#i want to just love my cat. but my mother makes it clear she thinks i deserve to be punished for not being able to work | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

woso-dreamzzz · 3 months

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Pets

Hardersson x Child Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Rocky the Rock

"Morsa," You say one random day off," Why does Sam have Helen?"

Magda looks up from where she's working on her laptop. You're sitting by the coffee table on the floor, cross-legged as you make your farmyard animals enact something that really reminds Magda of the book Animal Farm which is a little disconcerting but she's trying really hard not to focus on.

"Huh? Helen the cat?"

You nod.

"Well, Sam's got Helen for companionship. Helen's her pet cat."

That makes you frown a little bit. "Why?"

Magda shrugs. "Some people want a pet to keep them company. Some people have cats like Sam, some people have dogs or hamsters or other little things."

You go silent for a moment, you head bobbing up and down in a nod. "Okay," You say," Can I go play outside now, Morsa?"

Magda leans back in her chair to look out the window. It was meant to rain later on today and she didn't want you to get a cold but, thankfully, the sky is clear.

"Do you want someone to kick a ball at you?" Magda asks as she helps you slip on your coat.

"No thank you, Morsa," You say, practically vibrating to be let out," Just going to play."

"Okay. If you get hurt, yell and I'll come out, alright?"

"Okay!"

Magda types away at her laptop for a while as you play in the garden. Every so often, she drags her eyes up to check on you but you're just poking around in the gravel.

When Pernille comes home, you're still there and Magda is still typing.

"Where's Princesse?" Pernille asks before she drops down to steal a kiss.

"She's outside," Magda replies," Hey, Pernille, what does it mean when a kid starts asking about pets?"

"What?"

"Well, she was asking about why Sam has her cat. I said it was for companionship."

"Magda," Pernille says fondly," I love you so much sometimes."

"Sometimes? Not always?"

"You know what I mean. You're so oblivious sometimes."

Magda frowns. "Huh?"

"She's planting the seed in your mind," Pernille explains," So when she asks about getting her own pet then it's not out of nowhere."

"But we can't get a pet!" Magda says," We're moving soon!"

Pernille laughs. "She's probably angling for one when we go back to Germany. She's very smart."

"It's sneaky! Oh my god, are we going to have to start buying pet food?! And vet bills! I don't think there's a good vet near our new place and-"

Magda's mouth snaps closed as Pernille rests her hands on her shoulders. She's giving Magda a pointed look tinged with amusement.

"Magda," She says," Calm down. We're not getting her a pet."

"Oh." Magda blows out all her air. "We're not?"

"No. We'll be much too busy and Princesse's still very little. A pet would just add stress onto everything."

"But she wants one."

"And I want a three course meal and for Sam's whole existence to stop being a threat to Princesse's wellbeing but I'm not getting any of that anytime soon."

Magda laughs. Her hand reaches for Pernille's hip, dragging her closer until she's comfortably sitting on Magda's lap. "I can make you the meal. I'm not too sure I can help with Sam though. I can wrap Princesse up in bubble wrap though."

Pernille smiles. "You're so sweet, Magda." She cards her fingers through Magda's hair, leaning forward to steal a kiss like she did earlier. "You're such a good mother."

Magda rarely gets embarrassed about these things but with Pernille's weight in her lap and you playing in the garden, there are no interruptions. Her face flushes red at the compliments.

"The perfect mother for our little girl," Pernille continues, littering kisses all over Magda's face," You and her are so alike."

"I think she's more like you," Magda can scarcely gets the words out as Pernille bites at her earlobe.

"That's only because you're so oblivious. You and Princesse are more similar than you think."

"Well-"

"Momma! You're home!"

Pernille looks over Magda's shoulder to see you. Your hands are covered in dirt like you've been digging around in the flowerbeds again and you're pulling off your shoes, throwing them onto the floor.

"You look like you've been having fun," Pernille laughs," You're all dirty."

"Only a little," You say, wiping a hand on the front of your shirt," Where's my googly eyes?"

Magda frowns. She'd been preparing herself for you to ask about a pet, not about your arts and crafts supplies. "Er...Should be in the toy box."

"Thank you!"

You run off without even giving Pernille a hug, though she's secretly grateful for that because your hands look to be caked in dirt.

Magda sighs. "Is she going to start sticking those eyes on her shoes again?"

"I hope not. She nearly had a breakdown when they fell off last time."

Neither of them get an explanation about what you're doing with your googly eyes until way after dinner when you stand in front of them sitting on the sofa.

Magda takes a deep breath.

This is it.

It's time to completely break your heart.

"Sam has Helen as her pet," You begin," Morsa says Helen's for companionship."

"Pets are a lot of work," Magda says quickly, wanting the soften the blow," They take a lot of care."

You frown, your crinkle appearing between your brows. "Even the little things?"

"Even them," Pernille says solemnly," The little ones a very complicated. You have to feed them and clean out their cages."

You nod along before," That's okay. I've got one that doesn't need feeding."

That alarms Magda and she remembers how you were poking around in the garden all day. She wonders if you've managed to dig up a mouse or something from the dirt.

Pernille also looks suitably alarmed and her eyes immediately dart to where your hands are hiding behind your back.

"Princesse," She says slowly," Have you brought something into the house that you shouldn't have?"

You shake your head. "He is my pet," You say.

"Princesse-" Magda begins before her mouth hangs open in shock.

"His name is Rocky," You say proudly as you hold up a little granite rock from behind your back. You've stuck a set of three googly eyes on it. "And he is my pet."

"That's a rock," Magda says.

"Yes. Rocky the rock. My pet."

"Pernille, that's a rock."

"I can see that, Magda."

"I found him all by myself," You boast, puffing out your chest," I saved him from the cold and gave him eyes so he can see. He's my pet and he's going to sleep in my bed with me."

Magda can do nothing but stare with an open mouth as you show off your new rock.

"Pernille," Magda manages to whisper as you fawn and coo over your new rock," She dug up a rock."

"Yes, she did."

"She wants to sleep in bed with it."

"Yes, she does."

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

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galedekarios · 7 months

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gale & his mother, morena dekarios

i thought it'd be nice to have a place to compile everything i could find about gale's mother, morena dekarios.

the first time you as the player get a vague mention about gale's parents is after saving mirkon, when gale brings up a story about his parents denying him a kitten when he was still a child:

Gale: One time my parents denied me akitten, so I summoned myself a tressym.

if you play a gale origin playthrough, you get a mention of her much earlier from tara, after she joins the camp.

this is a camp dialogue with its variants from act i:

Tara the Tressym: Well, if it isn't my favourite fellow himself. Player: How are things back in Waterdeep? Tara the Tressym: More or less the same - though news of some mad faction calling themselves 'Absolutists' is starting to trickle in. Tara the Tressym: I told your mother not to worry. That if they were anything to worry about, Baldur's Gate would handle things quick-sharp. Keep them from spreading their tendrils north. She still wants to know when she'll see you again, sir. I avoid giving any answers. But she misses you. Player: I miss her too. Tara the Tressym: I'll tell her. With my Cat Flap of Displacement, I can afford the occasional visit. I'd bring you along, if I could. Perhaps some day. - Player: I can't risk putting her in danger. Tara the Tressym: I know that, but she doesn't. She'd keel over if she knew just how you'd tried to manipulate the Weave. Or maybe she'd just say something like, 'My Gale always was one to make the impossible possible.' Oh, but she adores you. - Player: No more guilt trips, Tara. Please. Tara the Tressym: But then whatever will we talk about? Anyhow - I'm keeping my senses pricked for any sign of another item that might be of use to you. Hopefully something will turn up soon.

it's clear from the dialogue that gale's mother worries about him and loves him - adores him, really.

it also becomes clear that she doesn't know what happened to gale and that he nor tara has not told her.

another mention from act i, again from tara:

Tara the Tressym: Please tell me you've at least made inroads when it comes to finding someone to settle down with. Myself and Mrs Dekarios are starting to think you intend to die alone. Player: You've been visiting my mother? Tara the Tressym: Naturally. After you abandoned her, there was only me left to keep her company. She's very good company, though. Ah, the stories we've traded over toast and tea. You're a highly entertaining source of speculation. But speculation only goes so far! Tell me, Mr Dekarios - how have you been?

tara and morena are implied to have tea together regularly enough to trade stories about gale. tara is implied to be a sort of messenger between the two of them, likely after gale's isolation and subsequent abduction by the nautiloid, keeping morena informed, yet without revealing gale's secret and shame.

the devnotes also state that tara loves morena - high praise since other devnotes states that tara hates everyone except gale - and that she talks of her in an affectionate tone.

this is a dialogue in act ii after mystra has tasked gale to use the orb the moment he finds the heart of the absolute:

Tara the Tressym: Promise me, Gale. Promise me you'll find another way. Promise me you'll return home, when this is all over. Player: I can't make that promise, Tara. Tara the Tressym: You're going to kill me. And your mother. And then there'll be no one to mourn you when you've wasted yourself for no good reason at all.

i find it very interesting here in terms of other relationships that tara explicitly says that there will be no one to mourn gale except morena and her should he heed mystra's instructions and sacrifice himself. it speaks of the bond between tara, morena and gale - but also even more of gale's isolation and loneliness. we know from tara that she considers herself to be gale's only old friend and gale echoes as much. we also know that gale describes the dekarios family as the dekarios clan, that is "scattered" far and wide.

at the same time, the loud silence about gale's father becomes really apparent again. a while ago, i speculated about gale's father and i truly do still think that he abandoned morena and gale.

another snippet from an act ii convo, before gale reveals the details of elminster's letter to tara (or chosing to keep it to himself):

Tara the Tressym: I'm not one to pry. I'd rather make up all the juicy details myself over tea with your mother.

which again ties in with a similar line from act i, further cementing the fact that this is a regular thing between tara and morena.

still in act ii, tara says this if gale asks her if she'll still love him if he is a mindflayer:

Player: Will you love me when I'm a mind flayer? Tara the Tressym: Depends. Are mind flayers warm-blooded? If so, my prize napping spot on your lap won't be compromised. In which case, I suppose we could find an accord. And, of course, your mother would still think you a prince, no matter how many tentacles you had. And with a nautiloid, you may even manage to visit her more often.

again, gale's mother truly adores him. tara is utterly convinced she'd love him even if he'd turn into a mind flayer. at the same time, the dialogue again hammers home the fact that gale's been keeping his distance from his mother after he has acquired the orb.

the following lines are a compilation of some of tara's lines from act iii, all once again stating that she is a messenger between gale and morena, keeping morena informed about gale's well-being, while also looking after morena in gale's absence from waterdeep:

Tara the Tressym: You're almost at the end of this, Gale. You're nearly there. And not a moment too soon. Myself, I must away to Waterdeep. Your mother will be worried silly not to have heard from either of us - and now I can bring her the good news. When this is all over I'll be waiting for you, with a crackling fire and good book at the ready. Good luck, darling. - Tara the Tressym: I'm well past due to return to Waterdeep. I'm going to tell your mother that you'll be home soon. Don't make a liar of me, darling. - Tara the Tressym: I'll have to make up some good news for your dear mother, then. I'm going home, Gale. To look after Mrs Dekarios, and to remind you that there are people waiting for you in Waterdeep.

going back to companion gale, the next mention of gale's mother after saving mirkon, is from gale in an ambient with karlach:

Gale: I don't suppose you've any clue where we are in relation to Waterdeep? Karlach: From this distance between Elturel and Baldur's Gate, I'd say... a long way away.devnote Gale: Ah. That will make getting word to my mother rather tricky. No matter - what she doesn't know can't hurt her. Not at this distance, anyway.

it echoes the lines of dialogue that origin gale has, believing he endangers his mother with his condition and thus keeping his distance.

gale mentions his mother in an act iii dialogue after meeting tara on the rooftop of the open hand temple:

Gale: My tower in Waterdeep boasts an excellent kitchen and a wine cellar to rival Ondal himself. Not to mention a larder stocked with my homemade hundur sauce. Player: Hundur sauce? Gale: A Waterdhavian delicacy, spiced to leave exactly the right amount of heat lingering on the tongue, and served with that most sharp-toothed of aquarian residents, the quipper fish. I make it to my mother's recipe. It packs quite a wallop. As does she.

we know that gale's the designated camp cook from a conversation with wyll, and i think the conversation makes it fair to assume that gale's mother taught him how to cook.

still, maybe it's because i'm not a native english speaker and i might be missing some cultural context here, but the line "it packs quite a wallop. as does she." stuck out to me:

wallop. to hit something / someone hard.

this could mean that gale's seen her hit someone and packing quite a punch behind it. with what's been described of morena so far, i doubt it's because gale's ever been on the receiving end of that.

or perhaps it's less literal and more in relation to her seemingly larger than life personality that gale also hints at later, describing his mother as "intimitable" and "sometimes unavoidable". this description is from the following conversation that is currently sadly still bugged:

Player: So your last name is Dekarios? Gale: It is. Courtesy of my mother, the inimitable, dare I say it sometimes unavoidable, Morena Dekarios. It's been so long since I've used it. 'Gale Dekarios' cut a poor figure next to the wizard prowess of 'Gale of Waterdeep'. Player: Gale Dekarios... I think I like him more. Gale: You like to many things about me I'd have sooner discarded... Your generosity is quite wonderful. Gale Dekarios likes you too. Very, very much. Though let's keep his exitence between ourselves for now. - Player: Doesn't your matter mind? Gale: Oh, she's happy if I'm happy. Morena couldn't care one jot what I call myself. Tara's the real stickler for using it. Has done since I summoned her. I'd prefer you not follow her exmaple, if that's all the same to you. 'Gale' is more than sufficient. - Player: You're right. Just 'Gale is better. Gale: I agree. And on the plus side, if I get myself into any truly cataclystic straits during the remainder of our journey, my family name will go untarnished.

i love this banter so much and it makes me very sad that larian still hasn't fixed the issue of it not triggering. there's so much lore to explore here:

from gale dropping 'dekarios' in favour of 'of waterdeep', at first, to appear perhaps more grandiose, more suited to the ambitions he held when he was younger, to morena, apparently, not minding it, yet tara clinging to 'dekarios' (perhaps to keep gale's feet on solid ground as much as she could), to finally finding out that the reason that the gale we meet now is not using 'dekarios' still is because he doesn't wish to tarnish his family name should he indeed fall victim to the orb.

the last mention gale makes of his mother is during his act iii post final battle dialogue, in which he proposes to the player:

Gale: That being said, I wondered if you might consider accompanying me back to Waterdeep as a new member of the Dekarios clan? Player: Are you asking me to marry you? Gale: I suppose I am. Tara would be delighted. Not to mention my mother. But I'd be just as happy without such ceremony, so long as we're together.

this again mirrors what tara has been saying in her dialogue with an origin gale in act i: that morena and her were hoping he would find someone to find happiness with.

i think overall, even with only the very few bits and pieces we learn of morena, it's easy to tell that she truly loves and adores and cares her son, and that that love and care is clearly echoed back from gale to morena.

still, or perhaps more likely because of that love, gale keeps his secrets and his distance to morena because of the orb and the shame he feels he brought to his family.

it's all too easy to imagine that he wishes her to be proud of him and that he feels he has disappointed her and given her little reason to be proud of him in the same vein that he feels he has done with tara:

Gale: She'd [Tara] be most impressed by our efforts saving these tieflings. Proud, even. And I've given her little to be proud of recently.

anyhow, i hope i caught all mentions and that this was helpful to someone. 🖤

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #morena dekarios #tara the tressym #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 meta #ch: gale dekarios #ch: morena dekarios #ch: tara the tressym #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #meta: mybg3

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createdbytragedy · 2 months

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SO, THERE'S THIS GIRL..........

A/N: Please check over this one too. It's kind of like the previous but can be read on its own too.

Pairing: Lee Minho x reader

Genre: Just fluff

Synopsis: Minho calls his mother to tell her about his new girlfriend

"Hello, Minho~ its been so long, my boy~~" Minho's mom sang through the phone, making him smile.

"I know, mom, how are you? how's dad?" he asked, shifting on the bed to get more comfortable.

"I'm fine and your dad's good too. He's feeding the cats for you. They have been missing you a lot!" His mother chirped, "You should come visit us soon."

Minho chuckled at his mom's enthusiasm. She was always so eager to meet him and actually did miss his parents and cats.

"I wish I could but the schedule 'is really tight these days. I miss Soonie, Doongie and Dori too. "He could feel his mother smile from the other side and it warmed his heart.

"It's okay. We're taking care of it for you," his mother said then paused ," did you want to tell me something?"

Minho felt his heart skip a beat. His mother had figured him out right away and he did not actually know how to start.

"Ahh......," she gasped, followed by laughter," is there someone in my son's life? Come on, tell me, who's the lucky girl, Minho?"

His mom's eagerness made him chuckle and his mind wanders back to you.

You were the girl in his life. Though he didn't know if that made you lucky or him. He smiled, looking out the window through his bed. The early morning rays had entered his bedroom and he had received a phone call from you early in the morning, wishing him a good day and telling him aboust your plans for the day as you got ready for work. He couldn't think of a better way to spend the morning and he can't help thinking what it would be like to wake up next to you.

Your little morning rant made his heart all warm and tingy and he knew he had to tell someone. Plus, it's been a while since he talked to his parents. So, here he was, hearing his mother's excited rant.

A sigh left his lips along with a smile. His cheeks flushed, getting a bit shy. His mother was always so supportive and even eager to hear him talk about a girl. She would instantly drop everything she was doing as soon as she heard a girl's name pop out of his mouth. Which wasn't very usual.

She would listen to him, give him advice and even tease him a bit until Minho got all red and refused to talk to her for 3 days. They had the kind of relationship everyone wished for and he will be forever thankful for having such a great mother like her.

"So..... There's this girl...." He trailed off, mind going back to you and the way you smile.

God, he was so in love with you.

He could almost see his mother smile through the phone, " What's her name?"

"(y/n). " He replied," And she has this eyes and this smile and her hair. I don't know what to say. She's just so sweet. And she also loves cats. "

"I feel like someone's in love here." His mother teased. If Minho was any younger and didn't know better, he would have blushed and denied. But this time, even he knew his mother was right.

He cleared his throat ," We started dating.... A month ago, actually."

"LEE MINHO!!!" Minho had to drag away the phone from his ear as his mother screeched ," why didn't you tell me about this (y/n) sooner? We're you trying to keep this a secret till you get her pregnant?! Are you already planning a wedding?! "

"Mom!" Minho scolds, his cheeks flushed at the thought and he heard his mother laugh.

"I was just joking, Min. But, tell me about her more.. when are you gonna introduce her to me?! Will she like me? "

"Relax, mom. She will like you. And I'm sure you'll like her too. "

"Of course! I already do," she beamed ," If she has managed to capture your heart, she sure is a kind and special woman. "

"Indeed, she is. " Minho agreed.

"Is she pretty? "

"Pretty? ," Minho scoffed," She's beautiful. In more than just one way. She's like you. Her cooking reminds me of you too. "

"Minho."

"Hm?"

"Don't let her go. For all the years I've known you, I have never heard you talk like that about a girl. Whoever she is, she is special. She makes you feel special. And most importantly, she loves you. Never let go of someone you love. Never give up on her. But if she chose to, let her go. Because love is never harsh and captive. Love is free. Love is for all. And I'm glad you found someone who made you understand love. "

A comfortable silence followed until Minho decided to break it, "I know, mom. I'd choose her happiness over mine any day. "

"Anyways, I have to go to practice. Stray kids code is airing tonight. Watch it. "

"I never miss a chance to see my handsome son. I'm so proud of you ."

"Okay then, I have to go. "

"Take care, Minho. And I hope I'll be receiving a wedding invitation soon. "

"Mom!"

With a chuckle, the line went blank. Minho smiled to himself, throwing the phone to the side.

He can't wait to marry you.

#lee minho #lee know #fluff #lee minho x reader #lee know x reader #skz #straykids #stray kids x reader #lee know imagine #lee know drabbles #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz scenario #fanfiction #skz stay

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dotster001 · 1 year

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Girlies End

Previous Chapters: One Two Three Choose Another Ending

Jamil's phone had been non stop ringing for the past ten minutes. Which was unfortunate, because he was trying to take notes for Kalim, who would definitely forget everything the cat was telling them.

"Our next step will be to have you slowly work your way into Y/N and my daily routine," Grim pointed a yardstick at step three on the whiteboard he was standing in front of. "Recommendations include, offering to buy my tuna, buying me regular gifts, purchasing necessities we need around Ramshackle, like a new deluxe mattress, or deluxe slippers, or carpeting so that I don't need the slippers. Really, you can just use your imagination here."

"What about a new diamond choker, that's super shiny, so Y/N always knows where you are?" Kalim asked excitedly.

"That's brilliant! It's ideas like that that prove you're the perfect match for Y/N!"

Jamil would normally have been livid. But he knew that someone like you would quickly see that Kalim wasn't as complex an individual as you needed. And he would be right there for you to fall for…

And if not…well…he'd gotten quite good at controlling his signature spell. He couldn't say he hadn't warned Grim. He was practically begging him to do it at this point!

"Will you please deal with that buzzing? Kalim and I can't think!" Grim suddenly shouted at Jamil, as his phone rang for the umpteenth time.

He scowled, before muttering a "be right back" and answering the phone in the hallway.

"What?" He snapped.

He quickly apologized upon hearing his mother's voice.

"I was just wondering if Najma was settling in all right?"

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Jamil asked, completely confused.

"Well, she said you had a guest room all set for her, but I just wanted to make sure she was comfy, and that you were both behaving."

"Wait, Najma is here?" Jamil had a terrible, horrible, feeling in his gut that he knew where she was.

"She said she saw you-"

"You're right mom, sorry, I've been overwhelmed lately and just got confused for a moment." It was a terrible excuse, he just had to hope his mother would accept it.

"Alright, just make sure you get some rest. Tell Najma I love her, and to be good!"

He breathed a sigh of relief as she hung up the phone. Then he made a beeline to Ramshackle.

The door was cracked when he got there, so he just walked right in. And the first thing he saw was Najma making out with you, heavily, on the couch.

He cleared his throat, and Najma looked up, startled, before bursting into laughter. Confused, you looked up and covered your face with your hands.

He watched as you looked flustered, and mumbled nonsense as though trying to explain yourself. Najma just looked smug.

"Sup buttface?" she said.

"Jamil, I can explain!" You said.

"Nah, he knows now, babe, might as well tell him," Najma said, gently caressing your cheek. She turned back to Jamil.

"Y/N and I have been dating ever since they came to visit a couple months ago. We didn't tell you cause we knew you'd flip out."

"I-gah-I'm not flipping out! But why would you do this?!?!?"

You shrunk deeper into the couch, looking at Najma like she would protect you from Jamil's yelling. Najma continued to look smug, even in the face of danger.

"You're totally flipping out. But it's cool. I know it's cause you're jealous that I landed a hottie like Y/N, and you're gonna die miserable and alone."

Jamil frustratedly ran his hands through his hair.

"Najma…Y/N…gah! Y/N, you like girls?"

"Yes," you whispered.

"Yeah, Y/N likes girls, now get out of here so I can keep making out with my partner," Najma didn't even wait for him to react, she just grabbed your face and resumed kissing you.

"Najma-"

"Y/N, tell Jamil to stop being a little freak, so I can keep kissing you," Najma said poutily against your neck.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Jamil cut you off.

"I'm leaving! Sevens, if mom asks me if I've seen you though, I'm ratting you out."

Najma flipped him off as he left.

Once he exited the building, he leaned against the outer wall and groaned. Leave it to his sister to ruin everything he'd spent months planning. He shouldn't have even been surprised.

Oh well, he'd let you tell Grimm that he wouldn't spend his life living like a millionaire at the Asim household.

The End

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst najma #najma viper #najma x reader #najma viper x reader

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tobesolonely · 1 year

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harry brings y/n home a slice of strawberry shortcake from his boring business dinner, and he misses her a lot whenever she’s not around (bf!harry, 2.5k words)

warnings: smut

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Harry despises business dinners.

The incessant chatter of his manager and other industry folks was boring- the logistics side of his job always was- and whenever Y/N didn’t accompany him the time seemed to drag by insanely slow. He begged and begged for her to join him (even promised her they could leave the second it got to be too tiresome, he swore it) but he and Y/N both knew that wasn’t true. Harry’s attendance and opinion were much too important, almost non-negotiable, and he’d be among the last people to leave the dinner table. So, she declined (albeit very sweetly) to join him tonight. Harry promised to bring her back a slice of cake for dessert.

“Harry? You paying attention, man?” Jeff looks at Harry expectantly, along with three other bigwig people whose names he had already forgotten. He knew it was rude, but his mind was only half there whenever Y/N wasn’t around.

“What was tha’? Sorry mate,” Harry clears his throat and wraps his ringed hand around his glass, the condensation from his whiskey causing it to nearly escape his grip. He brings it up to his lips to take a small sip. “I’m a bit distracted.”

Jeff mumbles something under his breath about how he didn’t think he’d be so distracted if Y/N had joined them, but Harry chooses to ignore the comment and tune into what was happening so he didn’t embarrass himself in front of the people trying to make business deals with him anymore. He fakes interest like a pro, laughing whenever someone told a joke and good-naturedly throwing in a few of his own. His mother always taught him to be polite and engaged in his company, whether he wanted to be there or not.

When the last of the three important men at the table decide to call it a night Harry too pushed his chair back and stood from his seat at the head of the small rectangular table.

“I think ‘m gonna head home as well,” He slings his coat over his shoulder. “Gotta take Y/N this piece of cake I promised her, and all that.” Harry watches as Jeff stands and shrugs his own coat onto his shoulders.

“Just bring her next time, H,” Jeff shoots down the rest of his drink. “All you think about is her when she’s not around, anyway.”

Harry heats up in embarrassment at his manager’s observation but he knows it can’t be disputed. He sheepishly grins and promises to pay better attention at his next business dinner, but they both know that’s dependent on whether Y/N is at that one too.

His drive home is short and pleasant, filled with thoughts of Y/N and what she’s been doing all night to pass the time. She shared with him what she hoped to accomplish while he was out at dinner, but Harry also knew she had the tendency to scrap all her plans in favor of curling in front of the television to watch Forensic Files re-runs.

Harry jams the key in the door so roughly that for a moment he fears he won’t be able to get it out when it sticks a little bit. Luckily for him, it comes out after a few wiggles, and an embarrassing call to the locksmith is avoided.

”Yeah, hello? Could you come as soon as you can? I’ve gone and jammed my keys in the lock because I was too eager to see my girlfriend…”

“Harry? Is that you?”

Harry smiles to himself. She always asked the same question every time he came home as if it could be anyone else. As if it would be anyone else. “Yes, love,” he responds. “I didn’t forget your cake either. Fancy some?”

Y/N appears moments after his question is asked, eyes slightly drooping from the cat nap he’s sure he’s awoken her from. She’s dressed in his vintage ‘Jamaica’ tee and he’s pretty sure nothing else but a flimsy pair of panties, which makes his cock twitch just the slightest. He ignores it. She wraps her arms around his waist, pressing her chest flat against his in appreciation. He feels her inhale deeply and let out a quiet sigh of pleasure. She missed him just as much as he missed her.

“Thank you! Is this from the place that gives the huge slices?” She’s already unwrapping herself from around him and all but floating to the kitchen, she’s so excited to indulge in her piece of strawberry shortcake. “Share it with me, H? It’s not as good the next day so we need to finish it.”

Even though Harry is too full to take another bite of anything that wasn’t Y/N he immediately agrees, asking if she’d grab him a fork as well. She happily obliges and then leads the way to their comfy L-shaped sofa (which Y/N picked out, swearing it would be perfect for movie nights) snatching the remote off of the coffee table before sitting down.

“Tell me about your dinner. It went well?” Y/N stabs her fork into the spongy piece of cake and then brings it up to her mouth, moaning in delight. Harry watches as she closes her eyes, savoring the taste.

“As well as it could’ve gone without you,” Harry responds nonchalantly, stabbing his own fork into the dessert. Instead of bringing it up to his own mouth, he holds it up to hers. “I wish you were there. Always wish you were when you aren’t.”

Y/N looks at Harry owlishly as she opens her mouth for him. After swallowing, she speaks. “I thought we were supposed to be sharing.”

“We are.”

“It doesn’t count as sharing if you’re just feeding me! I’m still the only one eating it, H!”

Harry hears the amusement in her voice, sees the sparkle in her big, beautiful eyes, and knows she isn’t truly upset with him. Still, he relents and takes a piece for himself before trying to give his girlfriend another one.

“And what did you do tonight?” he nudges his nose against her cheek, reveling in the squeal she lets escape her mouth. “Get anything done on that to-do list you were tellin’ me about?”

“I did,” Y/N sets her fork down in the container of cake and rests her hands on Harry’s shoulder, flinging herself over him so she’s comfortably situated in his lap. Once comfortable, she holds her hand out expectantly. Harry chuckles to himself before placing the container of cake back in her grasp. “I caught up on emails and took a bath. Oh, also called your mom and mine - they both say hello…”

Harry smiles at this. “That’s nice, love,” his hands began to roam the expanse of her thighs, nails digging into the plush, exposed skin. “I’m glad you had a good night. Sorry I had to leave you.”

“I forgive you. Its been made even better by this cake - thanks for remembering.”

They sit in silence like that for a while. Harry gives more bites to Y/N than he gives to himself and by the time the dessert is finished, he couldn’t even say he managed to get even a little piece of strawberry for himself.

Y/N leans forward, bum lifting slightly off Harry’s lap to set the empty container on the coffee table. She turns her neck slightly once re-situated on him, and Harry hums at the sweet taste of cream and strawberries on her tongue. She always tasted so good. They fall into a comfortable silence as the tv plays softly in the background while they make out, the narrator of Forensic Files recounting a tale of how just one red fiber led to the killer’s arrest.

“Cozy enough?” Harry’s question breaks the silence.

“Quite,” Y/N squirms slightly. “Your lap is very comfortable.”

“Well, while I do enjoy looking at the back of your head, I’d much rather see your face.”

“I’m watching Forensic Files.”

While Harry can’t see her face, he can hear the joking tone in Y/N’s voice and proceeds with placing his large palms on her hips. He lifts her pliant body slightly off his lap and re-situates her so she’s straddling him instead of facing forward.

“Much better,” he places a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Now I can see your pretty face.”

“Welllll, now I can’t see what we’re watching.”

“I can tell you what happens.”

Y/N lets out a quiet laugh at this, moving her body so she’s no longer straddling him but has all her weight on one thigh. She wiggles ever so slightly and Harry smirks to himself at the motion, knowing she purposely planted herself like this because the pressure felt good against her little clit (which surely had to be swollen by now).

“Something tells me you’re not really gonna pay any attention, H,” she lowers her head into the crook of his neck. “That’s okay with me.”

Harry loosely rests his hands around the curve of her waist. “Been thinkin’ about you all night, my love,” he allows her to capture his lips in a clumsy kiss, teeth clacking together in her haste. “Been thinkin’ about you, and how much I love you- love making you cum.” His girlfriend laughs at that.

“This is our thing,” she tells him breathlessly, lips pressed against his as she ruts against his thigh. “This always ends up happenin’ when we watch true crime…”

Harry wants to tell her that this only happens when he’s with her, never gets this horny watching true crime television with anyone except her! Y/N’s the only person in the world who can make her feel this way.

“This will always be our thing, will it?” Harry tickles her side and swoons at the sound of her high-pitched giggles. “Jus’ us, cake, and movies?”

Y/N presses a kiss to the dimple on the right side of his face. “Always–– it’s my favorite pastime.”

Harry gives his love a toothy grin before he continues to help her get off on his thigh. He begins to feel her wetness through his dressy pants, the only thing separating her cunt from the fabric covering his thigh being her thin, cotton panties. He really just wants to lap at her cunt most of all, just wants to suck on her clit until she's tangling her hands in his curls and begging him not to stop. But she's determined to get off this way - he can see it in the look on her face. Besides, it's quite fun to watch Y/N come undone on her own accord. He loved when she flat-out used him for her own pleasure. He steadies her out when her movements start to become frantic and she's not getting the right amount of pressure she needs on her clit to come.

Her orgasm washes over her very abruptly--Harry thinks it even takes her a little by surprise. “Can’t forget orgasms, can I?” Y/N looks up at Harry with big, fucked out eyes, waiting for him to clarify. “I said I like it when it’s just us, cake, and movies. Forgot to add in how much I like making you cum, too.”

Y/N grows bashful at this and while Harry would usually apologize for being so vulgar, he means it with every fiber of his being. He's never heard prettier sounds, tasted anyone better, fucked anyone tighter. She was perfect and sweet and all his.

Harry’s not done with her though - not even close! They were really only just getting started. He lifts her off his lap and lays her back on the couch, pulling the meager piece of fabric separating him from her wet cunt off her body. He places his palms flat on the surface of her inner thigh and spreads her legs open, dropping to his knees in front of her. Harry immediately attaches his mouth to her cunt, sucking harshly as he makes eye contact with his girlfriend. She looks down at him with that look that Harry’s so fond over and he nearly loses it.

He begins kneading at her plush ass while his face is buried in her mound, taking note of how she trembles when the tip of his nose nudges against her clit. His tongue travels down to her puckered hole before moving back up to her bundle of nerves, over and over until Y/N grabs at his head and just holds him in place, sick of his teasing.

“S’nice, doll? You deserve this, Y/N,” Harry’s mouth is glistening with her arousal as he briefly pauses his movements to speak to her. “Deserve to feel good and let daddy give you orgasms after I left you here alone all night for a boring business dinner. Least I can do, hmm?”

He doesn’t give her a chance to answer before he’s burying his head into her cunt once more, eating her out like a starved man. She hardly has time to warn Harry that her second orgasm is about to wash over her but she doesn’t have to; he could feel the way her muscles contracted against his tongue as he licked her through it, not letting up even when she locked her thighs around his head.

“One more?”

He’s already undoing the buckle to his pants as he asks this, the familiar clanking sound sending shivers down Y/N’s spine. She’s not sure what she did to deserve three orgasms from her boyfriend tonight, but she figures she must’ve been a very, very good girl for him lately.

“Yes, please,” Y/N lifts her shift up so her boobs are on full display for Harry, not missing the way his eyes hungrily take in the sight of her. “Need one more- need your cock so bad-”

“Shhhh…” Harry slides in swiftly as he shushes her, resting his weight atop her so he was more comfortable. “There, there. ‘M gonna give it to you, pretty girl. I always do, yeah?”

Harry watches as her mouth gapes open with every push of himself inside her. He reaches down in between them to swipe his thumb across her clit as he’s thrusting into her to not only double her pleasure but get her there with him because he was already embarrassingly close but he hated finishing before his girl did. He picks up speed, bending her leg and holding it in his right hand as he grips her tits with his left.

“Rub y’clit for me,” he mutters, thrusts growing sloppy. “Go ahead and rub it.”

Y/N immediately complies and is spasming on Harry’s cock no more than 20 short seconds later, followed by his loud moans as he stills inside her. A warm, fuzzy feeling immediately floods Harry and suddenly all is well again. Never mind the fact Y/N wasn't at his silly business dinner tonight because she was here with him now and that was the most important thing, really.

Harry gently slides out of her and reaches for her discarded underwear, ignoring her protests when he uses it to clean up what spilled out of her before tossing it back on the floor. He'll pick it up later.

"Love you, H...I'll go to your next boring dinner. Promise."

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry concept #harry styles blurb #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine

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bonefall · 6 months

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So, I'm writing an essay on the whole STATE of misogyny in WC for one of my university classes, and I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of things! No pressure of course, please feel free to say no!

A) Could I reference your good takes with appropriate harvard referencing and links back to your blog?

B) Are there any specific moments from the books that you think should be covered the most?

C) The end result will be a visual essay, so it's like those fun infographics people on Tumblr make on like ADHD and stuff, so when it's done, would you like to be tagged to read it?

(Sorry for anon, I'm nervous lmao, but if you'd be more comfortable I'll resend this off anon)

AAY good topic! You've got a lot to work with. Absolutely feel free to reference anything I've written, and tag me when you're done.

While you're here and about to write something so legitimate, I'm also going to recommend you check out Sunnyfall's video on gender in Warrior Cats. She breaks down the arcs into numbers, directly comparing the amount of lines mollies have to toms, and examining the archetypes women are usually allowed to be.

I think it's a must-have citation in a paper about WC misogyny.

...and, I think it's insightful to look at the WCRP Forum thread about the video. Note how the respondents immediately come into the thread to complain about how the video is too long so they didn't watch it, dismissing Sunnyfall as not being entertaining enough to hold their attention, even whining that she starts with statistics to prove her point, which I'm convinced she did exactly because they would have cried that she "had no evidence" if she didn't.

I am not a scholar, so I don't know how to document or prove that the books have an impact on the audience outside of anecdotes. But I think if you do write a section about fandom, it would be worth mentioning the in-universe and metatextual apologia for Ashfur and its reflection in the real world discourse, the authorial killing of Ferncloud because of fan complains, and the utter defensiveness against the discussion of misogyny you see outside of Tumblr.

You may also want to check out Cheek by Jowl, a collection of 8 essays about sexism in xenofiction by Ursula K. Le Guin. There's a very unique manifestation of authorial bias in animal fiction, having a lot to do with how the author views "the natural world," and it's worth understanding even though Warrior Cats are so heavily anthropomorphized.

So... Warrior Cats Misogyny

I think discussing individual instances can be helpful, but I'd implore you to keep in mind what's REALLY bad about WC's misogyny is framing and the bigger picture.

Bumble's death is shocking and insulting, but it's not just that she died. It's that the POV Gray Wing sees her as a fat, useless bitch who took his mate so she deserves to be dragged back to a domestic abuser, and he's right because the writers love him so much. It's that Bumble's torture and killing only factors into how it's going to hurt a man's reputation.

It's how Clear Sky hitting, emotionally manipulating, or killing the following women,

Bright Stream (pressured into leaving her home and family)

Storm (controlled her movements and yelled at her in public)

Misty (killed for land, children stolen)

Bumble (beaten unconscious, blamed nonsensically on a fox)

Alder (child abuse, hit when she refused to attack her brother)

Falling Feather (scratched on the face, subjected to public abuse and humiliation)

Tall Shadow (thrown into murderous crowd, attacked on-sight in heaven)

Rainswept Flower ("blacked out" in anger and murdered in cold blood)

Moth Flight (scratched on the face for saying denying medical treatment is mean, taken hostage in retaliation against mother for the death of his own child, which he caused)

Willow Tail (eyes gouged out for "stirring up trouble")

Is seen as totally understandable, forgivable, or not even questioned at all, when killing Gray Wing in an act of rage would have been "one step too far" with the ridiculous Star Line.

"Kill me and live with the memory, and then let the stars know it would only matter if a single one of your murder victims was a man."

It's the way that fathers who physically abuse their kids out of their ego (Clear Sky, Sandgorse, Crowfeather) aren't treated anywhere near the same level of narrative disgust and revulsion the series has for "bad moms", even if they're displaying symptoms of a post-partum mood disorder (depression, anxiety, and rage), an umbrella of mental illnesses 20% of all new mothers experience but are heavily stigmatized with (Sparkpelt, Palebird, Lizardstripe).

It's Crookedstar's Promise giving him two evil maternal figures in a single book, while bending over backwards to make every man in a position of power still look likeable in spite of the fact they're enabling Rainflower's abuse. Leader Hailstar is soso sorry that he has to change Stormkit's name for some reason, in spite of leaders being unaccountable dictators the other 99% of the time, and Deputy Shellheart functionally does nothing to stop his own son from being abused or even do much parenting before or after the fact.

It's the way men's parental struggles are seen sympathetically, and they don't have to "pay for it" like their female counterparts (Crookedstar's PPD vs Sparkpelt's PPD, how Daisy and Cinders are held responsible for Smoky and Whisper being deadbeats, Yellowfang's endless guilt for killing her son vs Onestar's purpose in life to kill his own), even to the point where a father doesn't have to have raised their kids at all to have a magical innate emotional connection to them (Tree's father Root, Tom the Wifebeater, Tigerstar and Hawkfrost).

It's less speaking lines and agency for female characters, being reduced to accessories in the lives of their mates and babies, women getting less diversity in their personalities, with even major ex-POV characters eventually becoming "sweet mom" tropes.

You could zoom in on any one of these examples and have an amoeba try to argue with you that "Oh THIS makes sense because X" or "Ah well my headcanon perfectly explains this thing" or "MY mother/girlfriend was abusive/toxic/neglectful and I've decided that you are personally attacking ME by having issues with how a character was written or utilized," but the beleaguered point,

That I keep trying to hammer in, over and over, across books worth of posts,

Is that these are trends. More than just a couple one-off examples. It's the fabric that has been woven over years, showing a lack of interest in, or even active prejudice of, women on behalf of the writers.

LONG STANDING trends, which have only gotten worse as the series progressed. From Yellowfang being harshly punished with a born evil son who ruins her life in TPB and the mistreatment of Squirrelpaw that begins in TNP, all the way up to the 7 Fridgenings of DOTC and Sparkpelt's PPD being a major character motivator for her son Nightheart.

So, I would stress that in your paper, and structure it less as "the Sparkpelt slide" and "the Yellowfang slide," and more as "The paternal vs maternal abuse" slide, and "the violence against women" slide. They're really big issues, there's tons of examples for each individual thing.

Anyway to leave off on a funny, look at this scene in Darkest Hour that I find unreasonably hilarious,

"Everyone who matters to me; my truest friend, my sensible and loyal warrior, the wisest deputy I've ever known, and 2 women." -Firestar, glorious idiot

He can't even think of a single trait for either of them what the hell does "formidable pair" mean lmaooo, when I finished a reread about a year ago this line killed me on impact.

#bone babble #cw misogyny #warrior cats analysis #SO good luck!! Absolutely ping me when you're done I wanna see lmao #Full disclosure I'm bad at responding to DMs because I open them and then forget #But I can try to answer your questions #Feel free to send questions in tho. You don't have to come off anon if you don't want i don't mind #I cannot stress enough. I'm just a guy who likes to yell about cats.

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stevie-petey · 1 month

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Hear me out, Steve trying to win over mama Henderson. A blurb of Steve being a major kiss ass in every way possible. He earns quite a few brownie points and learns way too much neighborhood gossip. Just imagine bug coming home to Steve and her mom gossiping on the couch tews in his lap.

steve: i must make everyone like me

hes so real for that

enjoy !

"so, how do we really feel about jonathan?" steve has tews in his lap, so hes careful not to startle the young kitten as he leans in close to mrs henderson to whisper about the boy who has a bean bag dedicated to him in her daughters room.

claudia rests a hand against her chest and sighs deeply. she looks around, as if scared someone will overhear, before she leans over to whisper. "can i be honest?"

"always, mrs. henderson."

"i adore that boy. why, i even had a whole wedding planned for him and my y/n, but... well, youre just so handsome!"

steve gasps and places a hand over his chest as well, deeply happy with how this conversation is turning out. "mrs. henderson, youre a beautiful woman with wonderful children. this, well, its an honor that you think so highly of me."

claudia giggles, and steve winks at her. it's quiet for a few seconds as the two of them enjoy the smile on their faces. tews is purring steves lap and youre not home yet from picking dustin up from jonathans. he hadnt meant to be alone with your mom, claudia insisted he come in when he arrived and shoved a kitten into his arms and now hes here.

gossiping about jonathan byers as claudia henderson gushes over steve.

tews lets out a yawn and stretches lazily on top of steves lap. claudia watches fondly and coos at her cat. "i havent seen tews this comfortable around a stranger!"

"animals like me," steve shrugs. "plus, i think shes just happy i cleaned her litter box."

"i told you that there wasnt any need-"

"i wanted to help, mrs. henderson." steve reassures her for the millionth time. in this instance, he can see how much you resemble your mother. both of you too kind to ask for help.

claudia tauts at steve and shakes her head. she knows what hes doing, she saw jonathan do it for the five years he spent his childhood within her home.

claudia henderson knows what a boy looks like when hes in love with her daughter.

steve goes back to gently petting tews' head and claudia sighs. she knows she shouldnt intervene, but youre her baby girl and steve seems like such a wonderful boy.

the mother smiles softly at the teen sitting across from her. "jonathan is a lovely boy, ive watched him grow up and bring my y/n back to life after everything that happened when she was young, but i havent seen my daughter glow quite as much as she does when shes around you."

claudias eyes never stray from steve. he doesnt look up at her, but she knows hes heard what shes said by the way his breath catches, ever so slightly. she doesnt want to push him, but she can sense that hes a hurt boy who has been drawn in by your endless kindness. taking a breath, she says, "im happy my daughter has you, steve."

steves breath catches again and he coughs, trying to clear his throat of the shock he feels at your mothers words. in his startle, tews jumps out of his lap and returns to claudia, sending him a disgruntled glare as she settles herself into the womans lap.

"yeah, well." steve coughs again, eyes looking everywhere but at claudia. "im happy i have y/n, too."

claudia claps her hands, satisfied with his response. "good! now, dusty tells me your family is rich?"

a loud and unexpected laugh escapes steves mouth and his head spins at his bizarre the situation is. claudia snickers, pleased with herself, and steve once again sees so much of you in the woman. "dusty would be correct."

"even better!"

neither are sure how much time passes, but eventually their conversation transitions from a weird heart to heart to gossip about the neighborhood. before you arrive home, steve learns about the creepy neighbor down the street named dave, about the couple next door who just had a baby named penelope, and about the dog a few blocks down that once chased you when you were younger.

"the dog chased her halfway across hawkins! i swear, its why that girl now likes that insane hobby of hers." claudia huffs, stroking tews' head once more.

"she likes to run?" steve asks, amazed that he still has so much to learn about you.

"who likes to run?" you ask, stepping through the front door with dustin behind you. when you see steve sitting on your couch across from your mother, your shoulders drop. "oh, no. is my mom telling you more embarrassing stories about me?"

dustins shoulder knocks against yours as he walks inside. "did my mom tell you about the time y/n peed the bed last year?"

steves eyes widen and you jump on top of your brother, strangling him. "shut up!"

you wack at your brothers head and manage to bring him to his knees as you wrestle on the ground. dustin screeches and tries to claw you off of him, but youre still slightly bigger (though he keeps growing more and more every day). its a tangle of limbs and screams.

claudia and steve watch from the couch, both of them smiling fondly at the sight of the two siblings strangling one another.

"precious kids, mrs. henderson." the teen winks again at claudia, and she laughs.

#ask #anon #m speaks #come home blurb #m's writing #set in between seasons 2 and 3 !#bug is a mix of her mother and father #her fathers kindness and anger #and her mothers wit and emotional intelligence #thats my girl !!

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from-the-clouds · 1 year

Text

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. ix

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter |

chapter summary: “When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not.” - Richard Kadrey, Aloha from Hell. But maybe it's about to be. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 5.0k chapter warnings: HEAVY ANGST. Panic attacks. Referenced death of a parent. References to abusive/neglectful parents. Complicated sibling/familial relationships. Alcohol consumption, smoking. As always please dm if you have questions. a/n: I know it's annoying, but the thing about me is that I’m never able to write compelling things if I don’t include complex family/sibling relationships. Like I’m so obsessed with putting them in everything, even my stupid little love stories. But it does serve a purpose, I promise. There is an important character in this chapter….just saying.

**ALSO! I got rid of my taglist. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifs if you would like to be notified when I update my works :) **

-September 15, 2003-

Joel can sense that something is off with you the minute you get home from work.

For starters, your voice sounds a bit too syrupy-sweet when you come through your garage door, and chirp out ‘Hey!’ when you spot him sitting on the couch in your front room, your cat curled up on his lap.

Just ten minutes earlier, he’d let himself in, using the spare key you’d given him and Sarah. Your house felt vacant, dark, and shockingly quiet without you there, and so he’d turned on the lights, put on a record, and washed the plate, two mugs, and a bowl that were sitting in your sink.

Joel stirs, and Martini immediately jumps off his lap as though he’d personally offended him in some way. “Hey, darlin,” he stands, accepting your affectionate kiss on the cheek. “How was your day?”

When you pretend you don’t hear him, that’s the second thing that tips him off. You turn to hang your messenger bag over the hook in your front closet. And then you flex your fingers like you’re trying to stretch them out, cracking your knuckles one at a time with your thumbs, and rolling your shoulders back before heading into the kitchen and gesturing for him to follow.

“Do you…uh….do you want something?” you turn your head slightly, but not enough to meet his eyes. “Let me get you something.”

He follows after you tentatively, remaining silent until he figures out what's going on. Martini, who was walking underfoot, scatters out of the way as your heels click over the tile and retreats to a safe distance alongside Joel, who pauses to lean against the threshold.

Even despite the clear tension in the room, he can’t help but check you out. Before, Joel wouldn’t say that he necessarily had a type, it still is a little shocking that he ended up with someone like you.

Before you speak again, you retrieve two lowball glasses out of your cabinet along with a bottle of his favorite whiskey, and pour two drinks, turning to offer him one. He accepts it cautiously, and you nod at him before taking a long pull of your drink.

“So uh,” you say. “There’s something I kind of need to talk to you about.”

You take another sip and then unbutton your blazer, shimmying out of it and tossing it over a barstool. Pushing the sleeves of your blouse up to your wrists, you cross your arms and chew on your bottom lip, like you are trying to decide how to break some sort of horrible news to him. Joel prepares for the worst. He racks his brain for anything he could’ve done or said recently that might have upset you, maybe even scared you off. But he’s coming up with nothing. What could he have done?

At this point, his parents even know about you, even if he hasn’t had the chance to introduce you. His mother tries, in her I’m-not-prying-but-I’m-definitely-prying type of way, to get more information out of him. She asks him questions like ‘Do you think she’s the one?’ and he doesn’t answer directly but it does make him think. He already knows you’re his one. He just wonders if he is yours.

It’s consistently been his fatal flaw. Joel falls hard, even when it’s not right. It’s how he has always been, and that’s how he ended up alone with Sarah in the first place. The very thought of you ending things makes him feel sick. He knows he’s in love with you, that he doesn’t want to look elsewhere. It’s becoming harder and harder to hold back. You’ve filled up all this space in his life that he didn’t even know existed. What is he going to do with it once you leave?

“What’s going on?” Joel asks, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as pinched as his throat feels.

“I should’ve told you this earlier,” you begin. “But….my dad has been sick the past few months.”

“Oh,” Joel says, but relaxes just a little, which feels a little selfish because it’s still unfortunate news. “I’m sorry to hear that. What’s going on?”

“It’s fine. I’m not really sure. Just…my brother called me today and apparently he’s taken a turn for the worse. The doctors…they think he doesn’t have that much time left. I…I need to go see him, I think. Before…” you don’t finish your sentence, you just shrug and look down.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah no, it’s fine, I’m fine,” you say dismissively. “I actually booked a redeye that leaves tomorrow night. I wanted to make sure I could still take Sarah to the office with me for her career day and everything, so you don’t have to worry about that. So yeah.”

“Do you need to leave earlier?” He asks. “She can always come to work with me.”

“No, no…” you give a soft smile. “I made a commitment, and….I want her to see how boring my job really is.”

Joel wants to smile back at you, but he doesn’t. Because despite the jokes, when you meet his eyes for a second, they look so dull and desolate it feels like it’d be inappropriate.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” Joel sets his glass down just as you pick up yours for another hearty gulp before continuing. “I got my company to approve me working remotely for two weeks. I don’t think it will be that long, but…I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Joel reaches out and rests a hand on your own. “You should go be with your family. Sarah and I will be fine.”

“I know that. I just…I don’t really want to go,” you say. “But I’ll feel bad for the rest of my life if I don’t…and at the very least, I need to be there for my brother. He’s closer with my dad than I am.”

Bringing the glass back to your mouth, you take another sip – at this point, the drink is nearly gone. Joel steps behind you, because he can’t really hug you the way you are now, facing forward and bracing yourself on the countertop. “Come ‘ere,” he murmurs softly, pulling you back against his chest. For a second, you tense. It’s like you’re surprised, still, that all he wants to do is be gentle with you. Once you remember, he feels your body relax, and your head falls back to tuck under his chin, one of your hands clutches his arm that wraps across your collarbone. “I wish you could come with me,” you say.

“Me too,” Joel says against the top of your head. He knows he can’t. Not with Sarah, and not with work being the way it has been. Unfortunately, the excuse probably wouldn’t go over well with the guys there. Not that he cares that much what they think, but he can’t jump ship right now. “But I’d have to find someone to look after Sarah….maybe I could ask my parents.”

“No,” you shake your head. “No, no. I don’t want to put anyone out.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s fine,” you insist. “Everything will be fine.”

“Well at the very least, do you need me to take you to the airport?”

“You’d endure rush hour traffic for me?” you tilt your head back to look up at him.

Joel laughs softly, leans down for a kiss. “That and more.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-September 17th, 2003-

The room you’re in is dark, but the lack of awareness of your surroundings seems to be the only thing keeping you from suffocating. You’re standing in your childhood bedroom, which doesn’t look much like it used to. It's a guest room now, but it never really felt like yours all the way, did it? You clutch at your stomach – you’ve been nauseous ever since your plane touched down at JFK – and reach towards your old dresser to steady yourself.

The vanity that had once been scattered with trinkets and trophies and photos of childhood memories was now vacant – pristine and polished. You wondered if the items had been thrown out, or dumped in a box somewhere in your old closet. It almost doesn’t matter – you aren’t interested in digging up any more memories. The feeling of your fathers hand clasped around your own had done enough.

You inhale deeply, bracing yourself against the glass top as you try not to throw up or pass out. For some reason, you had underestimated what you were walking into, and hadn’t expected your body to react so….viscerally. On the other side of the closed door, you hear your name, muffled from down the hall.

It’s hard to make out who it is, perhaps your stepmother, Meredith, or some other distant relative you hadn’t seen in years who had crawled out of the woodwork and now lingered in the apartment, hoping to get their piece. But you’ve locked yourself away. That’s what you had gotten so good at whilst living here. Hiding.

Until the door opens, and you squint against the light that floods the room to find the only person who has always known where to find you. Your brother.

“Hey. Ethan and Elizabeth are on their way up,” he says, then pauses. “Why are you standing in the dark?”

The lightswitch clicks, and the harsh ceiling lamp illuminates, starting the fan up with it and causing you to shiver. Vincent is frowning, standing halfway into the doorframe, his brows pinched.

You widen your eyes at him. Come on, don’t give me away yet. “Will you please turn that off?”

Vincent rolls his eyes, but obeys, switches on your desk lamp instead and closes the door behind him. “Are you okay?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know that you aren’t.

“It was a lot…being in there with him,” you look at the floor.

“Well, at least you know he still likes you. He’s not going to take you out of the will.”

It feels like a smack across the face, and your jaw drops. How could he be so oblivious to your pain, when he’s the only person in this house, in the world, maybe, who understands exactly how you are feeling right now. “Is that all you think I care about?”

“No, I-”

“I’m here because of you,” you say. “You wanted me here. So I came, and I shouldn’t have.”

“Oh come on,” he says. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“I wish I wasn’t here,” you continue on, despite his wishes. “I wish I didn’t have to wait my entire life to hear him say those things.”

Vincent’s expression shifts. He had been in the room. He had heard it. Your dad had been so….sweet. Gentle. Whispering praises even though his eyes were closed. You had expected, had wanted cruelty. This was somehow worse. Maybe he had known what you wanted all along, held it over your head, and waited only until the end of his life to give it to you. Even his admission of love was somehow malicious. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop you from regretting everything you’d done to get away from him.

Just outside the door is the flight of stairs that leads to your father’s room. And suddenly you aren’t an adult. You feel as helpless and as scared as you did when you were just a little girl – looking up at him, the view of his figure obscured by your brother’s shoulder.

“God, it’s so fucked up.” you choke out.

Vincent steps forward wordlessly, pulls you into a hug, and it’s only after you hear a quiet sob leave him that you let your own tears fall. There’s nothing either of you can say to fix the damage that has been done, so all you can do is cling to each other and cry.

“I know it’s fucked up,” he says. “I know. Maybe I should’ve….I could’ve done more.”

You pull back, relieved to see your tears didn’t ruin his cashmere sweater. “What could you have done?” you ask, dejectedly. “We were kids.”

Vincent doesn’t know how to answer that, but he wipes his nose with the back of his hand, and looks at the ground a moment before lifting his head. “We’ve got each other.”

But that’s hardly true anymore, and he knows it. You’ll always resent each other for different reasons – he had adapted to the circumstances, and you had left them. Neither strategy did anything to fix the damage.

You’re still weeping, but softer now, face wet with tears that fall everytime you blink. Swiping under your eyes, you sigh and attempt to compose yourself.

“Come on,” Vincent says. “Say hi to Ethan and Elizabeth. Dad is stable for the time being. We can take a walk or something. Get some fresh air.”

“Okay,” you agree. “I’ll be out in a second. I have to get my shit together.”

After he leaves, you check your makeup in the vanity, wiping away some smudged mascara before following him out. When you enter the front room, still sniffling, you pray that you don’t have a run-in with any other family members. But the only person you see besides Vincent is your sister-in-law coming through the door.

Elizabeth’s face is pinched in concentration as she tries to wrangle your nephew out of his coat. “What up, champ?” Vincent holds a hand out for a high five, just in time for her to free Ethan’s arms so he can reach towards his father, who stoops to accept his hug.

“Hi, Daddy.”

Elizabeth steps back and makes eye contact with you as you approach. In the past, you pitied her for the decision to marry into your family and then go on to have children with your brother. She was a little too good for him. But now, you feel like that was kind of a callous way of looking at things. You wonder if your brother would feel the same way about Joel for getting mixed up with you. Fortunately, Joel is still a well-kept secret.

“Hey, it’s good to see you,” Elizabeth says. “I’m so sorry it’s under these circumstances.”

“It’s alright,” you accept her hug and return her kiss on the cheek. “It’s good to see you, too.”

She looks down at her son. “Honey, do you remember your aunt?”

“Hey, Ethan,” you crouch alongside your brother, and he nods, but still side-steps closer to his dad and smiles over at you bashfully. “How are you doing?”

“Good.”

“Don’t be shy,” Vincent encourages, but your nephew doesn’t seem interested in your attempt at an embrace, so you let them drop by your side.

“It’s okay,” you stand up, feeling a fresh batch of tears threatening their way to your waterline. Ethan’s treating you like a stranger because you basically are one.

“You’ve met a lot of new people the last few days, haven't you?” Elizabeth asks, then looks over at you. “He might be a little overwhelmed. He’ll warm up.”

Vincent stands at the sight of you starting to cry. “I am going to take her to get some air,” your brother puts a hand on your shoulder, speaking about you as if you are not in the room with them. You feel so useless, you might as well not be.

“That sounds good,” Elizabeth says. “We can catch up later. I ought to say hello to Meredith.”

You both nod, stepping into the hallway.

The fresh air helps, even if you can’t go far from the apartment. You walk around the block in silence, which gives you a chance to compose yourself. It’s a surprisingly warm day, although it’s much colder in New York than it is in Austin this time of year. In early fall, the leaves have only just begun turning.

You’re about to turn the corner to the stretch of sidewalk that leads back home, when Vincent plops himself down on a bench without warning. He fishes through the front pocket of his jacket and retrieves a flask.

“Jesus, Vincent,” you mutter under your breath. “Right now?”

“Uhm, yeah,” he answers. When you scoff, he continues, rolling his eyes. “Oh, get off your high horse. It’s just a little.”

“Aren’t you sad?”

“Of course I’m fucking sad,” he defends. “But I go to therapy now, so….I’m better at processing.”

“Yeah?” you gesture towards the flask. “Is that what this is called?”

“No. But it is the only way I can deal with Meredith.”

“You’re insane,” you say, but can already feel your exasperation fading. In your absence, he’s been dealing with all this alone. “Give me that.” Reaching forward towards the flask, he jerks his hand away just before you make contact.

“I’m not sharing.”

You pout at him. Come on. He rolls his eyes and passes it over. “Fine.”

While you take a sip, he produces a pack of cigarettes and plucks one out of the carton. “You don’t smoke these anymore, do you?”

“Not really. But I still have not managed to kick the weed habit.”

“Well I’m jealous,” he says, lighting it. “Now that Elizabeth and Ethan live with me again, I really have had to get my shit together.”

I’m sure you’ll fuck it up soon enough, you’re primed to say, but even as a joke, you feel like it’s a little too mean. It’s okay to let this be a nice moment.

“You know, if you wanted,” he says. “You could stay here for a couple months. I can get you set up with a place in the city. It might be good to be home…after…” You do your best to ignore his reference to the inevitable storm that hangs over your heads.

Any other time, and the offer might tempt you. This is your home, always would be, and you will always feel called to it. If you came back, all your family and childhood friends would be here. And without your father, things may be different. But now you have other priorities. “I can’t do that,” you shake your head.

“Why not?” He asks. You sit down on the bench, swipe the pack of cigarettes from where they sit between you, and take one for yourself. “Didn’t you say you were approved to work remotely?”

“No, it’s not that,” you light the cigarette and take a pull, coughing when you inhale too deeply. It’s not a joint. “I actually….met someone.”

Vincent frowns like he doesn’t believe you. “Really?”

“Yeah….he’s actually my next door neighbor.”

“Oh, you managed to wrangle a fucking cowboy-”

“How many times have I told you? I don’t live on a farm. You know what? Nevermind,” you roll your eyes, shake your head. “Forget I mentioned it..”

“Relax, I’m joking. Always so emotional-”

“Emotional? Emotional?” you ask. “Remind me which one of us was the one who had to be sent to a-”

Vincent’s eyes roll back, and his head tilts with them. “Oh, here we go.”

“It’s not a joke to me,” you say, desperate to end the argument, and it actually works.

“So is this….serious?”

You shake your head. “I mean, I…I think I’m in love.” It’s not as insane to say out loud as you had expected.

“I didn’t think you cared about that sort of thing.”

“I didn’t either. But…I don’t know. It just sort of happened.”

“What’s his name?”

“Joel,” you say. “He’s got a daughter, Sarah…she’s sweet. So is he…hardworking, thoughtful, kind….” you trail off, and veer away from becoming too sincere. “In other words, he’d fucking hate you.”

“Yeah, you know I repel the honest type.”

“No,” you correct him. “I actually think you’d get along. And you’d like Sarah. She’s funny.”

“I’m sure you’re a great influence on her,” he quips, sarcastically.

“I’m good with kids. I’ve always been a good aunt to Ethan?” you insist. “....when he knows who I am, at least.”

Vincent chuckles. “He knows who you are, he’s just in a shy phase. That or I’ve already fucked him up.”

You’ve heard some variation of the same from Joel while talking about Sarah, and it makes you smile, just a little, and wonder how terrifying it must be to have a child of your own.

“You couldn’t,” you tease. “Elizabeth wouldn’t allow it.”

He nods as if you’ve made a good point. “So that’s it? You’re really never coming home?”

“I mean, never say never,” you say. “At the very least, I should probably visit more often. I could bring them sometime to meet everyone. We could try to be a normal family.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Only your brother could find a way to make you laugh even under such dire circumstances. For a while, you’re quiet, and then you speak up again. “Being in love….it’s fucking scary.”

“That’s part of it,” he says. You sigh, shake your head, and put out your cigarette. “I’m happy for you,” he says, after a while.

“Thanks,” you smile. “I’m happy for you, too.”

Despite the fact that your stomach still hurts, you’re sleep deprived from the flight, and your father is standing at death’s door, you are thankful for what feels like a huge step forward.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-September 19, 2003-

Joel’s hand stretches out to stop whatever thing is ringing in his ear at such an ungodly hour. His phone. He doesn’t even think, just answers it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers it might be important.

“Hello?” he grumbles.

“Hey,” He can tell instantly that something is wrong. “I’m sorry, did I wake you? I didn’t check the time.”

Joel looks at the clock. It’s six in the morning for you, and he’s never known you to be an early riser. He already knows what you’re going to tell him, but he asks anyway. “Yes but it’s alright. Are you okay?”

“My dad is gone.”

“Oh, baby,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, shockingly stoic. “It will be okay. I just, I wanted you to know I’ll be staying longer than I thought. I’ve got to help my-” you clear your throat. “I’ve got to help Vincent with the arrangements and then my dad wanted his ashes scattered somewhere in Colorado. It’s where he grew up, so I’ll probably go there before I fly back, and-” You keep rambling, and Joel cuts you off.

“Hey that’s fine, that’s okay. Don’t you worry about that.”

“Yeah, but I’m gonna miss your birthday,” you say. “I had this whole thing planned where I was gonna take you and Sarah out to dinner, and it was gonna be really nice and-”

“We can celebrate another time,” Joel insists. “It’s okay. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, so quick it sounds like a reflex. “I knew it was going to happen, so...”

“Are you sure?” He doesn’t want to push you, but it’s very clear you’re holding something back.

“Yeah, I…” you trail off. “I don’t know.”

Joel doesn’t answer right away, just gives you a little space to process. The silence is excruciating, and lasts so long that he wonders if you’ve hung up. But eventually, you speak again.

“I don’t….I don’t feel anything,” your voice breaks, all strained and choked and horrible. “I feel like I should.” You’re hundreds of miles away, and Joel has never felt so helpless. “Something….something is really wrong with me. I can’t-”

“Babygirl,” he hears himself say, doing everything he can to calm you down. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

He hears you take in a sharp, staggered inhale on the other line, struggling to catch your breath. “I wish you were here with me.”

Me too, I wish I was too. He wants to say, but all he feels is panic, tight around his throat. He feels like if he can’t get to you, something horrible will happen. What had he been thinking, letting you walk into this alone? Things must have been worse than you had let on. “Maybe I can try to figure something out.”

But almost as quickly as you lose control of yourself, he hears you clear your throat, a hard swallow. “It’s….it’s…it will all be fine. I will be okay, sorry, I just…” Joel can’t tell if you’re answering him, or if you’re talking to yourself.

Joel knows the routine pretty well at this point, each time you show any sort of vulnerability, you immediately pull back – like there’s some invisible boundary you’ve crossed that snaps you back into place if you test it. He’d be able to actually help you if he was there. In some ways, you being so open with him, but only over the phone….makes sense. It’s just another way to avoid him. He won’t resent you for it, but it doesn’t make him hurt any less.

“What can I do?” Joel asks. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’ll be fine, Joel. I promise,” you sniffle, clearing your throat, pulling yourself together. “I’ll be home soon and everything can just…go back to normal.”

“Yes, it will,” he says. “You’ll get through this. And you’ll come home to Sarah and I. I’ll have a martini and a back rub waiting for you the second you walk in the door.

“God,” you say. “You’re so hot.”

Joel chuckles, relieved to hear your smile.

“You know,” your breathing steadies. “I would like you and Sarah to come out here. Not now. But another time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I was thinking about it. My brother has plenty of room. We could crash here, and you could meet everyone. I mean, Vincent comes across as like….such an fucking asshole, really, truly…but I don’t know. I think ultimately you’ll get along.”

“I’m sure we will,” Joel breathes softly.

“You just have to promise you won’t leave me if you don’t.”

“That wouldn’t make me leave you.” It’s you I love. He’s not going to tell you that over the phone. So he settles. “You are what I care about.”

“I feel the same,” you say softly.

You’re silent for a spell.

“I probably should go and eat something. I’ve felt awful for like three days straight and I finally have an appetite. And there’s really no problem that can’t be solved by a bodega sandwich.”

Joel chuckles. “I’m sure you’ll feel better if you eat something.”

“I will call you later, okay?” you say. “Thank you, Joel. I miss you, and I’ll see you soon.”

“I miss you too,” he murmurs. “I’ll see you soon.”

See you soon. For the next few days, everytime you call each other, every conversation ends with the same promise. Neither of you are aware it’s one you can’t keep.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-September 26th, 2003-

Joel sits in the front seat of Tommy’s car, and tries to hide the fact that his hands are shaking. There’s blood spattered on the front of his shirt, blood that didn’t belong to him. He’s done a lot of things to protect Sarah. To protect his family. He’d used that turn of phrase, that he’d kill for them, in passing, but never actually thought he’d have to do it. He did. He did. And he’s suddenly scared of what else he might be capable of.

He does not want this burden, to be a protector, but he has no choice. It has been his entire life. First an older brother. Then, a father. It’s worth more than his own peace, than his own life. He would sacrifice that every time if it kept his family safe.

And you, too.

He’s only just now looking down at his phone, trying to block out the noise of the voices on the radio that cut in and out of static. And it’s not because it’s broken. The world he knows is crumbling, he’s freefalling towards the earth, and he’s gotta grab the only things that matter or they will perish upon impact.

Sarah says your name from behind him. “Do you think she’s okay?”

It’s the first minute he’s had to think since he arrived at the prison to bail out Tommy. He has several missed calls from you and one voicemail. He doesn’t even think to listen, just immediately tries to call you back.

“I don’t know, babygirl.” The phone doesn’t even ring. Sarah’s hand falls to his shoulder and he squeezes it tightly, hoping she can’t feel that it’s still trembling. Joel has no cell service, and none of the calls are going through even after trying several times over.

Joel looks down at his watch to see what time it is. It’s working now, thanks to Sarah, who had told him that she’d got it fixed at a place you had recommended before you left. It’s delusional, but he hopes maybe this isn’t happening in Colorado. You’d called him this morning to wish him a happy birthday, things had been fine then. How could it all fall apart so quickly?

He accepts that he can’t reach you, and listens to the voicemail you’ve left.

“Hey Joel, I….something is going on here. I don’t know if it’s happening everywhere. People are sick. It’s….it’s…If I don’t see you again I hope I- I want you to know that I love you. Okay? You and Sarah. Thank you, Joel. Please…please stay safe.”

I love you, too. Why didn’t he just say it when he had the opportunity to? What had he been thinking?

Joel tells himself that this is not the end. Things will settle, even if it takes time, and you will keep yourself safe. You won’t get sick. All the promises you made to each other will be kept. Even as he tells himself this, he knows it’s probably a lie.

Still, he indulges. Things will go back to normal. As long as he keeps himself safe, he’ll find his way back to you again. It’s just a matter of time.

But his hope for the future, for anything else, dies an hour later.

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gabessquishytum · 4 months

Note

CW hospitals and medical stuff heyo! This is based partially off of my experience and therefore will probably be more on par with things in america.

Hob and Dream both get sent to the ER separately. Hob over a sport’s injury and Dream having some incredibly horrid insomnia issues. Hob and Dream sit next to each other coincidentally and unfortunately for Dream, Hob’s a talker. Dream is not even listening half convinced Hob’s lost it when they both suddenly notice an Elderly woman and her son come in, she is in a lot of pain and the son says he’ll be back to take a smoke break.

“he’s going to leave her here” Dream mutters the first time he’s spoken in the hour they’ve been there.

“No that’s horrible! Who would do that to their mother?” Hob asks

“people have problems, you don’t know about,”

hob hums thoughtfully,

“I’ll bet you twenty dollars her son comes back”

dream simply nods feeling he is about to become twenty dollars richer. When thirty minutes later the son comes back.

“yes,” Hob whispers “hope in humanity triumphs!”

Dream grumbles and starts digging through his purse.

“I was kidding, I don’t need the money, I’m Hob by the way”

“I know,” Dream says. “I also know you were born in 1989”

Hob is taken aback “how’d you know that?”

“you loudly proclaimed your date and birth when you were getting checked in”

“oh you cheeky bastard I like you,”

so for the next six hours that they are waiting they swap stories and make more bets. Hob finally gets a room and dream bemoans the fact that he forgot to ask for Hob’s number. Until… Dream gets his room and hey turns out he’s rooming with Hob!

“hey stranger,”

“Robert”

Dream sits down primly on his bed. Hob’s injury is fairly severe so he has to stay a few days, and so does Dream but Hob’s not exactly sure why, they’ve always got him hooked up to the vital machine but he doesn’t seem…sick? by day three Dream is defeated. “Hey Dream…what’s wrong?”

“they won’t let me go home, until I get a full eight hours,”

“oh…”

“I CANT sleep hob! I don’t know what’s wrong with me! Why can’t I do a basic human function like every other human being!” it then occurs to Hob that he’s never seen Dream sleep, Dream was awake when hob fell asleep and already up when Hob woke up. Hob assumed he slept while the other was sleeping but apparently not.

“you want to try something a tad bit unorthodox?” “I’ll do anything,” dream practically begs.

“wanna cuddle?”

“but I’m hooked up to the monitor and-“

“I’ll come to you,”

“but your foot”

“I’ll come to you”

Dream finally nods and Hob hobbles over to his bedside they managed to get themselves in an order where dream was laying on top of Hob’s chest.

“Comfy?” Hob asks, and Dream practically purrs like a cat. hob rubs his back with one hand and runs his fingers through his think dark black hair with the other and Dream? Dream falls asleep and stays asleep. the next morning Dream’s doctor comes in and is like “Did you mess with the monitor it says you got a full eight hours,”

“No sir, I simply found a natural remedy,”

Hob waves to the doctor, he’s back in his own bed.

the doctor still wants to monitor Dream for a few days to make sure it wasn’t a fluke. Eventually Hob decides to just stay in bed with Dream, it’s easier on his foot that way. and once the two have fully recovered after a few weeks, they go on their first of many dates.

-🦎 anon

Thank you for sending this!!! The dialogue you've added really made me melt, they're so sweet. I love the image of Hob, well, hobbling over to Dream with his broken foot. The doctor and the nurses on duty all pretend to be cross about breaking hospital rules, it's really not allowed, blah blah blah. But no one actually tells Hob to get out of Dream’s bed. They can see that he's curing their grumpiest (affectionate) and most horribly sleep deprived patient, and despite the rules they're not going to interfere with such clear progress.

The problem comes when both of them are discharged. Dream will no longer be able to sleep on top of Hob. But there is one solution - Hob could do with a bit of home help, with his foot still unusable. Dream immediately offers his services (he's a terrible nurse but he tries his best, bless him) in exchange for a solid 8 hours passed out with his head on Hob’s chest.

When they finally leave Hob’s flat for that long awaited date, Hob still has the cute hobbly walk, and Dream still has dark circles under his eyes. But they're MUCH better together. And yes, Dream is moving in to Hob’s place properly tomorrow <3

#🦎 anon #the sandman #dreamling

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headfullofpresley · 7 months

Text

𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐧' 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Word count: 4,5K

Summary: You and Elvis are always playing pranks on each other. This Halloween, you come up with a prank that goes horribly wrong as Elvis doesn't think it's so funny and gets genuinely upset. But like always, your partner eventually comes around and gets his revenge.

Warnings: strong language, playing with a ouija board, fake demonic possession, mentions of the devil, elvis being upset, elvis calling reader a bitch, pranks that you probs shouldn't use on other people, tiny bit of angst, reader and larry gellar disliking each other. guess that's it?

A/N: hello, hi! i guess this isn't really spooky but felt like it fit the season! there's pranks in this that i don't advise you to use on anyone unless that's you're kind of humor. wrote this in an hour or so because it randomly popped into my mind and well... i thought it was funny 👀. just want to make clear that this is in no way me making fun of elvis' spirituality in any way, nor is reader, if some people might think thatttt or if it comes across as that. just wanted to write something else rather than a vamp!elvis fic like my brain already was thinking about for halloween, AAAAH. also, this doesn't include all members of the mm or any of the other guys because i didn't know where to place them. okay, bye. p.s: be a smart cookie and don't use a ouija board.

Elvis didn’t care for Halloween.

Never did when he was young and never did as he was growing into an adult. Sure, when he was a little boy and his friends would drag him along to go trick or treating he could appreciate the free candy, but that was about it. After complaining about the people in scary costumes on the street when he was around 7, his mother stopped him from going out on All Hallow’s Eve and he appreciated her doing so.

As he got older, he’d usually be working on the last day of October and whenever he wasn’t, he would rent out the Memphian and watch horror movies with the guys, other friends and some of his fans. He enjoyed playing pranks and scaring the shit out of the people around him, but that’s where celebrating Halloween ended for Elvis.

His Christianity or beliefs didn’t have anything to do with it. He simply preferred holidays that involved lots of homecooked foods, spreading joy, giving gifts and being surrounded by his loved ones. Like Thanksgiving and especially, Christmas.

You on the other hand are obsessed with Halloween. You always put a lot of effort in your costumes and Elvis allowed you to put carved pumpkins by the front door with a lit candle inside of it, but he wouldn’t celebrate with you in any other way than watching movies. You were too old to go trick or treating, so you were happy when Lisa Marie was over at Graceland on some Halloween evenings to do so with her, but this year she unfortunately was in California with her mother.

This Halloween you put little effort into your costume, opting for a black cat suit with a tail, some drawn on whiskers that complimented the dark eye make-up you were sporting, and a pair of black cat ears. Elvis wasn’t complaining because you looked smoking hot in it, but he wasn’t aware that you chose this simple outfit because you had bigger plans for tonight that involved… well, let’s say, a lot of action.

After watching a few movies at the Memphian with Elvis, some fans and the guys, you all made it back to Graceland. It was only around 1 in the morning which was early for the bunch you were living with, so nobody was tired yet. Which was good, because you and Charlie Hodge had come up with the perfect prank to play on Elvis and the two of you managed to convince everyone to get involved in it.

The only one who wasn’t up for it was Larry Gellar and you were slightly worried that he’d out your little plan and ruin the whole thing. You were praying that he’d just go home already, but much to your chagrin, he was sitting on the couch and conversing with Elvis, not looking as if he’d leave any time soon. You were just going to have to risk it.

“Let’s play a game!” You chirped happily as you held up a plastic bag, pulling off your cat tail and throwing it by the side of the couch. “I found this today at the store. The sales girl told me it’s the perfect game to play during Halloween, because then you know it really works,”

Elvis watches with curiosity as you pull a large box out of the bag, turning it around and showing him the front. As he realises you were holding up a ouija board, he was immediately intrigued. Ever the curious person, especially when it came to things about spirituality, Elvis slides to the edge of the couch and takes the box out of your hands, opening the lid to take the board out and inspect it.

“Hell no, I ain’t playin’ that,” Lamar immediately says as he glances at the board and you try to suppress a grin. His reaction was the one you told him to give. If Lamar would play, Elvis was going to take the chance to tease the hell out of him for a week straight because Lamar scared easily when it came to these things.

“Ah c’mon, Fike. It’ll be fun,” Elvis grins as he places the board in the middle of the coffee table. You give Charlie a quick thumbs up and he grins, agreeing to play the game. Sonny and Red agree as well, but Larry decides to sit this one out. You were happy about that and as you go around the living room to dim the lights and light some candles, you feel instantly annoyed when you hear Larry’s voice.

“Elvis, I don’t think this is a good idea. Playing with an object like that can be dangerous, you know?” Larry chimes in, looking at Elvis with worried eyes. Never really having liked Larry, you roll your eyes. Elvis doesn’t see it but Red does and he sticks his finger in his mouth, feigning a gag. The two of you silently laugh and you sit down on the floor by the table, Elvis sliding onto the floor next to you.

“It’s not dangerous, baby. It’s just a game,” you quickly tell Elvis as Larry once more expresses his concern. Elvis looks at Larry once more before he turns to you and grins, kissing the corner of your mouth as he grabs the planchet and puts it on the board. Larry gives you an annoyed glare and you ignore it, happy that he decides to retreat back into the kitchen. Joe sits back on the couch along with Billy to watch the game unfold, simply because there wasn’t enough space for more fingers on the planchet.

“You sneaky sonofabitch. You’re the one movin’ that thing!” Elvis exclaims in slight annoyance as he glares at Sonny who sat on the opposite side of the table. Sonny widens his eyes, trying his best to hold back a laugh as he shakes his head.

“I swear to God, I ain’t doin’ it!”

You and Charlie exchange a knowing look. It was the two of you taking turns sneakily moving the planchet with the tips of your fingers, but Elvis didn’t notice a thing. He was too intrigued and focused on the words “it”, or in this case you, were spelling out. You hadn’t propeely opened communication or whatsoever, so the board wasn’t working at all. You believed that a ouija board could truly work if you wanted it to and you could communicate with… well, someone or something, but that wasn’t the intention for tonight.

You just wanted to play the prank of the century on your man like he has done to you so many times before.

All of you ask random questions at first that require simple answers. Then you decide to take matters further into your own hands and add up the dramatics a notch. You needed it to be spooky. Elvis doesn’t scare easily, the morgue trips he often makes with you were proof of that, and you want him to be terrified tonight.

“Someone dies tonight.”

All of you exchange uncomfortable glances, though only that of Elvis was real. He shifts a little on the floor and takes his finger off the planchet, accusing Charlie instead of Sonny now.

“Hodge, stop pullin’ my leg with this bullshit!” He huffs and Charlie widens his eyes, scared that you and him got caught, and just as he opens his mouth to defend his case, you speak up.

“Elvis! You’re not allowed to take your hands off of it without saying goodbye!” You grab his hand and bring it back to the board, putting his finger back on the planchet. He looks at you and scoffs, squinting his eyes.

“Oooh, I see. It’s you, ain’t it?”

You mentally curse yourself. Was your acting that bad? Shaking your head as you give him your most serious face, you tell him that it’s truly not you who is moving the planchet and before he can question you further, Charlie sneakily spells out something else.

“The girl.”

“That’s it. I ain’t playin’ no more. Say goodbye, goddamnit,” Elvis barks in annoyance. He wasn’t going to admit it out loud but he truly believed the planchet was moving by itself and spelling out these things. He was having fun when they started and asked random and silly questions, but now it was getting a little too serious for him.

A little too scary.

This thing was threatening your life and he felt a sense of paranoia fill his chest. What if you’d really die because of this stupid game?

No. No, you weren’t going to die. It’s just a game. It’s not real- he refuses to believe it’s real.

You quickly say goodbye along with everyone else, moving the planchet over the word before taking your hands off. You bite your lip to hold back a laugh and wrap your arms around Elvis’ neck as he leans back against the couch, crossing his arms after he shoved the board across the table. You giggle softly and hug him, planting kisses on his cheek.

“Stop that worryin’. It’s just a game, El, nothing is going to happen.”

Although he doesn’t believe you and is still worried, he slides his arms around your waist and pulls you onto his lap, hugging you back.

You spent the rest of the late evening playing some music and Elvis doing a spontaneous jam session, which got his mind off of that damned ouija board. After all, it was just a game. Nothing was going to happen and tomorrow afternoon, he’d wake up with you in his arms.

Alive and well.

But as you two got upstairs to his bedroom and got ready for bed, he wasn’t going to take no risks. There was a baseball bat leaning against the wall by the door and a hand gun laying atop of his Bible on the bedside table. You look at it as you got into bed where Elvis already was, sitting against the headboard with the TV on.

“What are you gonna do? Shoot a ghost?” You joke with a soft snort and he looks at you, simply nodding his head.

“Hell. I will if I have to,”

“My protector,” You swoon playfully as you run your fingers through his hair, laughing. He chuckles softly and sighs, kissing your lips before he allows you to settle in the bed. You pretend to watch some TV with him but couldn’t contain your excitement, curious to know what his reaction was going to be when the best part of the prank would play out.

Since you fell asleep pretty quick most of the time, Elvis didn’t think anything of it when he heard you lightly snoring as you had turned your back to him. He had his arm leaning across your hip, needing to touch you in one way or another, always. Unbeknown to him, you were wide awake and looking at the alarm clock on your side of the bed. You had told Charlie to give you twenty minutes before you’d set things into motion and as that amount of time had passed, you started off your little prank slow.

Ease Elvis into it, so to speak.

Pretending you were having a nightmare, you twitch lightly while mumbling some soft incoherent sentences, moaning uncomfortably. Elvis who was still wide awake moves his hand from your hip to your hair, caressing it soothingly as he sits up a little to look over at you. Figuring you’re still sleeping, he leans back against the headboard of the bed but only a split second later, you suddenly shoot up to sit in the bed. Startled, his heart skips a beat and he quickly sits up again too, moving some of your hair over your shoulder. He’s familiar with sleepwalking, but he has never seen you do it before. He knows not to wake someone when they’re in a state like this nor call out their name, but his worries grow by tenfold as your body slumps against him.

And then starts twitching and goddamn near convulsing as you throw your head back. He widens his eyes in shock as your eyes roll in the back of your head, your arms hanging limp by your side. Holding your frame, he tries to keep you still as he cups your face.

“Y/N! Y/N!” He slaps your cheek softly, unsure of what to do in a situation like this. He curses loudly as he reaches over to the phone on the bedside table, putting it to his ear as he calls downstairs and yells to whoever is on the other end of the line to come upstairs.

Like clockwork, Charlie comes running in not much later and feignes a gasp at the sight of your state. Elvis looks over at him, desperate for help.

“Goddamnit, Charlie, do somethin’!” Elvis yells as your body seems to be twisting and turning into uncomfortable positions, arching your back as you let out deep groans and grunts. You didn’t even know your voice could get that low, but you were impressed by yourself.

An eerie feeling washes over Elvis and he slowly lets go of you as you push yourself out of arms, standing on top of the bed. And then you just start… laughing.

Like an absolute maniac.

The sound sent shivers down Elvis’ spine and he quickly got off the bed, standing next to Charlie as they both look at you, unsure of what was happening. Well, at least one of them. Charlie was completely sucked up into his role though and he took a step back, fear in his eyes.

He was a damn good actor.

Something clicked inside of Elvis’ brain as you look at him with a menacing look in your eyes, smirking like the Devil himself just walked into the room.

That goddamned board.

“Get my Bible,” Elvis orders Charlie, never taking his eyes off of you. Charlie does as he’s told and grasps the Bible from the bedside table, handing it to Elvis. The singer takes off the necklace he was wearing with a cross pendant hanging on the silver chain and hands it to Charlie, looking at the smaller male.

“Put this on her forehead,”

“Elvis...” Charlie widens his eyes, holding onto the necklace and pretending to be terrified of going near you. “Can’t we.. can’t we just call an ambulance?!”

Charlie was going to do whatever Elvis told him to do anyways because it makes the situation seem more natural but even if he wouldn’t be acting, the glare that Elvis gives him is enough to have him sprint into action. He runs over to the bed and pulls you down, keeping you down on the mattress as he presses the cross against your forehead. As you look at Charlie, you have to try your damnest not to ruin things and laugh, but luckily you manage to stay in your role.

Writhing on the bed and trying to get out of Charlie’s grip with what truly is little effort but looks like a lot, you let out a bloodcurdling scream. Elvis comes closer to the bed while he is quickly reciting any kind of prayer he thinks might work, reading psalm after psalm. He’s taken back for a second when you did what Charlie and you rehearsed- kicking the brunette off of you and making him land on the floor. You swear you could hear Charlie chuckling, but Elvis is only focused on you.

Now you are the one that is taken back as he gets on top of you and grabs your wrists, holding them above your head as he’s still reciting prayers. He’s yelling at the non existent demon inside of you to get the hell out and Charlie has to muffle a laugh in the palm of his hand, curious about what you were going to do because neither of you expected this.

You felt a laugh bubbling in the back of your throat, so before it could come out, you stop writhing on the bed and drop your head to the side, pretending that the prayers worked and it has all come to an end. Elvis sat on top of you for a few more minutes until he releases your hands and gets up, closing his Bible. He watches you, ready to once more go into action as he sees you casually sit up and get up from the bed. He frowns a little as you walk over to Charlie and hook your arm through his, clearing your throat.

“The end.” You and Charlie gracefully bow, bursting out into uncontrollable laughter.

Until you notice one person in the room isn’t laughing.

Feeling the mood shifting in the room and as if a thunderstorm just passed over Graceland, you stop laughing as you see Elvis glaring at the both of you. You walk over to him as he throws his Bible on the bed and cup his face, but he’s quick to swat your hands away and get back into his bed.

“Elvis, c’mon. Don’t be mad, baby. We were just having a little fun,” you laugh softly, sitting on the edge of his side of the bed. He turns his head to look at you, his blue eyes icy cold. You weren’t unfamiliar with that look but usually it was something more serious that brought it on and you never liked it.

But what you weren’t realising is that this was serious to Elvis. He thought he was going to lose you to some freaky demonic entity.

“Get out.” He simply states in a low voice, turning his head back to the TV that was still on. You look at Charlie and he gives you a little nod, taking you out of the room with him.

You succeeded in pranking the prank master, but you’re afraid you pushed him too far and that simply wasn’t worth it.

You figured Elvis would be over it by the day after Halloween and things would go back to normal. But then again, you know Elvis like the back of your hand and although you were not surprised by him ignoring you for a week straight, you were still hurt.

When he learned that all of the guys were involved in your little prank, he let them have a piece of his mind and that was that. But you were walking on eggshells. He even made you sleep in Lisa Marie’s bedroom for that entire week.

By Sunday night, you were fed up with it. Maybe you had taken things too far, but it was just idiotic that he wouldn’t even let you sleep in the same bed as him.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” He snaps as he watches you burst into the bedroom and get into the bed next to him, fluffing your pillow.

“What does it look like?” Maybe you don’t have the right to be annoyed with him, but you are. He knows how much you hate to be ignored and you’ve been worrying yourself all week with all sorts of doom scenarios, like him ending the relationship.

He grabs your arm to pull you out of bed but you sit up and pull your arm out of his grasp, the words flying rapidly off your tongue. “Good God, Elvis. I’ve told you I’m sorry about a thousand times, but you don’t wanna hear it! You haven’t spoken a word to me in a week. At least yell at me, be angry with me, do something!”

His nostrils flare as his jaw clenches and he sits up more straight, turning his body into your direction.

“You want me to yell? Be angry? Fine!” He barks harshly, his loud rich voice booming off the walls. “I thought I was gon’ fuckin’ lose you that damn night! I thought you really were gon’ die, Y/N. That there was some sonofabitch inside of ya who was takin’ ya away from me. If you think that’s so hilarious, well hell, then you really are an evil bitch,”

You weren’t hurt by him calling you a bitch. You and Elvis fought enough times in the past that involved ugly name calling but you always made up minutes later. It never lasted for days. But learning that he was truly afraid of losing you in that moment causes your heart to clench uncomfortably in your chest. You feel a pang of guilt in your gut and your shoulders slump, tears burning in your eyes as you could see a tear rolling down Elvis’ cheek. He quickly wipes it away and looks at the TV set, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Elvis, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” You exclaim breathlessly as you crawl closer to him and hide your face in his neck, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. His body tenses up but then he quickly relaxes under your touch and wraps his arms around your frame, placing one hand on the back of your head to press you firmer against him. “i didn’t mean to scare you like that, I really didn’t. I just thought it would be a fun prank for Halloween. I never thought it’d turn out like this.”

It was never your intention to truly hurt Elvis or emotionally scare him. Deep down inside, Elvis knows this and he feels a little guilty about giving you the cold shoulder for a week, but he doesn’t feel the need to apologize to you for that. Instead, he accepts your apology with a long tender kiss and then cups your cheeks as he looks into your eyes.

“You can prank me, baby, jus’… no more pranks like that, okay?” He whispers as he brushes some hair out of your face, thumbing a tear away from the corner of your eye. You nod, promising him that you’ll never do something like this again and keep it at small pranks only.

That same night, you and Elvis stand outside at the back of Graceland, watching the ouija board melt into mush in the firepit.

He wasn’t going to take any chances and forbids you to play with a board like that for the rest of your life. You have no problem promising him that you will never touch another ouija board again and content with your answer, he wraps his arm around your shoulder and looks at the flames.

“Don’t ever do that to me again, Little,” he whispers as he presses his nose into your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo before he kisses your head. You wrap your arm around his waist and hold him close as you nod, resting your head against his chest. “I can’t lose ya. Ever.”

“I promise, Elvis,” you say as you raise your head and look up at him, kissing his chin. “You’ll never lose me. Even the Devil can’t take me away from you.”

He grins at your words and pecks your lips, but then he pulls his head back and looks past you, frowning. Curious, you look over your shoulder and a hot feeling of fear immediately spreads throughout your chest, widening your eyes as you see two man wearing scary wolf masks stalking toward you and Elvis.

It was only you and your boyfriend at the house tonight, but still when one of the men grabs you and a few others that came from the other side of the premises grab Elvis, you scream at the top of your lungs for help. It doesn’t do much and your vision is taken from you as you’re being blindfolded, a hand being placed firmly over your mouth.

You were thrown in the back of a car and after driving for what felt like hours, you were being lifted out of the car. You couldn’t speak as one of the men had shoved what you guessed was a tie in your mouth because you wouldn’t stop cussing at them in the back of the car. You were surprised they hadn’t knocked you unconscious yet.

You were terrified of what was to come, but more so you were worried sick about Elvis. The last thing you had seen were a couple of masked maniacs overpowering him and dragging him away. Having no idea where he was or if he was even still alive, you were determined to break free and get out of where ever you were.

You needed to get to Elvis. The thought of never seeing him again made your head spin, feeling like you were about to either faint or be ill.

Despite your inner turmoil, you didn’t stop fighting your kidnappers. Not even as you were being placed on a chair, your hands tied behind your back and your ankles tied together. As the fabric was pulled out of your mouth, you were about to scream again until your blindfold was taken off. As your eyes adjust to your surroundings, you widen your eyes when you see Elvis and the Memphis Mafia standing in front of you, all wearing shit eating grins.

You realise you’re sitting in the pool room.

The guys all burst out into rumbling laughter, Elvis included, and he bends down to be at your eye level, his hands placed on his knees as he grins.

“Honey, I’m gon’ say this once and for all,” he bites his lip as he laughs, that mischievous little boy gleam in his eyes. “Don’t prank the master.”

You sarcastically laugh along with him as he unties you, glaring at Lamar who was having an uncontrollable fit of giggles when he tells you you should’ve seen yourself when him and Sonny were driving you around the block to make you think you were being taken somewhere else.

You stand up from the chair as Elvis has let you free and grab a poolstick from the wall. Red snickers.

“We should probably start runnin’ now, huh?”

“Yup.” Elvis smirks, popping the ‘P’ as he shoves the guys out of the way and starts making a run for it. You were immediately hot on all of their heels, your main suspect being Elvis, as you yell profanities at them while trying not to laugh.

Both you and Elvis know that this was only the start of what would become a very, very long prank war and you’re determined to take his title away from him, although you doubted you’d succeed at that.

As long as it didn’t involve ouija boards and any kind of demonic possession, Elvis was ready for whatever you had planned for him. But just to be absolutely sure, he made a mental reminder to have Lisa Marie stay at Graceland for Halloween next year so he could benefit of the free candy and admire your matching costumes with his daughter rather than thinking he was going to have to give you up to the Devil.

Because one way or another, he would shoot the sonofabitch.

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#elvis #elvis presley #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis prompt #elvis presley prompt #elvis headcanons #elvis presley headcanons #elvis smut #elvis presley smut #elvis x y/n #elvis presley x y/n #elvis halloween #elvis fans #tamwrites

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atinylittlepain · 7 months

Text

Chapter Six

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

warnings: 18+ heavy angst, references to past injury related to DV

a/n: so we are in for another heavy sitting. as always, my goal is always truth, nothing gratuitous, but honest. my DMs are always open, I'd love to hear what you're thinking about this one.

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Step into the light poor Lazarus

Don't lie alone behind the window shade

Let me see the mark death made

I dream a highway back to you

I dream a highway - Gillian Welch

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Where does the thaw begin? It is always gradual. Always give and take. Taking tentative, preening steps out into the sun one day, only to be snapped back into place by a sudden snarl of cold the next. But eventually, that perpetual dull thrum of white starts to melt. The streams in the mountains swirl and slurry up with it, a froth of life that churns down into the rivers that run a faint thread along the highway. Boulders will be moved, small trees uprooted, a whole new season breeding activity. The landscape rearranged, reconfigured until eventually, settling, eventually, green.

The flock is certainly happy for it, proud and relieved bleats, their heads tossed back in the clear, cool morning air. The two newest members of the group are still getting their legs under them, a little uncertain in maneuvering around the remaining slush, quick clipped jumps and jolts to catch up with their mother. And Dove is never far behind these days. Not even Dolores in his mind any more. Dove, Dovey, Dovey-girl whenever they go down to the bar and she’s beating him or John at darts.

Punch and Judy might like her just as much as they like their mother, necking and nuzzling up against her shins like cats, contented sounds whenever she greets them in the morning. Joel tends to hang back, letting her make her rounds, inarguably the favorite of both flock and feather. A gift, bells of laughter and the bright glint of her smile, even when she catches his eyes from across the field, like maybe it could be for him too. And then he remembers that is it for him too, because she always comes back, always comes to him with her eyes squinting into the sun and her smile slanting with the scrunch of her nose.

“They’re getting bigger everyday.” He thinks to himself that he wishes she wouldn’t remind him. Time has a way of getting parceled and pinched out here. Secret time, stolen time, no one paying much attention to time. How long has it been? Counting months in his mind as they make breakfast. He figures nine by the time they sit down. So much time. Time he has been greedy with. Enough of it that she may no longer need to stay. Or may no longer want to. He winces into his mug, small, sharp hurt that he is all too familiar with. Doubt makes him sulk, makes him slump. But then she always does something like she does right now. Touching just to touch. Something curious about it, like she is still unsure if she is allowed to, like this is not something she has had before now. Careful fingers curling around his wrist from across the table, coaxing his palm up to the ceiling so she can press her hand flat against his. He can feel her pulse where the pads of his fingers rest against the soft inside of her wrist, steady, with the occasional stutter.

“Do you want to go tonight?”

“If you do, yes.” Who says what, it doesn’t matter. Call and response goes both ways for them. If you do, then I do, and if I do, then you do.

“We don’t have to stay long.” Always giving her an out. She curls her hand around his.

“You just don’t want to lose at darts again.”

“You always win.”

“Don’t be a poor sport about it, I won’t want to play with you any more.”

“Hey.” That smile is for him, no question.

…

It isn’t often that Joel gets anything in the post. There is a mailbox at the end of the dirt road leading to the house. It has a large dent in its side, and has since he bought the place, near impossible to pry open. The mailman’s frustration with it is clear in how the lid is now hanging off its hinges, some sort of envelope, thick and obvious, sticking out of it as they drive home in the afternoon.

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure, I wasn’t expecting anything.” But he knows exactly what it is when he opens it, the knife he used to slice through the top of the padded envelope clattering onto the dining table when he pulls out a thick stack of documents from inside.

On top is a birth certificate. A hospital in Lincoln, Nebraska, and the first name is Dolores. And he shouldn’t, but she’s still toeing out of her shoes and hanging up her coat, so he quickly thumbs through the rest. A packet, and he recognizes what it is immediately. All those years ago, with Sarah’s mom, he got a packet that looked just like this. Divorce papers.

“Joel?” It startles him, and he knows he’s been caught, quietly setting the stack of papers down on the table, not quite able to meet her gaze.

“Those are for you.” He can’t watch, only catching a glimpse of the way her brow pulls down, a slight frown as she pads around the side of the table to get a better look.

“Oh.” She doesn’t pick them up, just drags her hand across them to fan the papers out on the table. And it’s a posture he hasn’t seen from her in a long time, the way she curls her arm back into herself, everything shutting and shuttering up tight and small. No, he can’t watch, but he can’t walk away either, shifting in his boots, his eyes landing on her only to flit away fast. She’s not moving, and he’s not sure if she’s even breathing, it’s that silent, save for the soft creak of the floorboards with his anxious shuffling.

“Do you have a pen?” It takes him a breath to realize that she’s asking him, and then he sets himself into stuttering motion. His hands feel too big, too shaky as he fumbles through the junk drawer in the kitchen, though something has changed in Dove, her shoulders straightened and smoothed out when she takes the pen he offers her. She hunches over the table, squinting through each page, a quick flurry of signatures that he knows she shouldn’t be dashing down so fast. But there’s no stopping her. Rampage and war path all in one, she huffs when she gets to the end of the packet, pinning the whole stack down with the pen and stepping back from the table like she escaped from something just in time.

“When do you want to leave for the bar?” She asks it light as air, a strange rolling back of her shoulders, her eyes settling somewhere just past him, not quite meeting him. He has to gather himself before he answers, stunned, and a little spooked, if he’s being honest.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“What does that mean?” All edge and ice, his stomach lurches quick and awful at this new thing, this very new, very frightening thing that she seems to be doing.

“Nothing, Dove, it doesn’t mean anything. But we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“I do want to.”

“Okay.”

Dinner is tight and silent as a fist. Neither of them looking at the other. She pushes the food around her plate, though he’s not sure if any of it actually gets eaten. And he can feel his own frustration mounting, that urge to get just a little big, and a little loud, to tell her no, to put his foot down, to stop whatever this is. But he knows that whatever this is, no matter how mean she makes it look, it is a hurting thing.

So they go to the bar, and he lists at the periphery of the small crowd, making meaningless conversation with Rod about the weather while he keeps the lion’s share of his attention on Dove.

She doesn’t like to drink, not usually. Most of the time, she’ll politely sip down half a beer, promptly handing it to Joel for him to finish. But tonight, she has already lined up three tidily finished bottles on the table next to where she’s playing darts with John, and while everyone else is jovial, enthused and amused by this sudden outgoing shift in her demeanor, all Joel feels is a nervous stutter in his chest.

He watches, quietly and carefully, until he cannot stop himself from stepping in any longer. It’s quick, the way she stumbles back into a table, sending a few bottles rolling over onto the floor before John can hook a steady arm around her shoulders. It’s enough to get Joel moving.

“John, I think it’s time for us to be heading home.”

“John, I think it’s time for us to be heading home.” It’s slurred and stilted, a garish mimicry of his voice that she punctuates with a hiccup and a fragment of a laugh, still slightly swaying from her hold on John’s arm. And when Joel reaches for her, a murmured please, Dove, pain wraps itself around his heart, an awful throb of it, when she jerks her arm away from him, stumbling over her feet and in turn nearly causing John to lose his balance. She is mean like this, he realizes, meanness that he didn’t know she was capable of. A hot scoff and an I’m fine sharp from the back of her throat, steeling herself away from John and holding onto a table to steady her shake. Joel swallows around heat and sickness in his throat watching the broken sigh that curls in her shoulder blades. Not mean, after all, but hurting.

“Yeah, I’d say so. I think Dovey-girl here had a little too much fun tonight.” He knows it’s John’s weak attempt to smooth whatever tension seems to be hissing. Right, fun. Joel tries for what he can of a smile, though it’s more grimace than anything else, quietly coaxing an arm around Dove’s waist, not even sparing John a second glance as he shuffles them out of the bar and into the quick snap of cool night air.

She’s laughing, her head thrown back on her neck, lolled to the side. And it isn’t the laugh he has gotten used to. It’s a bitter thing, an ugly thing, mingling and mixing with that broken rasp of hers. A miracle that he can get her into the car. Usually so tentative with touch, her hands are everywhere, skittering up his chest, tugging in his hair, pulling at his coat, his belt, all while slurring soft iterations of his name. He feels like he’s going to throw up. And maybe it’s a little mean, the way he collects both her wrists in one broad palm and tucks them pointedly in her lap. For a moment she stills, a tremble in her lip that he thinks is threatening tears, but then she tilts her head back in another sharp giggle, distracted enough with her own unraveling that he can shut the passenger-side door and hurry around to his side of the car.

The roads are dark, the mountains the faintest purple shadow in the distance. He rolls all the windows down, hoping that the swift whip of wind might help sober her up. She’s silent in the passenger seat, but he can feel her heavy stare, her cheek dropped down to her shoulder to look at him.

“Joel.” Lilting and long, a little sing-songy call of his name, Jooooel. He doesn’t indulge it with any attention, keeps his eyes focused on the road getting eaten up by headlights in front of them. But she doesn’t abide by that for long. He tries to shake it off at first, jostling his knee like that might make her take her hand away. A quiet don’t, do not, Dove, when her palm starts to skirt higher, curling around his thigh. And it becomes too much so suddenly, so quickly.

“Godfuckingdamnit!”

In a blink, in the time it took for her hand to brush against the in-seam of his jeans, he has driven them off the road and into the soft, new grass on the side of the highway. He has gotten loud, and he has gotten big, shoulders hulking up toward his ears as his eyes flash, frenzied, over to her. And she has gotten small again, pressed back against the passenger-side door, silent and unblinking. He has scared her. But she has scared him as well.

Neither of them say a thing. He allows himself two deep breaths, and then he guides the car back onto the road.

She is still, subdued, and when he finally parks in front of the house, he realizes that she has fallen asleep, her lips parted and her head tilted back. He had hoped that she wouldn’t, but she stirs when he opens the passenger door, an indignant sound in the back of her throat as he unbuckles her seatbelt for her. He moves to take his hand away, but she catches his wrist, a weak hold that he doesn’t resist.

At first, he cannot understand what she’s saying, something mumbled and murmured, her lashes dropped down to her cheeks. She says it once, twice, and it starts to become clearer. You, me, you don’t, me, you don’t want me.

“That’s not true, Dove.” She sighs, running her thumb over his knuckles, her weepy eyes flickering up to his beneath her brow. And it’s terrible, tearing something open inside of him when she tries to lean forward, tries to pull him closer, tries again. Terrible that he has to press a hand to her shoulder to keep her from doing something that she will surely regret. Something he doesn’t know if she would even want, if not for the haze she is in. Maybe the most terrible part of it, actually.

And then that same chorus. You don’t want me, want me, want me, you don’t want me. And he could laugh, and he could cry, because all he has been doing is wanting her, and trying to stop himself from wanting her.

“Not like this.” He says it so quiet, he doesn’t know if she hears it, listing somewhere between consciousness and sleep. If she does, she shows no sign of acknowledging it, just letting out a long string of sighs as he helps her out of the car and into the house.

Her face is tucked into the side of his neck, blowing hot breath against his skin as he makes the awkward stumble up the stairs with her clinging under his arm. He manages to get her shoes off, and her coat, which once was his, but has been hers for a while now. It’s silent, save for her quiet murmurs of protest to any movement, eyes scrunched shut as he coaxes her under the covers. All she offers is one more sigh of his name, like penance or prayer, before she slips back under merciful sleep’s thumb.

Joel doesn’t get into bed with her. He can’t. He knows that he can’t, not right now. So instead, he sits down on the floor with a quiet groan, letting his back rest against the wall across from the bed, his head tipping back, like maybe there might be some sort of answer in the vertical.

There is no answer.

…

The difference between grief and mourning is noun and verb. Grief, the thing, and mourning, what you do with it. Never pretty, never perfect, never graceful, or gracious, any of it.

When Sarah was in middle school she went through a phase of being interested in the paranormal, in death, and what might come after it. Every night, Joel would come home and find her on the couch, watching the same show in which people recounted all their various and supposed hauntings. It had worried him at the time, going to his mother, even to Tommy, asking them if they thought it was strange. It would pass, the advice he received from everyone around him. Being young, it’s natural to wonder if and when the time for all of that to end will come. So when he would come home at night, he would wordlessly join her, somewhere between awake and asleep, half-listening to the television. But now, he remembers something that was said through the thick static of cable. Unfinished business, right, hauntings happen when patterns must be returned to and repeated. Phantom figments playing out all that was left unsaid, undone.

What happened last night had nothing to do with him. He is pretty certain it could have been anyone sitting in the driver’s seat alongside her. All that Dove needed was a willing participant, a captive cast member, to enact a haunting of her own, to close some gap, stitching some snapped thread in her mind. No, nothing to do with him, nothing at all.

At some point, sleep caught him, slumped to the side, a sharp pain in his neck when he wakes up, still seated on the floor. Dove isn’t in bed, a rumple of sheets where she had been laying. He’s too tired for that quick pulse of panic to fan into any real flame, but he does consider it. That maybe this is what leaving looks like.

But no, he stumbles out onto the porch, hurting with how bright it is, no. She is out there with the flock, still in her clothes from last night. He can only see her back with the way she is sitting in the field, spine curled over and into itself.

Shame settles thick and toothsome in his gut, though why he isn’t sure, anxious and awkward in how he comes to stand just in her periphery, letting presence be known, but not needed. She is crying.

“I am so sorry, Joel.” She says it plainly, voice flat and distant. And he isn’t going to say that it’s alright, because they both know that whatever that was, nothing about it was right. Purposeful, but not intended for pain. When cornered, a wounded animal will lash out against anything that moves, innocent or arbiter.

“I know you are, Dove.” When he takes a step closer to her, Avril lets out an indignant bleat from where she is watching a few paces away, part of her flock, a warning that she will do more if she does not like what she sees. Under any other circumstances, Joel would roll his eyes at the animal, ridiculous, but today it keeps him at a distance, sitting down far enough from Dove that he could not reach for her if he tried. And he would like nothing more than to reach for her, to forget what happened last night, to go back to the way things were. A stupid wish, a childish wish, one that cannot be made real.

“I don’t ever want to be like that again.”

“You aren’t like that.” And he means it. That wasn’t her, not the present her. A ghost somewhere inside of her that found its way to the surface, breaking beneath her skin.

“I understand if you want me to leave.”

“I don’t.”

“I was awful to you.” He doesn’t speak at first. Because yes, it was awful. An awful thing that makes him feel sick now even thinking of it. And awful too, that he knows he would forgive her of anything. Already forgiving this.

Punch comes wobbling up to her, taking the laces of her boots in her mouth before snuffling up her leg, nosing under Dove’s palm, intent on affection that she is so willing to give. Maybe they have let these girls get too domestic, a little too comfortable with humans, but he doesn’t care, watching a watery smile try to spread across Dove’s lips as she scratches behind the lamb’s ears.

“How are you feeling?”

“My head hurts, but I deserve it.” No, he thinks, none of this has been deserved. A strange cascade of poison. Cause and terrible effect.

When he reaches for her, Avril abides, plodding away, if not a little indignant. He takes up her hand in his, and though ligament and lines remain limp, she lets him, still not looking at him, but letting him.

“I am so sorry.”

“I know you are.”

…

He takes care of it for her. Seals the packet of paperwork back in the envelope and writes the requisite address on the front, tucks the whole thing in the backseat of the truck. And they move like careful planets, still in orbit, but trying hard not to touch, to linger.

The first thing he does after dropping her off at the diner is go to the post office, though he thinks twice of it. Reopens the envelope in the driver’s seat for the third time now and reads through the whole thing, every condition, every clause. A clean break seems to be the sum of it, nothing glaring to any of it. So he closes the envelope one more time, and posts it back to Nebraska.

It’s a wordless communication, the way she turns in the passenger seat to check for it when he picks her up in the afternoon, settling back when she sees that it is gone. Still smarting, both of them, they move carefully through their usual errands, the grocery and the library, the drugstore for a new bottle of Advil for her.

Her voice has gotten worse over the months, since what happened in November. The word that she uses for it, not what he would call it, worse. Usually the hardest to hear her in the mornings, words cracking into whispers or suddenly stuttering up a pitch. He knows it upsets her, how she will quickly close her mouth mid-thought, lips pressed in a thin line like she couldn’t stand for any more of that sound to come out. He brought up the idea of taking her to see a doctor in Denver once, and she had scoffed, the whites of her eyes showing with their roll because no insurance, and what money she has, set aside for a different problem entirely. She hadn’t let him even begin to say that he would help her cover it.

Today, it is particularly bad. Not in how it sounds, at least not to him, but in how it is clearly painful for her to speak, wincing around the few things she does say, the menial mundane things of errands, clearing her throat in between each response, a hand curled and hovering over the front of her neck, not touching, but sensing something that has seemed to change permanently.

Maybe the alcohol, he thinks, the abrasive slip of it down her throat. Or maybe the fact of loud, the loudest he had ever heard her, those clipped laughs. Maybe a combination of the two. Whatever it is, he can see her frustration mounting with it, until finally, she sits with a terse crease in her brow and her lips kept in a stoic pinch on the drive back home. Betrayed by her own voice, in more ways than one.

The only thing she does say, once the groceries are put away and Joel is preparing to help her make dinner, a rattling rasp, I’ll do it. A wave of her hands, away and behind her, and he won’t argue, worried she might cry if she has to speak any more.

Disappointed that it’s him and not her doing the evening rounds, the sheep are at best tolerant of his care, keeping a dignified distance as he fills their water troughs and checks on the lambs. The chickens are less loyal, and more stupid, he thinks to himself, but even they seem a bit jaded when he is the one that shuts the coop for the night.

The house is warm when he comes back inside, windows spilling syrup into the oncoming night. It smells good, salt and savor, something simmering on the stove. A strange contrast, the inherent life that a kitchen suggests, and the solemn way she is moving around it. Recompense, remorse, heavy things pulling at her shoulders, curling her smaller over pots and pans.

“This looks good, Dove, thank you.” She nods, passing him a full plate, warmth seeping into his palms from the bottom of it. But when they both sit down, he recognizes it immediately, so many steps back. Her hands are in her lap, and he already knows that she’s waiting for him to start. Doing that thing again, and he can do it too. Fork and knife remain untouched, he sits back in his chair, a small challenge. Maybe ten minutes pass like that, the steam from their plates long dissolved into the air, when she finally looks up at him, frustration clear in the pull of her brow.

Something that she learned. Something that was taught to her, just like all the rest of her fear. Back when she first came to stay with him, she was always apologizing, always thanking. And the cooking, and the waiting for him to start before she would even consider her plate. Like punishment, like always being aware of some score, and afraid of what might happen if she does not balance it. And he’s watching her sink back into it, all of it, right now.

“Dove, please.” She blinks at him, a slack frown pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“You should eat, Joel.” She puts every ounce of sound she can behind it, and it still comes out quiet, a quick burst of decibel on eat, like her voice tried to kick up in her chest just enough to end on a good note, though his name comes out the softest of all of it, a whisper that seems to hurt.

“So should you.”

“I will.”

“Now, please.”

“I feel terrible.” And he knows that she isn’t talking about her lingering headache, not even the pain in her throat. He knows that she has probably been exacting perfect retribution on herself in her mind, all day. She looks miserable, because she has made herself miserable with guilt that has festered into shame.

“I forgive you, I do.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“You didn’t mean it.” Her eyes flicker, so small he might have imagined it. But no, something shifts behind her grimace, and he realizes that he might be wrong, that there had been some truth to her want last night. A want that she doesn’t know how to manage, a want that she doesn’t know what to do with. A want like his.

“I don’t know how to, Joel.”

“That’s okay.”

“I don’t think I can stand it.”

“What can’t you stand?”

“For you to not–” She cuts herself off, a sharp breath that threatens tears. But he knows it’s the same thing he’s afraid of that she is speaking to. Want can be so violent, so rash, so wicked and wretched in how big and bold and blustering it can get. But really, it is a child, hoping that someone will hold its hand, hoping, for once, that someone will walk it home, see it through the night.

“It’s the same for me, Dove. I can’t stand it either.”

On her terms, the only way this will ever work, he offers a quiet come here, please, pushes out his chair from the table, and waits for her to respond, to react. And yes, it takes time, but eventually, she does.

“Warm.” Said to herself, maybe not meant to be said at all, her eyes intent on where her palm splays over his chest. He places his hand over hers, keeping it there.

There is no one around for a good few miles, but here is what the coyotes see in the yellow drip of light coming from the kitchen windows. A man, sitting in a chair pushed back from a dining table, and a woman, standing between his legs, her hand on his chest, and his hand on her hand. And they are not smiling, neither of them, and they are not speaking either. They are looking at each other. The man places his other hand on the woman’s waist, and he gives her a small nod, a making sure, making okay. The woman nods too, and she lets her other hand settle along the man’s jaw.

But people are very boring to coyotes, especially broken ones like these, so they do not stick around to see the rest, skittering off with a chorus of yips and clackering sounds, seeking their own small satisfactions.

No, the coyotes do not see when the woman carefully dips her face down, nor do they see the man tilt his chin up in answer. And the coyotes certainly do not see the small, shivering kiss that is over as soon as it starts. Two shadows turning into one, and only the smallest sliver of light between them when they separate again.

The coyotes have much more interesting matters to tend to than such human things. After all, spring has finally come to the mountains.

..............................

taglist: @cassiopeia @eleganthottubfun @anoverwhelmingdin @sscorpiiio @joeldjarin @casa-boiardi @suzmagine @syakhairi @spookyxsam @northernbluess @hier--soir @joelsgreys @wannab-urs @tieronecrush @trulybetty @softlyspector @noisynightmarepoetry @csarab615 @ratoonstown @harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @lizzie-cakes @beskarandblasters @narxisus

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #the last of us #joel miller fics #joel miller series #joel miller story #joel miller au #joel miller imagine

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meraxesmoon · 1 year

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Yandere! Platonic! Rhaenyra w/ Her Cole! Daughter

note: she's on my mind 24/7, lol

warnings: yandere content, giving nyra the daughter she deserved to have, possessive rhaenyra, girl dad laenor, toxic papa criston, talk of the "incident", petty nyra, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, major spoilers, angst, reader gets married to aemond but it's never explicitly mentioned

♡ One of my favorite little details we got in the show was how Rhaenyra was subtly possessive of her children. It almost seems like she's hesitant to share them with anyone, even their father. For example, Laenor was always getting cut off when it came to their boys, so I believe that Rhaenyra is possessive of her children. I think it would get so much worse if she had a daughter, though! Nyra loves her baby girl so much, even if her father is someone Rhaenyra wants nothing to do with now.

♤ I especially like the idea of her daughter being her oldest child and the one that looks the most like her, or even her mother (not including her skin, of course). Rhaenyra was so scared the first time she had given birth, but I can imagine she was so happy to learn she had a girl! I think that Rhae was especially close with her own mother, so she's happy she can have the same type of relationship with her own daughter!

♡ Rhaenyra makes sure that Viserys is the first to meet her baby girl, too. He's a grandpa now! Nyra is like one of those cats showing off their babies because they're so proud. However, she's painfully aware of how hard it's going to be to keep her daughter by her side like she wants to. The small council will want to marry her off one day, and that just breaks Rhaenyra's heart. She doesn't ever want her baby to leave her, so she dreads the day that (Name) will grow up and be of age to marry.

♤ As for (Name)'s father figure, Laenor absolutely adores their baby girl. He's the proudest papa to ever exist! He often tries to take her on trips with him, but Nyra would never allow it. He knows that she's not biologically his daughter, but that would never matter to Laenor. As far as he's concerned, she's his perfect little girl. Laenor is such a girl dad for their baby, too! Once she's old enough, Laenor likes to put her hair up into intricate Targaryen-typical braids. He used to do the same thing to Laena when they were children, so it's slightly bittersweet for him since he misses her so much.

♡ As for Criston, he can't get very close to (Name) due to Rhaenyra's possessiveness over her daughter. Nyra keeps her close, little (Name) following her like a baby duckling, and Rhaenyra makes it clear that she wants him nowhere near her precious baby. This makes him so frustrated because while he doesn't care for Rhaenyra as he used to, Criston has such a soft spot in his heart for his daughter. She's literally his world, and it kills him that he can't be a father to her because of Laenor and Rhaenyra. He absolutely loses his shit when Harwin comes into the picture and starts watching over the little princess as well. That's his baby, not Harwin's!

♤ Imagine how heart-wrenching it would be if Rhaenyra's daughter acted a lot like Aemma did :(

♡ Rhaenyra was very rebellious and sort of a troublemaker, so when little (Name) gets older and is more laid back and motherly towards her siblings, it makes Nyra think so much of her own mother. I feel like Rhaenyra would sort of... condition her daughter to cling to her even as she grew older, so having (Name) around so much definitely helps Rhaenyra keep her calm even when things in Kings Landing are going badly.

♤ Speaking of, after Aemond loses his eye and Rhaenyra moves to Dragonstone, she's weirdly happy that her daughter isn't living in Kings Landing anymore. Rhaenyra had this overwhelming paranoia that her daughter would find out about Criston fathering her, and just the thought makes her blood boil. She's glad that she can keep (Name) away from him, even if it means hearing her poor girl cry about missing her family.

♡ I mentioned marriage issues earlier, and as her daughter gets older, the more worried Rhaenyra gets. She thinks of marrying (Name) to Jace, but she needs connections to house Velaryon through Baela. Rhaenyra doesn't want her daughter to marry at all. In fact, she wouldn't even give her a choice in the matter. I imagine that she would be pressured into it by the small council, and her poor baby would be forced to marry one of Alicent's children.

♤ Rhaenyra is just one big mother hen, and after the death of Lucerys, she becomes desperate. She needs to have her sweet girl by her side and away from the man who killed her poor Luke. Rhaenyra would arrange to have her daughter whisked away from the Red Keep to be brought back to Dragonstone. After all, (Name) is her heir and only daughter.

♡ Rhaenyra needs her sweet girl at her side.

#my poor girl </3 #yandere mom rhaenyra #yandere rhaenyra targaryen #yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon #yandere asoiaf #yandere a song of ice and fire #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere #kay writes #rhxegal

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galedekarios · 5 months

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Hey! You're my go-to blog when it comes to Gale. I love your meta about him, your insight and your knowledge of his character. This being said, I'd like to know your opinion of this line in his romance:

“To know you love me for the man I am, and not the magic I command... None have loved me so purely before.”

Do you think he's talking about romantic love here? Because his mother and Tara clearly love him for the person he is, too. Or are his insecurities and the idea of himself so strong that he can't see this? Thank you in advance, have a great evening!

thank you so much! 🖤

personally, i do think that he does mean this in a romantic context.

HOWEVER, having said that, i do think there are different insecurities woven into his perception of relationships that venture outside of his worth due to magic, and into his worth as a person who is in need of help and support - yet considering the core of why that is, they are also connected.

what i mean by that is that there are moments in particular that make me believe he feels a burden to people, because he is in need of help and - from his perception - makes others 'work' to help him, he asks a "sacrifice" of people (needing magical artefact so he consume the weave inside to stabilise the netherese orb) that is so great in his eyes that he feels the need to convince them that said sacrifice is worth the "investment".

i realise this is sort of going in two directions, but i don't think i can answer this differently so i hope you'll bear with me for a bit:

i'll try to look at the relationships you mentioned in your ask separately to illustrate what exactly i mean.

1. from what little we do know about morena, nearly every time she is mentioned it's made clear that she truly and unequivocally loves gale, and i do believe gale is aware that she loves him, too - and really, truly just for him.

we have these two convos with tara that highlight how that love (both are from gale's origin playthrough):

Tara the Tressym: Well, if it isn't my favourite fellow himself. Gale: How are things back in Waterdeep? Tara the Tressym: More or less the same - though news of some mad faction calling themselves 'Absolutists' is starting to trickle in. Tara the Tressym: I told your mother not to worry. That if they were anything to worry about, Baldur's Gate would handle things quick-sharp. Keep them from spreading their tendrils north. She still wants to know when she'll see you again, sir. I avoid giving any answers. But she misses you. Gale: I miss her too. Tara the Tressym: I'll tell her. With my Cat Flap of Displacement, I can afford the occasional visit. I'd bring you along, if I could. Perhaps some day. - Gale: I can't risk putting her in danger. Tara the Tressym: I know that, but she doesn't. She'd keel over if she knew just how you'd tried to manipulate the Weave. Or maybe she'd just say something like, 'My Gale always was one to make the impossible possible.' Oh, but she adores you.

and this one from act ii:

Gale: Will you love me when I'm a mind flayer? Tara the Tressym: Depends. Are mind flayers warm-blooded? If so, my prize napping spot on your lap won't be compromised. In which case, I suppose we could find an accord. And, of course, your mother would still think you a prince, no matter how many tentacles you had. And with a nautiloid, you may even manage to visit her more often.

from the one tiny snippet (that is still bugged) in which gale mentions his mother to the player character, he seems quite assured in that love his mother has for him as well:

she's happy if he's happy.

i think the only thing that detrimental to the relationship with his mother is the orb, the shame he feels over what has happened and fearing he may put her in danger. which, sadly, is a valid concern to have. these fears aren't only echoed in the conversations with tara. we have this bit from the same conversation as well:

Player: You’re right. Just 'Gale’ is better. Gale: I agree. And on the plus side, if I get myself into any truly cataclysmic straits during the remainder of our journey, my family name will go untarnished.

his family name will go untarnished and with that, his mother's name.

this is more speculative, but in another meta i mentioned that i do believe that gale's father left the family at some point, abandoning morena and gale. his father also is not mentioned in the letter from elminster in god!gale's ending:

this could of course be meaningless and his father simply may not have been there at this point in time, but i think this overall goes with the theme of an absent father and it may have brought gale and morena even closer.

2. tara herself doesn't let gale doubt her love him when the game allows her to be there.

she is extremely quick to try and beat any and all self-deprecating remarks gale may make. she is aghast at mystra's demands to the point of saying that she is considering picking up a crossbow to "put the gods" out of "our business." she's always been there for him, and she always will be. she's his longest friend and companion, as well as colleague.

i've picked a another example here to illustrate what i mean:

this very sadly appears to be cut content (tara was supposed to be there for a companion gale as well), but:

Gale: You seem to have fared well enough without me, Tara. You look positively prosperous. Gale: Or should I say, positively proser-puss! Ha! Tara the Tressym: No, you should not say that ever again. Gale: Apologies! Couldn't help myself. Tara the Tressym: True enough. That's why I came looking - to help, if I could. Gale: I have not failed to notice. I truly do not deserve such loyal companionship. Tara the Tressym: Yes, you do.

unfortunately, like i said, tara as gale's familiar and companion was cut from the final version of the game, so while we do know that gale is aware of all that tara has done for him (considering the conversation from the tiefling party, helping him through his isolation, finding out what his condition needs to be treated, getting magical artefacts for him, etc.), we have act iii companion gale saying this:

Gale: Tara remains as wilfull as ever, but I'm glad you've finally made her acquaintance. Given the length of my time away, I feared she might have given up on me. I should have known better - she'd never do such a thing.

while this is not gale thinking tara doesn't love him for who he is, it is very much gale thinking that tara may have given up on him because of their time apart.

there are definitely insecurities lurking there in the vein of "i cost her so much effort and so much work, so maybe now that i've been away for so long, she's finally had enough."

it's very sad to see.

3. when gale talks about previous lovers he has this to say:

Player: Gale, am I the first... mortal being you've been with? Gale: What a question... Gale: No, you are not the first. Though you are the first since my relationship with Mystra came to its ignominous end. Gale: When the true danger posed by my condition became apparent, I had no choice but to sequester myself away from civilised society. A reclusive wizard - who'd have thought? Gale: After so long with Mystra, I have to say the pleasures of mortal love are much sweeter than I remember. Though perhaps that's simply because it's with you.

this tells us that he must have had at least one lover before. yet, and that is where the quote in your ask is from, he also says this:

Player: What does our relationship mean to you? Gale: You must know, our relationship is the brightest spot in our otherwise bleak endeavour. Gale: To know you love me for the man I am, and not the magic I command... None have loved me so purely before. Gale: You are everything to me, and yet our relationship is only a nascent fraction of what it will become. You give me hope, and I've not had that in some time.

i think we can extrapolate from that that not only his relationship with mystra made him feel these insecurities, but that the relationships he had previous may have also fed into this perception of his worth as a romantic partner is tied to his magical abilities.

it's not hard to imagine: waterdeep is very much a city of intrigue. gale was not only a graduate of blackstaff academy, but a powerful archwizard and a chosen of mystra.

4. lastly, i want to talk a bit more about what i said in the beginning and when i talked about tara and companion!gale: that gale feels he is a burden / an investment.

it's already reflected a bit in the way that he believes his relationship with tara has deteriorated in act iii simply because of the distance between them now that he has been away from waterdeep for a prolonged amount of time.

the first time you can get a sense for this aspect of gale is when you agree right away to help him with his condition. there's a prolonged amount of silence and it's clear on his face that he didn't expect you to agree so quickly and without needing to be persuaded.

Gale: Thank you. I see my trust in you was not misplaced! Gale: I'm sure we won't have to look very far to find what I need: Faerûn overflows with magic-infused treasure. Gale: As do our packs, as a matter of fact. We've such an item already in our possession, primed for the moment the need arises. Gale: I know the allure magic artefacts hold. I understand their value and their power. All this to say: I understand the sacrifice I ask of you.

Player: No. If you aren't willing to tell me the truth, I'm not helping you. Gale: I understand that I'm asking for a lot, but I can't tell you everything.

he makes sure to thank the player deeply every time they do give him an artefact, bowing to them, citing their "boundless kindness" and it's also why he is also quick to reassure them that there will be an upside for them, making this "sacrifice" for his sake.

gale's power and knowledge and skills as a wizard.

he is useful and he can make himself useful.

your "investment" in him now will be "worth" the return later.

in conclusion, i hope now it's clearer why i felt like i had to bring these two things together. i believe they are clearly interwoven with each other.

also sorry for rambling! this got away from me a bit. 🖤

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #ch: gale dekarios #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #meta: mybg3 #text: asks #long post for ts

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