are taught to want. She’ll be a good wife for someone someday. Obviously not me. That’s sinful, I don’t want it, and I’m a bastard so I can’t marry a highborn lady anyway. But objectively, Sansa’s a good catch.” Which kinda matches how Jon thinks of Val at times, right? Like, she’s a catch but he doesn’t want her. He’s not taking Winterfell and a Wife because Winterfell belongs to Sansa and he’s a man of the Night’s Watch, dammit! But hang on a second. Sometimes Jon’s thoughts about Val are more elicit, aren’t they? He thinks about the size of her breasts and she’s the hypothetical wife he pictures romancing in Winterfell. Don’t worry, I’m not saying I’m secretly a Jon/Val shipper. What I’m getting at is this other thing we’ve talked about in the Jonsa fandom. Jone projects his general desires onto Val. He’s getting older. He’s unhappy at the Wall. Winterfell isn’t Robb’s like he thought it would be, and Bran and Rickon are thought to be dead. And Stannis is offering Winterfell and Val to him. Plus he’s now been intimate with a woman, Ygritte. So he knows that sex feels nice. All in all, Jon’s becoming more in tune with wanting Winterfell, and a wife, and a family, and wanting to fu—

You get the idea. ;)

Soooooo. If you buy into the premise that A) Jon considered Sansa a good catch when they were younger B) He’s thinking more and more about romance and sex C) Val is also a good catch and easy to project feelings onto and D) Woopsies, Val just reminded me of Sansa! Well, then where does all that leave Jon? Feeling like he needs to distance himself from positive thoughts about Sansa, right? But without ever thinking her name because of his pattern of dissociation and because GRRM is tricky like that. Am I making my point clearer, or just talking in circles? Like, I know plenty of people have already said Val is a switch-back-and-forth-stand-in-for-other-characters. The first two short paragraphs of this post mentions those metas. But holy smokes! If Jon is aware of A-D mentioned above, that adds a fascinating layer of subtext to his scenes with and thoughts about Val. Let’s talk about it forever!

Just kidding. I think I’m almost done here. Basically, I think the willowy creature line is Jon knowingly saying to himself, “Yikes, the thoughts I had about Sansa in the past didn’t bother me much because they were 99% innocent. But they are less innocent now and that’s a problem! You can’t like Sansa! Don’t confuse Sansa with Val, dummy! Val is a warrior princess! Sansa is a willowy creature and willowy creatures are bad!”

Okay, sure, Jon. Let me wrap up with one more canon line.

Of Sansa brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow.

We often link this line to Ygritte for obvious reasons, but I’m now in the habit of linking it more to Val and the canon lines mentioned previously. I think GRRM wrote a the three lines — a sight so lovely + willow creature + of Sansa brushing out Lady’s coat — as a subtle continuation of one another. Us Jonsas saw the potential for underlying romantic feelings in the last one, that’s nothing new. But I want to add that it’s a direct contrast to the willowy creature line. As Jon is bleeding out, he can no longer be bothered to put up a front and pretend he doesn’t have feelings for Sansa, feelings that have gotten more complicated as of late.

Oh so subtle. Really not that much different than what others have said before me. But different enough I wanted to mention it. Now someone put it in a fanfic!!

#jonsa #jonsa meta #jonsa pre-canon crush #did this make sense?#it's a blur #i almost gave up on writing it #but people seemed interested #so i hope i don't sound like a crazy person

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