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neo-nomatrix · 11 months

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Drunk words are sober thoughts

Hobie Brown x reader

Part three of the My Nuisance mini series. Find the other parts here

word count: 959

Synopsis: Hobie forgets everything he told you last night. Thank you @good-so for the inspo!!

When you woke up Hobie was gone. You were surprised you didn’t hear his obnoxious boot buckles clicking when he left. In fact you were surprised he left at all. He basically confessed his love and the fact he was Spiderman to you last night.

You needed time to process everything, make sure none of it was a fever dream. As soon as you woke up (and gathered your thoughts) you trudged over to Hobies flat. You knocked on the door similar to how Hobie always did, part of you was angry that he had left you but you would rather die than let him know he got to you.

“Hobie? You in there?!” You yell pressing your ear against the door.

As you lean into the door it opens up, he had left the door unlocked and didn’t even fully close it. You stepped into the rather dark flat and admired the decorations. He had a way of making everything look like a punk rock magazine, despite the chaos it was cleaner than you had anticipated. You searched throughout the flat trying to find him but it was clear he wasn’t there.

Eventually you came across a small box decorated with photos of the London bridge and bright colors. You didn’t mean to snoop around, really, but you just couldn’t help yourself. Inside were five things: three letters, a ring, and a necklace. You had recognized the ring and necklace, they were yours. You had lost both of them by mistake about a week ago but assumed they were long gone. As you thought about it more you realized something like that happened often, you would lose something of yours and a week later they would up outside of your door with a note attached to it.

Usually saying “You’re quite clumsy, love - Hobie”

It hadn’t occurred to you why he had found so many of your things until now.

You looked at one of the letters, and sure enough it said “You just keep losing stuff don’t you? Good thing i’m here to save the day -Hobie” You smile to yourself thinking about the fact that he would probably give you this tomorrow.

The second letter was from you. The first time you had ever told him to turn down his music. As you read it you realized how much you had changed from the first time you met him. You were so polite in the letter, the fact you had taped a letter to his door instead of screaming at him was polite in itself. After that first letter you don’t think you have ever said “please” and “thank you.” From then on it was mostly you stomping over to his flat and yelling while he stood there amused.

The last letter was addressed to you. And it was double sided, either this boy has a lot of baggage or he was really in love with you. You felt awful reading it though. You started at the first words for a while “For my Love,” until the lights switched on.

“You’re breaking into my house now? That’s cheeky init?” He smirked. God he is so stupid, and what British person actually says init?

“The door was open. I was… just checking to see no one like a robber had broken in,” you replied.

“Right, and you also wanted to make sure that box wasn’t broken into?” he replied.

You immediately set it down.

“I haven’t read any of it, promise,” you smiled

“Yet, you haven't read any of it yet,” he finished for you.

“So, about last night?” you bring up. Hoping he’ll want to talk about it.

“Right… uhm, i don’t really remember any of it? So whatever i said don’t pay any attention. I’m a compulsive liar when I get wasted,” he shrugs.

Oh. He didn’t remember anything he said. And he’s also a dunk liar. Cute. You were still slightly convinced he’s spiderman, though. He showed you the suit and the mask, which weren’t exactly replicas to your knowledge. And trust, you knew your spiderman suit replicas. But the other stuff?

The stuff about you hurting his feelings and him being in love with you? Yeah, you were almost one hundred percent sure those were lies. You don’t know why you were convinced with one but not the other. You just did.

“Yeah, of course,” you looked sad.

“But I should get going,” you said after a moment of silence.

“Right, we’ll uhm, see you,” he said.

You nodded before looking down at the ground, walking off without being able to look into his eyes.

You shut the door to your flat faster than you ever have before.

“Oh my lord,” you whispered to yourself.

Gods, if that wasn’t the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you. You didn’t even know what you were thinking, you had to be mental, right? Going into Hobies flat while he wasn’t around? And he caught you? You could never show your face again.

While you’re in your flat panicking your mind out, Hobie is filled with anxiety. He’s racking his brain trying to remember what happened last night and why he woke up in your bed. Did he say something horrible? Did he confess his deepest secrets to you? The answer was yes, but he didn’t know that yet. He only left early because Miguel had pinged his watch with some stupid mission.

“The fate of the multiverse is at stake,” or something like that.

He knew he had to talk to you again. Picking up the box he pulled out the ring. Admiring the way it glimmered in the fluorescent lights.

Throwing away the note that came with it, he knew exactly how to start a conversation.

Taglist!! @clown420cunt @good-so @anonima-2 @gh0stsp1d3r @miracleboylene @natthernandez @frenchbaddie @loislucky @juo6uvr @gaychaosgremlin @skiedrr @the-golden-goldie @hellok1ttycake @theleftkittycollection @xbl00dy-r0s3x @diamondroxypie

#hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x reader #spiderman atsv x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderpunk x y/n #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk x you #marvel x reader #hobie brown #spiderman x reader #spiderman atsv #spiderman atsv x you

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spaceyaceface · 10 months

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Only In Dreams

Ominis Gaunt x f!Reader/MC

This fic was written based on the angst prompt the wonderful @applinsandoranges gave me!!! I had SUCH a great time writing this, thank you so so much lovely! There's definitely a lot of angst in here, but I am but a softy, and couldn't help but give it a happy ending :)

Summary: She spent her days in love with him, and her nights wishing they were together. But she knew it would never be---Ominis Gaunt had sworn off love for the sake of ending his family's legacy. She knew she wouldn't be an exception to that.

Prompt: “I’d rather sleep in all day ‘til I’m dead”

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Angst

It hurt, being so in love with her best friend.

It hurt even more when even sleep didn’t let her escape from it.

She woke with a start, hand reaching up to brush over her lips, recalling the echo of his breath mingling with hers from just before she awoke. The first few times she’d had that dream she couldn’t help but shed a few tears. Now, though, she only released a shuddering breath and arose to begin her day.

The dream was always the same. They were standing in some room—she wasn’t sure where, exactly, but that didn’t matter. All she saw was him. He smiled, and told her that he loved her. Then he leaned closer, closer—

And there it ended.

Night after night, she lived through the same tormenting scenario, one she was absolutely certain was impossible.

She had been in love with Ominis Gaunt since the summer after her sixth year when he came to visit her small flat in London. They had walked down the street, arm in arm under the flickering streetlights. When they had stopped on a bridge and he offered her his coat, she knew she was doomed. It had only gotten worse since then. Every innocent touch felt like fire. The rare laughs he gave when in the company of his closest friends made her stomach tumble end over end. And in the night, when she fell asleep thinking of him, he found his way into her dreams.

Maybe they were nightmares. She didn’t know what to call them anymore. All she knew is that they were painful, showing the desires that could never be.

Ominis had told her several times throughout their friendship that he planned on never marrying. It would be selfish of him, he insisted, dragging any undeserving person into the mess that was the Gaunts. To ask someone to bear that name—the possibility of children forced to have it—it was too much. No, he had told her. He couldn’t do that to anyone. Better not to love when he was certain it would result in nothing but continuing his family’s legacy of pain.

Back before her feelings for him had fully come about, she had tried to argue against his stance. Ridiculous, she had told him. Why should their mistakes define whatever happiness you might find? But it was useless. When the subject came up after she had fallen like stones were tied to her feet she felt she couldn’t speak on the issue. Before, it had been for him. For his happiness. But suddenly, it felt like she was trying to convince him for her sake.

She knew full well that she would not be an exception to his decision, as little as she cared about what the name Gaunt would mean if it ever became hers.

As she finished dressing, she sat on her bed, closing her eyes and sighing. What she wouldn’t give to live in that dream. Where none of that mattered. Where he felt the same. Where that ache in her chest became a flame of excitement and hope.

Just as she had every day for the past month, she walked down to the Great Hall, as if there was nothing wrong at all.

Despite the pain of having what she wanted so near, she couldn’t help but seek out Ominis’s calming presence. She was a moth to his soothing flame, eager to hear his quiet voice as he whispered witty remarks, desperate to let her hand brush his as they walked. So when she entered the Great Hall and saw him talking to Sebastian, she smiled.

His head tilted toward her as she approached, having long memorized the sound of her footsteps. His soft smile graced his lips. “I swear, you get here later and later every day. Soon enough you’ll be missing breakfast all together.”

She chuckled. “I’ll just have Sebastian help me nick something from the kitchens when I do.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Please. You know stealing from the kitchen is easier than anything. If you need help with that, you’re hopeless.”

“Maybe I just wanted the company.”

“Are you suggesting Sebastian is good company?” Ominis said, smirking.

“I never said good or bad. He is entertaining, in the least.”

Sebastian tore off part of the toast he’d been eating and threw it at her. “I don’t know why I talk to the two of you. There’s never a break from the torment.”

“Except right now,” Ominis said. “Off to Ancient Runes you go, unless you’d rather join us for History of Magic.”

He scoffed. “Never. I can’t believe the two of you still take that class. Voluntarily.”

“It’s an interesting subject, Binns is just an awful professor,” she said.

Ominis shrugged. “I just take it for my beauty sleep.”

“Merlin knows you need it,” Sebastian said, patting Ominis’s shoulder and starting down the hall. “I’ll see the two of you later.”

She and Ominis began walking to class, one of the rituals they had together. She’d always enjoyed having this class with him, whether it was spent sharing not-so-quiet whispers or nodding off for a morning nap, it was always nice.

And as she watched Ominis as he laid his head against his hand, she remembered just why she didn’t mind the nodding-off days.

He looked so peaceful as he napped, his protected expression giving way to one of pure bliss. It always made her sad to think she saw that softness from him so rarely—it made her hate his family all the more for stealing that from him, like so much else.

She didn’t know how long she sat, watching him sleep. She didn’t know how long it was until she dozed off herself. But suddenly, there she was, once again.

All she could focus on was his face tilted down toward her, his hands grasping her own. The rest of the world around them was a blur—it didn’t matter. Not when he was there with her, grinning like a fool.

“I should have told you ages ago,” he said. “I love you. More than anything.”

The words came so easily. “I love you, too.”

He leaned forward, placing a hand on her cheek to help guide him. She would wake up any second now, she knew. She would open her eyes and—

His lips met hers. They were soft, gentle. Her head was spinning, heart pounding in her ears. She tilted her head just so—

The jostle on her shoulder catapulted her back to reality. Her breath was coming fast as she looked over at Ominis, his hand still on her arm. A quick glance around the near-empty classroom told her class had just ended.

“Sorry to wake you, but it’s time to go,” Ominis said.

He stood and offered his hand to her. Fighting warmth in her face, she took it, letting go quickly once she was on her feet. His brows furrowed. He seemed to have noticed the slight tremor in her hand.

They walked down the hall, heading to their next lesson. She couldn’t look at him—not without seeing the image of him in her dream. She did her best to act normal, chatting with him softly as they went.

But Ominis knew her too well. He stopped at the end of one of the corridors and turned toward her. “Are you alright? You’re acting… off.”

She pressed her lips together. “I’m fine, Ominis.”

“You don’t seem fine,” he said softly, taking a step closer to her. She sucked in a sharp breath. “Did… did you have a nightmare, just now in class?”

Only he could see right through her like that. “No, not really. It was just a dream.”

“Just a dream?” He shifted his weight, shaking his head a bit. “I don’t think it qualifies as ‘just a dream’ if it’s left you in a state like this.”

“It was… it was a dream that couldn’t come true, alright?” she said softly. “I can’t explain any more than that.”

“Maybe if you talked about it, it would help—”

“Ominis, please,” she said, voice pleading. “Drop it. I can’t talk about it.”

And drop it he did.

He was so bloody kind. So damn respectful. It made her want to bawl her eyes out.

The dreams only got worse in the coming days. She imagined the feeling of his lips on hers nearly every night, and then it progressed to more soft moments she had always been longing for—laying side by side in a field, hands intertwined, his arms wrapped around her as he pressed a kiss to her forehead—and then the worst of all. Ominis, standing down an aisle, soft music playing as she stepped toward him.

That was the one that destroyed her. She woke up in tears, curling up in the corner of the bed and trying not to wake her dorm mates with her sobs. Of all the cruel things her mind could conjure up, that one stung like a knife to the heart, because there was nothing she wanted more than to devote herself completely to the man she loved so much.

She thought about avoiding him for a while. See if it would get the dreams to stop. But each time she went someone, determined not to talk to him or look his way, there he was, a lighthouse shining out for her ship so lost at sea. He called her home to him, time after time, and she went, no matter how much it hurt.

It was Sebastian who finally called her out for her strange behavior. She knew it had only been a matter of time. She was too anxious, too jumpy compared to normal. Shen her two friends would bicker, she would find herself lost in thought, only to be startled when one of them asked her a question.

“What’s been going on with you?” Sebastian asked as the two of them settled on the floor of the Undercroft. “We’ve been worried. You’re not yourself.”

A million options of what to tell him ran through her head. But after just a moment or two, she finally settled on what to say—the truth.

“I love him, Sebastian,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. Instinctively, she pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her head on them. “I love him so much, and I don’t…” The tears started coming, and once they began, she couldn’t stop them. Sobs worked their way up her throat, all of the aches she had built up for months finally letting loose.

Sebastian rushed to comfort her, albeit a bit taken back by the outburst of emotion. He rubbed his hand over her back, trying to soothe her. “Hey—hey, it’s alright. You’ll be alright,” he said softly.

She tried to regain control. It was difficult, but she focused on taking deep breaths. When Sebastian saw she had calmed down enough to talk once more, he let out a sigh. “You’re talking about Ominis?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Can I ask how long?”

“Since he visited me last summer but… God, Sebastian, it’s only been getting worse.” She took a shuddering breath. “For weeks now, I’ve dreamed that he feels the same, even though I know he’ll never…” She bit her lip, eyes welling up once more.

“A dream that couldn’t come true,” Sebastian said, sounding far off. Ominis had told him of his worries after History of Magic, of course. Now it all made sense. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know it’ll never happen,” she said. “He made it very clear he has no intention to pursue anyone like that. I’ve accepted it.”

She wished Sebastian could reassure her. Tell her no, you’ve got it all wrong, he’s mad for you. But they both knew their friend—that he had locked up his heart and thrown away the key, despite any and all protest from them. So Sebastian didn’t say empty words of ‘you never know’ or ‘it could work out’ or ‘you’ve still got a chance’. Instead, he looked at her with eyes full of sorrow, and offered a tight lipped smile. “Do you think it would help if you just told him?”

“Maybe,” she admitted. “Then I could put it to rest. I could stop fooling myself that there could be a way to make things work.” She could stop dreaming about it.

Sebastian left. He promised he would find Ominis, send him down there to talk to her. She’d have a few minutes to gather her courage, to find the right words.

And then it’d be over.

She could only hope it wouldn’t destroy their friendship—all the good they had built. She needed him, desperately, in any way she could have him. He was the anchor in her life.

When the door to the Undercroft opened, she felt like she might suffocate. He called out her name.

“Are you alright? Sebastian said you needed to talk, what’s going on?” His voice was on the verge of panic. It pulled at the most tender parts of her heart. In a moment, he stood in front of her, putting away his wand. “What’s happened?”

She closed her eyes, steeling herself up. “I’m fine, Ominis, I just needed to tell you something. Something I hope doesn’t ruin everything.”

“Ruin…” His voice trailed off. “I’m… afraid I don’t follow.”

“I love you, Ominis.” The words, the ones that she had locked away for so long, the ones she had swore to herself she would never utter, pierced the air with sudden sharpness. She watched Ominis’s expression wash away, an empty slate of utter shock overtaking it. “I love you. I… I needed you to know that. I’m sorry. I don’t expect anything from you. You’ve already told me you would never love another like this. I suppose my heart just couldn’t heed those warnings.”

He didn’t even seem to be breathing. His mouth opened slowly, as if trying to form a response, but closed again.

She brushed her hand on his arm. “It’s ok. You don’t need to say anything. I just needed to put this all to rest. I hope…” her voice trembled. “I hope we can remain as friends.”

She left him alone in the Undercroft before she could start sobbing yet again.

When Ominis entered the common room, he was an utter mess.

Sebastian had waited up for him—he expected he would need to talk after everything happened. By the time Ominis finally came back, everyone else had gone off to bed.

Ominis’s usually neat hair was disheveled from running his hands through it over and over again. His blazer was held bunched up in his arm, no care for the later wrinkles it was sure to have. The hand holding his wand in front of him was shaking terribly.

“I take it she told you?” Sebastian said softly, clearly worried about the state of his friend.

Ominis didn’t answer, dropping his coat on one of the sofas and pressing his hands to his face.

“What happened? What did you say to her?” Sebastian asked. If this was how Ominis had fared after their conversation, he could only imagine how she was doing.

“I didn’t say anything.” Ominis’s voice was quiet. Hollow.

“You—hold on, she laid her heart out to you, and you didn’t say anything?” Sebastian stood, folding his arms across his chest.

“What was I supposed to say, Sebastian?” Ominis said. “My mind went blank.”

“You tell her it’ll be alright!” Sebastian replied, anger edging its way into his voice. “You tell her that even if you don’t love her the same, you’ll still be there for her.”

“I can’t lie to her, she’d see right through it,” Ominis said.

“So you’re abandoning her, then?” Sebastian took a step closer to his friend. “You can’t handle knowing she cares so deeply for you, so you cut her off?”

“That’s not what I’d be lying about!”

Ominis collapsed onto the sofa, head falling into his hands. The meaning of his words slowly sank in.

“You love her, too?”

His silence was enough of an answer.

“Then why didn’t you tell her that?” Sebastian’s voice had lost all of its fury as he came to sit next to his friend.

“How could I?” Ominis scoffed. “You know what I’ve always said. I don’t want to drag anyone into my mess of a family. I thought I could simply… not fall in love. It sounded easy enough. But she came along and…” He shook his head, sighing. “How could I ask her to be part of all of that?”

“But you wouldn’t be,” Sebastian said. “You wouldn’t be asking her to be part of your family. You’d be asking her to be with you. I think she’s made it pretty clear she would say yes to that in a heartbeat.”

“Sebastian, you don’t—”

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You deserve to find happiness. You’ve found it in her. Your bloodline shouldn’t determine that for you.”

“I…” Ominis pressed his lips together. “I’ll think about it.”

Sebastian sighed. “I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get.” He stood, patting his friend on the shoulder. “I’m off to bed. If you have any sense in you, you’ll tell her first thing in the morning.”

It was a good long while later when Ominis finally entered the dorm room. Even as he laid out on his bed, sleep evaded him. When the first bit of sunlight began to warm the room, Ominis pulled himself out of his mess of sheets.

First thing in the morning it was.

He didn’t even know if she would be awake yet, or if she would have been out of her dorm. But he couldn’t lay in his bed a moment longer. He’d search for her, for hours if he needed to, just to feel like he was doing something.

Funny how she was at the first place he looked.

She’d always been fond of the boathouse. She’d told him how some nights when she couldn’t sleep, she’d sit out there to look out at the stars. It was always quiet there, just the lapping of gentle waves from the lake and a soft breeze. She was leaning against the railing of the dock, his wand told him, staring out over the water.

“I thought you might be out here.”

She didn’t respond, but patted the railing beside her, an invitation to join her. He put his wand away and settled where she’d indicated. He took in a deep breath through his nose, letting the fresh scent of pine carried over the lake soothe him.

“It’s a lovely sunrise,” she said softly.

He was sure it was. He could feel it—the growing warmth of the early morning. “I came to apologize,” he said.

“You don’t need to do that,” she said. “You can’t help if you don’t feel the same. Please don’t feel bad about it, Ominis.”

“But I—that’s not what I’m apologizing for.” He took a deep breath, preparing himself. “I didn’t say a word last night. That was awful of me. To leave you in the dark on the thoughts running through my head. I can’t imagine what this night has been like for you, it was tormenting me, thinking of how it must have made you feel.”

He heard a slight movement from her, an inhaling breath that told him she was about to respond. “Please,” he said, interrupting her before she could speak. “Please, let me finish. I need you to know exactly how I feel.”

She stayed quiet. He willed himself to go on. “When you told me you loved me, I… I was afraid. You were right. I had always been determined not to fall in love, not to allow myself those feelings. But then I met you, and it made me question everything.” He felt her attention trained fully on him. “Before I knew it, I was in love with you. How could I have expected anything less? But I was still so caught up in my family, in the legacy they’ve left, how I could never ask you to be a part of it. You deserve so much better than all of it.”

He turned his head, facing toward her. “But I can’t let them loom over me forever. Not when it keeps me from what I want most. I love you. If you’ll have me, I am yours.”

He didn’t have a chance to prepare himself for the way she threw herself on him. The way his arms wrapped tightly around her waist as he fell was pure instinct. The two of them tumbled to the pier, and he couldn’t even think to feel any pain over the sound of her joyful laughs.

They sat up. One arm was still around her waist, and her own were thrown over his shoulders. Her nose buried itself right by the crook of his neck, the warm breath of her laughs tickling him. He couldn’t help his own laughter as it bubbled out of him. The months—years of aching, of wanting, of waiting, slipping away in an instant.

She pulled her face back, and he could feel her eyes tracing over him. “I love you,” she said softly, smile in her voice. “I love you more than anything.”

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, and all she could think was how much better it was than her dreams.

#Ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis x reader #ominis x mc #ominis gaunt imagine #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis imagine #ominis x you

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kinktae · 2 years

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most undesirable || (M)

Spring has sprung and engagement is on the forefront of all of Regency London's young ladies' minds. All except for yours, of course– the Queen's niece who a certain notorious author has named the Ton's most undesirable.

pairing: lord!jungkook x lady!reader

word count: 5k

genre: BRIDGERTON AU, regency era, angst, eventual smut

warnings: cocaine usage (not oc or jk), oc has dead parents

A/N: this fic was commissioned by the lovely Baby. As per her request, it features me and our beloved izzy! please do let me know if you would like a part two, i have big plans for whats to come next ;)

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PART ONE **UNEDITED**

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A word of profanity left your painted lips as the outsoles of your lace-up boots danced across the limestone floor of the palace, making haste but not in a manner that was unbecoming, your head held high despite your mood running low.

You reached the door of Her Majesty's room with purpose, hands fiddling with the satin of your dress to make sure it covered your shoes. It wasn't that you didn't appreciate the influx of garments your dear aunt had gifted you upon your arrival. Still, the heels Her Majesty had deemed in style this season were particularly uncomfortable. She would no doubt grow sour to see you parading in countryside shoes in her home.

"Your highness." One of the oldest guards snickered, his eyes flicking towards you knowingly as he and another guard moved to open the grand doors to their Queen's private quarters.

You crunched your nose, "Shh."

Of course, the guards had already read the paper… Rotten gossips.

Willing a smile onto your face, you were let into the room. Your aunt sat at her sofa, the furniture floral in design, its fabric dyed a luxurious red. Between her hands were the source of your dismay, the newest Lady Whistledown papers fresh off the press.

You hadn't had the pleasure of reading this week's issue personally, but word traveled outrageously fast in the palace; both maids and guards suckers for a good scandal. You knew quite intimately the matter of its content as you were the matter of its content.

"Ah. Niece. There you are.” The Queen called you over, setting the paper down beside her unceremoniously.

You walked closer stiffly, "Aunt Charlotte, you wished to speak to me?"

"You know I adore you, don't you? You're like a breath of fresh air in this miserably dull palace."

Your once tense shoulders relaxed instantly, taking comfort in knowing she hadn't called you in for a scolding.

"It is you that lights up every room you enter, your Majesty." You bowed your head slightly, knowing well that flattery was your best line of defense should the tides change against you.

"I do, don't I?" She agreed with a grin, before it fell off her face suddenly. "Sorry– whatever were we talking about?"

"Um–"

"Ah, yes! Well, there's no point mincing words. I'm sure you've seen it by now. I mean, can you believe it? That sorrowful sow Whistledown attempting to soil the reputation of my bloodline with such a frivolous title as… as…" She snapped her fingers, forgetting the word she was looking for.

The sound echoed throughout her enormous chambers, currently barren as your aunt was in the process of renovating.

"Ice Princess." You reminded her quietly. She tutted her tongue in recognition.

"How tactless, how tasteless! It is me who sets reputations. Not her. No, no, this simply won't do."

You watched in silence as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Remind me, darling. Why weren't you at the Danbury Ball?"

You shifted, thinking back on the excuse you had given her, "I was… ill."

It was a lie, of course. You had been feeling quite well actually when notice of the ball came 'round. But could anyone fault you? Ballrooms and gowns weren't exactly your area of expertise.

Growing up, your mother and your aunt couldn't be more different; you often heard stories of the two sisters butting heads from your grandfather. One sister went on to marry the king of England, the other a humble traveling merchant. One stood throne in England; the other lived simply in France's countryside. Despite their differences, it was no secret that your aunt loved her older sister dearly, writing to her often in hopes of convincing her to come move to England. When she learned that your mother was with child, she even went as far as to purchase land for her sister and soon to be niece.

But your mother was every bit as stubborn as she was kind. She loved her husband and the life she had built with him, staying by his side until she passed last year. Your poor father was grief-stricken; by eight months, the stress on his heart had become too much, dying nearly a year after your mother.

It was your aunt who had reached out first, offering her deepest condolences and, far more noticeably, all the money you could ever need and your very own suite in the palace.

You weren't exactly sure why you had agreed to such a lucrative proposal. You, much like your mother, adored the countryside and the small town you grew up in. And perhaps that was why you agreed, not to move in, but instead to visit. She was family, after all, something you didn't have very much of left, though you have since come to know of a cousin Friedrich, recently married to an Edwina Sharma that your aunt raved on and on about.

In the week you had been here, you had come to know far more about British aristocracy than you ever wished to know, entirely out of your element amidst the corsets and personal maids. Only recently had you managed to lower your number of attending maids to two, a far cry from the original seven you were greeted with.

You did your best to fit in, but you were no fool. You knew nothing of soireés– or how to dance for that matter, so the moment your aunt spoke of a ball, you knew you had to conjure up some excuse as to why you woefully must decline.

"Exactly! For heaven's sake, you were ill. How dare Whistledown suggest otherwise." She gestured at the staff in the room as though they were her audience.

The sound of the Queen's chamber doors being thrown stole the attention of everyone in the room. Unsurprising to you, two young maids barreling in, tripping on each other.

"S-Sorry, Your Majesty!" The blonde stuttered out.

The brunette nodded in agreement, "Our apologies, Your Majesty. We didn't know where her highness had gone–"

"–We came running as soon as we realized she had snuck off."

Isabella and Roselia. Of course. Your two personal maids. You had only just managed to shake them from your trail when you heard the news that the Queen had sent for you. You should have figured they'd inevitably catch up with you.

They were pleasant enough company, the duo were quite funny, actually, but the constant shadowing was something you learned you rather detested. You understood they were under strict orders by the Queen to ensure your every need was attended to but still… surely even nobility understood the concept of wanting to have a moment alone?

"Oh— Are we interrupting something?" Roselia's cheeks went pink, eyes running over the room as she took note of the Queen's pursed mouth. "We'll just… we can wait outside actually."

"Outside, right! We'll be just outside." Isabella chimed in, heading bowing as the brunette maid yanked her back and out of the room.

"Sorry for the intrusion!"

You stifled a snicker, watching as the young maids slipped back out of the Queen's chambers, shutting the grand doors as they went. Your aunt merely rolled her eyes at the bumbling maids.

Suddenly, her Majesty sniffed, and it was as if a switch had been flipped. All her maids ran towards her, offering handkerchiefs as if their life depended on it. You nearly laughed at such a ridiculous display of servitude, but seeing as you had spent well over a week in the palace, you had become accustomed to such theatrics.

"Whistledown is right about one thing, you know." Queen Charlotte said as her nose was blotted at. "Everyone needs to meet you. And meet you they shall."

In surprise, you pulled your eyes from the doting maids, "They shall?"

"Certainly. We shall have a ball. Here in the palace, of course."

You felt your stomach plummet into your leather-bound boots, your aunt's words echoing.

"All of London's marriage-minded ladies and lords are to be invited. We'll show Whistledown just how splendid you are. Oh! How glorious if you were to find a suitor! That certainly would put to rest that frozen title once and for all."

Just faintly, you could make out the sound of white noise buzzing, mixing with the words the Queen spoke. Anxiety flooded you, deafening your brain's attempts to self-soothe and rationalize that this wasn't the catastrophe you felt it was.

"Aunt Charlotte," you tried to swallow, but your mouth felt stripped of all moisture, "I… I'm not sure if that is wise–"

But it was as if she hadn't heard you, rambling on as if you hadn't objected, "I'll be arranging for etiquette and dance lessons since my beloved sister undoubtedly failed to do the same for you. Are you free this afternoon, darling?"

You stood for a moment, no doubt looking foolish as you struggled to get your words out, "I… I suppose I am…"

"Dear, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Are you feeling well?" The Queen cocked her head at you, eyes sizing you up with concern.

"I… I am not feeling my best." You admitted.

"That's the second time now. Growing up in the countryside— all that sun and dirt— it's made you weak of constitution. Hm. Very well. We'll wait until you're feeling better. In the meantime, I will begin planning!"

You averted your eyes politely as she bent over suddenly, inhaling a white powder off her tea tray through a nostril. She sat up with an exhale, eyes fluttering open with a smile.

"Oh, how I love having you come to stay in the palace for a change. I'm terribly bored these days, you know." She sighed. "Did you care to assist me with planning?"

Despite how you felt seconds from unearthing your already digested lunch, you managed an apologetic smile, "I'm not sure I'd be of much help. I'm afraid I've never hosted a party before."

"Yes, my dearly departed sister never cared much for such things, did she? Such a shame she raised you out of the aristocracy." She said.

A furrow found your brow.

"You're wrong, you know." You disagreed before you could think to hold your tongue. And just like that you had become a magnet, all eyes in the room snapping towards your frame.

"Oh? About?" The Queen offered you a pointed look.

"About the way I was raised. I wouldn't change a thing about it. My mother didn't fail me… she loved me. I had a mother and father who loved me. That was worth more to me than any new dress could ever." You said, gesturing to the gifted garment you adorned today, with perhaps a touch more spite than you should've.

Of two things those in the palace knew to be true. One— Her Majesty was not wrong. Ever. Her opinion was the first to seek and the only to matter. Anyone was someone because she said so, whether explicitly or subtly.

And two— her love for her niece ran deeper than even she anticipated, as watching you stand before her defiantly didn't fill her with rage as the staff in the room assumed, but rather with melancholy.

You looked like your mother just then. It seemed you reminded her of her sister more and more as the days rolled by.

"Your mother would be pleased to hear that." She merely replied, wondering if her sister might be looking down on you both at this moment. At her words, your entire demeanor softened.

"Very well. Off you go." Your Queen sniffed, a handkerchief at her nose within seconds.

Bowing, you moved to exit the room.

"And niece," she called one last time, causing you to turn around, "must you wear such unsightly footwear under your dress?"

You felt your face grow hot, muttering a quiet apology before exiting the room altogether.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"Chin up, darling." Your aunt reminded you.

You followed her instructions coolly, hoping you didn't look nearly as nervous as you felt.

It was undoubtedly a soirée for the books; every square inch of the ballroom was gilded in gold, the chandeliers' gleam diffusing luxuriously as it bounced around the room.

Eligible men and women of all shapes and sizes had come from far and wide, donned in their absolute best; every possible hue of pink, blue and purple on display for Her Majesty. The ballroom looked akin to the royal grounds, you thought; the cool-toned dresses reminding you of upside-down bellflowers, floating across the marble floor in a synchronized dance.

Flocks of the most noticeable families and town figures had swarmed their way to the royal estate, drowning themselves in champagne as corseted woman fluttered their eyes at the Ton's lords.

But despite their poised smiles, neither woman nor man spared you more than a cautious glance and courteous bow. As the hours ticked by, you couldn't help but feel increasingly uneasy. Was it fear of Her Majesty sitting beside you that kept them away from you? Or was it the less than auspicious picture a certain faceless author had painted for them about you?

"It's rather hot in here, wouldn't you say?" The Queen spoke to you suddenly, looking larger than life from her magnificent throne.

"I suppose." You agreed absentmindedly, far too occupied with how a group of ladies' eyes flickered your way.

She continued, "Perhaps some champagne will cool you down. Why don't you fetch yourself a glass, dear?"

The meaning behind her words was clear. Go. Socialize.

"A splendid idea." You concurred.

Granting yourself one final shaky breath, you straightened up, walking towards the table where drinks were being freshly poured.

"What shall it be, my lady?" A servant greeted you politely as you reached it.

"A glass of champagne, please." You smiled, grateful for a friendly face, perhaps the first of the night.

The servant nodded, moving to open a new bottle.

"She doesn't even hold a title, you know. That Ice Princess."

You blinked, growing still as your ears caught wind of a conversation between party goers not far from you.

"But she's the Queen's niece?"

A sinking feeling washed over you, the kind that made all the other noise in the room disappear. You flirted briefly with abandoning your spot in the room altogether, but the bubbling pour of golden liquid into a glass kept you still. You thanked the servant with a halfhearted smile.

Bringing the glass to your mouth, you turned an ear to the three gossiping ladies, careful to avoid their gaze.

"Word has it her mother married out of the aristocracy." One of them babbled, pulling noises of disbelief from the others.

"Pity. Though, I suppose that explains the appalling way she walks in heels. You'd think she grew hooves from all that time she spent in the countryside." Another prattled. Stifled giggles rang around the group like they were all in some sort of secret, one that wasn't theirs to know. "Can you believe she thinks herself better than us?"

"One more glass, if you please." You asked the same servant, quickly making your way back to the Queen, now with a glass in either hand.

You approached her wordlessly, merely offering her a glass.

"Ah." She accepted the drink eagerly, and for a moment, there was silence, the two family members enjoying the cool velvety acidity of what was no doubt costly champagne.

"It appears the Ton thinks poorly of me." You blurted out.

You felt rather foolish telling this to your aunt. It wasn't as if you really cared what three cankerous aristocrats thought of you. But who else were you to tell? You knew no one.

Your Aunt Charlotte furrowed her delicately painted brow, "Darling, it'll do you well to realize that this Ton doesn't think. They merely reiterate what they've been told. They don't know you. Never mind what they think they know."

But her words went in one ear and out the other, merely background noise to the way you suddenly felt all eyes on you.

And suddenly, your dress was too tight, the ballroom too small. You felt your breath grow shallow, a sure sign of panic. How may others deemed you the subject of gossip tonight? What else were they saying about you?

"I think I should step out for a moment." You muttered.

"Take your maids with you!"

You were halfway across the room before you could even think to register your aunt's reply. Blinking away your tears, you pushed yourself through the crowd, muttering absentminded apologies as partygoers scoffed in protest.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

How small you felt sitting alone in the palace's rose gardens. You wept on a stone bench, wishing ever so badly that your mother was here, looking back with sorrow at how she used to pull you into her lap whenever you were upset. How she used to wrap her arms around you, and everything seemed better, if even for a moment.

How you missed her. How you missed your father. How you missed your life away from this shining, hollow palace.

But they were gone, and the simple life that awaited you back home was gone. Aunt Charlotte was all the family you had left. Without your parents, your home was gone.

"Oh! My lady… forgive me!"

A soft voice caused you to gasp, turning to face the man that had walked in on your self wallowing.

You were up on your feet in seconds, wiping away at your face.

"No… no, it is I who should apologize! I'm sorry you had to see me like that." Your cheeks burned.

"See you like what?" The mysterious raven-haired stranger pressed, a note of cheekiness to his tone. "Human? Heaven forbid."

You laughed gently, sniffling away your shame. You knew at once he was no threat to you.

The young lord wasn't exactly sure what had led him to the palace gardens; most of the event seemed to be taking place indoors as the night nipped and chilled unforgivingly. Still, a few stray bodies mingled underneath the string of lights that the palace servants had strung up. He had briefly greeted them, passing through the clouds of cigar smoke and small talk before bounding down limestone stairs.

He had tucked his hands into his pants pockets, sighing as the night's festivities grew quieter the further he slipped away, the crunch of wet grass kissing the underneath of his dress shoes. His mind was heavy with thoughts, hardly noticing where his legs had taken him.

It was the sound of your cries that pulled him from his thoughts and jerked him back to his senses.

He was in the Queen's rose garden; he immediately recognized the vibrant flowers and tall bushes. What he failed to recognize, however, was the weeping girl sitting on a stone bench, a look of embarrassment written plainly on her pretty face as she realized she was not alone.

He was quite handsome, you noticed despite your humiliation. He was younger than most of the lords inside, his face still featuring a certain softness despite his sharp features. His gaze was inherently kind, his warm brown eyes all but beckoning you to lower your guards.

"Lord Jeon.” He introduced himself with a bow, eyes never leaving yours. "Forgive me if I frightened you, my lady. I shall return at once and grant you your privacy."

You sank back down onto the bench, pulling the shawl wrapped around your shoulders closer. Your dress was beautiful— you were beautiful… puffy eyes, smeared makeup and all. He couldn't imagine why a lady like yourself would be weeping in the rose gardens unattended.

"It's alright. I supposed I'm not the only introvert at this party tonight. The garden is big enough for the two of us."

Lord Jeon shrugged, "A bit of fresh air is good for the soul."

You watched cautiously as he walked closer, sitting beside you on the opposite side of the bench.

"You know… I've been told I'm a decent listener." He said suddenly, brown eyes admiring the roses surrounding you.

You blinked, "Is that so?"

"Well… not explicitly. But I've got two ears, so I'd say I do alright." He teased.

You smiled softly, contemplating how much to reveal to this stranger.

"It's… I suppose I'm just a bit out of my element here."

"You?" He seemed surprised, a slight chuckle of disbelief accompanying his question.

"You laughed." You raised a brow.

He bit down on his lower lip as if contemplating his following words.

"Well, it's just… I can't imagine someone like you having trouble at these events." He confessed.

For a moment, you wondered what he could mean. Looking down at your lap, you realized he must be referring to your extraordinarily fanciful garments.

"Ah. These clothes were a gift, and this hair— well, none of this is me. Not really. Truly, I don't know why I came." You sighed.

He nodded, "Beginning to feel that way myself, actually. Most lose interest when they hear my name. I'm a bit of a nobody, it seems."

"Funny. It would appear you and I have the opposite problem." You nearly laughed.

"Uptown girl, are you?"

"I'm afraid I've got a bit of a reputation. And no one cares to know whether it's true or not." You said.

He let out a sigh.

"Terrible soirée full of terrible people. I can't say that doesn't happen here often."

You let his words hang in the night's cold air, your fingers intertwining themselves across your lap.

"Is that all?"

Your head turned to face him, growing warm to find him already looking at you.

"Forgive me, it's just," he continued, "your sadness… it feels heavier than you're letting on."

He watched as your body language changed, suddenly tense as if you had built your walls back up.

He was back up on his feet within seconds, his shoes coming into view by the bottom of your dress as he stood in front of you.

Swallowing down a sob, you allowed yourself to look up at him.

"May I?" He asked, extending a hand out as if wanting yours.

Hesitantly, you gave it to him, assuming you would be ushered back onto your feet. To your surprise, however, he merely flipped your hand over, your palm now facing the night sky.

Your eyes widened as he took a finger and traced a line onto your palm.

No. Not A line. A letter.

L-O-V-E-R-?

He wrote into your palm. You stared at your hand, skin still buzzing faintly from where his finger had run across.

His mother used to do such a thing when he was younger and much angrier, often struggling to say the words when something troubled him. He only hoped it would work for you the way he had for him.

Frowning, you shook your head. He wrote once again.

F-A-M-I-L-Y-?

A tear fell from you as if instinctively. You nodded your head, confirming his suspicions. Spurred on by his touch, you moved to grab his hand, flipping it upside down as he had done to yours.

L-O-N-E-L-Y you wrote.

"… I just wish I had a little bit longer with them." You found yourself saying once you had finished.

"No time is enough when it comes to the people you love." He spoke with heart as if referring to his own personal melancholy.

Another tear fell from your eyes as his thumb ran over your palm, not to spell anything but to offer his condolences.

"No. I suppose not." You sniffed, a shiver running over you as a crisp breeze passed the two of you.

He wrote into your palm again.

C-O-L-D-?

You let out a laugh, shrugging dismissively.

"Here." Lord Jeon suddenly peeled his suit jacket off his shoulders. You froze, stunned silent as he gently draped it over your shoulders, a gentle smile on his face.

Your chest tightened, moved by the gesture of kindness. But before you could think to thank him, his warm fingers were at your palm once more.

F-R-I-E-N-D-?

His smile tugged at your heartstrings. You wondered how anyone inside could possibly look down on him. You didn't need to know his name to see that he was kind, a worthy suitor for any marriage-minded aristocrat.

F-R-I-E-N-D. You wrote back.

Happy was the girl who sat on the cement bench of the palace's rose garden, wrapped up warm under the jacket of the first person to show you genuine, unconditional kindness since arriving weeks ago.

The two strangers sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the quiet of company. Neither of you knew the other, but there was comfort in the silhouettes of the adjacent shadows at your feet, knowing that neither had ill intent towards the other.

"Do you ever wonder what it might be like to live in a palace?"

You fell stiff, mute as you turned towards him, watching how he looked over at the illuminated estate.

"Lonely."

"You think?" He pondered.

"I'm not fond of big empty rooms. They tend to make me feel small." You explained quietly.

"Well, should I ever have a palace, there would be no empty rooms. Every room with music and the sound of children's laughter. I would decree it so."

"Children? And where do you figure you might obtain those?" You chuckled.

"Well, they'd be mine, of course." He grinned lopsidedly.

You grinned back at him. "Then the happiest of children they would be."

You suppose the young lord reminded you somewhat of a child. He was a man by every definition of the word, standing tall and proud, but there was something about the way his large eyes took in the palace that was decidedly childlike. Eyes wide and glimmering with awe.

You watched contently as he suddenly noticed the silver plated container that sat by the leg of the bench; an unopened bottle of champagne sat neatly in a bed of ice, several glasses along side it.

Your dear aunt thought of everything when it came to party planning, you were coming to find out.

"Shall we?" He smirked suggestively.

"I don't see why not." You laughed.

The two of you giggled as he attempted to open the bottle, champagne spilling everywhere. He tried to pour you a glass neatly, but your new friend had no future in bartending, champagne spilling over the glass' edge and onto your fingers.

Sticky but smiling, you brought your glass up, mirroring him.

"A toast." He decided, his own glass now only half full from his carelessness.

"To?" You questioned.

He contemplated for a moment, meeting your inquisitive eyes innocently. A boyish smile broke out across his face.

"To us, of course. Tonight's most undesirables." He declared, making you chuckle.

But before you could touch glasses…

"Your highness!"

Your eyes went wide, your stomach dropping as a certain blond maid came scrambling into the garden.

"Isabella! Please! Just 'my lady' will do." Heat rocketed up your neck, ears no doubt hot to the touch.

Her hands fell to her knees, clearly out of breath from running around the palace grounds, undoubtedly in search of you.

"My lady, I should advise you to return to the party. Her Majesty the Queen has someone she wants you to meet." She cautioned.

You cursed internally.

"Of course, she does. Give me just a moment then. I'll be over shortly."

The young maid's eyes flickered over to Lord Jeon, cheeks rosy.

"But your highness—"

"Thank you, Isabella." You cut her off curtly.

The young maid gave you two one more final look over before nodded, pardoning herself with a curtesy.

Hesitantly, you turned back towards Lord Jeon, unsure what to make of the look of disbelief clearly written across his face.

Awkwardly, you brought your glass to your mouth, taking a cautious sip.

"Your highness? You're a princess?" He gawked, eyes still wide.

"No!" You quipped. "Not… technically?"

The young lord merely blinked at you, his doe eyes telling you everything his mouth wasn't.

You were rambling before you could help yourself.

"M-My mother is the Queen's sister. Technically speaking, she held the title of 'Princess.' Though, I suppose if my mother were born a man then, yes, that would make me a princess— titles are patriarchal in nature, it's all… very complicated, really…"

You felt like you couldn't take in a deep enough breath, the chilly air now burning your lungs.

"So… not a princess. Just… daughter of a princess." He reiterated, clearly stunned.

You felt a frown form on your face, all your etiquette instructor's reminders of poise and manners slipping from your mind.

"I am the Queen's niece. We shall leave it at that."

The handsome lord had the most fascinated look on his face, eyes locked on the way your jaw twitched, mouth shut rigidly to hold back the slew of word vomit you instinctively felt compelled to let out.

The way he held your eyes – the intensity behind his dark orbs – made you uneasy yet engrossed you all the same.

You bit down on the side of your cheek, "Are you upset that I didn't tell you?"

He shook his head suddenly as if trying to shake off his shock.

"No. I'm not."

"Are you… disappointed?" You grimaced.

You hadn't the faintest clue as to what was running around in his handsome head.

"Disappointed?" He cocked his head.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what the hell you're thinking right now, and it's frankly unnerving." You frowned.

The raven-haired man let out a noise that toed the line between amusement and disbelief.

"I think you owe me a toast… your highness." He teased.

Rolling your eyes, you failed to fight back a smile, bringing your champagne glass up to meet his, his smirk assuring you that whoever your aunt wished you to meet could wait a moment or two.

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captainpulisic · 3 months

Text

is it cool that I said all that? - c. pulisic

this is me manifesting reputation tv + this is an old draft I just finished up so it takes place abt a year ago when they were all still at chelsea

wc: 1.7 k , gif credits to to owner

it was routine at this point. and very frustrating for everyone that had to bear witness to the shameless flirting you and christian participated in every time your paths crossed.

it had started with occasionally bumping into each other at parties- you ran in the same circles, it was bound to happen. you’d spend the whole night tucked away in a corner, whispering and lightly brushing against each other. any girls vying for his attention that night were fighting a losing battle, christian too enraptured with refilling your drink and getting to know every detail about you. countless times girls had come up to the two of you, keen on winning his attention and luring him away, only to roll their eyes and stomp away when he paid them no mind. he never even noticed, too caught up in whatever you were saying, his pinky brushing against your hand.

all his teammates would laugh at how he’d always been reluctant to come to these parties, yet having found you, was now the first to show up. he now spent the weekdays waiting for the weekend, counting the minutes until he’d see your warm eyes and bright smile. but it never amounted to anything more, both of you too shy to make a move. when the night would wind down and the party would clear up, you’d smile and bid farewell until the next party.

when this became too tedious and christian too desperate to see you again, he decided to man up and be the one to dm you. enough was enough and he wasn’t going to get by on biweekly encounters and social media stalking you on the daily. from there, a streak of flirty messages and late night talking began. yet, again, nothing more came from it.

“just man up and ask her out,” ben bugged at him- having caught christian smiling down at his phone too many times.

one night, after a day of nonstop texting (yes, he had upgraded from dms to getting your number), you had let it slip that you’d never been to a match since relocating to london. you’d been eager to go but had never had a good enough push to actually do it. instantly he had invited you to the next match at the bridge, swearing it'd be a worthwhile experience.

it’s a date, christian replied and you both went to sleep that night with stupid grins.

fast forward a week later, the day of the match, and you’d spent the morning jumpy with nerves. was it really a date or had he just called it one in the midst of the moment? what if it was like a friend date? cue the nerves amping up.

your knees felt a little woozy when you recalled the phone call just last night (yes, phone calls between the two of you were a thing now, too). you’d stay up well into morning hours, talking on the phone, him recounting training days and you complaining about uni work. before hanging up, he softly said through the receiver, “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

and christian had stuck true to his word, the match and experience as surreal as you had hoped. the rut chelsea had been in recently was irrelevant, them managing to actually win the match- the first win in weeks. you were quite embarrassed at how you spent the entire time fawning over christian. seeing him play, all in his element, left you with heated cheeks and a thumping heart.

after the game, you follow the instructions he had left for you to find your way down to him. after twists and turns in tunnels and important looking halls, you’d found the outside of the locker room. politely smiling at some girls you’d recognized from the parties, you hung in the back, nerves of seeing christian began bubbling inside of you. as players filed out, one by one, each greeted their waiting girlfriends and invitees. every guy out was one step closer to finally seeing him.

after what seemed like an eternity, there he was. catching eyes at the same time, his handsome face broke into a smile, managing to tug at every one of your heartstrings. in few strides, he’s standing in front of you, his hand stretched out for you. pulling you to the far side of the room, to a hidden nook, you’re away from the eyes and ear of everyone else there.

“hi,” looking down at you. “thank you for coming.”

mirroring his lovesick smile, “of course. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

neither you nor christian remark on the fact that he hadn’t let go of your hand yet. and his brown eyes are staring intently into yours as he gives your hand a squeeze, “what did you think? was it everything you expected?”

“yeah, it was amazing.” you breathe out, trying hard to fight the smile on your face. you’re sure it looks quite silly, both of you with reddened cheeks and shy laughter. making yourself admit to him, “you were amazing.”

this causes christian to beam, his smile getting even wider (as if it were any more possible). he’s unsure of what to say, of what to do.

he wants to play the modest role and say that he was just doing his job, it was a team effort. he also wants to tell you that he had been trying to show off, well aware that you were somewhere in the stands watching him. he wants to tell you that he hardly slept last night, too nervous over the idea of seeing you today. he also wanted to tell you that you’re always in his head, consuming all his thoughts. or, maybe, he just wants to kiss you. yes, he could tell you all that stuff some other day. right now, all he wants to do is kiss your pretty face and never stop.

he takes this time to really look you over. from the minute he stepped out of the locker room and spotted you, he hadn’t lost you from his sight. travelling from your eyes to the slope of your nose and down to your lips, he couldn’t get enough of you.

and from there, is where his attention was brought to the blue fabric around your neck. gaze going down, for the first time, he notices that you’re wearing a chelsea jersey. christian chastises himself, too caught up in her pretty face that you hadn’t seen what she was wearing, idiot?

his unoccupied hand reaches to touch the part of the shirt closest to your neck. that color blue looked so lovely on you. it’s more of a whisper to himself, “I didn’t know you had a jersey.”

“well I didn’t,” it’s now your turn to beam. too caught up basking in his presence, you'd forgotten all about your little prematch endeavour. you were half nervous he wouldn’t care but half excited that maybe he’d love it. “but I got here early and decided to look around the store. I found something I really liked and had to buy, yanno?”

ignoring his furrowed brow and confused stare, you let go of his hand to turn around. your back facing him, christian is met with a neatly stitched ‘10’ and ‘pulisic’.

“you bought my jersey?” he’s dumbfounded, all he can do is stare at his name and number sprawled on your back. finding your hand again, he turns you face to face, again. christian was unsure of what to say, too many emotions going through his head and heart. “I coulda gotten you one for free, you didn’t have to spend your money on it.”

shaking your head, “nuh-uh, do you know how cool I felt going up to the register with your jersey? the lady working even asked if you were my favorite player.”

“yeah?” christian felt the two of you getting closer with every word said. as if there was some sort of magnetic force pushing you together, there were only mere inches separating you guys. one hand still holding yours, he let the other settle on your waist. it felt electric, it felt right. his mind flashed with the image of his name on your back, something possessive being awoken in him. “and what did you tell her?”

you pause for a moment, putting on your best poker face. in your most serious voice, “told her no. that mason mounts jersey was sold out so I had to settle for yours.”

instantly his smile drops and there’s a pinch to your hip where some skin was exposed. when did his hand get there? a pout on his lips, “you’re terrible. that was-”

“a joke,” now you leave a pinch on his cheek. a slight scoff and a glance towards mason on the other side of the room, “mason couldn’t pay me all the money in the world to wear his jersey.”

“good.” still pouting, he gets even closer with every word. being this close to him, you’re able to count every freckle on his cheeks and the stars in his eyes. both hands on your hips now, “because I don’t wanna share.”

“well lucky for you, pulisic,” another inch closer, “I don’t want to be shared.”

lips practically touching, your hands reach to cup his face. from there, you pull him down as you go up on your tiptoes. everything else seemed to fade out as your lips moved together. no rush or urgency, just softness and words unspoken. who needed words? words and confessions could be said later.

too lost in each other, the two of you were unaware of mason and bens nosey stares. shaking his head at the scene in front of them, ben holds his hand out. “alright, he finally made his move and they’re snogging. pay up.”

“no way!” mason scoffs, “the bet was that he had to make the first move. she practically jumped his bones.”

“bloody specifics,” ben mutters as he opens his wallet and hands mason the 200 (unjustly, in his opinion) owed pounds.

what? if they had to suffer and watch two idiots fail to flirt, they were going to make some money out of it.

just wanted to post something before the semester started and i got swamped w schoolwork :) like always, feedback is really appreciated, thank you!

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic x you #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic fluff #christian pulisic imagine

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anonymooseforever007 · 11 months

Text

Field Deer. Forest Horse

(Platonic Tommy Shelby x Female reader)

Summary: Arriving home from work Tommy is surprised to see Finn's best friend waiting on his front step with a bundle in her arms asking for his help. This can't be t.... why is it moving?

In which we also see how much of a little horse girl Thomas Shelby really is....

A/N: Hi Y'all! No Trigger warnings for this one aside from mentions of assumed pregnancy (but no actual). Also despite what Tommy first thinks, this story is entirely platonic in both the readers relationship with Finn and Tommy, and there are not actually human babies. I just have an idea that anytime Tommy is approached with a squirming bundle he thinks it's gonna be related to him somehow. This was really fun to write! Enjoy❤️

WC-2.7k

Main Masterlist

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Tommy Shelby had just arrived back home when he heard someone calling his name. Looking to his front steps, he saw his youngest brother's best friend hurrying towards him with a bundle in her arms.

"Tommy! You're home, great! I need you to help me."

Now Tommy hadn't seen Y/N in a few months truthfully, he was usually busy with work and she lived in London. Most weekends Finn would end up going down to her place to cause whatever trouble they could, away from Polly's watchful eye. So really, her and Tommy's paths rarely crossed. But Tommy was still fond of the girl and the slight stress in her voice, didn't stop his growing concern....

Nor did the suspiciously wrapped object in her arms ease his fears and....Oh great, it was moving.... Pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes, Tommy tried to recalled what Y/N looked like the last time he'd seen her, hoping the bundle wasn't what he thought it was.... Please tell him Finn hadn't been that stupid...

"Tommy, it is really important! About a baby. Finn won't help either and I don't know what else to do!"

Fuck....

Pinching the bridge of his nose harder, Tommy closed his eyes again and tried to control his breathing. Yes, he was extremely pissed that Finn not only gone off and gotten his best friend pregnant, but also hidden the secret from his family for months. Now he'd obviously not been able to face the consequences and left the poor girl and babe all by her lonesome. Fucking really Finn? Tommy thought the family had raised him better than that. But despite Tommy's annoyance, he knew it wasn't time to take it out on the girl before him. If she really did just have a baby, she need more than just his help. He'd have to call a family meeting and once they all met the kid, they could take turns tanning Finn's ass. Sure, it wasn't too much different from what Tommy and John and Ada themselves had done. Come to think of it, not a single firstborn of the Shelby siblings had been "expected" so to speak. But at least they'd taken responsibility for their late night actions. And Tommy would be damned if his little brother didn't have to do the same.

Talking one last deep breath, Tommy opened his eyes and looked down at the girl now standing a few feet in front of him. He could see her clothes were dirty from something and she had some small scratches on her left forearm. But still he was more concerned about the squirming mass in her arms. Running a hand though his hair, Tommy tried to think of the best way to console the girl. Putting a hand on her shoulder, Tommy began his speech about how she really was family now.

"It's gonna be alright Y/N. I know things may see tough right now, but I promise we'll be here to help you. Finn may not have the balls to help with this baby, bu..."

Stepping back, Y/N tilted her head, confused at Tommy's words. It was at that moment another noise came from the small blanket and for the first time Tommy saw light brown hair poking out from the blanket....But something seemed off about it.

"Tommy what are you talking about? Finn's not lacking the balls for anything, he's just still stuck at the office doing work. Polly said she'd skin him if he didn't get those papers done today. Besides he's not the one I need to talk to about the baby.... You are."

For a second, Tommy's heart stopped as an absolutely terrifying idea entered his mind.

It wasn't Tommy baby was it?

In the back of his mind, Tommy knew it wasn't true. But it also wouldn't be the first time, someone gave him the "surprise you're a dad" talk. She wasn't really tying to tell him it was his kid... was she? He didn't even remember that last time he saw Y/N, let alone ever..... She was his brother's best friend. Tommy wouldn't do that, no matter how drunk or high he'd gotten. He wasn't Freddie fucking Thorne for fucks sake...rest his soul. Shaking his head, Tommy's brow furrowed. No, that was completely impossible, there had to be some other explanation.

"Y/N, I don't know what you're going on about but that's not my kid."

"....Of course it's not your kid?" Y/N's eyes widened at she realised what Tommy was thinking. Her own nose scrunched at the idea of it all and she chucked at Tommy's concerned face. "Oh Tommy do you think it's a real baby," she asked and moving forwards again, Y/N pulled back the blanket showing Tommy the truth. "Well it is a baby, but it's not a human baby. Look."

A baby deer.

That's what it was. A tiny little thing, that couldn't have been more than a week old. It probably weighted less than Tommy's briefcase. Stepping closer, he could also see it was injured. A few deeper scratches marred its back and Tommy could make out a few deeper wounds that reminded him of the imprint barbed wire left. Not to mention the poor thing was shaking harder than Tommy himself after a nightmare. Gently reaching out, Tommy lightly touched an uninjured part of the fawn's back, frowning when it flinched. Forgetting his previous concerns, Tommy quietly shushed the trembling animal and held his hand out for the fawn to smell. He was more than happy to ignore the problems of people, but Tommy always did have a soft spot for animals.

"What happened to it?"

Pursing her lips, Y/N remembered the scene she'd dragged the small thing from only an hour before.

"I found her on the side of the road on my way back to London. Pulled off to have a snack and found her crying all wrapped up in this old wire fence. And that wasn't even the worst of it Tom," Y/N revealed, "I looked around for her mum, and she was dead just a little ways down. I think someone hit her while crossing the road and the poor baby got stuck in the wire in her panic. I'm telling ya, Tommy, that doe has been there for a few days, I can't even imagine how hurt the baby must be!"

Y/N sighed, holding the baby deer a bit closer, as if she could cuddle away all its trama. Not even a week old, and it had already seen so much. Y/N had spent the next hour with her pocket knife trying to cut the poor thing out of its wire prison. She'd even gotten a few scrapes of her own when the fawn was panicking too much and wouldn't hold still, throwing itself as hard as it could to get away from its rescuer. Eventually though, the deer seems to accept its fate, though constantly shaking, as Y/N cut the final ties. Not that that was even the end of everything. So badly hurt, the fawn could barely even stand and Y/N knew if she left the baby by the road it would die. And she couldn't bare the thought of that. Tommy listened quietly as she explained her tale, still gently petting the fawn's head with two fingers.

"And so I brought her here. I was gonna go to Curly at first, seeing as I think he'd know the most. But then Arthur said Curly had gone down with John to pick drop the new horse off at May Carlton's place. So I decided to come here next. Based on what Finn said you'd probably be the next best help! You know more about them than I do!"

Tilting his head, Tommy raised an eyebrow at Y/N's words. Truthfully, Esme or Polly would have been the best to go to for a hurt animal. And he loved Curly too, but Tommy couldn't fathom why Y/N would go to him for help. Curly actually hated deers, they were one of he few animals he'd never enjoyed.... at least outside of Polly's stew. He may have been nicer to the baby deer, but Tommy knew even then, he'd probably be reluctant. And then Tommy himself was also a bit of a wild card when it came to the animal. Sure he'd hunted them before with his brothers, but Tommy never really looked much into the animals deeper that. Nevertheless, he accepted Y/N's plea, carefully taking the small creature from her arms, already making a mental list of supplies he'd need.

"Y/N? I'm still gonna help you with it, but I can't promise it'll do much yeah? I'm don't know much about deers and I'm definitely not any animal doctor. I guess we can try, but I'm not making any fucking promises."

Beaming at him, Y/N clapped her hands twice, pleased at his cooperation.

"I knew you could do it! After all, horses aren't much more than field deer!"

Tommy froze in his steps, tensing up like he'd been shot. Did she really just.... Tommy turned around so fast, Y/N was scared the fawn would go flying from his arms.

"Fucking what?"

Nervously Y/N laughed. Even holding an adorable baby deer as gently as he did his son, Thomas Shelby's narrowed eyes were slightly intimidating.

"You know, horses....They're basically like deer, but bigger... and live in fields.... So they're Field Deer."

Mouth opened, Tommy looked down at the small deer in his arms with distaste, almost as if he was reconsidering his entire offer to help.

For lack of a better word, Thomas Shelby was offended. Possibly more so than he'd ever been in his life.

"Deer aren't anything like horses."

"Yeah they are."

"How."

"...They both have hooves and fur and noses..." Y/N started off, hesitating. Truth be told, she knew nothing about either animal, that's why she wanted Tommy's help. "They both eat a lot of leaves and flowers and grass, and th..."

"Horses don't just eat leaves or flowers or grass. They mainly eat hay." Tommy interrupted.

"Hay is a type of grass, wise ass," Y/N shot back. "Besides you can't deny they look alike and act alike! Wave an apple slice in their face and they're practically the same species!"

Tommy scoffed.

"Horses are big and majestic and strong, and if trained right aren't afraid of anything. They're smart and loyal and good, and if you find the right one it'll help you for years," Tommy defend, thinking of all the horses he'd had before. "You won't ever find an animal as good as a horse mark my fucking words. While deer.... deer freeze in their steps the second they see danger. They're weak. You saw that today didn't ya?"

Gasping at his audacity, Y/N glared right back at him, reaching out to cover the poor fawn's ears, as if protecting her from Tommy's uncalled for blow.

"Thomas Shelby, how dare you! Now maybe deer aren't as big or powerful as horses, but that's taking it too far! Speak the differences all you want, but not that one. The poor thing's still shaking and you have the nerve to be so cruel! Apologise right now!"

Tommy didn't even have to look down to feel the constant shaking in his arms....alright maybe that was a low blow. But he still wasn't going to apologise to the deer. It's not like it would even understand him.

"I'm not doing that."

"Yes you are." Arms crossed, Y/N waited patiently for Tommy to give in. She didn't even have to press him. For as cruel as Tommy could be to people, he did quite like animals. Only around him a few times, Y/N had already witnessed the gentle way he'd spoken to his horses or Cyril. The fact he'd even taken Cyril in when Alfie "died" was enough for her to know Tommy couldn't turn away an animal in need, even if he "hated" the man it came from. She was sure the small bit of conscious he so often locked away would be free soon. If only for a few minutes. And right she was, only a few seconds later, the small animal let out a pained whine and Tommy's eyes shot down to it. Carefully petting its head again, with blue eyes meeting chocolate brown, he hesitated a bit before grumbling.

"Alright, alright, shouldn't have said that to ya should I? Wasn't very nice of me was it? I said I'd help ya and I will. You're gonna be alright."

Nuzzling into his touch, finally, the deer stopped shaking. Tommy smirked softly at his achievement and Y/N smirked gently at Tommy, knowing she'd won the argument. She didn't understand why Tommy couldn't recognise the similarities and was so against the titles.

"See, she even falls right into the palm of your hand, after a few nice words Tom. Just like all the horses do. Proving my point further. You may not think it, but you can't deny the truth forever! Field. Deer."

Sighing, Tommy just rolled his eyes, recognising how the woman got along so well with his family. When it came down to it, she could be just as stubborn as the rest of them. However, unlike the rest of his siblings, Tommy didn't have any blackmail he could use to make Y/N back down.

"Alright maybe they are similar yeah? But you can't just call a horse a fucking Field Deer. That's just disrespectful to them. Horses are the stronger ones, and more useful." He turned, finally walking into his house, heading for his office where he knew bandages were kept. Y/N playfully rolled her eyes and headed after him.

"Alright Tommy, I'll keep that in mind."

Tommy nodded his head, still absentmindedly rubbing the fawn's head. Its breathing had gotten deeper now, not from injury, but from the fact that Tommy's gently pets had lulled it to sleep.

"Good. Horses aren't Field Deer... If anything deer are .... Forest Horses."

It was Y/N's turn to freeze before she belted out cackling, finally realising where Tommy's initial defensiveness came from.

"FOREST HORSES! Fucking Hell! You weren't mad I said deer were like horses at all were ya! You just got pissy because I related the horse to the deer, instead of the deer to the horse!"

She laughed again, while Tommy just stood by silently. Even is she was right he'd never admit it. No, the Thomas Shelby would never confess he got into an argument over a childish nickname for horses. Especially if it was an argument he "lost" in the end.

"Alright, alright. You've had your fun. Now go run to the kitchen and grab me a bowl of water yeah? And if you find Francis tell her to take one of Charlie's old baby bottles and fill it with some warm milk." Tommy cut in, nudging you towards the hall with his left foot as his hands were still full of the sleeping baby deer. "And after I'm done looking at this one, you're gonna let me look at the scratches on your arms too....Don't wrinkle your nose at me, it won't hurt that much."

Saluting the older man mockingly, Y/N nodded twice before tapping the sleeping deer on the nose.

"Any other orders for the nurse, doctor? Should I bring some hay for the little filly or a blanket that's been heated over the mantle?"

Scoffing lightly, Tommy just shook his head.

"No hay for the baby yet nurse, but get to it quick, yeah. Suppose to have a family meeting in a few minutes and I don't need them poking fun of me for going soft, now do I?"

"He says as he cuddles the injured baby deer," Y/N mumbled to herself, already halfway out of the room. "Not that I can blame him though, she is pretty cute."

Watching Y/N walk turn down the corner, Tommy took it upon himself to finally step into his office. The only one inside was Cyril, whose head immediately shot up at the new smell. Lumbering over to the couch Tommy had settled down on, the large mastiff gently sniffed the small creature. After a few moments, Cyril looked at Tommy and then back at the deer. Then he sat down and rested his head on the edge of the couch, staring curiously at the fast asleep fawn. Reaching over to pet the dog's head, Tommy let out a small laugh.

"You like her, don't you boy? That's alright I think I do too. Maybe we can keep her around for a bit eh? What do you say Cyril? Want a new friend?"

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#Tommy Shelby x reader #tommy Shelby imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #Thomas Shelby x reader

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dev1lm4n · 1 year

Text

shroom

pairings: joel miller x f!reader

summary: in which you tried to help your grumpy mentor get over the mushroom's aphrodisiac side effect.

word count: 3.9k (gosh yea i went over the top with this)

warnings: explicit (18+), no actual penetration, thigh fucking, slight age-gap and reader's implied to be an orphan.

notes: honestly this is just a reason to write desperate joel but oh well :)

What lies beneath the gray-ish rocks were dove gray with a subtle hint of purple. Fresh air broke through your nasal cavities, gusts of wind combing your loose strands gently like a doting mother. Even in a photograph you could quickly take into account that it was peak summer, for the steep valleys are finally visible and pretty asters bloom abundantly on every inch of green.

You would’ve guessed mid June was the cause of these heavenly blessings. The rest of the year the ranges were as white-peaked as any storybook mountains and they were especially cruel to visitors. Summer was just more so your cup of tea.

Despite the relentless sun rays burning your skin and the itchiness from sweat and mosquitos, it’s a lot more inviting. Felt a lot like a long awaited vacation, one where you’d get tanned with friends on seashores and gossip about boys like it was the most important thing on earth. Things like that are simply left for your imagination. The United States of America hasn't been as liberating, ever since Cordyceps happened.

It’s not the first time you scaled along the wilderness in order to get to your destination unharmed. Without getting bitten by chomping, pestering infected, or worse, people. Nature is just naturally serene. A hug of browns, a shelter of long dwindling limbs, and a variety of edible materials that’s free to use. You were a quick learner and a considerably great adaptor.

From dusty books piled up in your home, a FEDRA orphanage, you picked up knowledge on a collection of plants and animals native to the country. Being a resourceful forager might’ve been your one and only redeemable feature, and perhaps the only reason why Joel Miller agreed to bring you along on his trips.

Tess was the one who scouted you in the most bizarre fashion possible. You remembered vividly how she interrogated the fungi you picked on the city’s outskirts, asking why you’d pick up the one thing people refrain from eating these days. You remembered the amused look she had on her face, but it was all too long ago. Too long you’re starting to forget what she looked like smiling and full of hope. Time has passed and you’re not the same snotty, bratty teenager anymore.

Though, you’re not exactly grown.

Still budding with youthful stupidity and brashness.

Which is where Joel came in handy. He was your tamer. The one who’d put a rough hand down when you’re being too rash in making decisions. The one who’d tug on your leash when you’re an exploding mess of fury. Tess was kinder and sweeter and.. more of a makeshift mother figure to you, while Joel was whatever he was. He wasn’t introduced into the picture until last winter where you managed to get two different people hunting for your head. Which you still insist wasn’t entirely your fault.

Tess was worried, you understood, but he’s a real mood killer at times.

You watched along the trees, how they swayed in a warming breeze. Hands tied behind your back as you hummed a nursery rhyme fondly. This time it was ‘London Bridge is Falling Down’ on repeat for a billion times, which you’re sure is going to get some unappeased comments from the ball of grouch behind you. He always hated anything fun. Always chalking it up to being far too dangerous or distracting. You were even banned from keeping a firearm around him. What a joke.

“Quit singin’. You’re going to attract trouble.”

“Fucking hell.”

“What was that?”

“You’re such a bore, Joel.”

You could feel his gaze on the back of your head, probably looking at you as if you’re a foul harm to society. Tess always said that it’s just the way he looks but you don’t buy it. You’ve seen the way he smiled at a thing she said, even when it’s closer to a shy grin than a full ear-to-ear smile. An exasperated sigh was all you heard from him next, then a few grumbles about how you two are going to set camp next to a large pine tree as it’s getting late.

“It’s getting late or are your old knees aching?”

“What’re you doin’?”

Joel’s voice almost shook your skin off your bones. There was a delicious moment when you turned on your heels to face him, face washed blank with confusion, like your brain cogs couldn’t turn fast enough to process the information. It’s like you’re caught popping his favorite pills, when it really was just another one of your fascinating finds. You weren’t planning on sharing with him out of all people, so you were visibly annoyed. The distasteful twist of your lips had him scowling.

“It’s just food. Reishi mushroom.”

You showcased the fungus, waving it in front of his scrunched nose. The mushroom was reddish brown varnished with kidney-shaped caps that fanned out the closer it got to the ends. It’s supposedly bitter tasting, but it wasn’t poisonous. You looked convinced enough it wouldn’t straight-up kill the both of you upon tasting, even when it’s your first time encountering such a species.

“You sure it’s not poisonous?”

“You could have the first bite if you’d like.”

He looked at you with that expression– the same one he put on when he’s interested in taking on your challenge instead of diffusing the bickering. It’s harder to see what he’s conspiring when the darkness is borderline blinding. You couldn’t cater to every wrinkle and divot on his face, even with great concentration. Joel reached for the mushroom and held it lightly against the rough pads of his fingers. Examining it much closer under moonlight’s glint.

“We’ll have it tonight as soup.”

His words were absolute, even when Tess is around. You knew that and he knew that. It was unspoken. You surrendered your merry bounty willingly without throwing a childish tantrum this time. He can be cruel and unapologetic; you weren’t exactly eager to go through that route with him. Especially when your first filling dinner is on the line. You simply nodded at his decision, twisting your tactical knife back into its shell and stuffing it deep into your cargo jeans. Slightly sour about the entire ordeal.

There was always something cathartic about having a filled stomach after a long day of trekking, borderline orgasmic if you had to describe it in another way. It was an extremely appreciated coincidence as well that Joel managed to have in hand an actual unopened can of Campbell’s Tomato Soup. Although horrifically passed its best-by date, it wasn’t rancid or anything. Just slightly sour, but you’re sure the preservatives on that can would do you a favor this once.

You could barely breathe upon settling down on your sleeping bag. The buttons on your cargos digging into your inflated stomach, in which you hastily undid once you’re entirely submerged in the parachute-like material. You huffed. Burped and earned an irritated grunt by none other than Joel Miller. Then let the chirping of crickets and rustling of leaves create a peaceful symphony to lull you to sleep. Gentle summer breeze carried the scent of pine and wildflowers, invigorating your senses. And you’re gone in just a split second.

It felt like being coddled by nature itself, as corny as it sounded. What you didn’t expect was to be startled awake when the moonlight’s still as bright as ever. A light fuck escaped your lips. Irritated was what you are. You’re as aware as can be, ears tuned in to whatever it is that posed a threat to your goodnight sleep. But nothing came up. Just the occasional hoot of an owl, distant calls from coyotes, and what seemed to be woodland creatures rustling around the thick bushes.

Maybe it’s just your terrible paranoia cruising. Maybe you’re starting to hallucinate from fatigue, or maybe it’s just some stupid squirrel in the branches. You shuffled in your cocoon of a sleeping bag before turning ever so slightly to face Joel’s side. To face where Joel Miller, your irritating companion, is supposed to rest. Though for the first time in history, his absence crushed your heart.

You were terrified. Eyes wide and round as you stared in disbelief.

He was gone.

You scrambled to your feet. Taking unlevelled steps towards his side of the camp, you could feel your chest tighten at the confirmation of his disappearance. He wasn’t there no matter how many times you flipped his sleeping bag front to back.

Has he deserted you? Did he finally get tired of you? Were you being way too bratty today? You didn’t think you’d be this distressed at the absence of someone you hated with a passion, but here you were, waterline overrun by stray tears threatening to spill out at any given time. So weak and helpless, it’s pathetic.

Was that a moan?

You froze, as still as you could be, trying to listen intently if the sound decided to repeat itself. It did. This time you could make out what it sounded like: guttural, low, and indistinct. The way your face contorted was comical to say the least. At this point, your mind started to race with all the creative questions. Was it an animal? A person in distress? Oh, or is it something more sinister and dangerous? You didn’t have your gun on you so it’d be obvious suicide if you went on to pursue, wouldn’t it?

This is how people died in horror movies

You knew that and a part of your youthful curiosity (the chunk Tess hated so much) made you take another step forward towards the general direction. The puddle you stepped on rippled and splashed. Your wary eyes dart around, scanning the surrounding area for any signs of movement.

There was nothing of course. Just the waving branches that’s starting to make you feel a little disoriented and claustrophobic. All you could hear was your own ragged breathing above the low groan that once again was being emitted from behind the tree line. You swore it sounded more human-like the more you tuned in.

Dry branches crackled and broke underneath the heavy soles of your boots, making you cringe inwardly at the thought that someone must’ve noticed your moves by now. This is far beyond stupid you decide. You should've prepared an eulogy by now. Maybe even a few stems of the lovely aster you enjoyed so much. If this was a serial killer lurking underneath your shadows, your funeral was right around the corner. But it wasn’t. What made the noise wasn’t a stray squirrel, nor was it a stray clicker. It was Joel fucking Miller.

"Joel?"

His name slipped out of your tongue like melted butter; unstoppable and out of instinct. He's looked at you multiple times during your stays in Tess' flat. Sometimes with gentle aloofness and other times with what you chalked up to be disgust or even disdain, and you'd always cater to his glares with your incredulous grin. This time it was.. different.

His pupils were large— larger than what you think was humanly possible with it almost swallowing the entirety of his irises. A humorous part of your brain wondered if he was turning into some sort of werewolf because of the full moon, if he'd pounce on you with his furry claws.

Your running thoughts made you steer away from what's actually presented in front of you. The more that you look at it, he looked somewhat.. pained. He's never looked pained before, not when a bullet lodged in precisely behind his arteries or even when an upset customer drove a rusty knife down his side. Joel's been annoyingly tough. But now he's visibly drenched in sweat, face adorned with a shade of crimson, while he shivered and groaned against the base of a tree. This was odd. You slowly crouched over to his side, but your attempts were futile when he's waving his arms in your direction as if shooing a dog away.

You frowned. He rolled to his side, trying to avoid your incoming slaught of confrontation.

"Were you shot?"

"No."

"Were you clawed by a bear?"

"No."

"Are we going to play 20 questions or are you going to let me help you?"

He turned slightly, just enough so that he could finally see the irritation weaved through your expression. Joel then grumbled something about how you shouldn't be out here and that it's better to get back in your sleeping bag. You ignored him, as always, inching even closer to see what he's up to.

Stubbornness runs deep in your blood and you weren't going to let him die out here in the woods when you could barely read a map by itself. You didn't even know how to determine where North is. To simply put it, you'd die without him standing up straight, whether in this unruly jungle or under the gun of Tess' customer.

"Your mushrooms are poisonous," he accused sternly, boring his deep brown eyes into yours.

"No. It's not. I'm fine and well, so it must be a you problem mister," you probed your fingers into his tough chest, not accepting any sort of insult to your own specialty. "Fuck, are you having some sort of heart attack?"

"I'm not. I'm just.. oh god," he stifled his groans with his palm. Now that you're finally seeing him in a better light, it looked like he was.. palming himself through the thick fabric of his tight jeans. Was he rocking into his own palm? Or was it just your perverted imaginations playing tricks on your silly little mind?

Your stomach lurched at the possibility, then a curl of disgust had you pressing your lips together into a thin line. This is your time to back away. He gave you that chance a while ago and you should've let your curiosity lay low. He was your goddamn mentor and worse, Tess' partner, it'd be wrong to see him in this state. But isn't it your responsibility for inflicting this kind of torment? It's your idea to harvest the mushrooms. You're dealing with some twisted version of Schrödinger's cat where no good options are presented in front of you. It's a moral dilemma.

"Are you?" you squeaked. "Are you masturbating?"

"No. Just get back to.. oh."

"Do ya need help?"

He looked at you like you're his inferno. The one that's going to drag him straight to hell from your sweet sweet words. God, he shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be looking down your loose tank top like some old geezer, you're probably twenty years his junior and he's here rubbing his inconvenience away at your expense. You didn't even know what you're offering. Did you even know what he's like?

"Please, just. You're going to regret it, sweetheart."

"How would you know?"

"I'm like old enough.. fuck.. to be your dad or something. You should just go. Tess is gonna kill me if she knew."

"Joel, this is my fault," you persisted, eyes bright with a sense of genuine worry.

Joel's jaw clenched hard at your enticing offer, a bead of sweat dribbled down the side of his temple nervously. He looked like he was struggling to pull out a coherent reason as to why this shouldn't happen. Why he shouldn't be the one to defile your innocence and corrupt you with his bloody hands. Nothing came out though, just a brief desperate grunt.

You swallowed thickly, before taking his lack of an answer as a sign of encouragement. Your hands moved painfully slow. As if waiting to see whether he'd push your hands away or try to stop you in any way, but he never did. Not even when you touched the damp denim clinging onto his bare skin, gently as if he's made of porcelain.

You've never.. done this which frankly explained the awkward touches you're prone to do, or the look in your eyes that further emphasized the fact that you had no idea what you're doing. Aside from the scarce pornographic magazine stashed in your orphanage's library, there wasn't any sort of guidance as to how you'd navigate your sexual life. But you’re almost sure that this was a good start from the way his scrunched up eyebrows start to untangle at your touch.

With that in mind, you traced over the shape of his confined cock, before settling on the damp tip leaking over his jeans. It felt warm and somewhat foreign. You circled over the spot several times, encouraged by his low groans. Did he feel good?

"Fuck. Okay. You wanna help me out and be a good girl?" he rasped, finally grasping your hand with his calloused fingers to get you even closer to where he wanted you. He guided you eagerly. All voices of reason vanished in his head.

You weren’t able to say anything. It felt like you're drowning in his existence; the oak-like smell of his flannel, the rough syllables he uttered, and god that terribly persuasive grin he had on. He's secretly smug about this and you knew it.

"Come here," he beckoned you to come closer and so you did, without a single complaint like what your chatty mouth is used to. You're so quiet and pliant– something he's been wishing for from the start of your journey. Joel feverishly pulled you back onto his lap, pressing his hardened front onto the thick fabric of your cargo pants.

You yelped. He let out a soft mumble of your name. His hips stuttered at the new sensation. He's more than ready to feel you from the inside, get wrapped up in your velvety walls, but the thought of Tess had him pulling on his reins. "Listen. I'm not– oh.. I'm not going to ruin you, okay? Just gonna.. Just gonna use your thighs."

Thighs? What’s that supposed to mean? Your clueless expression had him shudder in anticipation. You’re so cute and perfect to corrupt. It’s definitely not the first time he thought of you in that manner. He secretly loved each and every one of your bickering games, it riled him up beneath all the cold shoulder facade.

Without further warning, Joel manhandled you with his strong arms. You let out a strained gasp as he towered over you, the ground hard against your back. Heat and adrenaline ran through your veins at the sight of his concentrated eyes. He looked determined to go through with this, no matter the consequences.

He took in all of you, not with his touches, just with the soft brown pupils he’s blessed with. You knew that he wasn’t going to be all sweet and lovely, although you silently wished he’d be a little gentler when he pulled your cargos off. You’d wish for him to tell you how pretty you are and how much you meant to him, because as fucked up as it was, you’ve always wanted him to like you. The infatuation was cliché and stupid, but you could never have enough.

Joel was quick to fold you in half, holding your legs up by the underside of your thighs as he observed. A warm palm hovering over your throbbing cunt extinguished any last traces of your desire to rebel; the heat between your thighs only became worse at his nimble fingers dragging along your panties. Out of a need for more, you rubbed your thighs together and tried your best to buck into his touch with a shaky breath.

“I’m not a good guy,” Joel trailed off while he busied himself unbuckling his belt, the sound of the leather sliding out his jean loops ignited a fire within you. “Fuckin’ killed so many people. Stole their things and ran.”

“Do you.. oh.. do you still want to go through with this, sweetheart?”

The nickname was quick to send goosebumps down your back. He’s driving you insane and he had the audacity to ask these questions. He should’ve just seen how drenched you are beneath the scant excuse of panties. You nodded breathlessly and god was it a sight to watch his moral beliefs crumble apart at your confirmation.

“Keep your thighs together, girl,” he ordered briefly, nails digging into your plush thighs as he finally freed his cock. It’s feverishly hot against your skin and drooling with a copious amount of precum, you could even feel the head teasingly poke onto your clothed slit. You shuddered and clenched around nothing at the sensation. “Please.”

“God. Such a good girl are you?” he managed to find the time to tease you as he slid between your thighs, looking down you could see the flushed bulbous head twitching with need. Joel let out a groan he's been holding on to for a long time, even just having your plush thighs squeezing him was enough to send jolts of pleasure through every part of his aching body.

He started to thrust his hips at a slow pace; drawing them back slowly and pushing them forward with enough force to knock you back onto the tree trunk each time. Your heartbeat grew wild in your ribcage, hard and fast as he relished in the feeling of you. You weren’t sure of what the feeling was, but you could feel your clit pulse at the friction his cock made everytime it slipped through.

You admired the color of his tip which reminded you of a wild salmon, slightly pink with tinges of nudes, spilling so much of that thick milky substance which quickly coats the insides of your thighs. What a sight it was to be beneath Joel Miller. Your past self would’ve probably envied you for getting so lucky, whimpering and gasping for air as he held you with an iron grip. It felt so good, you’re at a loss for words. All those nights spent pining over him and spreading your pretty pussy to the mere thought of him is finally paid for.

“Feel good, girl?

He granted you a form of reprieve when his fingers finally pulled your panties aside to quickly find your clit and tease it in tight circles. His calloused fingers provided such good ridges to grind yourself onto. The sound that’s spilling out of your lips was embarrassing, almost pitiful, but it seemed that with each and every whimper Joel looked even more pleased. The expression on his face was sinful by itself. You could only imagine how foul this scenery was from a third person point of view.

“So good to me, shit, where did that pretty mouth of yours disappear?”

He bucked even faster, and so did you, eager to chase after the euphoric friction one another provided. The coil finally broke at his last press against your needy clit. You whimpered, an airy sound as your cunt clenched frantically around nothing, globs of white leaking right through your panties and onto the dried up leaves underneath.

Joel let out a smooth chuckle at the sight, dutifully rubbing circles onto your clit as he reached his high. Ribbons of white spurt out unconditionally. There was so much you wondered when his last release was. Your tank top was drenched and so were your thighs. The sheer obscenity had you buckling onto him. You felt hot, over-sensitive, and wrong.

Realization sunk into you as he pulled away and settled to your side.

“No speaking of this,” you murmured, still in a trance of blissful pleasure.

“Yes, ma’am.”

His chuckle resonated, only to mingle with your own.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #the last of us #the last of us fic #tlou #the last of us imagine #joel miller smut

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infernalodie · 1 year

Note

Can you do a Lexie Howard x fem reader x (of you want) Maddie Perez. The reader fem, and just looking innocent, do whatever else you want to it. Thank you!

𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐄𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫.𝐥𝐞𝐰𝐝 || 𝐋𝐞𝐱𝐢 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 - 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐳

"𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘐𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘐 𝘥𝘰"

Inspo: Miguel - Girl With The Tattoo Enter.lewd

Pairing: Lexi Howard x Fem!reader x Maddy Perez

Summary: The infamous girl with the tattoo that could shake the world...

Warnings: Sub!Lexi Howard, Switch!Maddy Perez, Dom!reader, bondage (restraints), vibrator, and oral.

Words: 1392

DNI IF YOU'RE YOUNGER THAN 18!

You came from something out of a book.

Extracted from the pages of a story that was far beyond what reality could be capable of.

Well, this was once believed by Maddy and Lexi, who had caught sight of you. A new student from across the pond in the beautiful city of London. There was a beautiful essence you had that made the two girls gravitate toward you. The refined attitude and personality you carried had them wrapped around your pinky like dogs on a leash. It was pitiful, honestly.

But the perception that they were given, and the insight available allowed them to see the personification of innocent. Your glasses that sat high on the bridge of your nose, your naive smile, and your innocent gaze lingered on things with a certain melody of curiosity. The way you tilted your head at them, lips curved in a smile. Or the way your caramel skin glowed under the beams of the sun that created a radiance

They knew they wanted you from the first word you spoke. From the first look, the first smile, the first laugh. You were everything they had dreamt of and more.

And the cost for their indiscretions was paid in the visual representation of you standing with Mckay. A blunt hung loosely between your plump lips with a fresh layer of lip gloss that gave it a pop. Rapping some lyrics from a J.Cole song with said boy, waving the Hennesy bottle without a seed of regret from the few streams of the harsh liquor hitting the back of your hand.

So much was hidden under the soft exterior you had presented to them. And now, they were given everything they wanted.

“Look at me, Maddy.” The Latina moaned, biting her bottom lip as she forced her eyes open and filtered on you. A soft smile dances across your lips, turning up the vibrator, sending fluttering ecstatic tingles through the girl’s body as she groaned. A wave of relief flowed through her body like a rush of warm water engulfing her body. It wasn’t anything new but had a different source to the feeling and something about that made the girl’s mind cloud over.

Running your thumb over her bottom lip, you followed your digit with content. Your warm hand ran down Maddy’s neck, nail’s slightly baring and scratching her delicate flesh. A shiver ran down the girl’s back as she let her head rest against the plush leather of the chair she was restrained in. Allowing the fluttering moan to fall from her lips as your hand continued downward where you groped her small tits. Licking your lips as you delved forward, taking her pebbled nipples between your lips and sucking.

Maddy’s lips parted with a gasp, jaw unhinging as she choked on her breaths. Your teeth gently graze the sensitive buds, creating a rippling of goosebumps to rise on the girl’s body with a whimper being freed from her throat. It was small, soft, and sweet. “Y/n, p-please.”

Hearing her soft plea made your lips twist into a sick and twisted grin. Lifting your legs and resting your knee between her legs. Bringing it closer to the tip of the vibrator that was strategically set up to be kept against the girl’s cunt. Gently applying force, causing the bud of the vibrator pressed harder against Maddy’s puffy clit, sending the girl into cloud nine. Moans fell from her lips like a sweet melody, only making your lace panties soak at the sound. “You look so beautiful, baby.”

This was heaven if Maddy had ever felt or seen one. She doesn’t know what she had been expecting, but this was everything she needed. If she could, she would give everything up to just be here and feel this grace. Because although the fall may be long, she wouldn’t mind the climb again.

A muffled cry could be heard, gaining your attention. Finding Lexi strapped to the bed, wrists bound above her and ankles tied to the legs of the bed, forcing her legs apart where a vibrator was forced to her cunt as well. Of course, the torture was the low setting you had it placed on, making the relief slower than what Maddy was experiencing. A blindfold was wrapped around her eyes and cloth was tied around her mouth. Forcing her silent and blind to what was happening only a few feet from her. But she could hear it all and she was begging to not be left alone for the night.

“Oh, Lexi,” you cooed. “I almost forgot you, sweety.” The acknowledgement and the use of her name caused the girl to let out a muffled whine, tugging at the rope binding her wrists.

Stepping away from Maddy made the girl whine from the release of pressure to her cunt. Tugging at her own restraints, wanting to make you say and give her what she needed. But she was forced to watch you crawl across the bed and rest just below the apex of Lexi’s legs.

Leaning down, you cupped Lexi’s cheek and smiled. “What do you need, my love?” A muffled and incoherent was given by the girl, which only made you chuckle. Reaching up, you hooked your finger with the cloth wrapped around her mouth and freed her.

Earning pants and groans as the girl’s cheeks flushed a brighter red. “Please, I need you.” She swallowed, wanting to see those beautiful eyes of yours. To see what you thought of such a statement from her. Wanting to know if you would tilt your head and smile at her in that cute way. She just needed you.

But what she hadn’t expected was a blistering cold sensation to appear around her right breast. The cold stream of droplets was left in the wake of whatever was running down her flushed body. Only able to suck in a breath, arms tensing as you chuckled softly. “Relax, love,” you said delicately. “You’re gonna love this.”

And as expected, she did. She quickly figured out that the cold sensation was from an ice cube left in your glass of Hennesy. You ran it over her pebbled nipples, rubbing the ice cube gently against the tip and earning breathy cries from the girl. Doing the same as you had done with Maddy, you placed your knee against the vibrator and gave the girl the same amount of relief she deserved.

Dipping the ice cube in your Hennesy, you ran the ice cube across the girl’s and down her stomach. The sensation created choked breaths to leave Lexi’s lips as she waited in anticipation. And when the slightly warmer cube touched her clit, she nearly orgasmed. Whining with her bottom lip caught between her teeth as you slowly and sensually rubbed the cube against her clit with parted lips. Mesmerized by the sight of Lexi’s body convulsing and those sweet cries of your name falling from her lips.

Much to Lexi’s dismay that she made very known by the whimper, you pulled the cube away and placed it back in your glass. But when Lexi thought you to be done, she was greeted by your warm and sleek tongue that traced the cube's path. Crossing over her chest and down her abdomen until you finally reach the dripping heat of her cunt that you didn’t hesitate to delve into. Tongue breaching her cluttering entrance as it soaked up the taste of her arousal.

It may have only been for a few seconds, but Lexi had never felt anything like it. The satisfaction and relief she received were incomparable. Each movement thought with deep care and consideration. She felt loved.

Flicking her clit with your tongue, you sat up licking your lips with a hum. “You taste like heaven, love.”

Looking over your shoulder, you found Maddy watching with a deep glazed look in her eyes. They were clouded with lust, a deep desire that she need to remedy as soon as possible. She needed to feel you. She needed to feel Lexi. She needed gratification from you. She needed everything you had to offer.

And almost like you could read her mind, you chuckled softly. “Don’t worry,” you muttered, head tilting with that all too familiar smile of yours appearing. “We still have a long night.”

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writeforfandoms · 11 months

Text

Waking Lions 3

Find the series masterlist

We see more of Ace doing her job (and she is very much morally gray), see Captain again, and start down the slow path of curiosity towards yearning. I did mention this is a slow burn, didn't I?

Warning: Swearing, mentioned violence, events of MW2019, tension. Morally gray characters.

Word count: 1.9k

You were in Greenland when you got the call.

“What intel do you have on Al-Qatala?” Laswell sounded cool, in control. As always.

“None,” was your immediate response. “I may have contacts in low places, but I’m not suicidal.”

“You always know something,” Laswell said, faintly impatient. “What about their connection to the Russians?”

“Bad news,” you grumbled. “That’s my intel. They’re all bad news and they don’t care if they blow up the world. Pretty sure some of them live in hope of that day.”

“I need anything you’ve got.”

“This is not my department.” You glanced around, ensuring your privacy. “This is, in fact, so far outside my department that it should be your people’s job. I don’t get in bed with that kind of asshole, Kate.”

“I need whatever you can find on them,” she said, temper audibly fraying. “Anything and everything. As soon as you can get it to me.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I won’t get the kind of intel you want,” you growled. “I don’t have those kinds of contacts.”

“Then get me whatever intel you can,” she snapped back.

“Kate,” you finally snapped, curling your fingers into a fist. “Why the fuck are you asking this of me?”

She was silent. Five seconds passed. Ten. You almost thought she wasn’t going to answer, but– “I can’t tell you everything, but… Keep an eye on the news. When it happens, you’ll know.” She hung up.

You thought, briefly, about calling her back just to yell at her. Or remind her that you were an independent intelligence agent, not one of her lackeys.

But you shoved the urge back down and breathed deep. A few times.

Then you started working, using your phone to type out a few emails. This was going to burn more than one bridge, you could already tell.

Laswell was going to owe you for this one.

There were a lot of things you could get information on with varying degrees of ease. It was all about knowing who to ask. And you had built up quite the network of connections over the years, all over the world. It was how you kept in business, how you were able to swan around the world as you pleased.

Most of these contacts were straightforward. Money for intel. You’d weeded out the ones who were unreliable or lied to you. This was also the one time you bent your own rules about names. Because you took care of your trusted contacts, in your own way. Unreliable people got blacklisted.

And if sometimes that ended in bloodshed, well, that wasn’t your problem.

But even with your resources and your contacts, asking questions about Al-Qatala was dangerous. It took time. You had to be very careful who you asked and how you asked. You absolutely did not want your name floating around, or any of your aliases, not for this.

When you finally had a chance to sit down and turn on the news, you understood why Laswell had called you.

They’d bombed civilians. In London.

You breathed deeply for a few minutes, watching the shaky news footage and the interviews. Then you changed channels to another news station, watching their footage.

You’d seen a lot of shit in the world. Much of it you were hardened to, jaded after all this time.

But this… Well. This hurt. This wove into your chest, tracing the singular path to the soft of your heart.

I’ll have everything I can manage for you in 36 hours. Send me a drop off location. The text was perhaps brusque but Laswell wouldn’t mind. She might not be happy about the timeframe, since these things tended to be pretty time sensitive, but if she was asking you for information… She knew what she was getting into.

And then you flipped through your little black book, just in case there was anyone you hadn’t thought of to reach out to. If nothing else, it kept you busy for a little while.

You didn’t leave your hotel room at all for the next 24 hours, busy compiling all the information you were getting back. You stopped long enough to book a flight to London, using a smaller company.

With two hours to go until the drop point, you pulled out your laptop again and finished compiling all the information, including the last bits that had come in while you were on the flight.

Thirty minutes to go, cutting it close. You were ready to move, waiting on a final location, USB tucked safely in your pocket and your hands stuffed in your pockets as well to hide your fidgeting. This had left you keyed up, extra paranoid.

Finally, though, Laswell texted you. Pub called Lion’s Head. You’ll recognize him.

It took moments to find out where the Lion’s Head was, and you strode off with purpose.

The pub was not busy this time of day (and you had to glance at your phone to see what time it actually was), so it was not hard to spot him sitting at a shadowed table. He looked just the same as last time.

His gaze met yours across the room, holding you in place for two beats, not even breathing. His eyes couldn’t hide the rage, although you doubted it was aimed at you. Given the info you’d been accumulating, you were fairly certain you knew exactly who it was aimed at.

You squeezed your hands into fists and strode over the table, shoulders set. No teasing this time. Not with this.

“Captain.” You dipped your head in a small nod of respect to him, holding out the USB. He took it, much larger fingers brushing against yours, a tiny spot of warmth in the shadowy room.

“No weather comments this time?” But his voice was muted, fingers quick to tuck the USB away.

Your jaw clenched. “Not this time. Won’t even quote movies at you.” You shrugged, leaning back. “Password is imperial, all lower case.”

He nodded acknowledgement and stood. It was his turn to leave a cash tip on the table. But you didn’t move out of his way just yet, holding his gaze.

“I hope that helps you.” You kept your voice quiet, more sincere than you usually allowed yourself.

He blinked, surprised, before he nodded more slowly. “You planning to stay in town?” he asked, holding your gaze.

You shrugged. “Hadn’t decided yet,” you admitted. And that was enough honesty. You mustered a bit of your usual flirtation, smiling. “Why, want to see me again so soon?”

He snorted softly. “Might want to be elsewhere for the next few days,” was all he said, low and dry, before he stepped around you. He left you standing there, walking out of the pub and vanishing.

With a wry smile at the swapped roles, you left after him. Normally you were the one leaving people behind. It was an interesting feeling to be the one being left.

In all honesty, you were curious about Captain. More than you should be. He couldn’t be intimidated or flirted with, refused to be cowed, and had openly challenged you. He also had no designs on you, acting solely as a go-between.

And that was rare. Very rare.

But you had your rules to consider, too. No names, for starters. He only knew the codename Laswell had given you, and you didn’t know his name. It was, honestly, safer that way.

But still.

Shaking yourself, you pulled out your phone with a little huff. He’d recommended getting out of London, so you would. You didn’t feel like disregarding that kind of advice.

Maybe it was time to go back to the US for a while. You generally avoided it, but you knew of several delightful hotels on the California coast.

It didn’t take long to get the flight booked, and then you had to go back to the airport. You didn’t have much with you this time, since you’d left Greenland in a hurry, but that was fine. You had a stash in California that you could raid.

And, really, you could do some work in the US. Visit some old contacts. Maybe see about finding a few new ones.

Maybe drop in on Laswell and have a very polite conversation.

You had just boarded the plane when your phone vibrated with a text. You settled in your seat and then pulled it out, humming under your breath.

Thank you for your help. Standard payment?

You hummed, leaning back in your seat. You could accept payment for this as usual… Or you could keep this in your pocket.

Keep it. You’ll owe me one. Your lips curled in a satisfied smile as you turned your phone off in preparation for the flight.

California this time of year was sunny. (Well, many parts of California were sunny all year long, actually.) You booked a hotel on the coast and spent three days lounging on the beach and keeping a very close eye on the news. Some of it didn’t surprise you. Some of it did.

Some things you learned from your contacts, because the news outlets didn’t go near some of those messes. You heard through the grapevine about the usurping in Urzikstan, a near-massacre of the Russian forces there.

Honestly, you kind of expected a call from Sergio about that one.

Not that he was military, but he had fingers in a few pies.

But you never heard from him.

The attack on the embassy ended up on every news channel, not that you were much surprised. It was pretty much a clusterfuck, and one you were happy to stay out of.

Big events like this tended to draw a lot of attention, and you figured there were two ways this could shake out: either you’d get a lot of requests trying to take advantage of the chaos, or you’d have radio silence. Either way was alright with you, honestly, just so long as nobody wanted anything to do with Al-Qatala or the Russians.

This one turned out to be quiet, wary of the chaos and the threat of chemical weapons. Not that you could blame them.

You’d seen what gas attacks could do.

One more week on the quiet coast left you feeling refreshed and ready to go again. You checked in with all of your people - two had fallen off. You weren’t sure if that meant they were dead or hiding. Either way, you’d go poking later.

You had other things to do, for now.

Downtime like this was good for checking finances, so you did. Downtime like this was also good at bringing up things you’d rather not think about, so you threw yourself in the ocean, and promptly regretted all your choices. (The Pacific ocean was too fucking cold for swimming, anyone who willingly ventured in there was a masochist as far as you were concerned.)

And then it was back to work, this time with new intel coming in from an arms dealer you knew. So you booked a flight.

Almost idly, you wondered how much Captain had been involved in all that trouble. If you did enough digging, you could probably find out. Find a name. A picture.

But you wouldn’t. Because that was against your rules.

#waking lions #john price x reader #john price x you #f!reader

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kadajsbitch · 10 months

Text

Fresh Air

Pinocchio x Fem!Reader

Warning: Smoking a cigarette, other than that none for the most part.

I kind of want to turn this into a series, idk yet. This may be a bit OOC but for the most part, the character is nameless as for the little mentions of her family and things, I still for the most part kept it a clean slate for the readers to make that themselves. If I do make this a series, I’ll probably give them a last name or something but as of now, it’s pretty much a blank slate so enjoy. 😅

•*•*•*•*•*•

It was late. Way too late for a lady of her status to be outside even if it was just to stand in front of the building she resided at.

But then again, those things didn’t matter anymore… not with the rogue mechanoids patrolling the streets of Krat looking for any potential human or even puppet that hadn’t been affected with whatever was turning them haywire, to ultimately slaughter. It also didn’t matter anymore considering she no longer lived under her families rule anymore. For all they knew, she was dead and despite that being a cause for concern to most, it was one of the things that felt like a grand weight being lifted off her shoulders… therefore, her status didn’t matter anymore.

She pulled her robe around herself a little more tightly for the sake of keeping warmth. Due to the fires that were beginning to spread around the already apocalyptic city, the winds had picked up, causing for it all to appear slightly foggy, and in all honesty hard to breath… which made for what she was about to do seem stupid.

But one thing was for certain and that was that Krat was now in an apocalyptic state and even if the puppets were to one day just stop their tumultuous assault against everything within their line of vison, it would take years before Krat could be in a state of repair… and years before it would be fully repaired.

She reached into her robe pocket, keeping her head up and alert as she looked around once more, wearily taking a few hesitant steps away from the door. While it had only been a few days since her arrival to the hotel, she felt as if she was trapped which to her was slightly ironic because before she had arrived, she had told herself if there were people there who could help her, she’d never leave the building for the sake of her life.

To get to the hotel had been a challenging and a perilous journey itself. She had been on her way back to the station, not willing that was or sure but having only been in Krat because she thought she’d be able to hide out there until her family got bored with looking for her…

She let out a frustrated huff, as she quickly moved to check her other pocket, and to both her satisfaction and annoyance, she finally grasped the thing she had been looking for… the box of cigarettes.

Straightening herself as she hesitantly glanced down the bridge and around her once more, making sure she was indeed alone. Her attention fell back to the little box. She had grabbed it off a corpse when she had been running towards the hotel… she guessed it had been a simple cream white color before it had been splattered with blood.

It felt wrong to grab it off a dead man’s body, but then again it wasn’t like he would be using them. She for one, definitely did not them nor have any true need for them considering she had never smoked before in her life. Yet she did it… and she despite the overwhelming feeling of regret having to do with her actions, she felt a peculiar sense of excitement by it due to the fact if her family could see her, they’d surely throw a fit at catching her smoking.

She carefully slid the little box from the bloodied sleeve that held its contents, before pulling one of the carefully hand rolled pieces out. Quickly, she placed it between her lips before pocketing the box and shoving it back in her robe pocket and finding her matches.

Speaking of her family….

She came from a wealthy one. One with lots of influence on those within in London and neighboring countries, yet no one would’ve guessed considering she never had her debut into society the proper way due to the fact she had ran away. She knew what would come of the day… Her mother had wanted to throw a debutante ball and hold it at their manor, like they had done for her sister and cousins, and so on.

While from the outside, it seemed like a grand affair, some girls who were the stars of their balls and those they attended, loved it and looked forward to them, she knew it was just an excuse for her parents to go window shopping for a husband for her. The very thing she did not want.

So, she waited a week before the event, the night of her escape she had changed into one of the puppet servants clothing and promptly ran away. She had been fifteen then… and she had been very ill-prepared for how the world outside of first class society really was and yet, she wouldn’t trade it for nothing in the world because at least she had one thing her parents seemed to have not wanted her to have at all, and that was free will to live her life according.

Of course, her family wasn’t just going to allow her to leave on her own terms. Over the years she had narrowly escaped men who had chased after her, no doubt privately hired by her father who promised them wealth and money to find her. Three men in which, continued their pursuit of finding and bringing her back to her father alive and in one piece for the award they were no doubt expecting from the man.

And they would’ve succeeded this time too, if not for the puppets at the station going haywire and attacking the men who were all but trying to drag her in the train and those around her…

Feeling her hand grasp the small box of matches, she quickly pulled it out, her head whipping around to ensure her safety once more before she looked down, bringing the now lit match that she had repeatedly hit against the striker until it was ignited.

Quickly she brought the end of her cigarette to it before shaking the match out, and taking a shaky inhale. While she had never smoked before, she had been told if she ever tried, to inhale with her mouth first before fully inhaling with her lungs to avoid the embarrassment of hacking up said lungs. She pushed the smoke out through her nose, making an audible “Oh.” Sound before, she brought the cigarette away from her mouth as she hesitantly looked across the bridge, her face fixing on the figure she hadn’t noticed before.

She froze for what felt like minutes before she slowly made her way to the hotel door. However, she got the need to look back once more, in which she did, and luckily it wasn’t a puppet like she had assumed… it was him.

He was halfway across the bridge now, his eyes fixed on her. He wore a simple chemise top that had a loose frill collar, and simple black breeches with his flat shoes and socks. A stark contrast from the uniform she was use to seeing him in…She suddenly became aware of what she had on, as the skirt of her chemise night dress and train of her robe blew slightly in the harsh wind, again reminding her that she shouldn’t have been out. If not for the fact that by societal standards, she was a woman, it was the fact that she was dressed indecently especially considering she was alone.

She pulled the silk robe a little bit tighter around her chest area, looking down to make sure it was still secured in place by the silk belt of the robe before she hesitantly stepped away from the door as he got closer.

“It’s late. You could’ve smoked through the window.” His voice was surprisingly deep yet it wasn’t so guttural, and held a softness to it. It was both pleasing yet odd coming from him considering his features were somewhat soft. Despite this, he didn’t sound particularly upset or worried about what she was doing. More so stating the situation, and a solution that would’ve been better than her coming outside.

She sighed softly, exhaling the smoke as she turned to look behind him and towards her right. “Yes, it is and I could’ve but I needed some time outside of the hotel… I know the air isn’t particularly fresh out here, but it’s nice to be outside.” She said, her eyes finding his to search his expression.

He tilted his chin down slightly keeping his eyes on her as his eyebrows furrowed in an expression that seemed to be questioning her reasons.

“Nice to be outside… in these conditions.” He turned his body slightly to look at the scene beyond the destroyed building that stood closer to the hotel as his eyes shifted from one collapsing building to the few giant clouds of black smoke rising in the air from fires that brewed.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly as she took another drag of the cigarette, now feeling a little more comfortable to inhale it. “As thankful as I am for Antonia’s benevolence and allowing me to stay under her roof for the time being, staying inside for too long can be a bit stuffy. No matter how many windows you open.” She said, watching as he turned to look back at her, his eyebrow raised slightly in a questioning matter while his gaze seemed to hold a look of doubt.

“Besides, it’s not like we can really have many windows open… while it does seem like the puppets tend to ignore the inside of the buildings, if they catch wind of seeing anything within, they’ll do what they usually do.” She says frowning. When she had arrived to the hotel, she had felt safe enough to relax and be as loud as she wanted due to the fact she was staying in the highest part of the hotel… that’s until Antonia informed her that some of the puppets were climbing.

“How attentive. You’re observant enough to know that if they think they can sense humans within the building, they’ll tear it down in a means to get to us. Yet it’s alright to stand outside and smoke because you’re in need of fresh air?” At this, she narrowed her eyes at him slightly before rolling them watching as a gentle grin found it’s way on his lips.

“We haven’t been formally introduced. My name’s Pinocchio.” At this, her exspression shifted to one of curiosity. “Like the fairytale?” He nodded before holding his hand out for her to shake, an action in which she carefully repeated as they became familiar with one another.

“(Y/n).” She said, a little to stiffly for her liking but hoping it was believable. She had been using the false name for years after she had ran away, yet it never felt right coming from her lips.

She didn’t miss how the corner of his mouth slowly withdrew, his eyebrow raising more as a smirk found its way to his face. “Lovely name. I haven’t met anyone with a name like yet.” She smiled, withdrawing her hand from his as he did as well.

She had seen the man walking around the hotel every now and then, but she had never interacted with him due to the fact he seemed to only really come inside the hotel to maybe get supplies and talk to Eugenia, Antonia, and the man who resided in the study.

And almost immediately, he’d leave afterwards. She had never seen him eat or drink anything, which in turn made her believe he ate when she was either in her room considering the fact it’s where she mainly stayed now unless she was speaking with Eugenia, the girl who ran the weapons shop she had became friendly with.

After a moment of silence and looking at one another, he turned to face the bridge to look at the scene in-front of them.

“You shouldn’t stay out too long. They rarely come up here, but every now and then there’s two or three that are sauntering infront of the door when I come or am exiting.” At this, her face fell from the relaxed, almost pleasant look to one of shock. Not really by the fact that they would come close to the hotel, that much she assumed but she hadn’t even bothered to check the windows before she so much as opened the doors.

He glanced at her from the side before smiling gently, turning back towards the doors as he opened one. Before he entered however, he looked over to her, clearing sensing her sudden unease. “Are you coming inside too or, do you wish to enjoy the outside air more?” He asked. Again, his tone was gentle yet you could see an almost teasing look in his eye as she stood there waiting for his response.

She didn’t hesitate however. Quickly, she knelt down, quickly stubbing the cigarette out as her other hand held her robe together tightly to keep modest before she stood up, and quickly went inside. Nodding at Pinocchio who averted his eyes to the ground to watch his step, once she was inside as he moved to follow, closing the door behind him.

#pinocchio x reader #lies of p #lies of p x reader #made him a little sassy lol #kadajsbitchlol #not proofread #I’ll edit it later to fix any typos lol #currently is four in the morning

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eretzyisrael · 1 month

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by Dave Rich

On the other hand, some of those central London synagogues have got into the habit of changing their service times on days when there are anti-Israel demonstrations so their congregants can vacate the area before the protestors turn up; and there are usually police stationed outside, just in case. And a lot of other Jewish Londoners, the ones who live in the suburbs and might otherwise go into central London on a Saturday to shop, visit an exhibition or a museum or do whatever other people do in central London at the weekend, will be staying at home. So maybe not a no-go zone, but also not a normal, sustainable state of affairs.

It shouldn’t be hard to understand why this is the case. Imagine you are a Jewish person who lives in Golders Green. On the morning of Monday 9th October you woke up to find that somebody had painted “FREE PALESTINE” in massive letters across the two railway bridges that you walk under on your way to the tube station to get to work. I find it hard to believe it’s a coincidence that this happened in the best-known Jewish neighbourhood in the whole country: it looked very much like an attempt to intimidate the Jewish community.

Or perhaps you are one of the hundreds of British Jews who has had “Free Palestine” shouted at you in the street by a random stranger, in an act of racist hostility because they spotted a Jew. It’s unsurprising you might not want to put yourself in that same position again, but this time with tens of thousands shouting that same slogan.

I’ve written before about the unknowability of how many of these marchers are simply expressing genuine human rights concerns; how many are motivated by utter hatred of Israel; and how many are using it as a cloak for their antisemitism. We do know that all three types are present on most of these demonstrations, and we like to tell ourselves that the ones fuelled by hatred of Israel and Jews rather than compassion for Palestinians are in the minority, but really, who knows? Especially now that the hundreds of thousands of part-time protestors have drifted away and the demonstrations have reduced down to a hardcore of 20,000 or so true believers.

When people think of a “hate march” they tend to picture mobs of skinheads rampaging through neighbourhoods, beating up anyone they take a dislike to. Or perhaps violent jihadists seeking out their next terror victim. That is not what is happening in central London each weekend. These marches are mostly well-behaved with hardly any violence at all. If you are Jewish and happen to be standing by the side of the road as one of these marches passes by, you will probably be fine.

But a lot hinges on that word: “probably”. Nobody wants to be caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, and since 7 October there have been a lot more wrong places and wrong times for Jews than previously. Just ask Duche Sorotzkin, who was attacked in Trafalgar Square after one march.

#london #no go zones #jews #british jews #protest #antisemitism

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 6 months

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By: Ayaan Hirsi Ali

Published: Oct 14, 2023

I was raised to curse Israel and pray for the destruction of Jews, writes AYAAN HIRSI ALI... That's why I know all too well Hamas is another ISIS - whatever useful idiots in the West say

All across the West, there is no shortage of people blaming the horrors in Israel on Israel itself — and openly supporting the perpetrators.

The head of policy at the Community Security Trust, which monitors hate crimes committed against British Jews, has said: 'Anti-Semites are getting excited by the sight of dead Jews... Hamas murdering Israeli civilians has exhilarated them... We've had reports of people driving past synagogues shouting 'Kill the Jews'.'

Anti-Semitic incidents in Britain are currently three times higher than they were this time last year, the charity adds.

'Free Palestine' graffiti has been scrawled on a railway bridge in Golders Green, a Jewish area of north London, while in Oxford Street, one young woman — who may well have been radicalised in England — was filmed ripping down posters that pleaded for the safe return of the babies taken hostage by Hamas. 'Free Palestine, f*** you!' she screamed at an onlooker who dared to remonstrate with her.

On Thursday night in Paris, police used tear gas and water cannon to disperse hundreds of people at a pro-Palestine rally, in which protesters chanted 'Israel murderer [sic]' and 'End the siege of Gaza.'

Outside the Sydney Opera House, about 1,000 protesters lit flares and waved Palestinian flags — and some were filmed chanting: 'Gas the Jews.'

In the U.S., meanwhile, 31 student groups at Harvard signed an open letter claiming that the 'Israeli regime' was 'entirely responsible for all unfolding violence', while California's Stanford University displayed a banner declaring that Palestine would be made free 'by any means necessary' — a sinister slogan that tacitly justifies Hamas's slaughter of children in pursuit of its aims.

Not to be outdone, the Chicago 'chapter' of the Black Lives Matter movement posted an image of a paraglider alongside the slogan 'I stand with Palestine'. The reference, of course, was to Hamas paragliders who descended on Israel's Supernova music festival last Saturday to rape and butcher at least 260 young people.

In short, anti-Semites the world over have been emboldened by this crisis, and Jews are once again being blamed for their own massacre. And I am not remotely surprised. In my childhood, I was steeped in the Islamist movement's noxious anti-Semitism — which has been on such ugly display this week.

Born in Mogadishu, Somalia, I spent my early years escaping political strife after my father was imprisoned for being an anti-government activist. We moved between countries before settling in Kenya.

The worst insult in the Somali community was to be called a 'Jew', not that any of us actually knew one. To be called a 'Jew' was so abhorrent, some felt justified in killing anyone who so dishonoured them with this 'slur'.

As a teenager in Nairobi in the 1980s, I joined the Muslim Brotherhood — the strict Sunni Islamist movement, founded in Egypt in 1928, from which Hamas ultimately descends.

I vividly remember sitting with my female fellows in mosques, cursing Israel and praying to Allah to destroy the Jews. We were certainly not interested in a peaceful 'two-state solution': we were taught to want to see Israel wiped off the map.

When I was 16, my school's teacher of religion was Sister Aziza. She read to us the Koran's lurid descriptions of the everlasting fire that burns flesh and dissolves skin — the place reserved for Jews.

Sister Aziza described Jews as physically monstrous, with horns coming from their heads, out of which flew devils that would corrupt the world. Jews controlled everything, she told us, and it was the duty of Muslims to destroy them.

It was a lot to take in for a teenager who read Western romance novels in secret, but I believed every word.

When the fatwa was issued against the British writer Salman Rushdie in 1989, a small crowd gathered in a Nairobi car park to burn a copy of his novel The Satanic Verses.

Sister Aziza urged us to join in the condemnations of Rushdie and I am ashamed to say I took part in the book-burning. I was certain Rushdie should be killed, but the scene nevertheless made me uncomfortable.

That seed of doubt grew over the next few years as I questioned why, if Allah was so just, women were treated as mere chattels in some Muslim families.

Over time, my questions turned into open rebellion against the Muslim Brotherhood, Islam and, ultimately, my family.

My father sent me to relatives in Germany in 1992 so I could go from there to Canada to join the distant cousin he had married me off to. I ran away from that marriage and travelled to the Netherlands where I sought asylum.

Eventually, I became a member of the Dutch parliament, and later settled in America.

I abandoned my religion, but I have never lost my clear-sighted understanding, forged in my childhood, of Islamism's pathological hatred of Jews, as well as Muslims considered as heretics and non-Muslims in general.

The former Egyptian president Mohamed Morsi — a one-time leader of the Muslim Brotherhood — declared that Muslims should 'nurse our children and our grandchildren on hatred' of Jews. His organisation has done just that — and the despicable sentiment is the underlying context to Hamas's most recent attacks.

The truth, however, is that Hamas is no more a friend of the Palestinians than it is a friend of Israel.

Those who see the conflict as a simple territorial dispute between a colonial state and a dispossessed minority fail to recognise Hamas for what it really is: a gang of genocidal Islamist thugs backed by a theocratic, anti-Semitic regime in Iran.

Useful idiots on the far-Left in Western countries, who blindly support Hamas because they see it as a freedom-fighting group, harm the very people they claim to defend.

They say they want peace —and perhaps many of them do. But real peace talks based on the 2020 Abraham Accords between Israel and Arab countries have made painstaking but undeniable progress despite the efforts of Hamas.

Until Hamas's recent attacks, Saudi Arabia and Israel had looked set to normalise relations. This murderous incursion was an attempt to derail such talks — and thus ruin any chance of lasting peace.

Ordinary Palestinians want to build a prosperous, functioning society. Hamas, in its obsession with annihilating Israel, doesn't care about that. It wishes only to bring about a genocidal Islamist dystopia.

It is Hamas, after all, that holds Palestinians hostage in Gaza, setting up military installations in — and launching rockets from — civilian areas in the full knowledge that counterstrikes will kill innocent people.

It is Hamas that impoverishes Palestinians by stealing humanitarian aid to fund its terror. This is what 'by any means necessary' truly signifies: supreme callousness towards Palestinian life.

If you genuinely want to see peace between Israelis and Palestinians, or more generally between Muslims and Jews in the Middle East, then Hamas should be your enemy.

And even if — like many in the West, as we can now see — you don't care at all about Israeli or Jewish lives, even if you care only about the lives of Palestinians, Hamas is still your enemy. After all, Hamas ruthlessly persecutes any Palestinians who disagree with it: a 2022 U.S. State Department report found that, among other abuses, Hamas detained and assaulted critical journalists.

It is especially hostile to public figures associated with its rival Fatah, the Palestinian party voted out of office in Gaza in 2006, but which still runs the West Bank.

Hamas harasses its own dissidents, and has invaded the home of at least one young critical activist, telling his parents to keep their son under control — or else.

As a Dutch MP in 2004 and 2005, I travelled to the West Bank and met Palestinians.

In public, they spouted all the usual lines about Israel being their 'oppressor'. But once the cameras were switched off, they spoke more truthfully.

They complained bitterly about their treatment by Hamas and other radical groups, and told me how money meant to feed the people was being taken to fund those organisations' activities and their leaders' luxurious lifestyles. Arabs and Palestinians alike told me how fed up they were with conflict, and how ready they were for peace.

Hamas, like other Islamist groups, has done its best over the course of decades to stomp all over those wishes.

And it has been successful. The shocking rise in anti-Semitism in the West owes much to the entrenched Islamist networks that have spent years stirring up this ancient hatred.

Europe must now wake up to these fifth columnists who shamelessly celebrate violence and bigotry, promoting hatred of the Jewish minority in Europe.

The West must also wake up to the moral corruption of its own Hamas supporters, from Left-wing university students to flag-waving street thugs.

Meanwhile, elite human-rights organisations need to do far more to name terrorism when they see it.

It is horrifying to see Amnesty International claiming that one of the 'root causes' of the crisis is 'Israel's system of apartheid imposed on Palestinians'.

Human Rights Watch, meanwhile, should do more than merely equivocating in its insistence that no injustice can justify another.

This is not to argue that Israel should be immune from criticism. My point is that much of the criticism is at best misguided and at worst thinly veiled anti-Semitism.

Hamas, like Lebanon's Hezbollah, Isis in Syria and Iraq, Nigeria's Boko Haram, Somalia's Al-Shabaab and several other groups, are fighting not for the liberty and prosperity of Muslims but, ultimately, for the annihilation of Israel and the imposition of an Islamic state.

If Palestinians and other Muslims have to suffer for that aim, then so be it.

Well-meaning celebrities and broadcasters who, out of wilful ignorance and good intentions, hesitate to condemn Hamas as terrorists need to recognise this truth.

These are dark times for Israel and for the world, but there are some reasons to be hopeful.

This week's strong statement by America, Britain, France, Italy and Germany condemning Hamas while recognising the 'legitimate aspirations' of the Palestinians is a good sign.

Labour leader Sir Keir Starmer's condemnation of Hamas is particularly welcome, given that, until recently, his party was led by a man who called these butchers his 'friends'.

And if Israel and the Arab states do not allow their worst instincts to rule them, talks may continue — and might just secure peace in the longer term.

Hamas is another Isis. They are the enemies of Israel; they are the enemies of all Jews; they are the enemies of Palestinians; they are the enemies of peace and freedom. They are the enemies of Western civilisation itself.

It is about time they were recognised as such.

To achieve a two-state solution — with free and prosperous Palestinians and a safe Israel — the first, fundamental step is for people to stop chanting slogans in support of terrorists and murderers, and for everyone to cry in unison: 'Down with Hamas!'

Remember two years ago when everyone was arguing about whether the terrorist assault and takeover of Afghanistan by the Taliban was Trump's fault or Biden's fault? Today, people are scolding us not to call the same thing terrorism. It's "liberation" and "decolonization."

Remember in 2014 when Boko Haram kidnapped the children and everyone was campaigning for their safe return because it was an unconscionable act of terrorism? Now kidnapping and murdering children is an act of legitimate revolution.

Remember when kids rushed to support ISIS the instant they rose, and people were appalled and argued over how could it could be possible to support a terrorist state that seized illegitimate power? Online radicalization was blamed, and many didn't want to believe that indoctrination had primed it well in advance. Now, if your Gender and Postcolonial Studies haven't activated you to support a terrorist state that has seized illegitimate power in the region, you're a bigot.

Remember when we cheered on the Iranians for finally fighting back against the regime of terror that hung over them, hoping for them to finally win the war against the regime? Now, Israel has to simply take whatever assaults of terrorism are dealt at them; it is, as Douglas Murray said, is the only country which is not allowed to win a war.

Remember when certain people liked to call everyone who disagreed with them "Nazis" and that punching them was the right thing to do? Now the extermination of all the Jews is the "Be Kind" position.

How morally confused do you have to be, after all this, to side with the terrorists?

Hamas is to Palestine as ISIS is to Syria and the Taliban is to Afghanistan.

As I've posted about before, Islam is a supremacist ideology. Its goal is world domination. They tell us that. Loudly.

https://quranx.com/Hadith/Bukhari/USC-MSA/Volume-4/Book-52/Hadith-196

Narrated Abu Huraira: Allah 's Apostle said, "I have been ordered to fight with the people till they say, 'None has the right to be worshipped but Allah,' and whoever says, 'None has the right to be worshipped but Allah,' his life and property will be saved by me except for Islamic law, and his accounts will be with Allah, (either to punish him or to forgive him.)"

https://quranx.com/Hadith/Bukhari/USC-MSA/Volume-1/Book-8/Hadith-387

Narrated Anas bin Malik: Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) said, "I have been ordered to fight the people till they say: 'None has the right to be worshipped but Allah.' And if they say so, pray like our prayers, face our Qibla and slaughter as we slaughter, then their blood and property will be sacred to us and we will not interfere with them except legally and their reckoning will be with Allah."

Narrated Maimun bin Siyah that he asked Anas bin Malik, "O Abu Hamza! What makes the life and property of a person sacred?" He replied, "Whoever says, 'None has the right to be worshipped but Allah', faces our Qibla during the prayers, prays like us and eats our slaughtered animal, then he is a Muslim, and has got the same rights and obligations as other Muslims have."

https://quranx.com/Hadith/Muslim/USC-MSA/Book-41/Hadith-6985

Abu Huraira reported Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) as saying: The last hour would not come unless the Muslims will fight against the Jews and the Muslims would kill them until the Jews would hide themselves behind a stone or a tree and a stone or a tree would say: Muslim, or the servant of Allah, there is a Jew behind me; come and kill him; but the tree Gharqad would not say, for it is the tree of the Jews.

It has successfully weaponized intersectional shibboleths to trick useful idiots into thinking that the supremacist is the oppressed victim.

#Ayaan Hirsi Ali #down with hamas #hamas #Palestine #israel #islamic terrorism #islam #antisemitism #terrorist organization #jihad #religion #exterminate hamas #religion is a mental illness

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paracosmic-murdock · 9 months

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Tell me what are my words worth ; Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Chapter 12: "Parlant à la lune"

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: It has been two years since your secret was exposed and you had to leave London. Two years with deep buried misery and in which you missed everything you used to have. However, neglect, novelties, and letters made sure to give you more than one reason to return to claim someone who is as rightfully yours as your estate and your people: Benedict Bridgerton.

Warnings/tags: idiots in love, eventual smut, mutual pining, (kinda???) enemies (fake, this is just pride) to lovers (surely), bisexual benedict bridgerton, feminist themes, historical inaccuracy (for the sake of the plot), inspired by mulan (1998), song: the lakes (taylor swift), other tags to be added

Chapter summary: Perhaps you had manifested it or not, but either way, there was another man in your life to make it unbearable. Luckily, the stubborn fate (a letter) and your untamed mind (your undying love for a certain someone) would not let you stagnant in that misery.

Word count: 2K

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❁ mila's paracosm (main masterlist)

1816 seemed to be a vintage year for the vineyards of the Château du Clos de Vougeot, so much so that it had you between the bushes of grapes painting them while tasting the fine wine produced almost two decades ago. Despite not being able to drink it until you were five and ten, the sweet, burgundy-colored drink has accompanied you throughout your life.

It reminded you of your childhood running through these same vineyards, riding a white horse named after your Mother's favorite gemstone as you tried to win a race against the setting sun, laughing with your father, and shooting arrows at the red dots placed on the trunks of trees. It made you wish he had never left, though you had made peace with his absence so long ago.

Perhaps you would not have to have done all the things you once did.

Your short stay in London did certainly mark you like a bloodstain: the ghost of those ocean eyes haunted your dreams and nightmares, and the words printed on ridiculous papers chased you down Europe for many moons. However, you have come way too far to watch some name-dropping sleaze as Lady Whistledown.

For a moment, you watched your bridges burn to the ground and your castles crumble down. What once were chants celebrating your name turned to screams of hate. You went from looks of adoration to them looking at you like you were a monster.

You had lived in the Americas with your Grandfather for two pair of months as a punishment for your imprudences and had returned to Burgundy with the determination to claim what is yours whatever it took.

You were not as successful, but you managed to have your cousin living constantly at the expense of your hard work ever since. At least he did not intend to marry you anymore, and for that, you could settle.

The book you had written was published earlier this year, and the story of the author writing poems to an unknown lover, sending them to him by talking to the moon was certainly a hit. As a woman, you found that so far from possible, but having your status and wealth did it all to make sure your words could be read anywhere across Europe.

Many more nights than you are willing to admit, you wondered whether Benedict was aware of the existence of the book or not; but most importantly, if he had realized it was about him.

Everything, for two years, was about him.

Portraits of his face adorned the walls of the Palace of Versailles, and his name was a recurring code in your book. There was even an unfortunate error in some of the first copies, as his name and surname had accidentally ended up explicitly mentioned.

No one suspected that the aforementioned was a real person, and you were grateful to the Heavens for that.

"Excusez-moi, Lady Y/N. Quelqu’un vous attend." Antoinette announced, and you nodded.

[Excuse me, Lady Y/N. Someone is expecting you]

You took a handkerchief to clean your paint-splattered hands and made your way to the Palace and out of the field.

Once you were inside, you were told that the person was waiting in the sitting room with your Grandfather. The person was a man, and you almost dropped your handkerchief to the floor.

"My dear," your Grandfather called for you. "There is someone you should meet."

"Whoever this is, I want him gone by dinnertime," you said.

He rolled his eyes at your stubbornness. "He has traveled for days and days."

"It is impossible for a human to care less about another."

You would not normally behave in such a manner, but the resemblance that man shared with your father had your imagination running in circles.

"Do you even know this man?"

A scoff left your lips. "He looks exactly like my father, meaning he must be a bastard child of his. Why is he here? To get what should be his. What will he get? Not a thing. I said I wanted him gone by dinnertime."

You regretted having created your Antoine alter ego. It was almost as if you had manifested a brother, which was devastatingly pathetic.

It was obvious he was standing there ready to take it all away from you.

The story behind it all is that your Grandfather has been looking for ways to watch your reign end for a while now, and the possibility of him having a bastard child was there. He couldn't have lived in celibacy for the nine and ten years he lived without his wife.

He didn't indeed.

There were three children of his living the life of commoners, but the only one who was interested in living the life that could have been his had he been born from your Mother was him.

"Don't listen to her, Raphaël," your grandfather told him, then looked at you. "You mustn't manage all of this for another day. You might not accept him as a brother, but after all, he is your father's son. What you consider to be yours isn't anymore, you must stop acting as if you were Queen Charlotte, owner of every soul that stands in the same region as you, you are not."

Your Grandfather used to adore you, but the events of two years ago led him to treat you like a ragdoll possessed by the cruel spirit of a soul in Purgatory. One you wish to get rid of but return every time you believe it to be gone forever.

You only laughed at his indiscretions toward you and watched him tolerate your devoted gestures.

Suddenly, you were nothing but a woman with the heaviest of heads that bears the crown, and you eventually got tired of trying to win his love back.

"He is nobody," you repeated. "This is my home, and so is every palace under the name of the Dukes of Burgundy. My pennies have made everyone's crowns and if I say I wanted him gone, gone he will be."

"You forget your place quite often, do you not?" your supposed brother commented. "I have never seen a woman that believes herself to be the owner of it all."

Your outraged glance could have killed him if what they said about looks were true.

"You will not come to my own home to talk to me as if you were someone with the right to. You should be the one to remember his place-"

"Women are incredibly arrogant and insane these days, it is ironic coming from one who is utterly alone in this world."

"Watch your mouth, brother," you threatened him. "You will choose your next words carefully unless you want to see what happens when you poke a bear."

"Leave us alone." your grandfather ordered him, and he complied right away.

You sighed.

"When will this princess figure out she isn't worth saving, huh?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I am sick of your misbehaving, Y/N, in all seriousness," he snapped finally. "Your arrogance is making me go insane, your words are inopportune, when will you learn that nobody in this world is standing by you?"

"And I am sick of you coming to my life every time I'm getting it right, sir. I am just so tired of you treating me like an unwanted child," you replied. "You treat me as if I wasn't your own daughter's daughter, and I am certain that she would be disappointed in you if she were here! She would understand me!"

"Don't you raise your voice at me and don't you dare speak of your mother as if you had known her." he ordered, his voice tranquil but angry.

Hurting tears escaped your sore eyes. "I lost the love of my life, you know? I lost him and I must live with that for the rest of my life! I have nobody! My Father is gone, my Mother is gone, you are gone! I am, just like you said, without a soul standing by me, and, just like he said, utterly alone in this world! If he comes I will end up living in the streets after having had it all. Is it what you want? For your granddaughter to be left to her own devices?"

"Ever since you escaped your home to disguise as a man and had that Bridgerton boy dishonor you, you stopped being my granddaughter."

You nodded, feeling more devastated than you had before.

"Alright, I am leaving for Versailles. He can have whatever he wants," you answered, knowing very well that no matter how much he tried, he would never get his name on anything you owned. Your Father's will firmly stated that the one to inherit every ducal thing would be your first son, said will was blessed by the King of France, and there was not a thing absolutely anyone could do against the King's blessing. "You can be sure you will never see me again."

"Do you have anyone to stay with in Versailles?"

"I do not need anyone, I have my Palace."

"I'm afraid you don't."

"What do you-"

Antoinette's sudden arrival stopped you from continuing. "Désolée, mais vous avez une correspondance de Londres."

[I am sorry, but you have correspondance from London]

You frowned, receiving the envelope.

From Eloise Bridgerton

So you opened it right away.

Dearest Y/N,

I, and dare I say my entire family also, wishes you more than well.

I do not know how proper it is for me to write to you after all that happened with my brother, but there is something you must know: he is about to make the biggest mistake of his life, and you are the only one who can stop it.

Benedict met someone: Miss Hayley Prince. I am obliged to speak of her as such a nice lady, with manners like no other. But she is not you.

This is funny enough because ever since you left, every woman he has had around shares some sort of similarity with you. This is what I have picked from overhearing conversations between Anthony, Daphne, Simon, Colin, and Kate, since, of course, I could never know a thing about those affairs of his.

Benedict has stopped himself from sending letters or traveling to France many more times than you can imagine, so you should know that losing you has been the catastrophe of his life. He regrets letting you go and it is under that premise that I beg for you to come to England as soon as possible.

He is seriously considering proposing to her, but I know that if you were to return, he would leave her and marry you instead.

Benedict does not love her at all, and in her, he just found the woman who is the entire opposite of you: she is most certainly not French, she does not care about art, she says emeralds are not suitable for her, she braids her hair funny, she gets disgusted by the mere idea of fencing or horseback riding, she hates horses, she is mean, she is superficial, she is not the third cousin of the King of France (or any king for that matter), and said she is terrified of traveling overseas. Benedict found the only woman in England that does not remind him of you and decided to hold onto her.

The problem is, Benedict is miserable with her. She is insufferable and none of us can bear with the idea of having to see her often. Also, my brother needs someone who can make him smile and inspire him.

That someone is you.

P.S. He talks to the moon every time it is full. I beg you to come fix him.

P.S.2. I have heard about your book! As soon as I see it somewhere I will buy it.

P.S.3. Lady Danbury said she would be enchanted to receive you at her home.

Sincerely and expecting your answer eagerly,

Eloise Bridgerton

taglist: @yentroucnagol @crimsonincursive

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagine

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gumnut-logic · 1 month

Text

Sweetapple Slice 9

Alexander Sweetapple series

This isn't much because I'm tired and it's nearly midnight after a very long day, so don't expect much.

Inspired by the slightly evil @womble1 How dare they dangle a concept in front of me like that. Things like this happen - though honestly, I don't think it is as good as it could have been if I had half a brain, but eh, it be fic.

Sometime in the future, I hope you enjoy.

-o-o-o-

Alex walked across the room and opened the huge window, letting in the tropical breeze.

The scents of Tracy Island were heady and he found himself breathing in deep. It helped calm his heart.

A bird squawked somewhere nearby and the ocean hissed beyond the dense pōhutukawa trees.

“Thank you, love.”

Alex turned back to Virgil, sitting up in bed, still pale, but so much better than he had been.

His partner must have seen something in Alex’s expression, because he gestured with one hand for Alex to return to him.

Alex didn’t hesitate, crawling across the bed to carefully slide in beside him, avoiding the healing injury in Virgil’s left thigh. He tried to ignore the yellowing bruises and healing abrasions scattered across Virgil’s bare chest, still hesitant to touch, afraid he might hurt him.

Virgil being Virgil, grabbed him with his right arm and drew him in close, kissing his hair. “You’re not going to hurt me. Stop worrying.”

Alex grunted, not willing to admit how much Virgil’s sudden injury and following illness had scared him.

One day they were planning a relaxing dinner in Sydney, of all places. Planning to watch the sun go down over the Harbour Bridge. Then half way through the afternoon, John had called, his voice parched.

Thunderbird One hit Māhia at speed and Alex had been airborne, halfway to London before he could knock two neurons together.

He’d never been to London before.

He still hadn’t really. He’d only been to that hospital, that room, with his seriously ill lover surrounded by family, not knowing if he would ever see those beautiful chocolate eyes ever again.

Scott was a man possessed.

Virgil had mentioned his big brother’s passion for his family. Through Alex’s own terror, he saw the man go from the calm professional to the desperate big brother.

Their father did his best to see to the eldest, but whatever he tried never seemed to be enough.

As for Alex…the days were filled with fear.

“I’m getting better, love. Please stop thinking about it.” Virgil drew Alex’s head down to his shoulder, stroking his hair gently.

Alex leant up and kissed his jawline.

He, too, was shirtless and Virgil’s warmth, both physical and spiritual, seeped in through Alex’s skin.

“What do you want to do today?” They had recently finished breakfast. Alex was ever so happy to see Virgil’s appetite return. He truly was getting better.

“I was thinking of doing a little knitting. Two’s stocks are getting low.” Virgil shifted a little where he sat.

Alex frowned. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Another shift. “Could you do me a favour?”

Alex sat up. “Of course.”

“There’s a bag, green, in that cupboard, second shelf.”

Sliding off the bed once again, Alex did as Virgil asked and found the bag. It was obviously a knitting bag. Metal needles clicked together as he picked it up and several balls of yarn peeked up through its drawstring top. Alex brought it back to the bed. “You never mentioned you knit.”

A half-smile. “It’s a thing.” Out came scarlet needles and a bright gold yarn. “Bit of a tradition.”

As he was speaking, Virgil started expertly casting on stitches.

Alex crawled back onto the bed, ever fascinated by what his love was capable of. “You are so much.”

Virgil stopped mid-motion, frowning just a little. “In what way?”

“Every time I think I know all your interests, you pop up with another one, and to top it all off, you’re proficient in all of them.”

A snort. “You can talk.”

“Yes, I’m an engineer, but that is all I am, Virgil. You? You are an engineer, a bloody brilliant one, mind you. A musician, an artist, a rescue operative and medic. You are so talented and skilled in so many professions…how are you possible?”

An arched eyebrow was pointed in his direction. “You are most certainly much more than just an engineer, Alex.” He reached up and stroked Alex’s arm. “So much more.”

Alex gave him the side eye, ever sceptical. “So what are you making?”

Virgil stared at him a moment before giving in and looking down at the mess of gold yarn in his lap. “Fish for a fish.”

“You’re making goldfish for Gordon? Why?”

“Because this time I was the one who was injured.”

“What?”

Virgil sighed. “We have a thing.”

Alex waited.

And waited. “A thing?”

“Gordon was seriously injured once. He needed some…motivation. So I taught him to knit.”

Blink.

Virgil obviously took that as a question. “He told me it was my turn to make fish.”

This was obviously another one of those Tracy-things Alex was never quite going to understand. The five brothers were a very closely knit bunch, pun intended, and sometimes they did things that defied explanation.

And this was likely one of them.

Alex sighed and curled up beside Virgil, prepared to sit beside him no matter what the man wanted to do. The last week had been hell and he thought that he had lost the one he loved. If that man now wanted to knit random gold fish for his quirky brother, he could knit as much as he liked.

Alex was just happy to have him safe.

As Virgil began to hum, relaxing into what he was doing, Alex let himself smile.

It truly was a beautiful sound.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #alexander sweetapple #nuttyfic #virgil tracy/alexander sweetapple #romance #virgil whump

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harry-sussex · 1 year

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Okay guys, as promised, another long post! Day 2, another one of the craziest days of my life - brace yourselves. This is a wild ride from start to finish - I put my blood, sweat, and tears (literally) into this one.

On Friday, I did a lot - I headed to the National Gallery (where I cried, like a lot, you know how much I love art), and then I went to BP and the mall to scope out locations and check out the vibe for the coronation, and then I met @duchessofostergotlands for dinner (she’s as fun, hilarious, and sweet as you’d expect, we had a blast).

After dinner, I decided I’d head on over to Parliament / Big Ben / the London Eye / etc. just to do the touristy thing, because why not?

I spent about an hour just roaming about, basking, doing whatever when I decided to head on over to the Abbey, just to check it out, see with my own two eyes the place where William and Catherine got married, where the coronation was going to happen, all that.

So I’m just roaming about, staring at the Abbey (which is massive and beautiful, by the way), chatting with some policemen and also texting @claireofluxembourg and @cambridgemadness about how crazy it all was and how it didn’t seem real and just how different things are now, you know?

In the middle of our conversation, I get this absolutely PANICKED text from Vanessa:

So I immediately freak out and call them both and they’re like SOS RED ALERT THIS IS NOT A DRILL GO GO GO GO GO so all three of us are at the same time looking at the fastest route from the Abbey to Oswald’s while on the phone and I’m sprinting in whichever direction I saw first and it’s no joke 23 minutes on foot and not worth waiting for the tube. So I start booking it, and I mean BOOKING it while V and Ara are on the phone trying to find a route while I’m just going going going. And they’re telling me who was spotted going in and what time the royals got there and when they think they’d leave, the whole conversation was just a rapid, frenzied SOS THIS IS NOT A DRILL SOUND THE ALARMS RED ALERT GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO. So I’m on the phone with two people and it’s pitch black minus the (very occasional) street lamp and I am not even looking at anything other than Google Maps on my phone. Before I knew it, I was crossing the bridge at St. James’ Park and as I’m getting to the other side I am still booking it SO quickly and I’m not paying attention to anything other than my phone and I am most definitely NOT watching where I was walking and it was so dark that I literally SLAMMED myself, full force, RIGHT into one of those black metal bollards at 100mph. I didn’t stand a chance of catching myself so I go flying, my bag goes flying, and I land on my hands and knees (but like, my knuckles, which are still scratched to hell btw). The whole thing hurt like hell (my right knee is legit purple lmao) but I somehow managed to hang onto my phone. So without hesitating for even a second I IMMEDIATELY got up, completely ignored my battle wounds, and frantically started grabbing my stuff while shouting “YES I’M FINE IT’S FINE EVERYTHING IS FINE” to the 5 million people yelling “ARE YOU OKAY??” from every corner of the park. I legit didn’t even stop - this woman almost had to chase me down because my wallet (!!) went flying and I didn’t even notice amid the chaos.

Unfortunately (but hilariously), I am still on the phone with Vanessa and Arantxa while the commotion is happening and they heard the whole thing, including my body slamming into first the bollard and then the pavement and my “oof” as I’m going down and then the groan once I’d landed and of course they are both crying laughing, which is where this post came from (I am also laughing out loud reading this as I’m writing lmao):

So at this point I’m bleeding, I’m half limping, I’m breathing heavy and sweating because I’m booking it, I almost lost my wallet, I’m still more than 10mins from Oswald’s, and I’m crying laughing at myself while Vanessa and Arantxa are dying laughing at me and honestly that part alone, battle wounds and all, was one of the highlights of my entire trip because let me tell you, it was HILARIOUS - nothing like uncontrollably cracking up with your friends even when they’re thousands of miles away.

Anyway, so I eventually make it to Albemarle Street and get to Oswald’s in one piece and relatively okay considering the earlier incident - I was still bleeding, though. I saw a few paps, some Range Rovers and Audis, plenty of protection officers and security, and maybe 5 regular people like me taking iPhone pictures on the sidewalk. So I found my spot and flung myself in between these two fancy cars across the street and slightly to the left of the entrance. I had my phone in my hand still (I literally did not put it down for a single second in more than 24 hours lmao) so I immediately start snapping pics while Arantxa and I are yelling about God only knows what. Vanessa had to hang up (I was so sad) but Arantxa stayed on the phone with me the entire time - poor thing had to listen to the whole commotion for more than an hour.

So I’m frantically snapping pictures without looking and when I finally get situated I look up I see Crown Prince Akishino and Crown Princess Kiko of Japan just like… standing there. Less than 20 feet away from me. Right across the street, on the sidewalk, like the world had decided “this is really not a big deal.” So naturally I’m completely starstruck and I couldn’t find any words so I’m just yelling “JAPAN!!! JAPAN!!! to Arantxa on the phone while she was also yelling into the abyss. Honestly I wish I could see security footage of this because the vision of me yelling on the sidewalk and her yelling on the phone was probably the comedy show of the century.

So eventually it occurs to me that they’re, like, literal people, who actually exist, who can hear and see and communicate just like I can, standing right in front of me, so I just start bellowing “HIIIIII!!!!” from across the street, waving so enthusiastically, and they looked at me and made eye contact and smiled! The Crown Prince and Crown Princess of Japan smiled at me! Acknowledged my presence! Communicated with me! Knew I existed, for even just a moment, can you believe it?

I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why nobody else on the street was saying hi - even after I said hi and waved, I figured somebody else would get the idea too, but nope - it was just me in an absolute tizzy, frantically waving and saying hi and using their names and telling them to have fun at the coronation and whatnot. I found out later that the women next to me were only there for the Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau (lol), so they had no clue who these other people were (fun fact, he never came out). They weren’t even fun about it - they were kind of judgmental about it. “Oh, you run a royal blog? I don’t care about any of these people.” They tried to be a buzzkill, but not on my weekend - no way.

Before I knew it, the royals just kept coming, and I just kept yelling and saying hi and waving, because why not, you know? Once in a lifetime, what was I going to do? Play coy? Act shy? Act like I didn’t know who they were even though I’ve known for years? Please. Literally - you only live once. When was I ever going to get the chance to see them again? Much less all at once?

And seriously, they just kept coming. At one point I was begging Arantxa to write it all down and I was also frantically trying to write in my little notebook and snap photos and pay attention without missing anything important (more on that last part later). All of the pictures are awful because I wasn’t looking at my phone while snapping them, I was just looking at the door, but you’ll see.

After Crown Prince Akishino and Crown Princess Kiko:

Prince and Princess Michael of Kent - I didn’t say anything to Princess Michael, of course (she got in on the other side of the car anyway), but I did say hi to Prince Michael and told him to enjoy the coronation and he waved and smiled at me!

Then came King Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck and Queen Jetsun Pema of Bhutan. I said hi and waved at first and they both honestly seemed quite shy, but then I bellowed YOU LOOK SO PRETTY!! at the Queen and she smiled at me!! She really is so stunningly beautiful. Like, so beautiful.

And after that… came Prince Andrew, The Duke of York. I don’t know why I wasn’t expecting that, but I wasn’t, and it took me a minute to figure it out and once I did, I literally gasped out loud and said “it’s Andrew” to nobody in particular (except Arantxa I guess lol), but yeah. I didn’t say a thing to him of course, just took pictures. He didn’t look up at anyone or make a single expression or anything - he and his team booked it to his car at the far end of the road which was in the complete opposite direction of the paparazzi. I didn’t think a 60 year old man could move that fast without breaking a sweat (lol) - top right is him keeping his head down and bottom right is the best shot I could get of his team absolutely sprinting to the car on the far end of the street:

I will forever, forever, forever, FOREVER be furious at myself about this next one. 2 days later and I am still absolutely dumbfounded and so, so, so pissed at myself. I saw this guy and I thought it was Grand Duke Henri of Luxembourg - I couldn’t tell though, so I was absolutely fixated on it. He went right, and I was snapping pictures so I could figure it out later, and I didn’t look left. Didn’t even think of it again until later when I was scrolling through my pictures. Spoiler alert, it was not Grand Duke Henri. Not only that, but even worse - leaving to the left at the same time were King Carl XIV Gustaf and Crown Princess Victoria of Sweden - aka half the reason why I booked it over there (wounds and all), because Victoria is, of course, one of my favorites. I’m absolutely furious at myself - I cannot believe I wasted my eyesight on a random guy who I thought was Grand Duke Henri when CROWN PRINCESS VICTORIA was RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY FACE!!!

So of course I didn’t get to wave or say hi to her because I didn’t even SEE HER because I am an IDIOT and I cannot stop thinking about the idea that she may have seen me waving to all of these people and saying hi and that she might think I have no idea who she is because I DO and I am so SAD that I didn’t get to say hi to her. AND I booked it all the way across London and fell and got bruised and bloodied specifically for her (see Arantxa’s post lol), and I didn’t even realize because I was looking at someone who wasn’t even the person I thought he was! And I’m far less interested in him! But here she is, with her father, proof that she was in front of me, which doesn’t really matter a lot in the grand scheme of my weekend, but I guess it’s something.

After, Crown Prince Haakon and Crown Princess Mette-Marit of Norway came out. I was SO excited to see them - the Norwegians are my next favorite royal family after the Brits, so my excited “HI HAAKON!! HI METTE-MARIT!!!” plus my frantic waving maybe have been a little too much for the average person, but Mette-Marit was totally unbothered by my nonsense! She made eye contact, smiled, laughed, AND waved back!! She was so sweet I can’t stand it. I always thought she seemed like a sweetheart but her reaction was one of the best parts of my night. They both got in the car on the other side of the street so I didn’t get to see her too closely in person but her hair is so pretty! So blonde and shiny!! Side note - have no idea if I pronounced either of their names right - ‘Met-tee Marie’? ‘Met-eh Marie’? ‘Met Mur-it’? ‘Hay-con’? Hah-con?’ - who knows, but I tried. I said “Hah-con” and “Met Marie”.

Then came (in this order) Vice Admiral Sir Timothy Laurence and Princess Anne, The Princess Royal. I about fell over when I saw Tim - the guy is HUGE! We knew this, it’s not news, but he’s about 10 feet taller than Anne. He came out solo at first and I literally gasped and yelled “TIM!! VICE ADMIRAL, HI!!!” It was definitely too much for dignified, stoic Tim lol but he did say hi out loud, didn’t really smile or nod but he did look in my general direction, no eye contact. He went back inside I guess to fetch Anne because they both came out and I absolutely lost it with Anne! “HI ANNE!! ENJOY TOMORROW!!!” She absolutely ignored me in the most Anne way possible, didn’t even flinch, I might as well have not been there at all. The most typical Anne response to a frantic American yelling her name from across the street - I’m not even upset that she outright ignored me, I almost would’ve been disappointed if she did anything more. It wouldn’t have matched the vision of her personality that’s in my head - happy we’ve been right all these years. No-nonsense Anne (and trust me, I was giving nothing but nonsense). Anne - the biggest badass on earth.

Afterwards came Crown Prince Frederik and Crown Princess Mary of Denmark. Mary is PRETTY, like so so so pretty. Her hair is absolutely stunning. I completely forgot that we usually call Frederik “Fred” and I totally butchered his name when I said hi, so it came out “HI FRED-*stutter*-RICK!” which didn’t make any sense at all, it came out as jumbled, gargled nonsense. I got it together with Mary though because I was like “MARY!!! HI!! YOU’RE SO PRETTY!! ENJOY TOMORROW!!!!!” Mary looked genuinely delighted to see me, almost like she couldn’t believe that anyone on the sidewalk had any clue who she was. Their car was a bit closer to my side of the road - more in the middle lane than the left lane - so I got such a good look at her face and we made such direct eye contact and her face like lit up!! She waved and smiled and said hello out loud and I could hear her plain as day and she was just such a bright ray of sunshine, it made my night! What an absolute sweetheart! I was so happy to see her and wave to her and have such an interaction that I literally blacked out and forgot about the pics until they got in the car and drove off so I only have the picture of the car below - you can kind of see Fred’s head through the rear window, but that’s about it.

And then The Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh, The Lady Louise Mountbatten-Windsor, and James, Earl of Wessex. I saw James through the door first and he’s just so adorable. After a few ins and outs of the door by security, Edward came out first, and at this point, I didn’t care how I looked because they’d all been so nice so far! Edward smiled, that made me happy, I feel like crowds probably don’t go crazy for him too often. And then Sophie - she outright WAVED and smiled and made eye contact, and I caught it on camera!! I told her to enjoy tomorrow and she is the only one of the bunch I remembered to call “Your Royal Highness.” She’s also so pretty. Like smiley! Happy! I didn’t say anything to James because he is a child, but I waved just in case - he kept his head down though, definitely a shy little thing. I also gently said hi to Louise (not as frantically as I did to her parents and everyone else) and she gave me like a half not-smile but that’s okay because it must have been so weird to see someone like me across the street from her.

The last group to come out with security was Princess Beatrice, Edoardo Mapelli-Mozzi, Princess Eugenie, and Jack Brooksbank. I was… mildly surprised and definitely bummed with this group. I wasn’t expecting much from Jack but I thought I’d get something out of the rest of them, some kind of smile or nod or something, but nope. I know they don’t owe me anything, but I was kind of bummed that they didn’t acknowledge anything. I even yelled my congratulations to Eugenie and Jack on their pregnancy and they didn’t flinch, but not in a fun way (like Anne). Not sure what I was expecting - maybe my expectations were different because everyone else generally seemed mildly happy to acknowledge a fan? I don’t know, but it bummed me out. As an aside, Beatrice’s hair is just as pretty in person - if not more - than it is in the photos.

So after the York princesses and their husbands left, security and the paparazzi scattered pretty quickly. I stuck around for quite a while, but when the restaurant’s security started getting into a van to leave, I went and asked one of them if Crown Princess Victoria was still in there (because, at the time, I had no clue she had already left because I am dumb). He told me nobody was left in there, so I sat down on a stoop and rambled to Arantxa about how that was the most badass day and just hung out outside for a while. I was out there for I don’t know, 15 minutes after security left? I just sat on the stoop looking at my phone and then out of nowhere I looked up and saw Mike and Zara Tindall walking out of Oswald’s! No security! And not only that, they didn’t even get into a car! They just walked down the street like it was absolutely no big deal! I was so surprised to see them - I wasn’t expecting anyone else because the security guard said nobody was left inside. So I jumped up and yelled “ZARA!! MIKE!! HI!!!” and they both waved and smiled! They then posed for a picture for someone across the street (I got the back end of it, so sweet) and just went on their merry way.

So all in all, I saw TWENTY-FIVE (25!!!!!!!) royals and royal adjacents on Friday:

Crown Prince Akishino of Japan

Crown Princess Kiko of Japan

Prince Michael of Kent

Princess Michael of Kent

King Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck of Bhutan

Queen Jetsun Pema of Bhutan

Prince Andrew, The Duke of York

King Carl XIV Gustaf of Sweden

Crown Princess Victoria of Sweden

Crown Prince Haakon of Norway

Crown Princess Mette-Marit of Norway

Princess Anne, The Princess Royal

Vice Admiral Sir Timothy Laurence

Crown Prince Frederik of Denmark

Crown Princess Mary of Denmark

Prince Edward, The Duke of Edinburgh

The Duchess of Edinburgh

The Lady Louise Mountbatten-Windsor

James, The Earl of Wessex

Princess Beatrice, Mrs. Mapelli-Mozzi

Edoardo Mapelli-Mozzi

Princess Eugenie, Mrs. Brooksbank

Jack Brooksbank

Zara Tindall

Mike Tindall

That doesn’t include the coronation or any of the other incredible things and people I got to see this weekend. Just Friday night, on the side of the road, among a whopping 10 people looking to see and greet royalty from all over the world. What a wild ride. I will never see this many of them in one place ever again. It is likely I never will see any of them ever again. It is also likely that I never would have seen most of them in my lifetime. Even if I did see them at another time in this life, I never would have gotten the chance to greet them and say hi and have some form of non-verbal communication with most of them without Vanessa and Arantxa’s tip-off to head to Oswald’s and without that now-infamous sprint through St. James’ Park. I didn’t leave until midnight, with the coronation the next day, and I don’t regret it a bit. That’s a story for another time, though.

Blood, sweat, and tears, baby. Blood, sweat, and tears. I still cannot believe how lucky I was and how lucky I am. Worth it? Absolutely - worth every second. Battle wounds and all.

#katie goes to london pt. 2 #I cannot possibly tag this many of them #so #British royal family #swedish royal family #Norwegian royal family #Bhutan royal family #japanese imperial family #danish royal family #isn’t this fucking wild guys #I’ll never get over it #5/5/2023

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maxverstappensflatbrim · 9 months

Text

Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [25]

chapter twenty-five, act three: so far (it's alright)

masterlist

March 3rd 2015

“No, no, no, no. No.”

Tommie groans rolling her eyes a she yawns loudly, “Rod-”

“No, please don’t lecture me right now, just- just let me rant.”

She doesn’t argue, just falls back onto the cushions behind her as he turns to Adam, “I need more… more emotion.”

“More emotion?” Adam asks, rubbing his hand from how long he’s been holding his guitar. This is the eighth time in the last three hours (yes, he has been sitting in the booth for three hours with no break) that Matty has interrupted his guitar solo in their new song they’re recording.

Adam runs his tongue across his teeth, “I have some emotion for you, Matty-”

“If you say anger-”

“It’s anger, that’s the emotion I have right now.”

Matty sighs, hands clasped in front of him, lips pursed as they rest on top of his fingertips like some sort of painter studying their muse.

His hair is tied up and his glasses are on his face, “Okay, yes, channel the anger, it’s a song about the patriarchy-”

“Pretty sure it's a song about your narcissism.” Tommie pipes up from the floor and he kicks at her foot as he passes, slapping an asleep George on the shoulder causing him to jump awake.

Tommie rolls over, head propped up on her hand to look over at Ross who's lounging on the only settee in their little makeshift studio in London.

“You relaxed over there?”

He grins, “Very, might just have a nap.”

“Yeah, have one for me.” She groans getting up and grabbing the guitar from Adam to take his place, “What if I do the solo?”

Everyone looks at her slowly and she shrugs, “What?”

“You never want to do solos.”

“I believe you said, ‘why would I solo when I don’t feel yolo?’.”

“That’s such nonsense, why would I say that?”

She did say it. Yesterday. After Adam begged her to do it since Matty had already been on his arse about it.

Matty sighs, pushing his glasses up on his head and pinching the bridge of his nose, “Fine, whatever, I don't care, just someone do it.”

She shoos him out of the studio and puts the headphones on, they push her hair up awkwardly and when she catches sight of her reflection in the window she pats down the little Elvis styled quiff. She listens to the drum beat they’ve been working on the past week through the headphones, her head bobbing along to the beat.

Her fingers make quick work, instead of playing what Adam had been doing she lets her mind wander, moving with the beat of the drum line instead of the bass where she thinks is maybe what Adam was struggling with.

Matty swings open the door running over to her, she barely has time to put the guitar down before they’re on the floor and he's peppering kisses all over her cheeks and forehead, “You are my favourite person in the studio right now. That’s exactly what I imagined.”

She pushes him off of her and lifts herself up, smiling at Adam who mimes, ‘thank you’ through the glass.

She checks her phone for the time, 3:33 am, sighing as she stretches until her back pops, Ross distantly yelling his annoyance at her habit, “Call it a night?”

“No, wait, we have to finish-”

“Matty,” She says, turning to him and taking his hands in her own, “Everyones exhausted, it’s only been three days and we’ve almost finished the first song on the list, we’re on track, we’re not going to fall behind. And if we don’t all have a good night's sleep, in an actual bed, then we’re not gonna go much further than that.”

He sighs, head falling to rest on her shoulder as she moves her hands up and down his arms, tracing over his tattoos, “Yeah?”

His voice is muffled into her top as he repeats the word back to her.

“You tired?” She asks softly.

“No-” His word is broken off by a yawn and he brings a hand up to cover his mouth as he watches the rest of the guys start packing up.

“Come on, I’ll drive us back.”

“I’m okay.”

“If you fall asleep at the wheel and we die, I’ll kill you.”

She snatches the keys from his hand, collecting only her phone and jacket, leaving her bag here for tomorrow as she collects the boys one by one.

She drops Adam off at his place, promising to pick him up later than scheduled so he can have a nice lie in, then she drops Ross off at the end of their street before parking in the car park.

She’s staying with George and Matty for the next couple weeks as they record, it saves for the journey up and down, and she's hoping they’ll finish earlier than planned so she can go home to her own place.

When she gets in, George goes straight to his room, placing a kiss on her head and thanking her for driving before disappearing.

Matty comes up behind her as she's kicking her shoes off to wrap his arms around her and lazily lean himself on her. She pushes him off for long enough to line her shoes up with the skirting boards that are lining their flat walls. As soon as she’s standing upright again, socked feet on the cold floor, Matty’s arms are around her again.

“Go to bed.”

“Okay,” He whispers quietly, letting her go to walk to this room, “Do you-”

“Bed.”

He nods and closes his door making sure not to close it completely like George had as she lies out on their settee.

It probably takes her five minutes after her head hits the pillow to fall asleep, she’s not sure how long it is when her name is whispered and she’s shaken awake from her dreamless slumber.

It's still dark, and she feels groggy. That's how she knows she hasn’t been there long.

“Tom?”

“Hmm?”

“Watch a film with me?”

“It’s like four in the morning.”

He shrugs, “It’s four thirty.”

“Go back to bed.”

“I can’t sleep.” He whispers, then when she looks up to see him, where he’s sat on the coffee table watching her, she sees the desperation in his eyes, “Please?”

He picks at the skin on his hand and when her eyes drift down to it he notices, pulling the sleeves of his crew neck over his hands to stop himself.

She nods and goes to pull herself up but he shakes his head, “Don’t, don’t get up, it’s okay. I’m sorry, shouldn’t have woken you up-”

He stands and she reaches for his hand, turning onto her side she pats the cushion and he sits there beside her. Her stomach is pressed into his side and she lifts one leg to slide under him.

“It’s fine. What movie?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know.”

She’s still holding his hand, thumb rubbing back and forth over the back of it. She looks up at him, his long curly hair falling over and covering his eyes.

“Okay, you pick one and I’ll-”

“Stay right here, it’s okay, you don't have to move.”

He moves to get the remote, putting the volume right down as George is sometimes a light sleeper.

Then he slides down to sit on the floor but she tugs at his collar, “Come up here.”

“I won’t fit.”

“You will, come on.” She pushes herself back into the cushions and he awkwardly lies in front of her. She wraps her arms around him pulling him back into her chest, her legs fitting in between his.

Button perks up from the armchair she’s been sleeping on and jumps up with them, curling herself up behind their slightly bent knees.

Matty lifts the remote, looking through the channels until he settles on some old American war movie on the history channel.

Tommie yawns, forehead resting against his neck as she plays with his long hair.

“Any reason you can’t-” She breaks herself off with another yawn, “Can’t sleep?”

He shrugs a little, his hands falling to where hers are on his stomach, “I don’t know. My head is going too fast.”

She unlaces one hand from his to lift it up to his forehead, rubbing slow circles into his skin until his eyes are fluttering shut.

“I feel like,” He shrugs a little, trying to find the right words, “Like we’re running out of time. Metaphorically, I mean we’ve completed three songs already last year, this new ones almost done, we have plenty of time. But I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“People. What they’ll think when this new one comes out, I mean they reacted-mostly- good to the first one. What if they’re disappointed. You know, what if their expectations are so high-”

“Are you happy with what we’ve done so far?”

So far they've completed UGH!, Paris, The Sound and are half way through Love Me. A few others songs are written, he also has some he won’t let any of them see yet.

“Very, it’s all gre-”

“So am I. And Ross, George, Adam, we all are. That's all that matters.”

He sighs before awkwardly twirling so they’re face to face, his nose brushes her, and when she yawns, bowing her head a little, his lips brush against her forehead, “Do you have any fears?” He asks, “About the album?”

She gives a playful scoff and nods, “Of course I do. I’m a right Anxious Annie, you know that.”

He lifts his hand, slowly tracing his fingers up her arm until they reach her face leaving goosebumps and a warm trail behind. Then he moves just his pinky finger across her cheek bone, dragging along until he pulls the stray strands of hair behind her ear.

She’s silent, holding her breath as her eyes stay on him, only him, and he whispers, “Show me yours, I'll show you mine.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ

March 29th 2015

“Thanks for doing this.” Tommie says as they collect their luggage from the carousel.

Matty lifts his head in acknowledgement, “Yeah, I wanted to record out here anyway.”

She nods, “Still, thank you. It means a lot.”

“Tommie!”

She turns, smiling as they see Caleb through the crowd waiting for her. Matty watches the smile brighten just a little and he takes her suitcase nodding for her to go ahead.

She walks over to Caleb, letting his arms swallowing her into a hug as he sways them back and forth, “We finished it,” He tells her, “The EP, which means that for the next, however long , that you’re here, you and I-”

“Caleb, I’m here for work too, not just pleasure.”

“But, I’m done now, we can spend a little more time together.” He sighs taking her hands, “I know things between us have been… rough lately, but-”

“I know, and I’m happy for you guys, can’t wait to hear it, but I have recording to do too. We have to go straight there right now, you can come if you want.”

He steps back, “Uh,” He glances up at the rest of the band as they approach, eyes meeting Matty’s who's staring right at him, “I’m good, got plans with the guys, see you for dinner tonight?”

She nods, leaning up on her tiptoes, instead of letting her meet his lips he turns his head so she kisses his cheek.

She purses her lips, trying not to allow her annoyance to show and clears her throat. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I get it, we’re in the same industry, remember. I understand.”

“Same industry, different levels.” Matty says as he walks on ahead, sunglasses on ready when he sees the distant flashes outside of the airport.

Tommie pauses for a few seconds as Adam comes up beside her, “Let him go out and distract them, we’ll sneak on past quickly then.”

She nods watching Matty lift his hand to wave at the fans and paparazzi waiting, she goes to turn and grip Caleb’s hand but sees he's walked ahead already, slipping out unnoticed with no attention on him.

She groans and turns to Adam who holds his hand out for her to take, Ross pulls her hood up and covers her face making her giggle as he tightens the strings. “See?”

“No.”

“Exactly,” He grins, “You can’t see them, they can’t see you. Logic.”

George shakes his head, sliding his glasses on, “That is awful logic.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ

Tommie winces as the door is a little too loud as she closes it, she glances around the dark apartment, her backpack still on her shoulders and aeroplane clothes still being worn.

She yawns, checking the time on her phone, 5:32.

She drops her bag by the table and creeps towards Caleb’s bedroom, only he’s not there, the bed is empty, it’s been made and his bag and phone aren’t in their usual spots.

She blinks, trying to get rid of the jet lag she still feels from their long flight, never mind the added fourteen hours in the studio.

Taking her phone out she sends him a text.

To: Caleb

Where are you? X

Delivered 5:36

She sighs and looks around his room, it’s plain. White walls, three photo frames, one for each of his family members on the wall, a little wardrobe and a bed with a total of two pillows.

A noise in the kitchen startles her and she gets up quickly to go out into the kitchen.

She creeps out quietly, peeking through the little window, suddenly a head pops up and she jumps with a frightened gasp.

“Jesus!”

“Nope, just me.” James grins.

She holds a hand over her heart and shakes her head, “Scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry, OJ?”

“No thanks.”

She leans through the opening to look at him, “Uh, where’s Caleb?”

“Oh, he tried calling you, did you get his message?”

She shakes her head slowly, “Friend of ours from back home, well, his childhood best friend is out here visiting, so he’s gone to see them, said something about staying at their hotel with them.”

She nods with a sigh and purses her lips heading for her bag, “You can just stay here, sleep in his room.”

“Gonna go back to the studio, left early anyway.”

James nods, “See you later then.”

“Ta-ra.”

“Who’s Tara?”

She sighs, closing the door behind her and getting her phone out. The line rings three times before he picks up.

“Can you come pick me up? Please.”

“Yeah, of course. Where are you?”

“Caleb’s place, he’s not here.”

“On my way.”

She smiles to herself as she heads downstairs, “Thanks, Matt.”

taglist

@thereisaplaceintheheart, @indierockgirrl, @sofaritsalrightt, @julezs-bl0g, @eaglestar31, @sophinthealpss, @noacfemcel, @if-my-heart-bleeds, @befrwime, @fallingforel, @sexorchocolateorpillowsorclouds, @3terna15unshin3, @1975sophie1975, @thesocraticjunkiewannabe

-let me know if you want to be added :)

#show me yours matty healy #matty healy x oc #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #the 1975 x oc

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