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burnorgetburned · 9 months

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EVEN MORE CLARA DOLL DETAILS:

So you know how the Dolls have their own distinctive clothes?

Guess who else has their own distinctive clothes!

That’s right. The multiple Homuras are actually Clara Dolls.

And that’s why ‘Homura’ is smiling.

Here they are! The one with the striped hat is Nekura (Gloominess or Pessimism) and the one with the flower is Mie (Vanity).

Here’s their descriptions from the art book.

[The second one to come was Gloominess. Walking out with a tapping sound, she sneered at Good-for-Nothing. “This is Good-for-Nothing! How very unbecoming.” These dolls are only disciples of Freedom, and are devoted to their lust for it.]

[The tenth to come running is Vanity. She exaggeratedly avoids Good-for-Nothing's head and says a few words. “I wouldn't be able to bear dirtying my cape with that sticky blood!” These dolls make fun of the witch's self-mutilation.]

Good-for-Nothing is Homura, by the way, but the Clara Dolls seem to consider Good-for-Nothing to be good for something after all after she splits Madoka. She turns into the Devil, and the Clara Dolls are stated to be “okay” with the Devil. If the young voices in the trailer belong to the Clara Dolls, then they also call her “Akuma-sama” now. Something like Mistress Devil, implying a sense of respect.

[… if they are not summoned, they will simmer. There are orders they will comply with, and also orders they will disobey. What they are and the witch herself's own magic are not well understood.]

At the end of Rebellion, Homura gave Madoka her ribbon back. She declared that they might become enemies in the end. Honestly, I thought that Homura would try her best to avoid Madoka entirely. The trailer suggested that Homura was meeting Madoka, though. Here’s the answer: it wasn’t Homura herself, but Gloominess, who wants freedom.

Now, I’m not sure how this situation works out. Do Clara Dolls have free will? Are they obeying Homura’s orders? Acting out Homura’s true emotions? Is Homura perhaps directly puppeteering them in order to fulfill her goals, or do they act on their own?

I find it likely that it’s a mix of both: some of them obey her, and some of them will try and fulfill her (probably very conflicting) desires, as familiars usually do. Gloominess is likely part of Homura who wants the freedom to talk to Madoka, for example, but Vanity seems to me like a Clara Doll who is obeying Homura. After all, she still needs magical girls to fight wraiths, at least until she finds a way to wipe them out.

[I'm Vanity (Mie). I'm pushing myself to the limit for someone.] And she is, of course. All of the theatrics, the calls, the organization of magical girls. These are things that Vanity is shown to engage in. All of this is for Madoka.

We see with Gloominess, at least, that she seems to be fulfilling a specific desire: in the background are white spider lilies. Instead of the red spider lilies that mean death, final goodbyes, and lost love, white spider lilies mean a hope for the future and a fresh start. Maybe this really is the first meeting for these two in a while, and she wants to be friends again?

Or maybe, being Gloominess, she wants to warn her about something.

[I'm Gloominess (Nekura). Forcing smiles tires me out.]

Then there’s this Homura.

Nothing about her clothes is very different. She is wearing ribbons as Homura in the wraith universe does, but look closely: the ribbons are different. They have some wavy stripes on them, while Madoka’s ribbons are plain. She does not correspond to any known Clara Doll.

However, there’s mentioned to be a fifteenth Clara Doll that is not yet born: Ai, representing love. This could be her. Is it love for others? Or love for herself? I’m hoping it’s the latter, but very likely it’s love for Madoka and her friends. This would explain why she’s trying to fight Homucifer in the poster, as Homura believes that she’s a danger to everyone else.

How can this be? Well, here’s a few options:

- The Clara Dolls are grown-up familiars. They ate souls, and they became a copy of their witch. This is a process that was explained to us in the original series, where some magical girls are stated to farm familiars by letting them eat people so that they would grow souls/grief seeds.

- The Clara Dolls are not familiars, or wraiths, but instead a secret third thing. “What they are and the witch’s own magic are not well understood”, as said in the Rebellion art book. They could be magical constructs of a different kind, but I do think that this would get into overcomplicated explanations quickly, so I favor the familiar explanation.

- The Clara Dolls could be familiars, but instead of eating souls they’re simply powerful enough to change their shape. Their strength is equal to the strength of a magical girl…. when Homura was a witch, before Homura became something more. It could also be energy from the contracts making them stronger. Maybe it’s me being sentimental, but I don’t like the idea of Homura letting anyone’s soul be nommed on.

Now, before there’s a panic about how they’ll juggle fifteen extra characters, here’s a few thoughts:

- Just because they seem different doesn’t mean they’re actually different. It might be that the Clara Dolls are a way for Homura to present herself. As Vanity, she might show off more, or have dramatic flourishes like her throne and her dress. As Gloominess, it might be that she doesn’t believe that her plans will work, so she tries to do what makes her happy. It’s likely that the Clara Dolls are just extra ways to explore Homura’s character. They’re parts of her soul, after all, and right now she is extremely powerful. She might simply want to keep her true self away from humans.

- They could work like projections. Homura wants more bodies to work with, but she has to filter herself through the Dolls’ personalities. This could result in a lot of juicy character interactions, as the things she tries to keep hidden are closer to the surface.

- Will ‘Ai/Mystery Homura’ fight against Devil Homura? Very likely! How can this be when they’re the same person? Well, who hates Homura more than Homura? That’s right. Nobody. Anyone can fight and argue with their self, it’s just usually not on the level that a reality-warper like Homura can manage.

If this is true, there’s plenty of interesting directions they can take it.

- Because the Clara Dolls have a degree of separation from Homura, they can show other characters things that Homura herself has ignored or locked away. Bad memories, affection for her friends, the resentment she must feel - everything from concern to a cry for help can be plausibly shown through them as the actors.

- Manuke (Stupidity) is specifically more naive/sincere than the others. Maybe interacting with this Doll would show the Quintet that there’s something more going on than a Devil who wants to hurt other people.

- If Ai represents a love for other people, Ai can have a strange character arc where she learns to value Homura/herself, and become self-love.

- On the other hand, Ai can represent self-love from the start, and because Homura looks very fucking unhealthy in the trailer, she only wants to stop her because she’s hurting herself. This option plays into the themes of self-sacrifice and happiness, which I believe to be some of the major themes that they’re going for.

- The poster could be misleading and Ai ends up fighting everyone but Homura. I find this the funniest option.

- Homura can hug herself. It’s possible. In fact, every character can hug Homura 15 different times.

Smiles are a Clara Doll’s default expression. We have yet to see Homura smile for real.

Is this going to get very ambiguous and confusing? Probably. But rewatching for details was the fun part in Rebellion, so I’m looking forward to it!

#walpurgis no kaiten #walpurgisnacht rising #pmmm #homura akemi #madoka magica #puella magi madoka magica #Homura also looks like she’s coughing in that final shot but I can’t find a way to put it in coherently #the Homuras on the tower are too far away for me to look at. sorry.#please don’t start saying things like ‘Ai is SELFLESS LOVE who wants to free Madoka and Homura is ‘SELFISH LOVE who wants to keep Madoka’—#I… disagree. I’d be happy to debate with you but send a message please #pmmm analysis #pmmm rebellion #homucifer #clara dolls #long post

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magics-neptunes-things · 7 months

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Impossible Love Resists Best

Hi guys ♥

First of all, can we talk about this gif please?

It’s from this request that I received like an eternity ago, sorry?

Summary : How to survive when your super-protective-intrusive older sister aka Patri Guijarro discovers that you have an affair with one of your teammates.

TW : Swearing, !GuijarroReader

Enjoy and tell me what you think about this one :)

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We can’t really say that Patri is the one you better get along with between your other brothers and sisters. Even if you were born two years after her, you don’t have quite the same tempter. You were four children in the family and the only thing that brought you and Patri together was football. You never liked seeing her meddle in your affairs or wanting to control every parts of your life.

So when she found herself playing at FC Barcelona in 2015, you were pretty relieved. You chose Atletico Madrid some months after her departure, just to stay in Spain but not follow her steps. Your call to the Spanish national team, however, more or less forced you to play together from time to time. When your contract with Atletico ended and you had to make a choice, you hesitated for a long time before accepting the offer from Barcelona. Seeing your sister every day honestly made you hesitate a lot. It was one thing to support her at family celebrations, but it was another to have her in everyday life.

So, before you agreed, you asked Alexia Putellas for advice. You play together on the national team and she knows Patri very well. You knew Alexia would take your opinion into consideration and think about the well-being of her team before anything else. After much discussion with her, you finally agreed and arrived in Barcelona in the summer of 2022.

And finally, everything went rather well. You didn’t spend too much time with your sister, preferring to train with Salma, Ingrid and Mapi or Lucy. Unlike Patri, you went to the World Cup in Australia and even though it caused some tense discussions between you two, it never changed your way of seeing things.

Apart from the ideals and your desire to change things, you had to admit that there was something else that made you want to fly to kangaroo country. I mean, someone.

This someone who wakes up gently at your side, opening her delicious chocolate eyes.

You and Ona met during your first selection for the Spanish adult team. It wasn’t until after Euro 2022 that you got together. A sweet way to console yourself for your defeat. But, concerned about your sister’s reaction, you decided to keep this relationship hidden. When Ona was still in Manchester, it wasn’t too complicated. You talked a lot by messages or by Facetime and since the Federation used to always make the same pairs for hotel rooms, you took the opportunity to find yourself at those times.

You were afraid that Ona’s arrival in Barcelona would change things, but not at all. The beautiful brunette took an apartment five minutes walk from yours, finding you the excuse to carpool very often. Nobody suspected that if you came together sometimes, it was because you spent the night together. In truth, since Ona is in the same city as you are, you have trouble spending time away from her.

"Holà" Ona mumble before turning in her back to stretch her body.

Her movement brings down the sheet on her body and you don't hesitate to let your eyes slide on her. When you go up to her eyes, she arched an amused eyebrow and you offer her a guilty smile.

"Don’t start like this, or we will never get there on time"

"I’m not even sorry"

You give her an angelic smile that makes her laugh and you get closer to her to curl up against her, your head on her chest. The regular beating of her heart makes you doze again, unless it's her nails that massage your skull. You hums and close your eyes, getting yourself comfortable.

"Do you have anything to do today? After training?"

"Pina is planning to kidnapp me to go shopping"

You roll your eyes as Ona giggle. You hate shopping. You hate looking for something for hours, only to realize that what you liked is no longer available in the right size. You hate people in stores who go half crazy and having to lug a dozen bags to your parked car 20 minutes walk away makes you want to kill someone.

"And you?"

"Nothing, maybe I'll go see my parents"

You hums one more time and begin to stroke Ona's arm. This is maybe your favorite part of her body, you have a thing with her arms and hands. You both stay like this for twenty minutes, before you need to prepare yourself for training. Like many other times, you arrive together in the car park and go together to the changing rooms. But, in order not to draw the attention of your teammates to your relationship, you and Ona decided to spend as much time together visually as with others. Because outside of FC Barcelona, it’s clear that Ona is the one you spend the most time with.

********

Celebrating a team victory at a local bar, you find yourself stuck between Mapi and Lucy. Usually you refuse this kind of party, knowing that Patri is there almost every time. And besides, Ona has a reputation for leaving early, so she can discreetly join you at home without it appearing strange. The only time you left one of these parties together, you were surprised by Alexia while you were kissing in Ona’s car, unable to keep your hands to yourself after restricting yourself all evening. The blond was looking for you to give you back the jacket you had forgotten.

This makes her the only person who knows about your relationship and she promised not to get involved, even though she advised you to talk to Patri before she found out for herself.

You were drinking alcohol-free cocktail, not wanting to have a headache tomorrow morning.

"I'm booooored" Mapi whines, letting herself go of the backrest. "I need an occupation. Why don’t we find you someone, Mini-Guijarro?"

You grimace at the nickname you hate, seeing Ona tense on her chair a few meters from you. Not wanting to be the second Guijarro, you actually go with your first name on your jersey for example.

"Go dancing with your girlfriend, you dork" you answer smiling at Mapi, sipping your drink.

"Are you annoying my little sister?" Patri ask sitting on the free chair in front of you. "That’s one thing I have reserved for myself, you know?"

Mapi laugh as you roll your eyes. The blonde sits more upright and leans on the table explaining her action plan to Patri.

"I thought we could find someone for your sister."

"Are you joking? She’s a baby" Patri replies coldly, killing the fun.

"What are you talking about? She’s not a 12 years old anymore"

Your frown and take a quick look at Ona. She's looking at you too, but like some other girl around your table. Mapi had raised an eyebrow and Patri was about to respond to her before Lucy does it first.

"Why don’t you stop talking about her like she’s not here?"

Both decided not to add anything, at least for the first few seconds. This gives you time to shoot a look and a smile to thanks Lucy, who answers you with a wink.

It’s exactly for this kind of thing that you never talked about your relationship with Ona to Patri and for which you never talked about your love life with her. She knows you have a preference for women, but that’s all. She never even knew the name of one of your girlfriends. Not that you’ve had dozens, but still.

"Do you know she’s a footballer and not a nun, at least?"

Mapi comes back, getting your sister’s attention and you sigh.

"What do you mean?"

Looking kind of angry, Patri crossed her arms on her chest and looks at Mapi with a bad air. Mapi seems determined to change her mind and let you have a sentimental life, perhaps imagining that Patri’s opinion has already prevented you from doing something.

"She’s young, pretty hot and I’m sure that if she wanted to she’d walk out of here with several phone numbers."

"Just because you used to sleep around at the time doesn’t mean everyone does. And don't go there or I'm sure Ingrid would love to learn that you call one of your common friend hot."

Mapi’s amused look becomes a black stare and you decide that the line had been crossed. You get up from your seat, glaring at your sister, raising your voice maybe a little too much than you hopped.

"Enough. Can you stop two minutes of disrespecting people, Patri? I do what I want, when I want, with whom I want. It's not for you to say what is good for me, as if you were interested enough in me for that, other than to remind me all the time that you do everything better than me. You’re just so pathetic. Leave me the fuck alone."

Moving away from the table, you realize that Ona is no longer in her seat but you find her leaning on the bar, in the company of others of your teammates. Going through the dance floor, you intercept Ingrid and advise her to go and get her girlfriend before her and your sister kill each other. Then you finally join the bar and settle down next to Ona.

You meddle in the discussion a few minutes before discreetly shifting your attention to Ona. Your hand found her fingers under the bar and you clenched them discreetly to draw her attention to you.

"Are you okay?" you ask her gently.

"Yeah. The comment about your sentimental possibilities was a little too much"

You make a grimace, frustrated not to be able to take her in your arms to reassure her properly. You stay immersed in her eyes for a few more moments and you realize that you no longer want to stay. You want to go home, your sister’s behavior has greatly annoyed you and you want to talk about it to Ona, too.

"As soon as someone leave, we're leaving too" you decide.

Ona nods and she had the time to finish her drink before Lucy and Aitana decided to leave. You jump at the chance and tell the others that you’re coming home too, followed by Ona. The four of you go out after saying your goodbyes, yourself carefully avoided your sister’s gaze, and it is with great relief that you breathe fresh air from the outside. Ona and you said goodbye to the two others women and went to your car.

"My sister is the dumbest person on earth" you groan angrily, barely the door of the car closed behind you.

Ona smiled sympathetically, but said nothing. She didn’t want to add fuel to the fire, knowing how tense your relationship with Patri has been since you were little. It’s not the first time you’ve complained about it and you’ve already told her a lot. But the way she’s behaving with you makes you half crazy, not to mention she’s even starting to talk badly to your mutual friends now. Mapi and Patri being apparently still in the bar when you left, you imagined that Ingrid’s intervention must have been saving the night.

You relax a little when you feel Ona’s hand on yours. She searches for some seconds on her phone a playlist that will suit you both and the rest of the trip is done in silence. You obviously notice that your girlfriend is also lost in her thoughts, but you prefer to wait until you are at home to question her.

When you arrive home, you both go to the kitchen to drink a glass of water before making a jump in the bathroom to shower before returning to your bedroom. There, you draw Ona against you and you let a new silence settle. You shiver when you feel her draw random shapes on the skin of your belly and even if the feeling is more than pleasant, you decide to attract her attention by raising her chin in your direction.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"I was just wondering what would happen the day Patri heard about us" Ona said, shrugging.

"You saw what she said earlier, it’s clear that she will take it badly."

You sigh and gently shake your head. She’s your sister, she’s supposed to want your happiness, right?

"Yes, that’s, okay. But us?"

"I don’t understand your question Hermosa"

Eyebrows slightly gathered, you watch Ona sit on your lap and you automatically place your hands on her thighs.

"I’m going to ask you the most selfish question in the world." Ona looks embarrassed, but you smile at her and beckon to continue. "If she tells you to stop our relationship, what would you do?"

The answer seems obvious to you, but you quickly realize that in Ona’s mind this is not necessarily the case. Perhaps it comes from the fact that his parents and brother have never behaved in a way other than that of a loving and supportive family.

"I'm not going to listen Ona, obviously. This option isn't even a possibility."

"Really?"

"Really."

With this you smile and draw her against you again to put your lips on hers. The shyness displayed on your girlfriend’s face squeezes your heart and you resent Patri a little more to impose this kind of doubts. During the kiss your hand is placed on her cheek and you caress her tenderly with your thumb when you speak again.

"I don’t want to lose you, Ona"

"Me neither, Princesa"

********

The next morning, it’s with a better mood that you wake up. When you look at your phone, you realize that your sister tried to call you last night, but you decide to ignore this information for now. You put on an underwear and a t-shirt of Ona, trying not to make any noise and not to wake up the pretty brunette who still sleeps peacefully. You know she usually wakes up quickly once you’re out of bed, but you still have hope that you can make her breakfast before she joins you.

You rummage through your kitchen, realizing it might be time to go shopping, but you end up finding everything you need. The avocado toasts are ready and you were finishing your scrambled eggs when Ona startles you by jumping on your back. The cry you utter is far from advantageous to you, but you cannot hold back your smile when you hear Ona’s laughters.

"Don’t scare me like that!"

"Sorry" she laughs again before putting a kiss on your cheek and coming down from your back.

You cast an amused glance at her before turning in her direction with a plate in each hand.

"Mrs’s breakfast is served"

"It’s Miss until I’m married, thank you" she smirks, taking her plate from your hand.

"Watch out, Batlle."

She stick out her tongue at you and you roll your eyes before following her on the sofa in the living room, where you have the habit of having breakfast, with a music channel on. The discussion between you two is easy and playful, plans to go to the beach being even made since you have the day off. As a local, Ona knows exactly where to go to avoid the world. And doing a little road has never been disturbing for you. You love your trips with your cars, make with laughter and songs of your adolescence shouted out loud.

Your plates and glasses finished, you turn to Ona.

"Have you eaten enough?"

You ask while looking at her, lazily stretching. The dishes will wait a little while before being made.

"Not really" said Ona in a dreamy way. "I think I wouldn’t mind a dessert"

You barely have time to realize what she means that she jumps on you (literally) and you find yourself lying all along on the couch, your hands stuck in Ona’s above your head.

"Oh. This kind of dessert" you laugh, although your laugh get stuck in your throat when you feel her lying on you to deposit open-mouth kisses in the hollow of your neck.

She knows exactly what to do and you feel waves of shivers and heat running through your entire body. You lose your feet when you feel her add bites to her kisses, not enough to leave marks, but enough to set your skin on fire.

You finally manage to free your hands and this manage to satisfy your need to feel Ona’s skin on yours. The t-shirt she was wearing found itself carelessly thrown on the ground somewhere, soon followed by yours. The warmth of her body against your skin gives you incredible sensations and you let her body slide between your legs to feel her even closer to you. Grabbing her head with both of your hands, you kiss her, trying to show her all the emotions she makes you feel. Judging by the moan she lets out, it must be pretty convincing.

Your living room being the first thing visible once the front door of your apartment is passed, it would have been almost impossible to try to hide somewhere. You know you would have tried anyway if you had realized earlier that your front door was opening. Yet you and Ona just have time to turn your heads to find out that the intruder is no one but your sister. To whom you had the stupidity to give the double of your keys, on the insistence of your mother.

Your first reflex is to roll Ona behind you and sit in front of her to hide her nakedness, not particularly wanting your sister to see your girlfriend like that.

"What are you doing here?" you ask.

The number of times Patri has set foot here is counted on the fingers of the hand. That she passed without even taking the time to warn you is surprising, but the one who is the most surprised of the three is probably Patri herself. Wide-eyed, she seems about to drop the paper bag with the logo of the local bakery.

You take advantage of her shock to pick up your t-shirts and get dressed and that’s where Patri restarts. You even wonderif she realized in the first instance that the person with whom you were exchanging a kiss qualified Pegi 18 was actually Ona.

"What the fuck is going on here?!"

She’s angry, of course. The bag of the bakery is thrown on a piece of furniture and when you hear her raise your voice, you get up from the sofa to be at her height. By an alignment of the stars you are taller than her by a few centimeters and you thank the nature of this gift, knowing how impressive Patri can be when she's angry.

"Don’t yell at me, you’re at my house, not yours"

"Shut up! You’re so stupid. Just to stand up to me about last night you had to take someone home? And one of our other teammates?"

The statement is so unexpected that you find yourself speechless for a few seconds. You never imagined for a second that your sister would think that you and Ona were just a one-night stand. But it's especially the fact that she imagines that it turns once again around her that annoys you.

"Out of all the girls in the bar you chose Ona? How can you be so immature?"

"And I'm the immature one now"

You’re laughing, nervously of course. You are so angry that you feel your hands shake, but you manage to keep a certain degree of calm when you feel Ona gently settling her arm on you. Over your shoulder, you look at her. You would have preferred to announce your relationship to your sister in better conditions, but since we were there…

However, it's Patri who speaks before you, speaking directly to Ona.

"What about you? Are you crazy or what? My little sister? Let go of her Ona or I swear that you will regret it"

Yeah, you know you’re not doing the right thing either. But the tone she speaks to the woman you love is even worse than the one she spoke to Mapi last night. And that’s all it takes to get you started.

"Don't you dare talk to her like that" you said to her sharply while bypassing the coffee table to face her.

"I came to apologize for speaking badly to you last night, but I would have been better off getting hit by a car apparently"

She keeps screaming and it starts to get on your nerves.

"This idea is tempting to me" you spit

You try to maintain your anger by talking to her coldly, teeth clenched. You feel Ona moving behind you, standing without really knowing what to do. Her presence, however, allows you to realize that it would be better to continue to try to explain yourself rather than respond to Patri’s provocations. So you take a deep breath before speaking again.

"Look, listen to me. It's not what it look like, I k-"

"Yeah, like you two weren't about to fuck on your couch."

Two seconds of astonished silence followed her sarcasm, while you realized that you correctly understood what she just said. And, so suddenly that neither Ona nor Patri had time to realize what was happening, you grab your sister by the collar of her t-shirt to get her out of your house.

"Get. Out."

You raised your voice too and push her out of your apartment with all your strength. You slam the door in her head, then grab her damn bag of croissant, open the door again to throw it in her face and slam it one more time. The neighbors will be happy.

********

Lying on the couch in Ona’s apartment after an intense workout, you’re both watching your new passion series on Netflix. You haven’t looked at your sister or spoken to her for more than a week now and you still as mad at her. You and Ona informed Alexia of the turn of events and after a long discussion with her, you decided to gradually let your teammates know about your relationship.

Most were surprised to learn this, but after seeing the different pieces of the puzzle put together, it didn't seem improbable to them. For her part, Lucy laughed, saying that she already knew and that you were not very discreet when it came to ogling the other. And Mapi slapped you in the back, certifying that you had very good taste. It made you roll your eyes and laughed Ona, but overall you are rather relieved of everyone’s reactions. Even management and the team committee were briefed and made no comments.

There was only Patri.

"I knew he was cheating on her. What a son of a bitch" grumbles Ona, eyes fixing on the screen while lying against you.

You smile and slide your lips into her hair while shifting your attention to the screen. Despite your respective fears, Patri’s behavior didn't distance you, quite the contrary. Your way of doing things hasn't changed during training or matches, both wishing to keep a distance between your professional life and your personal life.

"Language, young lady" you sing before kissing her scalp again.

You are interrupted in your viewing by your phone which starts to vibrate on the coffee table, attracting your attention. You decided not to answer, before the name of the person trying to reach you appeared. "Papi". You frown, extending your arm to grab your phone. Your dad’s not one to call, just texting with dozens of emoji every text.

After putting the episode on Pause, Ona turns on you so that she is lying on her stomach to be able to look at you. Your concern must be seen since she's also frowning.

"Holà?"

"Holà mija" your father calmly answers you, as if you were calling each other every night.

"What's happening?" you asks, not wanting to lose time.

"Nothing, I just wanted to hear you. It's been a while."

"Do I have to remind you who I got my poor lying qualities from?" you ask while bowing an eyebrow.

At the other end of the line, your father laughs softly and this makes you smile despite everything. Always a little lost, Ona questions you with a look. Unable to give her additional information at the moment, you shrug and replace tenderly one of the strands of her bun.

"Maybe, but you have your football skills from me"

"Sure. So, what's up?"

"Well... Patri called."

"Oh."

Here we are. You roll your eyes and put your phone on speakers, allowing your girlfriend to listen to the conversation. After all, she was as involved in the story as you.

"What did Lady Patri say?"

"She said that you had a fight about a random girl and that you threw her out of your apartment. And that since this day you weren't talking to her."

"Ona isn't a random girl for fuck's sake. She's my girlfriend!"

"Language young lady!"

Hearing your father take you back as you did previously almost make laugh Ona and she hides her face in your belly. It’s time for you to keep your seriousness and you bite your lip before resuming more calmly.

"She showed up at my apartment without telling me, even if we had a fight the night before and found me with Ona."

Needless to say what you were doing.

"She started yelling at me and calling me immature and she spoke to her badly, I wasn’t going to throw flowers at her anyway, was I?"

"No."

Your father’s silence lasts a few seconds and you imagine him perfectly thinking while rubbing his chin. No wonder he called you, your mother has always sided with Patri over the years. Your father is different, being the youngest of four boys, he suffered during his childhood with his big brothers. He understands perfectly your point of view and your feelings regarding Patri and her way of wanting to manage your life.

"So you have a girlfriend?"

"Yes"

Ona look back at you and you smirk, wrapping a strand of her hair around your finger.

"Since when are you both together?"

"Since the Euro, when we lost against England."

"So it's quiet serious then"

"It is Papi. I didn't want to talk about it to Patri though it's like she doesn't want me to be happy."

"I wouldn't say that, Muñeca."

You shrugs and another silence passed.

"When you say Ona, it's for Ona Batlle, verdad?"

You hums, still playing with Ona's hair.

"Oh that's good. I met her dad last summer in Australia, did you know he likes to go mushroom too?"

"I’m so glad to know you’ve got something in common with my stepfather, Papi" you laugh with Ona.

"Have you ever met him and her wife officially? I hope you made a good impression on them"

You roll your eyes one more time before giving him your answer, Ona chuckle a little before laying down on you. You relieved about this conversation, even if Patri has once again interfered in your life by mentioning your couple to your parents before doing it yourself. Your father doesn’t seem against your relationship, and he more or less informed you that your mother didn’t either. As for your other brothers and sisters, they don’t seem to care much, but that doesn’t surprise you. They were never for gossip.

********

"Can I have my kiss now?"

Smiling, you were chasing Ona along the corridors of the stadium where you train. The rain having invited itself to the party, the training ground quickly turned into fields of mud, and after a training match you found yourself thrown to the ground following a tackle of your girlfriend. That explains why your body is covered in dirt, mud and grass.

"No!" Ona laughs at you as you try to draw her against you by grabbing her by the bottom of her shirt.

She manages to escape you and starts running. Having been assigned to store the equipment, you are the last to join the changing rooms. All the others rushed to enjoy a good hot shower.

"Come on baby, at least a lovely cuddle?"

"Y/N get of of me!"

Ona isn't really running, if she wanted to escape you it would have been a long time before she would have lost you. Her speed is no longer a secret to anyone. Ona was still laughing and you grin, feeling her slap you on your hand so you drop the piece of her cloth.

"Why? It’s your fault if I’m in this state anyway"

You end up grabbing your girlfriend’s arm and pulling her against you to kiss her tenderly. Willingly letting it happen, Ona puts her arms around your neck and responds to your kiss. Knowing that no one will bother you, you gently wedge her between the wall and you. You didn’t think it could be cold and when you feel her take off quickly and shiver, you laugh softly.

"Sorry" you smile mischievously.

"More kissed and you’ll be forgiven" she whispers against your lips

You oblige easily at her request, putting your lips on hers again. Only to be interrupted by an embarrassed cough. Turning your face in the source of the sound, you discover your sister. Sighing, you take off a little of Ona, without releasing her completely.

"This is the second time, Patri. What do you want?"

"Mom would like to know if you are coming back to Palma this weekend" Patri whispers without looking at you.

You glance at Ona who is also looking at you, before answering her. The team you had to face this weekend cannot receive you because of administrative problems, the game was moved later during the season. You usually go home to your parents when you have a whole free weekend. Except this time, Ona's family invited you for Ona’s mother’s birthday and there’s no way you’re not going.

"I have already said no. Ona and I already have plans."

Patri plays nervously with her fingers before answering you. You don’t know what your mother said to her, but she seems determined to try and patch things up between you.

"Look, if it’s because of our argument…"

"Oh my God Patricia… you never learn from your mistakes?"

"What?"

She look at you, confused, and you sigh. You don't really want to talk to her, but you know that she will never let it go if you don't explain yourself.

"Not everything is about you! I can't go because we're going at Ona's Mom's birthday. Mama already knows that, are you both saying that I'm a liar now?"

"No, of course not."

"So, end of the conversation."

Without any word, you grab Ona by the hand and drag her with you in the locker room. You really need to take this shower now and forget about the interaction you just had with your sister.

********

"Are you thinking about making up with your sister or not?"

Another day, another match and you find yourself in a four-man position with Ona, Alexia and Salma. If Salma plugged in her headphones and listened to music, Ona fell asleep on your knees, leaving only you and Alexia awake for the moment.

"What do you mean?" you ask your captain curiously.

"I know you’ve never been best friends in the world, but she’s still your sister. When my father passed away, my sister and mother were my biggest support and I wouldn’t be where I am now without them."

You bite your lip thoughtfully. You have already met Alba several times and you appreciate her, she is a cheerful and devoted person to Alexia. Proud of her older sister, she doesn't mask her admiration. But what struck you every time was the way Alexia put her little sister on a pedestal. No jealousy, no unhealthy competitiveness.

"The relationship I have with Patri has nothing to do with the one you have with Alba" you point out gently.

"She's still your sister. And I know she's not perfect, but she's really trying to make the things better between you two."

You shrug your shoulders and shift your attention to the window. The train journey is long today, the opposing team being located in the north, you have almost the whole country to cross.

"If she comes to apologize, I might think about it again" you end up answering by glancing at Ona, peacefully asleep. "And not just at me."

Alexia nods with a satisfied little smile. She seems sure it’s going to happen, you’re much less so. You’ve never heard your sister apologize to anyone since she was 10, when your parents stopped asking her to apologize when something was wrong.

********

It didn’t take long for Patri to approach you and attempt reconciliation. The discussion you had with Alexia made you think a little, realizing that you may have been a little too closed to the discussion with your older sister. But you’re still hoping she’ll apologize to you first, before you tell her that maybe she was a little too cold.

You talked to Ona about it, of course. After you arrived at the hotel, you had a few hours to settle in and immediately raised the subject with your girlfriend. The latina, lulled by the love of her older brother from a young age, is obviously not against a reconciliation with Patri. She was never even angry with her, rather sad to see you tear yourself apart in this way. The catalan is definitely for family peace.

After your game, as you walk around the stadium to thank your fans and take some pictures with Lucy, you see your sister sneaking up on you, making sure she’s far enough away from the audience to talk to you.

"Would you like to come drink something with me afterwards? At the hotel restaurant?"

Surprise, you hesitate a split second by biting your lip. But when you see that Patri is about to beg you to accept, you end up nodding with a simple nod.

It’s a little nervous that you come down from your hotel room to find Patri after Ona kissed you tenderly, telling you that she is sure that everything will be fine. For your part, you just hope that no scream will ring between you two.

When you arrive, Patri is already there and beckons you to join her, which you finish by approaching with a face as relaxed as possible. You barely have time to sit down when someone come to take your order and after ordering a Coke Zero you shift your attention to your sister.

"I’m not sure where to start" Patri said, frowning.

"Maybe because of what made you ask me to come here?" you answer with a shrug.

"I don’t want to fight anymore. I know we never got along perfectly well, but it’s never been so strong"

You nod and bite your lip thoughtfully. You have to take it upon yourself to choose the right words and not provoke an argument. Because deep down, you also want things to relax with her. As Alexia said, she’s still your big sister and the same blood is in your veins.

"I’m sorry I reacted the way I did about your relationship with Ona"

You look up at her, waiting for the rest. There’s so much to discuss that you actually don’t know where to start either.

"Like you said, my first reaction was stupid and realizing that you hid your relationship for over a year because of me… First I was hurt and then I realized how stupid I was. All I wanted to do was protect you."

"I’m not three anymore, Patri. And even back then I was pissed that you wouldn’t let me do the big swing, just so you know."

A slight smile appears on your face and it is also born on the face of Patri when she realizes that you make a small touch of humor.

"I chose the wrong way. I’m sorry."

You nod again, sincerely happy to hear these words coming out of your big sister’s mouth. It's certainly time for you to tell her what you think about your behavior.

"I certainly didn’t react in the right way either. But seeing you intervene in my life regularly took away a little more patience each time. And the story with Ona was really the one thing too many, and you talked to her so bad that it drives me crazy."

"I can understand. I'll talk to her to."

Patri’s simple answer suits you once again and you relax a little, letting yourself go against the back of your chair. The night has long since fallen outside and you feel tired of the training and the match of earlier, during which you played the entire time.

"So... You and Ona, it's serious?"

You shift your attention once again to her, taking a few seconds to ensure the substance of the question before answering her.

"I’m in love with her, Patri. We managed to be close to each other when she was in Manchester but since she’s in Barcelona it’s even stronger. She’s just… I don’t know. I just know it’s her."

Patri smiled and nodded gently, before changing the subject of conversation. After about thirty minutes, without having exchanged any argument, you decide to go back to your respective rooms. You are surprised by the hug she offers you before entering her room, but you answer it nevertheless gladly.

When you arrive in your room, Ona is waiting for you, sitting at the edge of her bed. Well, one of the two beds you have glued so that you can sleep together without taking the risk of falling. Even if you always end up in each other’s arms, it remains more comfortable.

"How did it go?" asks you immediately the Catalan, her head tilted to the side to be able to better observe you.

"Good" you just answer, hoping your smile speaks for itself.

After closing the door, you approach her and sit by her side. It doesn’t take her long to grab your hand in hers and intertwine your fingers. Talking to Patri about your feelings for Ona made you realize or recall how much you love her. And how lucky you are to have her by your side. Ona is perfect for you and you love everything about her.

"What did you talk about?"

Ona’s curiosity makes you smile, but you respond willingly. After all, you never hid anything from her and you always had full and blind trust in her. That is not going to change today.

"About our childhood, the different way we see things…"

You shrug your shoulders, trying to pick up the conversation you had. It was intense but clearly necessary. You really hope that everything would be better since now.

"And about us, too" you add with a small smile.

"What did you tell her?"

"That I’m crazy about you"

Your smile gets bigger when you see Ona blushing. She also smiles and you don't waist time to break the distance between your two faces to put a kiss on her lips. It's the pure truth, even if you have never had the opportunity to reveal to her the strength of your feelings for her with simple words. You always felt like they weren’t strong enough to express how you feel about her.

"Well I hope you told her that I'm crazy about you too?" Ona smirks after the kiss.

"You can tell her later. She want to excuse herself to you too"

Ona nods, distracted by your fingers running along her hips. You didn't let her answer anything else, kissing softly her jaw and her neck, determined to celebrate your victory with her and your possible reconciliation with Patri.

********

2 Years Later

"Oh my God Patri, get out!"

A pillow flies through the room and you hear your sister laughing before she quickly closes the door. You don’t know what kind of power it is, but your sister always manages to interrupt you and Ona when things start to get interesting.

Realizing that the atmosphere is dead, you sigh and roll on your back while you were previously lying on Ona for an intense making-out session. Returning to Palma de Mallorca, to your parents for your brother’s birthday, you naturally took Ona with you. Your father loves her and your Mother seems to like her too. The bond between your families is also very good, your fathers having both quickly clicked on the many points they have in common.

"Next time we take a hotel room" you nag, making Ona laugh softly.

Smiling despite yourself, you gently lower her t-shirt that you had raised on her stomach before looking at her when she rolls on her side.

"Or we could take a small apartment here. I really like this place and if we want to change from Barcelona some days we would just jump on the plane. Not even an hour and we’re here."

"Why not" you smile softly.

She smiles back at you when you stroke her face tenderly, drawing imaginary features between her freckles. More than three years have passed and you will never get tired of her. The little box containing the ring you planned to propose to her with tonight is neatly hidden in one of your pairs of socks and you’ve actually booked a room in a local palace for the night. It's indeed out of question to celebrate your engagement in your parents' house, with your sister’s weasel or your nephews and nieces ready to land at any time in your childhood room.

"Do you want to go for a walk on the beach?" you innocently ask Ona.

"I’d go anywhere with you" smiled Ona and you kissed her one last time before you got out of bed.

You discreetly take the box and the ring, sliding it in the pocket of your jeans before joining Ona who awaits you in the corridor.

"I forgot my phone" you’re just answering her questioning look.

You take a look at it and Patri’s message informs you that everything is in place. She’s supposed to take your proposal in photo and video, so that you have a memory of that moment. All Ona has to say is yes. Despite your stress, you know her answer will be positive.

Walking hand in hand, you got lost in your thoughts and Ona is quiet too. But a glance at her informs you that she is smiling and relaxed. Her gaze on the sea returns to you and she addresses you an interrogative glance.

"Are you all right?"

You just nod with a smile, busy remembering the speech you prepared. Despite your certainty, you feel that anxiety is gaining ground and you are happy to see that the place you have designated to Patri is finally there.

"Actually, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about" you start, interrupting your walk.

In the distance, hidden behind a rock, Patri draws her camera when she sees you stop. The video is already on and your big sister is as stressed as you. If she misses what you asked her to do, she could be banned from marriage.

It's with a tender smile that Patri watches the questioning read on Ona’s face, followed by tenderness when you make your statement to her and surprise when she sees you kneeling, the famous ring presented in its case. The following photos contain the moment when you pass the ring on her finger, the one where the latin jumps at your neck and the last is that of your first kiss as fiancées.

Ona said yes, of course.

Because You and Her are forever.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #ona batlle #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle imagine #patri guijarro #patri guijarro imagine

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emphistic · 3 months

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"Buttface"

Things Reader Should Acknowledge: I THINK IVE FINALLY GOTTEN THE HANG OF TUMBLR (hip hip hooray!), i plan on having yuuji being sukuna's baby brother, however, yuuji hasnt been born yet

Prologue: Ever since Sukuna moved in next door, you two have grown closer. Like, impossibly close. One might even call you two "friends;" albeit Sukuna would always shut that idea down. But one thing Sukuna wouldn't shut down? — is that he loves to see you smile. And he would do anything to hear your laugh, over and over again.

A/N: this is in the same universe as "I'm Lactose Intolerant", and while the ages of sukuna and reader dont really matter here, i wrote this with the idea of sukuna being 14 years old and reader is 13 years old (feel free to change that to whatever you desire), brownie points to whoever recognizes the movie that sukuna and reader are watching

Please REFRAIN from REPOSTING MY WORK (REBLOGS ARE EXEMPTED FROM THIS RULE)

"This movie is stupid."

"You think everything is stupid, Stupid." You quip back, flicking Sukuna's forehead.

"Touché." He scoffs, and crosses his arms over his chest before leaning further back into the couch. You put your legs on his lap.

You grin to yourself, wondering if he really didn't notice that you called him by the name "Stupid". Then you think, he's probably just in a good mood, and go back to watching the comedy playing on the screen.

"I mean, how can it take you so long to figure out that someone who looks exactly like you is actually your long lost twin sister?" Sukuna moves his hand around to somehow make his point seem more valid.

"Besides, isn't this supposed to be a comedy? Where's the humor in this? This isn't funny, at all," Sukuna drones on — until you decide that you've finally had enough.

"This isn't funny? Well . . . it's not like you're funny, either." You stick your tongue out at Sukuna, in a teasing manner — to which he does the same.

"That's just what you think. I bet you didn't even know that all your friends come to me during break just to listen to me talk. In fact, most of the time, I'm not even trying to joke around, I'm just that naturally funny," Sukuna wore a smug look on his face.

"Sure, 'Kuna. They're just laughing because you have such a funny face. Sometimes I even get you mixed up with a chihuahua, you know."

"Oh really?" Sukuna glares at you, and gets closer to your face.

You copy him, "Yes — really."

At this point, the tips of your guys' noses were just centimeters away from touching. You could practically feel his warm breath on your face.

Woah.

Now you could hear your own breathing quicken.

Since when were Sukuna's eyes so red?

Your cheeks felt warm.

Why are his eyes so, so—?

"Buttface." Sukuna interrupts the silence.

You get pulled back to reality. "What did you just call me!?"

"What, you deaf now? I called you 'buttface,' Dumbass."

"Seriously, someone needs to control your vocabulary."

"Pft, I don't need any controlling."

You laughed, "Sure, Sukuna. Sure."

The movie ended, and the credits rolled. Sukuna grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, before getting off the couch.

"Want something to drink?" He peered over his shoulder at you, raising a brow.

"Ah, sure. Lemonade."

"Too bad, I ain't getting it for you," Sukuna stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweats and walked off — to the kitchen, you assumed.

You grumbled, and threw a pillow at his back. It just bounced off, though, and you sighed.

He returned minutes later, with a glass of lemonade in his hand. Which was a clear sign he was trying to aggravate you, because he's expressed multiple times his strong detesting of the refreshing drink. (You completely disagree with him, by the way.)

"Dude, seriously?" You frowned.

"Totally serious. I mean, I couldn't resist. This glass of lemonade was just calling my name." He took a sip.

"It is so good."

Another sip.

"Shame you don't have a glass yourself."

And another sip.

You were practically ripping out your hair at this point. "C'mon, 'Kuna. If you won't get me a glass, can I just have a tiny sip of yours?" You entreated him with all your might.

Sukuna rubbed his chin with his thumb and index finger, pretending to think about his decision. Finally, he said, "What's with that name you keep calling me? And — what's the magic word?"

You huffed, "Please?"

He gestured for you to go on.

You clasped your hands together in a desperate, beggar-like manner. "Pretty please, Sukuna? Just a teensy weensy sip? For poor ol' me."

"Hmm, let me think. How about . . . no."

You gawked at the pink haired boy.

"WHAT."

"You heard me."

"Aghhh!" You jumped on Sukuna, trying to grab the glass of lemonade yourself. If he wasn't going to share, you just had to take matters into your own hands — literally.

Your attempts were fruitless, however; Sukuna just kept on raising the glass higher and higher above his head, to the point you couldn't even reach his wrist. Damn him and his stupid growth spurt.

His hand starts to shake as you try to climb him like a tree. Next thing you know, your wish is answered. You got your lemonade. Except, not in the way you had hoped. The lemonade was everywhere. On your clothes, Sukuna's clothes, the couch, everywhere.

"Oh shit." This time, you didn't correct Sukuna's obscene language.

The room became so silent that you would be able to hear a pin drop.

"Sukuna!" You whisper-shout. (You had no idea why you were whispering.)

"Don't look at me, this was your fault!" His hand still held the now empty glass.

"Me? This was all you," you retorted, jabbing a finger into the older boy's chest.

"Sureee, Y/N. Let's just forget about the fact that you were practically climbing my body."

You blushed.

"You could've just gotten your own cup of lemonade, but no, you just had to spill mine."

You scoffed, "Well, you could've shared, but you didn't — because your shellfish."

Sukuna looked at you funny, "Do you mean 'selfish'?"

"Same thing, you know I make mistakes with pronunciation."

He shrugged. Then, a great idea popped into your head.

"Your mess," you exclaim, before pushing off of Sukuna and darting away, only to be pulled back by your hood.

"Hey!" You shout, falling back onto Sukuna's chest.

"This is your mess. You caused this, remember?"

You groaned, turned around, and tackled Sukuna. You guys ended up rolling off the couch altogether. Pillows were thrown, and the lemonade spread onto the carpet.

"Let go of my foot, you big oaf!" You yelled, shoving at Sukuna's face.

"Not until you admit this was all your fault." He continued to wrestle with you on the ground.

"In. your. dreams."

You guys continued to fight, which made the mess even bigger. It felt like hours had passed. Hours where you still didn't get even a sip of lemonade. Then, you heard the sound of keys, and next thing you know; your parents walked in.

Your heartbeat hammered in your chest.

Your mom and dad took one good look at the two of you on the floor, and your mom said, "Knock it off, you two. And clean up the couch. I don't want my living room smelling like lemonade for the rest of the year." They walked into the kitchen.

You turned back to look at Sukuna, just to find him already staring at you. You guys continued to stare at each other before bursting out into laughter. Tears were basically streaming down the both of your guys' faces at this point.

Your mom yelled from the kitchen, "Ah, young love these days. So different from us — right, honey?" Your dad responded with a loud chuckle.

Looking down, you realized the position you were in. Sukuna lying on his back beneath you, while you were sitting on top of him. The expression on your face immediately soured.

You and Sukuna pulled away from each other in record timing, both of your expressions clearly, visibly flustered.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna x you #ryomen x reader #jjk x you

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steveyockey · 8 months

Text

As I watched people online debate the models of anti-colonial struggle, raising comparisons to Algeria and North America and South Africa, I found myself returning to the foundational Jewish liberation myth: the Exodus. It was hard not to think about the moment in the Passover seder when we lessen the wine in our full cups with our pinkies as we recite the plagues. This ritual has materialized as an indispensable touchstone, insisting that to hold onto our humanity we must grieve all violence, even against the oppressor.

But I also thought of the plagues themselves, particularly the final one, the slaying of the first born—children, adults, the elderly. It seems that hiding in our liberation myth is a recognition that violence will visit the oppressor society indiscriminately. I know that I have many friends, and that Currents has many readers, who are asking themselves how they can be part of a left that seems to treat Israeli deaths as a necessary, if not desirable, part of Palestinian liberation. But what Exodus reminds us is that the dehumanization that is required to oppress and occupy another people always dehumanizes the oppressor in turn. For people who feel like their pain is being devalued, it’s because it is; and that devaluation is itself a hallmark of the cycle of the diminishing value of human life. As the abolitionist geographer Ruth Wilson Gilmore has said, “Where life is precious, life is precious.” We are seeing the ways that Jews as the agents of apartheid will not be spared—even those of us who have devoted our lives to the work of ending it. (I am thinking of Hayim Katsman, zichrono l’vracha, killed by Hamas, an activist against the expulsion of the West Bank community of Masafer Yatta, and Vivian Silver, a hostage in Gaza, who is known to many of its residents as the person they meet at the Erez Crossing who advocates for and facilitates their transfers to Israeli hospitals for treatment.)

That question of how we recuperate this humanity is ultimately an organizing question. People have repeated over and over again over the last few days that you “cannot tell Palestinians how to resist.” To me, it seems there is a very literal dimension to this axiom: They are not asking. Part of what has made the experience of this event feel so different from the status quo—and so different to Palestinians and Jews—comes from the fact that Palestinians were undeniably the actors, for once, not the acted upon. The protagonists of the story. I consider it an enormous failure of our movements that we have not been able to build a vehicle for that kind of reversal in any other way thus far. Our Jewish movements for Palestine were not powerful enough to stop other Jews from gunning down Palestinians in peaceful marches at the Gazan border fence, or to keep Palestinians from being fired, harassed, and sued for speaking the truth about their experience or—God forbid—advocating the nonviolent tactic of boycott. And now, we do not have a shared struggle able to credibly respond to these massacres of Israelis and Palestinians. With all of the work that many Jews and Palestinians have done to reach toward each other over the years, I believe at heart it is this failure that is now driving us apart. There is no formidable political formation that I know of that can hold the political subjectivity of both Jews and Palestinians in this moment without simply attempting to assimilate one into the other. No place where Jews and Palestinians who agree on the basics of Palestinian liberation—right of return, equality, and reparations—are poised to turn the synthesis of these two subjectivities into a coherent strategy.

One of the most terrible things about this event is the sense of its inevitability. The violence of apartheid and colonialism begets more violence. Many people have struggled with the straightjacket of this inevitability, straining to articulate that its recognition does not mean its embrace. I am reminding myself that it was from Palestinians, many of them writing and speaking in these pages, that I learned to think of Palestine as a site of possibility—a place where the very idea of the nation-state, which has so harmed both peoples, could be remade or destroyed entirely. And it was Palestinians who opened my thinking to multiple visions of sharing the land. On the left, I hope we do not mistake the inevitability of the violence for an inescapable limit on our work or the quality of our thought. Even if our dreams for better have failed, they must accompany us through this moment to the other side. We need to imagine a movement for liberation better even than the Exodus—an exodus where neither people has to leave. Where people stay to pick up the pieces, rearranging themselves not just as Jews or Palestinians but as antifascists and workers and artists. I want what Puerto Rican Jewish poet and activist Aurora Levins Morales describes in her poem “Red Sea”:

We cannot cross until we carry each other,

all of us refugees, all of us prophets.

No more taking turns on history’s wheel,

trying to collect old debts no-one can pay.

The sea will not open that way.

This time that country

is what we promise each other,

our rage pressed cheek to cheek

until tears flood the space between,

until there are no enemies left,

because this time no one will be left to drown

and all of us must be chosen.

This time it’s all of us or none.

Arielle Angel, “‘We Cannot Cross Until We Carry Each Other’,” Jewish Currents, October 12, 2023.

#palestine #crying again #where life is precious life is precious

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bethereasonyousucceed444 · 1 month

Text

ZENDAYA EATING A PIZZA!

TOUGH LOVE RANT!

Hi now that I’ve got your attention

I’m going to yell at you

Cuz I love you but y’all killing me with this

“I have the urge to move”

Or my favorite

“I didn’t get symptoms”

Mmmm this one is ultimate favorite

“How do I enter the void?”

😃

Sweetie what do you think my posts are about???

How to find the tooth fairy?

Please stop asking me that when it’s literally in ALL MY POSTS

I literally got blocked cuz I was asked over and over again

By someone I thought was a friend

How to get in the void

I told her

It’s in my posts

Read my posts

I guess she didn’t wanna do that

All you’re doing is meditating

Yall act like you have to clean a whole warehouse or work a 10am to 2am shift!

Like it’s giving

“Omg I have to lay still and affirm and breathe and actually be relaxed and ignore the 3D which I hate anyways and leave this physical plane to go to my 4D which is pretty much me in my most powerful and purest state to gain peace and comfort and manifest my desires because I was born to do this and then wake up with my desires because it’s literally so easy ugh that’s too much it’s soo hard!!

SOME OF YALL ARE GIVING THAT EXACT ENERGY

Im not comparing trauma or anything everything you’re going through is valid

But somebody is probably going through something so horrible

And they don’t know about the void state or manifestation in general!

YET YOU DO!!

Because guys I love you but you’re all asking the same thing over and over and over again

It’s driving me insane

Every post I make is about the void

What it is and how to get in

If my account was about making bagels

Would you ask me

“Do you make bagels?”

You see what I mean?

I love you so much but stop asking the same thing

And I made a post on boundaries

Still had someone asking me to enter the void for them

How am I gonna take time out of MY DAY

To enter the void for someone with the SAME POWER AS ME!!!!

That’s like helping a genius with his homework

You already know how to do it tf you asking me for????

😐

Bro

What do you think the void is???????

It’s not Disneyland

It’s not your mamas house

It’s not a Beyoncé concert

STOP TREATING IT LIKE ITS THE MOST DIFFICULT THING EVER OR THAT ITS OUT OF REACH OR OH I ONLY GET IN IF IM LUCKY

IT IS LITERALLY NOT!!!

There’s is no luck when it comes to the void

I’m not gonna keep repeating myself

Everyone on here keeps telling yall the same things

Yet you still ask

How to enter

Complaining about not having symptoms

BECAUSE YOU GOT USED TO IT THATS WHY YOU HAVE NO SYMPTOMS ANYMORE AND EVEN IF YOU DO IDC IF YOU FEEL LIKE YOUR WHOLE BODY IS BEING DRAGGED ACROSS THE MF ROOM IGNORE IT YOUR SYMPTOMS IS APART OF THE 3D REALITY

WHY?

BECAUSE THEY ARE APART OF YOUR BODY AND YOUR BODY IS PHYSICAL THIS WHOLE REALITY IS PHYSICAL THERES NO POWER HERE YOU ARE THE 4D!!!!

THATS WHERE THE POWER IS AND ITS POWERFUL BECAUSE OF YOU

ITS ALWAYS BEEN YOU AND IT WILL ALWAYS BE YOU YOU HOLD THE POWER YOU ARE THE REASON WHY YOU EITHER ENTERED OR HAVENT BECAUSE ITS BASED ON YOUR ASSUMPTIONS

THE 3D IS A PHYSICAL REFLECTION OF YOU

YOU DONT LIKE IT RIGHT???????

OK MEDITATE

How???

BITCH JUST LAY THERE FOCUS ON YOUR BREATHING AND YOUR PEACE

AT THIS POINT SAY

FUCK MY DESIRES IMMA GET THEM ANYWAYS

IF YOUR ONLY GOAL FOR THE VOID IS TO MANIFEST YOUR DESIRES

YOU’RE GONNA GET IN ANYWAY BUT YOUR GOAL SHOULD INCREASE WITH EVERY STEP

WHEN YOU LAY DOWN FOCUS ON JUST FINDING PEACE AND CONNECTING WITH YOUR SELF DEEPLY FUCK THOSE SYMPTOMS FUCK ANY 3D REACTIONS IF YOU GET NO SYMPTOMS EVEN BETTER NOTHING TO DISTRACT YOU

IF YOU GET SLEEPY KEEP AFFIRMING YOU’LL WAKE UP IN THE VOID

DIDNT WORK?

DO IT AGAIN

“But I’m_(excuses)”

NOPE

DO IT AGAIN THIS IS FOR YOU NOT JUST YOUR DESIRES BUT YOU ARE GOING HOME TO GET THE PEACE YOU DESERVE

THE 4D IS YOUR HOME ITS CALLING YOU!!

YOU CREATED IT THE UNIVERSE TRYNA LET YOU KNOW WHOS BOSS

THAT BOSS IS YOU

SO LIKE A BOSS

GO TO WORK

GET WHAT YOU DESERVE

STOP COMPLAINING STOP RESEARCHING GET OFF OF HERE NOW!!

AND STOP USING ME AS YOUR VOID COACH I MAKE POSTS TO INSPIRE I RESPOND TO DMS FOR ASKS THAT I HAVENT ALREADY COVERED IF YOU NEED A QUESTION READ MY POSTS BEFORE YOU ASK

Not to be rude but you might get blocked if you ask

“How to enter the void?”

Bro

ALL MY POSTS TALK ABOUT THAT

Quit overcomplicating

You made the void

It exists because of you

Put YOURSELF on a pedestal not anything or anyone

Sometimes I feel like yall just use me and other blogs on here to get info on something we already talked about on our posts

Just for you to get mad when we get fed up with repetitive questions

BLOCK ME THEN BUT IM NOT ABOUT TO BABY YOU IM TELLING YOU THE TRUTH THE POWER LIES WITHIN YOU GIRLIE

READ BEFORE YOU ASK BABY

If this still doesn’t help you

Idk what else to say

I love you much love 🩵

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comradekatara · 2 months

Note

might be bit of a stupid question, and you may have even discussed it before. if so, sorry for asking again.

but: do you think aang forgives ozai, or does he just show mercy? aang seems to have a clear stance on the importance of forgiveness, however, the final moments of his battle with ozai are visually paralleled with katara's attack on her mother's killer - and katara is clear on the fact the she has not (and will not) forgive him. she just shows him mercy, i suppose.

do you think this sentiment is paralleled in these two scenes? do you think aang manages to actually forgive ozai, or is he just showing mercy in order to protect the values of his culture?

to be perfectly honest, the thought of whether or not aang’s decision to spare ozai is one of forgiveness never actually crossed my mind. you’re right that the issue of mercy is tied to forgiveness in “the southern raiders,” but i always read that issue of forgiveness as far less straightforward than a question of whether or not katara will forgive yon rha, and more so whether katara can forgive herself (and by extension zuko). as aang says, “revenge is a two headed rat viper,” and the reason he’s advocating that katara find room for forgiveness within herself is not because he gives a shit whether the man who murdered her mother will die or not (he doesn’t care if others kill as long as he doesn’t have blood on his hands, as evidenced by his relationship to sokka and toph), but whether katara will be able to live with herself after the fact. and he knows her, so he knows that she won’t.

by sparing yon rha, katara forgives herself for her own guilt in having to carry the burden of knowing her mother sacrificed herself to save her, lets herself rest and simply be a human person instead of dedicating herself to the pursuit of vengeance, to revenge kya’s foul and most unnatural murder. because of course katara has that instinct, and of course katara feels her mother’s death more personally than sokka does, and of course she feels a responsibility to right the wrongs that she (however inadvertently) caused in whatever way she possibly can.

she finally has the skillset and the intel that allows her to carry out her revenge, but in that final moment before she strikes the final blow, she hesitates and drops her weapon, her artform that she has dedicated herself to honing in a way no one alive has ever needed to (with the exception of hama, and even then). it’s a uniquely powerful moment in a show filled with powerful moments (many of them involving katara) because she is choosing herself over yon rha, over zuko, over the memory of her mother.

she lets the illusion that she is the hero of an adventure tale wherein good triumphs over evil fade away and she embraces her own humanity though acknowledging the humanity of her enemies. yon rha isn’t a uniquely evil cackling villain (unlike someone like zhao or ozai), he’s a person, an awful person, but nonetheless a human being. a soldier who acted as the arm of a vast and complex, terrifying machine. and by looking into his face once more, the face that haunted her nightmares, katara is able to see herself reflected in the face of the other, and finally fully realizes a tapestry of the world that can not be so neatly woven.

that is what it means to forgive. when she forgives zuko, it is not because zuko has done anything to earn her forgiveness: unlike with “the boiling rock,” where he genuinely risks his life to selflessly help sokka at his lowest point, he is the instigator of katara’s entire journey, and even though he is attempting to do her a favor because he understands her intrinsic desire for revenge born of guilt and rage and shame, it is not a selfless act (that comes later). but through forgiving herself, allowing herself to relax her rigid worldview of right and wrong, good and evil, she recognizes that even if zuko did do genuinely reprehensible, awful things, it isn’t in her best interest to hold onto that anger, and by allowing herself to feel less personal responsibility and shame over her misplaced trust in zuko leading to aang’s death, she is able to forgive zuko, but only because she had already forgiven herself.

when aang shows ozai mercy, however, the issue of forgiveness isn’t even really the right term for it. he’s not forgiving ozai nor himself, here, but rather powerfully asserting that mercy is not a weakness, but a deliberate choice, and one that is born of incredible strength of character, at that. he’s forgiving his people for “not fighting back,” he’s forgiving his culture for adhering to these pacifist values, and yes, he’s forgiving himself for not being the avatar that everyone expects him to be. he’s prioritizing his people and his humanity and his grief over what the entire human world wanted from him.

and crucially, before the lion turtle showed him his truest path, aang was going to kill ozai. he was resigned to this being his destiny. unlike katara, who fully planned on killing yon rha and only decided to spare him once she saw his face, aang didn’t want to kill ozai from the very beginning, and had to be forced into killing him, rather than being talked down. sokka tells katara not to kill yon rha as gently as he possibly can (and nonetheless immediately gets shut down for it), but then he almost bullies aang for not wanting to kill. sokka considers killing a tool that should be exercised with logical intent, katara considers killing an act that makes a statement, and aang considers killing a taboo that should never be violated. of course, aang’s stance on killing is a very culturally-specific one, which yangchen also adheres to as best she can, but also understands its limits when in the position of avatar. but aang cannot afford to simply be the avatar, because he must bear the burden of his entire people’s legacy.

so at no point does forgiveness for ozai come into play, because aang has no reason to consider forgiving ozai. his decision to take down the firelord is a tactical one, rather than born purely out of a desire for revenge. but he does mirror katara’s decision to spare yon rha in sparing ozai’s life simply because, in both cases, they prioritize themselves and the preservation of their own humanity over submitting to the logic of the men who have destroyed their lives.

#the-avatars-fury #asks #i love them so much wtf….#analysis #aang #katara #aang&katara #katara&zuko #yon rha #ozai #idk who else to tag #sokka #i guess

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femoso-seben · 3 months

Text

Baby Daddy Simon

Reliving fond memories

Warnings: 18+, Smut, P in V, romance, mention of drinking

Whisky is the best remedy for a lost soul and the heart's desire.

He smelled of whisky.

You know what that means when he smells like whisky.

You can never tell him no. Not when those soft lost brown eyes stare right into your soul. The sadness melds into heated desires.

"Happy anniversary love," Simon whispers his hand pulls you in, and with his other handing you a bouquet of flowers. You know he had a few drinks, he did so every anniversary after leaving you, you think it's to build the courage to not fully face you.

You take the bouquet and try to pull it out of his grip, but he doesn't let you slide away from him. He buried his face into your hair before peppering her face with light kisses. You hate when he does this but at the same can't help but want it.

You often fantasize about your life before, living life not in hiding. To have Simon in your life proudly rather than sneaking around like star-cross lovers.

"Don't do this to me," You whisper It always brought you heartache afterwards. You slip from his grasp and set the flower in a vase before turning back, “(D/N) Will be coming back around dinner time—“

“That’s plenty of time love,” He whispers pulling you into a slow passionate kiss, You knew he still loved you, from the way he clung to you. His fingers interlocking in yours, how his eyes just searching for you, only you. Simon picked you up effortlessly sitting you on the counter and kissing you as if he was going to suck your soul from your lips, it almost felt nice being desired,

"Simon-"

"we're alone." He whispers, his lips ghosting yours as they part into a slow smile. It’s all in his eyes.

Desire.

Before you know it you’re in your bed— your marriage bed, the one Simon bought and assembled, the one that he helped move to your new place. The same bed you two sleep in here and there.

Simon kissed every inch of your chest as he moved downward, his callous hands pawing at your breast kneading it like he used to when it was painfully swollen before your daughter was born. Your back arched as the cold air-conditioned air hit your skin with his trailing kisses. Simon’s bare shoulders were always scandalous to look at, a man who always covered up seeing him bare-chested is always intimate.

Intimacy was the only thing he cherished more in sex, that and the vulnerability making loves bring. He had locked the bedroom doors, just in case. His hot wet kisses left shivers and goosebumps down to your pelvis, pulling your panties off and dropping onto the floor. Sex was something that Simon took seriously, he knew every inch of your body from what makes you wet, gasps, and pull at his hair.

His tongue swirls around your clit, lapping up at your wetness as he pressed his face further into it, his gaze possessively at you, lust, love, and pure desire staring back up at you. “You’re so pretty, Love,” You gasp and throw your head back, legs locking his head in place as you cum around his tongue. You let out a hoarse gasp and almost guttural moan. Simon chuckles and crawls forward giving you a sloppy kiss his tongue licking at your bottom lip.

You stared down at his cock, your mouth waters, it always waters for it. You almost felt like a virgin again, it’s very rare for the two of you to sleep together. He slowly eases into you, the ethereal feeling of someone you love filling you up, and the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. His movements were never rough or painful.

His spread is repetitive and you couldn’t hide your voice anymore, the low repetitive snap of his hips, the incoherent mumble of love, down to the way he smelled, everything was just heavenly.

————

@yawnderu it’s a long time coming…..

#call of duty #cod #cod x reader #modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut

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arlathvhenan · 4 days

Text

I know it’s pointless to try and win over the people who decided ten years ago that they hate Solas and he’s the worst despite never taking the time to actually *learn* about the character or understand why he believes what he does. Despite the theme of Dragon Age having always been good people resorting to horrific extremes for what they believe wholeheartedly to be a greater good, even at the expense of all that they once valued, because they truly believe there’s no other way. If you still hate Solas, if you absolutely *cannot* accept that there is good in him, then forget Solas entirely. Put him aside for now, and think about Varric, and what this whole journey means for him.

For all his wit, and cheeky humor, and roll with the punches attitude, Varric has suffered immensely in his life. This will be the third game we spend with him. The third time Varric is being asked to let the ugliness and brutality of the world poison and destroy what he holds dear. It destroyed his culture, his home, his family, and has taken so many of his dearest friends.

His father’s greed saw the Tethras family disgraced and cast out of Orzammar before he’d even been born. They found a new home in Kirkwall, the only home he’s ever known, and tried to rebuild, but the damage was done. Despair drove his mother to alcoholism, and so great was his brother’s desire to undo the damage his father had done, it ate him alive. Varric had to put his brother down like a sick dog with his own two hands. Then watched as ignorance and hatred ravaged his beloved city. And he watched again as his friend—a man he’d come to know for his gentleness and compassion—was driven to self destruction by despair.

But he kept living. Kept going in spite if it all. Then along comes Corypheus, and The Inquisition, and The Venatori. Varric has already been displaced and separated from the people he cares about. Even those who survived Kirkwall can’t be by his side because this sick and wounded world demands everything they have to keep it from falling further apart. But he finds a new home anyway, new friends, and that’s ultimately taken from him, too. If Hawke was left in The Fade, then he’s also had to watch his best friend of ten years become another victim of despair. Of the world’s demand for suffering and sacrifice.

Now here we are with Veilguard. Yet again, he must watch as someone he cares about is crushed under the weight of their own despair. Solas is doing what he’s doing for the same reason Anders did. Or Clarel. Or Logaine. Or so many others. Just like them, his actions are driven by a sense of despair.

I can’t imagine Varric doesn’t look at Solas and see every other person the world has taken from him. All the people he couldn’t save. All the death and failure that weighs on him, because he either couldn’t help them, didn’t know how, or just didn’t make it in time. Again, he’s been asked to just accept things as they are.

“People die. It’s what they do.”

This exchange was more than a grim and fatalistic quip from Solas. It’s Varric’s own words being thrown back at him. That is the very reality Varric himself once told Solas to accept. The man on the island lost everything and everyone, but so what? That’s life. That’s the world. People die and you can’t do anything about it. Except, he can’t do it this time. He can’t just sit back and let the world keep taking and taking. He’s reached the point where it’s just too much. Too much loss. Too many sacrifices. Too many good people eaten alive, spit out as monsters, and discarded as lost causes. This time, he can’t be content to sit in the sun. He’ll save the world AND save his friend.

No more passive acceptance. No more sacrifices. No more broken heroes.

That’s what this one means to him. Hate Solas all you want, but Varric’s not letting him go without a fight, and I feel like that should mean something.

#solas dragon age #Solas #varric tethras #varric dragon age #its happened #a ship I Stan harder than Solavellan #Solarric

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intrinsicepiphany · 4 months

Text

Okay tumblr lets talk theories again.

(my brain rot + knowledge of religion has me all up in Hazbin Hotel right now.)

Today I want to talk Biology! Mostly because I made the poor choice of going to Twitter's chaggie tag and looking at the comments...

So can we discuss Why do so many people keep trying to apply HUMAN biology to the Half-Demon Nephillim daughter of an Arch-Angel?!

Okay I'll start at the begining and work my way to the reasons why if Charlie really wants a kid with Vaggie both of them being assigned female at creation probably isn't going to matter.

Let's start with Lucifer!

So as far as has been shown in the show Lucifer is an original Archangel even down to his lovely 6 red wings. This makes him one of the most powerful beings in heaven.

(If we go by bible text he was actually a favorite until his dreams of free will led him astray and depending on the text he merely has to admit he was wrong and ask for forgiveness to return)

Now looking at everything after this fall he has never lost his Angelic Abilities. His default powers are still angelic gold.

We do see he also has a Full Demon form when he is pissed. Interestingly enough his crown also doubles as a halo in this form. Also note for later just how much Charlie resembles him in both forms.

This suggest that at root biology Lucifer is still an archangel with demon traits. This combination is most likely what makes him the strongest being in hell by a long shot. The only reason others even have power is purely because he doesnt care enough to flex his power and has no desire to actually rule.

Now on to Lilith!

What do we know about Lilith?

Well we know she was a created human not born.

She was Adam's equal

And she left and got with Lucifer before the fall.

So here is the deal... I dont think Lilith can be classified as a sinner. She didnt die to end up in hell and in fact she fell before hell was really a thing. she helped create it after all. (Plus you know Charlie exsists)

So what IS Lilith? I think Lilith as one of a few Actual Demons. And if we have to classify her she'd be closer to a Sin. I actually think of Lilith as the Sin of Pride in Hazbin Hotel not Lucifer. We are even told that She created pentagram city and developed hell while lucifer kept to his workshop in depression.

Now let's talk about this scene for a second. Lilith fell from heaven/earth Alive and possibly even immortal since human kind was immortal before Eve took the apple.

Lilith gains power from her fall into hell. She develops demon like attributes and seems to have musical based magic. She also seems to retain or get immortality. So what does this fall mean? It means that Lilith was NOT HUMAN by the time Charlie was born.

So what does this mean for Charlie?

Well for one Charlie is NOT just some Hellborn. She is by Definition a Nephilim but she is not half-human. She would most likely be considered a Half-Demon, Half-Angel Nephilim.

This would explain her expansive (if never used) power base. The official power ranking has her tied with Lilith with only Lucifer being more powerful. Which makes complete sense. She is the Heir to the entire thing after all. (I actually think this is why Alastor couldnt make a deal for her soul and settled for a favor instead)

She also inheirited Angelic powers from her father. As seen by the fact that her default magic is gold. Which means she has angel blood in her veins. Lets be honest i wouldnt be surprised if she ended up bleeding gold in the future.

In fact she seems to have inherited most of her abilities from dear old dad.

Im pretty sure that just by shear ability and magic if Charlie wanted a kid she could probably create/magic one into exsistance no matter who her partner was.

But lets review Vaggie just for fun! Because I have thoughts

What do we actually know about Vaggie?

Well we know she is an angel. I say is because I dont think Lute or Adam actually have the power to cast an angel out of heaven AND she gets her wings back. This would mean she is not actually a sinner she would be closer to a fallen angel like lucifer.

We know she speaks Spanish and seems to be of Hispanic nature. BUT! Do we know if she was ever really human?!

We know Adam claims to have named her Vaggie. This could suggest three things

1) exorcist take on a new name when they join. But if this was true why wouldnt she leave this name behind and return to her human name once in hell? It would have kept her secret better and you'd figure she would want to leave behind the negative feelings that would come with her exorcist name.

2) Adam in his self-centered ways misheard her real name (maybe something like Aggie from Agatha or Maggie) and thought she said Vaggie or actively chose to misinterpret her name and she never cared to correct him. BUT Once more why would she not just return to her real name once with Charlie in hell?

Or 3) And this one is the real kicker. Vaggie is a Heaven-born Angel.

If the answer is 3 than it would imply that she was never human which brings her closer to lucifers biology.

Some other interesting things to consider about this last theory. Lute and Vaggie resemble each other a great deal. In fact, all the exorcist seem to have a similar body type. (I mean you could argue its the uniform but even without the uniform the resembalance between lute and vaggie is uncanny) and if I remember correctly at one point the exterminators are refered to as sister? I mean this could mean sisters-in-arms BUT What if ALL exorcist were heaven-born?

If they were never human this could explain both their ability and their desire to slay sinners. Much like Sera they wouldn't have any sympathy for the dammed because they wouldn't have any possible family that could end up down there. They would also have Very little connection to or concern for former humans. After all like Adam said they had their chance and they screwed up.

So in the end what does this all mean?

Well I actually already kind of said it

1) Fandom really needs to stop applying human biology to Charlie. She is a half demon half archangel Nephilim with incredible magic.

If charlie wants a kid she can probably magic one up no matter the obsticles please stop asking artist and writers how it is possible for her and vaggie to have a kid/get pregnant if they are both women - the answer is Charlie Magic.

2) all 4 of the above have the potential to be way stronger than they have been shown in the show.

And

3) Charlie is a potential BadAss and is just too nice to go full tactical nuke - this will be covered in my next ted talk.

#hazbin hotel theory #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #lucifer morningstar #lilith morningstar #vaggie #chaggie

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bl00dlight · 1 month

Text

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC Targaryen. | SERIES

All NSFW warnings apply in future chapters.

Author's note • After my recent rant, Ive decided to feed the girlies who want fics that align with canon Aemond. Sooooo Im coming home for my girls with an fire & blood timeline retelling & not just more boring ass Mary Sue × Aemond smut. So we are starting from the beginning. The vibe is, "I could make him significant worse".

Word Count ~ 1.4k

Index

i ● ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi● vii ● viii ● ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

ii ~ 'Age of Hero's'

124 AC

It was not until later that night the young princess saw her uncle again. It took little effort to convince the Kings guard that she was not here to continue to jeer at the prince, but rather to give a sincere apology. At least, that is what she had told herself. It had not occurred to her, why or how men oft bended to her will. In truth, Visenya had little thoughts on such things, for all she knew, she asked and received accordingly – and if she did not receive, she would promptly sway until her desires were met.

It was this very naivety, this innate trust that the world would simply open its loving arms for her whenever she pleased, that worried her mother and father so dearly. Both knowing the ways of men, the violence and sickness that dwelled in her heads, most especially about a Princess of Valyrian blood. Seen less so for her heart and more for her blood born proximity to the God’s themselves. To power of fire made flesh, and of course. The beauty which came with Valyrian blood.

Visenya entered Aemond’s room quietly, and when she came before him, came before his body splayed out upon his bed she swiftly averted her gaze. The princess cleared her throat, a small noise of a disturbance left his mouth as he jumped, swiftly propping himself upwards.

“What are you doing in here? You ought-” His voice laced with outraged as The Princess interrupted.

“Temper yourself. I’ve not come to goad you. I just, I came to apologise.” A small laugh left her, she put her hand up.

“I do not give a shit.” Aemond snapped.

Visenya tilted her head, scanning him, “Fine. But I shall do so anyway.”

“Why?” Asked Aemond, the air teaming with uncertainty as he watched his sly niece walk slowly, stalking through his room like a cat.

“Because it is right, it is what is owed, and I’ve no intention being in your debt.” Visenya sighed, her voice almost aloof, smug. Her eyes look in the space, the perfectly kept books and scrolls upon his desk. The princess reached the dark mahogany desk that was seemly gleamed in the firelight. It seemed the prince had little taste nor need for decor, he seemed to only own objects for utilitarian purposes, he was so… conservative, Visenya thought. In fact, the only unkept thing was an open book, her pale fingers grazed the pages. Clearly, he had taken it from her Grandsire’s personal Library. She looked at the top, small writing detailing the topic ‘Age of Heros: Symeon Star-Eyes’. She had never heard of such a thing, her thoughts interrupted as another pale hand snatched the book away.

The prince’s eyes met hers with a venomous glare as placed the small book back upon his desk, “I find it difficult to believe you care about what is right.”

Visenya scoffed in response as she paced to the other side of the desk, her fingers as cunning as she as they found his book once more, “True. Perhaps I don’t, however it hardly matters. For even if I am saying it to benefit myself, my meaning is sincere.”

Frustration and rage tore through Prince Aemond as he then turned and stepped forward, who was she to dare apologise? After all this time, all these years of enduring her fucking bastard brothers torment? No, no Aemond would not tolerate it, he was not one to embrace pity. “I’ve no reason to accept your pathetic apology and I have no use for the rag of pity you continue to throw at me!” He snapped.

Visenya found herself taken aback by the fire in his eyes, she felt her own frustration boil as she bit back with equal fervour, “Yes, well perhaps you ought to! Since it seems I am the only one who is willing to throw it to you, and actually, unlike what you may think. I have little interest in hating you.”

“Do not lie.” Aemond stepped forward, his voice low.

“It is no lie. I do not hate you, we most certainly do not get along. But, I have little reason to hate you.” She shrugged, Visenya relaxed once more.

Though Prince Aemond could not tolerate it any longer, he would not take another drop of her insolence… her teasing, her lies! He snapped again, “You… you and your brothers torment me for your own amusement.”

“As does Aegon.” The Princess sneered, once again he had gotten himself into a state, she thought.

“I do not give a shit about Aegon! He is a fool and already a drunkard, and… and, well he is also my brother.” The prince wanted to push her, slap that smarmy sneer from her face. He stumbled upon his words, feeling more flustered, more overcome with the memories of all of his sister’s bastard’s torment. Their stupid, arrogant faces.

Visenya, ever cool, raised her brow, “So?”

“So, it is different.” He bit back.

Visenya stepped forward, folding her arms as she analysed him, by the Gods was he bothered. Still, she retorted back, “I dare say Aegon torments you for his own amusement far more than I. In fact, I do not torment you at all. They are mere jests!”

“Mocking me for not claiming a dragon is not a simple jest!” He had had it, the prince suddenly found himself unable to control it anymore, his hands came out before him, connecting with his niece’s chest as he pushed her back.

Visenya stumbled only slightly, she looked down and then swiped a stray hair from her face. Silence fell between them before a moment, a piercing silence. The soft breaths of Aemond to be heard as he tried to temper himself. A slight guilt filled him, but not for what he had done to the Princess, rather what may happen to him if his father found out. Or worst of all… if her father found out. The silence dragged, before shattered with the soft cackles of Visenya. Her face beaming.

“Gods…” She laughed, tilting her head back. Perhaps he was right, perhaps she did tease him for her own amusement. Tis his fault really, Aemond ought to learn how not to be so easily pestered, he ought to enjoy her attention on him. Only the Gods knows how many other boys try and fail to garner her interest. Yet it was him, who truly captured Visenya. A cruel smile rose to her face.

“Just get out!” Aemond snapped again, feeling a slight measure of weakness under her gaze. He reached forward, grabbing her wrist harshly as he forced her to the door,

As he did so, Visenya cackled, enjoying this far too much, she laughed as she spoke, “Very well, I apologize for my lapses, and I will not speak on your lack of a dragon again, Uncle.” The door swung open and Visenya nearly gasped as she felt the firm grip of the Kings Guard outside his chambers grip her shoulder.

“Come, princess. The hour grows late, the both of you ought be in your bedchambers for the night.” The King’s Guard voice rang firm as he began to escort Visenya away, her eyes lingered upon Aemond once more, as she giggled.

The cheeky cackling of his niece could be heard through the prince’s heavy doors, Aemond wore a bitter expression. He was utterly infuriated, utterly exhausted… and utterly ashamed in his own inability to not give in to her teasing. He scanned his room, the firelight casting a soft orange glow, the air was warm, and it’s smell a comforting indication of embers. Aemond sat upon his bed once more, eyes sharp and pained, a part of him wished to crawl into the arms of his mother but he did not send for her. No, he would face this alone, he would not behave as the weak little bellyacher they all thought him to be. He would be strong, infallible; he would be a man.

Upon this thought, Prince Aemond rose up from his bed, approaching his desk once more as he longed to find comfort in the tales of great knights and ruthless warriors; to read of Symeon Star Eyes. Yet, as the young prince’s eyes met the mahogany surface, he felt his gut coil with rage once more.

His book had been swiped.

○iii○

#hotd #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x oc #targaryen #got #rhaneyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #daenerys targaryen #aegon targaryen #alicent hightower #hotd aemond #the greens hotd #dark!aemond targaryen x reader

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five-and-dimes · 1 year

Text

Sloom

AO3

In many ways, Dream feels inferior to the rest of his family. Which means he struggles when Hob asks to meet them.

Well this took a million years longer to finish than I expected and as usual I struggled with the ending but we gotta call it done at some point, lads, so here we are.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream tries not to think about it too much, because it makes something in his heart ache when he does.

How he was made wrong.

He doesn't understand it- he was born the same way as his siblings, and yet somehow he is the only one… lacking. Everyone else understands humanity, everyone else understands themselves, everyone else doesn't struggle to connect, to speak, to share, to exist in a way that doesn't hurt.

Even Desire, whom he despises so much for all the games they play to torment him…

But then, Desire is only so cruel to him. Maybe that, too, is his fault.

He had thought it was enough to do his job well - to protect the dreamers and his realm and all the power it contains. He can withstand being a bad sibling, a bad friend, a bad husband, father, lover, person (he can withstand it, he can) as long as he is good at his job. He doesn't play games, he doesn't let himself get distracted, he fulfills his purpose, he is good at his job, and that is enough. It has to be.

(And then he fails at that, too.)

(He had made himself good for one thing. Now he is good for nothing.)

He walks with Death, and his elder sister lovingly twists the knife. She reminds him of all the ways he got it wrong, got all of it wrong, and he wonders if she would have bothered to come if he had called at Fawny Rig.

(He wonders if she would have come if one of their other siblings had been captured.)

(He wonders if they all aid each other when he's not looking.)

(He doesn't look.)

She tells him to visit Hob Gadling and it feels like an execution. He feels like he’s bleeding, like he’s being sentenced to a slow death, like all of his wounds are on display for anyone to dig their fingers into.

He feels like he deserves it.

And so he drags his feet, first to the hollowed out husk of the White Horse, and then following a bright line to someplace new, someplace glowing with life and possibility and when he crosses the threshold he feels like a weed. He is too dark for this place, too cold, and when he sees Hob he expects to be kicked out like a stray dog.

Hob smiles at him. Smiles, and Dream feels a little less cold.

“You’re late.”

No condemnation. No cruelty. No accusation or malice or brutality.

Dream is breathless with it.

“It seems I owe you an apology. I’ve always heard it impolite to keep one’s friends waiting.”

Somehow, Hob’s smile brightens. When Dream sits across from him, he feels, for the first time since 1916- no, since long, long before then- that he is welcome and wanted.

When he came here Dream had braced himself for punishment. Instead, they sit and talk long into the evening. Soft and hesitant, Dream gives Hob his name, and Hob glows like he’s been given the answers to the universe. Bright and enthusiastic, Hob speaks of all he has done in the past century, and Dream listens and lets himself sink comfortably into the warmth of companionship.

Eventually, Dream knows he must return to his responsibilities. It aches to think of leaving this soothing place, but he feels as though a balm has been spread on his wounds. Still hurting and aching, but less so than before.

Before he stands to depart, Hob places a hesitant hand on his wrist.

“Feel free to drop by before 2089, yeah? Anytime.”

There is a long pause while Dream considers that. Despite how kind he had been, it feels inconceivable that Hob would want to see Dream more than he has to. But he cannot deny the way his chest clenches with hope at the idea of feeling this warmth again so soon.

Perhaps it is selfish.

But Dream agrees.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time it comes up is on their third meeting in as many weeks.

They are sitting together on a comfortably worn couch in Hob’s flat above the New Inn, next to each other but still with a respectable distance between them. Dream is trying very, very hard not to misstep in his friendship with Hob. And a part of that, he understands, means sharing the information Hob has asked for for so long.

It is a deeply uncomfortable experience for Dream. A part of him (the part that is still, in some way, shivering deep in the Burgess basement) cries that his secrecy is all that has protected him. That Hob, in his human greed and longing, will turn into Roderick the moment he realizes what Dream is, what he could get from him, what he could take from him.

(That same part of him, curled up the cold glass orb of his heart, cries that it’s better to just give it to him.)

And yet, in all that Dream tells him, Hob never turns cruel. He explains his function, his creation and rule over dreams and nightmares, and Hob’s eyes alight with wonder. He describes his realm, his subjects and landscapes and the Sea of Dreams, and Hob leans forward like an excited child.

And, when he stiltedly explains the nature of the Endless, Hob laughs fondly.

“You know, that actually explains so much.”

Dream tilted his head in confusion, “How do you mean?”

Hob waved his hand vaguely, leaning back in his seat, “Well, all your cute little quirks,” Dream resolutely ignores the warmth in his face from being called cute, “how formally you speak, and all the human things that seem to go over your head. Of course human social niceties aren’t natural to you, not only are you not human, you’re as old as the universe.”

Frowning, Dream looks down at his hands in his lap. He thinks, as he often does, of Death. Of her easy mingling with humans, her casual conversation, the way people smile at her. He thinks of his own shy smile and how all it does is make people walk away faster.

He doesn’t think being Endless explains anything about him, actually.

(It occurs to him, suddenly, that maybe it is not that he wishes to be unmade. He simply wishes he had been made right.)

(Or, perhaps, never made at all.)

“Hey.”

A warm hand covers his, and he looks up to find Hob leaning into his space, shooting him a small smile despite the concern in his eyes, “I’m not criticizing. It’s endearing,” he laces their fingers together, soft and gentle, “I like your quirks.”

That word again. Dream swallows, feels the words build at the base of his throat, they are flaws, they are faults, do not be fooled, do not show me mercy I do not deserve.

But before he gets a chance to explain, to warn him, Hob leans in closer, “I like you.”

The kiss is hesitant, he can taste the anxiety on Hob’s lips, the way he clutches his hand a little harder as though bracing to be pushed away. Dream does not have the strength to push him away. It takes every ounce of effort he has just to keep his tears from falling as he melts against Hob, pressing closer and drinking in Hob’s sigh of relief.

Dream stays long into the night, until Hob drifts to sleep in the circle of his arms. He never corrects Hob’s assumption on his nature, the words still stuck in his throat. Choking him.

But not enough to open his mouth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So," Hob drawled, putting his arm around Dream's shoulders in a way that was clearly trying to be casual and not succeeding even a little, "When do I get to meet your family?"

Several months have passed (several months of opportunities to tell the truth, to be honest, to crack his ribs open and show Hob everything wrong with him-) and their relationship has grown like a blooming flower. Dream feels warm with Hob, and Hob smiles easily whenever he visits.

Dream does not want it to end.

He hums in consideration, even as his entire body tenses against his will. He has told Hob about his family, though not extensively. He has told him their names, and the order of their birth, but not the intricacies of his relationships with them.

(He has not, even once, mentioned his parents. Hob hasn’t asked.)

(One of the first nightmares he ever crafted was that of a child crying for a parent who refuses to turn around.)

Beside him, Hob shifts a little uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck as he rambles, “I know it’s one of those silly human things, the whole ‘meet the fam’ part of a relationship, but well, y’know me, always curious about your life.”

Hob does that fairly frequently, explaining “human mysteries” or sometimes laughing fondly as he guides his “silly Endless” through whatever social mishap he’s found himself in. Always explaining away Dream’s stumbles with his inhumanity.

And now, he wants to meet his family, and Dream’s chest tightens at the thought of Hob expecting to meet more cold and aloof entities who don’t know where to put their hands and instead being met with Endless who are so much better.

“I… understand,” His speech is as faltering as the rest of him. “If you would like. To meet one of them. I can arrange a meeting.”

Pulling him closer against his side, Hob’s eyes brighten with excitement, even as he checks, “Are you sure?”

Dream nods, barely feeling the kiss on his cheek as he thinks of each of his siblings in relation to Hob.

Delirium and Hob would likely find each other a delight (an irony which does not escape him), both so vivid and full of life, always looking at things in new ways. They are both so bright, so colorful in their own ways. So jarring next to Dream's darkness.

(He pictures Delirium questioning why someone as nice as Hob is with her mean older brother.)

(He pictures Hob realizing he doesn't have an answer.)

He does not think he could bring himself to call Destruction, if he would even answer, but he thinks he and Hob would make fine friends- both turning away from the violence of their pasts, searching instead for ways to grow and nurture.

(Dream had to be punished into changing. Had to be tortured in order to grow.)

(He thinks he grew like a weed. Or perhaps an infection. Just because he is more does not mean he is good.)

If he's honest with himself, he thinks Hob and Desire would get along as well. Hob would probably be good for his sibling in a similar way that he was for Dream, able to understand the soft parts that Desire hides, and them able to share in the joys that life has to offer in a way Dream struggles to, so accustomed to denying his own wants.

(Desire hurt him. Desire hurt him.)

(He has been told that he is worse.)

Thinking about it, he thinks Despair would like Hob. He had the unique ability to truly appreciate despair and understand its value, and Despair had an appreciation for life that Hob could relate to.

(What does it say about him, he wonders, that Despair wants to live more than Dream does?)

Destiny would almost certainly decline any offer to meet, and Dream doesn’t know that he and Hob would be friends, per say, but…

(He imagines Destiny standing before the immortal, forgoing any small talk and telling Hob bluntly that he is destined for things far greater than his broken little brother.)

But, in the end, he knows there was always one person Dream wanted Hob to meet, even if it makes him lose him. So he steels himself and forces the words out.

"Hob, would you like to meet my elder sister, the one who gave you your immortality?"

“Death?” Hob goes a little wide eyed, “Is that- I mean, I can meet her without, y’know…” he makes a crude slashing motion across his throat.

“Of course,” Dream answers steadily, “She can be present among mortals without bestowing her gift upon them. She will not take you. Unless. You ask.”

“No, no, not planning that anytime soon,” Hob is quick to reassure, “Or ever, really,” he tacks on with a smirk and a wink.

Nodding, Dream allows himself to reach out and take Hob’s hand. He will miss this warmth. “I will speak with her, then. And arrange a meeting.”

Hob’s grin is wide and bright, and Dream can feel it as Hob presses a kiss to the sharp edge of his cheek bone, “Excellent! This will be fun, Love! I’ll pick up some of that wine that you liked enough to actually drink- or, would you rather we meet in the Dreaming?”

Dream only barely manages to suppress a cringe, but even so he bows his head, as if he could somehow hide within his own curled spine.

“I would. Prefer to let you meet on your own.”

Hob's smile falters, "What? Why?"

Because I do not want you to see us side by side. Because I do not want to make my lacking more obvious than it already will be. Because I won't survive seeing the moment your eyes turn cold. Because I'm scared.

"I merely wish you to get to know each other without my influence."

He can see so clearly in his mind’s eye, Hob glancing back and forth between the two siblings, one so charming and kind and good, and the other… lesser. Lacking. Dream does not wish to be present for that realization.

Recovering his grin, Hob laughed lightly, "Ballsy of you. Most folks I know wouldn't have the guts to leave their siblings and their partners alone together," he leans forward to play with Dream's hair teasingly, "What if we exchange secrets, eh?"

I'm a liar, I lied to you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-

“That is within your right.”

Hob laughs, startled, and pulls Dream flush against his side, “What a fair ruler you are,” he says jokingly, “Well, I can’t wait. It’ll be endlessly fun,” he winks, trying to get a rise out of Dream.

Dream smiles back. But it’s a little weaker than usual.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream stares at the ankh for a long time before he picks it up. A childish part of him wants to leave the gallery and feed Hob lies and excuses. Death is very busy, she could not make the time, I called and she didn’t answer, she didn’t answer, it has happened before-

But. What would that accomplish besides delaying the inevitable?

He cradles the ankh in his hands, “Death. I stand in my gallery and I hold your sigil.”

“Dream!” He can hear the smile in Death’s voice, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I wish to discuss. A personal matter. Would you care to join me?”

Death steps beside him almost before he can finish speaking, "Of course! What can I do for you?"

She's so casual and easygoing, but a part of Dream can't help but search for any lingering anger or resentment from their last talk. He wonders if she's forgiven him.

(He wonders if he's worth forgiving.)

Straightening, he explains flatly, "Hob Gadling wishes to meet you," he pauses before adding, "In a nonprofessional manner."

Snorting, Death replied, "Well, I could have guessed that," she grinned, "But you're finally letting me meet your little project?"

"He has become. Far more than a project."

"I know, I'm teasing, silly," she shoved his shoulder playfully, "I'd love to meet him! Just tell me when and where and I'll make some time."

Nodding, he considers his options. He is torn between stretching out his time with Hob and simply getting it over with. In the end, he chooses what he feels is a polite and reasonable timeframe.

“One week from tomorrow, in the afternoon. At the New Inn.”

“I’ll be there,” grinning, Death linked their arms together, “I can’t wait, I bet you two are sickeningly adorable together.”

A bitter part of him thinks Death would just be sad to see someone like Hob shackled to Dream.

“I will not be present. This meeting is for you and Hob.”

Death pulls back to look at Dream’s face, frowning in confusion. For a moment she seems to consider her words, before settling on a question, “What’s going on in that head of yours, little brother?”

Dream meets her gaze and answers flatly, “Nothing of importance.”

There is exasperation in her voice as she huffs, “I hate that you really believe that.”

He loves his sister so very much. And he does not have the strength to be yelled at right now.

So he straightens his spine and keeps his voice even, “I will let Hob know of the time of your appointment,” he allows himself to soften, just slightly, “He is looking forward to meeting you.”

“I look forward to meeting him, as well.” Death knows she has been dismissed, and so she gives Dream one final squeeze on his arm before departing back to her duties, a gentle rustle of feathers echoing through the gallery.

For a long moment, Dream stands in his gallery alone, gazing at the sigils of his siblings.

He will go and tell Hob of his upcoming meeting with Dream’s sister. And if he stays longer than strictly necessary, if he presses a little closer than he usually does, he if stares too long at Hob’s face in an attempt to commit his smile to memory, Hob is nice enough not to comment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is not raining in the Dreaming.

Dream does not feel that kind of sadness. There is grief, for certain but… it is a grief he believes he has no right to feel. This is not sorrow, it is justice, a loss of something that was never his to have. He cannot cry, he cannot mourn, he can't, he can't, he just-

The Dreaming is covered in a thick layer of fog.

A white mist, so thick it feels like you could move it with your hands, wade through it, drown in it. Dream is in one of the gardens surrounding the palace, grinding his teeth and trying desperately to make it go away. He had hoped that going outside would at least help clear the fog that had permeated the palace halls. Matthew had flown into a wall twice before resigning himself to perching on Lucienne’s shoulder until the hallways were visible again, and Dream does not think he could survive if another raven was injured due to his weakness.

The week had passed too quickly for his liking, time showing him no mercy. He had visited Hob each day, an unusual occurrence that Hob had raised an eyebrow at but otherwise not commented on. And in all that time, Dream had still not told him the truth. He did not explain that the Endless he was to meet would be nothing like Dream because Dream was nothing like the other Endless, did not confess to having cheated more time with Hob by misleading him about his nature. And now, it was too late. Hob would leave, and Dream would always be a liar.

Sighing, he leans against the tree behind him, looking up and frowning as the fog hides even the leaves above him. Sometimes he wishes he had more control over his connection to the Dreaming. More control over himself. He wonders if this is how humans feel when they wish mastery over their own bodies, their organs, their blood.

The fog is getting thicker.

Growling deep in his throat, Dream presses the tips of his fingers against his temples. There is no reason for him to feel so… lost. He has existed and survived before Hob, and he will continue to do so after. Happiness is not necessary. And besides, he has wanted to be a better person, and would a better person not prioritize their loved one’s happiness over their own? It is an irrefutable fact that Hob deserves better than Dream is capable of, so it is the least Dream can do to not stand in his way.

Pulling his knees to his chest, he wraps his arms loosely around them, feeling as bare and exposed as he had in Fawney Rig, suddenly thankful for the cover of fog. Perhaps, he could allow himself this respite. A moment of selfishness, and then he would pull himself together. Just one night to grieve where no one could see him. Just one night to hide-

“There you are!”

Dream’s head snaps up, eyes wide with a shock he could not hope to conceal.

Because Hob is here.

The immortal is smiling, like he has every other time he’s seen Dream, stumbling slightly through the fog before plopping himself down to sit pressed against Dream’s side. This close, he can see the spark of concern in his eyes even as he throws an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer.

“Well this is a bit different. You know I saw Merv actually sweeping the fog? What’s crazier is it was working, swept it into a big pile and then pushed it out the front door. I know anything is possible here, but I will admit I did spend a few minutes just staring at that spectacle.”

Throughout his rambling, Dream is aware that he is staring. A quick assessment of his own body alerts him to the fact that his mouth is parted, and he is literally gaping at Hob. How unbecoming.

When he fails to respond to his story, Hob’s smile dims, and the concern in his eyes amplifies, “Hey… is everything alright?”

No. Nothing makes sense. He feels more lost than before. He thinks the fog is getting thicker, heavier, colder.

“You…” He clears his throat, trying to compose himself even a little, “You were. Supposed to meet Death today. Did. Did that. Not happen?” That is the only logical explanation.

But Hob shakes his head, “No, we did, got back a couple hours ago, just took me a bit to fall asleep,” he chuckles a bit to himself, “She’s a riot, honestly, nothing at all like all the skull and crossbones nonsense.” He gives Dream a warm smile, “I can see why you two get along so well.”

Dream is. Dream is-

He opens his mouth, and all that comes out is fog.

“Woah, okay,” Hob jumps a little, but doesn’t pull away. If anything, his grip around Dream’s shoulders tightens.

Fog is drifting from the corners of Dream’s eyes.

He can’t see. He can’t breathe. He feels so lost-

“Alright, hey, hey,” Hob pulls him closer, wrapping him in a firm embrace, “Love, I think we should go to the Waking, okay? Is that alright?”

Dream forces himself to nod against Hob’s chest. His body is no more bound in the Waking than it is in the Dreaming, but sometimes the distance makes it… easier, if only a little, to keep his shape. As opposed to here, where the edges of Dream and the Dreaming often blur together. Like now.

Hob kisses the crown of his head, and Dream can feel him pulling away, waking up, and Dream follows the pull. In the space between realms, he forces his form together, like holding a door shut, like clenching a fist. When he arrives, he is laying on top of Hob, who is splayed out on his couch. Some hysterical part of him wants to scold Hob for not settling in his bed to sleep.

As Hob fully awakens, his arms reach up to embrace Dream, and Dream can’t help but curl his hands in Hob’s shirt. Slow and gentle, Hob maneuvers them to sit up, and when he pulls back, Dream cannot look him in the eye.

“Hey…” Hob cups his face with both hands, rubbing his thumbs in gentle circles on the hinge of Dream’s jaw, and Dream realizes for the first time that he is clenching his teeth together hard enough to crack human bone. He fears what will come out if he opens his mouth.

“You’re alright, dove,” Hob whispers, still trying to coax Dream into relaxing his jaw, “Everything is alright, I’m right here, sweetheart, I’ve got you my love.”

It takes a few minutes, just Hob whispering softly and soothing his fingers over Dream’s skin, but eventually Dream musters the courage to let his teeth separate, parting his lips just slightly. He sags with relief when all that escapes him is a shaky breath.

“There you are,” Hob presses a kiss to Dream’s forehead before tucking his head beneath his chin and pulling him into a hug, rubbing a hand up and down his back.

Ever patient, he waits until Dream is breathing evenly to question him, “What’s going on, dearheart?” He rocks them back and forth as he speaks, “You’ve been off all week. I should have said something sooner, but I thought you were just nervous about me meeting your sister.”

Swallowing thickly, Dream forces himself to answer, “I was.”

Hob pulled back, brows furrowed in confusion, “Okay, but everything went fine? I told you, we got along great.”

“But…”

“Did you think we wouldn’t?”

Dream feels as lost now as he did in the Dreaming. How does he explain this to Hob? How does he explain it without drawing Hob’s attention to that which he somehow missed? He should be grateful that Hob is still here, how is he supposed to tell him this truth without making him leave?

Is he destined to make him leave no matter what?

Belatedly, he realizes he is still clutching Hob’s shirt.

He lets him go.

“I did believe. That you would enjoy each others’ company,” he explains resignedly, “And I assumed that in your meeting, I would. Lose your favor.”

Had he been looking, he would have seen Hob’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, “You thought I would like her more than you?” His voice is heavy with disbelief.

“In a sense…” He had not considered Hob finding romantic interest in Death, as Hob seems to think, “I merely thought that. In meeting her, you would realize…”

(Death never struggled with her words the way Dream, the Prince of Stories, always seemed to.)

Taking a deep breath, he tries again, “We are both Endless. And yet. She is…”

“Different?”

“Better.”

Hob sucks in a breath as though he’s been slapped, “Dream-”

“You think that all the things wrong with me are due to my nature as an Endless,” Dream interrupts, the dam broken as he spills out everything he has been holding back for months, “and I let you believe that. But the truth is, my siblings are not like me. They do not struggle with humanity as I do, nor do they share my penchant for arrogance and cruelty. Death is older than I, and yet you saw her- she is kind, and she speaks normally, and she understands-” His voice cracks, and he has to pause, closing his eyes and forcing his molecules to stay solid. To stay here.

“The problem is not that I am Endless,” he confesses in a whisper, “The problem is that I am… me.”

Dream keeps his eyes downcast, fixated on the texture of the couch in the space between them. He wonders if Hob will chastise him for his deceit or simply tell him to leave, wonders if he will demand punishment or repayment.

One hand laces their fingers together, as the other gently cups Dream’s cheek. Hob does not try to tilt Dream’s face or make him meet his eyes. He just holds him.

“I happen to like ‘you’ very much, actually.”

Hob’s voice is soft as a breath, quiet despite the devastation and sorrow painting each word. Dream closes his eyes as Hob leans forward to brush their foreheads together.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he states firmly, confidently, “You’re not perfect, I know that, the same way you know that I’m not either. But there’s nothing wrong with you.”

The conviction in his voice gives Dream just enough courage to open his eyes. Hob’s eyes are filled with tears and shining with so much love it takes Dream’s breath away. When their eyes meet, Hob gives him a sad smile and brushes his thumb along his cheekbone.

“I’m sorry. For ever making you think you needed to explain away parts of yourself,” He brings Dream’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his trembling knuckles, “I don’t love you in spite of anything. I just love you.”

Dream wants to argue. He wants to give every example from his long, long life that he is wrong, that Dream is defective and unworthy and unlovable.

But when Hob kisses him, whispers “I love you” against his lips, he finds himself… hoping. That maybe Hob is right. That maybe this is another bet he would lose to the strength that is Hob Gadling’s love.

Later, after Hob has held him long enough that he does not feel like he may fall apart, he will give his arguments. Later he will state his case and Hob will not hesitate in debating right back, punctuating his points with soft kisses and fond smiles. And it will not fix everything right away, as much as they both wish it would. But it will feel like a start, like adding support beams to a faulty foundation, like strengthening the parts of Dream that always felt a breeze away from buckling.

But for now, Hob holds him tight and whispers against his hair, “You want to hear a secret?”

When Dream hums questioningly against his neck, he presses a kiss to his temple, “Death isn’t perfect either.”

Dream lets out a barking laugh, and then another, and another, and then he is sobbing and holding Hob like he is the only thing keeping him together because he is, and maybe this outburst is just another flaw of his.

Regardless. Hob still holds him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A month later, Hob and Dream invite Death over for drinks. Three very different people sit in hob’s living room, and they drink wine, and laugh, and Hob occasionally scolds Death when he feels Dream stiffen at some of her teasing.

Before she leaves, Death pulls Dream into a hug, patting his back even as he stands stiffly in the circle of her arms, “I was right. Sickeningly adorable, both of you.”

Dream huffs, but feels no real offense or embarrassment at her words. It is still hard to trust that this is real, sometimes. But all night he had searched Hob’s eyes, and even when Death made him laugh or understood some human reference, he still turned to look at Dream with love and joy.

As hard as it is to believe, the truth is that Hob sat with both of them, and when he grew tired he asked Death to leave.

But he asked Dream to stay.

#the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fic #my writing #projecting on characters in the club tonight

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