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mokulule · 7 months

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Take Out for Dummies - Part 2

Ship: Dead on Main Previous | Masterpost Note: So I was planning on sitting on this until I was about done with part 3, but then @yeetyeetedyote, who tumblr doesn't allow me to tag, did a meme for part 1 and I couldn't help but post it. So hope you enjoy. Jason did not know what to wear. It was Red Hood who had a date, but going in his full uniform seemed very excessive somehow. But there was also no way he was going unarmed. He pondered his closet with a frown. What clothing did he even own that were suitable for a date? He’d never had to ponder this before. What level of formality was expected? Probably not formal, considering there would be no dinner. Also he was Red Hood, there was no way he’d do formal, he had an aesthetic.

He finally settled on jeans, a red henley and the brown leather jacket he used as Red Hood. He held up the jacket and inspected it critically for blood spatters, that at least he felt certain wasn’t appropriate.

One hour later saw Red Hood rolling up to the curb in front of the building. Only one person was leaning against the brick wall there, absorbed in their phone; it had to be Danny. The rest of the people there were just walking past. It was Crime Alley, Red Hood barely got a glance of interest. Gotta love Gothamites.

Jason had not been able to really get good visual on Danny in the dark, aside from the fact that he was rather short and had dark hair, the night vision in his helmet could only do so much. He had not been prepared for how he looked up and the wide blue eyes crinkled as he smiled. Nor the way the button down shirt and the jeans hugged close to broad shoulders and slim waist in a way the hoodie he’d worn previously had clearly not.

Somehow in all his musings about how this would go Jason had never considered the possibility that Danny would be hot.

“Hi,” Danny said still smiling as he came up to him. He raised his arms out from his sides a bit helplessly before letting them fall back. “So how do you want me?”

Jason’s brain screeched to a halt as those words brought a decidedly not appropriate image to his head. He was so glad he was wearing his helmet right now. Jason must have stiffened or given away his embarrassment some other way, because Danny’s cheeks flushed as he too realized how his question could have been understood.

“I meant on your bike.”Jason hunched over, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter. Because that was not helping at all.

Wordlessly Jason held out the extra helmet. Danny took it gratefully and stuffed it over his red face.

“Front.” Jason said over the radio connection between the helmets.

Jason had to give Danny a hand to get him situated in front. He had to hold on near the center of handlebars and he didn’t really have good place to place his feet and had to hold them curled up.

It was neither safe nor legal, but Jason was not about to have a potential assassin at his back and besides who was gonna arrest Red Hood for traffic violations? The small hitched gasp when Jason curled around Danny’s back to reach the handlebars had his lips quirking up, and he might have pressed him just a bit further forward just for that.

“Where to?”

“Sommerset.”Jason raised an eyebrow at that as he kicked off the curb. Carefully, as he got a feeling for the different weight distribution, he drove them in the direction of the Trigate Bridge.

“If a tour of Old Arkham is your idea of a date, I think I’m gonna have to shoot you.”

Danny scoffed.

“I promised you fun, didn’t I?”

At Jason’s lack of response, he slumped further.

“There’s a traveling carnival on the fair grounds at the edge of town.”

“Huh.” Jason was trying to think of a time he’d actually visited a carnival as a visitor and not a vigilante to stop some villain plot. He was coming up short. There was a feeling in his chest he had a hard time identifying, an uncertain thing, but it wasn’t bad. If nothing else he was gonna have an experience? Oo o oO

They parked the bike in the attached gravel parking lot near the fair grounds. Jason had to step off the bike first and then promptly had to catch Danny as his legs refused to carry him when he stepped off the bike.

“Oh wow, my legs fell asleep there.” He laughed and stepped away on wobbly legs as he pulled the helmet off. He handed it to Jason who put it into its compartment.

He took another wobbly step forward and Jason couldn’t help the way he reached for him to steady him. Instead Danny grabbed his hand firmly. Jason was baffled at the action looking from Danny to their hands, uncertain how to react, but Danny just smiled and changed his hold so their fingers were twined together.

He looked mightily satisfied about it too as he tugged Jason forward toward the fair grounds. A fair bit of the rides were visible because of their heights and Jason could easily imagine how the place would light up with multicolored lights once evening came.

Once they entered the fair grounds they drew quite a lot of attention. Lots of people stopped and pointed at Red Hood and his companion. Phones were pointed in their direction and Jason found himself tensing.

Danny leaned closer and spoke lowly, “Don’t worry, nobody will believe them. Regular digital cameras are odd around me, so they won’t get usable footage.”

Jason’s mind raced, what did that mean? Did he have some sort of jammer? Was it a meta ability? Was it related to his ability to sneak up on vigilantes on Gotham rooftops?

“And,” Danny continued, “if anyone asks, we can always say you’re a cosplayer.”

Jason grimaced. Danny slapped his chest as if he could see right through the mask.

“Hey! Cosplay is a great creative hobby.”

“That’s not- I’m a former crime lord. I don’t understand why anyone would dress up as me.”

“Pffft, don’t sell yourself short. Also you have a cool recognizable thing going on with the helmet. It will be especially funny if someone critiques it for not being accurate.”

Jason couldn’t help his chuckle at how gleeful Danny looked at the prospect.

“This is the real reason you want me to claim I’m cosplaying?”

“It would be so funny, admit it!”

Jason huffed. It would be pretty funny.

“Ha! I’ll take that as a yes. Okay, time to show off some of those shooting skills and win me a plushie.” With that statement Danny pointed towards a game booth with truly ridiculously large unicorn plushies hanging from it and tugged Jason forward. It was only at that moment he remembered they were still holding hands. It was…

It was nice.

Danny glanced back at him and he was smiling, warm and excited. Jason didn’t remember the last time someone had smiled that much at him. Jason found himself smiling back, and he was suddenly grateful he couldn’t be seen behind the helmet.

The shooting booth operator eyed Red Hood warily until Danny broke the tension in a voice that carried, “my friend’s cosplay is pretty awesome right?”

The operator’s shoulders fell and he chuckled, “pretty brave of him to wear that this close to Gotham proper.”

“Sure is! But not to worry if there’s any trouble I will protect him,” Danny said seriously, with a glance and a wink at Jason.

The man took in Danny’s skinny and less than imposing appearance and burst out laughing, and just like that any remaining tension was gone.

The operator explained the game. There were different tiers with bottles lined up on shelves and flat rings of different widths balancing on top. You got points if you knocked the ring down over the bottle neck. The slimmer rings offered more points.

It was a pretty simple game.

Danny put down cash for the game and looked at Jason expectantly. “Show us some of that Red Hood skill.”

The operator chuckled. Jason rolled his eyes and stepped up.

Immediately, as he picked up the air gun it felt clunky in his hand. It was sharp-edged where it should be smooth and was weighted all wrong especially with the pressure cable attached to it, but that was not going to stop him. He loaded it with one of the five cork stoppers the operator handed him. He seemed to be enjoying Danny’s teasing as much as Danny himself.

Out the corner of his vision he saw Danny lean forward expectantly as he took aim.

He pulled the trigger.

The cork stopper was ejected with a loud pop and promptly hit the edge of a shelf bouncing backwards to land on the floor where it rolled around three times before stopping.

Danny looked at him wide eyed before bursting out in helpless snickers. Jason shoved him in revenge, but he couldn’t help smiling. There was just something refreshing about how despite knowing he was the real Red Hood he was so completely unafraid of him. Not even his family was that relaxed around him.

He didn’t want to bring his mood down contemplating that, so he reloaded the clunky gun and took aim again. He considered the points on the rings and the available prize tiers. Four shots left, with a bit of luck he could still do decently.

Aiming higher and slightly more to the right of how he would aim a real gun he shot the first maximum point ring down around the bottle neck. Three more fell in rapid succession.

Danny cheered, pumping his fist in the air.

“That’s four hundred points, that gives you the choice of a large prize,” the operator said impressed.

He pointed at a large unicorn plush, it wasn’t quite the extra large ones that hung on the outside of the stall, those required cumulative points from at least two games, but it was still a very decent size.

Danny was the very opposite of disappointed when Jason handed it over. He squished it in his arms and absolutely beamed up at Jason. Jason looked away, embarrassed for feeling so satisfied and warm just for winning a silly game.

The operator snorted giving them a knowing look. “Have a nice evening boys.”

“You too,” Danny replied, sidling up close and entwining their fingers again as he pulled them away and off towards the various rides.

Jason eyed their once more joined hands in bemusement, not really sure what to think, but he’d already allowed it once. It sold the appearance of a date, made it all the more likely to the bystanders that Jason was just some cosplayer with a death wish, so it was smart to keep holding hands. And Jason found himself reluctant to give it up.

It was an easy illusion to give into.

He squeezed Danny’s hands and he turned his head to look at him, smiling like this was a real date and not one of his odd jobs. Jason nodded towards the bumper cars and Danny’s grin turned into feral delight as he dragged him in the new direction. It was so easy to pretend Jason was just here to have fun with a friend who was maybe just a bit more.

That was something he could have had maybe. If he hadn’t been Robin. If he hadn’t died and come back wrong. If he wasn’t a former crime lord just trying to find his footing with a family he wasn’t sure wanted him and not just the dead boy he’d been.

But for just a little while he could pretend.

Until Danny turned out to actually know he was supposed to kill him, until everything crashed and burned like usual, he could allow himself a little fun.

Like ignoring every sign saying the bumper cars were not meant for driving into each other. The bored teen operator certainly didn’t care to uphold that rule. The bumper car ride was a war zone, a giant free for all and yet Jason managed to have only eyes for Danny. He was a tricky driver to catch. Jason had no idea how he managed to maneuver the car like that, it was verging on supernatural.

They were both laughing when they exited their cars after Jason had finally managed to bump into him proper instead of the earlier glancing blows.

“Remind me to call you if I ever need a getaway driver.”

Danny snorted knocking their shoulders together. “Only if I get part of the cut.”

I’ll give you more than a cut, Jason was about to say, but thankfully didn’t. Because what did that even mean? Instead he knocked his shoulder back.

They continued on towards another ride, a small rollercoaster, and as they queued Danny started telling him about how his dad’s driving was so infamous in his hometown that the local news included a segment to warn for it when he was on the roads. Because of that nobody had wanted to give Danny driving lessons and that’s why technically he didn’t have a license, but he’d once landed a space shuttle, so that should count for something. The story verged on so impossible it had to be true, but Jason was sure if a civilian had actually landed a space shuttle it would have been all over the news or at least known among superheroes - it was entertaining nonetheless.

Jason wasn’t sure when they’d started holding hands again only noted the absence when Danny left him by a bench several rides later with stern instructions to protect the princess with his life, aka the unicorn plushie.

The lights had flickered on a while ago and bathed the darkening grounds in multicolored lights. Jason leaned back relaxing against the bench. Taking in the lights and the happy atmosphere as people passed him by. There were a few people who pointed and snickered as they walked by, but clearly the unicorn plushie was just as good as Danny to convince people he was just a guy in a costume.

“It’s a pretty good costume.”

Jason turned his head to find a man with a superman shirt had stopped. He stayed silent waiting for him to elaborate. He obviously wanted to, there was something in his drawl.

“The casual look is pretty well put together while remaining recognizably Red Hood.”

“But-“ somehow there was a but- “if you were actually from Gotham you’d know that the real helmet is matte and the brow section is more slanted giving it an angrier expression.”

Jason stared incredulously at the man in the Superman shirt accusing him of not being a Gothamite. Never mind the helmet thing, that was just ridiculous but accusing him of not being a Gothamite, now that was an insult he wouldn’t be taking. Jason stood up to his full six feet and saw the way the man shrunk as he realized he might have made a mistake.

“There you are, babe,” Danny inserted himself smoothly into the situation snaking an arm around his waist and pressing close. It was distracting. “Come on let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Jason snorted as he let Danny move them forward. He didn’t need the intervention, he wouldn’t have attacked the man or anything.

He couldn’t help but pull them to a stop however as they passed him.

“Your information is outdated, this is the current helmet.” He spoke lowly and ominously only made more ominous by the voice modulation.

The man eep’ed and scrambled to get away.

They watched him go with no small bit of amusement.

“I thought we agreed to keep it on the down low.”

Jason shrugged, “he asked for it, besides you said it yourself, nobody will believe him.”

“Alright then.” Danny left the place beneath Jason’s arm, he had only a moment to feel bereft however until his hand was grabbed again and pulled in the direction of the parking lot. “Speaking of proof, do you mind me taking a selfie of us so I can prove I took you out?”

Jason frowned. “I thought you said cameras didn’t work around you.” “They don’t, I’ve had to modify it to be able to take any pictures.”

“You gonna tell me what kind of meta ability you have?”

Danny chuckled. He pulled their joined hands up and pressed a kiss to Jason’s scarred knuckles. Jason was so distracted by the action he almost didn’t hear the, “I like you Hood, but that isn’t a first date conversation.”

There was a pause in their conversation as Jason contemplated the absurd idea of there ever being a second date, the fact that this one was nearly over and how he’d actually had a lot of fun.

“So, selfie?”

“Uh sure.”

Danny juggled the white plastic bag that Jason only noticed now onehanded as he pulled out his phone. It was a broad phone with actual buttons and Jason would believe it was modified alright. Danny smiled and leaned close as he raised his hand, a small flash went off and Danny looked the picture over in satisfaction.

“What’s with the bag?”

“Huh, oh this is food. Our next stop, if you’re still willing, is the ice rink, but I figured we could take a break on the roof and eat back to back or something, what with the whole-” he indicated the helmet by waving a hand in front of his face.

So it wasn’t over yet. Not if Jason wanted to continue. It was an easy out, Jason could just chose to drive Danny to wherever he wanted to be dropped off and he could go home and still make it easily in time for patrol - or he could prolong the evening.

Jason popped open the compartment under the seat of his bike and took the warm bag of food from Danny to put in as he considered. Danny had already put on the extra helmet.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Jason could practically hear the smile in his voice even if he couldn’t see it through the opaque helmet.

“Okay,” he confirmed.

The small fist pump was kinda adorable. So first part of the date, it was getting a bit long so I cut it in two, but hey that's the only reason I could even upload it. Jason is in trouble, he's just not quite realizing it yet XD I enjoy hearing your thoughts on the story, so please continue to share <3

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#take out for dummies #dead on main #dp x dc

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sleepoutro · 1 year

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MCR north american tour full youtube recordings masterpost ✨

here's all the recordings/compilations of full shows i could find on youtube (some might be missing a few minutes/a couple of songs), plus a tiny bit of info on each video. ik these are probably all on the my chem archive dropbox but i didn’t have anything better to do lmao so here they all are in one tidy list. thank you to all the people who filmed these i owe you my life. (btw when i say right or left side of stage in this post i mean from the audience pov :D)

Oklahoma: Tony: filmed from ga

San Antonio: JYeahJasonJude: filmed from near barricade, with great zoom. Tony: filmed from seats, full stage view, phoenixrai: filmed from ga

Nashville: The Academy is My Beautiful Romance: compilation of different videos, streams, clips etc. ur internet boyfriend: filmed from back of the arena seats

Cincinnati: The Academy is My Beautiful Romance: compilation of different videos!

Raleigh: Yordoom: filmed from ga (this one has a really clear and fun view of the floor crowd in my opinion). dallon: filmed from seats, right side

Elmont: Alê Morais: filmed from high up right side. Mothman Multimedia: not a full video but a playlist of videos from the whole show, filmed from high up, center

Philadelphia: Electronic Beagle: filmed from high up left side. markit aneight: amazing quality!! deadhoarse: another great quality one, left side

Albany: The Academy is My Beautiful Romance: compilation :)

Uncasville: ConcreteRose: side of stage, right side. Kelush: filmed from ga

Montreal: Finnyfresh: instagram live uploaded to youtube, mostly filming jumbotron

Toronto1: Keandell Clyde Arcenal Pineda: filmed from floor seating, full stage and jumbotron view.

Toronto2: The Academy is my Beautiful Romance: compilation

Boston1: Full Sets: filmed from seats further away, full stage

Boston2: Cen's Jams: filmed from high up left side, stage and jumbotron in view most of the time. Blue Moon: Side/almost behind stage, frank's side. chaosangel42: filmed from seats on stage level, right side

Brooklyn1: The Academy is My Beautiful Romance: compilation

Brooklyn2: xZ3ROGRAVITYx: nice full stage view from the right side. Tom’s Archive: filmed from ga with a great zoom and some great quality shots from the jumbotron

Detroit: Bingop: filmed from further away, seats, Sheep: very good full stage view from the left

Saint Paul: Cool Concert Channel: filmed from ga, close to the stage

Riot Fest: Geoffrey Gardner: right-ish side of stage. phoenixrai: great quality. and kudos to both of these people for how stable the videos seem to be considering everything lol

Alpharetta: Blue Moon: close to stage, great quality

NJ1: phoenixrai: again, fantastic quality. deadhoarse: great quality, filmed from left side with a great zoom, so there’s nice variety in the shots. Tom’s Archive: close to stage, another great quality recording. Gothic Romance: just another great recording, more from the right side of the arena this time. nj1 had all the people with good cameras for some reason lol

NJ2: Tom’s Archive: Tom coming in with another banger. filmed from the pit, amazing closeups. ray toro is so beautiful. Andrea Warfel: filmed from further back in ga. Metal Love Collection: another great quality nj video, filmed from ga with a good zoom.

Firefly: alene b: good quality, just clips of last two songs. gems (loves frank iero): another nice quality one, good view of jumbotron most of the time

Sunrise FL: The Academy Is my Beautiful Romance: compilation!

Houston: Fredy Benitez: filmed from further back in seating

Dallas: phoenixrai: great quality, filmed from ga

Denver: Sudz’ Concert Recordings: filmed from further back but with a good zoom, nice full view of stage

Portland: The Academy is My Beautiful Romance: compilation!

Tacoma: SquawkyJo: full stage view

Oakland: The Academy is my Beautiful Romance: compilation!

Las Vegas: hearmenearme: filmed from left side high up. phoenixrai: great quality!

Aftershock: Elias Blake: divided into 2 parts, link is to part 1 :)

LA1: phanfanisonline: divided into 4 parts, link to part 1 :)

LA2: JMetalHead: filmed from right side high up

LA3: ray: filmed from pit, link is to part A. JMetalHead: filmed from right side high up. i love this person's reactions to their favorite songs haha RandomAspectsofLife: side of stage, frank's side (almost behind stage so you can see a lot of the crowd which i love!)

LA4: ray: filmed from seats, right side, full stage view + occasional jumbotron, link to part A.

LA5: Tina Sharp: full view of stage from the left side. deadhoarse: great quality, filmed from the right

WWWY2: StayThicc: filmed from further back, jumbotron in view the whole time. The Academy is My Beautiful Romance: compilation!

WWWY3: PichyTheReefCoralTheReef: full stage and jumbotron view

MEXICO CITY: we got our professional recording! uploaded by a lot of people but here is one link

and obviously a reminder that there are also a ton of amazing quality individual song performances on youtube, these are just the full show recordings! please lmk if you notice any mistakes, it's late when i'm making this lol. i'll try to add on to this if new videos are uploaded :) happy watching! edit: just to add, if you click on one of these videos and it turns out to be one of those that barely show ray at all just please click right out of there. i haven’t watched all of these through so please know that i don’t endorse that and find it weird as fuck to say the least

#PHEW #hopefully this is useful for like one person at least #mcr #my chemical romance #idk much about the audio quality on most these by the way i only checked the angle and video quality!#some might also be hq but really shaky #obviously i haven’t watched most of these in full so sorry if there’s something notable like that or some other stuff that i didnt mention!#mcrshows

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thenewblackcanvas · 7 months

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I think there’d be a lot of sweetness in chan’s return home from tour. Like don’t get me wrong there with be ALOT of nsfw moments but I think the love would really show.

Like the minute he stepped into your apartment- typing the code even felt like forever- he walked into to foyer, letting the door close behind him. You came over seeing the duffel slide off him like it weighed a thousand pounds. He looked so tired. Your heart felt so full and so fond. You took long strides over to him, engulfing each other

Your arms tightly around his neck while his arms held you limply at first almost as if expecting it to be only dream you- again- and wake up. But it wasn’t. His arms slowly tightened around you. It was really you. He buried his face in your neck.

You would pick up his duffel and hold his hand to lead him to the room. He finally let the big ol backpack he was still carrying come off before holding you again. This time he softly let his lips indulge in yours. It had been months.

It stayed stagnant for a while before he felt good enough to venture further. But almost as if you sensed him about to do so you pulled away to bring him to the shower. You’d bought a few of the products he frequently used especially one he had mentioned loving on tour. He only grabbed a mini size but there was the full size sitting in your bathroom. You hadn’t even mentioned it specifically just that you got him some stuff for your house. He smiled wider knowing you listened to him rambling in his tired state between performances and sleep

You encouraged a shower. He wanted you to join him but you saw how tired he was. You assured him you would be waiting in bed for him to climb in next to you. He would be too tired to even beg you to join him plus the thought of you AND warm covers on a comfy bed made him want to skip the shower but he needed to get the travel off him.

Basically the moment he got in bed threw and arm over you he was practically already out.

It was only at around 5 in the morning he stirred for nsfw reasons.

You woke up to feel his erection across your clothed heat as his hips moved almost on their own

One of your legs was bent out as your sleeping form was sprawled on your side on the bed. He was seated right there, almost having unhindered access to your heat. In this position, he was almost pushing you to your stomach with the force of his thrusts. Your hand that was out on the bed was starting to grip the sheets for leverage as you started whining. He stuttered for a moment when you cursed realizing you were awake now

“S-sorry. Woke up like this. Need it-“

“Keep going”

You were both disoriented from sleep and quick onset carnal desire.

When he finally pulls his boxers down enough and you pulled your panties to the side he started to slide in bringing the arm to tighten around your torso and pull you back, closer to him as he rolled into you.

As it got faster, he pushed you fully on your stomach, propped your hips up, and hovered over you. On his palms, he chases a desperate and long overdue high

Your hand came under you and between your legs to aid you to your own high

Thankfully you finished about the same time, leaving you both panting and more tired.

He pulled you back to the position from before, arm tight around you, without pulling out. “This is how I wanted to sleep every night”

I barely edited this thought from its state in my notes so if it's bad, then i guess its just bad ♡ Bang Chan masterpost ♡

#bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #bang chan fluff #skz smut #chan drabbles 2 day thing idk #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff

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fayes-fics · 3 months

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When The World Is Free: Chapter 1 - Sous le ciel de Paris

MASTERPOST | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Welcome to the start of my new multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Please note that while I do have a plotted outline, I will be posting chapters as I write them, and I expect that process to take quite a few months. Please bear with me! This first chapter sets up the story - reader moving to Paris in the summer of 1939 and bonding with her new flatmate, Eloise Bridgerton. Please note that Benedict won't be turning up for a couple of chapters yet. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

August 1939

Emerging from the underground Trocadero metro stop, you round the corner of the recently completed, gleaming Palais de Chaillot and stop dead in your tracks. There before you is the most iconic landmark of Paris. Perhaps all of France.

La Tour Eiffel.

Breathtaking in its metallic magnificence, glowing in the setting sun. A sight that buoys your travel-weary soul seven days after you left New York: boats and trains finally bringing you to this wondrous spot. A light breeze even dances over your neck in greeting, a balm from the cloying subterranean heat of the metro.

It's a light elbow check to your arm that pulls you back from a state of reverie.

“A beautiful sight, but one you’ll get used to,” your uncle Robert chuckles, shaking your heavy leather case to indicate it's time to move along. “In fact, I've been told you will be able to see it from your appartement…”

He has accompanied you to Paris and will see you settled into your new adventures before continuing on to visit friends in England. He spent the roaring 20s living right here in the 16th arrondissement himself and, indeed, has arranged for you to share living quarters with a young British lady, a relative of his English friends. It's a comfort to know you’ll have at least one English speaker to chat with as you dive headfirst into learning proper French as you go.

Robert leads you away from the amazing sight and into the bustling streets, alive with cars, trams, bicycles and pedestrians buzzing in all directions. It's all at once like New York City, but yet so different as well, cafe terraces filling the wide pavements with all manner of people gathered to sip robust cafe au lait and refreshing limonade.

Within minutes, you are on a quieter side street and stopping outside a handsome honey-coloured stone facade with wrought iron window balconies and window guards, teaming with colourful, fragrant flowering pots. The number 14 gleaming white on a traditional navy blue tile. Your uncle pushes the enormous wooden door open, beckoning you into a cool whitewash wall corridor with mosaic floor tiles.

“Ahhh, Robert!!” a sophisticated middle-aged lady bustles from a nearby doorway and greets your uncle warmly, kissing both cheeks. It would appear they are friends of old.

“Y/n, this is Madam DuLac, your landlady,” he explains as you offer a handshake, admiring her boucle jacket and chic bun.

“Qu’est-ce?” she signals with a good-natured frown, obviously finding your polite greeting lacking, pulling you into a hug and two-cheeked kiss. She smells like Chanel perfume, cigarettes and baked goods. “You are in Paris now, ma chérie; this is how we greet one another,” she counsels in heavily accented but perfect English.

“You speak English?” you sigh, relieved, your French decidedly lacking.

“Bien sûr,” she smiles. “And please call me Solène,” she adds with a friendly smile.

“Eloise should be home from the library maintenant; the perfect time for you to meet,” she gestures towards an elevator cage surrounded by a sweeping grey marble staircase.

“I think I would prefer to take the stairs,” you admit, nerves flaring at the idea of such a contraption.

Your uncle laughs. “Well, I am taking it; I am not hefting this case of yours up five flights of stairs,” he adds dryly as you gaze up the swirling stairwell.

“Five storeys?” you squeak.

“The view is the best from the top,” Solène advises as she rattles back the cage entry and steps in, looking at you expectantly.

Reluctantly, you follow, all three of you and your luggage crammed into the metal cage as it jerks to life and begins its ascent.

“You will get used to it,” Solène smiles as she reads the apprehension on your face, your vice-like grip on your small vanity case and handbag.

Luckily, the lift reaches your destination safely. One shudder before it stops, and the door concertinas back in Solène’s hand to reveal a sweeping hallway with doors left and right.

“Ici,” she signals, the last door on the right-hand side.

But before you can knock, the door peels open, and a pretty, petite brunette jumps in surprise, dropping the book she is holding.

“Pardon,” she offers in perfect accented French, and you wonder for a split second if it is the correct apartment.

“Eloise, this is y/n,” Solène gestures.

“Ohhh, hello,” she grins, and the whiplash back to a plummy British accent is momentarily confusing. “I was about to go read in the courtyard, thought you might not be turning up today. Anyway… come in, come in!”

You shake her proffered hand as she ushers you into the apartment. Instantly, you feel a warmth spreading in your belly, like you have come home. It's light and airy, with large windows looking out across the Parisian rooftops, and yes, to the left is indeed the Eiffel Tower, still gleaming in the fading evening light. But the place also feels homely, that sort of messy that is lived in, comfortable. A large velvet sofa with tumbling stacks of books around it, a little kitchenette awash with colourful enamel cookware, and a jumble of art deco posters and random paintings adorning the walls.

“Solène, I don't suppose you've baked any more of those rather delicious madeleines, have you? To welcome my new housemate?” Eloise pipes up with a chipper, conspiratorial wink your way.

You already like her.

“Effronte!” Solène exclaims with fond exasperation before pausing. “There may be some…”

“I remember those!” your uncle adds with a tinge of nostalgia as he drops your suitcase. “You are in for such a treat, y/n.”

“Well, while our landlady decides if she’s willing to share the treats she has obviously baked but is being coy about…”Eloise raises a pointed eyebrow at the woman before returning to you. “...let me show you your room, then maybe a drink? I'm sure it's been a long journey.”

You nod and, with an exchange of grins, follow her down a corridor. She sweeps open the door to a lovely room, a large double bed with matching bedside tables and a dresser. But best of all, french doors onto a Juliet balcony overlooking a quiet courtyard filled with a riot of birch trees, their leaves gently rustling in the evening breeze.

“Mostly, it’s pesky pigeons down there, but you do get the occasional blackbird singing in the morning,” Eloise smiles as if intuiting your thoughts.

You spend some moments wandering the room and checking out the various fixtures, running idle hands over the furniture, already feeling remarkably at home with your new housemate and, indeed, your new home for the next twelve months.

“I'm just next door,” Eloise reveals, pointing a thumb over her shoulder.

Your uncle appears in the doorway to announce that he and Solène are off to catch up as you unpack and suggests you all reunite for dinner later at a local bistro. It all sounds so very Parisian chic; you cannot wait.

“So tell me about yourself,” Eloise flops onto your bed, already wonderfully casual in your presence, as you open your case and the wardrobe to unpack.

“I’m y/n. I'm from a little town on Long Island called Patchogue, about fifty miles outside New York City. I'm 22…”

“Me too!” she interjects, then signals for you to proceed.

“I wanted to see the world before I settled down. And I’ve dreamed of living in Paris since I was a little girl...” You feel your eyes misting at the fact it's now finally coming true as you continue. “So my parents agreed to pay for me to come to Paris for a year. Under the strict agreement, I get married when I return…”

“You have a fiancé?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. Stanley. We practically grew up together, and we’ve been going steady since we were eighteen.”

“Going steady? That's so American,” Eloise chuckles.

You nod with a giggle, then continue. “He hasn't proposed formally yet, says he is saving up for a ‘real nice’ ring, but it will happen. He is the son of my dad’s business partner. They run a construction company. So, while I'm here, they are building a home for us to live in when I return. We will get married next summer and move right in.”

“You don't mind?” Eloise frowns.

“Don’t mind what?” you query as you hang up your favourite dress.

“That your future is so… plotted out. I couldn't bear the idea. It's why I think my mother let me move to Paris. She was so fed up with me refusing to settle down.” Eloise laughs, idly flicking through the magazine you were reading on your journey.

“I suppose I've never really expected anything else,” you shrug, pausing as you put away your hosiery, but her words make you contemplative. “You don't have a boyfriend back home?”

“God, no. Too many pretty Frenchmen to entertain me here,” she winks. “I’ll introduce you to some, just in case you change your mind,” she breezes, climbing off your bed and drifting to the door. “Wine?”

“Oh… well, why not? When in France, etc,” you agree and close the drawer on the pile of cardigans you have just safely stacked.

“That's the spirit!” she effuses over her shoulder as you follow her back into the living room, the Eiffel Tower still glittering in the dusk.

“This place is so lovely,” you sigh, transfixed by the view as she wanders over and hands you a glass.

“It is a pretty magical view,” she agrees, staring at the skyline with you, watching as each window seems to illuminate in soft yellow with the dying light.

“And the decor, too; I see you love books as much as me,” you smile, tilting your head to the piles before taking a sip of red wine. It's the perfect balance of refreshing, mellow fruitiness and tart tannin coating your tongue, so much better than any wine back home.

“Oh god, yes! I work in the library. I can bring home as many as I want,” she enthuses.

“So, are there actually any left on the shelves?” you jest, lightly, savouring your drink and wandering to take a closer look at a smaller painting that catches your eye. It's very different to all of the others.

“My god, this is beautiful,” you breathe, hugging your wineglass to your chest as you stare transfixed at the art. It appears to be a large country house, probably British, bathed in the warm pinkish light of dawn.

“That's home. Aubrey Hall in Kent. I think the family made me bring it in the hopes it would make me homesick,” Eloise deadpans.

“It’s a wonderful piece,” you breathe, fingers reaching out to lightly trace over the heavily oiled brushstrokes. Something about it is so captivating and intimate.

“I'll be sure to let the artist know,” she smirks. “Although I'm reticent to give him any more praise, seeing as, unfortunately, he is my brother.”

“Your brother painted this?” taken aback by the revelation, assuming it an heirloom.

She nods and comes to stand next to you. “Yup. Benedict. Second eldest. I'm fifth of eight, by the way. Hence ‘E’ for Eloise. It's a thing,” she rolls her eyes.

“Wow. Big family. I just have one brother...”

“Lucky you. Although, as much as he is irritating, if I could only keep one sibling, it probably would be him,” she admits, taking a swig of wine.

“I love art,” you sigh, finally tearing your gaze from the canvas but already knowing it is something you will return to again and again. A pull you can’t quite understand.

“Oh, then I know the perfect job for you! There’s a gallery around the corner from the library, and I saw a sign saying they wanted an English speaker to assist international visitors! You would be perfect!”

“I would love that!” you extol, even as a tiny part of your brain lingers on the idea that it would be too good to be true if it all worked out, that fleeting sense of foreboding in paradise.

“Excellent!” Eloise’s enthusiasm pulls you back to the immediate. “So let’s get your glad rags on! It's time to hit the town for your first night in Paris!”

And thus, you find yourself being bundled back into your room to refresh and change for your first night in the city of your dreams. Indeed, as you find yourself being led by Eloise, arm looped in yours, through the bustling evening streets to a little bistro, your uncle and Solène already waiting at a table with smiling faces and drinks in hand, you can't help but feel this really is the only place in the world you could ever want to be…

Your adventure is just beginning.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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taylorswiftstyle · 10 months

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"I Can See You" music video | July 7, 2023

Susan Hilferty custom dress (Speak Now Tour)

Reem Acra custom dress (Speak Now Tour)

Susan Hilferty custom dress (Speak Now Tour)

Colette Dinnigan dress (Speak Now Tour)

Jenny Packham dress (Speak Now Tour)

Marchesa custom gown (Speak Now Tour)

Mandalay dress (Speak Now Tour)

Alice + Olivia custom dress (Speak Now Tour)

J. Mendel dress (2011 People’s Choice Awards)

Temperley London dress (Speak Now album photoshoot for “Mean”)

Lulu’s dress (“Mine” music video)

Valentino gown (Speak Now Tour)

Reem Acra gown (2011 American Music Awards)

This is not the first time that I've had to make a post like this. If you've been around long enough, you'll recall the masterpost I made of all the archival outfits seen on past Taylor's in the "LWYMMD" music video.

This was such a lovely trip down memory lane!

#taylor swift #music video #dress #susan hilferty #reem acra #collette dinnigan #jenny packham #marchesa #mandaly #alice and olivia #temperley london #lulus #valentino #i can see you

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ramblingoak · 3 months

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Naps With Copia

Nap #10: Napping With Your Valentine

~ Naps With Copia series masterpost ~

For @pinklunarprincess 💙 who wanted Copia to play with their hair

Cardinal Copia x gn!reader

These are all stand alone chapters so you do not have to read one before the other! This series came from my post about wanting to nap with Copia all around the abbey. The stories will all have gender neutral readers and soft Copia naps.

Warnings: a very sappy Valentine's Day themed nap, I'm not sorry, sfw, 1k words, enjoy! (thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers)

You were going to be late.

Of all the days to be running behind it had to be today. A day that Copia had been teasing you about for weeks now. Weeks of silly clues and guessing games. You had used every trick in the book (and in bed) to try to get him to tell you his plans for Valentine’s Day but he wouldn’t fess up. It had gotten to the point he had started to avoid you, even turning heel and jogging away from you in the hallways.

He was lucky you loved him so much.

But now you had probably ruined everything. He had been very specific about you being back to his quarters by noon. Copia had planned a big lunch to treat you since there was a larger event for the entire congregation that evening. The whole place had smelled amazing already as soon as you woke up. He had been quick to usher you away, practically throwing your clothes at you so you didn’t try to sneak peeks into the tiny kitchen.

You had been huffy but finally obliged him, trudging down the halls to your office. Thankfully today was supposed to be relatively easy. No tours on the horizon, no conferences, no trips…just a morning of receiving deliveries for the party and then you’d be free by noon. Free to eat whatever amazing meal Copia was creating and then free to hopefully make out a little on his couch.

It was Valentine’s Day after all.

Unfortunately it seemed your special lunch and making out time was doomed. Delivery after delivery had been late and one truck had somehow managed to crash into the gate to the abbey grounds. It had been 2pm by the time everything had been sorted out. You were tired, starving and ready to snap at anyone that started your way with a clipboard in their hand. Thankfully you were saved by Secondo who must have noticed you were at the end of your patience.

“Go on, let me take care of all of this.”

“Really?” You took a few careful steps back, not sure if he was just teasing you or not. “Are you sure?”

“Sì, I don’t want to deal with mio fratellino pouting the rest of the week.”

Secondo held out his hand for the delivery folders you had been balancing all morning, a soft smile on his face. You couldn’t help but squeal, shoving the folders against his chest and then placing a loud, obnoxious kiss on his cheek. He was sputtering something in Italian as you took off down the hall but you’d deal with his irritation later. Right now you had a lunch date you were very, very late for.

As you stumbled into the main room it seemed like you were too late, Copia was nowhere in sight. There was a cold meal on the table in the kitchen, candles long since gone out. You couldn’t help but let out a groan, feeling absolutely terrible about ruining something Copia had spent so long planning.

“Amore?”

Copia’s sleepy voice broke you out of your spiraling thoughts and you quickly turned to the sound of his voice. All you could see was his head poking up over the back of the couch, his hair sticking up all over the place. He gave you a sleepy smile when he saw you and it grew when you moved closer. You snorted when you made your way around the couch, seeing him stretched out in his bright red suit and covered in empty chocolate wrappers.

“You look like a valentine.” He rolled his eyes but held his hands out for you, smiling when you kicked your shoes off and gently climbed onto the couch to lay against him. “Cutest valentine ever.”

His cheeks pinked up a bit as he leaned in for a kiss but before his lips touched yours he jerked back, his eyes narrowing.

“Is that black lipstick?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s from Secondo.”

“Sec–? Wha–mmph.”

He relaxed as you kissed him, his fingers slipping up to comb through your hair. You made a soft noise in your throat as he rubbed his fingers along your scalp. He always knew just how to touch you, just how to hold you and kiss you and make you feel like you were the most precious thing in the world to him. After a few moments you pulled away, matching his sleepy smile with one of yours.

“I’m sorry I ruined our lunch.”

“Shh, no need to apologize, amore mio. I already put the leftovers in the fridge, I can heat those up for you.”

When he made to get up you pressed your hands down on his shoulders, kissing his nose when he gave you a confused look.

“Let’s stay here a bit longer. Please.”

Copia nodded and settled back against the couch again, his fingers running through your hair once more. He had started to braid parts of it, something he did in moments like this. Moments where you were both relaxed and doing nothing more than enjoying each other's company. You only moved when his chest rumbled under your ear as he spoke.

“How about we take a little nap, eh? Then we can have an early dinner before the party.”

“That sounds perfect.” He tilted your chin up so he could reach your lips, giving you a gentle, lingering kiss. It was one of your favorite kinds of kisses from him. Although this one had the added bonus of the hint of chocolate leftover from the candy he had eaten. You couldn’t help but give his full bottom lip a little nibble before finally pulling away. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Copia.”

“And Happy Valentine’s Day to you, amore. Now stop distracting me with your lips, let me nap.” You rolled your eyes but dropped your head down onto his chest, sighing when one of his hands went back to your hair. “But when we wake up you’re going to explain why you were kissing Secondo.”

Despite your body shaking with laughter, sleep was still quickly creeping up on you. It wasn’t long before you were drifting off, your arms wrapped tightly around the best valentine anyone could ask for.

Up next is a nap for an Anon 💙

~ Naps With Copia series masterpost ~

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

My Masterlist ~ My Archive of our Own ~ My Ko-Fi Tip Jar

#oakie's writing #naps with copia #copia x reader #cardinal copia x reader #copia fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfic #cardinal copia

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manicpixiefelix · 2 months

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 17.

Summary: Learning little things, and big things, on these summer days. About each other, and how the world sees you all, in the garden, in the family room, in hindsight, in the study late at night.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: reader, felix, venetia, and oliver getting high in the garden together, some degrading language (kind of a given any time venetia and reader are in the same room at this point), heavy discussion about the reader's parental trauma/neglect

A/N: 5812 words. i think i cast venetia in a bad light sometimes which i feel bad about because i love her to pieces, and she and the reader love each other very much its just that she's gotten used to being arguably too verbally prickly with them in order to rile her brother up mostly, and she forgets (and maybe i do too) what that looks like from the outside. anyways, just for absolutely no reason whatsoever, have you ever looked up what different flowers mean in flower language? much to think about.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Venetia rolls her joints with little hearts at the end where the filter would go if it were simply a cigarette. It's a trick she learned during what she calls her 'gap year', what Elspeth calls her 'grand wine tour of Europe', and what Felix and Farleigh have recently started cruelly referring to as 'the year Venetia inspired a TV show'. While you do think it's mean, you also quietly agree that Billie Piper bares a striking resemblance to the young Catton woman in the ads you'd seen for Secret Diary of a Call Girl. Cruel implications is all you would say on the matter, not that either of the boys had been game enough to say it to her face.

But the thought floats through your mind in this moment, taking just a moment to admire the way she's expertly curled the paper before you bring it to your lips. She watches you with that smile that tends to intimidate others, sharp and mean and hungry, sharp gaze on your lips as you inhale, lips remaining sealed as you offer the next hit to Felix on your right. Venetia's focus follows the joint, straying from you to admire the way her brother takes a hit before he too passes it on to Oliver.

Felix muses to no-one in particular about how long it's been since he'd been out here to the Fairy Ring Garden, but only gets a response from Oliver, and a strained one at that as your guest holds smoke in his lungs as long as he's able, muttering that it's beautiful. Sitting on the grass in the morning sun, you squint at the iPod in your hands, trying to choose some music.

Venetia suggests Amy Winehouse. Felix calls his sister tragic under his breath, to which she flips him off. Still, it's the best suggestion you've got so far, so moments later, the singer's rich vocals warble out of the little, portable speaker you'd plugged into the headphone port.

"Good dog," Venetia says with a particularly mean sneer in her brother's direction as she takes the iPod out of your hands to place it on the grass, replacing it with the joint you'd all been passing around once more. Out of instinct, you place your free hand on Felix's chest, telling him that whatever reaction he was going to have really wasn't worth it. Venetia rolls her eyes, "boo, you whore," she snarks, laying back on the grass.

"I'm taking the rest of this as compensation for emotional damages," you hold the joint between two fingers, telling Felix to just roll another from the kit still sitting in the middle of the impromptu circle the four of you had made. Much to both yours and Felix's surprise, Oliver moves too quickly to let him, rolling with the air of someone who'd seen it done often without having done it himself.

Both you and Felix watch him for quite a while as he stumbles through the task like a baby deer taking it's first steps. Things are getting fuzzy and warm around the edges already, and you're caught up in watching the way Oliver's hands work.

"Why 'd you put up with her?" Oliver asks bluntly, frowning at his work. Venetia's indignant 'hey' goes otherwise ignored by the three of you and it takes a long moment for Felix to respond.

"She's my sister?" But in his confusion it sounds more like a question, talking about Venetia like she's not even there. But Oliver stops, and finally looks at him; he offers a rather sad looking, clearly unfinished joint, not as an offering but as a silent request for help. Felix takes it and tries not to look too endeared by Oliver's failed attempt as he fixes it.

"Not you, Felix," Oliver, after a moment, looks away from Felix, right to you, eyes wide and earnest as he watches you take a long draft of your own joint, now burned well down. His gaze makes his intentions clear, but still he offers, "she's mean to you too." Too, like he'd pointed out about Farleigh all those months ago.

"They like it," Venetia scoffs at the sky dismissively, but Oliver refuses to acknowledge her, even if Felix takes a moment to scowl at his sister and her constant, casual degradation of you. But a slow, amused smile spreads across your lips in the moments that follow, you can't help it.

"I love that you worry about me, Ollie," you sigh almost dreamily. Clearly not expecting that, you have the pleasure of watching Oliver blush with surprise, "you're so fucking pretty, Ollie," you add, though you're pretty sure you couldn't have stopped yourself from saying that out loud if you tried. He blushes harder, while Felix and Venetia both try and stifle their giggles; you take another hit, tilting your head just a little as you look at him, analysing him. Finally, when you ask his favourite flower out of seemingly nowhere, Oliver seems like he can't function under your gaze like this, and chooses to lay back in the grass, mirroring Venetia.

"Darling, you're such a lightweight," Felix snorts, speaking from the corner of his mouth as he holds the rerolled joint between his lips as if intending to light it. Before he can flick the lighter on, however, you take his chin gently in hand, guiding him to you, pressing the still-glowing end of your own joint to his unlit one for several long seconds, until his caught successfully.

When you and Felix join your companions in laying back on the grass, you do so together. His arm is around you, coaxing you to lay with your head on his chest, beside him under this perfectly blue sky.

"Why would you want to know something like that?" Oliver's voice reminds you he's there only moments later.

"Because their robot brain needs to know everything about everyone at all times," at least Venetia sounds fond when she chimes in, even if her words aren't exactly the most complimentary.

"You're lucky you're pretty, Vee," Felix cuts in with a casually cruel tone; you can feel the way he twitches with irritation, "because you have so few other redeeming features."

"I am pretty," Venetia agrees airily, pointedly ignoring his insult, "you're such a darling brother, Felix," she adds with painfully sarcastic faux-sweetness. Felix's only response was to sigh with incredibly loud disappointment, while you tried to stifle your giggling, caught up in the sensation of him tracing abstract patterns up and down your arms, and the idea that you could count on the ever-relaxed Felix Catton to always come to your defence. Had this been the case for years? Over a decade? Yes. Would it always make you a little bit giddy to think about? Almost definitely.

"And it's not like I'm wrong," Venetia finally broached the silence once more, "as if they don't already know our favourite flowers," she points out, before making a rather insistent noise. You bark at her command, it seems - those cheerful little yellow ones on the inner ring of flowers - dismissive, but the sound of her scoff has you correcting yourself, suddenly feeling a sting of shame and not quite knowing why.

"The chrysanthemums." The other three echo the name of the flower, one right after the other, all taking turns to turn it over in their minds and mouths as you almost burn your fingers finishing off your joint. As if trying to prove yourself, you add, interrupting them all, "Fi's are forget-me-nots."

Felix seems surprised to agree, like even he'd forgotten that detail about himself, or perhaps forgotten that he'd shared it with you, while Venetia's laughter has turned fond and knowing; it's a little condescending too, like she'd expected as much from you, but you try not to dwell on it. It's Oliver's voice that you focus on, endeared as he quietly murmurs the name of the flower to himself, like he can't quite believe something as soft as Felix having a favourite flower.

"Now I'm curious, Ollie," Felix finally speaks up, and you hear the grass shift beneath his head. He must be turning to look at the man in question, "do you have a favourite flower?" He pauses for a moment, "or is this one of our weird things, like wearing cuff-links to dinner every night?" He tries to play it off, but there's those notes of self consciousness that you're surprised he often gets when talking about tradition around Saltburn.

The grass near Oliver rustles, but your comfort overrides your intrigue to watch him.

"I think it's fox... Something?" Oliver says after a moment, "my favourite flower," he clarifies, "I haven't put much thought into it," he admits. You hum thoughtfully before asking if it could be foxglove. He confirms as much before going quiet.

There's a lull that follows in which Felix asks after Farleigh's whereabouts. Farleigh should be here, your hazy mind immediately chirps, you love Farleigh! Venetia sighs, sounding incredibly put-upon to be explaining that Farleigh was in the computer room, obsessing over his ex-boyfriend's MySpace updates that he'd missed lately. The ones about the tour.

"The guy from that Broadway show?" Felix asks with vague interest.

"No, his ex-girlfriend is touring with that Broadway musical, that he knows about, that he at least pretends he doesn't care about," Venetia corrected, "the ex-boyfriend is that one from that band, the one who wrote that song about him that got nominated for that award?"

"Grammy," you supplied automatically.

"Right," Venetia barely acknowledged you, "anyways, he's on that big, American tour with all those tragic, emo bands that are a big deal, which is apparently news to our dear cousin."

"Is that the one we were all talking about getting tickets to a few months ago?" Felix asks after a moment of silence, patting you on the arm as if his words weren't enough to get your attention. You hum in confirmation.

"I think so; The Warped Tour, we were going to make a vacation of it in LA this summer," you sighed rather forlornly at how the idea never got off the ground, "it was Anabel's idea -"

"- God, she's always been such a groupie for those kinds of boy-band-types -" Felix mutters derisively under his breath as if he hadn't spent the better part of two semesters inviting her to his dorm to listen to him play guitar knowing full well she'd practically be on her knees at the very suggestion. So of course you ignored that aside to finish your explanation.

"- except she turned around and said she hated the line up, when really she didn't want to admit her passport expired and she couldn't be bothered with the paperwork for a new one -"

"Actually," Oliver chimes in, though you're not sure if he was adding to the conversation, or if he'd even been listening, "when I was a boy I got to go to this botanical garden that had all these fancy flowers usually from the rest of the world." Oh. Flowers again? Sure. "There were these ones that got flown in from Australia, and I couldn't help thinking that they weren't worth it to fly all the way over here from Australia. Too long and curly and pointy; pretty, but not the kind that..." something about the way he speaks about the experience, about the flowers, it catches in your mind; Australian, long, curly, pointy, pretty, you tried to commit to memory, "that's worth spending your time on." He clears his throat and his tone seems almost forcibly lighter, "foxgloves are prettier, wouldn't you think? Yeah..."

Silence hangs between you all for several long, pensive moments.

"What colour were they?" You ask softly.

"Foxgloves?" Oliver knows you don't mean the foxgloves. He asks anyways. Everything always for the sake of the act, the pantomime of propriety.

"No."

"Red."

There is no more that needs to be said in the moment, but later you will be grateful when the details stick through the haze of your memories. Through the quiet, Venetia mentions how she misses the purple pincushions, how sweet and strange they were, and how cruel you have been to order the gardeners to prune the flowers before they can ever bloom.

The mere mention of those purple fucking pincushion flowers sours your mood; your one regret amongst your garden, a conceit to Felix that even he wishes he could take back knowing now how much you'd end up hating them. It's been a year since a single purple pincushion has bloomed in your garden, and you've been down here at least once a day all Summer, meticulous, pruning the bulbs yourself with much malice aforethought. Part of you is so filled with fury in this moment that you consider going over and uprooting the plants by hand right now, but Felix's arm around you, Felix's chest, solid and warm beneath your head, Felix's steady heartbeat in your ear, he grounds you.

For now you must simply remain content knowing that none of Eddie's precious, purple pincushions will ever bloom upon the grounds of the Saltburn Estate again.

"Venetia," expression pinched, you address her with far more coldness than you think you've ever directed towards her before, "shut up."

You don't remember when exactly during the day you asked Duncan to fetch you all the botany-related books in the house that made mention of plants native to the Asia-Pacific region. Knowing yourself, and knowing Duncan, however, you're not surprised by the small, neat stack you find the following evening on your desk in the lilac study.

While you fully intended on continuing your trend of wearing something provocative and continuing the pantomime of propriety with Oliver as the two of you had been doing each night for almost a week, Sir James raises the suggestion of a family movie night instead. Felix whines when Venetia and Farleigh champion the suggestion of a scary movie, and pouts when they bully Oliver into agreeing with them.

"Don't ask them," Farleigh groans when you're called upon for your opinion, "they're just going to say whatever Felix said but in a different voice," he rolled his eyes. You and Felix both choosing to flick little pieces of cantaloupe at him from your desserts does nothing but strengthen his argument.

Nobody thinks to ask Poor Dear Pamela her opinion, sitting at the end of the table, looking less than thrilled by the suggestion of The Ring, so everyone else decides that you and Felix are out numbered. On the way back to your rooms to change out of your dinner clothes, Oliver tries to apologise, and Felix tries to pretend that it's fine and he's just putting it on for Venetia and Farleigh and that he absolutely does not have the temperament of a rabbit when it came to anything scary. He is, of course, lying. But Oliver doesn't realise that just yet.

Venetia, always invigorated by a social triumph such as this, and never one to let a well-earned moment of joy pass her by, tucks her arm in Oliver's as the family meets back up in the living room. The moment is not missed by either you or Felix, who both glower at her bold display of affection as she ignores you and pulls Oliver onto the sofa. The large, plush armchair next to the sofa, with it's wide, low arms almost fits both you and Felix, though it's more of a token gesture than anything. No-one is surprised when he pulls you into his lap less than ten minutes after the film begins, arms around you and watching with his chin on your shoulder, ready to hide his face against your shoulder at a moment's notice.

When the film ends and the lights come back on, Venetia finally notices how you and her brother are sitting, and opens her mouth with malicious intent in her eyes.

"Watch it," you warned her before she could say any choice, disparaging remarks, "remember who's kept you off of What Not To Wear the past six years," you remind her; Felix, giving you a little squeeze, levels a smug smile at his older sister over your shoulder. Venetia closes her mouth, expression immediately turning.

"I can't believe they're still making that show," she spits, stalking from the room. Farleigh, finally getting up and stretching, follows her out at a far more relaxed pace.

"I can't believe they're still fighting Y/N to put you on it."

With those two having left, Elspeth and Pamela both give you curious looks, Elspeth asking if it was true. You confirmed as much with a blithe shrug, finally getting to your feet.

"Years ago one of the hosts was trying to track Ven down after seeing her on a red carpet and word got back to dad - or, well, his assistant at the time - and he remembered that I'm pretty close with the Cattons," you gave a humourless smile, offering Felix your hand to help him up from the sofa, which he gladly took, "however Ven was deeply offended when I asked her if she wanted to be on the show," Felix let himself chuckle at that, while Oliver was taking longer to stand, strange look on his face as he listened to you with surprisingly rapt attention.

"And they've been, what, continuing to ask after her even though she's said no?" Elspeth frowned, but you sighed, shaking your head.

"No, apparently Ven sent in a particularly rude letter despite me informing them of her refusal, and now dad's assistants seem to think I'm her agent and I get a call every time the show is threatening to add her photo to a montage of worst-dressed celebrities."

"Didn't she freak out when you refused to get an episode pulled when they actually did it?" Felix snorts, to which you rolled your eyes.

"That's why dad's assistants keep calling me, because of how she reacted to that episode."

You do feel a little bit bad for Venetia in this moment, when you see the resigned disappointment in both her parents' eyes at the story. The rest of you do finally filter out at this point, all heading back to your separate rooms. The walk is quiet for the most part, except for when Oliver, who'd been looking as though he was ruminating very hard on something, looks to you.

"Y/N, what does your dad do for work?"

You know and hate that Oliver sees the moment in which his question makes you uncomfortable, no matter how much you try to not let it, nor how desperately you try to hide it. Shrugging as you desperately shoot for casual, you sigh.

"I'm pretty sure your guess is as good as his," you say blithely, so casually evasive that Oliver doesn't really think to call you out on it before you get to your room. But after you and Felix wish him good night and head into your room, you close the door and slump against it with a heavy sigh. Felix lets you have this moment of respite to yourself, quietly moving about the room, getting ready for bed.

"Do you think they'll even show up?" Finally Felix breaks the silence, and you just make a vague noise, "to the dinners they told mum they'd be at," he clarified after a beat.

"Probably," you muttered, dejected at the prospect as your mind wanders to the couple who reluctantly created you.

"They asked about you," you admit to Felix quietly. From what you can hear, he stops, "mum, specifically," the memory of the phone call with your grandmother burned bright in your mind; it wasn't particularly recent, had happened at the start of your last semester, but you'd kept it to yourself for so long. You'd tried to disconnect yourself from it, tried to take solace in your grandmother's fury on your behalf, but you feel your face heat up with your own anguish, "asked how you were and if you were still living in 'that beautiful house with the Reubens and all those royal portraits'," voice trembling with both heartache and resentment, you slide down the door, tears welling even as you had your eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"Nan sounded so angry when she told me," you whispered, knees drawn up to your chest, "I've never heard her like that; she made it sound like she yelled at mum for- for- for ages -" you feel when Felix settles down beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. This is when you finally break, when you finally let yourself cry, whimpering, "but I bet mum just hung up on her the minute she felt like the fucking victim."

Felix isn't the one who needs to be apologising right now, but part of you knows you'll never get one from the people you crave it the most from. Still, he apologises with his lips against your temple. You know your best friend well enough to know his heart is breaking for you, and fuck you wish you had been strong enough to push back this breakdown, but you couldn't -

"She asked for you by name, Fi, full name," you sobbed curling up in his arms, burying yourself against him in your misery, "they haven't spoken to me or about me in eleven years; they haven't even said my name- they've acted like I don't exist to everyone - everyone - even to my own grandmother for eleven years!"

There's no easy sleep that can be found after a revelation like this, but Felix, even after he manages to drift off, is unwilling to let you go, unwilling to let you feel even the slightest bit alone for the rest of the night. It continues through the next day, even as you assure him you're fine, that you're glad for his comfort but that you've overcome the despair that had hit you so tremendously last night. It's not even much of a lie.

You spend the day with the family who'd taken you in without hesitation, and feel a swell of pride within you as you hear Oliver comment enthusiastically on the Palissy plates Sir James had always loved dearly. You yourself vaguely recall the plates getting a page to themselves in the very book you'd gifted Oliver about Saltburn, so you were glad to see him putting it to good use.

A little white lie about how deep Oliver's love for Palissy genuinely was really wouldn't hurt anyone. Honestly, it was worth it for just how brightly Sir James' eyes shined at one of Felix or Venetia's friends finally taking an interest in his antiquities like that.

But all day, Felix was never too far away. Not that he was incredibly obvious about it, at least not from anyone else's perspective, but you could tell. Quietly, you were grateful, even if you were still trying to convince the both of you that you were okay. Something about being able to just lean back and know he'll be there in times like this, times where you need him to be there but don't know how to say it out loud, is a comfort you never want to take for granted.

You want to thank him but it gets caught in your throat. But standing on his balcony as the sun sets, sharing a cigarette, you take his free hand for this one, quiet moment. Your voice is full of affection, full of thanks, full of love, too much for you to even look at him, focus kept on your hands, your fingers laced with his.

"My Felix."

"Always, love," he kisses your forehead.

That night, the only time you are without him is when you end up in the lilac study, wondering if Oliver will even show up after last night broke the tradition. Either way you'd use the time to continue to go through your botany books on the hunt for red, curly, pointy, Australian flowers. You keep seeing bottle brush but something in your heart said it wasn't right. However long you'd actually spend perusing the books tonight would depend on if you had company.

But eventually Oliver does choose to darken the doorway with that hungry-eyed stare you've never seen in the light of day, and you take your time with noticing him. Tonight you're lounging on the cream sofa in one of Felix's shirts, not even bothering to do the buttons up; you've pulled it mostly close for a pass at modesty, considering the only other thing you're wearing is underwear.

"'re you seducing me?" He sounds amused; you're surprised by how quickly he cuts to the chase, but you try not to let it show.

"Is it working yet?" You turn another page of your book before you finally look up, playing almost at boredom. Oliver, barely visible for the lamp light, the gallery beyond him nothing but shadows, huffs a laugh at that, and for reasons you can't quite understand, he drops his gaze. He breaks the moment, the rules of the game. Oliver doesn't look away, he never has before.

"You trying to get me in trouble?"

"Depends on what you consider to be trouble," your smile grows wider as you carefully set your book to the side, fixing your intrigued gaze upon Oliver properly, "perhaps I'm saving you from trouble." In a sense, the more nights you can get him to spend here with you, the less he's falling prey to Venetia's planting herself beneath his window you're sure she's doing, just as she had with Eddie a year ago. At least this time you've learned.

"I think you may very well be the trouble," Oliver looks up, just in time to see your wicked, delighted grin.

"Then I am definitely trying to get you in trouble," you don't even hesitate before firing off the inuendo, smiling wide and proud at your own quick wit. The sight of Oliver's very genuine smile and laugh catches you off guard too; it'd been so long since you'd seen it, you forgot how taken you were with him when he lit up like that. Then, as the laughter died down, Oliver walks in, he sits with you, lets you lean against him.

"You've been saying a lot of..." he hesitates, turning to you. Oliver wears a strange, lopsided smile, but from the corner of your eyes you see something reserved in his gaze as he takes in the sight of you in this moment, "generous things about me." He's too close to miss the way your breath catches. Venetia and Farleigh are dirty fucking snitches, "'s alright-" he tries, but there's clearly some kind of reservation in his voice as he staves off your stammered apology, "knew what I was getting into, didn't I?"

With Oliver's arm around you, you can't help but wonder aloud -

"Did you?"

"I thought I did," he admitted softly, and you tipped your head onto his shoulder, then you feel him shift, feel his lips on your forehead and voice soft, "I think I thought I'd be alright anywhere if I was with Felix." For reasons you try very hard not to think about in this moment, Oliver's words sting.

"Oh," it almost gets caught in your throat; your traitorous heart sinks in your chest for just a moment. Except Oliver gives you a squeeze, holds you tight as he seems to realise his mistake.

"Of course you're a given," it almost salvages the moment, and of course you feel as though you have to act like it does, but there's something tight and unfamiliar balling up in your chest. "Felix loves you," Oliver sounds almost wistful, words coming out more like a faint breath, but perhaps it's this strange new feeling in your chest that makes him harder to read in this moment.

"He loves you too, Ollie," you tell him, forcing yourself to inject some levity into the moment. This time it's you who moves, who turns your face to Oliver, forehead against his as you muster up the warmest smile you can manage, pressing against him, making a show of overwhelming affection, "we both do," of course, your tone says, obviously.

And Oliver actually giggles at that, so it must work. In the next moment he's pulled you into his lap. It's so easy for you to readjust, to fit in his arms, in his space, against him, like it's where you were always meant to be.

"Is that you talkin' or Felix talkin'?" Oliver asks finally when you've got your arms settled around his neck, "I don't mind, I'd just like to know."

"What 'd you mean?" You ask, curious about the wording and it's implications. Oliver visibly hesitates, though he seems more embarrassed for whatever was about to come out of his mouth than anything else.

"Speakin' with Venetia made me realise how little I actually know about you," Oliver says carefully. Almost immediately your expression sours, and a long, exasperated sigh is pulled from you, "she's a deeply confusing woman, isn't she?" He adds almost like an afterthought, and you barked a quiet laugh.

"That is a very kind way of putting it," you offered diplomatically after a beat, before letting go of Oliver and leaning yourself back against the arm of the sofa, considering your next words carefully. His hands come to rest on your stomach, but you're surprised when he does up two of the buttons of Felix's shirt, providing you with a little more modesty. Then, his hands come to rest on your stomach and thighs, warm and unmoving.

"You're a deeply confusing individual yourself," Oliver pushes softly, "when I think about you too much, I realise there's not much to think about, least nothin' you've told me," and you hum noncommittally, looking up at the ceiling. The next words that escape you are from a script you'd thought was long buried.

"Yeah but that's kind of the point; I'm not really meant to matter, or be looked at, or thought about -" the words seem to shock even you, eyes going wide as you look to Oliver. The intensity of his stare has your heart hammering against your ribs as you try to back pedal, "sorry- that's not- I mean- sorry, that's really not, anymore that is -" you didn't even believe that anymore, right? Your place in the world as impressed upon you by your own parents for the first ten years of your life. Surely having spent more time by now with Felix and the Cattons than you ever had with them was enough to rewrite a good deal of the cruel way in which you'd been hardwired.

Oliver reaches out, caressing your cheek with that confident smile he only ever seemed to wear when the sun couldn't see him. He tells you that you matter, with absolute sincerity. Then, expression lightening to something fond, even teasing, he warns you not to let Felix catch you talking like that, that his love for you was the kind that would have him throwing a parade just to prove that self-doubt wrong. It was a nice mental image, if only for a moment. You, Oliver, Felix, not necessarily a parade for you per say, but a mess of colour and joy and music in the city, together and happy and -

"I don't know if you'd want that," Oliver's grin is fading, and finally you sit back up, let yourself be wrapped up in him as he continues to trail his fingers across the edge of your face, down your throat, across your collar, "but then again Venetia thinks you don't even know how."

"How what?" Voice barely more than a whisper, you know he can feel how quick your heart's beating, his hand flat and warm on your sternum.

"How to want for yourself, 'least not anything outside of Felix," he keeps his gaze trained on his hand, heel of his palm pressing firmer just over your heart, "which is why I asked; you said you loved me, is that you or Felix talking when you say that?" And finally he looks at you. That tight, sharp feeling in your chest spikes when he meets your gaze. He looks so earnest, so open, so ready for either answer.

But you stand, leaving both yourself, and Oliver's lap cold, but hoping your smile is warm enough compensation. Except you can hear in his voice that he believes Venetia; she'd confirmed what he'd suspected, it's what he left unsaid the night you'd slept with each other. The only thing you wanted was so easily met; to be wanted, and seemingly content with nothing more outside of Felix. A contented sycophant, easy to please and happy to be used; you knew the world was happy with this being your place in it.

And the more you think about it, the more you think Oliver is too.

"Of course it's Felix," you tell him what you're almost certain he wants to hear. No need to scare him off with the expectations of your own feelings on his shoulders. Oliver watches you for a long moment, simply observing as you smile wider, and hope that it comes across as adoring, "which means of course I do love you too, that's a given, Ollie." The sharp discomfort is scraping at your ribs, more painful with each word, hollowing out your chest moment by moment, so you bid him good night, unable to bare the conversation for much longer.

"Just one favour, by the way, if you could," you add by the door. He makes a noise of intrigue, but you can't even bring yourself to look at him. It'll be another just person looking at a placeholder while they're waiting for Felix to be ready to love them back. Usually you don't mind. Usually it's enough and you can still enjoy their company and have your fun. But they aren't Oliver Quick, "just... please refrain from properly fooling around with Venetia? I know I sound like a hypocrite but," you take a deep breath, smiling wide enough that you don't even have to see Oliver, "it kind of goes back well beyond just you."

The next morning, stopping into the study before you head down to breakfast, you intend to collect the book you'd finally found those red flowers in. Top of your pile, you'd left it open on the very page. But you find that someone has turned the page. Scabious, in full bloom, mocking you, surely.

The botany book lay like a bitter seductress on your desk, left open, pages spread and staring up at you; purple fucking pincushions.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #oliver x reader x felix #head heart hand fic #venetia catton x reader #venetia catton imagine #manic writer

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notjustjavierpena · 5 months

Text

House

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost

A/N: A few ideas poured into one. Thank you for all of the attention Hubby Javier is getting lately, makes me all teary-eyed.

Summary: Baby kicks and house-shopping, is there anything else to say?

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader (no y/n)

Tags: +15, Pregnancy, domestic married, idiots in love, making out

Word count: 1.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51723856

House

There’s a low hum coming from the radio in the kitchen. You’re on your back underneath white soft sheets that have warmed up to feel like a hug, drifting in and out of sleep to the soft pop song and a noise of mugs clinking.

It’s early morning and you have yet to get out of bed. Javier is doing his morning ritual, and it causes even the annoying ding of the toaster and the drip of the coffee maker to make you smile. The very sound of his existence outside of your own little bubble is proof that he isn’t just a figment of your imagination, that things are actually as good as they see, and the fact makes your eyes shut and your sleep more undisturbed than it’s ever been.

He wakes you half an hour later, gentle as ever.

“I’m heading to work, baby, Lord knows what messes I have to clean up today,” Javier says and bends down to kiss your forehead. He runs a hand over your hair which you say is way too greasy for him to do. He smiles, tuts, and heads towards the door.

“Don’t forget we have that thing later,” you call after him as he exits the bedroom. You look after him despite him already being out of sight, awaiting his answer that will probably consist of him profusely apologizing for forgetting but you interrupt yourself by gasping out loud. You call for him a little louder.

“You okay?” Javier stands in the doorway not a second later. He has furrowed his brow.

“Come here,” you hold out your hand with a grin. When Javier takes it, you guide his palm down to your just-starting-to-show pregnant belly.

“Is he kicking?” He asks with a voice that is a little more squeaky than normal. He doesn’t move his hand, doesn’t seem to dare in case he’ll miss it, and doesn’t get to say hello for the first time.

“I swear if he gets your sleeping schedule and starts waking up around this time from now on,” you groan but Javier seems too transfixed to laugh at your joke. He kneels down on the floor, watching and waiting expectantly.

“Talk to him,” you instruct, arching your back slightly to push your belly further into your husband’s hand, “He’ll react to your voice. I promise.”

Javier checks his watch on his other hand but he doesn’t show signs of being in a hurry. He rubs your stomach a little, kisses your skin, “Come on, bebito. Your dad needs to go fight villanos for the state.”

You giggle at the way he speaks so softly, switching to the same pitch that one would address a puppy with. He looks at you with red cheeks and you just want to kiss him, “Stop laughing.”

“Sorry, I just love you,” you continue your tiny giggles, not trying to stop them from bubbling up in your throat, “I’ll stay still. Just don’t give up.”

It takes a few more minutes before you feel Lucas move again. Your stomach jumps underneath Javier’s hand and the move surprises him to the point where he nearly falls on his ass, another laugh erupting from your chest.

“Was that him?” He gapes at you and you nod. He quickly regains his composure to feel for more kicks. His eyes have lightened up and the smile he is sporting is pure joy mixed with disbelief, “That’s so badass…”

A few moments pass. Javier gets excited again, thoughts of work forgotten, “There! Again!”

“He loves you, baby,” you say, “He’s saying hello.”

“I can’t wait until he’s here,” he admits and whispers hello back to his son, resting his cheek against your belly whilst looking up at your face. He smiles as you run a hand over his hair, “I love you two too. Should I just stay here all day?”

“As nice as that sounds, we have that thing later,” you say, “The house tour.”

“Shit,” he says as predicted.

“You better be there, Peña. Your son needs that backyard,” you try to sound stern but Lucas kicks once more. You chuckle happily instead, and in the next moment, you don’t know if you are referring to Lucas or his father because Javier’s eyes practically sparkle, “Well someone’s excited.”

Javier had brought up the idea of a house the second you arrived home from your honeymoon along with a confession of having looked at possible sellers in the area since you got engaged. However, the idea had faded, had been put on hold due to everyday life getting in the way until now. Fulfilling the fantasy has become a reality since you found out that you are pregnant.

Now it has also been put into motion.

It’s the first house that you are seeing together. You went last week, fell in love with the place, and now, you want Javier’s opinion (and approval). Even though the house doesn’t have the same charm as your shared apartment, and despite the apartment space holding so many memories that you cherish, you know your current living situation won’t suit a growing family.

“Right, I’ll be there,” he kisses your belly repeatedly, “I’ll see you later, mijo.”

“Go,” you usher him gently, “We’ll be here when you get back too.”

“Te amo, momma,” Javier says before he leaves your side, his voice so genuine you might slide underneath the covers because you can barely contain your happiness without giggling like a schoolgirl.

“Te amo también,” you say back and then lay back to hear the sound of the front door closing.

You use the rest of the morning to snooze and have a one-sided conversation with your unborn child, only getting out of bed when you cannot procrastinate anymore or you’ll be late. You wash your greasy hair twice in the shower and snack instead of eating a proper meal, scared that you will experience a fit of nausea during the house tour. Despite having a fair reason, you don’t think that vomiting in the bathroom of the house you are considering buying will go well with the seller. Javier would probably make a joke about marking your territory whilst stroking your back to make you stop crying.

Though later that day when you enter the house that you have already seen and daydreamed about, you immediately notice the crinkle of Javier’s nose at the mention of the rooms. Kitchen, bathroom, dining area. Smile. Three bedrooms. Nose crinkle.

The realtor seems to notice it too, and she gives you a sympathetic look and touches your shoulder gently. You don’t flinch because she seems genuine and nice, “Why don’t I give you two some privacy? You’ll be able to look around without me hovering over your shoulder and without me making you hold back any negative comments.”

Javier hums, already wandering around and seeming lost in his own thoughts.

“That’d be great, thanks,” you smile and chase your husband down as she leaves. You find him running his knuckles over the kitchen counter, knocking once as if he has a clue about the material. It’s almost sweet the way that he is practicing his dad-mannerisms already.

“You don’t like it,” you say matter-of-factly.

Javier whips around at hearing your voice, “What? No, I like it. It’s just—“

“Just what?” You join him by the counter, leaning against it.

“There are only three bedrooms,” he notes as if it’s the most logical explanation in the world.

You raise a brow and lay a hand on your protruding belly, “You do know there’s only one baby in here, right? It’s not like I’m about to give you a barbershop quartet.”

Javier laughs genuinely at the mental image. He moves to stand in front of you, reaching to hold your pregnant belly and rubbing its sides gently. He can see the disappointment in your eyes which makes him tut and you pout.

“I’m just thinking ahead here, mi vida,” he rests his forehead against yours, chuckling at the sight of you pushing out your bottom lip. He rubs a soothing circle into your stomach with his thumb, and brushes a strand of hair from your face with his other hand, “Don’t pout. You know I’m weak.”

“You don’t love it the way I do,” you squeak out, “And this is within our price range.”

“We’ll borrow money from my Pop, hell, he’ll pawn his whole house for us,” he reaches up to cup your face in both his hands, tilting back your head so he can repeatedly peck your lips, “And no, I don’t love it the way you do.”

You reach for one of his wrists, offended.

“But,” he interrupts before you can protest, “If we’re having at least three kids then we’re already a bedroom short.”

“Three?!” You say in a horrified tone.

“Eventually,” he soothes.

“That’s almost a whole litter, Javi.”

“Well, you don’t have to drop them all at once,” he jokes, pauses, and then continues, “I’m just asking you to keep our options open with me.”

“But this kitchen,” you whine, gesturing to the farmhouse sink that you’ve fallen so deeply in love with, “I wanna do the dishes here and I hate doing the dishes.”

“I’ll build you your own kitchen, baby, with a rich-people-sink and a dishwasher,” he presses his thumbs into the underside of your jaw, “How’s that sound? Bién, no?”

You half-frown, half-smile. It does sound nice.

“There it is,” he says as you finally smile fully and allow a new daydream to manifest in your mind, “That’s my girl.”

A few long seconds pass with kissing him in a house that won’t be yours after all, arms slung around his neck, and standing on your toes as you make out. God, you love the confidence that Javier radiates. Suddenly everything seems possible.

“Besides,” Javier pulls back a little, mischievous, ”Did you see that backyard? A soccer team has 11 players, you know, and with the way Lucas is kicking…”

“You better stop that talk right now if you ever wanna get with me again, Mister,” you answer but then you kiss him again.

“I’ll tell the realtor that we want something bigger,” he takes a step back but you grab his arm. He allows you to pull him back in.

“I need a hug. Just five more minutes,” you beg.

And so he does, holding you tightly in an embrace that is pouring with love.

“Okay, five more minutes.”

FOLLOW @notjustjavierpena-fics AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS 💖❤️💖❤️

#pedro pascal characters #javi peña #javier peña #pedro pascal fanfiction #javi pena #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfic #javier pena smut #javier pena one shot #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal #my writing #husband!javi

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thefreakandthehair · 7 months

Text

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 8th: Rockstar | Times Like These - Foo Fighters | Confident a/n: rockstar!eddie & corroded coffin. steddie. suggestive themes but not explicit. un-betaed because I’m challenging myself to write these in under an hour. read on ao3 | link to masterpost on ao3

When Eddie was a teenager, he pictured himself on stage, surrounded by pyrotechnics and aggressive bass riffs. His hair was long, his skin mottled in tattoos with maybe a love bruise or two, and his favorite ruby red guitar slung low to his hips as he belts his vocals into the microphone.

All but the last part comes true.

He does end up sweaty from the heat of the fire cannons on either side of their set. Freak shreds his bass every fucking show, his fingers undoubtedly calloused beyond repair. Eddie’s hair gets in his face as he plays his own guitar, his Sweetheart, but he doesn’t get to sing.

That’s all Steve.

Unassuming, surprisingly talented Steve Harrington who Eddie discovers can fucking sing when he’s home from a tour, driving around together through the empty streets of Hawkins, Indiana. The 90s bring a new landscape to heavy metal and rock and roll, and as cocky as Eddie might be, as confident as he is when it comes to his music, he can see when someone has one up on him. Steve’s rendition of The Foo Fighters’ Good Grief as he drums along on the steering wheel sets his heart aflame– and maybe another appendage that he’s tried to ignore for the better part of ten years.

Steve agrees to join the band with a heavy bit of convincing, agreeing only when Eddie offers to retain his role as frontman.

I don’t wanna be a rockstar, Ed. That’s all you.

The band truly takes off when Steve joins, his voice adding a different flavor and Eddie’s backing vocals rounding out their sound. Eddie tells Steve night after night, show after show, that he’s happy he’s there, because he is. Maybe being in love with his bandmate hadn’t part of the teenage fantasy, but it’s become his favorite part of the reality, even if it’s one-sided or unrequited. His skin remains unbruised, no groupies or flings to be found, but he’d prefer a blank canvas over meaningless artistry anyways.

They end up touring again, exploring the country and parts of Canada together but always with different hotel rooms. Eddie never minds sharing with Gareth, or Jeff, or Freak but he also doesn’t make a habit of thinking about their dicks.

After their show in Toronto, the end of this leg of their tour, Eddie and the rest of the band celebrate in Eddie’s room– it’s the biggest of their block and Eddie won rock-paper-scissors to claim the lone room this time around.

Drinks flow, smoke from their joints curl out the window screen into the night, and before Eddie realizes it’s happened, he’s left alone with Steve.

Steve, who hasn’t had a thing to drink and only a few puffs of his joint, but is laying across the bed with his feet crossed at the ankles and his head resting in Eddie’s lap anyways. Steve, who Eddie listens to as he hums the melody of their encore and whose hair he can’t help but thread through his fingers. Steve, who Eddie has been watching night after night sing the words Eddie’s written himself, some of which are about Steve.

It’s a dangerous position to be in.

“Gettin’ tired yet, Harrington?” Eddie asks, grinning as Steve rolls his eyes.

“Oh, we’re back to Harrington now, Munson?”

Eddie just shrugs and continues playing with Steve’s hair. It’s soft, still damp from his shower, and Eddie’s surprised he hasn’t shoved him off yet with some comment about how he’s gonna fuck it up. But he doesn’t, and Eddie doesn’t know what to make of that.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Steve asks, shifting his gaze from the ceiling to Eddie’s eyes. “It’s weird.”

“I contain multitudes, don’t try to make me some one-dimensional agent of chaos.”

Steve laughs and it’s better than any song Eddie’s ever written. And he’s written some damn good songs, if he does say so himself.

Eddie lets out a little oof as Steve sits up, bracing himself on Eddie’s stomach to turn and face him. There’s something in Steve’s expression that Eddie can’t place– searching eyes, furrowed brows, one corner of his lips quirked up.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

“God, you’re so annoying sometimes, you know that?”

“I do, actually. But yeah, go ahead.” Eddie bites his bottom lip and shrugs.

“How come you never wanna share a room with me?”

Eddie just about chokes on nothing, inhaling oxygen into the wrong pipe or something. His ears turn red, a tell that no amount of shaking his hair out can hide, at least not from Steve. He feels the soft skin of Steve’s hand graze his cheek as he tucks hair back behind his right ear, exposing the bright red shade of embarrassment.

“Is it me? I can’t imagine that I, Steve Harrington, make you, big ol’ Rockstar Eddie Munson, uncomfortable after all these years.”

You motherfucker, Eddie thinks, his mouth a little behind the speed of his thoughts, effectively leaving him speechless.

“Little bit, actually,” Eddie manages to admit.

He shouldn’t admit anything, but he’s alone in this quiet room with the boy he’s loved for so many years, who’s touching him like he loves him, too. Who can blame him?

“How come?” Steve whispers, his lips suddenly closer, their noses nearly touching. Eddie may or may not be breathing, but he tries. Fainting would definitely kill whatever this energy is between them.

“Ed, c’mon. Just, just tell me you want me, too. Please.”

Too? He thinks.

“Too?” He asks.

Steve smiles and nods, running his thumb across Eddie’s chapped lower lip before resting his palm against his cheek.

“Too.”

—

The following morning, Eddie and Steve meet up with the rest of the band in the hotel restaurant for breakfast– or, well, brunch at best given the time they actually make it downstairs.

“Notice you stayed in Eddie’s room last night,” Jeff asks, one eyebrow raised halfway up his forehead as his eyes flit back and forth from Steve to the very clear, purpling bruise on Eddie’s collarbone.

“Astute observation,” Eddie grins and answers for him, digging into the stack of pancakes in front of him, ravenous.

“Sure did,” Steve just grins, shrugging as he shifts in his seat.

Gareth, Freak, and Jeff all exchange a look, the kind of look that comes with inside jokes and long-suffering waiting.

“Wait–” Steve starts, pointing an accusing finger at Jeff. “You all left early on purpose, didn’t you?”

Gareth laughs the hardest, rivaled only by Eddie who watches them all with incredulity as Jeff parrots Steve with casual confidence.

“Sure did.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #st fic #corroded coffin #eddie month #eddie month prompts #myblurbs

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kaylor-lovestory · 1 year

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DEBUNKING THE “KARLIE BETRAYED TAYLOR BELIEF”

Disclaimer: this post is taken from Reddit and it was put together and posted by this user : OddDragonfruit6179 I just made it into Tumblr post.

This is for people who might be new to Gaylor side of the fandom and to those questioning the “betrayal” surrounding Taylor Swift and her masters and Karlie Kloss. This is also an answer to anonymus messages about the line in the song It’s time to go believed to be about Karlie Kloss / When the words of a sister come back in whispers that prove she was not in fact what she seemed not a twin from your dreams she's a crook who was caught.

PSA - Personally, I exist as a Gaylor because I love interpreting Taylor's Queer themes that don't specifically revolve around certain muses & the beautiful way they can exist on their own. I am also not 'Late-Stage'-Anything, haha. But, saying that, it's amost impossible to ignore the elephant (or Giraffe) in the room when it comes to Karlie & Taylor's storytelling since Reputation. It seems there are some very firmly-held beliefs about 'what happened' (including Gaylors), and a lot of them revolve around the idea that Karlie 'betrayed' Taylor during the Master's Heist era of June/July 2019, 'feeding information to & siding with Scooter Braun' - which are often used to debunk Gaylor interpretations as a blanket shut-down. Given the latest drama with Selena & how she recently spoke up about slandering Taylor on TikTok, it reminded me of how we have a lot of evidence from both Taylor & Taylor's inner circle that this was probably not actually the case, and how quickly rumours & interpretations get adopted as 'fact' without any proof - something I think Taylor's also tried to get across with her music, too. I wanted to do a little deep-dive into this side of things to remind us all that we simply cannot believe everything we hear - there's always a lot more to celebrity stories than the loosly-held general beliefs :)

What was the big 'betrayal' in 2019?

If you're new here, welcome! The supposed 'betrayal' revolves around Taylor's Master's Heist in summer 2019, when Scooter Braun (millionaire celebrity manager) bought Taylor's entire back catalogue of music, leaving her without ownership of all her previous music. Taylor was at a turning point in her career, having just ended the 13 year contract that she'd been tied into since she was 15, and was just about to release her first fully-owned album 'Lover' She wanted to buy all her past music, allowing her to have full freedom & ownership going forward - yet it was allegedly sold to Scooter from underneath her, meaning he would be the one profiting from all of her life's work from Debut to Reputation & leaving her without any ownership rights of all her past work. (This is now why she's re-recording her 'Taylor's Versions' of her past albums.) How does Karlie tie into this? Karlie had been a huge part of Taylor's life since 2013. As Gaylors, most of us believe they were much more than friends & Karlie was the main muse for Reputation (2017) & multiple songs on Lover (2019). Karlie had signed with Scooter Braun in 2015. In 2016, Scooter was involved in the Kimye 'Taylor Swift is over controversy', being included in a photo Justin Bieber posted online to taunt Taylor (which Justin later said Scooter had nothing to do with). As she was Scooter's client, Karlie was immedietly caught up between Scooter Vs Taylor rumours, leading her to tweet this:

In early 2017, as the Kimye drama grew, Taylor stopped sharing her private life on social media. From 2017-2018 she releases Rep, goes on tour, ends her contract with Big Machine & begins working towards releasing Lover. All the while, rumours are consistently following both Taylor & Karlie about 'whether or not they're still friends' because they'd not been seen together. A lot of people believe they were still in each other's lives (there are multiple masterposts going into the possible romantic side of things), but the narrative is all over the place: In March 2018, Karlie tells the NY Times: 'don't believe everything you read' & that she and Taylor as still 'very close'. In July 2018, Karlie announces that she's engaged to Josh Kushner and Taylor doesn't publicly comment. In August 2018, Karlie attends the Rep Tour & is brought to the front pit when Taylor sings 'Dress'. In October 2018, Karlie has her first 'wedding' with Josh (up for personal interpretation if this is Lavender or not) - Taylor doesn't publicly comment. The same month, Karlie's YouTube shows her apartment is still full of photos of Taylor & her family/friends (not Josh):

In the first half of 2019 Taylor is finishing writing Lover, which include themes indicative that she is extremely up/down, full of anxiety & has push a 'lover' away: "I'm terrified if you ever walk away" (Cornelia Street), "We were crazy to think this could work, but we might just get away with it" (False God), don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you" (Cruel Summer), " jump from the train, I ride off alone" (The Archer), " blew things out of proportion, why'd I have to break what I love so much? I need to say hey, it's all in my head, I'm the one who burned us down, sorry that I hurt you, I don't do this to you, I don't wanna loose this with you" (Afterglow), "Saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts, I look through the windows of this love, even though we boarded them up, chandalier's still flickering here" (DBTC)

What actually happened in Summer 2019?

Taylor begins promoting the release of Lover. In April 2019 she unveils a butterfly wing mural which looks extremely similar to Karlie's butterfly wings from the VS Show where they met & then continues to be ridiculously gay-on-main. She releases You Need To Calm Down, where she's the Sherriff of the Gay trailor park with Bi hair, and ME! on Lesbian Visibility Day... there's endless flagging in clothing/theming. She was getting very 'loud'. Many people believe she may have been leading up to 'coming out' officially, either with the album and/or the Miss Americana documentary that was in the process of being filmed. On 23rd/24th June, Karlie has her second 'wedding' (a big party). Taylor doesn't attend. Scooter does (he's close friends with Josh).

Within a week after he's at this party with Josh & Karlie, Scooter then flies to Nashville and completes the sale of Taylor's masters. The sale is partially funded by the Carlyle Group, who is in business with Kushner Companies (Josh's family's business).

On 30th June (the following weekend), Taylor announces that the Master's Heist has happened & how distraught she is. Lots of celebrities speak up against Scooter & many of his clients (Demi Lovato, Justin Bieber etc) speak up in defence of him. Karlie remains silent & doesn't make a statement either way.

On 3rd July, Perez Hilton starts stirring shit by saying that 'Taylor is no longer close to Karlie because she found out Karlie was telling things about her & her career to Scooter! It began circulating that 2 of Taylor's close friends, Ashley Avignone & Claire Winter had liked the tweet, 'confirming' that this was the case to those that follow gossip sites. Karlie is then photographed at events/lunches/trips with Scooter multiple times throughout the rest of 2019 - further ‘cementing' this idea for fans.

The final blow for this theory came when Taylor released Folkmore (2020): in the song 'Time to Go' she sings "When the words of a sister come back in whispers, that prove she was not in fact what she seemed, not a twin from your dream she's a crook who was caught", which many fans immedietly assumed was about Karlie.

Where are the cracks in all this?

Taylor's other friends: Obviously, social media is only a partial glimpse of a story, but it is very suggestive of behind the scenes information. The reaction to the current Selena controversy was what reminded me of her friendship with Taylor, after she stuck up for Taylor on a video of Hailey Bieber. Selena's been very close to Taylor since they were teenagers. In October 2019, shortly after the Master's Heist, she did an interview where she was in tears talking about how important her friendship with Taylor was, and how much she loved her & her family:

...so she would've been very much on Taylor's 'side' if Taylor has had an awful betrayal from Karlie, right? Yet in November 2019, just 5 months after the Masters Heist , she's very publicly supporting Karlie, too:

..and they have both consistently continued to support eachother ever since, right up to Selena's latest birthday:

In terms of social media, many of Taylor's current close friends & people she's worked closely with continue to follow Karlie (despite following a very limited number of people). This includes Taylor's oldest childhood friend, Abigail (who only follows 285 people - Karlie still follows her back), Haim The Band, as well as Danielle & Alana Haim on thier individual accounts, and Sadie Sink:

Karlie also continues to follow Taylor herself and Taylor's brother, Austin:

We also have two more of Taylor's very close circle, Ryan Reynolds & Gigi Hadid, liking posts about Karlie's 30th birthday in 2022:

What about Perez Hilton's claims? Baring in mind this is the ONLY 'evidence' that exists to support this story, I tried to find the original tweets about 'Karlie telling things about Taylor to Scooter', and low & behold: they're ALL gone. That includes Perez's & the 'Taylor Swift Updates' tweet that was supposedly liked by Taylor's friends. Gone, deleted, non-existent. Why would they have been deleted if they were true & Taylor wanted that story out there? Who made sure they were, from all accounts involved, and only those? Interesting.

What I did find, however, was some tweets and likes from the same friend, Ashley Avignone, discussing how none of Scooter's clients have been able to speak out against him or leave him because of their contracts (this would include Karlie):

What about Karlie 'siding' with Scooter & continuing to work/hang out with him? There were definitely pictures of Karlie continuing to spend time with Scooter after the Masters Heist. However, she was under contract. She never defended him or tried to reason about what he'd done. In fact, she left Scooter as soon as she possibly could. She hasn't been seen with Scooter since 2019 & she signed a new contract with a different manager in 2021. It's also relevant to note that Taylor's other close friend, Ed Sheeran, was also managed by Scooter at the time & didn't speak up publicly either. Taylor reportedly attended Ed's wedding in September 2019, yet Ed continued to stay with Scooter & publicly party with him well into 2021 (so, clearly, if there is an issue with Karlie it wasn't just because she continued to work with Scooter in 2019).

Last but not least, the music:

Throughout her albums since the Masters Heist, Taylor has consistently written about heartbreak & betrayal in different ways. Although 'It's time to go' has been grabbed by many fans as 'proof' that Karlie betrayed her, but most stories just aren't that simple. Taylor is a storyteller. One song doesn't equate to every emotion/situation that Taylor was feeling. As many of us do, I believe there's a clear arc of Taylor painting a picture throughout multiple songs, of how she thought she had been 'betrayed' & the pain of that, but later realising she was just blaming the person she had loved in order to get through it all. Others have done amazing, full analysis of these songs, but in terms of 'betrayal' specifically: In Hoax we see the raw pain of feeling hurt by the one she loved alongside what happened with the Masters Heist (this song is full of Karlie references & Taylor very clearly says she was writing about both love & the Masters Heist in the LPSS): "My eclipsed sun, this has frozen my ground / You know I left a part of me back in NY / You know it still hurts underneath my scars from when they pulled me apart, but what you did was just as dark, darling this is just as hard."

In Closure, we see that she's harbouring a lot of anger & isn't ready to move forward or past her pride: "Yes I got your letter, it wasn't right the way it all went down, looks like you know that now / I know that it's over, I don't need your closure / I'm fine with my spite / Guilty, guilty, reaching out across the sea that you put between you & me"

In Coney Island, we begin to see her taking accountability for her own role in the relationship breaking down in the first place (which ties in with Afterglow): "Sorry for not making you my centerfold / It gets colder & colder as the sun goes down / What's a lifetime of acheivement if I pushed you to the edge / Did I leave you hanging every single day / Did I paint your bluest skies the darkest gray?"

In Happiness, we see this accountability clashing with the hurt she still feels about the way it all ended, but ultimately acknowledging she can't make Karlie the villain (suggesting she never actually was one) & wants to forgive her whatever role she did play (when she's ready). Hope she'll be a beautiful fool who takes my spot next to you, no sorry, I don't mean that, I can't see facts through all of my fury / I can't make it go away by making you the villain, guess that's the price I pay for 7 years in heaven / All you want from me is the green light of forgiveness, You haven't met the new me yet, but I think she'll give you that"

Later, in The Great War, we see a continuation of reflecting back on the same themes - telling the story of feeling hurt & betrayed, shutting the other person out, but realising the other person was also being equally hurt by it all / was never the person she should've been blaming: "Cursed you as I sleep-talked, tore your banners down, took the battle underground / I drew curtains closed, drank my poison all alone" (processing her pain through putting an end to the loudness of Lover & writing Folkmore). "Somewhere in the haze got a sense I'd been betrayed/ telling me to punish you for things you never did, so I justified it" (Taylor's acknowledging once again that the other person hadn't actually done what she thought they had) "You drew up some good faith treaties / Tears on the letter / My hand was the one you reached for" (could be a callback to the letter' in closure & suggests the person was trying to make peace). "Your finger on my hairpin triggers, soldier down on that icy ground, looked up at me with honour & truth, broken & blue, so I called off the troops" (icy ground could be a callback to 'you have frozen my ground' back Hoax).

So where does that leave us?

Who the hell knows? No one does, but I love reading all the theories when the rest of the music is tied into it all! But in regard to there being a 'betrayal', given how there was never any concrete evidence that Karlie did anything wrong in the first place (& how the only tweets alluding to it have mysteriously dissapeared), the continual association with Karlie from some of the closest people in Taylor's life, Karlie leaving Scooter at the first chance she got & the arc of the 'thought i was betrayed but I was really just heartbroken & being dramatic' story from Taylor, I am now a firm believer that there wasn't a 'big betrayal' from Karlie in regard to the Master's Heist.

The rest of it is all up for guesswork. Taylor definitely felt betrayed by something at first. We know there were already break-up songs on Lover written before the Master's Hiest which suggest Taylor was the one to push her lover away, yet they were still dappled with hope that she'd get them back. Potentially, Karlie had already been pushed away & had sought security in her long-term partnership with Josh/decided to marry him. After the engagement & 1st wedding, this is when we see Taylor's very 'loud' Lover Era - could this have been an attempt to 'prove herself' to Karlie & make a statement about what she was willing to do? However, Karlie was already comitted to Josh & had gone through with the 1st wedding. Within a 1 week period of June 2019, Karlie doubled down on going through with her 2nd wedding to Josh & her manager bought Taylor's Masters, making it extremely risky for Taylor to continue to make a career-changing choice of 'coming out' (if that's what she'd been intending to do). Could it have been orchestrated by Scooter (& Josh?) in order to keep Taylor closeted? Could Josh have been involved financially in order to put a stop to the rumours about Karlie after they'd already comitted to marriage & keep his business deals/ family connections safe from speculation? Could Karlie simply have been trapped in the middle of all of it & torn between her loyalty to both Taylor & Josh, causing an already heartbroken Taylor to 'kick the cat' and initially put the blame on Karlie for the way it all happened? (If you factor in the possibility that both Karlie & Josh might be closeted & had eventually comitted to a consentual Lavender Marriage, it makes the risk of Taylor exposing them even bigger. Josh was tied up in Billionaire conservative circles & relied heavily on his business partnerships in the Middle East & Asia, as well as pressure from the Trump side of the family. We have no idea what kind of pressure he & Karlie may have been under behind the scenes).

Who the hell knows - but if Karlie had directly, intentionally been involved in such a big betrayal to Taylor, I HIGHLY doubt her best friends/family would be having anything to do with her.

Folkmore shows a clear theme of working through different, conflicting emotions, & then in Midnights we're back to seeing the Karlie-coded songs being portrayed as a big, authentic love (not one that was hate-filled or hurtful)...so at the very least, I'm definitley on the team of believing they have worked through whatever they needed to & have drawn a line under it all :) + a little update since the Eras tour started we have seen some of Karlies friends attend the show such as Derek Blasberg (her long time best friend), Cara Delevingne…Gigi Hadid revealed she will attend the Eras tour and go to as many shows as she can and she was just recently seen with Karlie in Mumbai. I hope this post made some things more clear for everyone not knowing this side of the story.

#kaylor #taylor swift #karlie kloss #taylor and karlie #taylorswift #karliekloss #taylors version #swifties #eras tour #debunking #betrayal #reputation #lover #folkore #evermore #midnights #reddit #gaylor #mastersheist

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eviebane · 6 months

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Good Omens Brainrot: Starter Park

I will be updating this the more I find! Please feel free to suggest things~

Have you recently watched Good Omens and would like to go down the ineffable rabbit hole? Are you a Crowley/Aziraphale shipper? Do you want to find your way inside Neil Gaiman's walls?

Look no further! This post will get you up to speed on what's happening in the Good Omens fandom and is guaranteed to increase your brain rot by 6000%!

Post-Season 2 Theories

The Good Omens soundtrack is lying to you

Crowley's angel identity

The Clock Theory

Double meanings

Maggie is a Nephilim and my meta masterpost

The Coffee Theory

Matchbox foreshadowing

Good Omens Extras

The Deleted Bookshop Scene Animatic (from the Good Omens script book)

David Tennant reads the bookshop scene from Good Omens

Deleted scene from episode 1

Deleted scene Surrender the Angle

Deleted scene Mr and Ms Cheng

Deleted scene Rob encounters a demon

Deleted scene Justine's peanut allergy

Bloopers Crowley ordering drinks

Bloopers Mrs Henderson

BTS Bookshop Tour

BTS Burning Azi's bookshop

BTS Before & After VFX Breakdown

BTS Season 1

The 1992 movie script (link to Neil's post discouraging viewing due to copyright issues)

Analysis & Meta

ineffable-suffering's meta masterpost - NEW Crackpotting Theory Tracker

If you want to watch the kiss in Analysis Mode

Jane Austin in Good Omens

Va Va Voom yellow

How tied crowley is to gay (british) culture

The Bentley handle easter egg and how to tell the Bentley's apart

Silliness and why it's important

Beelzebub's thrones

Crowley's star making book

Mr Brown is in love with Aziraphale

People To Follow

Neil Gaimon's blog

Aziraphale's Library - huge catalogue of GO fics

The Good Omens Heritage Blog

Blogs to follow

ALCHEMY's YouTube channel - GO fan edits

Sendarya's YouTube channel - Azi's jewelry, the visual poetry of left and right, what does the smile mean?, Staged comparisons, and more)

Good Omens Book

The different Good Omens books explained

Things show only fans might not know and that upsets me

Other

The best Crowley playlist

Good Omens timeline in chronological order and a GIF edit

Where the South Downs thing comes from

Why Douglas leaving doesn't mean we will see a drop in quality

Popular Good Omens Headcanons That I Think Are Neat

David loves being set on fire

Crowley's eyes

What does Neil say about characters' genders?

Crowley is genderfluid

Crowley & Azi's relationship is queer

Every tape in the Bentley eventually turns into The Best of Queen

The Kiss - it's not to show they're in love, it was done in 3 takes, do it again please

#crowley #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #good omens #aziracrow #goodomens #good omens 2 #gomens #gomens 2 #ineffable divorce #good omens meta

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asimplearchivist · 9 months

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‘ 𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓵 𝓶𝔂 𝓿𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓮 . ’

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ steven, unbeknownst to him, meets the love of his life at one of its lowest points. pairing(s) ☽ steven grant/reader word count ☾ 15.7k a/n ☽ [gif credit] ⤏ aka my personal love letter to one steven grant (and myself, because I want to be loved like I love just once). ⤏ i am going to be completely honest on this one, guys: this is a borderline self-insert fic that is 100% self-indulgent on my part bc i have felt like shit the last two months and want to treat myself. ⤏ i kept it as a reader-insert because a) some people (including myself) enjoy experiencing different ‘pov’s of reader-inserts, per se; b) it’s easier to be kinder to and romanticize myself when it’s ‘not me’; and c) i feel that it’s still vague/inclusive enough to be counted as a general reader-insert versus labeling it strictly as a self-insert/original character. i really only describe personality traits and the reader being petite, really (bc nothing comforts my 5’0” ass more than knowing i would actually be able to kiss the boys without craning my neck all the way back tbh). i use a few southern colloquialisms, too, just fyi. :) ⤏ typical moon knight fanfic disclaimer: I don’t claim to know very much about did beyond what I’ve gleaned from both the show, the various meta posts I’ve read on tumblr, and from other fanfics themselves, so please forgive and correct me on any glaring discrepancies/issues I may have presented here (or link me any posts that discuss more accurate representations of did, perhaps—that’d be greatly appreciated). some of the terminology/technicalities escape me. I tried my best to get their voices and characterizations just right, and I sincerely hope I succeeded bc they’re very special to me. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER ☽

The first time Steven met you, it was strictly by happenstance.

He had always considered himself a man with many friends. Although his routine was relatively simple compared to other Londoners who thrived in social settings and spent all of their free time anywhere but home to mingle and chase tail, he had familiar faces he saw frequently. He committed their names to memory when they’d give them off-handedly, he made a point to speak to them in passing even if he or they were otherwise occupied, and he kept a mental list composed of all the details he was able to glean strictly from observation when they didn’t readily volunteer the information.

Perhaps it was a little silly. All lot of them had trouble remembering him, sure, but he couldn’t hold it against them—tons of people had trouble keeping track of faces and people. Sure, JB never quite got his name right even after Steven had worked at the museum for a couple of months by now, but he was a busy man monitoring the security cameras all day long and stayed distracted (with his infatuation with otters, no less—as endearing of a trait as any for someone with a secret soft side). Donna stayed in a tizzy, always worked up over something beyond her control (Steven couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be dealing with the higher-ups trying to meet goals and attempting to exceed them). He didn’t really dislike them for it, even if it had grown rather grating as of late. (Even if it would only take them both a moment to look at his conveniently given and placed nametag.)

Crowley didn’t talk much, all part of the gig, so Steven didn’t hold their one-sided conversations against him, either. The gentleman with the broom cart (whose name Steven never had managed to catch, as gruff as he was) seemed only to ever respond with grunts. The security guards, the tour guides, the usual suspects on the morning and night bus rides…Steven interacted with them all, and they had enough good graces to acknowledge it most of the time.

Over time, however, as his dreams (or perhaps more aptly named nightmares) grew more vivid and more bizarre, as he seemed to lose track of time more and more (how exactly does one manage to miss an entire weekend when one isn’t a blackout drunk?), and as Steven’s anxiety led him into taking more and more precautions to make sure his self-diagnosed sleepwalking disorder didn’t strand him on the other side of London (again), it became more readily apparent that those people with whom he took such care to converse did not seem particularly inclined to return the favor. Sure, he’d accidentally nodded off a few times leaning on the other passengers in the morning bus, ran a little late at times getting to the museum (much to Donna’s ever-increasing ire), and maybe got a little carried away with his nattering when he got invested in something he was excited to share information about, but…would it really kill someone just to respond long enough to reassure him that he wasn’t virtually invisible?

It was one such morning after he overslept, convinced he was late, and worked himself into a right and proper state trying to get to the museum on time that he realized that it was, in fact, Sunday, not Saturday. Much to his bewilderment but proven by his phone, the museum stood barren and closed, doors locked and lights off. He stood at the entrance staring at his dumbfounded expression in the glass for a good five minutes, thoughts racing as he tried to recall anything about the previous day. There was no way he slept an entire day, right? He hadn’t been staying up too late trying to manage his disorder, even if he had been running a little tired lately.

His distress was punctuated by a fat, chilly droplet landing right on his nose. The early spring weather was unseasonably cold this year, leading to an abnormally wet season (as if rain could ever be abnormal in London, but the meteorologists remained convinced), and within seconds of Steven turning and trotting down the steps the skies parted and released their torrential downpour as if just to spite him specifically. Everyone else in the immediate vicinity, if they weren’t holed up in their cars or the myriad establishments bordering the museum district, already had their umbrellas up to shield themselves from the frigid onslaught, ambling along and circumnavigating the puddles lingering from the storm the night before..

Steven shrank into his coat, tugging the collar up and over his head as best he could as he crossed the street and aimed for the first building he saw with its neon, ivory OPEN sign glowing against the gloom—on the corner directly across from the museum entrance. The door was heavy, the handle cold enough he was surprised his palm didn’t stick to it, but he managed to pry it open and tumble inside.

A few people glanced up from their tables to give him a range of skeptical to humored looks before going about their business. Steven hedged to the side of the door in case someone else came in, dripping onto the old hardwood with no small amount of regret.

It was a coffee shop. Comfortingly warm against his numb face, he basked in the scents of espresso and sweets permeating the place. His attention was caught by the bookshelves on the wall to his right, and he was entranced—all until a barista slipped out from the kitchen and addressed him with a croon. “Oh, goodness, look like the weather caught you!”

Steven almost accidentally ignored you thinking that you were talking to someone else (for so rarely did someone speak to him in a tone that wasn’t irritated or dismissive). After his cursory glance in your direction, he did a double-take, realizing you were looking right at him.

“Yeah, I—looked at the forecast wrong, methinks!” he responded sheepishly (and he had—he’d been expecting Saturday’s overcast mist, not Sunday’s shower). “I’m makin’ a right mess, aren’t I? I should probably go before I warp the stain—”

“No! No, just wait a second.” You raised a placating palm before dipping below sight behind the counter. You emerged and rounded the corner next to the display case holding a towel, walking right up to him and offering it to him with a sympathetic smile. “I can’t count the number of times I thought I could beat Mother Nature,” you joked. “It sucks that it’s been so cold on top of it. I’m surprised I haven’t gotten sick.”

Steven accepted it graciously, muttering his earnest thanks as he went about mopping up his sopping curls. Once he’d wiped all the rain he could off of him, he handed it back to you. “Hope I don’t get one, neither,” he responded. “It just wouldn’t do to catch cold in the middle of all this, would it? No.”

You chuckled a bit, eyes glittering with mirth. “Maybe it’ll help if I get you something hot to drink?”

Steven glanced at the menu hanging on the wall behind the counter, eyes rounding a little at the prices. He’d overspent on books again after payday, so he was having to be a bit more frugal this week than usual. “Oh, no, don’t go to the trouble, I’ll just call a cab and get a ride home before it gets too bad.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” you assured him, wringing the towel between your hands. You hesitated only a heartbeat before you leaned in a little closer, smile turning a bit bashful. “I’ll make it on the house, how’s that sound?”

Steven normally considered himself one to give where charity was concerned, but he had to admit that the sound of something warm on his urgently empty stomach was divine at the moment. He cleared his throat, glancing towards the other customers still wrapped up in their own little worlds. “No, I couldn’t—wouldn’t want anyone jealous that they’re not gettin’ the special treatment, you know.”

“It can be our little secret,” you offered quietly, winking conspiratorially at him.

He blinked, heat creeping up into his face. “Oh, well. If you insist, then…just this once?”

“All right.” Your smile lit up your entire face, and you headed back behind the counter to deposit the towel in an unseen hamper.

Steven followed, training his eyes on the menu—the standard fare was reasonable, with alternative options for dietary restrictions. A lot of the custom concoctions did seem lovely, and he was a tad surprised to discover that they served breakfast and lunch, also—with vegan options, most notably. “Wow, I never even knew this place existed. I must’ve been walkin’ right by it this whole time.”

“Do you work at the museum?” you inquired, folding your arms over the counter and propping your chin up in your palm.

“I do, actually,” he beamed, though it was dashed a tad with his next confession. “I want to be a tour guide one day—you know, I’ve been studyin’ up for it and all—but they’ve got me in the gift shop. For now! They said they’d move me up with a new position becomes available.” They said that they would consider him for the role, but Steven clung to his hope that they’d soon realize how bloody good he’d be at it, as hard as he’d been working for it for so long.

“You always have to start somewhere,” you replied warmly. You gestured to the shop around you. “This is just to hold me over ‘til I’m finished up.”

“Are you a transfer student?” Steven asked.

Your brow rose slightly, but your smile didn’t waver. “How observant. Most people ask me how I got lost on this side of the pond.”

“It isn’t often I see Americans anywhere but in the more touristy spots,” he agreed, “but the university is quite prestigious. You must be very academically successful if you landed a transfer scholarship like that.”

“It took a lot of work,” you admitted, “but it’s been worth it. I never thought I’d do anything like this, and I would’ve laughed at you a couple of years ago if you’d told me I’d move this far away from home. I’ve never really been the traveling type, but I’m so grateful that I’ve had the opportunity to do so.”

“What are you studyin’?” Steven inquired. An English major, perhaps—you struck him as the literary type with your articulation, despite your soft, southern drawl.

“Oh.” Your face darkened and you fiddled with the hem of your sweatshirt—dark gray, warm flannel, with a silver astronomical design embroidered into the front. “Well. I went to a university back home and got a degree in writing—” Nailed it! “—but I was notified at graduation that I qualified for this so I thought why not? It’s a bit self-indulgent, really, as I’ve always been a history nut, but I’m, um…” You reached up and scratched the nape of your neck, glancing away as though embarrassed. “...focusing on Egyptology?”

Steven’s brows shot halfway up his forehead. “No kiddin’!”

“Nope,” you confessed, a bit sheepish. “I picked up a book with pictures of King Tutankhamun’s treasures when I was three and I’ve been in love with it since. Maybe it’s a little niche, but it makes me happy—I’m taking other history classes, too, so I’ll end up with an Ancient History major with a minor in Egyptology—that’s just my main focus since I always wanted to be an Egyptologist when I was little. I don’t know that I could ever stand the heat, though, so I’m happy with writing in the comfort of my own home.”

“No, that’s great!” he raved, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m a bit of a history buff meself! The museum has a huge Egyptology exhibit coming up next month, so I’ve been brushin’ up on it all. You know, in case I get to audition.”

“Oh, yeah?” you tried, emerging from your shell just a bit. “Do you have a favorite period?”

“New Kingdom, definitely,” he said immediately. His heart was thrumming, and he was trying (in vain) to contain at least the majority of his enthusiasm. “There’s just so much material to go through. All the texts recovered from Deir el-Medina fascinate me to no end!”

“Yeah, Paneb was a right bastard,” you joked. “He had the whole town stirred up all the time. But we’re not going to talk about Ea-Nasir.”

“Oh, yeah—imagine keepin’ all your hate mail for posterity,” he returned, strumming his fingers against the inside of his sleeves. “What about you?”

“Oh, I’m an Old Kingdom gal,” you said with a chuckle. “Pepi II’s letter about the pygmy won me over. Not to mention all the drama with Teti’s assassination. The workmen’s village at Giza? Oh, how could I pick one thing?”

Finally! Finally, it felt like Steven was talking to someone that spoke his language!

“It’s really hard to, isn’t it?” His stomach was starting to grumble. He cleared his throat, tamping down his anticipation just enough to concentrate on the matter at hand. He glanced up at the menu again, a little remiss with some of the unfamiliar choices—most of those displayed were coffee, but he’d been trying to curb himself off of it in favor of cutting out caffeine altogether for a better sleep schedule. “I, um…sorry, got a little sidetracked there. What would you recommend that’s decaf?”

“Oh, I love chai,” you told him. “Most of the teas we carry are decaf, though we do have decaf coffee, too. We’ve got all the usuals like chamomile, mint, Earl Grey…” You tilted your head slightly. “I’ve been avoiding caffeine since I was a teenager—it makes me antsy.”

“How do you normally take your chai?” he queried, curious.

“As an iced latte,” you said. “Cold foam, cinnamon, whole milk. I like it warm, too, especially this time of year, but there’s something about it iced that I can’t seem to part from—maybe that’s the southern upbringing in me.” You gestured to the equipment behind you. “Would you like to try it?”

“Yeah, sure! But with oat milk, please?”

“You’ve got it, darlin’,” you beamed, and set to work immediately. “I usually drink a small since it’s a bit sweet, that okay?”

“Certainly.”

Never would Steven have thought that he’d find such a deeply kindred soul a stone’s throw away from his workplace he’d never even noticed before today. He had to confess that he was charmed by you almost instantly. It had been a while since he’d met someone so engaging and open—not to mention generous and drop-dead gorgeous to boot! Ironic, really, that the foreigner was treating him more kindly than his native kinsmen. What did the Americans say about southern hospitality?

“Thank you so much,” he said when you returned with the cup and set it in front of him. “It looks great!”

“Go ahead and try it,” you suggested, “and if you don’t like it, I’ll replace it for you with something else.”

Steven had absolutely no intention of telling you to your face that he disliked your favorite beverage, even if he did decide it wasn’t to his taste—much less make you go out of your way to make him another free drink. But as he sipped the heady, sweet mixture the spices melted over his tongue. Despite being served cold, the flavors warmed his mouth and settled cozily into his belly.

“Oh,” he suspired, licking the foam from his lips, “that’s lovely. You’ve won a convert.”

Your smile was nearly blinding with delight. “I’m glad! It’s not for everyone, certainly, but those who do like it always seem to love it. No in between, I guess.”

Steven resisted the urge to suck the entire thing down, folding it between his hands instead as he committed more details of your appearance to memory. Your black apron was a bit big for your frame, dwarfing you a bit, but your sweatshirt did, too—your jeans were well-fitted but not snug. You were wearing very little makeup, just a touch around the eyes, but it emphasized your lashes like a fawn’s. While comfortable, if a bit plain, your ensemble made you seem like the epitome of homey.

“How long have you lived in London?” he asked after another delightful sip.

“Since the start of spring semester,” you said. “It was a big adjustment to show up at the tail end of winter, but I think I’ve gotten the hang of it now for the most part. I still get lost occasionally, but that’s why Google Maps was invented. I’d be up a creek without a paddle without it.” You leaned against the counter again, bracing yourself on the stained surface and gazing up at him as if there existed no other person in the world. “I live right next to the campus, but I work here to get away even though my scholarships carry most of my bills and fees. Ironic, though, ‘cause I don’t exactly consider myself a socialite.”

“You’ve fooled me,” he said with a chuckle. “Bit odd bein’ an ambivert, yeah?”

“I really only talk a lot when I get excited or when I’m with people I’m comfortable being around,” you confessed shyly. “I’ve been told I talk too much about stuff nobody really cares about, so I try not to bother anyone.”

“Now who on earth would have gone and told you that?” he pressed, heart aching all the while. How many times had he been told the very same thing, sometimes with less polite wording?

“Oh, not exactly like that,” you rectified in a hurry, “it’s just…you can tell, you know? When someone isn’t really paying attention to anything you’re saying. I usually get interrupted anyway, so sometimes I find it easier just to keep quiet.” Your skin darkened again, and cleared your throat as you dipped your face to conceal it with a hand. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I went into all that. See? Rambling too much—words got away from me.”

It was like looking into a mirror—so much so that Steven almost felt a bit of deja-vu.

“No, don’t be sorry,” he said softly. “I understand completely—really, I do. Better than you might think.”

You raised your gaze back up to him, and he understood at once why the philosophers and poets both waxed so romantic on the concept of windows to the soul. He could see your tenderness, your diffidence, your sincerity all there in your jewel-like eyes.

“People talkin’ over you all the time,” he continued with a low murmur, looking down at the cup when the intensity of your stare grew too much—just like looking directly into the sun, “actin’ like you’re invisible or somethin’. Gets frustratin’, yeah? Couldn’t even bother to act like you’re there, could they? No. Seems like too much to ask.”

“Yeah,” you said somberly, but when Steven dared a glance up at you, your expression was one of complete understanding. Never before had he felt so seen. “It doesn’t help when you’re really not a people person to begin with.”

And now that Steven considered it more deeply, he realized that you were right—why did he prefer to stay home rather than go out? Keeping company with a goldfish certainly wasn’t an extrovert’s definition of a good time. Hell, the only reason he really went out of his way to engage with those on the fringes of his daily routine was because he felt it was rude not to because of constant exposure, not because he was itching to have the conversations themselves. He worried constantly that he’d overshare or annoy people, when most wouldn’t even think of it.

He let out a soft laugh, pressing a palm across his forehead.

You quirked a brow, your expression perking up just a bit at the sound. “What?”

“I just realized I’m not really a people person, either,” he said, shaking his head. “Thought all this time everyone else was just awkward at social interaction.”

“Oh,” you chuckled, and there was that ephemeral sparkle of mirth back in your eyes. “Well. Better late than never, right?”

“Right.” He paused, then set the drink on the counter to fish around in his pocket for his wallet. “Here, since you’ve been an absolute angel—”

“Oh, no, please,” you said, waving your palms at him in an attempt to dissuade him, “it was my pleasure. Finding someone else as big of a nerd about Ancient Egypt was tip enough, thank you. You’ve made my whole day.”

And even though his morning thus far had been an utter disaster, Steven believed that you had made his entire day, too.

“Well, all right.” He pointed a finger at you with a wry, toothy grin. “But next time you won’t be able to talk me out of it.”

“Next time?” you echoed, and the unadulterated hope in your eyes made his heart clench.

“Yeah,” he said, “where else will I be able to order the ambrosia of the gods? And nerd out about ancient civilizations? Not all baristas carry a double-edged sword like you do.”

You bit your lip, rolled the hem of your sleeve between your fingertips, and looked down and away. “Oh, stop it. It’s really just a hobby.” You gave him another cheeky smile. “But, if it would make a difference to you, since you seem the type…” You leaned in across the counter, and Steven found himself copying the action as though you had magnetized him. “...there’s a bookstore upstairs, too.”

Oh, bloody Nora, as if you weren’t already perfect enough.

Read the rest of the chapter here! :)

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