#updated: between the raindrops

[neptuneiris]

could you pretend to be in love? (08/10)

The Revelations

pairing: modern!aemond × fem!reader (fake dating)

summary: unfortunately the trip to Dragonstone is over and you and Aemond define the relationship, however some surprising and unexpected news awaits you at home.

word count: 7.7k

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surprise! i guess hehe

It's not a secret why I stopped updating the story, but if you don't know, basically writer's block and also some issues in my personal life, but finally here it is, what everyone has been waiting for!😙

I didn't give notice or anything because I wanted it to be a surprise and I have no idea if the story will be well received again but… I have no intention of abandoning it, I plan to finish it because I know that some of you want it, so enjoy the new chapter and I promise I won't take so long with the next one🙏

after all we are getting to the end!

Last night in Dragonstone.

It has definitely been a great experience for you, you had a lot of fun, you did amazing activities you haven't tried before, you learned about Old Valyria and you like this feeling every time you are with Aemond.

And since it's the last night at the castle, Aemond invited you and Alysanne to watch a movie in his room with his friends. The plan would have been different, but a storm was reported for the early morning and no one is allowed out until the morning you will return to Kings Landing.

So that's what you're doing now, watching a horror movie, which isn't really scary, lying on the couch on Aemond's chest, both of you cuddled up and with blankets over you, keeping warm.

Every now and then you watch the huge windows, watching the lightning reflect in the night sky to the horizon and raindrops fall against the glass, nothing heavy yet but you know it will rain harder in a few hours.

Aemond's arms get tighter around your body, gently caressing your lower back with one of his hands as you feel his nose nuzzle the side of your cheek, feeling his chin against the side of your forehead.

You let out a contented sigh and snuggle closer against his chest, enjoying his warmth and closeness, as well as his scent mixed between rich detergent and his cologne.

“Are you cold?”

His soft, low voice makes you raise your gaze to him as he secures the blankets wrapped around the two of you.

“No, I'm fine.”

“Well, if you change your mind, tell me and I'll give you some of my hoddies.”

You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Is my weight bothering you already?” you inquire amused.

“That's not what I said,” he instantly defends himself.

“Oh no?”

He slips one of his hands between your bodies, cupping your jaw gently but firmly enough, making you lean into him as he watches your lips.

“I'm just trying to be nice, love,” he says in a low, husky tone.

And you let him, leaning in, unable to stop watching his lips either.

“Such a nice boy you are.”

Aemond brushes a lock of hair behind your ear and pulls you closer to him if possible and catches your lips with his.

And you sink so deep into him, not being able to get enough, tilting your head and deepening the kiss further. Your lips mold perfectly to his and he takes the opportunity to in one smooth glide, his tongue meets yours in languid caresses.

You gasp softly into his mouth and move your hand up to the nape of his neck, stroking his hair, as his hands slip under your shirt, caressing the bare skin of your lower back with his fiery hands that send electric shocks and bristle your skin.

It's soft, delicate and tender.

Then he's the one who slowly pulls away, with a small grin, brushing his nose against yours. When suddenly, Alysanne's voice breaks the spell.

“Hey!”

The two of you turn your heads and she along with Aemond's other friends watch you.

“Have you two stopped making out like cows? You won't let me listen to the movie, I can hear the sound of spit all the way over here."

The blood rushes to your cheeks, laughing in embarrassment, hiding your face in the crook of Aemond's neck who laughs too, feeling his chest vibrate at the sound, hugging you against him.

"I'm sorry. We got a little excited."

"Well, don't.’’

His other friends laugh too as he and you exchange an amused look and he returns to have your head resting on his chest to continue watching the movie.

Unfortunately the next morning comes quickly and you find Alysanne ready to board the ferry back to King's Landing.

She's talking to you about something that happened between her and Cregan on the beach after she finished her surfing practice when you notice Alys in the distance with her group of friends, not at all discreetly talking to each other as they watch you out of the corner of their eyes.

The whole time you were in the castle or on the beach you didn't even notice their presence and now you don't know what they must be talking about, but honestly you don't care.

So you ignore her and all her friends.

Then Aemond shows up ready with his suitcase and by the time the two of you are in the same place together, neither you nor he will leave each other's side.

Much less on the ferry back to King's Landing, which is totally peaceful.

He and you can't help but touch each other all the time. The two of you hug, laugh, there are gestures, caresses and you let yourselves be carried away by this different complicity that you have developed during the trip.

You even take photos and videos together to keep as memories as the ferry rocks gently in the waves and Aemond wraps his arms around you, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead.

For the return journey you've chosen an overly summery blue dress, so he can't help but gaze adoringly as the sunlight reflects off your entire figure, looking absolutely beautiful.

And even though his clothes are simple, that damn silver chain and also those sunglasses he's wearing is more than enough to have you drooling over him.

And that's exactly one of the reasons why you can't stop touching him.

Between more kisses and laughter, the two of you lose yourselves in your own world, oblivious to the stares of the other students and especially the stares of Alys and Floris.

Until you finally disembark at King's Landing and everyone boards the buses.

This time you finally take a seat next to him and both continue your complicity, sharing AirPod's together and using each other as pillows, hugging each other.

When the whole trip is officially over the buses pull into the school car park and all the students start to get off. Then you wait until you can also take your suitcase from the huge compartments below.

"So…" Alysanne approaches you, "Shall I drive you home? Cregan already won you the passenger seat as soon as he found out I brought my car."

"Oh… Cregan?" you say with a mischievous look, "The same guy you said you didn't know whether to take him on a date with?" you scoff.

"Oh come on, you told me to accept," she reproaches you, causing you to let out a giggle, "Besides I already told him I'm not looking for a serious relationship and he said he's totally fine with it."

You look at her slightly surprised and excited.

"Really? That's great!"

"Yeah," she nods, with a small smile on her lips, "So I'll drive you then?"

"Oh no, thanks, Aemond will drive me."

"Okay," she grins mischievously at you, starting to walk away, "Then have fun."

"You too with Cregan," you look back at her.

She gives you a pouty face and you laugh softly, organising all your things.

"Well…" Aemond now approaches you with his suitcase in hand, ‘Are you ready?"

"Yes," you nod with a small smile.

He helps you with your suitcase as well and together you head towards his car, where once during the drive, neither of you say anything, yet there is no tension and no awkward silence, only the moderate volume of music from his Spotify playlist.

You know that the two of you have to talk about what happened and you know that Aemond knows that too, otherwise he wouldn't be so quiet, but neither of you dares to talk about it first.

And you don't know if that's good or bad, but thinking about it and finding yourself in this position, you don't feel it's a bad thing. Yes, that moment was unexpected, so was everything that came after that wasn't just pretending, but it felt real.

Every gesture, every look and every touch felt real. And this new closeness with Aemond, far from causing uncertainty, brings you a calmness that envelops you and makes you feel to some extent happy.

However, you know that when you get home, you'll have to talk about it.

You try not to think too much about it for the rest of the drive, trying to distract yourself with the music, but inevitably you feel the time passing quickly and finally the car stops in front of your house.

You let out a low breath and unbuckle your seatbelt at the same time as you throw a quick glance at Aemond, who returns it almost instantly and seems to hesitate for a moment to say something. But again, neither of you say anything and you get out of the car.

He helps you again with your suitcase by taking it out of the trunk while you wait patiently for him and notice how he is incredibly serious, as if he is organizing his thoughts.

Then when the suitcase hits the ground and you pick it up, you can feel his gaze and also his nervousness, as if he is trying to find the right words. But you don't give her a chance to start speaking, as the words come from your lips without thinking.

“Just tell me that what happened wasn't simply pretending.”

You tell him, seeking clarity in his gaze, to which he seems momentarily taken aback by your frankness and your words, processing them. You see a glint of uncertainty in his eye, but almost instantly his expression softens, showing you honesty.

“No, it wasn't for pretending.”

He finally replies, his voice firm and sincere. And you can't help but feel a huge relief sweep through you, watching him hopefully and wanting to confirm his words.

"What happened was real, Y/N. I wasn't pretending, or trying to act. I was enjoying being with you, being myself."

And there it is, his statement confirming what you had felt throughout the trip, that genuine connection that emerged between the two of you.

“Really?”

He smiles softly at you as he sees your face, taking a step towards you and tilting his head towards you.

“I wanted to talk about it earlier at Dragonstone, even on the bus but… I didn't want to ruin anything.”

You see his eye twinkle as he watches you and even notice how he wants to say something else, but doesn't know how to express everything he's feeling, just the same way you do.

At least you know he's being honest and clear, which is why you feel a calmness and a clarity that fills you after hearing his words.

“I wasn't pretending either,” you admit, feeling more open to expressing your own feelings, “And I'm glad to know I wasn't alone in feeling that.”

He nods, understanding what you're saying, not failing to notice that twinkle in his eye.

“I'd like this to continue,” he tells you, his voice soft but determined, “I don't even care about the contract anymore, I just… I want this to be real.”

A warm flush of heat runs through your chest and you smile softly, a little shamed but completely thrilled, not quite believing that this is really happening.

“I want the same thing,” you reply with conviction.

He smiles warmly at you and without expecting it, he leans toward you, takes both of your cheeks in his hands and leaves a soft kiss on your lips. You are surprised, but you kiss him back, feeling a smile form on your lips as you do so.

Then finally Aemond says goodbye with a smile, telling you he'll see you at school and you nod, thanking him for bringing you home.

You both kiss again and you head towards the entrance of your house feeling lighter and with a sense of excitement and happiness, unable to stop smiling the whole time.

You remember all the moments at Dragonstone and what just happened, which completely intensifies that feeling. And you know that Aemond is probably feeling it too.

And once in your room you start unpacking and organizing your clothes, you think about everything and how this with Aemond will totally change.

Before, what was just pretending to be in love will now be real. It won't make a difference in front of everyone at school, but for both of you it will.

The rules that you both had agreed upon in the beginning have lost their meaning, you don't need to think about them anymore, because you know that what you feel for Aemond is real and the best thing is that it is reciprocated.

And that's what excites you, that there will be no more acting as you imagine spending time together, talking, laughing and sharing moments that will no longer be tinged with pretense.

And that's all you think about as you organize your things, the smile never fading from your face, as your phone beeps softly, lighting up the screen with a notification that interrupts your reverie, but the feeling of joy stays with you.

You think it's Alysanne or even Aemond, which mainly excites you and makes you keep your smile, but as you pick up your phone and look closely, you notice that it's a message from an unknown number.

'Silly little thing.'

That's what you read and almost instantly you frown, not understanding its meaning. Then curiosity drives you to open the message, and what you see in the chat makes you lose your smile completely.

You feel all that feeling from before, all the nice things you were feeling, just slowly fade away, with surprise, confusion and disappointment washing over you.

A huge lump settles in your throat and with your lips parted you look at a picture of Aemond and Floris apparently at a party, kissing.

A knot also begins to settle in your stomach that you can't help, beginning to feel the whole unpleasant sensation through your body as you continue to stare at the photo and your hands begin to shake.

The photo also has the day and time at the time it was taken, and you realize that this happened at the party he invited you to after the two of you had that little argument as you tried to end the fake relationship and he disagreed.

At that time when he invited you, you preferred not to go with him and told him to have fun.

And he didn't mention any of this during the whole time together at Dragonstone, although of course he wouldn't… but he could have since nothing had changed between the two of you at the beginning of the trip.

This is why Floris was acting delighted and hopeful around him.

This is probably why he took the first step to apologize to you, all out of guilt and wanting to make amends. And at the time telling you wouldn't have meant anything but now with everything that happened… of course it means a lot that he kept it from you.

And knowing all this, with all the pieces falling into place, a wave of mixed emotions wash over you, with tears starting to want to escape your eyes.

But not wanting to cry, being a feeble attempt at wanting to stand your ground, you put your phone aside and disconnect from social media, with the feeling of sadness and betrayal in your chest.

For the next few days you completely ignored Aemond.

It wasn't easy, especially when your feelings for him are strong despite what you found out. And you know that ignoring him is not the long term solution, but for now it's the only thing you can do because of how hurt and betrayed you feel.

Until the inevitable Monday arrives, where Aemond texts you again asking if he'll pick you up for school, to which you take a moment before replying with a simple and cold 'no need' and nothing more.

You were tempted to skip school for a day or two, mostly because of anxiety and sadness. And the thought of seeing Aemond, of facing him, seemed too painful. But you knew you couldn't avoid it forever, especially since the two of you share several classes.

But when you got to school you made up your mind to stand your ground, you have no idea how but you have to try, at least until you could process your feelings and face the situation. So you prepare yourself mentally.

Or so you try.

The bustle of students coming in and being in the parking lot surrounds you and makes you feel slightly overwhelmed and anxious, but you know you can't stay out here as long as you need to since classes will be starting soon.

So you enter the building with a slight determination.

Each step to your locker feels like an eternity as you watch everything around you, attentive and intimidated. As the seconds pass, you're at least relieved to see that no one is watching you, which is a good sign, since they don't know about the photo, yet.

But that's not what makes your heart start beating too fast. It's the anticipation of seeing Aemond, running into him by accident, because then you have no idea what you'll do, let alone what you'll say to him.

That's why you look around, alert and once in your locker, you quickly grab your books, adjust the strap of your backpack and head to your first class, repeating in your mind that you'll be fine since luckily you're not sharing this class with him.

But on the way, you do run into Alys and her friends in one of the hallways.

You try to keep your head up so you don't look weak and cowardly, but the sadness and humiliation you feel is too much and you just can't, so you hurry past them, trying to avoid any kind of eye contact.

However, their gazes follow you, shallow and mocking looks, all at the same time as you hear the whispers and giggles between them in the distance as you walk away, making you feel even more vulnerable and exposed.

And thinking that would be it, just as you turn down a hallway to make them lose sight of you, you run straight into Floris, who just like you stands frozen for a moment, both of you staring at each other.

Your eyes widen slightly at the unexpected encounter and your breath catches.

She looks at you with an expression you can't really read, but you don't stop to analyze it either. So you quickly lower your gaze and keep walking, trying to keep your composure and not let the tears escape.

You don't know if it was her who sent you the picture or if it was Alys with her friends, but that doesn't matter, you still feel the humiliation of remembering how they saw you in Dragonstone completely in love with Aemond and like a naive fool not knowing what had happened at that party.

And once classes start, you can't concentrate at all. Your mind keeps coming back to the image of Aemond and Floris kissing.

You want to find a possible solution, to think that it's probably all a mistake, that maybe it's an old photo, but the more you think and analyze it, it can't be possible.

The date coincides with the party he invited you to after the dinner with his family and that little argument you both had, you also saw that he posted pictures with his friends on Instagram and his outfit is the same as the one in the picture.

There is simply no justification.

Again tears threaten to flow down your cheeks, but you force yourself to hold them back. You don't want to cry, especially not here in the middle of class where everyone can see you and eventually the gossip will disperse, creating more drama when they find out about the photo too.

You watch the time on your phone, hoping to go home soon, but you're also faced with Aemond's unread messages. They keep piling up, as the last one he sent you was eight minutes ago, but you don't read anything and delete the notification.

The rest of the classes you avoid certain people at all costs, you even don't attend the classes you share with him, you know that not having assistance later will cost you but in these moments you don't care and you hide in the bleachers.

Alysanne didn't come to school today, you thought that with her help everything would be easy after explaining her everything that happened, even telling her about the fake relationship, which is not even important at this point.

But when you texted her to ask where she was, she told you that she woke up too late and didn't make it to school on time.

So you hide out during lunchtime as well.

Aemond's messages kept coming, but you continue to ignore him, wishing the time would run faster so you could go home soon. But ignoring him doesn't make you feel good either, not at all.

You feel an emptiness in your chest, a mixture of sadness, confusion and betrayal that won't leave you alone. You wonder how you got to this point, how something that started as a simple act has become so real and complicated.

And despite everything, you can't help but remember the moments you shared with Aemond at Dragonstone and even before the trip.

But when the last bell rang, finally ending the school day, you felt an immediate relief and your thoughts were put on pause.

You quickly grabbed your things and were the first to leave the classroom, also the halls, then the building and finally the school, heading towards the bus stop.

Your phone vibrates more at that moment but you ignore it, knowing that Aemond is probably looking for you, trying to talk to you, but you manage to run away in time.

And the next day, you repeat the same routine with the same goal in mind; to avoid him.

He hasn't stopped contacting you, but you ignore every message and call, feeling a mixture of sadness and determination at every moment.

You continue to skip the classes you share with him, avoid the busiest hallways to minimize the possibility of an encounter and the cafeteria as well.

You honestly feel like a ghost roaming the school, all while every vibration of your phone is a pang of anxiety that you continue to be willing to ignore, unwilling to face his questions, his explanations or whatever he has to say.

You don't even know if he knows you were sent that photo. You'd rather he knew, so things would be easier or else he'd just be out to get you for wanting to know why you've been avoiding him and you have no idea how to confront him about it.

Just now you take refuge in the library, which gives you a break, trying to study and do your homework in peace. But in the middle of it, you hear footsteps approaching towards your desk and you quickly raise your gaze, alert.

Fortunately, it's just Alysanne.

“May I know why your boyfriend has been texting me like crazy asking me if I've heard from you?” she asks confused, taking a seat in front of you, watching you intently.

Your heart shrinks at the word 'boyfriend', definitely not expecting to hear this and a little chagrined you lower your gaze, biting your lips, where you are slowly filled with the need to clear things up once and for all.

“What? Did something happen?” she asks you worriedly as she observes your reaction and sad look.

“He's not my boyfriend,” you say quietly, broken and with your sad look, ”He never was.”

Alysanne frowns, clearly bewildered and watching you more intently than ever.

“What are you talking about?”

You pause for a moment, trying to find the right words and that little bit of stability before you get it all out. And with a deep sigh, you decide to be honest.

And before long, you spend the next few minutes telling Alysanne everything from the beginning. You tell her about the contract, the reasons behind it, Alys, the dinner with her family, the little arguments and what happened at Dragonstone, which was real to you.

And you also tell her about Floris, that party and the photo you received, with your sadness and the pain clearly evident in your voice.

Alysanne listens to you silently throughout, her expression shifting from surprise to understanding as she takes in every detail you say, but in the end she maintains an expression that you can't really read at all.

And when you finish, her gaze doesn't tell you much and you fearfully expect a not-so-good reaction.

“Well…” she lets out a long breath, “I wasn't expecting any of that,” she finally says, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I'm sorry, Alysane,” you say, feeling guilty for keeping the truth from her, ”I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. It was silly from the beginning.”

She looks at you with a mixture of empathy and surprise.

“No Y/N, you don't have to worry about me.“

You look at her slightly confused and fearful.

“You're not upset?”

She lets out a small chuckle under her breath, shaking her head.

“Why would I be?” she asks you blankly and you remain silent, really not having an answer, 'I mean, you're lying to everyone, not just me,” she explains, unconcerned, "I'm a little offended, yes," she admits, "But I understand it's a complicated situation."

You're surprised by her response and understanding, so you can't help but feel relief coursing through your body at still having Alysanne on your side.

“Thank you,” you tell her sincerely, giving a small sad smile, “I just didn't want you to feel betrayed.”

“Betrayed? Please, not at all,” she says incredulously, "At least not the way you feel about Aemond," she says with a more serious tone and her worried expression.

You lower your gaze, shake your head and let out a long breath, bringing one of your hands to your forehead.

“I want to believe that what happened at Dragonstone was real, but that picture…” you say sadly, "He said it was all real to him too but… I don't know," you get frustrated.

Alysanne places a hand on your arm in a supportive gesture, watching you sympathetically.

“Hey,” she says softly, wanting to get your attention and it makes you watch her with your sad eyes, ”I understand you. And you shouldn't talk to him if you don't want to. Besides you don't have to decide anything right now,” she assures you, "But eventually you will have to talk to him and you know it," she tells you honestly, ”You can't keep hiding from him forever.”

You sigh, knowing she's right, but you still feel insecure and hurt.

“I just want to understand what happened, why he didn't tell me,” you say sadly, ”But on the other hand I just want it all to be over so I don't end up more hurt than I already am.”

“Then just ask him to tell you what you need to know, after that no one will owe anyone any explanations. But if it's easier for you to just end it all, you can make that decision too, and no one will judge you for it,” she assures you, gently squeezing your arm, giving you some comfort.

The warmth of her support gives you a respite in the midst of the turmoil. And you realize that having someone who understands and doesn't judge you is invaluable at times like this.

Even if the answers aren't clear, her presence makes you feel less alone.

“Thank you, Alysanne,” you murmur, sincerely grateful.

She stays with you, advising you, while you ask her for help in knowing what you can do, what exactly to say to him if you decide to talk to him or how to end it all, making notes in your mind.

Then she talks to you about trivial things to distract you and make you laugh a little to lighten the load you're carrying, until the two of you head off to your next class.

You're running late.

Your father drive you to school today but your alarm didn't ring when it was supposed to, so now you're just running to your first class of the day, hoping the chemistry teacher will let you in.

However, the irony of fate.

Maybe being late was your purpose to finally face what you've been avoiding, as in the middle of almost running down the hallway, as you turn towards another, you come face to face with him.

You stand completely paralyzed, feeling your heart stop before it begins to beat frantically, where surprise is evident in your gaze, as Aemond's gaze lights up as he finally sees you, but confusion begins to invade him in the midst of all his emotions.

He seems as surprised as you and in the midst of all that he is feeling, a fierce determination comes over him.

And you seeing the resolve on his face, the finally understanding of what is happening, you feel a wave of panic wash over you and without a second thought, you turn and start to walk away from him as fast as you can.

'Y/N,' Aemond's voice calls out to you, urgent and full of anguish, but you refuse to look back.

'I can't.'

You think with the pain in your chest and your hands beginning to shake.

“Y/N!”

Your steps become faster, almost stumbling in your haste to get away from him, hearing his equally hurried footsteps behind you.

“Y/N, please wait!”

You don't wait. You don't even see him. You just want to walk away, but Aemond doesn't give up easily and he certainly won't now that he's finally seeing you.

“Y/N, please,” his footsteps quicken, trying to reach you, his voice more insistent, full of urgency and concern, ”Please, we need to talk.”

You know it, but right now you can't.

Tears threaten to stream down your cheeks as you walk faster, with your thoughts being a tangle of conflicting emotions, where every fiber of your being wants to escape and run away from the pain that threatens to overwhelm you.

But Aemond is having none of it anymore.

“I said wait,” he tells you just as desperately but more firmly, unwilling to let you go.

And finally, in one swift and decisive move, he reaches out and grabs your arm, forcibly stopping you with his firm but gentle grip, placing himself in front of you so as to prevent you from running away.

Biting your lips, you watch him for a second before lowering your gaze, seeing the desperation and confusion on his face.

“What?”

Is all you can barely say in a low murmur and shaky voice, straining to keep your composure, not daring to look at him, as his beautiful blue, piercing eye desperately searches yours.

“What?” he repeats in confusion, not understanding, ‘That's all you're going to say?’ he say incredulously.

“Aemond,” you call out wearily, "I don't want to do this," you mutter sadly, trying to dodge him, but he quickly blocks your path again.

“What's going on?” he demands to know, confused and desperate, ”I haven't heard from you, I was worried.”

You clench your jaw, staring at an unimportant spot in the hallway.

“I'm fine,” you say emotionlessly.

He watches you even more uncomprehendingly, his frustration growing by the second.

“Yeah, I can see that now, but you're ignoring me and I don't even know why,” he says incredulously, noticing how you avoid his gaze at all costs and lets out a bitter little laugh, "You can't even look at me," he says with his voice tinged with pain, ”What happened?”

You feel lost in your thoughts, caught between sadness and confusion. You don't even know how to begin, how to explain to him the whirlwind of emotions you've been feeling since you saw that damn picture.

You don't even know how to explain that to him.

Your mind fills with conflicting images: the moments at Dragonstone, the warmth of his hugs, the tenderness of his kisses, and then, the devastating image of him making out with Floris.

“After Dragonstone I thought everything was going great, you… you seemed great,” he says blankly, shrugging his shoulders, "Even after I dropped you off at your house and we talked, everything was fine and I don't—" he lets out a sigh, "I don't understand anything," he gestures defeatedly with his head.

You take a moment, taking a deep breath, trying to sort out your thoughts, when his voice brings you back to the moment.

“Can you at least look at me?” he asks in a sad, defeated tone.

'Can you?'

All that comes to your mind just being near him is that picture of him and Floris. You even think you're overreacting but… he should have even told you before the whole hot tub thing happened.

So with a painful effort, you finally look him in the eye and confront him.

“Were you with Floris at that party you invited me to after dinner with your family?” you ask, your voice barely audible, but laden with firmness and expectation.

Aemond freezes, his eye widening in surprise, definitely not expecting this. And that's when he knows.

He understands everything now, your behavior, your attitudes, the fact that you've been ignoring him, everything. And he can really blame you? He's really in a position to demand answers after what happened between the two of you in the hot tub?

And it's not even a question with an answer, because the answer you already have, he knows it by looking at your serious and hurt face, just waiting for the confirmation that will end up breaking your heart completely.

“Y/N…” he tries to speak, but doesn't know exactly what to say.

“Just answer me,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, ”You were with her?”

He doesn't answer.

Even after he opens his mouth to speak, words seem to fail him and he says nothing, searching for a justification that doesn't seem to come. The guilt on his face is evident and the desperation to try to fix what he has broken is reflected in every line of his expression.

And all that coupled with his silence is the answer.

You feel a lump form in your throat and your eyes begin to fill with tears. You don't know what to say or what to do, with the pain and confusion in your eyes more evident than ever.

And seeing your whole expression, Aemond feels it like a dagger in his heart, trying to find a way to ease the pain he has caused.

“Y/N, let me explain. It's not what you think—

“You kissed her,” you interrupt him, your voice breaking.

“It didn't mean anything—

“I saw the picture.”

“Y/N—

You fall silent and suddenly… you don't hear anything anymore.

Aemond's voice distorts, like an echo drifting away, as you finish processing everything that's happening.

Memories of Dragonstone mingle with the image of Aemond and Floris kissing, both on the bus, in the jacuzzi, on the beach, at the aquarium, on the yacht, again on the bus and finally at your house, creating a whirlwind of emotions that takes your breath away.

Aemond takes a step toward you with his hand extended, wanting to touch you, to hold you, but you take a step back, avoiding his touch at all costs.

“I kissed you,” you say in a broken voice, ”In the hot tub.”

“I know,” he immediately says urgently.

“I didn't pretend.”

“I know, I know Y/N, just please listen to me—

“After what happened in the hot tub, you should have been honest with me,” you interrupt him again, with anger and hurt mixed in your voice and tears starting to slide down your cheeks, ”Now I don't know what to believe. I don't know if all that meant anything to you.”

“Of course it meant something to me, Y/N,” he tells you desperately, his voice heavy with sincerity. “It meant more than you could ever think.”

“How do you expect me to believe that?” you inquire, your voice breaking.

He looks at you desperately, searching for the right words he can't seem to find.

“It was a mistake, I swear. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“Then why didn't you tell me?” your voice rises with a mixture of pain and anger.

Aemond opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out and frustrated, he doesn't know what to say, how to explain himself, holding a hand to the back of his neck and shaking his head.

“You and I weren't really dating at the time, Y/N,” he tells you in an attempt to justify himself, his voice barely a whisper, “And I didn't think you and I would make it this far.”

You shake your head, looking at him as if you can't believe what you're hearing. Aemond lets out a long sigh, closing his eye tightly for a moment, only making the situation worse.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—

“And you've already forgotten about that?” you inquire and just as broken as before, ”The contract?”

He lets out a sigh, not knowing what else to say or what to do.

“Y/N—

“We agreed not to be with other people,” you remind him slowly and clearly, with the bitter tone in your voice, with the tears in your eyes and the pain in your gaze, “And even though it wasn't real, in their eyes you cheated on me.”

“I swear it didn't mean anything Y/N, I don't—

“And they saw at Dragonstone how delusional and naive I was with you after that.”

“I didn't tell you because I didn't want to lose you!” he finally admits to you, firm, desperate and worried, ”After what happened between us in that place… I didn't want to ruin it.”

You shake your head slightly, feeling your emotions overflowing.

“That's not justification.”

“It's the truth,” he insists, ”And I was wrong, I know. I should have told you and I'm sorry,” he exasperates, "But I swear that kiss with Floris was a mistake. And everything that happened between us was real to me, every moment, every kiss, everything was real to me Y/N," he tells you with intensity and sincerity in his gaze, ”It was and I wasn't playing with you.”

You stare at him without saying anything, because you don't know what to say and because even though Aemond is honest, still hearing that hurt you.

He tries to make you understand at that moment with everything he can that he is being completely honest with you. But then thoughts come over you, still with tears running down your cheeks.

You think of her, of Floris.

You think about everything Alysanne told you the two of them had before she decided to go on exchange, about the relationship and the complicity the two of them shared and still share.

And suddenly, the realization hits you hard.

“You still care about her,” you say with a lump in your throat.

Aemond watches you for a moment uncomprehendingly, not understanding what you say, but as you both fall silent and he watches your face, he knows what you are implying.

“Floris,” you clarify, “You still care about her,” you repeat firmly.

And he doesn't say anything.

He just watches you there not knowing what to say, with desperation and pain in his gaze. He opens his mouth to protest but can't say anything, his expression betraying him, until eventually his gaze falls to the floor, unable to hold yours.

That silence is all you need to confirm your suspicions and the weight of betrayal falls harder on your chest again.

“It's not like that, Y/N,” he tries to explain.

“That's right,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “That's why you didn't tell me. Because, deep down, there's still something between you.”

He looks up, the desperation in his gaze more than evident.

“Y/N, please—

“If this whole thing between us was really real to you, if it really meant that much, you would have told me,” you say, your voice breaking, each word hurting you like a stab, ”You would have been honest.”

“You don't understand,” he tells you in exasperation, reaching his limit, running a hand across his forehead, ”She was there for me when Alys and I broke up after a very ugly fight. She listened to me, kept me company, gave me advice,” he explains desperately, "And obviously it hurt me that she left, obviously I missed her, Y/N. And those feelings won't go away so easily, we both have history," he says incredulously, ”But if I assure you that kiss was a mistake Y/N, it shouldn't have happened and I'm sure she knows it too.”

His words pierce through you, a sharp pain settling in your chest. And you don't say anything, because you don't know what to say. You don't even know if you have to say anything about it.

But the reality is you don't.

You understand that his relationship with Floris is something that existed before you, but knowing that doesn't make it hurt any less, it doesn't ease the pain you feel and it definitely doesn't erase the image of that kiss in your mind.

Because that means there will always be a part of him that belongs to her, just like Alys. And this is exactly why you can't help but feel as if you're competing with her past, when you shouldn't be.

And finally, you look up, where Aemond sees in your eyes a painful resolve.

“Then I guess what happened between us was also a mistake.”

Aemond watches you in complete surprise, his eye widening in concern, his heart beginning to pound.

“No, no, Y/N, not that, I would never—

“It shouldn't have happened,” you interrupt him, firm with your statement, "Because believe it or not, if Floris hadn't gone on exchange, you and her would still be together," you say bitterly and sadly, ”She would have helped you with making Alys jealous and none of what happened between us would have happened.”

Aemond takes a step toward you, despair painted on his face.

“That's not true, Y/N. Don't say that. What happened between us was real, what I felt was real,” he insists, ‘But Floris and I… it's complicated," he says with frustration, ”But I don't care about her anymore the way I care about you, I can assure you that, because I want to be with you, I really do.”

Do you believe him?

You're not sure.

Right now you don't know what to believe, let alone what to do, to which Aemond steps forward, taking your hand, wanting to fix this because he doesn't want it to end, at least not like this.

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “I'm so sorry, Y/N.”

You swallow hard, shake your head and with your free hand wipe the tears from your cheeks, to which he watches you worriedly, hating to see you cry.

“Me too,” you say in a mumble with your lowered gaze and hoarse voice.

You make him let go of your hand and looking at his face one last time, full of regret and despair, you turn and start to walk away.

And he of course reacts immediately.

“Please, Y/N, don't walk away. Let's talk about this. We can fix it.”

But you feel there is nothing more to say. You've heard his words, you've seen his despair, but you don't stop even with tears streaming down your cheeks.

He tries to make you stay with the anguish in his tone of voice, he asks for your forgiveness again and tries to fix everything, but all you want at that moment is to walk away and that's exactly what you do, leaving him behind.

Even though you couldn't concentrate later in the whole school day, with your mind constantly taking you back to all that has already been said, finally classes end and you get home.

Yet you had to avoid Aemond at all costs after the conversation you both had, as well as his calls and messages only increased, making your whole day worse.

And now finally in your room you can have that break.

You're still feeling down and you're thankful your father is still at work or else he'd have to watch you wiping away the tears that involuntarily fall down your cheeks at every turn.

You try to distract yourself by watching movies or series, which works, but your mood is the same and the feeling of sadness in your chest won't go away, as well as that accompanying feeling of emptiness.

You let out a long breath and lying on your bed, you distract yourself on social media, Instagram, Tiktok, whatever. Then you log on to Facebook and scroll aimlessly through your feed, reading every news and every shared post or photo.

When suddenly an announcement appears from the official Facebook page of Citadel University.

“Attention future students! The application process for new admission as well as the entire scholarship process has been finalized. Results will be sent to students soon. Watch for the mail and thank you all for your preference!”

You quickly sit up in your bed, looking at the announcement confused and surprised, with a new wave of anxiety hitting you.

This is what Aemond should have done, get you into your dream college as part of the contract, including the scholarship.

But then why didn't he tell you?

Uncertainty and fear begin to invade your mind, so you quickly open your email, assuming that news must have reached you that you got in, as he promised.

After all, you gave him all the documents and your personal information to work on your application, phone number and email included, so you should get that email soon, right?

You browse through everything you find, feeling that every second that passes increases your anxiety, checking your inbox, the spam folder, updating everything at any second, attentive and alert. But as time goes by, there is nothing.

No mail from Citadel University arrives.

Then another realization comes to your mind at that moment, with the knot in your stomach and disbelief in your gaze as you stare at your cell phone screen, unable to believe it.

The absence of news can only mean one thing: Aemond didn't keep his part of the deal.

That's why he didn't tell you anything.

general taglist:

@melsunshine @at-a-rax-ia @jxdegodfrey @ttkttt @yentroucnagol @kate-to-the-ki @iamavailablesstuff @bluerskiees @urmomsgirlfriend1 @toodlesxcuddles @rosie-posie08 @iloveallmyboys @bellaisasleep @deliaseastar @cupcakesminicakescupcakes @dixie-elocin @lilostif16 @wickedfrsgrl @a-beaverhausen @a-beaverhausen @saturnssrings @ladythornofrivia @iloveallmyboys @vhwyrm @strangersunghoon @urmomsgirlfriend1

[iamtired10]

sick in love

pairing - pham hanni x female reader

genre - pureeeee fluffffffffff!!!

synopsis - your girlfriend has this weird obsession with getting drenched in the rain, even though you’ve told her so many times not to. of course, she doesn’t listen, and now she’s sick—and somehow, it’s all your fault. now you’ve got to deal with this clingy, whiny kid, who's acting like it’s the end of the world while you play nurse.

warning - nothing much... just some fluff and whining

word count - 1.5k

a/n - guess who’s about to get super busy next week and won’t be updating for a while :)

it all started with the rain.

nah, scratch that—it started with hanni’s bizarre love for the rain, the way she romanticized every single drop that fell from the sky as if it were some poetic blessing from above.

you knew better.

rain, to you, was wet and cold, and most importantly, the perfect recipe for catching a nasty cold.

but hanni? oh, hanni couldn’t care less.

but you tried everything to convince her.

everything.

“hanni, it’s literally pouring out here! you’ll catch a cold!”

you had pulled out your umbrella as soon as the clouds started weeping above the two of you, but hanni had other plans in mind.

she beamed, those signature crescent-shaped eyes gleaming as raindrops began to land on her cheeks.

“come on! it’s just a bit of rain. what’s the worst that could happen?” she took a playful step backward into the downpour, her carefree giggle piercing through the sound of the rain.

“i’ll tell you what’s gonna happen—you’re gonna get sick, that’s what!”

you were grumpy by nature, the forever practical one, always two steps ahead when it came to worrying about things like catching a cold.

you tugged her wrist back, trying to shield her with the umbrella.

but hanni? nope.

she shook her head like a puppy and ran further into the rain.

“catch me!” she twirled around, arms outstretched, water soaking her through.

you couldn’t help but watch her for a moment. she was beautiful, even when she was being an absolute menace.

but now wasn’t the time to admire her stubbornness.

now was the time to stop her from getting drenched head to toe.

“i swear to god, pham hanni, if you get sick because of this—”

oops, too late.

three days later, you found yourself exactly where you didn’t want to be: sitting in bed with a feverish hanni clinging to your waist, her breath slightly hot as she buried her face in your shirt.

“you’re so mean,” she grumbled between coughs, her voice raspy and whiny, the kind of voice that made you want to sigh in frustration and kiss her forehead at the same time. “you didn’t stop me from getting sick…”

you raised a brow, leaning back against the pillows. “i literally tried. multiple times.”

“yeah, well…” she sniffled dramatically, leaning more of her weight onto you, practically becoming deadweight. “you didn’t try hard enough.”

she looked up at you with the most innocent pout. the fever had made her eyes a little glassy, but she was still just as demanding as ever.

you loved her so much, but oh god, she was getting on your nerves today.

“hanni,” you said in your most grumpy tone, “you’re impossible, you know that?”

she only responded by hugging you tighter, squishing herself against your side. “i don’t feel good… i need cuddles.” she nuzzled into your neck, her breath fanning over your skin.

you could feel her warmth.

and not just the warm-you-up-on-a-cold-day kind of warmth, but the i-have-a-fever kind of warmth.

you sighed, pressing the back of your hand to her forehead to check her temperature.

she was still a bit too warm for comfort.

“you need to rest, babe," you whispered, though the gruffness in your tone barely masked the tenderness in your voice. “you’re burning up.”

hanni shook her head, her hair brushing against your neck. “nooooo, i need youuuuu,” she mumbled, her words slurred together like a stubborn child.

you rolled your eyes but pulled her closer, knowing full well that she wasn’t going to give you any personal space until she felt better. hanni had always been clingy, but when she was sick?

she was ten times worse.

if you even moved an inch, she’d whine and pull you back into her arms.

it was cute, you’d admit, but it was also exhausting.

“stop moving,” hanni grumbled, tugging on your shirt to pull you back against her. “i can’t get comfy if you keep wiggling around.”

“i have to get up and get your medicine. and water. and maybe some soup.”

“noooo,” she whined, her voice muffled by your shoulder. “i don’t want soup. i want you.”

you sighed again, this time with a softer edge, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “now you’re literally attached to me like a baby koala.”

“not a baby koala,” she mumbled, pouting again. “a sick, sad koala. big difference.”

“oh, sorry. a sick, sad koala,” you corrected, rolling your eyes playfully as you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her even closer. “better?”

she nodded, snuggling back into your chest, her fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt. “better… but i still feel awful. stay with meeeeee.”

you sighed, your grumpy exterior faltering as you softened under her gaze. it was hard to stay mad when she looked at you like that, all doe-eyed and needy.

you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, brushing some of her messy hair out of her face.

“okay, you big baby,” you murmured, “i’ll stay for a bit. but you need to promise me that you’ll take your medicine later, alright?”

“mm-hmm,” she mumbled, snuggling further into your embrace. “i promise.”

for a moment, it was quiet.

just the sound of her shallow breathing and the faint rustle of the sheets as she shifted closer to you. you closed your eyes, resting your chin on top of her head as you let the silence wash over you.

but of course, hanni had to break it.

“hey,” she whispered, her voice still soft but with a mischievous edge to it. “wanna kiss?”

you blinked, turning your head to look at her. “hanni, you’re sick.”

“so?” she pouted, her bottom lip jutting out in the most adorable way. “i still wanna kiss…”

you raised an eyebrow, your lips twitching as you fought the urge to laugh. “babe, you’re literally a walking virus right now. i’m not kissing you.”

hanni whined, her grip on you tightening as she buried her face further into your neck. “pleeease?”

“nope,” you said, shaking your head firmly. “not happening.”

“but i miss kissing you,” she mumbled, her voice small and pitiful. “just one little kiss?”

“hanni, you’ll get me sick,” you said, gently pushing her head away from your neck. “and then who’s going to take care of you?”

“i’ll take care of you,” she muttered, her voice muffled by the blanket she had wrapped herself in.

you couldn’t help but chuckle, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead instead. “nice try, but no. you’re gonna have to wait until you’re not contagious.”

hanni pouted again, clearly not happy with your answer.

but before she could whine any further, a sudden fit of sneezes cut her off.

you handed her a tissue, biting back a laugh as she wiped her nose, her expression utterly defeated.

“fine,” she mumbled, slumping back against you. “but as soon as i’m better, i’m kissing you everywhere.”

you snorted, rolling your eyes. “yeah, yeah. we’ll see.”

later that evening, after coaxing her into taking her medicine (which involved more whining and pouting on her part), you finally convinced her to settle down for a proper nap.

she curled up against you, her head resting on your chest as her breathing slowed and evened out.

you gently ran your fingers through her hair, the soft strands slipping between your fingers as you hummed quietly.

she was so peaceful when she was asleep, all of the day's frustrations and complaints forgotten.

but you knew as soon as she woke up, she’d be back to her clingy, whiny self.

and honestly, you didn’t mind.

you loved taking care of her, even when she was being a handful.

there was something special about being the one she relied on, the one she clung to when she didn’t feel well.

as the minutes ticked by, you found yourself growing more and more tired. the weight of the day and hanni’s endless need for attention had finally caught up to you, and your eyes began to droop.

just as you were about to drift off, you felt a pair of warm lips press against your cheek.

you blinked, opening your eyes to see hanni grinning up at you, her feverish cheeks still pink. “gotcha,” she whispered, her voice soft but full of mischief.

you groaned, pulling the blanket over both of your heads. “go to sleep, han.”

she giggled, snuggling closer to you as she closed her eyes again. “okay, okay. goodnight, babe.”

“goodnight,” you murmured, pressing one last kiss to her forehead before finally drifting off to sleep.

and despite everything—the rain, the sickness, the whining—you couldn’t help but smile.

because at the end of the day, hanni was your clingy, whiny baby, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

a/n - fluff sucks..

[film-in-my-soul]

tremor | 1,730 | badacts / @badacts

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a way (the find one/make one remix) | 2,561 | badacts

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worth it | 1,960 | mostly_maudlin / @mostlymaudlin

Summary: “What makes you think I want you fighting on my behalf?” Andrew asks. Neil pulls the ice pack from his face, features tightening with a new spark of anger. “What makes you think I care if you want me to?” he asks. “It’s my choice. And I will always choose to fight for you.”

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Summary: It’s not good, not at all, not for Andrew, or for this foul-mouthed FBI agent telling him to “forget about Neil Josten,” or for Wymack standing between them in this Baltimore motel room. Oh, sir, don’t you know how hard Andrew has tried to forget Neil? Don’t you know that boy is an expert in getting under people's skin? Andrew’s knuckles itch to clutch scarred shoulder, to brush against auburn hair, but they’ll settle for crunching against this fucking agent’s nose.

hypocorisms | 2,183 | mostly_maudlin / @mostlymaudlin

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Like Holding A Knife By The Blade | 2,663 | sambutwithbooks

Summary: “Rough day?” Neil asks, the upturn of his tone making it into a question. He’s being handled with kid gloves and the itching feeling under his skin ignites into fury. When Neil goes to reach for the half-finished cigarette, Andrew jerks his hand away with a scowl.  “Guess that answers that,” Neil says, too at ease in the face of his childishness. “What’s wrong?” Andrew makes a noise, something derisive and mean. He’s been on edge for days now, the loop of Neil’s voice playing between his ears- how casual and sincere he’d sounded despite the lie on his lips. I love you. 

transmission | 2,828 | badacts / @badacts

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anywhere. everywhere. | 2,968 | moonix / @annawrites

Summary: In a moment of desperation, Neil summons a demon to protect him from his father - and gets a little more than he bargained for.

staff recommendation | 3,151 | flybbfly / @wilsherejack

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long way up | 3,498 | moonix

Summary: “You have an awful lot of ideas about what I shouldn’t do,” he says, gaze rolling down Neil’s body like a single raindrop. “Yet I don’t even know your name.” “It’s Neil. And you’re the one who was about to jump off the roof.” “Was I?” The man says. “I don’t recall. Andrew.”

cover me (the enchanted ink remix) | 3,679 | lolainslackss / @lolainslackss

Summary: Andrew's very specific brand of witch-craft involves enchanting ink to create magical tattoos. Neil Josten has some dark magic scarring he wants covered up.

Bleeding Hearts | 3,796 | fuzzballsheltiepants / @fuzzballsheltiepants

Summary: An excessively attractive stranger comes into Andrew's bookstore looking for warmth after giving his coat away to a man in need. Extremely bad flirting ensues.

every time you curse my name | 4,011 | djhedy

Summary: minyard, when I said you have to make a twitter account, I did not mean make one and don’t use it. What a shame for you that you did not stipulate that in my contract.

at war with peace | 4,135 | wyverning

Summary: Only Neil fucking Josten could turn a break-up attempt into a proposal.

Jinxed All The Way | 4,165 | moonix / @annawrites

Summary: Andrew is the local reclusive curse-breaker. Neil has a knack for getting himself hexed, but it's been happening suspiciously often lately, even for him.

boyfriend privileges | 4,199 | mostly_maudlin / @mostlymaudlin

Summary: Andrew knows he treats Neil different. So why is it so bothersome that everyone else seems to know it, too? Five times Neil gets boyfriend privileges, and one time it doesn't piss Andrew off.

told me everything about you (that's a bold move) | 4,258 | Talls / @tallsinspace

Summary: Social misfit with flighty tendencies seeks email correspondence with someone who doesn’t like small talk and doesn’t ask personal questions. I don’t really know who would respond to something like this, but if you’ve ever been so alone that you knew for a fact that dying would have a net zero impact on the world, my email address is abramnewemail@hotmail.com and I want to know what you think makes people cruel.

Champion | 4,306 | exactly13percent_OLD (hymbeaux) / @evanfixes

Summary: Being a gymnast is not something that typically requires running. It's also not for people that are afraid of heights. Neil and Andrew really fucked themselves over. Maybe there's one good thing that can come out of it, though. Maybe meeting each other is enough.

if my love can hold you (i'll keep you with me) | 4,345 | Fortheloveofexy / @fortheloveofexy

Summary: Andrew isn’t stupid. He knows Neil is touch starved. He’s noticed the way Neil melts under him when they kiss, the way he stills and shivers at Andrew’s fingers sliding under his shirt. He’s noticed the uncertain hunger in Neil’s gaze when Andrew pulls away after getting both of them off. Like he wants something more, but he doesn’t quite know how to ask for it. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Neil doesn’t ask for it. Or at least, he doesn’t ask Andrew.

your crown of thorns holds roses | 4,390 | quensty / @quensty

Summary: Three days after he signs his death sentence to Palmetto State, five after Andrew Minyard knocks him breathless to the ground, Neil's gaze snaps to the locker room mirror and stares, frozen, at the word threat scrawled along his spine in terrifying bold. All in all, he isn’t thrilled about the situation this puts him in, but based off the negative connotation, it isn’t one-sided, either. On the bright side, at least this means his soulmate doesn’t harbor any delusions of grandeur.

drape me in your warmth | 5,002 | queermccoy

Summary: Neil liked this apartment because the floors were even and the landlord was just as allergic to background checks as he was. Neil handed him a wad of cash for the first six months upfront and the rough-looking middle aged man had just sucked on his teeth and said, "what even is a credit score, anyway,” before slapping the lease down on the empty kitchen counter. He'd added, "The previous tenant offed himself" and "did Neil want to keep the kitchen island he left behind?" Neil said he did, that he didn't have a lot of furniture of his own. Might as well. He signed the lease under his newest name, Neil Josten, and then immediately went out to get his locks changed.

thorn in my skin | 5,861 | ephemeralsky / @nakasomethingkun

Summary: These days, both of them are able to sleep on the same bed without any weapons underneath their pillows and on their person, and Andrew is not sure what he wants to do with this knowledge. They have poured years into forging their armors, and now they are stripping them, piece by tattered piece.

can i get a kiss (can you make it last forever) | 8,995 | Talls / @tallsinspace

Summary: “I’m obsessive about everything,” Neil protests, sitting in a booth with the four upperclassmen he can stand. “What makes this obsession special?” “Okay, we get the Exy obsession, because you’re legitimately planning on going pro, and we get the Kevin obsession because he’s dedicated to teaching you to go pro, and we even get the Minyard obsession,” Dan says. “Shh,” Neil pleads desperately, hoping beyond hope that nobody heard that. “But the podcast has nothing to do with Exy! It’s half about music, and you don’t even like music that much,” Dan says. “It’s literally just music and a really weird guy talking about his homicidal impulses, and it sorta sounds like a joke, but on a much more real level it sounds like it’s absolutely not a joke and I would call the authorities if this guy gave any personal details at all,” Dan says. “It’s mostly a joke,” Neil offers, but it sounds weak to his own ears.

wingpeople | 11,308 | likearecord

Summary: I mean, what else could Nicky have done when he spotted Andrew smiling at the hot guy making his coffee? Not meddle? Not get all the Foxes on board? It's like you don't even know him.

eat the rich | 11,421 | bazookajo94 / @bazookajo94

Summary: A group of amateur thieves kidnap a senator’s son to ransom him for money. The senator’s son doesn’t want to go back.

cocoa dust | 22,319 | djhedy

Summary: Neil had seen the guy around campus a few times. It was hard not to. The exy team stood out. Or those three did, anyway. The twins with their shock-white blond hair and perpetual resting bastard face, and Kevin Day, the number 2 arrogantly tattooed on a high cheekbone, flanked as usual by at least one of the twins. And Neil knew their reputation. It’s why he stayed away.

under the kitchen lights (you still look like dynamite) | 26,365 | ephemeralsky / @nakasomethingkun

Summary: “Besides, you’re not a stranger,” Neil says. “You did not know my name until a minute ago,” Andrew points out. “I’ve been petting your cat everyday for the past month, though.” “That does not make us friends.” “I didn’t say we were.” Neil tilts his head, the hint of a smirk on his lips. “We’re neighbors.” (Andrew's recent Google search history: ambient sounds to help you sleep, what qualifies you for a service dog, why do cats like to sit in boxes, daily horoscope scorpio, does quoting shakespeare mean you're being flirted with, buzzfeed quizzes food, how to be neighborly)

2024 Reclists · INBOX · Blog Updates

[virgoilluminati]

Match Made in England

Following the success of the women's world cup and the ongoing struggles of juggling both fame, football and their relationship, Jude and Y/N set up a tv series.

A/N: ok so i kinda had this idea for a little while but this is kinda like a little spoof spinoff of the World Class series and each "episode" is like a little update into their life, with snippets as if they are hosting a tv reality show. If you have any requests on what episodes you would like to have posted on here pls let me know :)

A tv show created by two lovers that happen to both play for the england football team 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿

You sit next to your window in your two-bedroom apartment, a cup of coffee steaming up over the rainy exterior. The sound of raindrops tapping against the glass creates a soothing rhythm, blending with the soft hum of the city outside. Your mind drifts as you watch the rain cascade down, each droplet carrying with it a piece of your thoughts.

Lost in the tranquility of the moment, you reflect on the past week, the challenges at work, and the unexpected encounter with an old friend. The city lights blur in the distance, their reflection shimmering on the wet streets below.

You take a slow sip of your coffee, savoring the warmth that spreads through your body.The apartment, though small, feels like a sanctuary. Bookshelves line the walls, filled with stories waiting to be explored. A faint aroma of vanilla and cinnamon from a nearby candle mingles with the rich scent of coffee, creating a comforting atmosphere.

As the rain continues to fall, you feel a sense of calm wash over you. Despite the hustle and bustle of life, these quiet moments remind you of the simple joys that make each day worth living. With a contented sigh, you lean back, ready to embrace whatever the evening brings.It had been six months since winning the World Cup and your world had been an absolute spin. TV interview after TV interview, magazine photoshoots, ongoing pestering rumors about your relationship with Jude—everything had felt like a whirlwind, one which never stopped. And now, the BBC had asked to start a reality TV show about your and Jude's life.

At first, you were hesitant, preferring the shielded safety of your private life together. But then, as reminded by your new PA, Emily, people had never been more interested in the women's game, and this was a huge step forward, likening it to other docu-series like Beckham.You let out a deep sigh, watching the rain continue to blur the cityscape outside your window. The idea of opening up your life to the public felt both thrilling and terrifying.

You and Jude had always valued your privacy, cherishing the quiet moments away from the prying eyes of the media. But Emily's words echoed in your mind—this could be a pivotal moment for women's sports, an opportunity to inspire and connect with fans on a deeper level.

With your coffee cup now empty, you stand and stretch, feeling the weight of the decision pressing on your shoulders. You walk over to the kitchen, placing the cup in the sink, and then glance at the clock. Jude would be home soon. The thought brings a smile to your face, a reminder of the support and love that had carried you both through the chaos of the past months.As you prepare dinner, your mind races with possibilities.

The show could highlight the dedication and hard work that goes into being a professional athlete, the balance between your careers and personal lives, and the love story that had captivated so many. But it could also bring unwanted scrutiny and pressure.

The sound of the front door opening pulls you from your thoughts. Jude walks in, shaking off the rain from his jacket. His smile is warm and reassuring, and you feel a sense of calm wash over you."Hey," he says, coming over to give you a kiss. "How was your day?"You take a deep breath, ready to share the latest development.

"Busy, as usual. You?"

"Trent being his usual annoying self." You let out a laugh, your heart warmed from the unlikely England duo.

"You spoke to Em today?" Jude asks, his head rested on your shoulder as he pulls you in for a hug.

"Uh yeah, theres something we need to talk about."Jude raises an eyebrow, curious. "What's up?"

"The BBC wants to do a reality show about us. Emily thinks it's a great idea, a big step forward for the women's game. I'm just... not sure."Jude listens intently, then takes your hand.

"It's a big decision, no doubt. I'm hesitant too, honestly. But it could also be quite fun. Imagine sharing our journey, the highs and lows, with everyone. It could be something really special."

You chuckle. “Yeah, special like that time you tried to cook dinner and almost set the kitchen on fire?"Jude laughs.

"Hey, it was only a small fire. And I learned a valuable lesson: never leave pasta boiling while watching a football game.”

You grin. “Exactly. We can show people the real us, kitchen disasters and all. But seriously, we should set some boundaries. Like, no cameras before I’ve had my morning coffee.”

Jude nods. “Agreed. And no filming me when I’m singing in the shower. Nobody needs to hear that.”

You burst out laughing. “Deal. And if it ever gets too much, we can always take a break. No pressure.”

Jude grins, pulling you into a hug. “Alright then, let’s get this show on the road. We’ll need to find a good production team and start planning out the details. Think they’ll let us film in the Birmingham pub?”

You laugh. “I’m sure we can work something out. This is going to be hilarious. I can’t wait to see what crazy moments we capture.”

Jude’s expression turns thoughtful. “And we’ll need a team that can travel with us, especially since I’ll be in Madrid a lot for games. Filming in different locations could add a cool dynamic, don’t you think?”

You nod. “Absolutely! We can show different cultures, cities, and maybe even some behind-the-scenes at your matches. Plus, it gives us an excuse to travel together more.”

Jude’s eyes light up. “True, and maybe I can even get some of my teammates to make cameo appearances. Imagine the chaos!”You laugh again. “Oh god, what have I gotten myself into..."

Episodes:

Ep 1: Just two kids from England: the ups and downs of football.

Ep 2: New Beginnings: All Things Madrid

[wizzdot]

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Ch3

Description: third chapter - who am i updating twice today?! Anyway, Laika gets upset, Kyle is a sweet baby angel. We hate Soap and Ghost rn, Price is ok, I guess. Will just have to wait and see if they make up. Guess we will just stick with Gaz for the time being, huh? We find out a little more about Laika’s past here, but she is keeping things close to her chest. Who will she open up to first?

The car ride, so far, hasn't been an enjoyable one. I feel caged in between Gaz's large body and the door. I try to take up as little space as possible, deciding to uncomfortably twist my body and stare out of the window. There isn't much to see. We seem to be driving through the middle of nowhere, and I dare not ask where we were going or when we would arrive. I decide, instead, to watch the raindrops slide down the window, taking bets on which one would make it furthest before collecting too much weight and flying off of the glass into the wind.

I glance around a couple of times and accidentally make eye contact with the masked man through the side mirror. I decided not to look in that direction again. I cannot shake the itch of his gaze, though. He truly does terrify me.

I sit there uncomfortably before my eyes start feeling heavy. It was late—it must be around 2 a.m —and pitch black outside. I want my nest, if you can even call it that. My cell isn't exactly luxurious, but it is - was - my space. The facility had stripped me of everything. I was found with just the clothes on my back, and now all I have left is a filthy handkerchief that I was found with, that I have somehow managed to hold on to. I swear it still has the lingering scent of...before.

The handkerchief in question is currently tied around my upper arm. I use it as a makeshift cushion for my sniper rifle. I told myself that it lessened the jolt of the recoil, but it doesn't, if the permanent bruise on my bicep is anything to go by. It goes everywhere with me, it is all I have that reminds me of what I was before I became a puppet for the Russians. When I'm in the comfort of my own nest and hear the lock click in place, I use it as a pillow. It smells of something I cannot place, maybe it just doesn't hold the smell of the cold, damp cell, but I find it grounds me regardless.

I decided to try and get it from my arm. I need grounding right about now. I try to reposition myself quietly, making a huge effort not to make a sound or touch Gaz, who is having a quiet conversation with the captain. As I turn, I can see that Soap is fast asleep, head lulled back against the window. His mouth is wide open, and he is on the verge of snoring. I know that the scary masked one is watching me through his mirror as he tenses as I start to move—just ever so slightly, but enough to scare me a bit. It throws me off my task, and I ever so gently brush my elbow against Gaz's ribs. He immediately glances down at me.

I freeze and stare up at him. "S-sorry" I stutter, trying to back myself as close to the car door as i can. "What are you trying to do?" He asks me softly. I shake my head as if to say 'just leave it' but Gaz is too observant for that. He notices my tiny glance down at the handkerchief tied around my arm and acts immediately.

"Oh shit, are you hurt under there? Hold still, let me look." He must assume that I'm using it as a makeshift bandage. Something deep inside of me snaps and I growl at him as he reaches for the piece of fabric. I feel all of the eyes in the car snap to me immediately, even Soap's, who has woken from his sleep. The Captain must tap the brakes as I slide forward slightly, causing me to whimper due to the loss of balance. I quickly correct my seat and twist away from Gaz and stare at my feet. If I could curl into a ball and disappear, I would do it in a heartbeat. Embarrassment, shame and fear wracks my body. I sit and whimper in the back corner of the car.

That is until a soft hand touches my shoulder, so gently that I almost don't feel it. "Hey shh, Laika, I'm sorry - I didn't mean to snatch at you like that. Let me look.. I just want to make sure you're ok." I shake my head and whisper a broken "I'm fine" at him, without looking at him. He starts rubbing a small pattern into my shoulder. "Ok, that's fine. Were you uncomfortable? I felt you moving before you snapped at me". Damn him and his soft nature, the use of the word 'snapped' floods me with shame. "S-sorry. Didn't mean it. I don't bite.. promise. Just got scared.. It's mine.. no one else can touch it." I explain weakly, feeling utterly pathetic.

Gaz continues to dig: "It's yours? The bandana on your arm" - "s'not a bandana, it's a handkerchief" I interrupt. He laughs slightly at that, Soap pipes up from beside him "Aht's you been telt boyo" he says chuckling. I quickly flit my eyes at them and see Soap chuckling away to himself and Gaz rolling his eyes. "Sorry" I whisper, looking at Gaz for the first time in a while.

He immediately finds my eyes and smiles. "Stop saying sorry.. You didn't do anything" he says kindly. I relax slightly at that before the masked man in the front who had been silent the whole ride decides to shatter any progress I had made with Gaz.

"That's debatable. A girl with that much blood on her hands - I wouldn't call that 'didn't do anything'" he barks. I immediately tense up and curl into a ball, shaking. Tears pool in my eyes. "He's right," I whimper. "I'm a monster."

Gaz's eyes flash angrily at the mask man who only shrugs and grunts in response before looking back out the front window. He immediately looks back to me with the softest eyes, I almost have whiplash from the change in emotion he showed so quickly. "We don't know enough of the facts to make a judgement on that yet. And as far as I can tell, you are no monster. You're just a small bug that got caught in a spider's web. Is that closer to the truth, Laika?" He asks.

His brown eyes don't look away, I almost feel like nodding in agreement but my stupid, self destructive brain overrides that decision. "I am a monster though. I've killed people. Good people, I think. Lots of them. And people have been killed because of my actions too." He listens intently "What do you mean you think?" he asks. "I- I was told that they were bad - but they couldn't all have been bad. I think I was the bad one. So he's right" I glance at the masked man.

"Tell me, did you want to do it?" he asks - I shake my head immediately "No - never - But the punishments.. I couldn't.. and then the drugs and tests.. I was too weak.. I should have died.. You should kill me" I rush out, tripping over my words and interrupting myself.

I jump in my seat slightly when the Captain's gruff, authoritative voice snaps though my self loathing rambling. "No one - and I mean this - is going to kill you. And we will get to the bottom of this. We have friends in high places, they will dig into your past and see what happened. Until then, we give you a room at base, keep you safe and go from there. We aren't in the business of punishing innocents." His speech stuns me into silence again and I find myself just staring into space.

"And for the record - I agree with Gaz." He adds, practically spitting his anger at the masked man for making the accusation in the first place. "Now, let's all calm down - let Gaz check your arm, lass. That's an order". My eyes widened, panicked, still not wanting Gaz to take my handkerchief. My eyes shoot to his and I ever so slightly shake my head once. He tilts his head slightly as if to ask 'Please?'. God, he has his puppy dog eyes down. I look at my arm and back to him before quickly untying the fabric from my arm and presenting my uninjured arm to him. Obedience is rewarded, my brain repeats its favorite mantra. I stuff the handkerchief into my pocket for safe keeping.

"Can I touch your arm?" Gaz asks, asking for consent again. I nod once. He gently takes my arm and turns it over in his gentle grip. "No wounds, but a deep bruise" He announces to the team. The mask man turns in his seat briefly before facing the front again and just barks "Sniper".

"You a good shot then?" Gaz asks me. "I don't miss" I reply bluntly. He nods. "What else can you do?" He digs for more information. "Gaz.." the pack's alpha warns from the driver's seat "Don't push your luck".

"I can do most things. Don't like hand to hand though.. I-I'm not as strong.." I muse. He nods. Soap interrupts, "Ya like bombs, lassie?" "No." I immediately responded, shutting him off. I've decided that Gaz is my favorite, followed by The Captain. Then a long gap to Soap, who just seems pushy and insensitive, and then an even longer gap to the masked man who I don't even have a name for. I don't care to find out either.

The car settles back down, and I turn back to my window. Soap has opened his window to let some air in, but it makes me shiver. I'd never been good in cold climates—ironic, I had survived the long Russian winters for all this time, really. I try to close my eyes and pretend to sleep. I slowly remove the handkerchief from my pocket and lift it to my ear, resting it between the window and my head. I inhale the smell gently, trying to imagine what it used to smell like. I drift into a half sleep - half awake state and then feel something soft and warm drape over me. I resist the urge to jump out of fear. It's the last thing I feel before finally falling asleep.

The car pulls to a halt. I wake up as soon as I hear a car door open, always on edge. I pull my cover towards me, clutching to it like a shield, until my brain processes where I am and what to do. I meet Gaz's kind gaze again. "We are here, back at our safehouse. Put it on.. It's cold out."

I look at him as if he had grown two heads, confused, until I realise I am clutching a dark coloured jacket. It has a Union flag on the sleeve. I spot the tags inside the jacket, black pen writes 'Garrick' over the washing instructions. It reminds me of how my mother wrote my name inside my school pullover. Y/N - That was a whole lifetime ago. I hadn't forgotten my name, but it had slipped into obscurity a long time ago. It was connected to a hope I had long since lost. I must have zoned out because Gaz - Garrick? - clearshis throat.

I quickly stand, putting the jacket on obediently and stuffing my handkerchief in the pocket for safe-keeping. The jacket is big, but it's warm. I ball the extra sleeve length into balls in my fists and squeeze them as if they are stress balls. Gaz hides his triumphant glee at seeing a cute little thing in his clothes. It awakens a side of his Alpha that had been dormant for so long.

Gaz was, arguably, the least trait-typical Alpha in his pack. It was unusual to have a pack full of Alphas but they made it work. Seeing a non-Alpha trust him and, inadvertently, covered in his scent, awakened an inbuilt reflex to protect. He steps closer and offers his arm to lead me into the safe house.I shake my head gently, not quite ready to accept his touch. He respects my decision and shows the way with his arm.

He smiles as I step towards him. I smile back up at him this time.

[stickynotelovers-art]

Rottmnt Masterpost

Here's a list of all my different things. I've realized I have a lot of stuff that kind of gets lost in the shuffle of everything.

#non turtle art and #reblogging myself are where you can find my other art.

Also, I do have a RedBubble shop in case you're interested!

Family Connection AU

This my own au of what happens after the events of the movie. It's only been a few days following the invasion and everyone still has a ways to go to recovery. During this time Mikey starts being able to see and communicate with the Hamato ghosts of Casey Jr's future timeline versions of themselves.

Flares

Flares Bonus

Eventually

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Part 1

Chapter 2: Part 2

Chapter 2: Part 3

Extra

Future Leo and other sillies

Future Donnie Design

Future Donnie Updated Design (2024)

Mikey's initial response to the ghosts

Future Donnie finds out about the Present Donnie becoming a spaceship

Baby Casey Jr Things

(I feel all my bad future stuff belongs with my au)

Get Dadded Leo

Get Dadded Leo Bonus

Baby and Uncles 1, 2, 3

Redraw of Baby and Uncles

He Tiny

Death of Cassandra Jones

Mama Casey

Future Donnie (Uncle Tello) doodles 1, 2

Squish the (face) Baby Cheeks

April Fool's Day

Chaotic Uncle Donnie

The future kiddies

Asks involving future versions

Donnie has been given Uranium

Donnie was given Uranium: The Sequel

Donnie being bribed for a hug

Donnie possibly stealing nuclear launch codes

Meow meow meow

Other People's AU

Cass' Apocalyptic Series

Baby Mutant Casey

Between the Raindrops Animatic

Emotional Damage Crit Shot

Peepaw Multiverse

Freshly Tramatized

Peepaws Get Wrecked

Other

thegunnsara's future Mikey design

burgersaucee's adventuring in babysitting, but it's the apocalypse

Mutant Mayhem x Rise

Donnie

Leo

Mikey

Raph

The whole fam meeting their Rise counterparts

One Shot Comics

Who's Older (Disaster Twins)

Watch Your Language (Brains and Brawn Duo)

Donnie's Social Tolerance (Brains and Brawn Duo)

What If Mikey Just Picked Raph Up? (Sunset Duo)

Raise Your Standards, Leo! (Baja Blast Duo)

Don't Mess With Mikey(Smarts and Crafts Duo)

Raph Knows (Raph Centric featuring Draxum)

Raph Meets Princess Peach

That's Not How Food Allergies Work (Raph Leo Duo)

Everything Else (I think)

#color palette challenge

Baby Raph AU

Local turtle Dad and his teenage self

Memes

In your fit art challenge

First sketchbook doodles

They share a voice actor

Find the Keyblade

Shadows tutorial

Yoshi/Lou/Splinter "I was today years old when I became a father" Jitsu/Hamato: 1, 2

Volatile Raph

[unique-high]

this is how you fall in love | Intro

Mingi x fem! tomboy blk reader.

no warning tags.

More about Mingi's ff.

Go here for CHAPER ONE

The sun was shining brightly, but raindrops were falling from the sky. You're in Mingi's bed. He felt nice with his warm skin against yours. Your fingertips softly drag down his bare back. Mingi snored loudly and oddly you find it to be soothing.

There was no romantic involvement between you and Mingi. But with how your bodies are in close proximity, with his arm and leg draped over you; It was evident that there was a connection between you both, despite ignoring the truth.

Mingi’s presence in your life was like a warm summer’s day and he was like cold rain. The boy you hated now became the boy you wanted. And for Mingi, it was the same.

The hate could have been something else that you were too afraid to explore any deeper.

And for Mingi, it wasn’t even hate anymore. He wasn’t sure if it was hate, to begin with.

 It was love. 

And being a teenager in love wasn’t like how it’s depicted in some movies. It’s messy and confusing; when you’re torn between your heart and what you’re feeling.

 Mingi vents to his best friends about how stupid love is. But you were the definition of that stupid love. When he was alone, all his thoughts were about you and every sappy love song, he heard was about you too. 

You breathe in his scent. He smelt of sweat and the outdoors. Mingi had played soccer earlier in the day and didn’t have time to shower when you showed up at his house crying because you and your dad had gotten into an argument. Comforting you was more important than a shower for Mingi. Besides, he thought he would take one after you calmed down, but you two ended up in his bed.

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

A/N: So I started off with an intro chapter because the first chapter I wrote was ass and I deleted it. Regrets thoooo. 🙂

I don't have a set schedule of when I'll update. But I'm hoping I can every Sunday. 🤔

BTW I do take requests if you all ever want to request anything anime or Kpop or just whatever with blk reader. (No smut, sorry)

[musamora]

𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐒 · 𝐔𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ₊˚❀༉‧₊˚

"On the threshold of forgotten lives, a kinship between two stricken children blooms in a tempest of misfortune. The miserable seek their own, their fractured spirits cradled like warmth as routine turmoil billows in a constant sea of storms. He is his father's son. Always will be. She is her mother's daughter. Always will be. They drift on the worn path of Auld Lang Syne, but their fractures form fissures in the pattern, and the squall drizzles to a rest, raindrops buried with their remains as they stray. The footfalls of the reborn children of man imprint on a new path, hand-in-hand."

𝐒 𝐓 𝐀 𝐓 𝐔 𝐒: FIRST DRAFT (61% COMPLETED)

— 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐂 .ᐟ ˎˊ˗

Welcome! This is the official update post for Manibus Date Lilia Plenis—a Fyodor x Reader! For those of you who aren't familiar with this series, this story is loosely based on my oneshot series, The Sun and The Stars.

I've been working on multiple versions of the story for months and have ended on a plotline that I personally enjoy. This series will not follow canon but is a divergent interpretation of Fyodor's past and his interactions with certain relationships.

Please keep an eye on this post for more updates!

— 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 .ᐟ ˎˊ˗

[odyssean-flower]

The Winding Path of Fate Chapter 6 - End of Spring: When a Planted Seed Sprouts

Masterpost

Pairing: Neuvillette x Female Reader Summary: You and Neuvillette hash things out. Warnings: None except for restrictive gender roles, also for some reason Fontaine’s regency england (sort of) now? Note: I update this story on AO3 first so please subscribe to the fic there if you’d like to read it faster Note 2: If you want to be on the taglist for this fic, please make a reply to this post, send a message or send a private ask

Have a pic of Neuvillette standing in Enkanomiya (they should really set another event here)

Previous | Next

“Monsieur Neuvillette should be back around this time…”

You were sitting in the kitchen, working on your embroidery again. Normally, you would be doing this in the garden, but there was a trial this morning, which meant rain was coming.

The sky was already covered in gray, low-hanging clouds. It looked like there would be quite a storm today.

“Pardon me, Madame?” Marie said. She was cleaning the countertops.

“I was just saying that Monsieur Neuvillette should have been home an hour ago. I wonder if something happened.”

Marie turned around and looked at you. “Are you worried about him?”

“Well, not exactly worried, but he’s usually home around this time when there’s a morning trial.”

Maybe it had gone on longer than expected, but from what you read in the papers, today’s trial was a run-of-the-mill thievery case, so it shouldn’t have taken very long.

When you explained your reasoning to Marie, she stared at you thoughtfully for a few moments.

“What is it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I was just thinking how similar the two of you are,” she said, smiling. “Unexpected things tend to happen in his line of work, but if you are concerned, why not go and see him?”

“Go see him? Is that…okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well…” you couldn’t think of a good answer. “I’m not sure if he’d be happy to see me.”

“And how would you know that, Madame? Personally, I think seeing a familiar face after an arduous day at work would lift anyone’s spirits.”

You thought about arguing that you and Neuvillette had barely had a conversation since you moved in and that it might do more harm than good if you went to receive him, but Marie was already shooing you to the door and bringing you your coat and umbrella. It looked like you had no choice.

“One last thing, Madame. I’ve worked for Monsieur Neuvillette for many years, and I can tell you a few things about him. For one thing, if you don’t make the first move, he will not do anything either.”

You stared at her in confusion. “…Okay?”

“Go to him,” Marie repeated, then opened the front door for you.

And just how am I meant to do that when I don’t even know the way? You thought as you wandered the streets of Fontaine.

You knew that Neuvillette went to the Opera in a private vessel, but you had no idea where the docks were.

Just as you passed by the Café Lucerne, a familiar-looking Melusine in a Marechausee Phantom uniform greeted you. “Good afternoon, Madame! Out for a walk?”

“Good afternoon, Officer…uh…”

“It’s Menthe, Madame.”

“My apologies, Officer Menthe. I’m looking for the docks where Monsieur Neuvillette’s boat would land.”

“Oh, then allow me to take you there! I believe Monsieur Neuvillette will be arriving there shortly.”

“Thank you, Officer.”

As you followed Menthe, who was skipping ahead of you, you felt raindrops land in your hair and opened your umbrella.

Truth be told, you had no idea what you were going to do once you got there.

Things between you and Neuvillette were as awkward as ever, and though you tried to convince yourself that things were fine the way they were, a feeling of dissatisfaction and frustration grew day by day.

I would like to be on friendly terms with him.

Maybe it was from all the covert observation you were doing, or just from the fact that you lived in such close proximity with him, but you found yourself becoming more interested in him as a person.

It's impolite, the voice of reason in your head said. You shouldn’t get too curious. It’ll only end in him pushing you away.

You thought of your debutante days, when you would try to learn more about the young gentlemen who interested you. Eventually, you stopped trying after so many failures and heartbreaks.

But with Neuvillette…somehow, you wanted things to be different. Perhaps it was because he had chosen you of all women to be his wife, even if it was partly because you were in a desperate bind. And, embarrassingly, it was also probably because he was the first man to take an interest in you.

What’s more, a part of you suspected that he wanted you to approach him as well. There were times when you would catch him looking at you out of the corner of your eye like he wanted to speak with you. And sometimes, when you were still awake in bed after he returned home, you could hear heavy footsteps stop in front of your door before turning to the other side of the second floor.

You couldn’t prove anything. But what if?

This relationship had a predestined end. Your paths were only intersecting briefly before their inevitable separation. But until then, why not turn this into a pleasant memory you could smile back on?

You were chosen for this role, as vague as it might be. You should fulfill it by doing things the right, proper way.

You walked down the brick-paved streets with resolve in your heart.

Menthe led you to the private docks. There was already a vessel stopped there, and a tall blue figure was disembarking.

“There he is!” Menthe shouted suddenly. “Monsieur Neuvillette! Madame is here for you!”

The blue figure stopped and turned in your direction.

Then, she turned to you and said, “I must return to my station now, Madame. Good luck!”

“Hold on a minute!” you said, but the Melusine was already skipping away, leaving you all alone.

Taking in a deep breath, you turned around and found Neuvillette standing a short distance away. You couldn’t read the expression in his eyes.

“Um…hello there, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you said. As if on cue, it began to rain. Great.

“Did Marie send you here?” he asked. His voice was quiet, almost blending in with the rain.

Your heart sank a little. You really messed up. But hopefully, it could still be saved.

“No,” you shook your head vigorously. “I came here because I wanted to see you, sir.”

The rain, strangely, seemed to intensify at that moment.

“You need not force yourself to go out in this weather,” Neuvillette said. “It’s better to stay home than to risk illness for my sake.”

“Well, in this season, if you’re going to stay home because of a little rain, then you shouldn’t go outside at all,” you said. “Besides, I’ve never walked in the rain before. It’s such a novel experience. I can see why you like it so much.”

Neuvillette didn’t say anything, but you could detect bafflement in his gaze. You couldn’t blame him. You would feel the same way if someone who had been avoiding you for weeks suddenly started acting friendly with you.

“Are you going to the Palais, sir, or back home?”

“Home,” he said. He was even less talkative than usual. Presiding over trials probably took a lot of energy out of him. Maybe being in the rain was a way for him to recharge.

“Very well, then,” you said. “Shall we be off?”

The two of you walked in silence. You noticed that Neuvillette chose the more secluded roads with fewer people before he looked down at you.

“My apologies, we should be taking the quickest way home.”

He then proceeded to double back the way you came before stopping again.

“Or perhaps we should travel more discreetly…” he murmured to himself.

All around you, people were either running for shelter or clustered under awnings.

“Where did this storm come from?” you heard a man complain.

“My laundry’s still outside!” a woman moaned.

Neuvillette looked around at all the commotion, then closed his eyes, as though resigned.

“The shorter way back, then,” he said, walking faster.

You hurried to catch up with him. No one had noticed the two of you yet, but they would soon.

“Is there a reason why you prefer more secluded roads, sir?” you asked, even though you could somewhat guess the reason.

You didn’t really expect an answer, but Neuvillette said, “I simply find it tiresome to refuse the umbrellas people would offer me whenever I decide to take a stroll in the rain. I don’t know what’s so strange about the sight of it.”

The genuine confusion and annoyance in his voice made you giggle a little. Marie was right after all. Who knew even someone like him would be affected by the opinions of others? It was endearing, in a way.

“What is it?” he asked when he heard you laugh.

“It’s nothing,” you said. “Oh, here’s an idea. Why don’t you hold my umbrella for me? That way, people would say, ‘Look at the Chief Justice being such a gentleman, holding an umbrella for that homely-looking woman,’ and no one would think anything of you being in the rain.”

“You are not homely,” he said, but for the first time, the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. He took your umbrella and held it over your head.

The two of you continued walking in silence. Not exactly like the awkward kind of silence that was often between you two at home, but something more hopeful, like you both knew what the other was going to say and were waiting for the other to voice it.

You decided to take the first step.

“Might I guess what is on your mind, sir?”

“Please, go ahead.”

“Well, perhaps I am being too presumptuous, but I would wager a guess that my current strange behavior is one of the things bothering you?”

It was a daring guess, but you were seemingly proven right when Neuvillette didn’t say anything and turned his head.

“You must be wondering if I’m being possessed right now, or if I had eaten something strange.”

Neuvillette still didn’t say anything, but you caught the corner of his lips turning up again.

“I am a bit baffled by you,” he confessed. “You present yourself like you wish to have as little contact with me as possible, but then you would do things that seem contrary to that behavior, almost as though you’re interested in me. I am still lacking in terms of understanding human emotions, or how to make myself approachable, it seems.”

“No, sir, you've done nothing wrong!” you said, the words coming out louder than you meant it. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. Would…would you care to listen to my explanation?”

Neuvillette nodded.

You took in a deep breath. “You see, sir, I know you said that there’s no need for us to act like a couple, but it felt wrong for me to not learn anything about you, so I decided to do some, um, covert observation.”

“So that was why you…”

“Yes, that was why I’ve been watching and avoiding you at the same time. I didn’t want you to find me a bother, or to dislike me. But that clearly was the wrong choice. I deeply apologize for that. It must have been very discomforting for you.”

Neuvillette said nothing. He stepped over a large puddle, and then helped you over it. His legs are very long, you thought idly, then caught yourself staring.

“I can relate to the covert observation part,” he said after a while. “Although I must confess, it is perhaps for the best that you have not chosen to pursue the profession of detective.”

He’s making a joke? Maybe you should have been offended, but all you felt was relief. “You were probably expecting me to be a more sensible, mature person when you chose me as your wife, didn’t you?”

And you were those things. But when it came to Neuvillette, for whatever reason, you acted completely unlike yourself.

Neuvillette stayed silent for a moment before saying, “…it’s not always unpleasant to discover new sides of a person one finds interesting.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. “…I suppose?”

“This does explain why you were staring at my mouth during dinner that one time.”

You felt your cheeks turn red. Honestly, you were surprised that Neuvillette hadn’t thrown you out of his house because of your weird behavior. “Please don’t talk about that.”

“I thought I had something stuck in my teeth.”

Sorry, sorry! “Can we just pretend the past month never happened and start with a clean slate?”

A small chuckle escaped from Neuvillette’s lips. “I would love nothing more than that.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir.”

Your heart felt lighter than it had ever been in the past weeks. As though mirroring this feeling, the steady drumming of raindrops let up a little, and you could see rays of sunlight shining through gaps in the dark clouds.

“I’m curious, sir, what did you think of me while I was doing all those things?”

Neuvillette put his hand on his chin. “I thought I had scared you in some way, which was why you always left the rooms I entered and watch me with that cautious look in your eyes.”

All you could do was force out awkward laughter and stare at your feet. You were so lucky that Neuvillette’s heart was as broad as the sea itself.

“And also,” he added after a pause. “You always call me ‘sir’ and ‘Monsieur Neuvillette,’ even though we are married.”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“No, but...” Neuvillette cleared his throat. “Never mind.”

You felt bad that Neuvillette seemed a bit disappointed, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to call him by only his name (which was also your last name now, albeit temporarily).

You two continued to walk in silence. You were near the house now. The rain seemed to have stopped completely now, but Neuvillette was still holding your umbrella over your head.

“Also,” he suddenly said, quietly. “I could never dislike you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “...I see. Um, thank you, sir. I’ll try my best to be worthy of it.”

"And do you...dislike me?” Neuvillette stopped, looking right into your eyes.

You blinked. This man, you realized, could be clueless about some things sometimes. But on the other hand, wasn’t it good to have verbal confirmation of things, instead of constantly guessing and hoping?

“If I disliked you, sir,” you said, meeting his gaze. “I would not be coming out into the rain to talk with you like this.”

A full smile appeared on Neuvillette’s face this time. A light seemed to radiate from within him. You never knew that someone’s face could change so much from a simple change of expression. It took your breath away.

“I hope that I am worthy of that as well.”

“You know, I’ve always been curious about that favorite drink of yours. What is it?”

After getting home and drying off, you sat in the parlor with Neuvillette. His silver goblet was sitting on the small table, filled with that mysterious liquid like always.

“Would you like to try it?”

You hesitated a moment before nodding. You could hold your drink pretty well, and you doubted that Neuvillette would let you drink anything dangerous for you.

“Very well then, I shall get another cup for you,” Neuvillette said, before leaving for the kitchen. If you had to describe his gait with a literary expression, then he would be walking “with a spring in his step.”

He quickly returned with another silver cup and placed it in front of you. You peered into it. It contained that same clear, odorless liquid.

“Shall we make a toast?” Neuvillette said, sitting back down.

“To what?”

“To our new friendship, of course.”

Friendship. You weren’t strangers, but neither did you have romantic feelings for each other, despite being married. But there was something warm there. Friendship was a perfectly adequate, broad term to describe what you two wordlessly wanted with each other.

He raised his cup to yours, and you clinked yours with his. You took a sip of the drink. It’s surprisingly flavorless. Refreshing, but flavorless, just like water. Wait a minute, this is water!

“How is it?” Neuvillette asked, watching you.

“This is just water!” you said. “I thought it was some kind of fancy alcohol, but it’s really just water. No wonder I didn’t...”

You were about to say “Smell anything back then,” but decided to keep it to yourself. Some things should remain unknown.

“Just water?” Neuvillette raised an eyebrow. “This is pure water from the springs of Mondstadt. It’s an exquisite delicacy. Is it not so very different from the waters of Fontaine.”

You racked your brain, trying to recall the taste of Fontaine tap water. “I can’t tell the difference, really.”

“I see.” Neuvillette said and looked down. He sounded vaguely disappointed.

“Demonstrate it to me, then,” you found yourself saying. “I want to understand what you like, since we’re friends after all.”

Neuvillette looked at you then, his eyes widened imperceptibly. “Of course. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

When he returned with several carafes full of identical-looking liquid, you thought to yourself, What have I gotten myself into? But somehow, as you listened to his voice, more animated than you’d ever heard it, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel too annoyed.

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Taglist:@just-simping-over-genshin, @xalphafox, @jqnehr, @favficdump, @thetwinkims

[kirby-manga-translated]

It's Kirby Time Book 9: Coming Very Soon!

For like months now I've been promising I was going to do a translation of the 9th It's Kirby Time picture book, and it is nearly complete at last! I estimate four days MAX until it's posted on here.

But why did it take so long in the first place? Well that's partially because my attention was split between working on it and doing regular chapter updates, but partially because the art in this book is very pretty and I really wanted to do it justice when I covered up the Japanese text. Unfortunately for me, the art is also very complex compared to my usual fare and I'm not much of an artist in the first place. Ordinarily, the English text I put on can help cover some of it up, but the font I use for these books is really thin and barely covers up anything.

There were a few pages in particular that were especially time-consuming for me. Take a look at this two-page spread I just finished:

Gorgeous, right? All those raindrops falling past the leaves... Well, this is what it looked like before:

In order to cover up the script, I had to extend every single raindrop that intersected a piece of it. With a mouse. And occasionally a trackpad when I was doing it on my laptop. And then I still had to fill in the rest of the background as well.

Here's a gif comparing the two if that helps put it in perspective:

So, yeah!! That took a friccin' while!!! And yeah!!!! I'm basically just making this post because I'm finally done and I wanna complain about it!!!!!

For real though, the pages are looking great and because I've spent so much time making them look this good (yeah im tooting my own horn here but i earned it dangit), I'm actually gonna upload all the textless pages alongside the translated book. Not all of them are two-page spreads like this one, but consider this a little teaser for the full thing! Something to whet your appetite, if you will. Here's a link to it on Google Drive: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/19z8WLah-ZGES2jnyZOILJKc9kE75Wvs9?usp=drive_link

And if you don't think it looks that good or don't think covering up all that text sounds that hard,

well

uh

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

Oooh! Hi!!

How are you?

I saw your 1.5k celebration post. First of all: congratulations!!! You're doing amazing!

I'd like to ask Romcom with Wally West. My idea would be something like going on a date and kissing under the rain or something similar.

Thank you in advance and take care! 🌼🌿

thank you sweetie! i hope i did okay since this is my first official post of wally west (i miss him so much in the yj universe😫) fem!reader (1.5k celebration)

for your six month anniversary, wally decided to take both of you to an arcade he used to visit frequently when he was younger. there was a mix of games from the nineties to most recent, there was a small bowling area tucked away in one corner and a snack booth in another.

“just one more try. i can feel it,” wally was hunched over a joystick attached to a claw machine trying to win you a stuffed bunny. it’s been fifteen minutes and this was his seventh try.

you stood behind him with your palms caressing his waist under his flannel, “love it’s alright. i have plenty of plushies from previous dates.” moving to rest your chin on his shoulder as you eyed the slow move of the flimsy silver claw.

“but this would be special since it’s our anniversary. could write the date on its tag so you’ll always be reminded.” he leaned in closer, you worried his eye sight might fail with all this squinting. “plus i… almost… got-“ the bunny was caged in its grasp and hung shakily in the air. you both held your breath as it was dangling over to drop off, then it was free and a bright you win! sign was lit on display.

“told you!” wally spun around so he could hug you tight around the waist and give you a spin. you squealed in delight with your arms secure along his neck, “wally!”

he set you down after three full turns then remembered to grab the prize. “ma’ lady,” he bowed as he presented the soft pink plushie. it was dressed with a bow tie, you can forgive him for taking awhile.

a palm to his right cheek as you pressed a kiss to the left, “thank you, my love. do you wanna get some milkshakes from down the block?” letting your thumb sweep along his freckled skin.

“absolutely. i’m starving.” him and that fast metabolism.

walking hand in hand down the mostly empty sidewalk there was smile conversation passed between you, wally giving you small updates about how the teams doing and you mentioned to him about a cousins wedding that you were invited to and asked if he wanted to be your plus one.

“of course. gotta let everyone know that you’re a taken gal. plus i wanna see you all pretty and sparkly.” his own lips on your cheek as you waited for the crossing light to change.

and then there was a loud rumbling soon followed by a bright light. “no way,” you heard wally mutter. and then heavy, fast rain from the sky descended upon you both. you were drenched within two minutes.

“let’s get-“ “wait.” you stopped wally from pulling you in the direction of dry cover. you smiled with your eyes closed up at the darkened clouds, a joyous feeling growing in your chest.

“baby, we gotta get inside.” wally sounded concerned and that was a rare emotion to appear. “you were sick for a week last month, your immune system needs more rest.”

“i know, worry wart. but-“ you looked at him with a giddiness settling in your pupils, “since it’s our anniversary i have one request that you can’t say no to.”

“if it’ll get us out the rain, absolutely.”

that made you grin cheekily, “can we have a romcom movie kiss in the rain? please? i’ve always wanted one. be the best boyfriend ever and grant me this one lifelong wish.” trying to bat your lashes as a flourish.

wally rolled his eyes put then led the both of you into the pouring rain, the fast raindrops smacking at your head. “bet we’ll get sick.” “oh, you’ll be fine mister speedster.”

wally rested his hands to your hips and you cupped his cheeks with the biggest grin on your face, “happy anniversary.” you practically shouted to be heard over the pounding.

you felt wally squeeze your hips and then he leaned his head to yours. your slippery lips meshed together, the thunder noises drowned out as you let yourself get swept away in the special way only wally west can make you feel.

after a good moment of indulgence wally was the first to pull away, “can we go inside now? you’re starting to feel like killer frost.”

[molly-ghuleh]

Camellia: Copia x f!reader - Chapter 5

Camellia: n. - A flower which symbolizes a deep desire or longing.

Summary: When it rains, it pours, but the drops wash away the uncertainty swimming in your mind.

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: Thank you all for your patience!! I usually try to keep updates going every 10 days or so, but this one's a little late, so I apologize. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!! <3 If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know!!

Warnings: possible descriptions of anxiety, you and Copia being idiots, mutual pining.

AO3 / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

You hadn’t known it was supposed to rain this morning. But now that you tilt your face up towards the gray-blanketed sky, you remember that it had been rather dark when you and Copia stepped out of the kitchens. The breeze around you feels sharp and the birds have gone quiet since you emerged from the flower labyrinth. The leaves—small and sparse after having just budded for spring—turn over to reveal their pale undersides. A sure sign of a rainstorm. 

As you hold your finger in front of your face to observe the rain drop that had landed on your nose, another falls on the top of your head. Beside you, Copia also lifts his head to look at the sky. He squints and flinches a bit when a drop lands in the middle of his forehead. “Ah, cazzo,” he mumbles, and uses his free hand to swipe it off. The raindrops are fat and heavy, and they scatter the tiny stones of the gravel path under your shoes when they fall. 

Another drop lands on your shoulder. “Should we go inside?” you ask. Immediately you realize that it is a stupid question. Of course you should go inside, crétin. It’s about to rain and you have no idea how long you’ve been outside for. 

That nagging thought tugs at the back of your awareness. The thought that you shouldn’t be taking up so much of Copia’s—Papa’s—time. He’s a busy man, and he probably doesn’t have time to walk the entire garden path during working hours. 

But… he had offered. And if you could, you’d walk the entire loop just to spend more time talking with him. 

“Yes… that is probably a good idea,” Copia answers with a small smile. 

He doesn’t want to go inside. He wants to keep holding your hand, keep walking on the secluded garden path until the sun goes down and it grows too cold to stay outside. And even then, he wants to take you back to his office, light a fire, and share a kettle of tea with you and talk some more. Maybe kiss you once or twice, if you’d be willing. Satan knows he would be. 

But you can’t spend what could very well be your last full day at the Abbey just killing time. He knows he should take you back and walk with you to the library. Copia knows he should encourage you to keep trying with Elizabeth’s diary until Sister Imperator is literally pushing you out the door, but he wants more time. He needs more time with you. This can’t be over yet, it can’t. It hasn’t even started, this thing that exists between you. 

The trees begin to shift a little more, a soft whooshing sound blowing with the breeze as the leaves and coniferous needles brush together. 

You blink once, twice, and then it’s pouring. 

“Diable ci-dessous!” you curse, swiping your free hand over your face as if that would help keep the water out of your eyes. The rain very quickly soaks through your habit and the wind bites at your skin. 

Copia squeezes your hand. “Sorella, come, come!” He tugs you into a run along the path. The gravel crunches and moves under your feet, making you both stumble every few steps. Your hands clutch together like a lifeline. 

Through the sound of the ever-growing rainstorm, you can hear the shouts of Siblings working in the garden who had also been caught in the weather. You can’t discern any words. The wind and the rain and the sound of your soaked shoes drowns out anything else, except for the bright laughter bubbling up from the man beside you. 

The rain falls in sheets, and you find yourself laughing with Copia. It’s ridiculous, this situation you’ve found yourself in. Like the sky had heard you speak to each other about your less-than-ideal childhoods, and decided to provide you with the clouds over your heads in a more literal sense. 

It takes you a moment to realize that Copia isn’t leading you back up the path towards the Abbey. You’re still running on the gravel past the greenhouses, which are teeming with Siblings hiding from the storm. Looking up through rain-soaked lashes you see the approaching silhouette of the tiny, sort-of-abandoned chapel in the far corner of the Abbey grounds. You can’t make out any details through the rain except for the small spire with its inverted cross. 

Your heart jumps at the thought of being cooped up in the small space with Copia until the rain subsides.

“Here!” Copia calls. He surges forward to the door of the chapel and almost loses your hand in the process. It takes him two tries before he can shoulder the door open, and then he’s practically dragging you over the threshold. His leather gloves are soaked and slippery, but his grip on you tightens until you’re both inside and safe from the rain. He closes the door behind you and it slams against the threshold with a creak and a loud rap of the ancient brass knocker. 

Then, you’re alone. It’s quiet inside the chapel, save for the storm pelting against the old, warped panels of stained glass along the side walls and the frantic beating of your heart in your ears. 

You wonder why a chapel has a knocker. 

You also wonder why such a pretty, quaint little chapel isn’t used anymore. The inside is lined with dark wood pews on either side of a carpeted aisle. The door is made of the same wood, as is the modest pulpit stationed at the front of the room. It stands on a raised platform, and behind it is another, higher platform with what looks to be a long table sheathed in a black cloth which reaches down to the floor. On either side of the pulpit are elaborate iron candelabras empty of any candles. 

The windows on either side of the chapel aren’t elaborate like that of the main Abbey. They each depict a single inverted cross of clear glass, with red stained glass filling the negative space of the arched windows. The walls are thick and built of stone, and each window lines up with a pew. Several books, which you infer are unholy prayer or hymn books, are perched on each windowsill, and you’re very suddenly reminded of Marseille. The stone walls, the tall, narrow windows, the old wood, the books on the sill. 

For a moment, you’re home and you’re very near to tears. 

“Cara,” Copia says softly from behind you. In your reverie you’d turned around to take in every little detail and your back is now facing him. His hand still holds yours, although you’re sure the soggy leather must be making your (and his) fingertips prune. 

Copia had watched you, watched your eyes flit around the chapel as you turned on the spot. He remembers what you told him about your home and realizes that this little building must remind you of it. He had watched your face alight in unrealized comfort and he had watched as your eyes grew glassy when you made the connection. He calls out to you. Cara, he says, and he means it. You are dear to him and it surprises him just how quickly you’d managed to become that way. 

You turn back to him, trying very hard not to let the tears building in the corners of your eyes slip down your already-wet cheeks. But then you see his face. Oh, your poor Papa, his face. 

One might think, for a Ministry with worldwide influence and many, many resources, they might be able to afford waterproof, smudge-proof paints for their esteemed leader, but they hadn’t. 

“Oh, no,” you giggle. It bubbles up in your chest and escapes your lips without your intent. And then your giggle turns into a rather unattractive snort and a full laugh, because your poor Papa looks like Hell. His paints are running down his face and dripping onto his leather vest. The black rings around his eyes have been tracked down his cheeks so that he looks like an overdramatic actress with terrible mascara. The pigment on his lips and beside his mouth have smudged so badly with the rain that he looks as if he’d drank a gallon of black paint. The white paint has almost completely run off, except for where it settles in the creases beside his mouth and between his brows. 

All together, he looks like a rather soggy zebra. 

Copia pouts at you. “What?”

You wish you had a mirror to show him. Part of you feels horrible for laughing at Papa, but you know that the man behind the paint will also find it rather funny. Slightly embarrassing at worst. “Your–” you try to stifle your giggles. “Your paints, they’re…” 

Copia’s eyes widen in realization. “They’re… not waterproof, no,” he says flatly. “Satana, devo sembrare uno stupido.”

He peels his sodden gloves off his hands and stuffs them in the front pocket of his pants. He swipes a finger under his eye and brings it back to find that his fingertip is gray and patchy. 

“No, you don’t look like an idiot,” you try to soothe him, although you’re still slightly laughing. “You simply… look like a man who was caught in a rainstorm with a full face of paints.” “Sì, so, like an idiot.” 

Copia begins trying to wipe his face with his sleeve. It does nothing to actually remove the paint, instead just smudging around his damp skin. Though, you’re beginning to see that his cheeks burn a pretty red through the streaks of whitish-gray paint, and his ears are nearly completely red. You guess that his face might feel just as hot as your own. 

He huffs in frustration, flicking his wet sleeve and causing water droplets to smack against the stone floor. “Dannazione,” he mutters to himself. “Shitty paints making me look like a…”

You remove your veil and bandeau—which are nearly plastered to your head from the torrential downpour—and wring them out. “Sit,” you command gently. Gesturing to one of the pews nearby, you fold your veil into a neat square. 

When Copia continues mumbling to himself and fruitlessly wiping his face, you reach out and tug his sleeve away. “Copia,” you say again, “Asseyez-vous.”

Copia reluctantly obeys. He knows his face is completely red now, for multiple reasons. It’s cold, for one—the rain had felt like tiny daggers of ice even through his shirt, and now that the two of you are in a drafty little chapel with soaked clothes, the air feels even colder. He’d also made a complete and total ass of himself, thanks to the rain. He’d spent so long this morning leaning against his mirror, going over and over the black paints to make sure each line was crisp and clean and perfect in the off-chance he might see you today. It had made him late arriving at his office, but it had led him to bump into you just minutes after his paints had dried, which is when they look their best, in his opinion. 

But the primary reason his face is practically glowing is because you’d commanded him in French. The language sounds sinful on your tongue. And spoken in that gentle but insistent tone… oh, he could come apart from just your words. You could string him along forever if you only speak like that. 

He sits on the edge of a pew with a sigh. Copia knows he’s being ridiculous—it’s only paint—but he’d spent an embarrassingly long time on it in the hopes it might impress you, and here he is, looking like an idiot. 

You approach him. You’re taller than him like this, so he has to tilt his face up to meet your eyes. Before you can overthink, before you can begin to question yourself, you gently reach out to place a finger under his chin and lift his head up a bit more. “Let me,” you say, almost a whisper. Your finger remains on his chin, keeping his head in place as you place your damp veil against his brow and begin to wipe. 

Surprisingly, the fabric of your veil is much more effective than his shirt, and the paint comes off easily. “Oh,” you say, lifting your brows in mild surprise. “It’s working.” 

You notice that Copia’s eyes slid closed at some point. “It feels nice,” he tells you softly. 

“It’s French,” you say with a little huff of laughter, which Copia echoes. 

Yes, he had meant that the fabric of your veil feels nice against his skin. But mostly he had meant that your finger gently tipping his head back feels like so much, all at once, and he doesn’t have words for any of it. It feels like it belongs there. He wants to touch you back, but where? And would you be okay with it, his hands on your hips or your waist or the backs of your thighs? 

So, he settles for shutting his eyes and clenching his hands on his knees to resist pulling you closer. You’re standing between his knees, which are spread wide enough to accommodate you without touching the sides of your legs.

He wants something. Something innocent, not presumptuous, because he really doesn’t know how you feel about him at all. He lets his legs fall closed a bit more, until the bends of his knees just barely brush against your legs. His pants and your habit are absolutely soaked but he can feel the warmth of your skin through the fabric, and oh, he’d never guess that leg-to-leg contact could feel so intimate. 

Copia opens his eyes when you gently drag your finger over his hairline to brush back the hair stuck to his forehead. You’re so focused on your task, as you always are. Your hands are cold and gentle as you wipe away his ruined paints. He wants to take your hands and kiss every finger until they’re warm again. 

Slowly, carefully, you uncover new expanses of Copia’s face with each pass of your veil. You press a little firmer into the lines along his forehead and between his brows to completely clear his skin. His eyes are closed again, and you’re partially grateful because if he had looked at you like that any longer, you might have leaned down and kissed him. His freckled cheeks or his strong nose or his lips, you don’t know. 

Somewhere between wiping the paint from his mustache and chuffing your veil under his chin, you begin to shake. 

“Tesoro.”

“Hm?”

“You are cold,” Copia says, his voice barely above a whisper. You can feel his warm breath on your fingers as you drag your paint-ruined veil over a spot of white you’d missed. 

“I’m alright,” you say. It’s partially true. Yes, you’re cold, but you don’t want to think about it or else you’ll really be cold and there’s nothing here to warm you up. Realistically you know it’s your habit; it’s soaked through and so are your socks and shoes. But it’s also the realization coursing through you that you have feelings for this man. 

Lucifer, they had developed quickly. It had been so easy for him to push past the barriers you’d set up around your heart and mind. He’d just walked right in, lit a cozy fire within your soul and asked you to call him Copia. And you let him. He’s carving a place in your life that you’d gladly have him occupy, and it scares you. 

He makes you forget why you try not to get attached. He looks at you and you forget the pain of leaving everything behind when you were eleven, which you are deathly afraid of having to do again. 

You’re brought out of your thoughts when Copia’s ungloved hand gently takes yours. You cringe at how clammy your hands must be compared to his warm ones, but you don’t pull away. “Sathanas, tesoro, your hands are like ice,” he says. His other hand comes atop yours to sandwich it between his own. 

You feel like you need to run. Your heart kicks against your sternum as your eyes meet his own. 

Copia’s face is bare now. His freckles stretch across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose, with a few scattered on his forehead and chin. You want to rip your hand out from between his own and tumble out the door into the rain. You want to bring him closer and trace little patterns into his freckles. Satan, you don’t know what you want. 

You want to protect yourself from hurting again. 

Copia, on the other hand, knows exactly what he wants. But he can practically see your mind working, churning back and forth between whatever turmoil is going on inside your head. As he sits in front of you, he can see the exact moment when you begin to panic. He can feel your hand begin to shake in his. He knows you’re not blind, or ignorant. He knows that you both know there is something happening, that it has been happening since you met, that it’s big. And he knows you’re scared of it, what it could become, what it could mean. Darling, he knows.

So, he stays silent. If he says anything or does anything, you’ll flee. This thing between the two of you is delicate, so delicate and new and foreign that any sudden movement will shatter the careful balance you hold in the little chapel. Anything but silence will cave the roof in and drench you all over again. Copia stays silent and holds your hand through your own tempest, and lets your eyes explore his face in search of answers he hopes you’ll find.

“I don’t want to go,” you whisper after another moment. “I want to stay and figure it out.” 

Copia doesn’t know if you’re talking about Elizabeth’s diary, or this thing between you and him, or both. Honestly, neither do you. 

He squeezes your hand tenderly. “Let’s get you back to the Abbey then, eh?” 

“It’s—” your eyes dart to a window, “it’s still pouring, Copia.” Copia simply smiles at you, leaning in as if to tell you a secret. “What’s a little rain going to do, cara? Ruin my paints?” 

~~~

By the time you make it back up the hill, to your dorm, to the shower, and into dry clothes, the lunch hour is long gone. You hadn’t realized how long you’d spent with Copia that morning. It had been just past nine when you left Sister Imperator’s office, and now it is well past two in the afternoon. Somehow it felt like only minutes had passed in the cozy little chapel, and in that chapel you made the terrifying realization that no matter how long you spend with him, it will never be enough. 

You can’t think about that right now. 

Right now, you need to get to the restricted room. You’re halfway out the door of your temporary dormitory, slipping on your only spare pair of shoes as you desperately hold onto the idea you had when you and Copia were about halfway up the hill. 

With your shoes already soaked through, you and Copia had struggled to find traction on the sodden grass. With each step you found yourself slipping backwards, hands flying through the air until you regained your balance, or until Copia firmly grasped it in his own and didn’t let go. The two of you trekked your way up the hill, slipping and sliding and giggling at the absurdity of it all. Your hand would find his own whenever it would slip from his grasp, like they were magnetized. It felt natural, seeking his hand. Even if it was only for balance. 

As you slowly made your way up the hill, soaked and shivering, one thought prevailed in your mind. You only have today, you kept thinking. If you don’t figure out the diary, you’ll only have today. 

It was true of two situations. You have one word of the diary—Today—and you have only today if you can’t decipher the rest. 

You took a step forward, and slid back slightly. Copia’s hand steadied you. 

Only today. Elizabeth. Today. Copia. Today. 

Today. 

You’d stopped completely, just standing in the near-freezing rain. Copia had looked back at you like you were insane (which you might be), and tugged on your hand again. “What is it?” He’d shouted over the rain. 

You’d begun to climb the hill with a renewed vigor. “Today!” 

Copia had no idea what you’d meant by today, but he couldn’t question it when you were pulling him up the hill. It was like you’d suddenly found your footing in the wet grass, and he was glad of it. His shoes were completely drenched and he was shivering nearly as violently as you were. He didn’t need to understand what you were talking about right now. All that mattered was getting you (and himself) out of the cold. He can ask you later. 

Later, he’d thought. Would there be a later?

Yes, there would. As he watched you climb the hill towards the kitchen door, still clinging to his hand and helping him up, he’d decided there would be a later. Sister Imperator may control every other aspect of the Abbey and his life, but not this one. Not you. 

The Siblings working in the kitchen had looked at the two of you like you were crazy when you burst through the door, sopping wet and dripping onto the tile. Perhaps it was a mix of confusion and surprise—you’d wager that none of them had seen Copia without his paints before. You feel immensely privileged that you’d been the first, that you’d been the one to take them off. You’d been the one to strip away Papa. 

“Eh,” Copia had said, looking back and forth between you and the Brother who had smiled at you earlier, “We— I— sorry. We’ll be going, yes—”

He’d grabbed your hand again and pulled you through the kitchens the way you came that morning. Once you both had stepped out into the refectory, which was thankfully empty at this time of day, Copia stopped again. The sounds of his ruffled shirt and your habit dripping on the floor echoed in the large room. “Be honest with me, cara. How bad is it?” 

You’d struggled to hold in a laugh. “It’s… not as bad as you think,” you’d told him. In truth, it wasn’t. But you realized then that you’d missed a spot of paint in his hairline, which now trailed down his forehead in a distinct white line. Without thinking twice, you reached up to swipe it away with your thumb. “I can’t imagine I look any better.” 

Copia huffed a laugh through his nose. “We… should probably go get cleaned up,” he’d said. “I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.” 

“You either, Papa,” you said, and Copia had mourned the loss of his name on your lips. He understands—within the walls of the Abbey, he is Papa and you are Sorella. But perhaps he could make an exception for you. 

You and Copia had parted ways then, to wash up and resume your duties. All the way back to your dorm and through the time it took to shower and change, you’d recited the word today in your head like a prayer. Even now, as you quickly walk through the corridors on the path you've taken every day for the past week, you repeat today, today, today as if you would lose the thought if you didn’t.

If Elizabeth is the key to the first word, perhaps today is the key to the second. Two steps forward, one step back. The hill in the rain. You must look back before you can forge ahead.

With practiced ease, you open the diary’s lockbox and place it onto your usual desk. Having donned the pristine white gloves again, you unfold the linen and the gold embossment on the cover catches your eye. You smile. Soon, you promise to Elizabeth, you will live again in these pages.

The familiar string of letters greets you as you open to the first page of writing. You write the sequence again on a blank sheet in your notebook, the letters flowing from your pen with ease after having written them hundreds of times already. 

LzlhelzhkxbgwfqmnJkcfolBfbalBoiovtsheq.

You already know that the first five letters translate to today, so you cross them out. Underneath the next letters, you write hodie again and again, as you’d done with the word Elizabeth the first time. Your hands are shaking. Please, please, please…

You trace your finger over the letter grid, quickly mapping each letter of the cipher to its partner in the key. L of the cipher and the H of the key map to an E on the grid. You jot down a messy E. Z of the cipher, o of the key, l on the grid. And so on, until you’re confident you’ve found the next word when the deciphered letters stop making sense. 

The second word in the line reads electus. Chosen. 

Without translating the whole sentence, hodie electus could mean a number of things. Word order does not matter in Latin—hodie could be the subject of the sentence, or the object, or an arbitrary time frame. 

Your heart is beating hard in your ears. You continue, using electus as the new cipher key. 

The next word is sum. The Latin word for self, or I. 

Hodie electus sum. Today I was chosen. 

Sweet Satan, you think. Your breath comes shallow and quick. Holy Hell, I’ve figured it out.

You continue, your hands flying back and forth between the corresponding letters of each new key and the grid, double and triple checking to make sure you map the correct letters. Your head feels light, your chest heavy. Like if you dared to look away from the diary or your notebook or the grid, you’d find that you were wrong. You must translate this first sentence before it shifts and your idea doesn’t fit anymore. 

It’s easy to find where the first sentence ends, because it is isolated in its own paragraph in the diary. That also tells you that it’s an important statement; important enough to be separate from the rest of the text, which is a continuous flow of letters down the page. 

The final word of the cipher confirms your suspicions that Elizabeth wanted to keep her diary a secret for a long time. The final word deciphers as Papae, the Latin possessive form of Papa. 

Hodie electus sum ut Primus Motor Papae.

Today I was chosen to be Papa’s Prime Mover.

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

Tag list: @bonelessghoul @gbatesx @the-did-i-ask @leah-halliwell92 @archive-obsess @rosacrose @nikkyatyourservice @sodoswitchimage @portaltothevoid @lightbluuestars @thesoundresoundsecho @stephnthangss @enchantedbunny @jackson5611-blog @copiasprincipessa @kadedoesthings @justheretoreadleavemealone

[sotwk]

WIP Snippet Game: Taken (Eomer x Reader)

I was tagged in a few snippet games last month, but I haven't had anything decent to share until now!

Thank you for the tags, @hobbitwrangler @lathalea @sverdgeir @cuarthol! (and I might have missed someone else, it's been that long, LOL). And a tag for @scyllas-revenge is mandatory at this point.

Snippet from Taken, Part 3

It is only for several weeks, you told yourself, to ease the weight of doubt that sat upon your chest. As you turned to walk back toward the cottage, a fierce wind rose and ripped off the cloak that was loosely draped over your shoulders. With a startled cry you grabbed for it, but not quickly enough to save it from landing in a large puddle. You retrieved the soaked fabric from the mud with a sigh. A fat raindrop landed squarely on the top of your uncovered head, and was immediately followed by another and another. Spontaneous rain had been pouring on and off over Gondor since the King’s coronation, and you heard the locals welcome and praise this tumultuous weather as a blessing, a sign of war’s filth being washed away to cleanse the lands for rebirth.  Shielding your eyes from the sudden deluge, you looked up at the roiling clouds overhead, further entranced by the sight of jagged lightning flashing over the White Mountains.  But when your gaze dropped back down to the horizon, you were alarmed to notice a horsed figure crossing the fields through the storm, approaching fast, in your direction.  It was him. Without proof of his face or voice, or even the support of logic, you just knew. It was him.  The very thought of that froze you, mind and body, in place. Pale and immobile and increasingly drenched, you stood like a deeply rooted tree while the rider drew closer and closer, on a horse powerful enough to sustain its determined gait over the sodden ground and lashing winds. Dumbfounded and dazed, you remained, until at last he came to a stop just several yards away. He dismounted Firefoot, his heavy boots squelching in the muck, and that sound snapped you to your senses.  “My lord,” you rushed forward with the soiled cloak twisted uselessly between your hands. “The stables are around the back. Let me take Firefoot there while you get out of this rain.” “I shall stable him,” Éomer said sternly, but not unkindly, to warn you against arguing. “Go and wait for me inside the house.”

The Tumblr post for Taken (Part 1) is just 3 notes away from 500 notes, which is the highest count by far that any of my fics have!

I am so happy this story has resonated with readers and Éomer lovers, and I am so grateful to everyone who continues to support it even though I'm so very slow with updates.

I keep your kind words in mind as I work hard to finish this "last" chapter. <3 Please wish me energy and inspo. Lots of love to you all!

[juvenillia]

~ Death of Peace of Mind ~ 03: friends

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader

photo credits go to very talented @ave661

a/n: Johnny holds my heart, so of course he will play an important role in this story as well, and as I said before the fic is slow burn but I try to push it a bit further with the next chapters. Gonna try to update every week at least two times | reblogs and comments are highly appreciated, let me hear what you think pls

CW/TW: mentions of loss, rejection, smoking, guilt, ptsd, shutting off due to mental health issues

wordcount: 2.1k

prev | masterlist | next

The rest of the day went on without anymore incidents. You literally tried to avoid Soap and Ghost, not being fond of furthermore discussions or chats. After the rookies were dismissed, you simply asked Price for any other things to accomplish, but he denied the request. Therefore, you went off as fast as possible before the other Seargent could get a grip of you. You decided to make a spontaneous visit at the shooting range. Pulling the trigger with the rest of temper your heart hold, until your stomach told you about some other essential needs.

Afterwards you went quite early to get some dinner, just before you took a cold shower. There you also met the girl next door; her name was Beth. She was way to open, and the bruises at her neck just confirmed a theory about her. It was still pretty chill outside, so you decided to take a book and headed to the patio. The breeze of the wind tangling in your hair, what was still braided together, just a bit looser than usual. Your hair was still a bit dump from the shower, but you didn’t mind.

A cup of tea besides you and the book in your hands. This was kind of therapeutic, shutting your mind blank for a few minutes. A few minutes for your peace of mind. You didn’t know how long you were seated here. From time to time there were other soldiers or recruits passing by, greeting you politely but leaving you alone. Just when it the sun started to set you decided to have your usual evening smoke, before heading in back to your room again.

You put your bookmark in between the pages you stopped. It was a thin piece of cardboard, onto it a colorful drawing of thick grey clouds, just beneath you could find some tiny raindrops, falling down onto a trunk. On top of the wooden piece were placed a black pigeon, a grey dog who would wear a little golden crown. Your thumb brushed carefully over the paper, hardly scared that it would get destroyed if you would touch it too harsh. A lump formed in the back of your throat while you closed the book and put it aside.

Pulling out the box of cigarettes you kept close to you all the time. Opening the box, pulling out the lighter of the box and a fag. You ignited the drug between your fingers and inhaled deeply. Eying the little metallic device in your hand, which had two koi engraved on to it which danced delightful in a circle before pushing it back into the box and back into the pocket you originally found it. You leaned further into the backrest, head falling back while you exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. Let yourself get once more entangled in your own thoughts, but for once you allowed yourself to. Closing you eyes to actually think back to the happy memories replaying.

In the meantime, Soap and Gaz were seated at the canteen, eating their burgers. They tasted like you would never want one ever again, but it was still a welcomed change of food choices. “You’re messing with me!”, Kyle cried out and Soap signaled him to keep his voice low. “Never! I told you, just like that and she was on top of him.”, Johnny explained all over excited again. He grabbed the glass of juice in front of him. “Why didn’t you take a picture?!”, his friend asked him with a hint of disbelief still laying in his voice. “An donas dubh!” [By the devil!] – “English, MacTavish.” – “God dammit, I’m such a roaster. I didn’t think of it!”, Gaz only laughed and ate up to his burger.

“She really stirring up on us, huh?” Johnny let out a chuckle. “True though. I think she’ll just need a bit time to warm up with us. Bonnie is lovely. Just doubting that Lt will…”, his voice a bit falling in the end but remaining as soft as possible. “Find quite a liking in her already? Don't fall for her, mate.”, Gaz teased before going on, “Look, he needed quite some time with us too and he still do, though. Everything will turn out great. Price just knows us too well, for her not to fit in.”, the Brit looking with hopeful eyes at his comrade and Johnny only smiled slightly. “I really hope so.” – “So, I believe we shouldn’t tease Simon about it, huh?”, Gaz stated while pushing the empty plate a bit further on to the table to make space for his arms too lean on. “Defiently not. Even if it’s tempting.” – “Let me guess, your blood was running cold again.” – “Aye, he really dinnea think it’s funny at all.” The two laughed wholehearted before returning their empty dishes and started walking out of the canteen.

Your hand was still clinging around the back of the leathery book from earlier. The taste of the cigarette long forgotten you made your way back to your barrack. Unfortunately, you had to cross ways with the common room, to get back to your own chambers. There were little prayers running through your head, that maybe nobody would be in there, so you could easily spend the rest of the evening alone. To your disgrace they were all seated around. Price placed in a comfy looking armchair holding to a book himself, Gaz all stretched out on a couch scrolling through his phone while chatting with Soap, Ghost simply being present with Soap sitting beside him on the other couch. The Scotsman immediately took notice of your figure and waved you over with a pleasant smile. "Skadi, come sit with us."

Price turned around and gave you his soft smile, an invitation to join them. You really wished to just vanish immediately, but Gaz already shuffled on the couch to make room for you to sit. He patted the place next to him with a smile on his lips. "We won't bite.", he added before you could even deny. With a sigh you entered the room and took the place next to him. "Even if we would, you knew how to handle us. Right, Lieutenant.", Gaz added in a teasing tone what only earned him an annoyed groan from Ghost. Yes Soap warned him before, but that could not stop him from at least a little friendly teasing. Would hurt nobody, right? "What are ya reading?", Soap asked to change the subject abruptly. You bet they talked about it. Of course, they talked about it. You eyes slightly lingering on the stern man, sitting with his arms crossed across from you, before turning your attention back to the Scot.

You held out the book and earned a surprised look from Gaz. "Horror novels?" - "Yeah, I like them.", your tone was soft but still distant. Price looked at the cover as Soap took the book out of your hands and eying the cover. "I dinnea like that genre." The Scot said while handing you the book back. "Cause you're a scared little lad." Gaz teased while putting his phone away. "Nae! We have seen enough horror, eh.", he exclaimed while you were brushing your thumb over the cover yourself, "That's kinda the point.", you started and let your glance wander over to the man across from you, "it's nearly comical what people see as horrifying stories when I think about every bloody hell we walked through."

A little sting in your chest. Completely unintentionally you used the term we, not I. Of course, you assumed that it because everyone of you would have seen things you rather like to erase from your memories, but still, you couldn't speak for them. You didn’t know them. You noticed as you investigated the face from the men across of you. Ghost kept his stern expression, but you could've sworn his brows moved again. It would really take you some time till you could read him properly. Another challenge you gladly accepted. Maybe he was still angry at you. "Makes sense.", Price stated quiet, looking up from his book.

Soap only looked at you with the same expression you saw earlier when you pinned his - well now also your - Lieutenant down the mat. Your brows raised at him. "Bloody hell, stop looking at me so gobsmacked!", you exhaled your accent a bit thicker than usual and with ending your sentence you could only see that his eyes widened even more. Gaz couldn't suppress a laugh and placed his hand on his chest while leaning further into the couch. Price chuckled low and you thought that even Ghost shoulders loosen even the tiniest bit.

"Yer are a Brit?!", Soap exhaled still in shock. You blinked in confusion and Gaz laughter only rise. "What did you thought I am?", you asked him a bit amused about the whole situation. "I dinnea, but not expecting you to be one of them.", he gestured with his hands rushed over the other people in the room in a circular movement. "Especially when you understood me quite well, all day." He added still in disbelief. "He's only mad that the first person that doesn’t insult him for his Scottish is just another Brit.", Gaz breathed out between his laughs. "I told ya, I'm good with languages, Soap.", you stated with a soft smile on your lips. This whole thing felt way to familiar, dangerously familiar.

Ghost watched the scene in front of him and wasn’t so fond of it. Everyone accepted you with no second thoughts, but even worse they already trusted you. He had to remind the two Sergeants later, that this trust could be their doom and that they needed to be a bit more careful. Keeping a save distant and letting you earn their trust. Yes, you deserved the place in the team when Price invited you already, but still you felt to him like an intruder. He had no relatives to care for besides this team. Even if he hated Price for his ongoing 'team is family' speeches, but deep-down Simon knew he was right and he would never let someone risk their wellbeing. He would rather be being hated, than seeing someone of those three men next to him get hurt. No matter if it was mentally or physically. He would take care of every threat coming their way. That's what he saw in you at the moment the most, a threat. A threat to the only thing he holds dear to him.

"A c'mon lassie, just call me Johnny.", Soaps sudden words cut through the air like a sharp knife. If the Lieutenant was a bit loose before, he was all tensed up again. Price gave an approval nod, but you could feel something breaking inside of you. Johnny, oh sweet pure Johnny. His so expecting blue eyes searching for yours. You couldn't hold his gaze and looked down to your hands on the book still resting in your lap. There was a reason everyone introduced them with their callsign. A reason you knew too well. You could compare it to a pig you needed to slaughter one day. Give it a name and you weren't able to do it anymore.

You exhaled with a sigh; your eyes still pinned onto the book. "Look...", you started, and you could already feel how his face faltered. "Don't wanna be rude, really, but I'm not here to make friends.", you explained quickly. If you would have looked up you could see his sunken brows, his head slowly started hanging and a little "Oh, sure...", escaped his lips. There was one rule you were not allowed to break: Do not grow attached. Do not let emotions deceive your point of view. Don’t let history repeat itself.

"Sorry... gonna call it a night and we have to head out early anyways" You added quickly while pushing yourself up and walking back to your room. You didn't even bother to wait for another response. At this point you wished Johnny could've been more like the stern and distant Lieutenant. Ghost wouldn't let you in, he would work with you and at a minimum tolerate you around and that's it. It wasn't difficult that way. Something you'd preferred rather than looking in those hopeful eyes just to see them losing their shine. Just like you saw too many times before. You threw yourself onto your bed and just hoped, that you could be able to sleep tonight. You needed the rest before heading out early tomorrow.

taglist: open just lmk

@yyiikes @saffronimagines @originaldeerhottub

[ryind]

SPOILERS FOR OPPENHEIMER BY THE WAY BECAUSE I HAVE WAY TOO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS MOVIE AND WANT TO DISSECT IT

Okay so I know there are some very reasonable and valuable complaints, comments, and criticisms about Oppenheimer and how it handles the ACTUAL victims of the war, martyrizing Oppenheimer, an arguably very gray character in reality for more reasons than the atomic bomb and...trying to poison his mentor. You know. The basics.

THAT SAID I AM GOING ABSOLUTELY FERAL FOR CILLIAN MURPHY'S PORTRAYAL OF OPPENHEIMER LIKE I HAVE A 3 IN 1 DEAL FOR HYPERFIXATIONS RIGHT NOW I THINK BECAUSE WE HAVE THE ACTUAL MOVIE, CILLIAN, AND THEN OPPENHEIMER. AGH. LOSING MY MIND. PICKING APART EVERY SCENE AND DETAIL WHILE ALSO GUSHING ABOUT CILLIAN'S PERFORMANCE.

on that note here's some things I worked out about the movie, or rather, my takes on them for those curious (some of these are definitely a stretch, but I like seeing how far I can push a metaphor once I find one, so here we go):

Lotta controversy about the "I am become death" quote during the sex scene, which, fair. I can see why they included it though, upon reflection. In the moment, it just feels like a strange foreshadowing of the bomb itself, which did Not resonate with me and seemed fairly jarring, but upon closer inspection, I think the relevance of that quote in *that* context is that this is the first person Oppenheimer lost. Jean needed Oppenheimer, and he blamed himself for her suicide (or murder, maybe). This was the first time he "became death, destroyer of worlds"; the first marble in the bowl, which mirrors Oppie's reaction to the bomb's actual detonation quite well, too, I think. Something terrible has just happened, and yet the expectation is that Oppenheimer shows up and pretends all is well and he isn't horribly damaged, just martyring on.

SECOND

The orange from Rabi might be a bit deep or I might be a bit stupid. Oranges tend to symbolize positivity and aid, so being told to eat one by a friend in his most vulnerable moment is a kindness, hence some symbolism there. I did unpack this deeper though, say, such that oranges need to be peeled to get to the sweetness, and they are one of the sweetest citrus fruits, though they maintain their tang. This represents perfectly how the orange delivery felt in that scene; sweetness from Rabi in a moment of vulnerability, the orange peel gone, the bitter and trauma numbed exterior of Oppenheimer stripped away for just a moment before the sour slammed back in full force. Also just. Really stretching it but oranges being segmented could both represent a fractured mind AND the different perspectives on Oppenheimer as a whole and his reputation to this day.

Oh and General Groves when telling Oppenheimer he's essentially done with him but will ..try? To keep in contact? And update him?? He's buttoning up his coat if I remember right, mirroring his guard getting put up as he ends his amicable dealings and negotiations with Oppenheimer, adding layers and making himself less vulnerable. Oppie, meanwhile, smokes as the quiet, socially acceptable way to perform an anxious ritual.

Also the RAIN. Don't have this one fully unpacked yet and maybe never will but Cillian in an interview mentioned that Nolan described Oppenheimer as "dancing between the raindrops" and this has only half clicked with me but oh well here we go. The basic idea is likely that Oppenheimer doesn't abide by just one grouping of people or their ideas, or hop on any flow bound for one particular destination. Rather, he dances in the space between; in the uncertainty that looms closer towards the ground the further things fall. I think this works decently with what I've listened to and read about Oppenheimer as a person, saying he'd follow recent physics, always growing impatient with the current field he was in and seeking something more...I don't like the use of this word in relation to science but "trendy." I guess the dust particles and whatnot in the headspace sequences work in line with the whole rain theory too in terms of how Oppenheimer doesn't just think about the interactions and the space between, but lives and breathes it as the space between the raindrops; between those that make the biggest splashes, as he gets caught in the ripples. Also given his anti-war rhetoric throughout the movie I feel like there's maybe a fire/water thing going on with him trying to quench the bomb he created but ultimately failing? Who knows. Maybe it's just rain.

Anyways here's all the ramblings I did to myself to reach these conclusions. They are incomprehensible.

[harringtonswriting]

the one with the upside down kisses | s.h.

summary: steve has something he's always wanted to try, and when a raining evening comes along, he can't help but want to try it out with you (modern!au; spidey!steve universe) pairing: steve harrington x gn!reader warning(s): some language, some slightly suggestive content word count: 2.1k notes: hi hi!!! i'm back and i'm here to humbly offer my own take on spidey!steve. emma and i have been discussing this for a while and i decided i wanted to try writing this; i love it, and i really hope that you do as well! this is just a small piece for now, but if you wanna see more spidey!steve in the future, please feel free to let me know and to send in requests for him! if this is something people wanna see more of, i do have more plans for future fics/blurbs for him as well 👀 enjoy!

...

It starts raining just after dinner. You hear the raindrops start to beat against your kitchen window as you’re doing dishes, and you don’t mind the quiet rhythmic sound of the rain hitting the glass as it mixes with the music you have playing at a low volume. It’s just you tonight–you’d come home to an empty apartment after work, a scribbled note from your boyfriend on your kitchen counter (and a bag of chips that he’d left open next to it, and a pile of his clothes on the floor) letting you know that he’d been there, but had to run off to assist with a bank robbery, but he loves you very much (and you need more snacks).

You’d slipped the note inside the drawer of your desk with all the others he’s written to you over the last few months since you’d started dating, all the different colours of sticky notes gathered together in your own little collage of Steve. Sometimes you pull them out when you’re having a bad day, or if you’re worried about his safety (especially if things look rough on the news, though you don’t take anything the Daily Bugle says to heart unless it’s something written by Nancy), to read through.

You then grab his clothes and take them to the bathroom to throw them in the hamper before you head back to the kitchen to settle into your nightly routine of getting changed out of your work clothes and into something comfy, and cooking dinner for yourself. You know Steve’ll be going on patrol after he finishes up with the bank robbery, most likely until much later, but you hope he’ll stop by after if it isn’t too late. He usually does, either swinging in through your living room window, or through his own window to change and then come over to yours (though he’s basically moved in with you at this point, so it’s not often he goes to his own place first).

Once you finish the dishes, leaving them to dry in the rack on the counter, you take your phone and sit on the couch to flip through things to watch while you scroll through your phone–you check the latest updates from #SpideyFails because Steve isn’t here to pout about accidentally clotheslining himself on a streetlight again, and then respond to some texts from Robin and look at the ten different pictures of Ozzy that Eddie’s sent you. The rain is still going strong, the sound of it ricocheting off your living room windows almost soothing as you weigh your options. Just as you finally decide on a movie to watch–which is the one you’ve been watching on repeat lately, but it’s a good movie and Steve isn’t here to poke at you for doing it–you feel your phone buzz on your leg, and the screen lights up. You can see Steve’s name attached to the message, so you grab your phone and unlock it to see what he’s sent you.

From: Webhead 🕸❤️ >>meet me on the fire escape at 10

You check the time on your phone, seeing that it’s almost eight o’clock, and look out the window at the dark city view from where you are on the couch. He’s usually done between ten and eleven on a good night, which you were hoping was the case tonight, but it’s more than a little odd that he wants you to meet him outside when it’s raining. You chew on your thumb before you text him back.

To: Webhead 🕸❤️ >>Why? It's raining

Steve’s response comes back quickly–he must be taking a break somewhere, or maybe patrol is more dead than you’d thought. You hope he’s staying as warm and dry as he can–his suit is waterproof, thankfully, but not very well insulated. And he always refuses to wear anything other than underwear underneath it. It’s caused a number of arguments during colder weather.

From: Webhead 🕸❤️ >>surprise :))

Steve doesn’t explain himself beyond that, and despite how you roll your eyes and throw your phone onto the other side of the couch as the movie continues playing. You know how much he’s going to pout if you don’t do it, but you also know how much you enjoy staying dry inside. But why does he even want you to meet him outside, anyway? Especially that late at night?

As much as you want to watch the movie you put on, you can’t help but let your mind wander as you think about what Steve might want you to meet him in the rain for. You could cross food off the list–the two of you had learned the hard way that swinging across the city carrying takeout usually ended in disaster, and if he really wanted something he’d either order it himself to be delivered to your place, or more likely he’d ask you to order it for him (with payment in kisses to follow when he got home).

Maybe he changed the colours of his suit? You didn’t think that’d be it given how attached he is to his current suit and how well it works for him (and his body, you’d absolutely noticed how good it looks on him and how good it makes him look), and besides, that’s something he can show you inside, preferably in your bedroom after he dries himself off.

Before you know it, it’s nearly ten o’clock, and your phone is buzzing on the other side of the couch where you’d thrown it, and it’s Steve again. You reach over and grab it, not bothering to pause the movie, and unlock your phone to read his message.

From: Webhead 🕸❤️ >>dont see you on the fire escape >:((

You can honestly imagine him pouting right now–you wouldn’t be able to see it under his mask, of course, but you’d know he’s pouting with his forehead wrinkled, the little furrow between his eyebrows and his soft pink lips pulled down at the corners. You shake your head, a smile on your face as you type back an answer.

To: Webhead 🕸❤️ >>It's not 10 yet, you said come out at 10

Are you messing with him? Absolutely, because you know Steve is gonna be grumbling at his phone and aggressively tapping his screen while he texts you back.

From: Webhead 🕸❤️ >>.....ok well im here NOW >>pls come out and look up babe

You put your phone down on your coffee table, getting up and walking over to the living room window in front of the fire escape. You look out, though through the rain beating against the glass you can’t make out much besides the faint glowing of the different lights in the city. You lament your nice, dry clothes for a moment before you crack the window open. And then, thinking better of things for a moment, you run and grab a few towels to leave by the window so you and Steve can dry yourselves off when you come inside, before you’re climbing over the window sill to stand on the fire escape.

The rain is cold, much colder than you’re expecting, and it runs down your face and your body and more quickly than you’d like, you’re soaked through. Remembering Steve’s last text message, you use one of your hands to try and shield your eyes as you look up above you. And that’s when you see him.

“Come here often, gorgeous?” Steve is crouching, upside down, hanging off of the fire escape above yours by a strand of webbing. You can hear the smug grin in his voice, muffled slightly by the mask on his face, and he lowers himself down so his head is level with yours.

“Come out on my own fire escape? I feel like I should be asking you if you come here often, Bug Boy,” you tease him, and Steve gasps exaggeratedly, one hand leaving the webbing to smack into the spider symbol splashed across his chest.

“Bug Boy? Really? I come here to make sure your neighbourhood is safe, and that’s the best you can come up with?” he asks, which has you laughing. He sighs dramatically, before the hand on his chest goes back to hold the line of webbing. “I’ll take that over what Goblin and the Bugle were saying about me today, though.”

His voice is a little lower, a little more subdued when he says that, which tells you that whatever had been said had gotten to him today. He normally shrugs it off, laughs off whatever insults or vitriol gets spewed his way, but some days it gets to him. Today seems to be one of those days. “Hey, hey,” you tell him, stepping closer to him so your right side up face is directly in front of his upside down face. “You’re my Bug Boy, and you’re the best one the city could ever ask for. You’re my hero. I’m lucky to have you.” You mean it; you know how absolutely lucky you are to have Steve in your life; sure, it’s a hundred times more chaotic with him and all the craziness being Spider-man brings, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world. You love him more than you ever thought possible, and your love for him grows every day you’re together.

“Maybe you could show me just how lucky?” He seems to have gotten back his sense of humour, and you can imagine his eyebrows waggling underneath his mask. Normally you’d crack a joke back, especially with the cold rain pouring down your body, but you’ll do that next time. Today you’ll show him how much you love him.

You reach up and, as gently as you can, reach under the neck of his suit to find the seam for his mask. Once your fingers find it, you pull it down until the bottom half of his face is exposed, the mask resting just above the tip of his nose. One of his hands grabs one of yours then, before you can tug it down anymore, and you stop. He brings that hand to his mouth, placing a soft kiss to your palm. His lips are warm against your skin, and you can see the little bit of stubble on his chin and upper lip; the pretty brown moles dotting his cheeks and the sliver of his neck you can see.

You bring your other hand up to cup his cheek, and then you’re leaning forward to press your lips against his own. Water had started to run down his face, so they’re a bit wet on both ends. Steve’s lips are warm and soft against your own, though, and before you know it your thumbs are rubbing along his jawline as his tongue is pushing its way into your mouth. You let it, tilting your head to the side to deepen the kiss. You can feel the lack of oxygen going to your head, though, and you regretfully break apart. Your breath floats around the two of you, the heat mixing with the chilly air and the rain, and Steve’s grin is impossibly wide.

“Always wanted to try that,” he tells you, letting go of the webbing completely to drop down onto his feet in front of you. You knock your shoulder into his, laughing for a moment before a chill runs down your spine. “Oh, shit, right, it’s raining. Get inside and get warm, baby, I just gotta grab my bag and uh, stuff.”

You absolutely want to get out of the rain so you climb back inside, grabbing a towel to dry yourself off as best you can before you head for your bedroom to change into dry clothes. You hear the window slam shut a few minutes later, a few muffled curses as Steve no doubt faceplants again coming inside, and you grab some dry clothes for him to change into while you hang his suit to dry in the bathroom, and then the two of you can crawl into bed together while he tells you about his day.

(You don’t say anything, though, when you notice later that a new framed photo has made its way onto your night stand, one of the two of you kissing in the pouring rain, beside some cold medicine and a glass of water and a brand new note for your collection)