#ofc when you two put yourself in the same roles its going to feel like that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

enchantestuff · 3 years

Text

rekindle - rbr sebastian vettel

in which after a long time apart, you and Sebastian rekindle your love for one another in the least romantic place you could think of - a sweaty, packed nightclub

NOT MY GIF!!

warnings: public sex (ofc), fingering, teasing, lowkey angst at the start, nicknames, uncomfy ex, sebastain Vettel deserves a warning himself, happy sinning

taglist: @theringers @forestviper201 @icemanhoneybadger @formulamei @findthelightinyourlife

3.1k words

You smirked as your eyes met from across the club for what felt like the hundredth time that night. You hadn't seen him in over a year, the last time you were even in the same country as him had ended up with you climbing into a taxi, speeding away to the airport and him standing half naked in his driveway, wishing for the car to turn around and end his worst nightmare.

The relationship between you and Sebastsian was a complicated one to say the least. You had grown up with each other, your families vacationed together every second summer and you spent many christmases together. It was only when you got older that you started to really appreciate Sebastian.

Daydreams of what it would be like to spend a night in bed with him began to fill your free moments. Images of the two of you tangled in bed was once something that you could only dream about, but that dream certainly became a reality one unforgettable night in Italy.

It was during a celebratory dinner after yet another win that he had leaned over to talk to you. His lips brushed against the side of your neck and goosebumps had risen all over your skin, you cursed yourself for your reaction but soon began praising your childish antics once Sebastian finally caught onto how you felt about him.

The few words of “do i make you nervous, liebe?” led to the two of you making out in the corridor. That celebratory dinner escalated to a friends with benefits situation which set off a more than complicated relationship between the two of you where feelings were of course present, but stubbornness from both sides refused to let them be out in the open.

Your feelings for one another eventually escaped when he got into a nasty crash in the middle of a race. You ran up to him the minute he stormed into the garage, tears welling in your eyes as you crushed into a hug. He held you with just as much force and whispered into your ear what you had been waiting for months to hear.

He told you that you had been the only thing on his mind when he crashed into the wall and he didn't want to go a minute longer without telling you how he really felt about you

As much as you wanted things to be great with Sebastain, your relationship was unfortunately not plain sailing from there and the media had a bring role to play in your downfall. They wouldn't leave him or you alone, constantly following the two of you wherever you went and even going as far as sending mail to your shared home. It was the media that drove you to leave the man you adored and move to another country in search for a new career and a new life away from the public eye.

You stared at him now, unable to tear your eyes away from his beautiful frame. He looked as good as ever and you knew deep down that you would probably never see him again. So against your brain telling you not to, you engraved every detail of his face into your memory, not wanting to let him go just yet.

You felt horrible for leaving him and strongly believed that he hated you for abandoning him. You wouldn't have blamed him if he did, you sometimes hated yourself for that decision. So you kept your distance from him all night, repeatedly telling yourself that if he did not harbor any bad emotions towards you, then he would approach you himself.

To tell the truth, you were too embarrassed to go up to him yourself, too full of guilt to face him after what you had done. But when he made eye contact with you as he pulled a girl into his body, something inside you snapped and you found yourself being dragged into an all too familiar game of cat and mouse with him.

Your night of teasing had officially begun the minute he kissed the brunette's neck, refusing to break your stare as his hands ran up and down her hips. You decided it was your turn to reciprocate the teasing and pulled a random, but still handsome, man towards you to dance. Holding your gaze with him, you allowed the man to grip onto your hips and sway from side to side. Your ass pressing against him with every beat of the music.

You maintained eye contact with him as he chatted with multiple women, his hands resting dangerously low on their backs as he smirked in your direction, you hated how much you loved his little games.

You decided to take a dance break and stepped away from the claustrophobic dance floor. Moving towards the less packed bar, you leaned against the contour top as you ordered yet another drink. The feeling of hands wrapping around your hips didn’t surprise you, nor did the hot breath fanning across the back of your neck. You were used to the warmth of Seb’s body by now and after so much time apart, you still recognized his touch.

“Quite a show you put on back there,” he muttered, gesturing to the bartender for another drink before turning his attention back towards you. You kept your face forward, staring at the variety of liquor stacked on the shelves as Sebastian flirted with you in your ear. He was still positioned behind you, which you saw as the perfect opportunity to press your ass against his crotch.

The tightening of his grip only fueled you to press yourself further into him in hopes that you would emit an even stronger reaction from him, and boy did you get what you wanted. One of his hands rested underneath your breast and as he emitting a small amount of pressure against you, he forced you into him.

No longer leaning against the counter, you could now feel the entirety of his body pressed against you. Every vein and muscle. Every curve and dent of his body, Still, that didn't stop you from wiggling your bum against him.

“Are you trying to turn me on right now, love, or are you really that fucking oblivous?”

You twisted your head to finally look at him, momentarily taken aback by his pure beauty before regaining your confidence again. “That depends,” you hummed, purposely brushing your lips against his neck as you spoke, “Is it working?”

His hold on you tightened and somehow he pulled you even closer to him, allowing you to feel every inch and vein of his hardened cock. “Someones excited,” you smiled, immediately freezing up when you caught sight of your ex boyfriend standing next to you.

He was the man you had been with before Seb and it was safe to say he had completely broken your heart.

Confusion immediately filled Sebs body at your reaction, fearful he had done something wrong he moved to stand beside you, holding onto your bicep as he looked you in your eyes. “Are you alright, darling?” he questioned, his eyes bouncing back and forth as he searched your face for any indication of pain.

“Yeah its - “

“Y/N! Great to see you.” Dread immediately filled your body at the infamous voice, you felt yourself go rigid in Sebastian's grip and desperately wished for your ex to leave the two of you alone.

“Who's this douche?” Seb whispered in your ear, trying to relive some of your tension and comfort you in what seemed to be a terribly uncomfortable situation.

“Brad, hey,” you muttered, you grabbed hold of Sebastian's hand that was previously sprawled on the bar countertop, using the warmth of his touch as a confidence booster to finally turn around and face the brutal ex.

“How have you been?” he asked, refusing to even glance at the Redbull driver next to you, focusing his hungry gaze on you and you only.

You sighed deeply at his attempt of small talk. Could he not just say hello and move on? Did he really need to interrupt your night.

Sebastian kept a close eye on you throughout your short conversation. A sense of protectiveness filled him at your rigid stance, he knew you could handle the situation yourself but he couldn't help but want to aid you. He felt the need to get involved. So he did.

He didn’t let you answer the man's next question of what you had recently been up to, instead he grabbed hold of the side of your face, his fingers dipping into the nape of your neck as he pulled you into him. He grinned smugly at the worried glance you threw his way before connecting your lips together.

The kiss was hesitant at first.

Taking into account this was your first shared kiss together since the breakup, it felt both natural and unusual to be kissing him again, but as the seconds passed you found yourself relaxing in his hold and began kissing him back with much more force.

You lost yourself in the moment, the idea of your ex boyfriend watching you make out with your other ex boyfriend didn't even cross your mind. You solely focused on the way Sebastian’s lips felt against yours after such a long time apart. He was addicting.

Your eyes fluttered open when he pulled away, blushing slightly at the sheepish look he threw your exes way. “What were you saying, mate?” he confidently asked.

The feeling of his palm burned against your cheek and you couldn't even bring yourself to look at Brad, but you didn't need to as he just stumbled away, clearly intimidated by Sebastian.

There was no need for you to say anything to Seb - if the way you were teasing him earlier on in the evening was of no indication to how you felt about him - then the lustful look you were giving him now certainly was.

He immediately pulled you back into him, your lips reconnecting in a lustful kiss. With no more awkwardness surrounding the two of you, you found yourself enjoying it even more.

Moving one of his hands down your body, Sebastian forcefully squeezed your bum which emitted a gasp from you, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth, further deepening the kiss. He pressed his body against yours and your hands raked across it, feeling his muscles flex against your hands.

You moaned into his mouth the minute he dug his hips into you, the feeling of his body so close to you bringing you back to when the two of you dated. Confusion filled you when he pulled away, ending your lovely make out session and disappointing you tremendously. “Don't start what you can't finish, love” he warned, leaning down to scatter kisses across your chest, nipping and licking at every exposed area.

“Who says I can't finish this?” you remarked, grinning at the way his eyebrows rose at your statement.

“Look around us, darling” he stood up straighter, craning his neck to glance from side to side, taking into account the multiple people surrounding the two of you. Hundreds of people filled the room, hundreds of eyes that could possibly witness something. Hundreds of reasons why the two of you shouldn't get ahead of yourselves. But then again, when he looked back at you and the playful pout that crossed your features - he found himself making up a hundred different reasons as to why it was such a brilliant idea.

“But then again,” he continued, leaning closer to you in order to whisper in your ear, “that's never stopped us before.”

A shiver ran up your spine at his words, images flashing through your mind of previous encounters the two of you had in the most inappropriate areas. Cutting your daydream short, Sebastian grabbed hold of your hand and guided you up the stairs to the more secluded vip area.

The bouncer merily glanced at Sebastian before lifting the red velvet rope and letting the two of you in. Nodding a small thanks to the man, he continued his journey into the dimly lit area, a content hum leaving his lips at the sight of a small booth in the corner.

He sat down on the plush seats and you fell down to sit on top of him, the lower half of your body covered by the wooden table in front of you. Sebastian wasted no time in kissing your neck, unable to detach himself from your skin for more than a few moments.

Your head fell back onto his shoulder, watching the small group of people ahead of you dancing and laughing at each other caused a blush to quickly creep up your cheeks. The thought if anyone witnessing your antics both embarrassing and exciting you.

“Are you sure you want to do this, liebe?” Seb questioned, he placed his finger on your cheek and forced you to look at him as he spoke. “Because once we start, I won't be able to stop.”

“And why would I ever want you to stop?” you shot back, pressing your bum further into him to prove your point. Sebs eyes scanned the area, having seemingly decided the risk of getting caught was worth it, he ran his fingers up your thigh, under your skirt and into your underwear.

His other hand trailed the opposite direction, moving up your body to gently squeeze your breast. You arched your back at the sensation, your ass moving further into him and a harsh squeeze being delivered as a result.

Slipping a finger into you, his hand flew away from your breast to clamp over your mouth, muffling the sudden moan that escaped you. “You have to be quiet, sweetheart. There's people around us,” he reminded.

He littered gentle kisses up your neck and you could feel his smirk against your skin at the shaky breath you let out the minute he slipped a second finger into you. “I don't think anyone else deserves to hear your moans, darling.”

You hummed against his hand, wetness pooling at his words and your eyes fluttering closed as his thumb began to circle your clit. “Move up for a second, liebe,” he demanded once he removed his fingers from you. Having no other option but to comply, you braced your hands against the table and stood up on shaky legs. You patiently waited as Sebastain undid his belt, the sound of the metal coming undone bringing a newfound wetness to your core.

“Ready?” he questioned, moving his hand up and down your thigh to comfort you. You nodded your head, biting harshly on your lip, you quickly glanced behind you and yet another shaky breath tumbled from your lips at the sight you beheld.

Sebastain was sprawled across the couch with his dick barely covered by your body. The sight of him shamelessly sitting there did something to you and before you lost your confidence, you slowly lowered yourself down onto him.

“Keep quiet now,” he reminded once you took all of him in. Your hands gripped onto the table in front of you, your knuckles quickie turning white as you used it as leverage to start moving.

The sound of your skin hitting against sebastians was muffled by the laughter of the crowd and the loudness of the msic booming across the grand club. “I'm trying,” you grunted.

You slowly bounced on him, trying to keep your movements small and inconspicuous to the people around you. But Sebastian could only last so long without needing to take over. A moan accidentally escaped you once he began thrusting his own hips upwards to meet yours. In response to your foolishness, he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking not so gently on it as a warning and forcing you to look at the dim lights hanging above you instead of the people ahead of you.

Holding onto your body he quickly steadied you, forcing you to halt your movements as a random man walked up to the two of you. You shifted in his hold and attempted to reposition yourself to look more natural towards the stranger. You just wanted it to seem like you were cuddling the driver, not bouncing on his dick.

One of your arms wrapped around his neck while the other laid on his chest. You spared a quick glance downwards, making sure your skirt covered everything before looking back up at the man. Sebastian greeted him, admittedly not poilelty, but he greeted him nevertheless. It only took a few seconds for the two of you to realise he was a fan and by the looks of it, would do anything to hold a conversation with the Sebastian Vettel.

You couldn't help but move on his lap, the need for friction overwhelming you after staying put for several minutes. You slowly began rolling your hips, your heart racing at the sudden release of pressure and also at the fact you were grinding on him with a fan of his only a few feet away.

Sebastian cleared his throat, trying desperately to pay attention to the man in front of him and not on how good you felt clenching around him. His hips unintentionally runted up into you, muttering a quick curse under his breath he grimaced at the man, cutting his sentence short as he gestured towards you. “If you wouldn't mind,” he sympathetically commented.

“Right, right sorry,” he mumbled, “Enjoy your night.”

He soon scrambled away from view and Sebastian began carelessly thrusting into you again. You returned to your original position, now resting your head against the table, thankful for the pleasure filling your whole body. You could feel a bead of sweat forming on the nape of your neck and were almost certain you looked a mess but you couldn't have cared as you got nearer and nearer to your peak.

This new angle allowed Sebastian to take control of your activities. He guided your hips back and forth, not paying attention to the movement of the table nor the attention that the two of you could possibly bring your way. All he wanted was to bring you to your release. “Are you going to cum for me, darling?” he whispered. You nodded against the table, the coolness of the wood reliving your flushed cheeks as you felt the knot begin to release in your stomach.

You moved your hand to grip onto his thigh, “I'm gonna-” you mumbled, unable to finish your sentence as he gripped onto the back of your neck and forced you to sit up straight. His fingers immediately fell down your throat in a poor attempt to muffle your moans. You whimpered loudly at his show of dominance, your attempts to keep quiet failing profusely as he hurried his movements.

His fingers moved further down your throat as your walls clenched around him. Before you knew it you were spilling yourself against Sebastain. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head and heat filling your body as he followed in your actions.

#Sebastian Vettel imagine #Sebastian vettel #Sebastian Vettel smut #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 #forumla 1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one imagine #formula 1 smut

853 notes · View notes

tatiana-petrovna · 3 years

Text

seven stars

I dreamed you, I wished for your existence...If I love you, it must be because we have shared at some time the same imaginings, the same madness, the same stage. - anais nin

fandom: paper year (that's a lie this is really just for the Hamish Linklater girlies) pairing: noah bearinger x 2nd person OFC (kitsa hazani) summary: when noah bearinger's latest play script gets picked up by a new york theatre company, he moves back to manhattan to co-direct. the moment you walk into auditions, he knows he wants you for the lead. warnings: age difference (older m/younger f 21+), director/leading actress, extramarital affair, choking mention a/n: if you haven't read the greek myth of ariadne this is going to get confusing so please do that first :) also yes I'm picturing Rahul Kohli for Ravi. You're welcome.

playlist

tag list: @plainlo-inthemorning

New York City, Manhattan

You stand in the hallway outside of the theatre auditorium, pacing lazily as you recite the words to yourself. His words.

It’s a painfully stunning script. And you want this, bad.

Not just some random role in the ensemble. No, you want Ariadne. Something in you just vibrates when you read her lines. Like you know this part was written for you. Like you were put on this earth in this place and this time to bring these words to life. And you’re known as one of the best actresses in the Manhattan theatre community. Hell, you just finished five months on Broadway as Persephone in Hadestown. You’re not just talented, you’re adaptable, friendly, easy to work with, you always try to bring a positive energy to rehearsals. People really like you. But still, your insides are a ruckus of angry butterfly wings.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the pockets of light and shadow in the theatre when you stand on the empty stage. Across the room, his big brown eyes meet yours and something just clicks. The whole world seems to melt away and suddenly, it’s like the Lower East Side belongs to just the two of you.

You’re fairly certain that’s him. Noah Bearinger. The script’s author and now a co-director on the piece. For all intents and purposes, he is omnipotent in this moment. As god-like in this room as any of the producers. Perhaps more so. After all, it’s his vision they’re here to cast. If he doesn’t like the look of you for this role, you’re gone - no matter how well you read.

Thankfully, he does like the look of you. Very much so. You can feel that from across the room, like Jupiter pulling you helplessly into its orbit.

It’s second nature for an actress to want to read poetic monologues with a Shakespearan sort of cadence. And it can be hard to fight the instinct after so many years of classical training. But you know he’ll have heard it spun that way a hundred times today. Instead, you do your best at something between stream-of-consciousness and panic attack style muttering. Like you’re reading Reservation Blues, gift wrapped as a Greek tragedy.

You pace across the stage, like Ariadne pacing across the beach of Naxos after she’s been abandoned. Then sit and study the stage lights as if they’re constellations. All while lamenting and cursing Theseus’ name. Your father’s name. The minotaur. Your grandfathers, Zeus and Helios. You open yourself to her anger and let it course through you like a glacier melting in spring. Her shame at trusting her fate in the hands of a man becomes your own. Her desperation and fear, now sitting alone on the island shores, feels so real that your hands shake as they drag through your hair.

It’s the first audition all day that gets a standing ovation from the entire production team. As you stand to take a bow, you’re grinning so hard your smile could rival the marquee lights on opening night. Across the room, your eyes meet his again...and you just know you’ve met your Dionysus.

///

The full cast is announced a few days later and you’re thankful you know most of them. Ravi Khan will be playing your Dionysus on stage and you’re excited, because you just saw him slay Macbeth and heard he brought the house down every night for seven months straight. You know you’re in very good hands there.

The financiers (a couple from Connecticut who finish each others sentences and talk with the charming sort of cadence only rich, white northeastern gay men can) throw a party at their Soho loft after casting is officially announced. They want everyone to get together for a little ice breaking. A little team building. At least, that’s the spin. You’re fairly certain they want to meet the names that will be on their marquee.

The loft takes up three levels and comes with a rooftop garden. It’s their fourth residence in the continental US but you’ve heard they have another in Europe. You wonder if this party wasn’t also a snobbish little reminder. We’re the guys writing your paychecks and you’re just our pretty little marionettes. So don’t fuck up.

It might intimidate you more if your eyes weren’t drifting to Noah’s all night. You make a point not to talk to him, unsure what the fuck you’re supposed to make conversation about when just looking at him too closely aches. Like you’ve caught a flu you can’t quite shake.

Finally, after dinner, you excuse yourself to go up on the rooftop and smoke. That’s what you tell everyone anyway. But you’ve never smoked cigarettes a day in your life. You just need a few deep breaths of cold air before your skin burns off from the heat of Noah’s piercing gaze. You stand by the cement ledge and tip your head back in vain, looking for stars you know you won’t be able to see.

“It’s worse in LA…all the smog.” His voice calls out to you on the wind and you turn to watch him walking in your direction. As he gets closer, he eyes you playfully. “I thought you were smoking.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Well, I am. I came up here to bum a cigarette off you. And now I just look like...”

Like the older director chasing his pretty leading actress out of the party? Hmm. Couldn’t be.

You know better than to give the words a voice. You want this job so fucking bad. Almost as bad as you want him.

Gripping the cement barrier, you lean back a bit, stretching your arms. A quiet that’s thick with tension lingers between the two of you for a long string of moments.

“Your wife…?”

“Sally.”

Nodding as if you knew this and just forgot, you continue on. Who the fuck names their daughter Sally anymore? Had her parents thought it was ironically quaint? Jesus Christ…

“Right, Sally…she didn’t come?”

“Ehh, she’s grading papers. She’s a professor for UCLA but she’s doing virtual classes for them this semester and… it’s a lot.”

“English Lit?”

“Business Admin. But good guess.”

“She sounds fun.”

Your drawling sarcasm earns you a chuckle and he nods a bit.

“Uhh, she can be. Y’know, layers. Just like anyone else.”

“Well, with a name like Sally I bet the layers are just…you know. Move over onions.”

“Are you planning to be this much of a brat the entire production or did you save this energy up special just for tonight?” Turning to rest his back against the cement barrier, Noah’s smirk betrays his overbite and you can’t help the way your eyes fall there. He’s got such a pretty mouth. Like a kitten.

“Ohh no, yeah. This is just for you.” Your eyes, full of city night lights, sparkle up at him and you laugh under your breath.

His hands are cold from the night air up here and your breath hitches softly when he reaches to brush your hair back off your shoulder. He tucks it behind your ear, thumb tracing the shell of cartilage there as his eyes lose altitude. First to your mouth. Then your throat. Then the fair bit of cleavage this dress is showing off.

“How do you feel about the script? Be honest with me.” His voice is lower now. Breathier. Swallowing, you feel your features sober up a bit and you reach up to gently grip his arm.

“I’ve read it through like three times…it’s… like Mary Oliver and Anais Nin had a baby. In size eleven font.”

“That’s very high praise… thank you.” A moment of doubt flashes across his features and a wrinkle creases the space between his big brown eyes. “Wait, is it praise? I love both of those women and I just assumed…”

“Ohh, I am restless.” You sigh deeply, head tipping back as your eyes close. As an actress you don’t know how to recite poetry without performing it. Especially not Anais. “Things are calling me away...my hair is being pulled by the stars again.”

With a smirk you find his eyes again, knowing that must’ve answered his question well enough. In the back of your mind, you wonder faintly if his cool Business professor wife can do that. Watching you with eyes as hungry as an alcoholic holding a bottle of gin, you feel the pad of his thumb trace your lower lip.

“As June walked toward me from the darkness of the garden into the light of the door, I saw for the first time the most beautiful woman on earth.” His eyes flash to yours again and slowly, Noah leans over enough to rest his nose against your forehead. His words, one of your favorite Anais diary entries, are a breath across your skin. Murmured with such astounding sincerity, you’d swear they were his own spontaneous thoughts if you did not know any better. “A startling face, burning dark eyes. A face so alive I felt it would consume itself before my eyes. Years ago I tried to imagine true beauty. I...created in my mind an image of just such a woman...I had never seen her until last night. Yet I knew long ago the phosphorescent color of her skin, her huntress profile. She was color and brilliance and...strangeness…”

Leaning up on your toes, you catch his mouth in a deep kiss. And though his mouth is as cold as your own, you slide your hands under his coat and you both warm quickly against each other. You still can’t see the stars over New York City, but as he kisses you, you swear you can feel them.

///

You reach blindly across the bed until the smooth protective case that covers your phone is in your grasp. Blinking away the sleep from your eyes, you roll away from him. Checking missed texts and emails. Checking Twitter notifications. Instagram likes.

His kisses are warm trailing up your spine. Across your shoulder. Under the covers his bare arm sneaks around your middle. Flattens against your torso. The delicious heat of one large hand sinks into your skin and, as he gently pulls you back against his chest, you can’t help noting that from pinky to thumb, his hand easily traverses the width of your ribcage.

“Come back…” Long fingers brushing down your arm, he gently nudges the phone out of your grip. Normally this would irritate you. Last night shouldn’t have happened at all. He should be on his way home to his wife, riddled with guilt and trying to come up with a decent excuse.

But you feel as if there’s secrets hidden between your pages and his. Pressed there like flowers. Not just the sex. Like you both know some great cosmic joke no one else is clued in on. You’ve felt it since the audition. Since his brown eyes met yours across the theater.

Sliding your phone onto the bedside table, you roll over and bury yourself in the heat of his chest again. Arms curling around you almost protectively, he holds you snugly in place. Like you belong right here and nowhere else. His fingers brush up your spine and get lost in your soft hair.

“You make me want to rewrite this whole script…” His chuckle is low, and you can feel it deep in his chest. To anyone else, this might almost sound offensive. But from a playwright to his leading actress, it’s… almost as sacred as a prayer. “Or just write a whole new one, I dunno. Every time I’m around you my inspiration is just running wild.”

Pulling back, you can feel the lopsided smile on your face. Skimming your fingertips up over the soft skin of his upper arm. His skin is freckled, tan from spending the last decade or so in LA.

“You should write then… I don’t want you to lose it. You should chase that rabbit.”

He watches you carefully, clearly having expected a different response.

“You wouldn’t be upset? Cause… I’ll warn you, if I get started, it’s like getting sucked into another dimension. I may not come out again for eight or ten hours…or a few days even.”

Shrugging, you push yourself up and slide out of bed. You’ve always been fairly independent and you’re too creative not to empathize.

“I’m good.” Sliding on a pair of yoga pants, you dig around in your drawer for a sports bra. “I gotta get to the gym anyway. And I wanna work on my lines.”

“If I ran home to grab my laptop and then came back…”

“Yeah yeah, go for it.” Now suitably dressed, you lean over to steal a soft, smiley kiss. Nuzzle at his nose. You wonder if he knows just how sexy he looks right now, laying in your sheets with his big sleepy eyes and those salt-and-pepper curls all ruffled. You savor the knowledge that it’s your fault he looks a little bit of a mess right now.

“And then you’ll come back…” He muses happily, clearly looking forward to this part of the day. Tugging you down so you’re half resting over him, he leans back into the pillows. Lets his fingertips trace like wisps of smoke across your bare shoulder blades.

“It’s my apartment, I have to come back.” You tease him, smirking softly as if coming back to him is only coincidental to living here. As if you won’t be daydreaming about him writing in your apartment all day.

“And I’ll be here waiting. Impatiently.”

“Sally won’t miss you?” You like having him here. A lot, if you’re honest. And you don’t mind playing house for a couple of days. Coming home to him. Sharing bottles of white wine. Cuddling like foxes in winter. But you don’t particularly want to trade all that for a girlfight with a 40-something year old tenured college professor. Especially not one that can write spreadsheets.

“She’s visiting her parents in Maine. I’m free ‘til Sunday night…” His words are murmured over your jawline as he trails petal soft kisses there. Dragging a hand down your spine, Noah’s hand fits against the curve of your ass, swatting gently then squeezing. “Let me stay here with you, hmm? Please…”

“Hmm… I might not let you leave again.”

“I might not want to.”

///

“Tell me about California.” You’ve never been to the West Coast. You’ve only ever heard horror stories about the climate of west coast theatre. Chock full of Netflix rejected actors and hacked up ego-tripping directors. Maybe it’s all just hearsay. Maybe not. But sometimes you daydream about running off to California with Noah. About night riding through the Hollywood Hills real slow and watching the sun rise over Pacific Coast Highway, wrapped up in a blanket in his backseat.

“I think the only thing I really know about LA anymore is that… the whole time I was there...I was missing you.”

Your laugh gets lost on a biting autumn wind and it rustles the trees of Central Park as you walk hand in hand. He’s romantic to the point of silliness sometimes.

“You didn’t even know me then.”

“Didn’t I? The way I felt when you read my script for the audition. The way you felt saying the words. I’ve always known you. And you’ve always known me.”

“You mean you missed the idea of me…”

Squinting at the sun as it dips between the buildings that surround you, Noah’s broad shoulders give up a shrug as he contemplates your words. Weighs the truth from them.

“No…maybe? I… I don’t think time works that way. I don’t think it’s really that black and white. You and I will always be in this park. We’ll always be right here. And here. And here…” Your laughter bubbles up to meet his own as he measures his words with each step.

“Sort of like that poem? Everything carries me to you. As if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me.”

His smile grows enough to crinkle his eyes when the Pablo Neruda quote registers in his mind. Nodding, he squeezes your hand. Tugs it to his lips to nuzzle your knuckles and brush a warm kiss there.

“Exactly. Each moment is infinite. Backwards, forwards. Time isn’t...us moving through space. It’s all around us. It’s a fabric.”

You try to get your head around this concept. And you suppose he’s right. But it’s hard to imagine that he actually feels that way. That this is real for him. You’re still waiting for the other boot to drop. Still waiting for him to wake up and realize you’re not enough. Still waiting for him to leave and go back to his wife.

///

His wife shows up to rehearsals and you can’t help the way your eyes drift while you sit stretching your legs on the stage floor. The way you study her like a journalist about to hammer out a biting expose.

She’s pretty, you guess. For her age. In a sort of basic Karen way.

Her eyes don’t arrest you the moment you’re in their path, like his can. She lacks the same inescapable gravitational pull. But her skin is clear. Blonde hair stylishly short. Her clothes and good posture make it obvious she comes from money.

You’re not jealous, you tell yourself as your eyes follow their every interaction. Clocking the way he rests his hand on the small of her back. The way his eyes crinkle at her charming jokes with the producers, who seem to be friends of hers. No, you’re not jealous at all.

You find yourself wondering if he’s himself in their home. The same wildly soulful and passionate man that you find in your bed most nights. Does he choke her nearly hard enough to make her pass out, then kiss the bruises? Do they lay around in messy sheets and read Greek tragedies together? Does she cook for him and let him feed her with his bare hands? Has she ever made new constellations out of his freckles and written whole stories for them?

It’s hard for you to imagine him giving himself so raw and bloody to anyone else. But maybe he does… maybe this means so much less than you want it to… maybe you’re just a fun way to pass the time…

Snapping his fingers at you, Ravi pulls you out of the clouds and back to the rehearsals happening on stage around you.

“You alright, love?” His English accent rings clear even in his chuckle.

“Hmm? Oh yeah…” Pushing up off the stage floor from where you had been stretching, you take Ravi’s outstretched hand and let him pull you to your feet. “Sorry. Too much kush before coming in.”

“And you didn’t share? Hmm. You’re lucky you’re so cute, ducks.” He shakes his head in amusement and walks you to the spike tape in place for Act III’s stage direction.

///

Nosing behind Noah’s wet ear, you drop a kiss to his shoulder. Nip as lightly as you can at his earlobe, tongue slipping out to taste his soft skin. You try desperately to ignore the way the heat of the bath water brings out the scent of his cologne in it's steam. But it’s impossible.

Nose brushing along his neck, you're pulled back to earth only by his gentle squeeze on your thigh. The low chuckle in his throat.

"You still with me, gorgeous?" You’ve been reading Marlowe's Faustus together the last couple of nights. He reads for Faustus, you for Mephistopheles. It's more fun than you might have imagined, both of you getting so into your characters that the story seems to come to life with vibrating colors.

"We had to pretend all daaay..." Your words are a breathy pout in his ear as your fingertips ghost down his chest, tracing through the soapy bath water there. "I’m still aching from it."

You’re still not sure how you manage to hide this so well at rehearsals. You suppose being an actress by trade helps. You’re paid to be a good liar. But damn if he doesn’t challenge you like no script ever has.

"Hmm..." Smirk tugging at his mouth, Noah leans back to nuzzle his scruff across your soft skin. Presses lazy kisses here and there. "I thought I had satisfied that ache upon arrival...did I not?"

Cradling his throat, you tilt his head back slowly and steal a gentle kiss. Deep and warm and wet. Kissing him is always a little like slipping back through the looking glass. Out of the maelstroms of your head and back into Wonderland.

Nuzzling at his nose, you shake your head and let a lazy smile grace your lips.

"You always satisfy me…and you always leave me aching insatiably all over again after." Thumb stroking over the evening scruff on his chin, you keep his head tilted back on your shoulder as you read from the pages of his old paperback once more. But you whisper as if the words are coming to you on the spot, sent down from the muses themselves. "Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed. In one self-place; for where we are is hell, And where hell is, there must we ever be. All places shall be hell that is not heaven."

Noah’s smile returns, warming his features to their usual buttery glow. Holding his book up a bit higher, he murmurs Faustus' line with buoyant amusement.

"Come, I think hell’s a fable."

"Ay, think so still, till experience change thy mind." Your own lilt bites back.

"Think’st thou that Faustus is so fond to imagine that after this life there is any pain? Tush, these are trifles and mere old wives’ tales."

"Gods, I haven’t thought about hell as painful in...years." You have a terrible habit of interrupting the reading with your own thoughts. Thankfully, he has yet to complain.

One finger between the pages to mark your place, he closes the book and focuses all attention on you again. Thunder rumbles closer than before, rain hitting the roof angrily.

“Something you'd like to share with the class, Ms. Hazani?” His voice is a low murmur across your jaw, nose nudging your skin encouragingly.

In these moments, Noah seems only ever to love like a gentle, deliciously warm summer rain. In your apartment, he has nothing to prove. No ego to beat you over the head with or jealousy to shackle you in. He can be a different man altogether at rehearsals. A perfectionist to the point of ruin. And you’ve felt his patience grow short more than once when you giggle at Ravi’s jokes. But here…

“Well, I guess… I don’t know. Maybe it’s because my mother is Greek. Maybe it’s… residual Persephone headspace after Hadestown? I dunno, I think of the underworld and I see… walls of blue ice. Rivers of pitch black. Feasts laid out on long tables. Groves of figs and pears and pomegranates. I see the Fields of Elysium. I don’t see pain. Not anywhere.”

Setting his book on the floor outside of the tub, Noah reaches back. Slides his warm fingers across your neck.

“Now you really sound like Ariadne.” He chuckles lazily, fingers of his free hand tugging your hand up so he can kiss the inside of your wrist.

“Ahh, I suppose that’s true.” You laugh softly, both arms resting over his shoulders, fingers brushing down his chest. “When did that change?”

“And many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, Some to everlasting life, Some to shame and everlasting contempt. Book of Daniel. Second century BCE. It’s the...mystery of Gehinnom. The sort of waiting room? Between death and coming to be with God again. I don’t think it was punishment initially. More like...a review. This is what you could’ve done better, this is what we’d like to see next time, sort of thing.”

“Sounds a lot like the critics at the Village Voice.”

Laughter shakes his broad shoulders and Noah finally pushes himself up from the bathwater that’s starting to grow cold around you. He helps you up, wrapping you in a towel and rubbing at your upper arms a bit to warm you. Fastening a towel around his slender hips, he climbs out first. Then takes your hand to help you do the same. Sure, you can do this yourself. You’ve done it a thousand times before. But you like it too much when he babies you to fuss.

“I missed you today too, you know…” His eyes find yours, wet bangs hanging around his eyes as he grabs a hand towel to gently brush a few beads of water off your forehead and cheek. “If I didn’t say it before.”

“You did…” Brushing a hand up his bare back, you step closer. The air is cool and you’re already getting goosebumps. But he’s too distracting. You never know how to walk away from him, even in your own self interest. “But I always need to hear it...just once more.”

Without warning, he scoops you up bridal style and carries you back into the bedroom. His voice is so soft, you barely hear the brush of it over your skin over the rainfall outside.

“It torments me to see you just a few hours and then surrender you...When I see you, all that I wanted to say vanishes. The time is so precious and words seem extraneous. But you make me happy…” He lays you down in your bed, and sits on the edge. For a moment, you just lay there looking up into the pooling warmth of his brown eyes.

Finally, your lungs expand around a breath and you scoot over so he can join you in bed. As you brush your towel away, you finish the Anais quote he started, enjoying that this is just an obnoxiously cute habit you’ve both cultivated.

“There is still too much sacredness clinging to you...You come and time slips away in a dream. It is only when you go that I realize completely your presence. And then it is too late. You numb me.”

Noah lets his own towel fall to the flower and you lose yourself in the heat of his skin as he pulls you into a kiss deep enough to drown you.

///

Dress rehearsals find everyone tense. So tense that even stretching hurts.

“You alright, ducks?” Sipping at his water, Ravi wanders up to you while the tech booth guys try to work out a lighting kink.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got a knot in my shoulder? Like right where it meets my neck? Every time my arm moves, my shoulder blade triggers it.” Still attempting to roll you shoulders against the pain, the grimace on your pretty face is all too obvious. Setting his water down, Ravi moves confidently behind you. Brushes the shoulders of your Grecian style dress down enough to give him better access to your neck.

“This is gunna hurt, but… my father’s a PT. My brother too. So,...”

“So, you’re the family disappointment who ran off to join the circus?” You snicker softly, well aware of the arguments he must’ve gotten into with his parents for not falling in line with the family business of medicine. Your own father is Turkish, and he’s still asking when you’re going to find a real job. You know it’s just because he loves you. But sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it makes you feel like you could win all the Tony awards and have your name lighting up every Billboard in Times Square. But you’ll still never be enough.

“So. I feel a lot less guilty about how much pain I’m about to put you in. Thanks.” He mutters through playfully gritted teeth. “And you can trust me, hmm?”

Nodding your consent, you try not to savor the warmth of his hands on your skin.

Across the auditorium, Noah’s eyes meet yours. It’s like a wrench around a bolt, the way your stomach suddenly twists. You can feel what he’s thinking. The territorial rage that simmers under his skin.

Suddenly the pain comes in a blinding flash and you whimper like a puppy that’s just been kicked. Still, you force your spine to stay straight.

“Is that too much? Should I”-

“Mm mm. Don’t stop. I think it’s almost there.” Pushing yourself back into the pressure point of his thumb, you feel yourself nearly break into a sweat at the pain. But then he’s finished. A long shuddering breath falls from your lips. “Fuck.”

Setting your dress back in place with the care of a secret lover, Ravi brushes a hand down your arm. Gently guides your wrist up so your whole shoulder has to flex in response. Over your shoulder you flash him a grin.

“Yeah? It worked?” He seems just as excited as you are and you can’t help kissing his cheek. Maybe in earnest appreciation. Maybe in hopes of getting back at Noah for going home to his wife on weeknights.

“Yeah. Thank you so much, Dr. Khan.”

“Ahh. Well… I do home visits as well.” He slips you a cheeky wink and you giggle as Noah climbs up on stage.

“Alright, let’s take lunch guys. I don’t think this lighting thing is getting fixed any time soon. Might as well get some food into you.” You can hear the casual impatience in his voice and when he snaps his fingers at you, you have to raise an eyebrow. It takes every cell of restraint in your body not to quip about him calling you back like a poodle. “Miss Hazani, can I speak to you in my office?”

Ravi gives you a look like you’re being called to the principal’s office and you roll your eyes as if indignant. Still, you nod respectfully and trail after Noah anyway. Good little poodle, you think to yourself. The door is barely closed before he’s laying into you.

“If you thought that was cute, it wasn’t.” The hurt in his eyes makes you feel as if you’ve slapped him in front of everyone.

“I...I had a knot in my back. He was just helping me. I swear, that’s all it was.”

“Oh, don’t stop Ravi. I’m almost there, Ravi. Yeah I can see how that was entirely innocent.” Eyeing you pointedly, one hand finds his hip while the other rests against his desk. With you in between him and the desk, this movement effectively pins you in place. But it’s hard to be intimidated by a man who practically worships at your altar every night.

“Hey, when is it bring your wife to work day again? I wanted to make Sally some muffins.”

“Thursday and she has a gluten allergy.” He tips his head in a deadpan, as susceptible to the pull of your sarcasm as ever.

“Aww. I’ve been meaning to pick up one of those. So on trend.”

Sucking in a breath, Noah glances down for a moment trying to find his patience on the linoleum floor. No such luck. Leaning in closer, his thumb and index finger flirt with the soft skin of your chin.

“We’ve got two weeks. I need you to focus. Can you do that for me, please?”

“Since you asked so nicely…” Brushing a hand down his chest, you finger one of the white buttons there. Then sigh softly. If you’re truly honest with yourself, you know he’s right. You know you were playing the brat to get his attention. To feel a little better about having to share him. Conceding a nod, you lean in to rest your head against his shoulder. His fingers brush through the strands and you spend your whole lunch break like that. Just letting him hold you like a little lapdog.

///

You haven’t seen him outside of work in a week because, with fall break in full swing, Sally is finally home for more than a few hours at night and suddenly she wants to make things “work”. You check your phone more than you should, only to feel your stomach tighten harshly around its own acids.

No new messages.

Running on coffee and mints, you go up town looking for adderall from your friends in the Financial District. It’s enough to get you through rehearsals. Through thanksgiving with your parents in Rhode Island. The Sunday night when everyone finally returns to Manhattan, you all decide a cast dinner is just what you need.

You pull out the sexiest little velvet dress you own and do your hair and makeup real glam. To add insult to injury, you arrive fashionably late and sit on Ravi’s lap because “there’s no good seats left”. There’s a part of you that’s always known he would be the better choice.

But every time you lean to whisper in his ear, your eyes are brushing around his shoulders to lock on Noah’s.

///

A week later, opening night brings the house down. Afterwards, the theatre company’s financiers host a huge party in honor of the success. Everyone is eating and laughing. Except you.

Despite all the accolades, you’re drinking too much. Seething as you watch Noah cuddle up to Sally all evening like they’re newlyweds.

He tries to motion with his head for you to meet him upstairs. But he’s a little late for a quick fuck. You are way too drunk to do anything but pound the steps up to the rooftop with your heeled boots as if marching into battle.

“Are you like...getting back at me for dinner the other night? Is that what this is?” The air on the industrial loft rooftop is frigid and you barely escape the stairwell before turning on him.

“Are you seriously pretending that your behavior at dinner was about Ravi and not us?” Shoving his hands in his pockets, his broad shoulders hunch up against the cold.

“My behavior? What are you, my father?”

“Sometimes I kinda feel like I am. Like right now, when you’re acting out because your feelings got hurt.”

“Oh, but that’s not what you’re doing. ‘Cause you’re older than me. And a man. And so much fucking wiser, right? So this isn’t a tantrum. This isn’t jealousy. This is all my own fault.”

“I’m married, Kitsa. If I stick by her all night and kiss her head and wrap an arm around her it’s to keep from having my every move dissected when we get home. It’s to keep the rumor mill from shutting down funding on my next project. If you flirt with Ravi and sit in his lap at cast dinners it’s just giggled off by everybody. It’s just fucking fun for you. That in there is not fun for me. There is a politics to marriage that you cannot begin to understand.”

For just a moment, the sharp edge of your anger softens. You feel sympathy start its clawing and biting. But then you remember all the times you’ve glanced at your phone the last two weeks, waiting for him to call. Feeling the abandonment like a stabbing ice pick. Your jaw tightens. Stepping forward, you glare up at him defiantly.

“You are a grown man. If you find yourself anywhere, it’s because that’s exactly where you want to be.”

You turn on your heel to leave, but he grips your arm and pulls you back. Tugging his jacket off, Noah sets the shoulders of it around your own. Despite your burning rage, you pull the jacket tighter around your petite frame. You can’t say the heat is unwelcome against the December chill. Neither is the scent of his cologne.

“Then you might want to ask yourself why I’m up here arguing with you when there’s a whole party going on downstairs where everyone is toasting my name.”

The words hit you like a smack to the cheek and you’re left in silence for several moments as you digest them. Finally shuffling closer into his too-tall frame, you force the words out that you know he needs to hear. Though you sound meak as a city mouse in your attempt.

“We should stop…”

His long fingers are icy cold as they tangle loosely through your own. Gently, but firmly, they tug you against him.

“Tell me how. Cause I’ve been trying. I have. And…”

You hadn’t considered that. That maybe the past two weeks had been about him making an attempt at cutting things off. At reconnecting with his wife. That maybe he’d been failing miserably. Shaking your head, you fight the desperation to cave in that’s clawing around at your insides.

“But you’re never going to leave her, Noah… So what the fucking point of any of this?”

Finally, he drags in a breath. Rubs at his tired eyes.. When you tip your head back to find his gaze you can see his jaw flexing.

“Leave with me. After the show has its run. After the checks clear… we can go anywhere.”

“Don’t fuck with me.” You warn him, vulnerability clear-cut in your eyes.

“I mean it. Costa Rica. Belize. Panama. Argentina. We’ll go get lost where no one can find us. I’m serious, Kitsa.”

“My family…” You realize if you accept, you might never see them again. Or at least, not for a while. Not until the dust settles.

“There’s no reason they can’t come visit. And I can still write there. You can still act. We’ll be fine. Just give me some time to talk to a lawyer. Get things in order first, hmm?” As he tucks your hair back behind one ear, you can feel yourself nodding. You know it’s stupid to believe him. To let yourself picture that life with him.

“I guess I should start learning Spanish…” You joke through the wetness of tears that threaten to ruin your makeup. Pulling you closer, Noah laughs with you and drops a firm kiss to your head. Nuzzles into your hair.

“I’m going to give you the crown you deserve. All seven stars.”

#hamish linklater x reader #noah bearinger x reader #my writing #idek what to tag this as because it's half based on paper year and half based on the christina ricci thing and half on paul lol #like at this point I'm just #a sad bundle of needy needy hormones #c: kitsa hazani

73 notes · View notes

hekatekun · 3 years

Text

fuck it, meatbun

ANONYMOUS ASKED: please tell me about your many things to say about the meatbun scene.......

yeah ofc 😋 i'd say it's a similar gag to the self-awareness/self-conscious balls in the rising skit so i'm pulling a lot from that too, and my interpretation of that relies on [great-blaster's translation and analysis] 🙏 a great post

If the balls are personifications of being self-conscious, their sensitivity and awareness to how others perceive them, then the meat buns could be what they contribute to society.

King of NEETs himself, Osomatsu is a Me Myself & I kinda guy in order to survive the way he does. There is no future for him in his head, and he lives in the moment on his animal instincts. Instant gratification (booze, porn, gambling), right here, right now, who cares about anything else. Fun in the sun all day long, but when you realize that's truly all that Osomatsu does, even at the expense of himself and others, it leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

And to combat the distaste people have for him, he just doesn't care! You'd have to be pretty apathetic to your reputation in order to continue doing what you please - especially when the costs are high.

Interestingly enough, him and Ichimatsu are the only buns who immediately "die" with white eyes when you open them up. Perhaps he's so unpleasant so he can continue doing his own thing, and being expected to do anything worthwhile or meaningful is too much for the eldest.

TLDR: "I dunno if you should eat me, I taste pretty bad, hahaha!"

Expectations, reputation, such things are the bane of the fourth's existence. He wants nothing more than to be accepted and have a social life, but that involves the mortifying ordeal of Being Known. He knows his limits, he can't fake it without insane periods of burnout, so he'd rather be repugnant and ward off other people's attempts at getting to know him. But unlike Osomatsu, instead of having people expect nothing from him, people will now expect Bad Shit as a result of perceiving Ichimatsu.

Which is all of course a cover up for his vulnerability. Hermit tendencies to avoid knowing what someone's initial impression of him is going to amount to. Don't worry, he already knows. And if he puts out the same "bad" into the world that he expects the receive from others, he can be free of its burden (and will fail every single time because he still cares too much).

Without further ado, our space cadet.

Indescribable, unpredictable, everything, nothing. Brimming with an internal, seemingly endless amount of energy, Jyushimatsu is capable of pulling off the impossible. He can fill in any role needed and works well with everyone, but only if you can handle him. If Ichimatsu is “not enough,” then Jyushimatsu is “too much.” He’s a one-man band.

Not to say he isn’t aware, he just possibly doesn’t care. Looking at a bigger picture, or simply not paying attention altogether. He doesn’t bother reining himself in because it’s more fun to be wild, and he has nothing to hide should people try to get close. Though, there’s always consequences to be had for such unadulterated fun.

When he breaks open, his iconic troubled expression pops up. Maybe he’s uncomfortable stepping up to bat and putting that energy to “good use.”

What a surprise: Your vapid tryhards have nothing of substance to provide. Maybe stop putting so much time into your appearance and build a personality, hm? Primping and preening and absolutely nothing to show for it. Even if you figure them out, they still wouldn’t break character for you. Reality can’t touch the uber self-conscious.

great-blaster says that self-awareness should be swapped with self-conscious, the acute form of being intimately self-aware of your social standing. Choromatsu is embarrassed about being a neet with nerdy interests, doesn’t mean he has any intention of letting them truly go.

And if you’re a little smarter about how you impose such feelings on people, you’ll go on to lie, weaponizing such embarrassment. Doesn’t mean you’ll succeed, people can smell slime a mile away.

Karamatu’s is the only one of these 3 that’s on the smaller side and the only 1 of all 6 that’s clear!

Legit transparency! Empty-headedness! Makes sense that he doesn’t have the same type of self-consciousness as the other two, even if he’s just as much talk and no action, you don’t strut like a genuine peacock in public unless you can own up to it. Karamatsu’s appeal is to himself first and foremost, he thinks others who like the same will come along soon enough (and is also maybe too terrified to make the first move). He’s an open book ready for the taking, doesn’t mean he’s got anything to really offer, though. Doesn’t help when you can’t break character and express yourself, either (not that he has the self-awareness to grasp this particular problem anyway).

And I think Chibita summarizes the story’s moral quite well

#osomatsu san #osomatsu #karamatsu #choromatsu #ichimatsu #jyushimatsu #todomatsu #analysis

82 notes · View notes

itsallagatha · 3 years

Text

Agatha x OFC

Part 4

wc: 2214

warnings: mentions of implied smut?

Enjoy! 💜

A fire seemed to ignite within Agatha. She had to learn how to break this spell, and fast. After careful investigation the next morning, Agatha determined Elara had no memory of the nightmares or even “Agnes” comforting her. Agatha had yet to decide if that was a blessing or a curse. There was a new glint of pain behind her wife’s eyes that wasn’t there before that only grew with each night’s passing. Every night Elara would cry out and Agatha would be by her side in a moment only leaving once dawn broke. When the two crossed paths again in the morning, Elara would appear right as rain outwardly, but Agatha could now feel her mind screaming out just like everyone else’s in this god forsaken town. It broke her heart.

Wanda had seemingly given Elara a daily routine, or rather a daily task: a walk with Wanda herself around town. The first time Elara left, Agatha impatiently sat on her front porch with a magazine, waiting for Elara’s return, ready to punt their witchy neighbor half way across town if even a finger was laid on her wife.

Of course when she spotted Wanda walking her up the driveway, everything was fine. A bubbly laugh escaping Elara’s lips as the two approached Agatha. It didn’t quite quell all her nerves, but she stepped into her “nosy neighbor” role nonetheless. “Sounds like you two had a darling romp around town!”

“We absolutely did!” Wanda replied. “I have to say, I’m quite jealous you get this charming girl’s company all to yourself, Agnes. Ella is just splendid company.”

Agatha’s eyes narrowed as she watched Elara glance to the ground as a rosy tint began to cover her features. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“And to think this gal’s single! I couldn’t believe my ears when she told me!”

As Wanda reached a hand out to grab Elara’s shoulder, Agatha stepped forward, slinking an arm around the girl’s waist and pulling her in tightly to her side. “I thought she’d gotten hitched centuries ago, but no cigar!”

Ella’s breath hitched as she felt an arm pull her close, looking up she saw it was Agnes and was even more surprised to find those icy baby blues staring into her own green ones. She quickly looked away, desperately trying to find anything to grab her focus as to not give away her feelings, though Ella was sure her face was as bright as a tomato by now.

“Will I be seeing you two at Dottie’s tomorrow?”

“You bet, sweet cheeks! You let us know if you need anything beforehand!”

Wanda said her goodbyes and turned to go, but not before giving a wink to Ella which Agatha absolutely noticed and stiffened her hold on her waist, quickly leading her back inside the door. “Now, you’ll have to tell me what you two got up to today!”

Ella took a seat on the couch with Agnes and picked up one of the glasses of lemonade laid out on the coffee table. “Oh, you know, everything and nothing,” she answered vaguely.

“Right…”

-//-

Little did Agatha know, Elara had spent her walk with Wanda sharing just how much she was falling for the beautiful woman who had offered her a place to stay. She had serious feelings for the brunette despite just meeting and Wanda had offered her ideas and advice on how to woo their beloved nosy neighbor before it was too late.

“I don’t know why, I just feel we are destined to be together, Wanda!” Ella had told the redhead.

Wanda smiled and patted the arm linked with hers, “Well, how about you whip up a nice meal, set out some candles, and tell her over dessert! Between you and me, I wouldn’t be surprised if she felt the same way.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so! I’ve seen the way she looks at you!”

“I just don’t want to make a fool of myself. I get so nervous around her.”

Wanda paused, thinking hard for a moment when suddenly an idea hit her. “I know! I’ll stop by right before and drop off a bottle of champagne! I have some leftover bottles from Vision and I’s wedding! A little bit of liquid courage couldn’t hurt.”

“Oh Wanda, I could never accept! I wouldn’t want to take something from your special day!”

“Please, we have plenty to save as keepsakes. And Vision doesn’t drink much of anything. I can’t possibly let it all just sit around the place. It’s no bother really!”

“Only if you're certain.”

“Positive.”

-//-

Ella must have been lost in thought because Agnes had begun to call her name. She finally came back to the present when she felt a cold hand press against her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Agnes, I got lost in my thoughts.”

“It’s alright, doll, just making sure you’re okay.”

After their little chat, Agatha put away the glasses and pitcher full of lemonade and returned to the basement to continue her studies. Usually she’d astral project into her lair and continue her day to day through her physical body up above, but Agatha found herself too distracted, needing to physically touch the ancient spell books as she scoured them for answers.

Reversing a mind control spell was easy. Agatha could practically do it in her sleep. But this magic was different, it was strangely powerful and deeply rooted in the minds of those living in Westview. It was unlike anything she had witnessed before. A moment of clarity hit the witch as she looked up from the book she was holding, her eyes falling onto the Dark Hold which was situated across the room on its own pedestal.

No…

Setting the spell book aside, Agatha called the Dark Hold towards her and began magically flipping through its pages until she found the section she was looking for.

The Scarlet Witch

Now she was making progress. Agatha read the pages over and over again, refreshing her knowledge on chaos magic and the dangers it ensued as well as, of course, ways to counteract it. This was a dangerous magic much more powerful than her own. Not to mention being weld by a mourning, thirty something, Avenger. There was no way in heaven she was going to experiment with chaos magic on her wife. So Agatha decided then and there.

She needed a victim.

Thankfully the two were slated to go to some meeting with Dottie tomorrow granting Agatha the perfect opportunity to sniff out someone off of Wanda’s radar.

-//-

Just as she was setting the Dark Hold back into place, Agatha heard the soft lilt of Elara’s voice calling for her, so she quickly checked her appearance and made her way upstairs.

“Sorry, hun, time must have slipped away from me down there-“ Agatha frowned and looked around, Elara nowhere to be found. “Ella, dear, where are you?”

“Out back!”

Curiosity peaked, Agatha made her way out the back door, through the kitchen. She was a little taken aback by the sight in front of her. The table was set out on the back patio, with candles, and a home made meal ready for the two to enjoy.

“Do you like it?”

Agatha turned to look at Elara and gasped. She was wearing a sleeveless, pastel pink dress with a lace overlay. Her hair was no longer tied away and fell just past her shoulders in perfect curls. She looked absolutely stunning.

Elara cleared her throat causing Agatha to blink, remembering she’d been asked a question. “Apologies dear, you're just a...a vision in pink over there, I simply…” Agatha let an awkward chuckle slip, not usually one to be caught speechless.

A grin broke out on Ella’s face, proud she had rendered the brunette a stuttering mess. Perhaps Wanda was right all along?

As they sat down to eat, Agatha noticed the bottle of champagne. “I didn’t think I had any champagne on hand.”

“Oh it was a gift from Wanda. Something about me being new to the neighborhood.” Ella shrugged it off.

“Wanda?”

“She dropped it off while you were downstairs.”

-//-

Once the two finished their meal, Elara moved to pop the cork, but Agatha grabbed her hand before she could. “Here let me, it’s the least I can do.” Agatha stood up and made her way inside having every intention to make sure the bottle wasn’t some kind of poison. “I’ll be right back, doll!”

Left to her thoughts, Ella began to run the past half hour over in her mind. Dinner had gone surprisingly well. Agnes had only caught her staring once or twice. They had started off making small talk about the upcoming events in Westview but somehow their conversation had turned to Ella’s past. To which Ella didn’t have much to say. All she knew was that she had been lonely, possibly upset and wanted a fresh start and before she knew it she was in Westview. Agnes looked upset upon hearing that she had been lonely and began apologizing. Ella merely laughed, thinking it strange how Agnes felt the need to apologize, ensuring her everything was okay. After all, since arriving in Westview everything had been going swimmingly so she couldn’t complain.

Hearing the back door swing open, then shut, Ella was pulled out of her thoughts and smiled as Agnes walked back to the table with the now open bottle. “Sorry to keep you waiting, hun, this bottle put up quite a fight!”

Elara giggled and Agatha returned to her seat across from her. “Now, are you sure you want a glass, dear?”

“I honestly can’t remember the last time I’ve had a drink. It’ll be nice.”

Agatha remembered.

What an ordeal it had been too. Despite being in her early hundreds, Elara was a lightweight compared to Agatha who could drink almost anything and never feel a thing, much to Elara’s chagrin. On that particular night after a rather stressful magic lesson, the two decided to drink and one vodka soda later, Elara was attacking Agatha’s mouth with her own while various articles of her clothing had begun finding their way to the floor.

“Alrighty.” Agatha filled the two flute glasses and handed one to Elara before raising her own to her lips.

After the first glass the two decided to move inside to the couch. Agatha used her magic to put away the dishes that were outside.

Elara finished her second glass before her thoughts started slipping from her mouth unwarranted. Agatha merely cocked an eyebrow in amusement as she watched her tipsy wife passionately describe the ducks she had seen in the park during her walk with Wanda.

“That’s when Wanda gave me the idea. To make dinner tonight.”

“She did?”

“Yes!” Elara answered a little too enthusiastically. “I was supposed to seduce you but I think I forgot. Every time I look at you I...I forget everything I’m thinking, so I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

Agatha smirked, “Well my apologies for having that effect on you, love.” She then faked a whisper, “Can I tell you a secret?” Elara nodded and Agatha continued, “You make me feel the same way.”

Agatha laughed as Elara’s jaw dropped. “You’re too cute, toots.”

Ella felt a blush creep up her neck and poured another glass to hide her embarrassment. “I was afraid you’d think it strange, considering we just met a few days ago.”

-//-

Elara was completely gone after her third glass, and as usual, Agatha was completely unbothered. She was about to take Elara to bed when Agatha decided she’d take advantage of the situation, try and get a few more answers out of her about why she ended up in Westview. Perhaps the alcohol would let some memories slip through.

“I’ve already told you...I have no idea…”

“I know doll, but surely you remember something?”

After a moment Elara gasped as if all of a sudden she knew. In her excitement, she moved to sit on her knees and held Agatha’s shoulders. “I was...I was looking for something! Someone?”

“What darling? Who?” Finally they were getting somewhere. However her excitement was short-lived.

Elara started softly giggling again. “I like it when you call me that...darling.”

“And I like it when you answer my questions.” Agatha took Elara’s hands in her own, removing them from her shoulders. “Who were you looking for?”

Elara thought for a moment, searching for answers in Agatha’s face. “For some reason I think...I think I found her. Have we...do we know each other?”

Agatha merely frowned.

“I’m sorry, I really am!” Elara started giggling yet again, “It’s just, you’re very distracting. In a good way though! I mean...I think you're gorgeous. Kiss me?”

Agatha quickly grabbed her waist as Elara leaned in, trying to push her back, but it didn’t work. With a sigh and a wave of her hand, Agatha put her to sleep before anything could happen. Married or not, the idea of taking advantage of her giddy, under the influence, mind controlled wife didn’t sit right with Agatha. Slowly lowering Elara’s now limp body down onto the couch, she placed her head in her lap and began lazily twirling pieces of Elara’s blonde hair between her fingers.

“Well, that went well.”

#wandavision x reader #agatha harkness #agnes x reader #agatha harkness x reader #wandavision

46 notes · View notes

duketectivecomics · 4 years

Note

You might've answered this already and I just didn't find it, but one thing that always perplexed me about Duke was how old he was in comparison to the other Batkids. It's obvious he's younger than Dick and Babs, and I pretty sure he's younger than Jason and Cass, and older than Damian, but I cannot tell if he's meant to be Tim and Steph's ages, younger, or older. Could you help me?

You’re all kinds of good here, anon!!! I answered a similar ask abt the Order of Adoption but didn’t dive into specific ages on that post BECAUSE well they didn’t ask lmaooo but ALSO:

Comic ages are very fluid usually! While Years™️ might pass in the canon proper, or while time seems to slow to a crawl, having a character’s age outright stated is something that occurs very rarely for most characters, if at all!

Because it’s always much easier to have a floating age range to work and play around in! It’s easier to keep a character Perpetually 12 or 16 or 25 or mid-40s or- you get the idea. SO, with that in mind. Let’s do our Best to Break Down What Age Duke Might Be Currently A N D how it might interact with the Other Batkids!

(Warning for a Very Long Post, lots of issue citations, and a LOT of comics terminology regarding specific runs/events/continunity. I’m gonna try to keep it as clear/concise as possible ofc but plz keep these things in mind! If you’re not at least marginally familiar with Bat-Comics, you might find yourself feeling a little lost here!)

So from the Zero Year arc we see a common Trend that plays out pretty consistently with Batfam comics: a Life-Changing Event Occuring while the protag is Young™️.

(Batman (2011) #30)

With how Duke is drawn in these particular issues, and given the trends of the past, I’d place him in the 8-12 range. The historic precedent being ofc that that is the same range that canon usually places both Bruce and Dick at for their Tragedies™; the more benign reason being that he... just very much Looks to be drawn in that Range. He’s very clearly an Older/Prepubescent child here.

Fast Forward to his Next Appearance in the Endgame arc and-

(Batman (2011) #37)

He’s definitely older! He’s wiser! And he’s giving Batman a fistbump lmao. Again, no strict age given here BUT, since they condensed each Robin to a Year or Two tops with Bruce (its n52 and its fucked up is what it is), we can assume it’s been at least 4-5 since Zero Year (which would mean if we go off the age range I proposed for that year, then theoretically he could be anywhere from 12-16 here, and I think that tracks pretty well. Not Perfectly and Certainly Not so well with Pre52 continuity ofc, but I’ll talk about that later!)

In We Are Robin, while its not stated Directly In The Text, it IS given as an Informational Tidbit that Duke is 16 (specifically this can be found at the end of issue #4)! (Sweet sweet canon confirmation FINALLY)

We know that WAR takes place Fairly Soon after Endgame (almost immediately, give or take a month or two given that Duke’s been placed in a few foster homes at this point and has racked up Quite A File) now, again id like to remind y’all that while this is a NICE starting point to have, keep in mind that comics are fluid and this may be retconned slightly/ignored in later stories bc Keeping Duke 16-ish is in DC’s Best Interest at the moment. (Having Relatable Teen Characters afterall is a Good Marketing strategy™️. And the longer they can Keep them Young, the Better)

With that in mind let’s take a moment to Highlight the fact that Duke and Damian have crossed paths at this point AND the storylines that have occurred during this year that were meant to be in conjunction with one another!

Because Prior to Endgame, Damian had Died! And just a year (in real, meat-space time) before We Are Robin, he was resurrected and had begun his “Year of Atonement” in the Robin: Son of Batman maxiseries. Midway through both this series and WAR (and, we can assume, midway thru this “Year” for Damian) the Robin War begins/ends and we see at least one major Moment between these two boys who will soon call one another brothers:

(Robin War #2)

Given that R:SoB is followed up VERY quickly by Teen Titans Rebirth (in which Damian celebrates his 13th birthday), we can conclude that Damian would be 12 during this time (well, 12 and 1/2 to play it safe lmao). That being said, this Confirms about a 4yr gap between Duke and Damian! (One Batkid down at least! but he’s the key to the others so put a pin in him!)

As We Are Robin draws to its conclusion, DC was releasing another arc that would eventually flow into the Rebirth Era, by the end of which, Bruce would approach Duke with an Idea (which involves Bruce becoming Dukes temporary guardian & as he states Many Times “Trying Something New” with Duke).

And thus the Rebirth Era begins, and Duke began his Year of training (most directly encapsulated by the Cursed Wheel arc in the All-Star Batman run:

(All-Star Batman #1 (back-up story))

Bruce introduces Duke to a training regimen that Alfred has named “the Cursed Wheel”. It encompasses all the training Bruce and the other bats have undergone and condenses it down into color-coordinated segments that will take Duke a Year to Complete.

It can be assumed that by the End of this Year Duke will somehow miraculously still be 16, despite, again, an entire ass year passing.

There’s one story that takes place mid-year in All-Star Batman, and the Cursed Wheel is meant to be capped off by Duke’s first Official Day as the Signal (in the titular Batman & the Signal ofc) BUT, near as I can tell after this��story, Dukes age is not brought up again. So until they DO bring it up either in Batman & the Outsiders or whatever future run Duke becomes involved in, we can assume DC will be working with the idea that he’s meant to be in that 16-18 range from here on out (ie still a minor).

But, dear anon, you might be saying “okay, that’s cool, but how does that relate to my question abt how he falls in with the other Bats?” You’ll have to be a little patient with me here, but I think I may have cracked the code!

Keep in mind I’m gonna be addressing both the Post-Crisis to Flashpoint Continuity (ie mid-80s to 2010 in comics history) and the N52-slash-Rebirth Era (2010-Today). Its generally agreed by fandom and DC alike that these points of rebooting &/or Major Events constitute the era of “Modern” comics, and that everything from the 80s-on might more or less be canon on some level, even if not All of it is.

(Plus, most of fandom usually likes to borrow elements from both eras and much more rarely from stories before it, SO-)

Lets do a quick rundown of how everyone who’s Closer to Duke’s Age, Relates to each other first, age-wise:

Given that Jason was 15 when he died, in A Lonely Place of Dying its established that Bruce had become increasingly reckless since his death, and by the end of the story, Tim has stepped in to fill Robin’s shoes (he states that he’s 13 during this story btw). Pretty soon after, Stephanie Brown is introduced & established to be about a year older than Tim (wish I could pin-point a specific issue BUT, i unfortunately haven’t read any Tim OR Steph-involved comics that predate No Man’s Land... Besides the aforementioned Lonely Place and Young Justice technically, but im working on remedying that soon!)

NOW, during the No Man’s Land event, Cassandra is introduced, and pretty soon into her Batgirl run, its revealed that she’s around the same age as Jason (or at least how old he Would Have Been, had he not died.) Now, given that Jay has an August bday and Cass has a January one, fandom sometimes likes to play around with the idea of one being older than the other (OR even speculating/placing them in an AU as twins/siblings, given that Lady Shiva (Cass’ mom) was a Possible Candidate to be Jason’s biological mother but that’s a Whole Other Thing i wont get into here.)

The point being, Cass, in this era of comics, IS slightly older than Tim and Steph. At Tim’s start as Robin, their ages could either line up like: Tim-13, Steph-14, Cass-15 (being a few months ‘behind’ Jay), then Jason at 15/16 (depending on how soon Tim filled the role after Jay died in April) OR Jason-15/16, Cass-16/17 (in this case she’d be a few months ‘ahead’ now instead)

So brief detour to talk New 52, however! Because Tim, Steph & Cass all got switched around from where DC originally left them prior to the reboot! Now I haven’t read much of them in this era, other than Batman & Robin: Eternal, so my Understanding of their current ages is Spotty at Best. The general consensus seems to be that while before N52, Stephanie had been attending her first year of College (& doing VERY WELL i might add), with the reboot she was set back a few years alongside Tim to a vague Late-Teen state (so 16-18-ish, instead of a Very Clearly Established 18/19). Cass is probably the worst off for this reboot, given that B&R:E basically constitutes her new origin for the new continuity, and does nothing to confirm her age (all I really know is that she’s a Vague Late-Teen too... Probably? Maybe?), given how much they infantilize her, and subsequently how fandom in turn has taken to infantilizing her too, theres a semi-popular fanon that places her Younger that Tim and Steph. And I, for one, propose that we ignore that bc its Weak Sauce my dudes.

Some fans chose to ignore N52 continuity due to this vagueness, and will stick to the ages established before the N52/Rebirth reboots. But its something to keep in mind regardless bc we’re all obviously going to pull from what’s most familiar to us!

But WHERE could we place Duke with regards to them, then? Because them being “Late Teens” is certainly much too vague to work with!

This is Where Damian is the key!

Because Damian is one of those rare exceptions to the Reboot Rule. His story flowed almost seamlessly over from before to after. While he was made a Robin at the age of 10, he continued to grow and learn even after the universe was being rewritten to suit the whims of DC editorial.

If we choose to ignore how everyone else’s ages and origins were swapped around, and stick with the growth that was presented before the reboot, then we can draw some interesting conclusions!

Firstly, though Stephanie also had Died and subsequently Returned, she hadn’t lost much, if any time, from the Ordeal. At the start of her Batgirl run, she is enrolled at a Gotham university and making headway with a more firm foot in the Batfamily (even to the point that she and Damian spend a few issues bonding. At this point in time, Damian is definitely 11, and again, Steph can be assumed to be 18/19 during the course of her run. We’ll assume 18 for clarity’s sake.)

So, then when Damian is 11, now our line up is as Follows:

Dami - 11, Steph - 18, Tim - 17, Cass 19-21 (the range depending again, if you subscribe to Cass being either older/younger than Jason).

WHICH MEANS, If during Robin War Damian is 12 (and a half) THEN We’ve got an age line-up that Potentially looks Like This:

Dami -12(and 1/2), Duke - 16, Tim - 18, Steph - 19, Cass - 20-22 (And Obvsly Jason, Babs & Dick at their varying Older Ages than everyone here)

and im just now realizing i Didnt include Harper in this line-up, but thats bc she’d also throw a big wrench in all this. I’d personally throw her in with being Steph’s age, but I’m pretty sure she was supposed to be either that, or between Steph and Cass (again, since its N52, i believe Cass was/is assumed to be Younger than Steph, but that contradicts the assumed following of pre52 canon that we have for the above line-up, obvsly, and so we ignore that lmao)

All this to say, however, that canon and fandom is what you make of it, and if you want to wiggle these ages around a little, you’re more than allowed! God Knows i usually like to skew the Tim-Steph-Cass age group to be a tad older than this in my own fic writing, and I like to have Duke start as a Robin at 14/15 instead of 16, but that’s just bc I like the dynamic potential it could bring with them being Definitively Older that him, and thus in a more secure place to be Mentoring him right alongside Bruce & the others.

But you might see these age ranges and want to do something Different (say, making Tim, Steph, Cass, & Duke all the Same Age at 17 instead! And that very well tracks with how current comics kinda looks right now!) and you’re absolutely valid to do so! Because again, comic character’s ages are meant to be fluid, not fixed!

And at the end of the day, its all about wanting to see these teen heroes kick serious ass haha

#duke thomas #guest starring:#batfamily #damian wayne #tim drake #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #randywrites #randys meta #meta #asked and answered #anonymous asks #this was A LOT and i tried to throw some humor where i could #but uhhhh yeah!!! i hope this helps anon!!!#also just realizing its TWO AM WHERE DID THE TIME GO #ah well. Worth It

108 notes · View notes

kickingitwithkirk · 4 years

Text

Deuxième Omega

Summary: Jensen is not dealing well with his unexpected divorce and before the ink is even dry, he is pushed into another union with a complete stranger.

Pairing: Alpha!Jensen Ackles x Omega!OFC

Word Count: 3363

Warnings: A/B/O, angst, angry Jensen, cursing, alcohol abuse, parental manipulation, arranged marriage, Alpha dominance over Omega, unintended injuries.

A/N: So, get this; a lot of my original writing ideas from my weird as hell dreams about Sam Winchester but for some reason Jensen is starring in this one. I’m gonna blame the bad PMS I’m having for all the angst in this.

A/N II: There is no intentional hate or malevolence intended towards any of the Ackles family. This is a purely fictional piece containing real and created persons/names/events set in the fictional A/B/O verse.

*Supernatural doesn’t end in season 15 and some dates/events have been altered to fit the story.

*no beta, all mistakes are mine *photos found online

Jensen was sitting slouched on the leather couch staring at the paperwork that had been dropped off by courier this morning, official notification of the dissolution of his marriage to Danneel when Jared entered his trailer. “It’s not gonna say anything different no matter how many times you look at it.”

“I know,” Jensen sighed heavily, “never thought I’d be in this position.” He tossed the papers on the table and picked up his beer draining it in one go.

“You better not drink anymore, we’ve still got two more scenes to get through before we can leave tonight.”

Jensen rolled his head towards Jared leaning across the kitchenettes bar counter with a very concerned expression.

Jensen had always been a social drinker, he did love his beer, the slight softness over his toned stomach was the biggest indicator. But there had been constant uptick in his drinking during the mandatory two year waiting period for an Alpha/Beta divorce. So far, it hadn’t seriously interfered with work but there had been several instances of his obvious imbidding that Jared, Alex, even Misha ended up pumping him full of coffee to get him through.

“Then let’s get them done so I can get really fucked up before that shit show happens tomorrow.”

“Jack, give this new marriage a chance. Your dad said she’s a good match right? You never know, maybe it’ll work out like Gen and me.” Jared’s marriage had been a private match and he was happy with the Omega that his family had chosen.

Jensen snorted, getting up and walking out of his trailer, “Yeah, you lucked out with her, not always the case. Look at me, I’m getting a second hand Omega.”

*** To say the atmosphere in the private arrivals area was strained was an understatement. The Ackles were seating several feet apart awaiting their son.

“Mommy…daddy, how’s it..go..going?” They both turned in unison to see their very drunk middle child staggering towards them followed closely by Jared and Clif.

“Jensen Ross Ackles, how could you show up in this condition!” Donna Ackles snapped as he gave her a cheeky smile before passing out. “Fuck!” Jared blurted out, catching him before he face planted onto the tiled floor.

“Jared Tristan Padalecki you’re to blame for this!”

“I’m the one who’s been there for him, not the one forcing him to do something he’s not ready for! This is on you, I’ve tried to get him to stop but he’s hurting like hell and you don’t care!”

“You can’t speak to me that way young man! I always knew you came from trash and this proves it.”

Jared let his inner Alpha surface, eyes glowing red in anger, “If you ever speak disparagingly about my family again…” Clif quickly stepped in between them giving Jared a look.

“I’ve had it with you inserting yourself in our family business! I’ll make sure you never have contact with Jensen outside of work ever again!”

“You go ahead and try, Jensen’s forty two years old and more than capable of making his own choices. The only reason he’s agreed to this is because you’ve duped him into believing this is the only way to uphold your family’s social standing in the Dallas Pack because all you care about is how you look to those fucking country club bitches!”

“Alan, could you please bring the car around so we can get away from this embarrassing situation.” The older Alpha gripped his mates arm giving her a firm look of disapproval and steered her towards the exit. They could still hear her grousing, “how dare he deliver Jensen in this state,” as they went out the door.

Jared hefted his friend over his broad shoulder and carried Jensen back out the private entrance as the SUV pulled up. Clif opened the back door and helped Jared place him in the vehicle, carefully laying him across the seat.

“How bad has it been for him?” Alan inquired after Clif shut the door so his mate couldn’t hear.

Jared pulled off his beanie, running both hands through his hair, not hiding his frustration before answering, “He’s been in a downward spiral, drinking continuously, got him to stick to beer. I found him looking at the divorce papers and as you see… ”

Alan sighed heavily. Jensen’s divorce came out of nowhere, everything on the surface appeared good between him and Danneel but in hindsight he realized there were telltale signs all along, the biggest was her reluctance to have children.

Anytime anyone inquired she waved it off, saying she wanted to wait till Supernatural had ended, it wouldn’t be fair to leave all the responsibility for rearing their pups predominantly on her, she wanted Jensen there, to be a hands-on father.

Alphas were involved to an extent in care and raising of pups, but it was unusual for one to be as hands on as the Betas or Omegas were.

Jensen was one of those exceptions. Whenever with his siblings, he was right in there helping, never turning down a chance to play with them, even princess tea parties with his only niece. When on vacation or at conventions with Jared and his mate, he always was willing to help with their pups.

“I want to formally apologize for what Donna said, she overstepped the lines of etiquette. This is no excuse but she doesn’t know how to handle this situation. Jensen’s always been her favorite and she personally picked Danneel as his mate, it’s been a slap to her ego.”

Jared smiled, “I accept your apology Alan. Jensen’s always said his mother has been a…handful.”

Alan laughed, “That’s the diplomatic way of putting it,” he signed again, “Donna’s family always spoiled her being the only Omega, somewhere along the way she’s forgetting that being part of Dallas society doesn’t give you the right to treat others badly.”

*** Late next morning

Jensen was sitting on the edge of his hotel bed contemplating how he got here.

He thought Danneel was the one. When they were introduced by his mother a few months before his twenty seventh birthday they instantly clicked and started dating that night.

Jensen proposed six months later, couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have found a love match. Danneel stated she wasn’t ready to give up her career yet, so they compromised and decided on a long engagement.

Supernatural started filming its fourth season when Kripke announced that the series would end with season five. Danneel also found out her current role was being written out of the series she was in about the same time so they set the date for May 2010.

Jared’s surprise wedding in February that year reaffirmed Jensen’s desire to settle down and start his family in a few months. They bought a home outside Austin like Jared and his new mate Genevieve. Things were going as planned, then the unexpected happened.

A couple months before they finished filming the CW announced Supernatural was being picked up for season six under new leadership.

Jensen returned to Vancouver not long after they were married. Danneel continued working, doing guest starring roles on other series and was cast in the occasional recurring role of Jo.

Every year when the show went on hiatus Jensen would bring up about starting their own family, he was feeling the biological pull more and more. Once again, she stated it wouldn’t be fair for them to have a family and him be a drop-in father, and moving to Vancouver full time, nope, he worked too many hours.

Danneel started dabbling in other interests outside of acting and in 2018 they opened The Family Business Brewery with her family. A few months later Jensen was served with the divorce announcement.

*** “Jensen, it’s time.” He looked up and Alan was saddened by the lost look in his son’s eyes. There was a resignation in those green eyes that never existed before. Saying nothing Jensen got up, slipped on his suit jacket and walked out of the room.

Alan mentally shook himself but that nagging feeling was back once again, something wasn’t right about this whole situation.

*** The Uber stopped at the back door of the small country church. The woman in the backseat thanked the driver and got out, pulling the garment bag with her. She walked to the door and rang the bell. It opened revealing the minister’s wife.

“You’re very late, the wedding is starting in fifteen minutes.” She said, hurrying up a staircase to the second floor and entered an empty room. “Where is your family? They should have arrived already to help you get ready.”

“There is no one coming,” the woman replied as she hung the garment bag over a closet door next to the mirror attached to it. The minister’s wife’s jaw dropped in surprise, “and it won’t take me long to get ready. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

She unzipped the bag removing a veil and shoes having arrived already in her dress, chosen by the groom’s mother, and attached the veil to the headpiece holding back part of her simply styled hair. She looked at herself for a moment before pulling the front part of the veil over her face then joined the minister’s wife who was to escort her to the chapel. She placed the shoes she wouldn’t wear until after the ceremony on the small table outside the double doors and took her place in front of them.

Jensen was sitting in the first pew of the small country church wondering why this place was chosen for the wedding as Donna and Alan made their way to sit next to him. His siblings, Joshua and Mackenzie, were already seated in the one behind him with their mates as the rest of the Ackles clan that had been invited filled up the rest of the pews.

He looked over at the bride’s side. There was not a single person seated in any of those pews. He frowned, finding it strange, wondering where her family was when the intro music started.

The minister took his place and gestured for him to rise. Jensen couldn’t move, his body feeling like it was tied down with lead weights. “Jensen!” His mother hissed at him in a low tone.

Suddenly, he felt himself get up, urgently needing to get away from her as his inner Alpha became agitated, as if it sensed something was amiss.

Each secondary gender pairing had their own ceremonial traditions so he was required to remain facing forward when the music changed and the doors behind him opened.

As the guests stood Jensen focused his senses on her as she proceeded down the aisle. He couldn’t scent her, too many different scents mingling together to isolate hers. He listened to the whispering material of the dress as she slowly walked, finally stopping next to him. In his peripheral vision he could see her head bowed under the thick veil obscuring her face and hair, her hands were clasped together in front of her, devoid of a bouquet.

The minister started speaking, talking about the obligations each Alpha and Omega were required to follow as dictated by the book. Jensen inhaled sharply, realizing what was occurring.

This wasn’t the common ceremony but the ancient, traditional version that only the extreme believers still used today. There was absolutely no out for either party from once the proceedings started.

If he objected to the ceremony he would be shunned by his pack, his family would be forced to never acknowledge him again or suffer the same censure; if the marriage didn’t work and they separated, he was responsible for her care as she would be set aside from society and forced to live in isolation.

He looked over at his parents, Alan was pinching the bridge of his nose trying to quell his anger knowing that his mate had put Jensen in an impossible situation as Donna sat there with a fake, placid look.

His own mother had irrevocably bound him to this Omega for the rest of his life.

The rest of the ceremony was a blur, neither party was required to say anything, there was no exchange of rings or a kiss at the end. The minister finished the ceremony and turned to the altar signing the marriage certificate with a quill pen dipped in ink. Jensen signed next, his hand was shaking so violently in anger making his signature barely legible.

The Omega didn’t sign, only her name was required for legality and the minister filled it in. He poured a powder on it to set the ink, blew off the access, rolled it up and tied it with a piece of twine before handing it to Jensen offering his blessings for a fruitful marriage. It took every ounce of his acting ability to politely smile, shake his hand, thanking the minister for the proceedings.

He turned, marching out without acknowledging his bride and she obediently followed behind him, pausing to grab her shoes along the way and scurrying to the waiting limousine climbing in after him.

Jensen sat in the back on the farthest side pouring himself a drink from the bar as his new wife sat quietly near the still open door. A few minutes later Jensen was on his third glass of whiskey when his parents climbed in and the chauffeur shut the door. He started the limo and as they pulled out Alan pressed the button to close the privacy window between them.

The tension in the back was so palatable an icebreaker couldn’t have cut through it. “Donna how could you…” Alan was unable to say anymore, his disgust for what had happened thick in those few words. “I did nothing wrong,” she snapped back, “I only had Jensen’s best interests…”

“Like when you threatened to sabotage my friendship with Jared again? By the way, Clif’s the one who dropped the dime on what happened after I passed out last night, not Jared, so you don’t get to blame him for that too.” Jensen threw back the rest of his drink before continuing.

“Oh, don’t think I’ve ever been ignorant of your disdain for him ‘cause the clan he comes from isn’t good enough for those highfalutin bitches in your social circle. Or how you’ve persuaded me to do this only to find out you took it to the extreme, forcing me into an impossible situation, accept this marriage or lose everything. Congratulations mom, you are still the queen bitch, sorry, bee, your precious reputation is secure.”

They traveled the rest of the way in silence. The limousine pulled onto the grounds of the country club in front of its grand entrance. Jensen got out before the chauffeur finished putting the car in park leaving his new wife to scramble out behind him as Alan and Donna got out the other side.

Jensen finally took a good look at his bride. She was in a simple, modestly cut, long sleeved dress, the only adornments a row of buttons down the bodice, no jewelry and apparently a pair of shoes that didn’t fit as she was struggling to get them on.

She was still fussing with her left shoe when he spoke in a stern voice, “Since our wedding was in the traditional, we’ll continue with its edicts. You are not to remove that veil, acknowledge or speak to anyone. You will not leave my side for any reason. Where I go, you go, three steps behind me. Nod once if you understand.” She nodded once.

“Son, I think…”

“Dad, as the traditional also states, I’m well within my rights to make demands of my Omega without interference, am I not?”

Alan acquiesced, “Yes, you are.”

“So” Jensen rubbed his hands together, “let’s go celebrate this disaster, shall we.” Putting on a fake smile, he went into the venue to greet his family with his Omega obediently three steps behind him.

*** Several hours later

“This shit has got to stop cause I swear it’s the only time I’m doing this dad.” Josh grunts, annoyance thickening his voice as he helped guide his inebriated brother to his hotel room. “Come on.. have ‘nother drunk, ‘posed to be celebrating my disaster marriage to that…’mega..don’t even want her.”

“Jensen, shut the fuck up! I’m not gonna stand here and let you insult your mate.” Josh snapped at him.

Jensen ripped his arm loose, “ ‘en go, not stopping you…and she’s not my mate,” his free arm waves unsteadily as he points towards his new wife standing by the main door, “my real mate took my money, my home, my fucking heart!!!”

Josh turned his back on his brother, “Jensen, I can’t stand seeing you like this, you need to get it together.” He headed for the main door, pausing to speak to his brother’s new wife, “I’m sorry he’s taken his anger out on you now. My brother is a good man, an honorable Alpha,” he stepped close to her and lowered his voice, “there is far more to this than what you’ve been told, please be patient with him.” He left slamming the door behind him.

“Fuck him,” Jensen muttered staggering into the bedroom and sitting on the edge of the bed slumped over.

“Jensen, your brother is right, you have got to pull yourself together. Therefore, as the Alpha of our clan, you are banned from our family. When you are back to being yourself, the Alpha you once were, you may appeal for re-admittance.”

Alan then did something he hadn’t done since Jensen was a small child, he bent over and placed a kiss on his son’s head, “I love you and I want my son back.” Nodding to his new daughter in law he left.

It hurt him tremendously knowing he wouldn’t see his son for a long time but it was for his own good. Now his Omega was the only one who could help him mend. Hopefully Jensen would see this marriage wasn’t the biggest mistake he’s imagined it to be.

Jensen didn’t move until he heard someone shuffling their feet. He looked up squinting at his new wife still standing by the bedroom door. Sitting up straight he grunted at her and passed out, falling backwards on the mattress. She slowly walked over and hesitated a moment before reaching out touching his shoulder, shaking him.

Getting no response she sat down near him lifting her right foot, gingerly removing the ill fitting shoe with a gasp and then repeated with her left. The blisters on both her heels that had busted open earlier were raw and had bleed. She detached her veil and wadded it up, stuffing it in a shoe and bent over untying Jensen’s and removed them too.

Standing up she gripped both his jacket lapels and hefted him upright to lean against her as she worked it off letting him flop back down and unbuttons his shirt leaving him sleep the case of everything he drank off. She left a pain reliever and bottled water on the nightstand.

Quietly shutting the bath door she found the dress had too many small buttons down the back. She laughed mirthlessly at the irony she was stuck in the dress like this marriage. Pulling the skirt up over her knees she sat on the counter to soak and clean her sore feet in the basin.

Once the worst of the ache was gone she pulled the drain and climbed off to finish washing up the best she could. The mirror reflects back the emotional toll of the last few months in her eyes.

She went over to the bed only to find her husband had moved, sprawled out over its entire surface. Searching for extra bedding and not finding any she gave up going back into the main room and curled up on the couch hoping to find a comfortable position to get some sleep for a few hours so she could briefly forget what her life had become.

Part II

SPN: @donnaintx

Dean/Jensen: @flamencodiva

#alpha!jensen ackles x omega!ofc #alpha!jensen ackles #alpha!jared padalecki #a/b/o ofc #supernatural a/b/o #alpha!jensen ackles x omega #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #a/b/o rp

104 notes · View notes

captainscanadian · 4 years

Text

Hope | Bucky Barnes x Reader (Part 1)

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Summary: Being back in your childhood home had certainly brought you some well-needed inspiration.

Word Count: 2900+

Pairing: (Eventual) Doctor!Bucky Barnes x Patient!Reader, OMC Harry Nelson x FWB!Reader, Rebecca Barnes x OFC Rosie Bender

Warnings: Heartbreak, Bullying, Grey’s Anatomy Spoilers

A/N: This fic was my entry for @wkemeup‘s 4K Writing Challenge. I DON’T DO TAGLISTS!

When Harry Nelson had first moved to Los Angeles at the age of eighteen, he’d had many dreams of becoming a screenwriter and director. He wanted to make movies that seemed relatable to the general public, with no action sequences or elements of science-fiction, no monsters or magic, no million dollar budget to be spent on visual effects. Just simple stories about real people, whether it was the kind that made them laugh or the kind that made them cry.

Throughout the span of his twenty-year long career in Hollywood, he had come to realize that the genre of romance movies had their own built-in audience that he could definitely make money off of. The hopeless romantics, as he liked to call them, were a group of people who were always longing to see love stories that don’t necessarily end happily, but still leave them believing that true love existed.

While he had since directed several romance films that went on to have the cultural impact in the likes of Notting Hill and The Notebook, it hadn’t been until he had met another hopeless romantic did he realize that he was one of them. For a man who never believed in true love, he sure enjoyed love stories. He was a hopeless romantic, as much as he hated to admit it. Whether his story was going to end happily or not, he still had a part to play in it.

Back when the first instalment of the Hopeless series had turned out to be a success, Harry had simply approached you in request of the movie rights to your novel series. While you hadn’t given in to his request due to not knowing how you might even end the series yourself, he decided to play the long game and wait until you figured out the ending.

Years had gone by and the two of you had only become best friends, bonding over your mutual love for the romance genre. Many movie nights were spent watching the classics such as Casablanca and Breakfast at Tiffany’s. He had invited you to his premieres and parties, to simply take part in the discourse of what it meant to write a beautiful love story that stood beyond its time. But the friendship you shared had turned to something more when you had found yourselves drunk at an after-party and consumed by lust of all things and not love as one would have assumed.

Even though becoming one of the love interests in your story had certainly not been his plan all along, he couldn’t complain about it either. A newly single romance novelist and a divorced filmmaker with a knack for romance getting involved with each other was not the strangest thing to take place in Hollywood, not even when you had a ten year age difference. You had kept your arrangement as secretive as you could though, for you did not need the prying eyes of the media to ruin what you had.

By the time the third instalment had been published, no one had suspected that the muse behind Dr. Jake Winston was Harry Nelson himself. Harry had seemed to figure it out early on though, when you had let him have a glimpse of the first draft. But when he gave you his approval to go ahead with the story, you had made him promise you that he would play the role he helped create if your novels were ever made into movies. Harry had been delighted to accept that if he were to make his acting debut, it would be as one of the love interests of Hope Anderson.

Being the man who taught you what it felt like to be safe in a relationship, he had always given you a way out of your friendship with benefits. After all, the strings had never been attached to begin with. But that was a path you did not think you would want to take, at least not until now.

Not that the two of you had managed to drive each other crazy like most Hollywood couples. As unsurprising as that would have been, you felt that you really needed a break from living the California dream and that included what you had with Harry.

With the fourth and final instalment of your series being due in just a few more months, you found yourself hitting a brick wall with where you wanted Hope Anderson’s story to go. Writer’s block was a curse that you hadn’t really experienced with the last three novels. But inspiration for the fourth novel had just not struck.

You were well aware that your readers were longing for a happy ending for the girl who had spent a majority of her life being heartbroken. For a strong and career-driven woman like herself, she could easily find someone to settle down with. But that wasn’t what you wanted when it came to the ending of your series.

You wanted Hope to find some kind of purpose for the journey that she had taken since leaving her hometown for college. You wanted things to be right for her, even if they weren’t necessarily right for you. There needed to be a purpose behind her journey, that was meant to be fulfilled in the final book.

It had been Harry’s suggestion, being a fellow writer himself, that it might be plausible if the fourth novel took a rather ‘coming-of-age’ kind of path compared to the last three instalment. Reid made her realize that she had moved on too soon, Ethan made her realize that love was messy, and Jake made her realize that there are good men in this world. Neither of these men had been right for her, but then who was?

“I think our girl Hope needs to go home.” Harry had suggested one night in the midst of your pillow talk. “She hasn’t been home in ten years. I think she needs a little trip of self-discovery, a walk down memory lane… she needs to find herself in order to find her one true love.”

“What makes you think that she’ll find her true love when she finds herself?” You had asked him, curiously.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

The air was crisp as you stepped out of your Uber and grabbed your suitcases from the trunk, leaving a heavy tip for the driver at the end of this dreadfully quiet ride from Indianapolis International Airport to your humble home in Shelbyville, Indiana.

Being back in this little city after an entire decade in the West Coast sure brought back the good old days for a moment there. But when the cold breeze hit you, you were reminded why you had fled your hometown in the first place. Certainly, you had gotten used to the California sun. But who could blame you though? This place was hell on earth.

As you dragged your suitcases up the driveway, you could not help but look around the neighborhood that you had grown up in. It seemed as though nothing had changed in the last ten years. Or perhaps, it was just the nostalgia of being back here that made it seem as though everything was still the same when it wasn’t.

Old man Nick who lived next door still had his ratty old truck parked out front - was that thing still kicking; you couldn’t believe it. The last you heard, his daughters Carol and Maria had moved out to Indianapolis after college and visited the man every now and then. Apparently, he refused to leave Shelbyville as he had lived there his whole life. His wife had lived and died at that house, and he could not see himself leaving behind the memory of her.

The girls had asked your mother to keep an eye on him, and she had kept an eye on him because she seemed to be the only one in the neighborhood he trusted. Your mother had told you that they were bonding over their mutual empty nest syndrome, but not even her attempt to guilt trip you had brought you back here.

You hadn’t even bothered to come back here when you had found out that your mother was ill. You had flown her out to Los Angeles instead, and did the best you could to give her the medical care she needed at one of the best hospitals in the country.

Not even when she had passed away did you ever try to come back and take care of the house she’d left behind for you. You just hated everything about Shelbyville, Indiana, to ever come back.

But nothing like a little writer’s block to bring you back here.

You made a mental note to leave a rather sarcastic voicemail for Harry, for convincing you to fly out here on your own and facing a part of your life that you never wanted to return to. God, you hated him sometimes, mostly because he was always right and he seemed to know it. You loved him too. Not the kind of love that destroys you, but the kind that made you realize that you always deserved to feel loved by someone.

Truth be told, the house was not as bad as you had thought it would be. It just needed a little dusting and maybe a paint job, but it was still your childhood home in every way. Nick had kept it in good shape while you were gone, because your mother had asked him to take care of it in case you had ever thought about coming back home.

You thanked the man when he handed you the keys, and asked him if you could borrow his truck to run some errands later that day. You just needed to run into town to pick up some groceries and stop by the hardware store to grab some supplies.

In the meantime, you could use the quiet and the nostalgia to come up with the perfect plot for the final instalment of your novel series. Perhaps you could start off with Hope Anderson returning to her hometown due to her mother being ill, putting a pin on completing her residency and giving herself a break from her arrangement with Jake.

She spends hours on end sitting by her mother’s bedside, losing her hope as the days rolled by. And when her mother passes away, she copes with her loss by spring cleaning her childhood home and fixing it up.

*EDIT: 4th love interest?

You had written a few pages of your first draft when you finally decided to take a break, stretching your arms as you stepped away from your laptop on the dining table. You had been avoiding your childhood bedroom like the plague ever since you had arrived, claiming the master bedroom as yours for the duration of your stay.

But as you ascended up the creaky stairway and turned the corner to your childhood bedroom, you could have sworn that the last ten years had never gone by. The paint was chipping off of the cream colored walls, multiple posters of the Jonas Brothers pasted against them, never being taken down in your years away.

You recalled the time you’d had the chance to meet them following their comeback, as one of their wives had starred in one of Harry’s films. You may not have been an overly enthusiastic fangirl on the red carpet, but you were certainly proud of how far you had come from your childhood bedroom. The teenage girl who used to live in this room had clearly grown up, living every dream she’d always had… except one.

You walked over to the desk at the corner of your room, where the first few scenes of your Grey’s Anatomy fanfiction had been written. You had written more than one hundred thousand words about the undying love between Mark Sloan and Lexie Grey, as though they had never died after that plane crash, not even realizing that the basis of that story would eventually inspire the plot of your third novel. The attending and the resident with a significant age difference - God, could you ever be original with your own writing?

This was the room where you fell in love with writing, but writing was not the only thing you had fallen in love with at the time. On the bulletin board above your desk remained one photograph, being held together by a thumb tack.

You remembered the day after your high school graduation, when you had forcefully ripped out most of the photographs you had pinned to that bulletin board and chucked them in the trash bin, along with the feelings you had for the seventeen year old boy who was in those photographs with you.

A part of you wanted to rip up the last remaining photograph that still remained on that bulletin board, but the ten years you had been away had certainly suppressed the anger you felt towards him. So instead, you left that photo where it was and returned to your laptop, picking up your writing from where you had left off but the thought of him now lingering through your mind.

James Buchanan Barnes. Your best friend. Your first love. Your first heartbreak. The reason why Hope Anderson’s love life, and yours, had become hopeless in the first place. Perhaps the best way to end this story was to go back to the very beginning, to where it all had started, to the man who had been a part of her life before Jake, Ethan and Reid.

“Oh Harry, you son of a bitch!”

Dr. James Barnes let out a yawn as he eyed the CT scans in front of him, even though it was only the beginning of his twelve hour call shift. Only into the second year of his three year residency in emergency medicine, he was starting to familiarize with the intensity of his life as an emergency room physician. Sleepless nights were only the bare minimum.

Not that he could not handle the stress of running the ER one day, but Bucky was well aware that outside of the walls of Shelbyville Hospital, he did not have a life. No girlfriend to go home to, no hobbies to kill time with and no friends from outside of work to hang out with. Work, sleep, repeat… life was starting to get boring for the poor twenty-eight year old man.

“You look miserable.” Rosie Bender, the ER nurse on call and Bucky’s former classmate, remarked cheekily at her friend before she slipped into the seat next to him.

He shot her a fake smile as he set down his patient file back onto the rack, leaning back in his chair and looked over at the nurse. “I’m just bored as fuck, Rosie. As you can see, the ER’s pretty quiet tonight. I just want something to do.”

“If you’re so bored, you can help me make some calls. I have to finalize the number of people who are coming to this thing by the end of the week. The catering people have been asking for numbers… and don’t even get me started on picking the menu.”

For the woman who had been head of the Prom Committee back in senior year, planning their ten year reunion was supposed to be a piece of cake. But Rosie was struggling with juggling all of the responsibilities that came with planning this reunion, being the only who seemed to care so much about being able to reunite with some old friends from what had been the best four years of her life. Why did no one else care about this as much as she did?

Truth be told, Bucky could care any less about this so-called ten year reunion. He was well aware that the one person he would be hoping to see would never show up. You hadn’t even come back to town when your mother had gotten sick, let alone to this stupid reunion that was meant to be a remainder of your senior year - the memory that he had ruined for you by being so inconsiderate towards your feelings for him.

He could never forgive himself for what he had done to you, and to think that he would never have the chance to apologize to you in person. He fucked up, and he pushed away the one friend he had. If he could just see you one last time and tell you how sorry he was, Bucky would give anything. But he knew that all hope was lost on that, at least until Becca Barnes had come rushing into the ER.

He had just assumed that she was only dropping off some dinner for him and Rosie, but instead she looked over at the two of them with beaming eyes. “You two are not going to believe who I ran into at the hardware store just now...”

“Is old man Nick renovating the Y/L/Ns’ house again because he’s bored?” Rosie perked up at her girlfriend, giggling softly as she stood from her chair to lean over the desk and peck her lips.

“No, but close…” The younger Barnes chirped before she turned to her brother. “Y/N’s back in town.”

Perhaps, all of his hope was not lost after all.

#kas4kwc #hope #aj writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes au #doctor au #doctor!Bucky

110 notes · View notes

morwensteelsheen · 3 years

Note

I’m starting grad school this autumn and honestly I’m getting nervous. Like yes I am v excited about the whole prospect overall and I do miss being a student but am intimidated by 3 hr long seminars and thesis writing and massive amounts of reading… everyone keeps saying it’s gonna be very different from undergrad so okay, but how specifically? Is it the large amounts of reading? I already had insane amounts of reading (humanities degree hurrah) especially in my last two years but could you expound on your own experience and how you take notes/read quickly/summarize or just how to deal with first time grad students?

Oh, yeah for sure! A necessary disclaimer here is that I'm at a certain poncy English institution that is noted for being very bad at communicating with its students and very bad at treating its postgrad students like human beings, so a lot of these strategies I've picked up will be overkill for anyone who has the good sense to go somewhere not profoundly evil lol.

So I'll just preface this by saying that I am a very poor student in terms of doing what you're supposed to. I'm very bad at taking notes, I never learned how to do it properly, and I really, really struggle with reading dense literature. That said, I'm probably (hopefully?) going to get through this dumb degree just fine. Also — my programme is a research MPhil, not taught, so it's a teensy bit more airy-fairy in terms of structure. I had two classes in Michaelmas term, both were once a week for two hours each; two in Lent, one was two hours weekly, the other two hours biweekly; and no classes at all in Easter. I also have no exam component, I was/am assessed entirely on three essays (accounting for 30% of my overall mark) and my dissertation (the remaining 70%), which is, I think, a little different to how some other programmes are. I think even some of the other MPhils here are more strenuous than that, like Econ and Soc Hist is like 100% dissertation? Anyways, not super important, but knowing what you're getting marked on is important. I dedicated considerably less time than I did in undergrad to perfecting my coursework essays because they just don't hold as much weight now. The difference between a 68 and a 70 just wasn't worth the fuss for me, which helped keep me sane-ish.

The best advice anyone ever gave me was that, whereas an undergrad degree can kind of take over your life without it becoming a problem, you need to treat grad school like a job. That's not because it's more 'serious' or whatever, but because if you don't set a really strict schedule and keep to it, you'll burn yourself out and generally make your life miserable. Before I went back on my ADD meds at the end of Michaelmas term, I sat myself down at my desk and worked from 11sh to 1800ish every day. Now that I'm medicated, I do like 9:30-10ish to 1800-1900 (except for now that I'm crunching on my diss, where, because of my piss-poor time management skills I'm stuck doing, like, 9:30-22:30-23:00). If you do M-F 9-5, you'll be getting through an enormous amount of work and leaving yourself loads of time to still be a human being on the edges. That'll be the difference between becoming a postgrad zombie and a person who did postgrad. I am a postgrad zombie. You do not want to be like me.

The 'work' element of your days can really vary. It's not like I was actually consistently reading for all that time — my brain would have literally melted right out of my ears — but it was about setting the routine and the expectation of dedicating a certain, consistent and routinized period of time for focusing on the degree work every day. My attention span, even when I'm medicated, is garbage, so I would usually read for two or three hours, then either work on the more practical elements of essay planning, answer emails, or plot out the early stages of my research.

In the first term/semester/whatever, lots of people who are planning on going right into a PhD take the time to set up their applications and proposals. I fully intended on doing a PhD right after the MPhil, but the funding as an international student trying to deal with the pandemic proved super problematic, and I realised that the toll it was taking on my mental health was just so not worth it, so I've chosen to postpone a few years. You'll feel a big ol' amount of pressure to go into a PhD during your first time. Unless you're super committed to doing it, just try and tune it out as much as you can. There's absolutely nothing wrong with taking a year (or two, or three, or ten) out, especially given the insane conditions we're all operating under right now.

I'll be honest with you, I was a phenomenally lazy undergrad. It was only by the grace of god and being a hard-headed Marxist that I managed to pull out a first at the eleventh hour. So the difference between UG and PG has been quite stark for me. I've actually had to do the reading this year, not just because they're more specialised and relevant to my research or whatever, but because, unlike in UG, the people in the programme are here because they're genuinely interested (and not because it's an economic necessity) and they don't want to waste their time listening to people who haven't done the reading.

I am also a really bad reader. Maybe it's partially the ADD + dyslexia, but mostly it's because I just haven't practiced it and never put in the requisite effort to learn how to do it properly. My two big pointers here are learning how to skim, and learning how to prioritise your reading.

This OpenU primer on skimming is a bit condescending in its simplicity, but it gets the point across well. You're going to want to skim oh, say, 90% of the reading you're assigned. This is not me encouraging you to be lazy, it's me being honest. Not every word of every published article or book is worth reading. The vast majority of them aren't. That doesn't mean the things that those texts are arguing for aren't worth reading, it just means that every stupid rhetorical flourish included by bored academics hoping for job security and/or funding and/or awards isn't worth your precious and scarce time. Make sure you get the main thrust of each text, make sure you pull out and note down one or two case studies and move right the hell on. There will be some authors whose writing will be excellent, and who you will want to read all of. Everything else gets skimmed.

Prioritisation is the other big thing. You're going to have shitty weeks, you're probably going to have lots of them. First off, you're going to need to forgive yourself for those now — everybody has them, yes, even the people who graduated with distinctions and go on to get lovely £100,000 AHRC scholarships. Acknowledge that there will be horrible weeks, accept it now, and then strategise for how to get ahead of them. My personal strategy is to plan out what I'm trying to get out of each course I take, and then focus only on the readings that relate to that topic.

I took a course in Lent term that dealt with race and empire in Britain between 1607 and 1900; I'm a researcher of the Scottish far left from 1968-present, so the overlap wasn't significant. But I decided from the very first day of the course that I was there to get a better grasp about the racial theories of capitalism and the role of racial othering in Britain's subjugation of Ireland. Those things are helpful to me because white supremacist capitalism comes up hourly in my work on the far left, and because the relationship of the Scottish far left to Ireland is extremely important to its self definition. On weeks when I couldn't handle anything else, I just read the texts related to that. And it was fine, I did fine, I got my stupid 2:1 on the final essay, and I came out of it not too burnt out to work on my dissertation.

Here is where I encourage you to learn from my mistakes: get yourself a decent group of people who you can have in depth conversations about the material with. I was an asshole who decided I didn't need to do that with any posh C*mbr*dge twats, and I have now condemned myself to babbling incomprehensible nonsense at my partner because I don't have anyone on my course to work through my ideas with. These degrees are best experienced when they're experienced socially. In recent years (accelerated by the pandemic, ofc), universities have de-emphasised the social component of postgrad work, largely to do with stupid, long-winded stuff related to postgrad union organising etc. It's a real shame because postgrads end up feeling quite socially isolated, and because they're not having these fun and challenging conversations, their work actually suffers in the long term. This is, and I cannot stress this enough, the biggest departure from undergrad. Even the 'weak links' or whatever judgemental nonsense are there because they want to be. That is going to be your biggest asset. Talk, talk, talk. Listen, listen, listen. Offer to proofread people's papers so you get a sense of how people are thinking about things, what sort of style they're writing in, what sources they're referring to. Be a sponge and a copycat (but don't get done for plagiarism, copy like this.) Also: ask questions that seem dumb. For each of your classes, ask your tutors/lecturers who they think the most important names in their discipline are. It sounds silly, but it's really helpful to know the intellectual landscape you're dealing with, and it means you know whose work you can go running to if you get lost or tangled up during essay or dissertation writing!

You should also be really honest about everything — another piece of advice that I didn't follow and am now suffering for. The people on your courses and in your cohort are there for the same reasons as you, have more or less the same qualifications as you, and are probably going to have a lot of the same questions and insecurities as you. If you hear an unfamiliar term being used in a seminar, just speak up and ask about it, because there're going to be loads of other people wondering too. But you should also cultivate quite a transparent relationship with your supervisor. I was really cagey and guarded with mine because my hella imposter syndrome told me she was gonna throw my ass out of the programme if I admitted to my problems. Turns out no, she wouldn't, and that actually she's been a super good advocate for me. If you feel your motivation slipping or if you feel like you're facing challenges you could do with a little extra support on, go right to your supervisor. Not only is that what they're there to do, they've also done this exact experience before and are going to be way more sympathetic and aware of the realities of it than, say, the uni counselling service or whatever.

Yeah so I gotta circle back to the notes thing... I really do not take notes. It's my worst habit. Here's an example of the notes I took for my most recent meeting with my supervisor (revising a chapter draft).

No sane person would ever look at these and think this is a system worth replicating lol. But the reason they work for me is because I also record (with permission) absolutely everything. My mobile is like 90% audio recordings of meetings and seminars lol. So these notes aren't 'good' notes, but they're effective for recalling major points in the audio recording so I can listen to what was said when I need to.

Sorry none of this is remotely organised because it's like 2330 here and my brain is so soft and mushy. I'm literally just writing things as I remember them.

Right, so: theory is a big thing. Lots of people cheap out on this and it's to their own detriment. You say you're doing humanities, and tbh, most of the theory involved on the humanities side of the bridge is interdisciplinary anyways, so I'm just gonna give you some recommendations. The big thing is to read these things and try to apply them to what you're writing about. This sounds so fucking condescending but getting, like, one or two good theoretical frameworks in your papers will actually put you leaps and bounds beyond the students around you and really improve your research when the time comes. Also: don't read any of these recommendations without first watching, like an intro youtube video or listening to a podcast. The purists will tell you that's the wrong way to do it, but I am a lazy person and lazy people always find the efficient ways to do things, so I will tell the purists to go right to hell.

Check out these impenetrable motherfuckers (just one or two will take your work from great to excellent, so don't feel obliged to dig into them all):

Karl Marx and Fredrich Engels (I'm not just pushing my politics, but also, I totally am) — don't fucking read Capital unless you're committed to it. Oh my god don't put yourself through that unless you really have to. Try, like, the 18th Brumaire of Louis Napoleon for the fun quotes, and Engels on the family.

Frantz Fanon — Wretched of the Earth. Black Skin White Masks also good, slightly more impossible to read

Benedict Anderson — Imagined Communities. It's about nationalism, but you will be surprised at how applicable it is to... so many other topics

Judith Butler — she really sucks to read. I love her. But she sucks to read. If you do manage to read her though, your profs will love you because like 90% of the people who say they've read her are lying

Bourdieu — Distinction is good for a lot of things, but especially for introducing the idea of social and cultural capital. There's basically no humanities sub-discipline that can't run for miles on that alone.

Crenshaw — the genesis of intersectionality. But, like, actually read her, not the ingrates who came after her and defanged intersectionality into, like, rainbow bombs dropped over Gaza.

The other thing is that you should read for fun. My programme director was absolutely insistent that we all continue to read for pleasure while we did this degree, not just because it's good for destressing, but because keeping your cultural horizons open actually makes your writing better and more interesting. I literally read LOTR for the first time in, like February, and the difference in my writing and thinking from before and after is tangible, because not only did it give me something fun to think about when I was getting stressy, but it also opened up lots of fun avenues for thought that weren't there before. I read LOTR and wanted to find out more about English Catholics in WWI, and lo and behold something I read about it totally changed how I did my dissertation work. Or, like, a girl on my course who read the Odyssey over Christmas Break and then started asking loads of questions about the role of narrative creation in the archival material she was using. It was seriously such a good edict from our director.

Also, oh my god, if you do nothing else, please take this bit seriously: forgive yourself for the bad days. The pressure in postgrad is fucking unreal. Nobody, nobody is operating at 100% 100% of the time. If you aim for 60% for 80% of the time and only actually achieve 40% for 60% of the time, you will still be doing really fucking well. Don't beat yourself up unnecessarily. Don't make yourself feel bad because you're not churning out publishable material every single day. Some days you just need to lie on the couch, order takeout, and watch 12 hours of Jeopardy or whatever, and I promise you that that is a good and worthwhile thing to do. You don't learn and grow without rest, so forgive yourself for the moments and days of unplanned rest, and forgive yourself for when you don't score as highly as you want to, and forgive yourself when you say stupid things in class or don't do all of (or any of) the class reading.

Uhhhh I think I'm starting to lose the plot a bit now. Honestly, just ping me whatever questions you have and I'm happy to answer them. There's a chance I'll be slower to respond over the next few days because my dissertation is due in a week (holy fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) but I will definitely respond. And honestly, no question is too dumb lol. I wish I'd been able to ask someone about things like what citation management software is best or how to set up a desk for maximum efficiency or whatever, but I was a scaredy-cat about it and didn't. So yeah, ask away and I will totally answer.

#asks

2 notes · View notes

not-lobotomized · 3 years

Note

i'm SO happy to see that you are in love !! 💘💘 & u and bf are the cutest tbh. all my friends seem to be finding love in 2021 too.. so it got me wondering if u got any tips (?) to share about how to find who's right for u. i'm 20+ and i'm-to put it mildly-a doormat. i was raised by crazy strict brown parents & i grew up insecure, quiet, & paranoid about preserving my solitude because of my family's history of trampling all over my boundaries. i also really want someone who'd treat me like an equal (& is anti porn etc. it's hard). it's ok if you don't feel like talking about this, pls feel free to ignore this msg.

thank you so much for this message, your happiness for me is so touching and i hope you find happiness blooming in your life soon as well!

i cant give you any tips on how to “find” the right one. every person we’ve ever met is by chance. but i can give you some tips on what to do when you find someone that you see the potential of being the “one” for you:

-if you want love, you have to be open to letting your love into your life. this may seem intuitive, but if you turn your nose up to dating apps, blind dates, etc., the chances of you finding a romantic partner decreases significantly. we all wanna meet our s/o in a romantic, organic fashion, but esp with a pandemic, that’s just really hard. with that being said, if you obsess and make it your life mission to find love, you will burn yourself out. be proactive, but also be pragmatic. its a process. it takes time. sometimes years, sometimes days. you never know.

-lets say you have found a guy thats piqued your interest. my advice to you is to be 100% straightforward from the start. let him know that you’re only interested in a serious monogamous relationship. let him know your political and moral belief system. (when you see that they begin to align with yours, this is when you can broach more sensitive topics like porn). flirt as much as you want the first day or two but before you waste any more of your time i really encourage you to bring up these “hard topics”.

-if he’s shown you that he’s also interested in a serious relationship, has the same values as you, and there’s good chemistry between you, now is the point where i would encourage you to begin courting each other. in the beginning of my courtship with my bf, i had without even realizing it taken a very proactive role in getting to know him further. i was the one that asked for the first phone call, the first virtual date, etc., but i did all this bc i was getting tons of green flags from him and VERY obvious interest from him that he would also like to get to know me more. im not saying you should be putting in all the effort, not at all, but don’t be afraid to take charge. my bf has been pretty uwu with me from the start, but he was also kinda shy, and me meeting him halfway really helped us bond. i will warn you though that when guys haven’t really caught feels they may not be super emotionally available in the beginning, so don’t expect essays of adoration or anything like that. keep your head cool and just enjoy his company.

-if in your courtship you have found that this guy treats you with respect, dignity, makes you happy, makes you laugh, and overall contributes positively to your life...start dropping hints that you want to make it official. its up to you how long you wanna stay in the “talking phase” (i couldn’t go two months) but once you have a hard deadline in your mind and he hasn’t asked you to be his gf yet, i would straightforwardly say “hey, i really like you and can see us in a serious relationship. if you feel the same way let me know”

thats my general guide to getting a bf. ofc it’ll differ from person to person, and what’s really important is your gut feeling. listen to her, but don’t confuse her with anxiety, which leads me to my most important point:

if you want to be loved, you must love yourself! if you don’t love yourself you will question the other persons love for you which will hurt the both of you. find confidence in your appearance and personality. the right guy will love you for who YOU are, and the more unapologetically you’re yourself, the more likely you are to attract the person that will love what makes you unique. also sis, believe me, guys are so easily pleased. if he loves you just your face will make his dick hard lol.

i know this was a lot but if there’s anything i missed or any further questions you have for me please let me know! im so proud of you for embracing what you want, and wish you all the best on this journey of internal and external love <3

#anon

5 notes · View notes

newts-fan-case · 4 years

Text

Pride - Henry Cavill x OFC

One-shot/Chapter number: This is part one of a new series/challenge I’m doing called “The Seven Deadly Sins” you can find more about it here.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC called Olivia, established relationship

Genre/Warnings: No warnings except for a little disclaimer: i took some creative licenses regarding the “movie” Henry is in, and the whole prep and red carpet stuff. Also, English is not my first language so a little help in grammar would be nice.

Rated: General Audiences

Word Count: 1,747

A/N: I just wanted to say hello to all the Cavill fans who are reading this, I hope you like this and hit me up with ideas for the next sins or prompts or any constructive criticism that you have. As always, the story is under the cut for better scrolling.

Pride: a feeling of deep pleasure or satisfaction derived from one's own achievements, the achievements of those with whom one is closely associated, or from qualities or possessions that are widely admired.

Oscar’s night.

One of the most important nights on Henry’s life, or maybe the most important to this day, at least. He was nominated for Best Supporting Actor for his role as Sherlock Holmes. And what a fantastic job he had done. His portrayal of the genius detective was phenomenal, and he showed a new side of the famous detective, doing a characterization that had never been seen before.

Olivia was so proud of him and his successes. He had already won the Golden Globe for best actor and she was sure he would win the Oscar too. He really deserved it.

They were preparing for the event. She was wearing a beautiful deep blue dress; it was flowy, and it barely brushed the floor. The dress was striking in its simplicity, not flashy at all because she wasn’t the main event. Henry was. But nevertheless, she looked ethereal in it.

They had been together for two years now and this night was the first one of them going to an event like this. How could she not be by his side in such an important night? She wasn’t going to be walking the red carpet with him, though. Olivia didn’t enjoy that kind of attention and she wasn’t a fan of pictures. Her decision caused a little quarrel, but Henry understood where she was coming from and he didn’t want to jeopardize her comfort and wellbeing. The important thing was that she would be next to him during the ceremony, cheering right by his side.

Henry entered the bedroom where a stylist was giving the finishing touches to her updo. Almost emptying a can of hairspray on her head. She looked gorgeous, so elegant and resplendent. Henry was elated for being the one man that got to be with such a marvellous woman. Olivia always said that he was the pretty one in the relationship, but right now she looked like a Goddess gracing his life with her presence and her smile. Where he a less humble man, Henry would say they would be the best dressed of the night.

“You look stunning, baby.” He said while approaching her. He took Olivia’s hand and made her turn around to appreciate her better.

She smiled when they locked eyes again.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, mister nominee.” She teased him, and he smiled at her, proud of his achievements too. “We ready to go?” she asked.

“Yes, I came to check if you were ready. Our driver is waiting for us and the one for the crew is here too”

“Alright, let’s go” She kissed him shortly and went to grab her clutch. It only had her phone, ID and lipstick. Then she turned to the stylist while taking Henry’s hand. “Barbara, thank you so much for helping me get ready. You did a wonderful job!”

“Hey, I only worked with what you already got going on, honey!” Barbara replied, following them out of the room.

Olivia smiled at her, the comment boosting her confidence a bit more.

The three of them, along with Henry’s assistant and publicist made their way to the elevators. There, two bodyguards joined them. And all of them made quick work of getting to the cars.

The happy couple along with Max, Henry’s publicist, rode on the first car, the others were behind them.

“So, Liv,” said Max, “you sure you don’t want to walk the red carpet with Henry?”

Olivia bit her lip and Henry squeezed her hand. She knew how important this was for Henry. They had already discussed it and she would be waiting for him inside, but she knew he wanted to ‘show her to the world’. Henry was proud of her and their relationship, and he wanted to show everyone what an exceptional woman he had by his side at every chance he got.

When she hesitated to respond, looking at Henry with an insecure look in her eyes, he said “Baby, we already talked about this, it’s fine if you don’t want to. I want you to be comfortable.” He kissed her knuckles and rubbed her hand to try and relax her.

“But… I know you want me there. And I want to be beside you too… at all times, but I- It’s- I’m just… scared”

Her eyes full of doubt pained Henry. He put his hand on her cheek, cradling it and making her look into his eyes.

“If you want to do this, I’ll be by your side at all times. I won’t let anything happen to you and if you’re uncomfortable we can cut it short. I don’t care.” He said firmly, she caught a glance of Max cringing in her peripheral vision. “And, we still can go according to plan, you go in with Lucy and wait for me. It’s fine either way.”

She bit her lip, hesitant, “you sure?”

“Of course. I love you. And I don’t’ want to put you in a compromising position”

“I love you, too.” She took a deep, shaky breath, “okay… let’s do it together then, I don’t want anyone getting ideas of stealing you from me.”

Henry beamed at her answer and chuckled. She put her hand around his neck and kissed him, smiling too. He softly caressed her face and deepened the kiss. They were in their own bubble, lost in one another.

“Mmh-hmm,” fake-coughed Max, making the couple part and look at him, “we’re almost there, lovebirds. And with the change of plans we need to sort quickly through possible questions they might ask you. Liv, you’re wearing…”

And that’s how they used their last minutes before they got to the venue. Henry was buzzing with excitement. Olivia was still a bit nervous, but she sucked it all up for her man and focused her attention on what Max was saying. She couldn’t ruin the night for Henry, she knew how important this was for him.

The car came to a stop and Olivia could feel her heart about to beat out of her chest, her hands were getting clammy and Henry looked at her.

“You’re absolutely sure you want to do this?”

She took a deep breath again, this time, smelling some of Henry’s scent. That calmed her down a bit and she nodded. “Yes, I’m ready.”

“All right, but remember, say the word and we cut the carpet short. Okay?”

She bit her lip and nodded. Max only shook his head and muttered something, but at this point Henry wouldn’t let him make his girl feel bad, so he just gave Max a dirty look.

The publicist got out of the car first, making sure their bodyguards had arrived, and when they opened the door Olivia could hear the screaming of people and photographers.

Henry got out then, making the screaming increase in volume. He waved at the people and then stretched his hand to help Olivia out. She took his hand and exited the car very carefully. Mindful of the dress, watching that it didn’t catch in her heels and putting a smile on her face. She didn’t want any gossip about her looking like she didn’t want to be here.

The loud noises and the flashes almost gave her a headache, and after that first shock of noise and movement, the whole “walking the Red Carpet” was a blur. The only constant thing for Olivia was Henry by her side, with his arm around her waist and his whispered instructions or compliments in her ear.

She had to admit, after some time, Olivia did feel pretty good. Especially during the interviewing part, she couldn’t help but look at her man with adoration and pride in her eyes when he talked about the movie and the work all the cast and crew had done. And every interviewer made the point of saying how beautiful she looked. This, in turn, made Henry practically fawn over her and shower her with loving words and compliments. He really wanted to rub in everyone’s faces the magnificent woman that had chosen him to be with her.

Finally, they got to their seats. They were in the same table as Millie Bobby-Brown, who was there with her mother, and with the director of the movie, who was there with her husband. They all made small talk while waiting for the ceremony to start.

When the host finally appeared, the room quieted, and the show started.

The ceremony was going well for their table. Millie had won the award for best actress, which had made her mother, the director and Olivia cry because the young woman really deserved it and it was a huge accomplishment.

Next up was Henry’s category and Olivia could feel him buzzing with anxiety.

“Love, relax, it’s going to be fine. You were great and even if you don’t win -which is not going to happen-, it’s a great feat that you were even nominated” She tried to reassure him while intertwining their fingers and rubbing his leg with her free hand.

Henry sighed and gave her a quick kiss, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said, “and I’m already very proud of you either way.”

They smiled at each other for a few seconds and then turned their heads to listen to the presenters of the award. Henry composed himself before the camera pointed at him when they read his name for the nominations and waved politely. Meanwhile Olivia clapped beside him.

“And the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor goes to…” everyone waited with bathed breath. Henry could feel his heart pounding and his ears ringing. “Henry Cavill!”

The room erupted in applauses and Henry was in shock. Olivia’s voice was what took him out of his reverie while she hugged him.

“Congratulations baby!” she said in his ear and then gave him a quick kiss. “Now go, go, go!”

He kissed her again, not caring that the whole world saw them and then hugged the director on his way to the stage.

Onstage, Henry couldn’t help but bask in the attention and the applauses. He could barely see Olivia trying to wipe her tears of joy and he couldn’t feel prouder of his work and what his live had come to.

A/N p.2: I hope you liked it and as you might know, likes, comments and all that jazz are greatly apreciated. If you want me to tag you on the next part let me know! And I hope you all can accept me in the Henry fandom as a fellow thirster for this man. I’ve been lurking for some time and I’ve finally come out of my shell (i think) so if you want to chat or something hmu!

Also, if anyone wants to guide me in the hashtag game to get to more people and all that it would be greatly appreciated

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fan fiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fic #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x original female character #cavillvirus #mywriting #henry and olivia #seven deadly sins #mine

38 notes · View notes

jocazep · 4 years

Text

In the Whole Wide Train | Chapter 5

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Reader (Jo, OFC), slight Edgar x Reader

Warnings: Major spoilers for SNOWPIERCER, dystopian society and its countless problems, mentions of forced abortions, language, violence, deaths, slow burn, eventual smut

Synopsis: Having grown up in the Front Sections of the Snowpiercer, you venture down the train when a rare opportunity presents itself, but the excursion quickly changes flavor when you arrive in the Tail Section.

A/N: New chapter on Leap Day! As we get further in the story, Curtis and Jo will be spending more time together, so their POVs will start to blend together when they are sharing the same experiences (wink wink).

Taglist: Open until further notice!

Series Masterlist

Chapter Five - Passing Tests

“Sorry, sorry, we thank you for your contributions!”

Edgar’s voice clamored below as he collected barrels from various residents of the Tail Section. Curtis recorded the numbers down on his flimsy clipboard as men carried the barrels past him. Close by, Painter was drawing a quick sketch.

The long tube was coming along nicely, now stretching almost two-thirds of the section. At this rate, we won’t be able to hide it long,Curtis mused. It’s a nice problem to have, but a problem nonetheless.

Then, his stomach growled. It should be time for a head check soon. Looking down the narrow corridor, Curtis found himself thinking about you. He was still half worried every day that you would go back to the front of the train. To expose their plans for the revolt of course, not for any other reason. So every head check, Curtis would climb onto a random ladder nearby and look for you. For the past three days, you had been regularly appearing, and every day Curtis would avoid your eyes when he received his protein block.

“Guys, head check soon. Let’s hide the tube and get ready.” Curtis jumped off of his spot on the ladder and helped move the barrel to the back.

On the other side of the gate, you took a deep breath as you prepared to enter the Tail Section. The horrible smell was easy to get used to when you lived in the Tail, but extraordinarily strong when you only breathe it half an hour a day. The buzz sounded and you walked in with the cart.

Curtis was relieved to see you returning, same as last time. He moved his thought to other things, staring at the other two guards counting heads as row upon row of Tail Sectioners sat down.

Gilliam sat next to Curtis, “Planning something, are you?”

“They don’t have bullets.“

“Why do you say that?“

“Remember what Mason said? Put down that useless gun.“ Curtis had been thinking this over, after the fog of learning your identity lifted. The guns must be literally useless. They must have used up the bullets in the revolt four years ago. Bullets were extinct.

Up ahead, the two guards were paying more attention than usual to their numbers. That can’t be good.

The two guards started to push through the seated crowd and make their way down the section. Up at the front, you also noticed the kerfuffle. You stopped handing out the bars and caught up to them, shooting a look at Curtis and Gilliam as you walked past. Curtis didn’t dare make too big a gesture, but the look on his face told you everything.

By the speed at which they are building, the barrel tube couldn’t be too far off, you thought.

“What’s wrong?” you managed to say in a low voice. Only four people knew about your surveyor role in here. Can’t risk blowing this just yet.

“We are missing two. Just wanted to see if there was anyone back there.” The nose-breaker said.

“Everyone keeps regular company here, right? Just ask them who’s missing.” Take the hint, Curtis.

Behind you, Curtis counted the faces he knew, and quickly realized who was missing. Painter. And Andrew. Fuck. He stood up and took a ginger step towards you and the guards.

“Hey, sit down!” The nose-breaker pointed his rifle at Curtis. Your hand shot up to stop him.

With his hands raised, Curtis spoke,“It’s Andrew and Painter. You know Painter, he likes to draw. And, and Andrew’s still recovering from the Icing.“ He had never said so many words to the guards before in his life.

The nose-breaker looked offended, “I don’t KNOW anyone here.”

All eyes looked to you.

“Alright, no need to escalate this. Let me go back there to check, you two just finish handing out protein bars. I’ll catch up with you later.”

The guards didn’t argue. But before you parted ways, the nose-breaker decided to give you his rifle as a precaution.

You picked your way past the rest of the Tail Sectioners, careful not to come too close to someone you knew. Before you so much as clear the crowd, the barrel tub came into view. You almost stubbed your toe against it.

“Fuck.” You curse under your breath. This was a close call.

“Hey.“

You turned to see Curtis catching up with you.

“Thanks for that. You didn’t have to...”

“Oh I had to, or they would be confiscating this right about now.”

“I was talking about the Kronole. I got them using your protein blocks.”

“Oh. Good.”

You squatted down to take a better look at the barrel tube. To your surprise, it looked pretty sturdy. This should be able to stop the doors for a good long while.

As he watched you, the recurring question returned to Curtis. Could he trust you?

“When did you decide?”

You didn’t turn around, “Decide what?”

“You saved up eleven blocks of protein within two weeks. It must have been a pretty early decision to help--”

“Oh I just never learned to stomach them. So no losses there.” Let’s not go pulling at that thread. You continued to bang and tap lightly on the barrel, to keep yourself busy. “If you wanna thank me, let me be part of the revolt again.”

“We can’t let you back in until we know for sure you are completely honest with us. So when did you decide?”

“Wasn’t the letters honesty enough?”

“C’mon, it’s a simple question. When?”

It looked like he was not letting this go. All right, two could play at this honesty game. You straightened up and looked at Curtis square in the eyes.

“You want honest, do you?”

Curtis crossed his arms in front of his chest, “Let’s have at it.”

“OK. Here’s honest. I decided to help the minute I set foot in here. I wanted to find ways to make this place less of a hellhole. Nobody should have to live like this.

I was only supposed to be here for two days, but I felt sorry for you for having to live here. And I felt sorry for Gilliam for having to keep this place together for so long. And I cared. I cared about you, I cared about Edgar, I cared about Tanya, I cared about Timmy--

Oh and Timmy! I was sad that Timmy got taken away from his mother, but part of me was glad because wherever he’s going, it’s gonna be a hell lot better than this--”

Curtis blinked at you, surprised at your sudden outburst, yet at the same time captivated by the passion in your eyes.

You went on, “Hell the only reason I came back here is because I give a crap, so stop being so thick-headed and accept my help!”

You stood there, your chest rising and falling after that hushed tirade, your eyes still locked with the sea blue eyes in front of you.

“There. Honest enough for you?”

Curtis nodded. His heart beating faster for the same inexplicable reason that he kept thinking about you after you came into his world, the same inexplicable reason that he didn’t mind seeing more and more of you, even during Gilliam’s meetings, the same inexplicable reason that he let you leave instead of exposing you after you came clean. He still didn’t understand it but it’s here again now.

“Good.” You made to get back, but Curtis grabbed you by the arm and pulled you back.

“Wh--” before you could react, his other arm found your waist, pushed you up against him, and his lips crashed into yours. They were warm, and softer than you expected. Yours, on the other hand, were caught half open.

Your eyes went wide. Your free hand instinctively flew up, but before you could push Curtis away, his left hand trailed past your shoulder and found its way to the back of your neck, softly cupping your head just below your clunky helmet.

You closed your eyes, beginning to enjoy the feeling of being held so close to Curtis that the two of you were virtually melting into each other. Your right hand held onto his arm, and your left arm hooked itself around his neck. A whimper escaped you as Curtis dragged his lips across yours, his beard tickling you.

It might have been an eternity before the two of you broke off the kiss. Forehead resting against forehead, both gulped for air as you steadied yourselves.

“Was that my reward for being honest?” You teased.

Curtis let out an ambiguous low hum. You were still intimately close to him, and his body was reacting to it in more than one way.

You unhooked your arm from his neck, took hold of his hands resting on your waist, and stepped back to allow some space between the two of you.

“Was that not...” good? Curtis left the word unsaid, his arms reaching for you.

Sometimes you forgot that Curtis has lived on the train for 17 years and had very little experience in romantic relationships.

“No, no, no, no, I just thought...” You gave his hands a squeeze, “in case someone sees.”

Curtis chuckled, relieved. It was probably the first time you saw him smile. And for a blissful moment, both of you stood there, basked in the glow of this undefined intimacy, all cares to the wind. Until--

“Curtis?”

Tanya stood a few feet from you and Curtis, her face unreadable.

And just like that, all the complication came rushing back. Curtis could practically feel himself stiffen. His hands fell, or you withdrew yours, he couldn’t be too sure, but the connection was gone.

And you remembered what you were supposed to do here.

“I should be going.” You snuck past Tanya, avoiding her eyes.

Curtis’s eyes followed you as you walked into the shuffling crowd and vanished.

“Is she back in? Can we trust her?“

Curtis didn’t really have the answers to Tanya’s question.

---

Curtis couldn’t get the kiss out of his head, as much as he tried. The rest of the day was spent building the barrel tube, which was sticking out past the bunks into the large clearing at the head of the section by the time Curtis called it a night.

He turned onto his back, staring at the bunk above, different feelings mixing into a confusing pile of unease in his stomach.

“Edgar, how far back can you remember?“

“I don’t know, like what?”

“Your mother. Can you remember her?“

“I remember a face, every once in a while, but it’s not clear...”

Curtis slowly drifted to uneasy sleep, dreaming of you in his arms, his name on your lips.

“Curtis... Curtis... Curtis...”

But then, your face transformed into that of Edgar’s mother, with a voice that sounded exactly like Edgar.

“Curtis! Curtis!”

Terrified, he let out a cry and woke up to Edgar shaking him.

“Curtis! Thank god you’re up. It’s Jo, she’s...”

Curtis sprang off his bunk. No sooner had he landed on his feet than a wave of people rushing to the front knocked him unsteady.

“What’s everybody doing?”

“Head check, now,” you came pushing past the crowd, back in Curtis’s shirt and the old coat. “Gotta hide the barrel.”

Whatever dream Curtis had was cast aside. The next minute seemed like a century as he and the rest of the Tail-sectioners scrambled to hide their contraption as well as they could--which, given the sheer length of the barrel tube, was just five rows from the front of the head check line.

When the buzz sounded, they were only half way done, the steel still quite visible through the legs.

“Guys, c’mon, make a hole and let the people through!“ You joined the line next to Edgar in your old spot as Curtis ushered the last few people to their place. It was oddly comforting.

“When we sit down, they’re still gonna see it...” Edgar was quick to realize the fault in the (lack of) plan.

“We gotta go now.” You whispered.

“Now?” Gilliam said in his hoarse voice, making you jump slightly.

“How do we know if you’re not tricking us?“ Tanya was still skeptical. Of course.

“She’s right.” Curtis took his place next to you. He took a deep breath, “It’s now or never.”

They watched with dread as the multiple locks on the steel gate undid themselves, and the guards appeared, still wheeling the cart of protein blocks. Curtis shot a look at Edgar.

The latter yelled, “We’re sick and tired of this protein block bullshit!”

Tanya caught on, “Yeah, we want chicken!”

And just like that, the crowd started to boil.

The guards were quick to draw the rifles that may or may not have bullets in them.

Curtis turned to you, “Jo, the rifles, you held one yesterday. Do they have bullets?”

What is this, another test? Your throat suddenly felt dry. Whatever Curtis was thinking, with Tanya watching, this just became one.

“I--When I held it yesterday it felt light. I don’t know if they have bullets today...” Then you realized why he was asking, “Curtis, wait...“

“Here’s hoping.” He gave you a quick peck on the forehead, and set off.

You hurried after him, but him being six-foot tall, he got to the nose-breaker in virtually a heartbeat. Curtis grabbed the rifle, put his forehead against the nuzzle, and wrapped his hand around the trigger.

It felt as if the world held its breath. Your arm was extended out towards Curtis. A few yards back, Edgar tip-toed past the crowd, anxious to find out if Curtis will survive the next split second. Tanya was caught in the throes of struggle with another guard, but her eyes looked towards Curtis--

Click.

“They’ve got no bullets!”

Taglist: @torntaltos @emmalbg @ajosieface

#curtis everett #curtis everett fanfic #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett x you #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #Snowpiercer #snowpiercer fanfic

35 notes · View notes

teddystrap · 5 years

Audio

Drama CD: [幽幻ロマンチカ・真骨頂] ≁Karasutengu Hifumi・Baku Utashiro≁

Ok I know this is out of order (I skipped over the previous Hatenkou discs, which I will do later), but I reallllly adore the Shinkocchou concept. This came at the end of a HECTIC week, so to myself and any readers out there, I say a well-deserved: お疲（憑か）れ様でした！

In this disc - the first in this subtitle - Crow-Heavenly-Dog Hifumi and Dream-Eating Animal-Thing Utashiro team up to fight crime and save the Universe... of Nanagiri High School.

Before I say anything else, first look at the hidden msgs (x2) in the tracklist:

１．壱、都市伝説『すきま』２．弐、スイーツに囲<ま>れて３．参、湧き出た<も>のは４．四、陰<り>から立ちはだかる５．伍、穏やかな夜だっ<た> ６．六、戦うなら<い>っしょに７．七、都市伝説『すきま』看破８．キャストトーク

Hifumi: bold⋆ spells 「すきだから」 (’Because I like you...’)

Utashiro: <⋆> spells 「まもりたい」 (’...I want to protect you.’)

...

(ﾟ艸ﾟ(｡艸｡(ﾟ艸ﾟ(｡艸｡(ﾟ艸ﾟ(｡艸｡(ﾟ艸ﾟ(｡艸｡(ﾟ艸ﾟ(｡艸｡(ﾟ艸ﾟ(｡艸｡ ) ｽﾍﾟｼｬﾙｳﾝｳﾝ

We also find out bits about each character's past - like how Hifumi had been cold and uncaring when he first mixed with the human world, and how he developed a taste for sweet foods because that's what people used to give him as offerings. AND how hilariously angry U-kun gets when people try to point out that deep down he's really just a softie/sweetie.

NB. The audio track is a bonus bit at the end of the final cast commentary track where the two of them do a hilarious 'Free Talk' in character.

[The First Rumour: Urban Legend ‘Sukima’]

Something's lurking in the cracks and corners of Nanagiri High School. So far five students have disappeared, starting with a girl in 1st year. Everyone is freaking the fuck out, and even the police have got involved, but this being a paranormal case ofc they are not going to find anything.

On the orders of Toilet Flower Dude (abbreviated TFD), Hifumi and Utashiro are investigating the urban legends to prevent them from destabilising the forces of the Supernatural Seven. And they have come to you for help - after all, youkai get their powers from the goodwill of humans. TFD has even coined a team name for the three of you: DARK DESTINY FAN CLUB. And ofc you are the leader, because vagina power.

As part of the investigation, first you all go to... the nearby cafe and eat cake. Because Marie Antoinette said so. Because apparently a couple from your school was attacked when they went on a date there.

Hifumi decides that you have to act like a couple to bait the monster into attacking you. (Except this is more like a 3P scenario and for some reason nobody finds that just a little bit odd...?) The two of them start feeding you and wiping extra cream off your face, and ofc you become all shy and resistant. So then both of them possess your body and start putting their lips on you to 'make you understand how the cake feels'. #mfw = (*>艸<)ｷｬｧｯ. (Not even kidding, I actually made this face when I was listening to this.)

You finally cannot put up with this treatment anymore, and when they stop, you pick up a chair and start hurling it at them. Damn girl u so hot when u maddd. So much for Battle Plan RaiseBloodSugar1. XD

Plan #2: Ya'll patrol the empty classrooms after school to look for clues. Eventually you find a ...fluffy/slimy-looking... monster consuming a 1st-year boy. When the three of you approach, the monster devours him whole and disappears.

You suggest using yourself as bait, with the both of them possessing your body to fight the monster in invisible mode. Sounds all fine and dandy... except their demon powers totally don't even work against this mochi-mochi monster!! After some failed attacks, Utashiro forms a protective shield to fend off the monster and allow Hifumi to fly you off to safety. (Such beautiful teamwork I could cry...)

Later Utashiro catches up to the two of you. It seems that the monster is so 'impenetrable' because it is feeding off the energy of some human somewhere, whose vulnerabilities it is exploiting. At this point you are still reeling from the narrow escape, so your two manservants boyfriends manservants decide to call it a day and escort you home.

Back home, you refuse to sleep, so the two of them dogpile you on your bed (is it just me or does that sound kinda dirty, sports fans? ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)). You request that they both change into their chibi forms and hug them to sleep. Hifumi doesn't mind at all but Utashiro hates it!! XD

Turns out you can't sleep because you are still terrified from the episode earlier. So they change back into their hot-guy forms and possess your body (because your bed is too small XD) and hold your hand and caress your head. After you finally fall asleep, the two of them commence the BL action pillow talk:

Utashiro is feeling down and blaming himself for not noticing your fear sooner. Hifumi is all like ‘I KNEW U WERE A SOFTIE U SEXY TSUNDERE’, but Utashiro tells him that all the other baku perished because they were forgotten by humans, and this is why he can't forgive and embrace humanity the way that Hifumi does.

As Hifumi correctly figures out, Utashiro is/was the Chief of the baku, even though he was not the most powerful nor the eldest. But Hifumi thinks it's enough that Utashiro did his best for his companions, just like *you* always do, you useless piece of sh... person!! I mean person!!. Hifumi trusts you even though you are a human, but Utashiro is unconvinced, since you never risked your life for him (the way you did for Hifumi)...

...Aaaand you wake up to the kinako-mochi monster in your room!!! Hifumi flies both of you out the window, but it's too heavy for him and he and he drops you both. Orz (well U-kun cushions your fall ofc b/c what are manservants for, amirite?). Meanwhile the monster has followed you out here and multiplied, so you all escape to the school grounds.

In the school gym, the monster and its spawns appear again, and Hifumi tries to fight them off, maxing out his energy much to Utashiro's alarm. Hifumi explains to Utashiro that he was born out of people's wishes,... and just when he was about to be forgotten, *you* appeared and gave him a new meaning to life. So he can't help but be fond of humanity and want to do his best for them.

You stop Hifumi from over-exerting himself, and volunteer to be swallowed alive by the monster so that ya'll can fight it from inside its stomach. Hifumi is all like ‘LET'S DO THIS LEADER >:)’, but Utashiro FREAKS THE FUCK OUT X( and offers to come with you, forming a protective shield to protect you. At some point he finally admits that it would be 'troubling' if something happened to you... This is about as much of a love confession as you’re ever gonna get here, so I'm savouring the fuck out of this line indefinitely <3.

Inside the monster's belly, you find... a girl that was eaten, and pull her into the safety of Utashiro's protective shield. The monster grows weak, and Hifumi uses this opportunity to blow it up into smithereens. All its spawns become inactive as well.

The girl turns out to be the aforementioned 1st-year who was the monster's first victim. She appears to be asleep, so Utashiro takes a peek into her dream: she is infatuated with a senpai, but too shy to talk to him, and can only watch him from afar. The pain of her unrequited love bore cracks in her heart, which the kinako mochi monster has exploited and subsisted on.

You ask Utashiro to change the contents of her dream from #badend to #goodend. As he does this, the cracks in her heart start to mend, and the monsters disappear. But ofc, changing her dream doesn't do much irl; she still needs to make her own happy ending.

Thus, peace is restored to Nanagiri High School!! >:D The five missing students are all found safely and soundly asleep in the school gym, and the first girl finally found the courage to speak to her senpai.

Hifumi teases Utashiro for risking his own life to protect you during Battle Plan MonsterBelly1, but Utashiro claims he only 'changed his mind a little bit about humans'.

But then Hifumi readily admits that he got to see both cool and uncool sides of you during this adventure, and it makes him like you more <3. Upon hearing this, Utashiro is all like ‘GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER’ and instructs you to stick with him so that he shall protect you from the Crow-Dog-Whatever that is *even more dangerous than any urban legend ever*! <333333

[Thoughts] OH WOW I got so used to the DiaLovers twisted personalities that I figured this was going to be like a Versus disc where they compete and fight with each other over you. But like I said, the teamwork/bromance is so beautiful it brings a tear to my eye :').

First of all, as KENN observes in his part of the Free Talk, this disc is kind of a parallel world where you are not strictly *romantic* with either of them. But at the same time both of them seem ok with some 曖昧さ (e.g. light touches/kisses) here and there. I guess it's less like a FB "it's complicated" situation, and more of youkai having some harmless fun with a human.

[cf. Remember how all the vampires stripped Yui down to her undergarments and bit her in all the embarrassing places, and she STILL thinks: 'They only see me as food T_T.' Yes that's totally non-suggestive, yes yes, carry on.]

Secondly, like Kimura-san notes, the two personalities make a striking contrast, and Utashiro seems *even more* tsundere than usual compared to Hifumi. But because Hifumi has one more disc than Utashiro, I think he's had more opportunities for character growth, so I'm optimistic about U-kun :)

I think between the two of them, Utashiro is the more mature and sensitive one - as shown by their hidden msgs, Hifumi's feelings lean more towards 'I like you'/displays of affection, whereas Utashiro is more about protecting you & supporting you emotionally.

Hifumi has a more impulsive/careless personality; sometimes he misses little details, and he's ready to take risks if you are. In that regard I think they counterbalance each other quite well, Utashiro talks sense and 'anchors' the situation; Hifumi brings the positivity and the momentum.

Using the two roles of the manzai (traditional Japanese standup-comedy) for analogy, U-kun is the 'straight man' who provides the tsukkomi, and Hifumi is the boke or the one with all the gags.

...Also it just occurred to me how most of the time the tsundere role is either like a younger/spoiled brat type, or a kichiku megane (à la Sakamaki Reiji). Utashiro is kind of like a... tsundere-oniisan? XD Not sure if that's a type, but in any case it’s kinda refreshing, plus he's precious and I love him :3

NB1. KENN's chibi voice is THE BEST. X3

NB2. I wonder what trousers (「なっちゃうパンツ」) Kimura-san was wearing in the recording studio on his dates with 'Dummyko-chan' - which is what he calls the dummy-head mic XD. Now, I'm not sure about this, but there is a good chance that he's the one who came up with the worst nickname in the entire universe 'M-neko-chan'...

#otome #drama cd #rejet #yuugen romantica #shinkocchou #yuroma #hifumi #kenn #seiyuu #utashiro #kimura ryohei #youkai #tsundere #supernatural #mystery #kaidan

105 notes · View notes

shemakesmusic-uk · 3 years

Photo

INTERVIEW: Bonander.

Enigmatic and alluring Bonander has just released her visionary debut album, Things We Don’t Talk About through Icons Creating Evil Art. The full-length follows leading tracks ‘Backseat’, ‘Martha’ and ‘Gone In The Wind’.

Bonander is the shorthand for Elliner Sterner Bonander. Sporting the role of musician, arranger and producer, the native Swede is a woman unchained. Injecting darkness into the candied vein of pop, her LP demonstrates her sheer femme-power, unpicking existentialist tropes through a feminist lens.

Things We Don’t Talk About is a monumental debut in summation; where cinematic strings meet playful synth melodies and dense bass lines caress vocals that catch on the wind.

In addition to the daydream, analogue warmth of forerunners ‘Backseat’ and ‘Martha’, Bonander’s penchant for darkness erupts in tracks such as ‘Silent Lights’ and ‘Ms. Mitchell’. The album is broken up by softer ditties such as ‘Statue’, ‘Slumber Love’ and ‘Ode’, which unlock her more vulnerable side.

Traversing her perspective of the world and relationships through music, Things We Don’t Talk About, Bonander encourages the listener to join her discourse of uncomfortable topics. Meanwhile, the album brings noise to those who have fallen custom to silence such as her homage to the first female sniper in ‘Annie’ and all-consuming, explosive number ‘Ms. Mitchell’ for one of the first acknowledged astronomers Maria Mitchell.

We had a chat with Elliner all about the album, struggles she’s had in the music industry, what she’s passionate about outside of music an more. Read the interview below.

Hi Elliner! How have you been? What does a typical day look like for you at the moment? “Hi! I’m well, thanks for asking. I currently work as a music and media production teacher at the Royal College of Music in Stockholm combined with my freelance work as an artist. Every day is different, which suits me in these weird times. Sometimes I have zoom lectures and sometimes I’m in my studio recording, mixing or producing.” We last spoke to you back in 2018 when you released your debut EP It's A Girl. You've now released your debut album Things We Don't Talk About. Please take us through how you've gotten to this point. “Oh, well the journey towards the finished album has been long, it’s always a matter of time with these things. I’ve been playing my songs, writing new ones, recording demos, recording for real, editing, producing, then arranging for supplements like strings, go on to record them, producing some more etc. When the recordings are finished comes the next step in the process where I send them to mix, go on mix meetings, send to master, listen to master, discuss eventual adjustments and so on and so forth. It’s a complicated and time consuming process but one I greatly enjoy never the less.” What are the songs on the new record about and what does the LP mean to you? “I hope I will be able to take the listener on a joyful journey through uncomfortable topics, topics we should talk more about. That’s the idea of the album and that’s what the singles and the rest of the tracks are all about. Close relationships that wither (an example of this is my latest single ‘Gone In The Wind’), historical figures we’ve forgotten (I’ve already released a track about Annie Oakley, but there is also a celebration of one of the first female astronomers, Maria Mitchell on the album), stories about silence and oppression (I wrote a track called ‘Statue’ as a reaction to all the stories I heard from friends, colleagues, family when metoo happened. I’ve carried that tune around ever since). “All tracks touch on the same topic: the complexity of the female identity, an identity we simplify, harass, abuse and forget in our everyday life.”

Musically, how is Things We Don't Talk About different (or similar) to your previous material? Were there any musical influences or sounds that you were able to incorporate on this record that you hadn’t previously? “Oh, great question! I’ve been experimenting a lot with acoustic instruments, especially string arrangements in combination with more electronic sounds. I’ve always loved dramatic arrangements and I’ve also tried to experiment with the dynamic between the tracks. So if you’ve heard the end of a very big, loud and emotional track I’ve often followed it with a minimalistic acoustic organic one. I want the music to be a journey where you get close to the artist and sit in the same room as her while she plays, and then be thrown into a produced and big soundscape that only exists in the listeners headphones. I’ve wanted to play with the sense of live music and pre produced music, big sounds in contrast to simpler ones, polished lead vocals in contrast to one-takes that has flaws in them and so forth. Most of all I’m lucky to be around some amazing musicians that make reality of these arrangements. I’ve had guest appearances such as string-, trumpet- and pipe organ players.”

Take us through your creative process for the LP. What was your favourite part making it? And were there any parts you found particularly challenging? “There are two parts of the process I love the most. Firstly, when you write a song, create a demo for it. When creativity is at its best and you have this feeling that you are about to create something great, before you start to doubt everything you’ve done and twisting and turning the material too much. Secondly, that moment when the idea becomes reality, especially in cooperation with other people. For example when my co-producer Elias understands the spirit of the song and does something perfect for it that I never would’ve thought of, or when your string arrangement that’s only been in your head, is played by musicians for the first time. That’s as close as you get to magic in this world.” What do you hope fans will take away from Things We Don't Talk About? “I hope they will experience something new. I hope they will feel feelings. Maybe even get a new perspective of something, get inspired. Maybe even dare to talk about something that they need to talk about. And then, ofc, I’ll hope they’ll enjoy it, haha.” What struggles, if any, have you faced as an artist in the music business and how have you overcome them? “I mean, it’s a tough business. It’s hard enough for commercial music and big labels to reach through the noise and buzz of everything, so when you’re an indie artist trying to get by it’s really tough. It was difficult enough before corona and now it feels like a race you can’t win. That’s one part. “The other struggle is to be a woman in technology. I’m as involved in how to patch a microphone for my track as writing its lyrics. And sometimes people don’t quite get that, which makes you feel like you represent all tech-working women in the industry. If you make a mistake you’ve lost all your credibility, whilst if a guy made that same mistake it wouldn’t be recepted as ”oh it’s because he is a guy that happened”. This makes you put a lot of unnecessary energy in proving yourself to people that've made up their mind about you before you’ve even met them.” If there was one thing you could change about the music world today, what would it be? “That music, and culture in general, isn’t controlled by demand. That culture and art can exist and thrive despite that. I think that would broaden the consumer's mind, but right now people don’t know what they’re missing. For that to happen, we need to value art and culture more than we do these days. Art is the heart of democracy, of free thought, of questioning what the status quo is by its mere existence.” What are you passionate about outside of music? “I freelance in music- and media production so I also create and work for other artists’ projects. That’s a true privilege. Otherwise I love learning and reading, mostly about women history but also about how norms and structural oppression work in our society. Sometimes I put that knowledge into my teaching work and that’s also a joy.” Finally, what's next for you? I expect you're wanting to get back to touring as soon as it's safe to do so? What are you missing most about performing live? “Yes that’s actually something I’ve longed for a loooooong time, as all other musicians and artists out there. I started my artistry by performing on stage and learning how to play. It’s in the core of everything. I guess what I miss the most is the interaction with the audience; the giving and taking. The immediate response to something you’ve created: what a luxury that is!”

Things We Don’t Talk About is out now.

#interview #bonander #things we don't talk about

0 notes